#These are all the ones off the top of my head

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a no-known sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm such a great guy, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[hauntedfawnn]

rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

[muqingslover]

Ok, so... this might be a bit of a +18 think piece, but... what do you think the lads men would have as their top 3 kinks? I started thinking about it after I read the Xavier somno one, lol. Maybe I'm crazy but I think Caleb would have blindfolds/rope play in his top 3 (on mc not on him, since he wants to see all of you but is very resultant to show all of himself back due to fear of rejection+ if mc is tied up she can't leave)

[ choosing only three was a lot harder than I thought whew. Also, I'm testing out different layouts rn so don't mind me (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ]

Xavier

Predator/Prey Play: This guy is the literal definition of wolf in sheep's clothing. What gets him going is the thrill of the hunt and the turntables (his specialty), which is why he will often let you think you're in control and have your fun teasing him only to then pounce when you least expect. If you run from him then you better pray he won't catch you or not.

Exhibitionism: This might be a hot take but walk with me. Xavier is a very jealous man so he won't ever allow anyone to actually see you, buuuut he is very into letting others know you belong to him. You gotta leave for a mission with someone else? Not to worry, all he needs is 10 minutes in the bathroom stall. The bread guy is back at it again? It can't be helped, he'll just have to fuck against the door while he's knocking to show you're busy. He'd love to see you struggling (and failing) to keep your voice down and looks like a smug cat when others notice the marks he left on you.

Cunnilingus: This man eats pussy like a goddamn champ. He absolutely adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, to the point he finds it comforting, and the feeling of his tongue stretching open your dripping pussy for his cock later. Your taste is something he could have every day, which he will if you let him, and he takes pride when you're left a writhing, whimpering mess that begs for him to fuck you.

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Zayne

Bondage: The joke about him tying MC up with surgical knots was definitely not a joke. In my opinion, rather than the power rush over the control he has over you, what really gets him off is the trust you put in his hands. Bondage is all about having faith in your partner to never truly hurt you and knowing you see him that way makes him feel beyond special. Given the chance he'd love to have you wrapped in dark blue, silky ribbons and the aftercare is top tier with this guy.

Lingerie: For some reason I feel like Zayne is REALLY into seeing you wearing lingerie. Ladies, feel free to tease him by telling him you're wearing one, but not letting him see until he's home much later. He'll spend the entire day imagining what type of lace you have under your clothes and he pretty please asks you to strip for him as a reward for waiting.

Phone Sex: Another one I just have a feeling it's his thing. I mean, he is a busy man and sometimes it can't be helped, people have needs yk. He'd like the feeling of knowing you think of him as much as he does of you when the other is not around. The photos you send and the sounds of your needy whines right next to his ear goes straight to his cock and he is mortified when the post-nut clarity hits him and he realizes what he did in his own office.

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Caleb

Overstimulation: I'm an overly sensitive Caleb truther. The overstimulation has his head spinning so good that he can barely form a coherent thought that isn't your name while he slams into your pussy for the nth time like a desperate man. He doesn't want to simply break you he wants to break together, to the point neither of you can think about anything else besides how good it feels.

Roleplaying: I've lost count of the amount of times we've seen him and MC roleplaying and this man will unironically take it to the bedroom. It starts as a joke where he's only doing it to make you laugh, but then he won't allow you to break character and will edge you until you say your "lines" correctly. Forceful and cold soldier? Check. Teasing and pervy Gege? of course. A loving and gentle husband? Sign him up. Strict teacher? No need to ask twice.

Brat Taming: Now defying Caleb is the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull and you better run because when he catches you you're done for. He needs you to need him as much as he needs you and if he has to break you for you to admit it then he will. The rush of being the one in charge and "taking care" of you in a way no one else will is enough to have his cock throbbing.

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Sylus

Breeding AND Biting: These two go hand in hand every time you have sex with him. He craves to have a family with you but, more than anything, he wants you to be as full of him as his heart is of you. He wants you to be so filled with his cum that he has to keep his cock inside otherwise it'll leak out of you. He absolutely enjoys the slippery mess your warm insides become when he rocks his hips into you, slowly but deep, pushing his cum even further into your womb and hoping you'll get pregnant.

Body Worship: I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sylus is a lover boy! ! ! Each kiss on your skin is an offering, a promise and a worship. He wants to know the parts of your body not even you do and give you the love you deserve. The praises he whispers against your body are similar to a prayer and he could spend years exploring every inch of you without ever getting tired. You're the very reason for his existence and any less is just unacceptable.

Size: This guy is not only big but he's also very large. He is a softie who likes to tease you about how small you are compared to him while he holds your hand and pretends he doesn't hear your complaints about him suffocating you after the draped his heavy body over yours. That feeling of satisfaction extends when he has to gently coo you and kiss your tears away while he's spreading your little hole open. He can't help the fangy grin on his lips when he feels his cock bulge on your tummy and he holds your hand over the spot so you feel how deep he is inside of you as well.

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Rafayel

Rough Sex: Another controversial take but I feel like he's a secret sadist just not the extreme type. Man can flip his demeanor from "harmless babyboy" to intimidating sea god in a split second who knows what else he's hiding under that purple wig. He'll keep an almost cold demeanor while he coaxes whimpers out of you in the best way and a wicked smirk spreads across his face at the sight of your tears, spurring him on until he's completely broken you.

Food Play: That's definitely one way to make sure he actually eats. Having you be his meal will make him hungry like never before and oh he absolutely will feast (this may or may not be a reference to this). He makes a point of not using his hands while licking along your skin, tasting the sweet chocolate before he left a purple mark on your thighs. Oh, this goes both ways so please pour wine on him and lick him clean ;)

Body Painting: I forgot if there's an actual English term for this but Rafayel would love to draw on your skin and watch you squirm each time the soft, wet brush went over your perked up nipples. He'd scold you when you move because you're making him smudge the lines and holds you in place with his free hand, warning you to stop or he'll take "extreme measures" to make you keep still. You are the only one he'd ever dare to call a masterpiece.

[stevebabey]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here��"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

[crowsofdarkness]

You've been braty all evening and suggest a fun game to play with Bucky: Hide and fuck.

18+ CW's below the cut( mask kink, protected pinv since she's on the implant, oral with both male and female receiving, fingering, masturbation, choking, degradation, rope play/bondage, making of a sex tape, rough/possessive sex, and slight voyeurism)

a/n: ok I fully understand that Bucky wearing the mask post winter solider is somewhat traumatic but in this little universe/fic, Bucky is trying to get over the trauma by replacing that feeling of fear with something different.

My breath was unsteady and echoed loud in the confined space I found myself in. Surely Bucky had to be returning to our room soon, it had been hours since I left him at the bar with Steve, now almost ten in the evening. As soon as I came back to our room, I went about showering off the long days filth and slipped into a new piece of lingerie I’d bought a while ago just never found the perfect time to wear it. 

Until now. 

All night, I’d been teasing Bucky by whispering all of the filthy things I wanted him to do to me. More so, I wanted him to chase me and fuck me. Unfortunately even with the size of our room, there still wasn’t enough space for Bucky to hunt me down so I had to settle with a simple game of hide and seek. 

Or as I called it in the text I sent him: hide and fuck. 

I managed to fit myself in the large wardrobe dresser that we had in our room, the ones that were tall enough where I could sit inside of it somewhat comfortably. The scent of my peach perfume, Bucky’s favorite,  clouded around me as I sat with my knees pulled to my chest. Just when I was about to give up, tired of waiting, I heard the insert of a key card into the slot and the door clicking open. I had left the light on in the main area of the hotel room so some of it could cast a light into where I was hiding but with a soft click, everything was blanketed in black. 

Bucky’s back. 

Holding a hand over my mouth, I tried so hard to remain quiet even though I was beyond giddy with excitement that he had agreed to this. I knew that this was also supposed to be a therapeutic exercise for him. A way for him to see himself in his old Hydra mask and come to terms he’s not that person anymore. 

Although he was afraid, we both knew that those words that controlled him were long gone. No longer programmed. Even if he wore the mask tonight, Bucky wouldn’t become the soldier. 

His footsteps were so light, almost nonexistent, as he moved around the room. I could feel his presence as it halted in front of the wardrobe and before I could register what was happening, Bucky ripped open the doors and yanked me from it. 

My body fell to the floor with little damage and I quickly scurried away from Bucky only for his fingers to wrap around my ankle, dragging me back to him. His large body loomed over me, lust filled eyes and his lower half of his face was covered by the mask.  His breathing was all I heard as I stared up at him. He wore nothing but the mask and black briefs, hanging low on his hips. The light colored hairs of his happy trail brought a tender smile to my face. 

“Found you,” Bucky growled as his palms traced over the thin white lace of my lingerie, his eyes growing even darker. 

“I-I guess you did,” I stammered while he climbed on top of me. 

WIth his hips locking me in place, Bucky reached over my head towards a bag I hadn’t noticed before and riffled through it. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the rope between his hands, him threading it between his fingers. 

Bounding my hands to my ankles, Bucky went about tying them together with the rope, checking how tight it was before letting the game slip away for a moment. 

“Too tight?” 

I shook my head. “I promise, it’s fine.” 

He took off the hair tie around his wrist and gathered my hair away from my face and into a ponytail. His vibranium finger grazed over my cheek, forcing my eyes to meet his. 

“If you ever want to stop, say red,” he said quietly. 

“Okay,” I breathed, understanding the usage of our new safe word. 

With my hands and feet bound together, I let out a squeal of laughter mixed with shock as Bucky lifted me from the ground, carrying me like a tied animal over towards our bed and roughly tossed me onto it. My ass was up towards the ceiling, barely covered by the lace I wore, and his nostrils flared when he leaned over my lower half, still donning the mask. 

“You smell so good,” he praised while kneeling on the bed. 

“Peaches,” I informed, reminding him of my perfume. 

Bucky hooked a finger into my panties, shifting it to the side so he could brush his nose along my wet folds. 

“Oh,” I murmured when I realized what kind of smell he was referring to. 

Due to how I was tied up, I wasn’t able to look down and see Bucky between my legs, but I could feel the faint brush of his tongue over my clit and I pulled on my bindings. 

“One more thing,” Bucky said before slipping away from me to rummage around in my suitcase. 

I turned my head towards him. “We don’t need a condom. I’m on the implant, remember?” 

He ignored me, still rummaging around in my bag until he spun quickly on his heels towards me holding onto one of my camcorders. 

“Sex tape?” I asked with a teasing edge to my voice. 

Bucky’s lips curled up after he ripped off the mask. “A fucking sex tape.” 

After making sure it was fully charged and set up on the dresser across the bed with the perfect angle, he was quick to be back at the foot of the bed, kneeling on the floor. 

“I want to taste you so fucking bad, doll. Will you let me?” 

My head fell back to the mattress with fluttering eyes. “Please.”

Yanking my panties to the side again, Bucky was quick to devour me, teeth and tongue all over my core. My body writhed against the bed as he took turns between my clit and folds with his tongue before ultimately wrapping his lips around my sensitive bud and forced two vibranium fingers inside of me. 

“Shit,” I panted as the orgasm was quick to build. 

I’d been on edge all night waiting for him and I knew it wouldn’t take me long to reach there. Bucky momentarily removed his fingers from me to press the fullness of his tongue against my folds, licking me up from the bottom to the top.

"Fuck," I moaned when his tongue speared inside of me for a few strokes, before replacing it with his fingers again. 

Bucky’s lips wrapped around my clit to bite and suck at the bundle of nerves. He ate me like a man starved as was offered his final meal before death. The familiar burn at the base of my spine made me call out his name; in a praise and a warning. 

“So close,” I keened. 

Bucky’s arm held up my legs that were still bound and since his mouth was a little preoccupied, he smacked my ass with the hand that was holding my panties to the side. 

Let go, doll. 

I came with a shout, grinding myself against Bucky’s face as he licked and finger fucked me through the aftershocks. 

“Shit,” I choked on a breath when he pulled away only to rise to his feet, yanking down his brieds, now standing in front of me in nothing but the mask. 

I pulled on my bindings, yearning to touch him, but let out an aggravated cry when I realized how tight he tied them. 

“I need to be inside you, doll,” Bucky admitted while grabbing a hold of my ankles with one hand and guiding himself inside of me with the other. 

Both of our groans of pleasure tangled sweetly together and Bucky, who stood at the edge of the bed now, slammed into me with such force, it shook the headboard against the wall. The sound of skin on skin was heaven sent, along with the image of Bucky’s head rolled back, mouth open as he let out pants of air in tangent with each of his thrust. They were brutal, nearly bruising, but I reveled in it. It awoken a fire deep inside of me that from now on needed to be set ablaze. 

“So.” 

Thrust.

“Fucking.” 

Thrust. 

“Tight,” Bucky groaned as his hips stalled for a moment and I watched as the muscles in his stomach constricted. 

He was close but was trying not to tumble over the edge so he slipped out from me. Before I could protest, he was climbing onto the bed towards me. He lifted my head up, wrapping my hair around his hand to force my mouth towards his cock slick with my arousal. 

“Open that pretty little mouth,” he demanded, yanking on my scalp. 

With glittering eyes gazing up at him, I parted my lips so he could force himself inside. He ignored my gagging as he hate fucked my throat with such a bruising grip on my hair, I was sure it would be sore for days. Drool pooled from my mouth and around his cock, dripping down to my chest. 

“Such a good little slut,” Bucky smacked my cheek with the hand that wasn't tangled in my hair. “You love the way you taste, huh?”

My yelp of shock was drowned out by his cock as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. I could taste myself on it, the tangy arousal lingering on my tongue. But soon I was gasping for breath when Bucky pulled himself from my mouth to grab a hold of my chin, bringing his face mere meters from mine. 

“I asked you a question, doll. I expect you to answer it.”

I did the best I could to nod with his tight grip but it wasn’t enough for him so he tapped my cheek again. 

“Words. You need to use your words.” 

“Yes,” I blurted. “Yes, I love the way I taste on your cock.”

“That’s my good girl,” he praised before forcing his cock deep inside my throat again. 

This time, he didn’t hold himself back as he spilled himself inside of my mouth. 

“Don’t you dare swallow,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held the back of my head, letting my tongue glide him through the aftershocks. 

I held his seed in my mouth, long after he fell to the bed next to me, only to reach into the bag he brough, pulling out a knife. My eyes widened but unable to speak, I held my breath. 

Bucky brushed his lips over mine. “You can swallow now, pretty girl.” 

Obeying him, I let out a breath and motioned towards the shiny blade. “I think this is a step too far.”

He let out a low chuckle before reaching for my bound legs and hands. “Relax, doll. I’m just cutting you free.”

Tattered rope fell to the bed and Bucky quickly brought the red, irritated skin to his lips, peppering it with kisses. 

All I did was hum and as we laid there, Bucky’s fingers grazed up and down the inside of my thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“I hope you know I’m not finished with you yet,” was all he said before he yanked me off of the bed. 

As we passed by the camcorder, Bucky turned it so it could face out towards the balcony of the hotel room. 

“Bucky!” I nearly screeched when I noticed the somewhat busy street just a few floors beneath us. 

He spun me around so my back was against the railing, the city lights painting us in a luminescent glow, and traced a finger down the front of my lingerie. 

“This is new,” he noted. 

I shivered with not only his touch, but the cool breeze that passed over us. 

“Do-do you like it?” I asked, nervous. 

“I love it so much, doll, that I’m going to fuck you with it on,” Bucky husked before holding out his hand, spitting on it. 

He pumped his already hard cock a few times, dragging the extra skin over the head and let out a spew of curses. Gathering some of my arousal between my legs, he worked me open again with two fingers before replacing them with his cock. The rough metal of the balcony dug into my back as Bucky dragged himself nearly all the way out, slowly fucking me with the head before thrusting all of him inside of me again. It went like this for a few moments, my bottom lip caught between my teeth because the feeling caused my skin to prick. I squeezed against him, swallowing his length in warmth and our hips began to move in sync.

“Shit,” Bucky rasped while leaving dark, bruising teeth marks along my neck and shoulder. “You feel so good, doll.”

His fingers wrapped around my neck while his thumb forced my jaw up towards him. I went to slip a finger between us but Bucky slapped my hand away, a growl of arousal slipped through his lips.

“Mine,” he whispered.

The pad of his thumb pressed against my bundle of nerves and with the fast and relentless pace he had chosen now, I felt the coil deep in my stomach begin to tense, my second orgasm so close.

“Yours,” I breathed. 

Our bodies slammed against each other, skin slapping against skin, and the wet noises that came from the place we were connected were so filthy that I was ready to let my body go, walls tensing around Bucky’s cock. He lifted his forehead from my chest and forced our gazes to lock again, my arm wrapped around his shoulder to bring him closer, thumb rubbing circles on his bicep. His eyes took in every inch of my face, burning with the way I gasped silently when I felt the tip of his cock hit that spot. 

“Bucky,” I pured. “I’m going to-.” 

My orgasm ripped through me, causing the words to falter, and I shook in his tight embrace. The night air did nothing to cool my heated skin. 

Bucky removed his bottom lip from the tight grip between his teeth as he let out a deep but quiet moan as he painted my walls with his cum. Lifting me into his arms, I wrapped my tired legs around him as he carried me back into the bedroom and tossed me onto the bed yet again fixing the camera in a different position. 

“I can’t,” I shook my head when he reached for the buttons of my lingerie. 

Bucky kissed a tender kiss on my shoulder. “I know you’ve got one more in you, doll. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” 

More than anything. 

I was exhausted from my two orgasms, how was he not? Peering down to his cock, I noticed it was nearly hard yet again, the sight of it alone causing my gut to twinge with anticipation and I licked my lips. 

Damn super soldier serum.

“I thought you can't,” Bucky mocked my voice from earlier, causing me to narrow my eyes at him. 

“Shut up!”

The sound of fabric ripping echoed in the room, my lingerie falling away from my body and I screeched while smacking his chest. 

“This was new, asshole!” 

Bucky shrugged, throwing me down to my stomach and lifting my ass in the air to lay a swift smack against it with his vibranium hand. I scrambled to get away from him which prompted him to force the top half of my body against the mattress with one of his hands while the other smacked my ass yet again. 

“Fuck! Bucky!” I bit back the tears as he laid a third smack. “Pl-please.”

“I’ll stop when you apologize for what you called me,” Bucky’s voice was dark, gone with the lust that consumed him. 

For the briefest of moments, part of me feared the monster I had awoken in him but when the pain soon turned to pleaser, I let out a quiet moan afraid he would hear. His large hand rubbed at the red skin before pressing a kiss. 

“Does the pain turn you on, doll? Hm?” Bucky spoke into the skin of my lower back. 

I grasped at the pillow, pulling it close to my chest so I could muffle my answer into it. Which only seemed to displease him because he sunk his teeth into the extra flesh of my hip, making me cry out my answer. 

“Yes! I need it to hurt!”

Wrapping an arm around my stomach, Bucky lifted me up onto my knees and to face the large mirror in the room that was hung across the bed, right next to the camera; still blinking red. I gasped at my reflection of tattered pieces of lingerie hanging on to me still by a thread, mascara running down my face, purple bite marks littered all over my neck and shoulder, and lips faintly bruised from how hard Bucky fucked my throat earlier. 

He knelt behind me and brushed his nose along the shell of my ear while trailing the pad of his thumb over the pulse point of my throat. 

“You look so pretty like this, doll. Marked up as mine so everyone knows who you belong to,” he dragged his teeth along the crook of my neck, breathing me in. 

“God, I fucking love the way you smell.”

His fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples, making my head falter back onto his shoulder.

“What do you want, baby?” Bucky palmed both of my breasts now before trailing a hand down my stomach to spread my legs wide for the reflection and mostly the camera. 

“You,” I breathed. 

Bucky said nothing, instead he slipped two fingers past my slick folds where the head of his cock was slowly gliding up and down. Gathering up not only my arousal but the little bit of precum that beaded at the slit, he brought those fingers to my lips with one simple order. 

“Lick.”

I took both vibranium fingers into my mouth without objection to lap up the tangy mixture of us and hummed greedily. I took them as far as I could without gagging and Bucky showed me how proud he was of me by sinking himself deep inside my pussy. His strokes this time were languid, taking his time with me as he worked me up with his fingers down my throat and the others spreading me wide. 

“That’s it. Take all of me. I can feel your pussy clenching around me, you’re so wet,” Bucky’s pace began to intensify as his words were urging him on. 

One hand wrapped around my throat while the other strumbed against my swollen nub, bringing me closer and close to the edge of destruction. 

My own words were gone, forever lost in the bliss that overtook my body. My soul succumbed to Bucky, allowing him to drag every part of my essence down with him to the darkness. This was a side of Bucky I’d never expected to see and now that I had a taste of him, I wasn’t letting him go. 

“I love you,” I moaned as I allowed the waves of pleasure to drown me as I soaked Bucky’s cock with my orgasm. 

He stilled his movements and sucked in a breath before forcing my face to look into our reflection of the mirror. 

“What did you just say?” 

I blinked a few times, trying to regain myself after the intensity of each after shock, and when Bucky’s grip on my chin tightened, I winced. 

Oh shit. 

I had just blurted out that I loved Bucky.

For the first time. 

Shit. Fuck. God damn it. 

We’d only been dating for a few months and I was suddenly very afraid of how Bucky would react. It was clearly way too soon to be dropping the I love you bomb. 

“Doll,” Bucky’s voice was firm as he shook my face. 

Staring at his reflection, I let the words fall from my lips again. 

“I love you.”

The hard lines on his face softened as he let the proclamation settle for a few quiet beats and just before I could find myself questioning everything, Bucky let out a guttural groan, wrapping an arm around my stomach to pull my back closer to his chest. We were pulled flush against each other as now Bucky used the new angle to buck up into me, hitting the spot each and every time. 

My body was drained and I could barely keep myself afloat in his embrace as the bed shook beneath us, creaking with every snap of his hips. Skin on skin bounced off the walls, overpowering the sounds of my quiet cries, and Bucky bit down hard on my shoulder. 

“Fuck, doll. I love you too, so fucking much. You’re mine, you hear me? Your heart, your soul, this fucking pussy? All mine,” he snarled as he filled my cunt. 

“Ah! Shit!” I cried out louder this time when I felt the teeniest prick of blood from Bucky’s bite into my neck trail down between my breasts. 

We both fell onto the bed, a heap of sweat and cum, and Bucky immediately wrapped me in his arms. He continued to proclaim his love for me while dragging those vibranium fingers up and down my spine, lulling me to sleep; all while the red light from the camera continued to blink. 

[petermorwood]

As someone who's also done some writing, this is all Extremely Sound Advice. :->

Here are a couple of point enhancements, and a rant about how a famous production torpedoed itself - IMO, anyway - by getting fixated on one of them

*****

(2) Head-hopping / POV change - think screen format and a change of camera angle. A "dinkus" (one or more asterisks, bullets or other symbol) between paragraphs is enough to indicate this, and you're good to go.

I do something similar in my own posts, including this one, though properly speaking the asterisks would be centred. I've done that with the next set, though since I've done the centring by inserting spaces, they may be well off-centre in other themes:

*****

(3) and (4) Treat info- and expo-dumps like pungent seasoning. Your recipe (story) needs them, but Not All In A Lump.

A good way to do this (the equivalent to "stir in gradually") is to combine them with other action - eating a meal, a walk-and-talk, watching some non-essential business like someone grooming a horse, washing a car, mowing a lawn etc., etc.

Intersperse the necessary dialogue of the info-expo with descriptions of and comments on the other business. If that business can be made relevant to the info-expo (comparisons, side-comments etc.) so much the better, but the point is to break up what can too easily be what TVTropes calls A Wall Of Text.

Thriller-writer Philip Kerr's later books are notorious for this: there are numerous instances where a character starts to talk ("Open Quotes") at the top of one page and - without interruption and sometimes even without paragraphs - doesn't finish ("Close Quotes") until halfway down the next.

Worse, the character is often reciting a chunk of background information from Kerr's research files which should have stayed there, or at the very least been pared down to its bare essentials as something a human being might say during a conversation with another human being.

Which Does Not Happen. :-P

*****

(8) about epithets, tackles something well-enough known that it has a TV Trope, "Burly Detective Syndrome". This has a cousin, "Said-Bookism", and no matter what you might have heard or indeed seen posted along with lists of sometimes-ridiculous alternatives on Tumblr, "said" is not dead.

It's alive, it's well and it's doing its job, which is to be the unobtrusive hook from which dialogue is hung. As I've said more than once, if a hook attracts more attention than the thing it's holding up, something's gone wrong.

*****

(10) If there's a scene that's likely to be fun to write, and another that's likely to be a slog, then if it works for your writing habits try to swap to and fro between the writing of them, with fun as a reward for slog.

If chop-and-change writing like this throws you off, then write the slog first and the fun after since once again, that's the reward, something to look forward to. Doing it the other way means you're looking at the slog to come, and that's not my idea of a reward.

Also, it can happen (personal experience) that after the refreshment of the fun, you'll come back to the first-draft slog bit and revise it into something better.

*****

I'd suggest (6) and (7) about subverting expectations - whether characters' or readers', and the one will become the other as reading happens - are something that need approached with care, and should always have a solid reason beyond (box tick) Not What They Expect.

Showing an unsubverted episode or incident - for instance the character's going-out preparations, or their commuting-home routine - is necessary, often more than once *, to establish Normality, so the character and reader are aware that This Time Is Different.

(* I've seen this done by cut-and-paste repeating the same description from one chapter into the next. It was imaginative and effective there, but could easily have tripped up on its own cleverness by seeming UNimaginative. YMMV.)

Why is the character including a concealed weapon in their party dress-up? Why is the character concerned they might be tailed during that commute? A comparison between ordinary and extraordinary is needed to show this doesn't happen every single time.

It's also a good way of racking up page-turning tension before invoking (5) that cliff-hanger chapter ending... :->

*****

And now the rant... :-p

Subverting expectations as a (box tick) action because it was So Effective That One Time is what transformed the final seasons of a once-popular fantasy adaptation into such a disappointment.

"Game of Thrones" is an excellent example of subverted expectations, such as the Red Wedding where - despite the way heroes are expected to escape at the last minute - a crapsack world like Westeros means bad things play all the way through to their bad conclusion.

*****

It's also an excellent example of how bad writing and a (box tick) attitude can lead to subversions that should have been left alone.

One instance is the way Jaime Lannister's redemption was abandoned "to subvert expectations" (box tick) complete with redemption-dismissive dialogue that was a slap in the face to several seasons of character development.

The lack of any hint or implication that such a thing was even possible suggests - to this viewer anyway - that it was no more than a (box tick) without additional thought as to whether it was logical in-story, as long as it generated yet another "Oh No, we didn't see that coming!" reaction from the audience.

(Of course nobody saw it coming, since neither plot requirement nor character development had any reason for it to happen.)

Sometimes a story should play out logically as a story because It's A Story, Not A Documentary. Terry Pratchett knew this and called it Narrativium, the element which drives stories. TV Tropes calls it The Theory of Narrative Causality.

Whatever the name, and however storytellers may tinker and tweak with it, they ignore its basic rules at their peril.

*****

Another example is Cersei's death.

When a writer as amiable as C.S. Lewis said:

"Let there be wicked kings and beheadings, battles and dungeons, giants and dragons, and let villains be soundly killed at the end..."

...just dropping a building on her without involving any of the many other High-Profile Characters she'd hurt throughout the series was ridiculous, especially with one of those High-Profile Characters already in the vicinity.

It may well have subverted expectations, but it was a lousy resolution.

It was also bad storytelling which abandoned at least one long-anticipated set-up (all too common in later GoT), and still vexes me since in a storyline filled with subversions for the sake of shock value, NOT subverting audience expectations but instead rewarding them with what they want (what they really, really want) becomes a subversion in itself.

*****

It's not hard to imagine more original and entertaining ways of bringing Cersei's pigeons home to roost, the most obvious being a fatal encounter with Arya-reFaced-as-Jaime.

This IMO would have been a much more satisfying use of her well-established Faceless Man sneakmurder skills than that no-setup leap from nowhere onto the Ice King, another Bad Guy built up to deserve a more spectacular termination than his you're-done-now-kthxbye demise.

Certainly after eight seasons of scheming, murder, cruelty - and infuriating smugness, oh yes, that too - having Cersei "soundly killed" should have involved something, anything, more conclusive, up-front and personal than a load of bricks landing on her head.

Subvert, yes. But not just for the sake of doing it.

*****

And as @writeblrfantasy concluded, no matter what way you're doing it, have fun in the doing of it...

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

[lvnleah]

accidental hard launch | kyra cooney-cross

You should have double-checked. Triple-checked. It was a habit, usually a necessity because your anxiety made you overthink things like this. 

Privacy was important to you, especially when it came to your relationship with Kyra. You weren’t ashamed, not at all, but keeping it just yours felt safer, less overwhelming.

But somehow, you’d messed up.

The realisation didn’t hit until your phone started buzzing on the table beside you, interrupting the mindless Netflix episode playing in the background. At first, you ignored it, assuming it was just the usual team group chat chaos. 

Then came a second buzz. 

A third. 

Then your phone started going off in rapid succession, messages piling up so fast that the screen barely had time to go dark between notifications.

Frowning, you picked it up.

Your stomach flipped, dread creeping in as you switched to Instagram.

There it was.

The photo you’d meant to post on your private account, the one with barely thirty followers, all trusted friends, was instead sitting proudly on your main feed. Public. For all of your followers to see.

Your heart started to pound in your chest.

It was an innocent enough picture. It was an old one from your first holiday as a couple that summer and she was on the beach chair next to you. You’d tried to take a photo of her but instead, she reached over and decided to pepper kisses all over your hand. 

And the caption? Oh, the caption made it worse.

You stared, horrified, as the likes and comments continued to flood in. Fans, teammates, and even journalists speculating. Your worst nightmare was unfolding in real-time.

A noise from the kitchen snapped you out of it. Kyra.

Completely oblivious.

You scrambled off the couch, phone gripped tightly in your hand as you rushed toward her. “Kyra,” you blurted, voice tight with panic.

She turned around with a spoon in her mouth, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

You held up your phone. “I posted it.”

She blinked. “Yeah, I know. I saw it when you took it.”

“No, Kyra.” You inhaled sharply, pulse racing. “I posted it on my main account.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“Oh, sick.”

You gawked at her. “Sick? Is that all you have to say? Sick?”

She grinned, setting the spoon down. “Yeah! I mean, I kinda figured we’d get caught eventually. Might as well rip the band-aid off, eh?”

Your stomach twisted, hands gripping your phone tighter. “Kyra, I didn’t want—” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Her expression faltered, the teasing glint in her eyes softening as she took a step toward you. “Babe…”

You felt your chest tightening, breathing shallow. The anxiety was creeping in, clawing up your spine, squeezing your lungs. Kyra noticed immediately, of course, she did. She always did.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” she murmured, gently prying the phone from your grip and setting it on the counter. Her arms wrapped around you, warm and grounding, as she pulled you into her chest. “It’s okay. I promise it’s okay.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie. “But what if—”

“Nah,” she interrupted softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “No ‘what ifs.’ We’ll handle it. Together.”

You swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. You weren’t convinced yet, not entirely. After a moment, she spoke again, voice still light but careful. “And, you know… at least the picture’s cute.”

Despite yourself, a small, shaky laugh escaped. “It is, isn’t it?”

She pulled back just enough to grin down at you. “Hell yeah, it is. I look hot.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling slowly. Kyra rocked you slightly in her arms, her chin resting atop your head as she rubbed slow circles into your back. The tension in your shoulders hadn’t fully eased, but the weight of her touch made it a little easier to breathe.

“Y’know,” she started, her voice laced with amusement, “People love us, bet the comments are great.”

You groaned, pulling back just enough to glare at her. “Kyra—”

“What?” She held her hands up in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, we might be the internet’s new favourite couple. Beat Beth and Viv!”

Your phone was still buzzing somewhere behind her, a constant reminder that this was very much not something you could just ignore. Your private life, something you’d worked so hard to keep yours, was now out in the open. 

There was no taking it back.

Kyra must’ve noticed the way your lips pressed into a tight line, how your fingers twitched at your sides. Her teasing softened into something gentler. “Okay, babe, look at me.”

You did, hesitantly, and found nothing but warmth in her gaze.

“You don’t have to deal with this alone,” she reassured you. “We’ll turn off your notifications, get off social media for a bit. We’ll make some tea, watch something other than that depressing documentary you love—”

“Hey,” you muttered weakly, but she just smirked.

“—and if you want, we can put out a little statement or whatever. Make it clear this is our relationship to share and we’ll do things in our own time.”

You exhaled slowly. “And if I don’t want to say anything?”

“Then we don’t,” she said easily. “It’s up to you, always.”

That was the thing about Kyra. She joked, teased, and never took much seriously but she always took you seriously.

Then Kyra grinned. “But if we do say something, I think we should go big. Like, a full-on announcement video. I can be like—” She widened her eyes dramatically, clutching her chest. “‘Guys, the love of my life just revealed us to the world, and I couldn’t be happier. Please respect our privacy during this beautiful time—’”

You smacked her arm, but there was no real force behind it. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You huffed, shaking your head, but the small smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “I really don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Fine, okay I do love it.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around her neck before placing a kiss on her lips. 

[ohimsummer]

PUCKER UP! ft. NERDJO

— minors dni, nerdjo x meangirl! reader, college! au, pegging, ass-eating, this started getting sloppy nasty lmao reader is a freak fr, hints of stsg, pet names (pretty boy, princess), kind of proofread

wc 3k….😭

it's easy to get satoru to do anything for you.

he's caught off guard when he opens the door to his dorm and you’re shoving yet another homework assignment in his hands, backing him into the room. he's easily victim to honeyed words from your glossy lips, the flutter of your eyelashes. though, if that isn't enough, a firm palm to his already-hardening bulge is sure to get you whatever you want. the gesture is topped off with a promised reward of sucking him dry, however, you're both painfully aware that you would have done so anyway.

satoru settles beside you on his bed, where you lay browsing through social media. he works dutifully, though still listening and responding to the mindless school gossip that no one else would ever let him know about. you keep him well-informed.

twenty minutes have passed, and you spare the papers a glance. it astounds you that satoru is already halfway finished in less than thirty minutes with what would have taken you at least an hour. it's easy for him...maybe a little too easy. maybe a little unfair.

"you're working too fast.", you huff, wrinkling your nose.

satoru pauses, pen hovering over the paper. he looks between you and your homework. "... is that a problem...?"

you sit up on his bed, staring in disdain at the half-finished work in his lap. "if it was? you're not just rushing, are you?"

here he comes with the pouting. satoru is extremely confident in his work, and he knows you know he'd never let you get a bad grade. "don't critique me, i know what i'm doing–“

"bend over, i'm bored."

his jaw falls slack as you tug open the drawer next to his bed, and pull out the lengthy, baby-blue toy hidden away.

"you–, now–?", he sputters. "i'm in the middle of–"

"oh, shut it, shut it.", you wave off his complaints with a manicured hand. "can't you multitask?"

satoru opens his mouth to give a snarky reply, but his words fall short when you slip the tip of the dildo between your lips. he can feel your eyes on him, but his gaze won't leave the way the toy disappears into your mouth, and blood goes rushing to fill the half-erect hard-on he's been sporting since you got here.

you pull the dildo from your mouth with a 'pop!'. "so? be a good boy and bend over for me?"

it's kind of funny, how you don't even have to touch him or bat a lash or use that one flirty tone that makes his head spin, yet satoru still tugs his own shirt off and pants down. he faces away to lower his head and present his round ass to you. a finger traces over the hem of his boxers, embedded with two bold sets of initials on them: yours and an S.G. not satoru's own name, of course.

with a quick kiss to his thigh, you're pulling the white boxers down his legs and tossing them inside. satoru's asshole sits bare and on display for you, puckered and twitching as you admire him.

as if reading your thoughts, he mumbles, "don't stare so much..."

you break gaze with the hole inches from your face to raise a brow at your boyfriend. "shouldn't you be doing my homework?"

"uh–“, he scrambles to form a sentence."yeah, but–"

"pass me the lube and the harness, too."

satoru obeys your command, reaching into the still-open drawer to pull out a bottle of strawberry-flavoured lubricant and a light blue, leather harness. he reaches back a hand to give it to you, where you snatch both items from his grasp and satoru immediately hears the sound of the tube cap clicking open.

not wanting to be chastised again, satoru tries his hardest to steer his focus back to the papers beside him. the pencil trembles in his hand, but he manages to write all of three words before feeling your finger circling his hole.

he jolts, his face flushes at your mischievous giggle behind him, and satoru coerces his body to relaxation once more. it's a feat which is basically impossible when his mind is fixed on the way your finger traces the rim of his entrance, and the more subtle, wet sounds of you massaging lube into the dildo.

"i don't see you doing any work.", you scold him, and satoru yelps when you pluck a harsh finger against his hole. despite the surprise, his dick twitches at the mild discomfort.

pushing himself again to focus on the blurry words and math problems in front of him, satoru mashes the lead a little harder than he should into the paper, clenching the pencil tightly in his fist. he blocks out the movements and sounds going on behind him: the slick pumping of the dildo strapped to your waist, your other hand clutching and gripping either ass cheek in your palm, sinking nails into the skin for a quick lesson in pain before the pad of your thumb pokes and prods at his puckered hole again.

this lasts for what seems like an eternity before a new sensation sends a shiver up his spine, something that forces a gasp from his lips and raises the thin hairs on his neck. it's warm, wet, and familiar—the overwhelming feel of your tongue bullying its way into his insides.

"hey, hey, i–i won't be able to focus if you're doing that–!", satoru whines, but you pay him no mind. his fists wrench the fabric of the comforter as the slimy, pink muscle worms inside.

behind him, you moan at the flavor, slipping your tongue from his orifice to flatten it against his pale skin, running it from satoru's balls to the top of his ass crack. satoru flinches when you spit on his hole, and whines like a mutt in heat at the sloppy way you make out with his asshole. every kiss and bite to his cheeks has him tightening around your tongue, but you wriggle it with a driven intent to get him nice and loose for the absolute pounding you're about to bestow upon him. it's disgusting, and satoru fucking loves it.

he's so lost in you and your heavenly tongue that he almost doesn't register the warmth spreading in his lower body. it's at the last second that satoru lets out a strangled moan and his first orgasm comes washing over him. ropes of cum shoot out to coat his bare thighs and chiseled abdomen as satoru squirms from the sheer pleasure. he's so fidgety, he almost lets your assignment go slipping off the edge of the bed. it’s grabbed just in time, and he shoves it a little further away to avoid any more of the wet spots his drool has already stained into them.

you let him have his fun, come down from his little high, and then satoru feels your touch retreat from his sensitive behind. "did you still plan on getting that done today, or...?"

satoru shivers, and cranes his neck to give you a puppy-eyed gaze, tears having built up on his lash line. "...it's hard."

his poor, pathetic, puppy-dog tone and the deep pink tint across his cheeks and up to his ears yank at your heartstrings. it's times like this where you feel bad for being mean to him, even if it's all an act. satoru's just so fucking cute, he reminds you that can't keep up the cruel demeanor towards him forever.

"ohh.", you coo at your nerdy, loser boyfriend and peck short kisses onto his ass cheeks. "you want me to go slower, baby?"

"yes. yes, please.", he whines. "i can't focus to finish your work."

so adorable. truthfully you couldn't give less of a fuck about the papers anymore, but it's still a little endearing that even in such a position, satoru is still determined to get you the passing grade you don't deserve.

as promised, you take it down a notch, just to give him more control of his thoughts. and satoru figured taking things a step back would do wonders when you weren't absolutely ravishing his hole, but this...this may be significantly worse.

the once intense fervor of your movements has been replaced with a skillful precision. every stroke and flick of your tongue around his rim feels more pleasurable than the last, and satoru's cock jerks and aches at the slow, sensual sucks to his ass. you replace the dig of your nails with the occasional, unforgiving smack!, only to layer on top a coat of soothing kisses. the drawn-out movements make him even more conscious of every single thing you're doing.

but still, your plan was to grace him with some mercy, and satoru won't allow you to say he didn't at least try. so, with newfound strength, he squeezes the pen in his hand, and he gets to work.

his body remains painfully aware of the thrills and pleasure you shower him with, and satoru struggles to keep those feelings at bay from distracting his mind. it's a challenge, but satoru does likes a challenge, and he finds he's managed to complete the remaining bottom half of the current page. this is it. he's on the final paper, so close to the finish line, before he can stop having to worry about it. and then he feels your gentle tap on his thigh.

it takes him out of the space he's forced himself into. satoru turns until he just sees you in his peripherals. "huh? what's wrong?"

"nothing.", you reassure him. "do you want to pack that up before i start?"

'start?', he thinks, and then he feels the slap of the rubber dildo between his ass cheeks. "ah, um–“

his throat goes dry, and you gliding the heavy length back-and-forth along his asshole doesn't help in the slightest.

"just do your best, okay? i'm happy with a B."

satoru isn't happy with anything below an A-, but the complaint is stripped from his tongue as he feels the thick tip of your cock sinking into his hole. even with your slow movements, it knocks the wind from his lungs, and all he can let out is a choked moan. stuck gripping the streets, his cheek is smushed against the bed and his mouth agape, until satoru finally feels you flush against the back of his thighs.

there’s a beat, then your encouraging voice in his ear: “breath, satoru.”

a second later and you can see the tension leaving his larger, toned body. your hands make a delicate path up the curve of his back, massaging his sensitive nape which leaves him gasping, before one of them trails back up his spine. you apply pressure as you go, further pronouncing the arch in satoru’s pliant body, and the wandering hand ends at his hip.

slowly, you unsheathe the girthy, faux length from his ass, revealing more and more and more until only the tip remains. his hole tightens, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so jealous of both a man or a piece of fucking silicone in your entire life. you’d kill to have a real one right now, to feel satoru’s moist insides and the way he’d clench around you, sucking you in further and further until you were stuck balls deep in him. it’s fucking unfair.

“m–move, please.”, he begs in such a soft mewl. so needy, so impatient. so spoiled as you plunge your cock into him again.

a sharp gasp flees his lips, followed by satoru's strangled moan as you bury yourself to the hilt. there’s a prominent vein on the back of his hand from how tightly he grips the sheets, pillow, anything satoru can get his hands on.

though you move languidly, satoru quickly dissolves into an utter wreck. your hands hold tight onto his waist with initial intent to keep him steady, but his moans bring out a crazed animal in you. soon you're manhandling him back-and-forth to meet the ever-growing roughness of your thrusts. the sound of you pounding into him can't even be heard over the slutty noises tumbling out into the open air, hitting all four walls to fill the dorm room. it makes you ache, yearning for some relief other than the occasional friction of the harness against your clit.

"fuck, you're so hot.", you lean down and pant against his ear. satoru babbles something you can’t understand, and it makes you laugh. you can't help mock him a little.

"so loud, too.", comes the bratty taunt, and satoru whimpers out a barely coherent 'sorry'. god, he's so cute and pathetic. you feel like you're bullying him, corrupting your little nerd boyfriend, and it turns you on tenfold.

"aren't people living in the dorm next to you? they’re gonna be pissed.", you tease further, though never letting up on your thrusts and in fact picking up the pace. "these walls are pretty thin. suguru was here yesterday, did you get a noise complaint?"

"mhm."

that response catches you off guard—his audible confirmation along with a weak nod of the head.

"are you serious?" satoru nods again, and you let out an incredulous scoff. "damn, i was just kidding. i may have to go harder, then, i want them to know how well i treat you, too!"

it’s all gibberish in satoru's mind. with such scrambled thoughts, he can barely hold on to a thing you're saying, let alone worry about maintaining his now continuously waning status as a considerate neighbor.

"c'mere." your words sound muffled amongst the fog in his head. satoru strains his eyes and barely sees your blurry figure hovering over him. "pass me the pillow, babe."

he flails a feeble hand in the general direction of said object, finally landing on the soft cushion and using what—in his current state—feels like an absurd amount of strength in order to hand it back to you. a second later, he feels you tugging at his waist. “lift your hips up.” and, ever the helpful boyfriend, satoru uses every bit of remaining energy in his bones to raise his body.

"look at you, my good little loser." he feels you squeeze the pillow between him and the bed, and then goes limp again beneath you. his cock twitches at the soft pressure surrounding his length. it reminds him of a fleshlight, something you and suguru make sure he's extremely familiar with.

there's a 'smack!', and satoru whimpers at the sharp slap to one of his ass cheeks. you knead at the fat flesh in your hands, dulling the pain, and pull satoru’s ass apart to stare at the way his hole quivers and tightens around you.

"do you like being lazy?”, you tease. "letting me do most of the work?" he nods. "say it. tell me you’re my pretty little pillow princess.”

"i’m y–your pretty–, pretty pillow princess.", satoru moans with a cheek against the mattress, and lets out a feeble cry when you give his ass another loud smack.

"mmm, yeah." a sinister grin paints itself across your lips. your hands continue squeezing satoru’s sore ass in your palms, and your boyfriend groans in pleasure as you begin fucking into him again. "fuck, such a good toy for me."

you say something else, something he doesn’t hear, if not for satoru’s bedframe thudding against the wall, or the lewd slapping of skin on skin, then definitely because of his own moans echoing in his ears. there’s a short pause. satoru registers the dip of the mattress on each side of his head, and the blurry details of your manicure. the ticklish touch of your fingers brush against his forehead, moving locks of stark white hair to reveal more of his gorgeous face.

"my pretty boy.”

satoru whines at the praise before feeling the length of your cock rubbing against his prostate. it's calm at first, a frustratingly slow grind against his ass where he can feel the silicone balls of your strap up against his own. but soon you're picking up pace, slamming into him with each thrust, thrusts that send satoru flying forward every time you plunge deep into him again. every rock of your hips against his brushes satoru’s leaking cock harder and faster along the pillow under his body. it feels out of this world, and all too much to endure.

the heat and pleasure overrunning satoru has steadily evolved from a slow trickle, to growing waves, to a huge tsunami bearing down on him. his entire body is searing; he releases a particularly loud cry of your name as cum shoots straight into the fluff of the pillow, soaking deep inside the fabric as waves of pleasure flood over him. tears burn at his hazy, blue eyes, making it impossible to see clearly, but that doesn't matter when satoru's eyes are wrenched shut anyway as you slow to another grind against his ass, fucking him through his final orgasm.

satoru lies there, trembling and taking in heaving breathes of air. he lets out one last pathetic whimper when you pull out, leaving his hole tragically empty, but still accepts the press of a few soft kisses to his pink, tear-stained cheeks.

"satoru?", you whisper softly against his ear. “all good?” and you give him another kiss on the forehead when he gives a weak nod. "atta boy, you did so well. i'm going to get you a towel, 'kay?"

your boyfriend only makes a weak effort to grasp your hand, but you understand what he’s asking for, regardless. “fine, pretty boy. i’m right here, just relax and catch your breath for me.”

and, as usual, satoru follows your instructions without question. he is comforted by the gentle squeeze of your hand, the caress of your fingers through his hair, and the doting kisses you place on his shoulders, neck, and face. eventually, his brain is empty, drained. satoru begins dozing off to sleep in a far-away land—away from his room and away from homework, yet still surrounded by your soft, lingering presence.

🩵: @staryukis @lxnarphase @anthoosies @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola @bunnymacaron @snowsilver2000 @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @starlightanyaaa @domainexpansionmypants @giasssslife @babytoshiii @kissesfrombelle @v0ctin @purplegemadventures @luvvforliaa @apatuaia @sataraxia @leilalilox @sugu-love @manyno @the-monster-under-the-bed @blindbabycadder @xinfvl @jianyuu4mii @sherb3t @sugoroo @hellokittyish @satorvs @notdwenby @mamshousehusband @rubiesoferebor @andyramblingstuff @gojosbabyma @ravenbc @superkoolartist @nillosgarden

[ssahotchnerr]

omg Katie i was rewatching s7 (as one does) and ohhhh my gosh I forgot how delicious and gorgeous beard!Hotch is😔😔 he’s just soo!!

I can’t stop thinking about maybe the beard making a comeback while on vacation or something, him being all domestic with that beard — and it’s just such a change from his usual suit and tie lawyer important job vibe😔 sorry just thought to share and wanted to know what you think of him <3333

while on vacation

i just couldn't not write a fic about this 🤭 bearded aaron my beloved cw; fem!reader, established relationship, jack calls reader mom, domestic fluff with a hint of spice❤️‍🔥, light suggestion <3 wc; 1.2k

"Don't scrunch up your face so much," you laughed gently, applying sunscreen thoroughly across Jack's face. Whether it was his forehead, the bridge of his nose, or his cheeks, he either attempted to move out of the way or scowled further in protest.

"But I don't like it," Jack complained. "It's cold and smells funny."

"I know you don't bud, but the last thing you want is to get sunburnt," you told him, your eyes sympathetic. "The sun here is a lot more harsh compared to how it is at home. I'd hate for you to be miserable, and not have as much fun because of it."

"I guess. It stings my eyes sometimes too."

"Just try your hardest not to touch your face, and you should be okay," you reassured him, snapping the sunscreen shut and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Plus, I don't think you want your father's lecture on the importance of SPF."

Speaking of - "Aaron?" you called out. "Are you almost ready?"

"Yeah..." You heard him sigh from the bathroom, the faint sound of him searching through his toiletry bag audible. "I forgot to pack my razor."

You grabbed Jack's hat and placed it atop his head, angling it more downwards to playfully cover his eyes. You got to your feet, meeting Aaron in the bathroom. "You? Forgot to pack something? What happened to the spreadsheet?"

"I don't make spreadsheets for everything," Aaron laughed at your teasing, an inquisitive expression soon taking form on his face. "Do you think the hotel carries razors?"

"I don't see why they wouldn't."

"Or we'll just have to stop at a store later," he shook his head, giving up his search and zipping up his bag.

"Or we could just... not," you suggested, pushing yourself off the doorframe and running your hands under water quickly. Once clean of any lingering sunscreen remnants, you gripped onto Aaron's polo, your hands soon roaming his torso.

An amused grin formed on his face, "Oh?"

"We're on vacation. That means getting out of routine, taking it easy, not shaving." You shrugged, continuing your flirtatious touch by toying with the collar of his shirt. "So what if a light beard makes an appearance. It wouldn't be the end of the world."

"And that's the only reason, right?" Aaron inquired as a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes gleaming with a playful understanding. "That we're on vacation?"

You weren't slick, and he knew it. However, your request did surprise him - you've only seen him with a beard once when he returned home from Pakistan, short lived as Jack despised it. But you hadn't mentioned it since.

You widened your eyes, feigning innocence, "I can't imagine there being another reason."

He lowered his voice, leaning in close. "Just say it turns you on sweetheart, it's alright."

Surprised at his sudden forwardness you immediately blushed, but he also wasn't wrong. However, before you had the chance to respond -

"Mom, Dad, you coming?" Jack asked, waiting patiently at the door with his beach towel in hand.

"Yeah, we're coming." Aaron clicked off the light, his hand finding your lower back. As he guided you out of the bathroom, it wandered further down, causing you to playfully push it away with a giggle before any young eyes could see. "Did Mom put sunscreen on you?"

He got a groan in response.

Over the course of the next few days, Aaron obliged, heeding your wishes and not shaving. It was mere stubble for a day or two, which was still a sight to see. But towards the end of the week, the beard was coming in wonderfully.

With his dark hair, slightly tousled from the laid-backness of the week's pace, the beard also complemented the sharpness of his features. It brought out the color of his eyes, enhancing their deep, intense color. His jawline, which could make you go weak in the knees any day, was more defined, a perfect contrast to the soft yet rugged texture of his beard.

Add in his sunglasses, the sweaty t-shirt clinging to his body at times due to the heat, and his developing tan, you were absolutely swooning. It was nearly impossible to tear your gaze away from him.

Even the smallest of things were driving you wild. Aaron simply placed breakfast in front of Jack one morning; face adorned by his beard, conversing with his son naturally, the domesticity had you fluttering in all ways. You found yourself wishing you had the same request on your honeymoon.

In addition, the slow vacation mornings also allowed you the time to admire Aaron before he awoke, peaceful and content in sleep. For the first time in a while too, he looked well rested.

Jack had been worn out and sleeping in also, due to the sun exposure and the long-yet-fun days catching up to him. It thankfully granted you and Aaron some much appreciated time to spend alone together.

"Good morning," you mumbled softly when Aaron's eyes found yours, reaching up slightly to press a kiss to his lips, his jaw, neck, anywhere you could reach. You continued to litter him with kisses, before full-on straddling him.

Aaron chuckled, his hands landing on your hips. His voice was still rough with sleep, peering up at you with his sleep-heavy eyelids. "I'd say it is."

You laughed softly against his skin, pulling his t-shirt collar down, giving you access to kiss his chest.

"What do I need to do to get a wakeup call like this every day?"

After pressing one more kiss to his collarbone, you sat up, remaining on top of him. "I can't believe it's our last full day," you whined as a dull filled you; back to the city, back to normalcy, back to clean-shaven Aaron.

He hummed in agreement, his finger tracing the tan line from your bikini bottoms, visible above the waistline of your pj shorts. "It did go by fast, didn't it?"

You nodded, your shoulders slumping as your bottom lip protruded in a pout.

"Are you mourning the end of our time off, or the fact that the beard will be leaving," Aaron questioned, an admirable glint in his eyes. Again, he looked thoroughly relaxed laid against his pillow, his hair sticking out in all directions as he gazed at you.

"Both," you sighed, cupping his jaw and letting your thumb graze his stubble. "Don't get me wrong, I adore seeing your clean and attractive face. But I am going to miss this."

"I'll tell you what, I'll keep it a few more days. To allow you to enjoy it thoroughly, in the privacy of our bedroom." He sat up, positioning you on his lap and easily bringing his lips to yours. With Jack so close, the two of you hadn't been very adventurous in fear of being caught. "And maybe it'll make an appearance more often. Since you like it so much." He mumbled lowly amidst the fierce kiss, a light smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth.

You pulled back briefly, a finger pressed to his chest. "Is that a promise?"

"Definitely."

[aziemniak]

For those who somehow missed this gem, yes the polish written Z spam is true and yes "Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz" still has a fuckton of consonants even if you account for the fact that all of its Z's and the consonants before them are treated as a single phonetic sound, and it does pass as a normal Polish name but the funniest part is. It is actually a fictional name made up by a fictional character specifically to fuck with the nazis (and after the transcriber finally gets that bs down he gets a "Chrząszczyżewoszyce powiat Łękołody" for a place of residence)

But ya'll better strap in 'cause I don't wanna talk about the Z's, their double-consonants or how we eat all those consonants like they're snacks. Those at least are simple, consistent and easy to memorize. You know what's convoluted, makes no sense, and will take you a decade of on-hands experience if you didn't have the luck of being raised with the language? Fucking declensions. Like I get that Polish is neither the exception nor the champion of convoluted grammatical cases but I'm just Very Normal about grammatical cases and how they are nearly absent from English. So, picture this: you've managed to learn the world "woman" and want to use it in a sentence! Is: 1. the woman executing the verb in the sentence? 2. it about the woman in the sentence? 3. the woman subjected to the actions in the sentence? 4. it about the woman in the sentence because for some fucking reason you can have two different cases for most nouns depending on the verb used even though this case's function is so similar to No.2 I can't come up with a better example right now? 5. the verb executed with the woman? 6. the action about the woman? 7. Or are you simply trying to call out to or adress her? And while this is an exhaustive list of cases it is by no means an exhaustive list of supplementary questions (tbf the questions I supplied are pretty ass because analyzing linguistics funtions is hard). Good luck memorizing which verb calls for which declension. Oh and the general declension suffixes change depending on the grammatical gender and whether or not the noun's non-animate, animate or personified. Good luck with that too. You're still not done yet because a lot of nouns just like having exceptions to either the general declension suffix or the word's core. Once again, good. Luck. You have to do this for all nouns, pronouns, adjectives and numbers, by the way. And yes, the natives can all tell if you mess up a single one but they're not gonna bother correcting you because they'd have to interrupt your every other sentence and that's rude (and we like to hear people struggle I guess). And you'd think it's just one of those language quirks that is stupidly convoluted for no reason but no. All of this actually does serve One Particular Function I can think of off the top of my head. All of this is just what it takes for a language to have sentences capable of leaving their grammatical subject at the gas station while also having a word order made of liquid that are perfectly understable and sound entirely natural about 80% of the time.

tumblr: on languages

[bewaryofpity]

fluff 19 withe luke hughes pls✨✨

thank you for requesting ! 🩶

19. “I think my family/friends really liked you. Maybe more than they like me.”

.

Luke didn’t necessarily hide you from his friends and family, he just wasn’t the type of guy to flaunt his relationship in front of everyone. He was reserved and private, so when he was met with his parents and brothers at the front door he felt like panicking.

He stood still, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, and it took you bumping into his back completely unaware of what was going on for him to get himself together. And when you finally followed his gaze, you mirrored his pose. You wanted to hide behind him, but the way his mom’s eyes immediately flickered between the two of you made it clear you had been caught. 

“Why are you all here?” Luke asked.

“Dude, we play the Canucks tomorrow night. And I told you I was gonna pick up mom, dad and Quinn from the airport.” Jack grumbled, his brows raising before a slow smirk spread across his face. “Wait, who are you?”

Luke sighed, shifting awkwardly. “Y/N, my… girlfriend.” He whispered.

Quinn looked amused, his arms crossed as he studied the two of you. “And you just weren’t gonna tell us?”

“I mean, I was gonna tell you eventually.” Luke groaned. 

Ellen though ignored her sons' teasing, stepping in front of you with a warm smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart.” She gave Luke a playful teasing look, “I wish we’d known sooner.”

You laughed, feeling a little more at ease already. “I think Luke just likes keeping me all to himself.”

“Sounds about right,” Jack muttered. “I live with you dude, why the fuck— ow!”

Ellen rolled her eyes at him, gently snaking the back of his head. Jim gave you a firm handshake and a friendly nod before they ushered inside to get comfortable.

The first few minutes were filled with little moments of teasing, mostly from Jack, but it didn’t take long for the conversation to settle and turn into something more natural. You found it easy talking with his parents, they instantly brushed off that Luke kept you a secret for months. Ellen was the first to tell you that she had a feeling that something, or rather someone, was making her son more at ease, more comfortable with himself now.

It wasn't long before dinner started and the conversation shifted away from you with Ellen talking about the kids growing up, sharing wholesome and fun memories, and you could tell how close Luke was to his family just by the way he listened, a small, content smile on his face, not complaining much about the embarrassing stories his mom was telling you.

He was quiet for the most part, just taking in how you fit so well with his family, yet he couldn’t help but still send you small glances, making sure you were okay. You laughed at their jokes, told your own stories about your childhood, answered any question that came your way about you and Luke. 

“So, he asked for your number after he spilled his drink all over you, didn’t even ask for your name first?” Jack asked, leaning forward with interest, a boyish grin on his lips.

Luke shot him a glare. “We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, we’re definitely doing this.” Quinn said, smirking.

“Yes, but that wasn’t so bad. I’ll tell you, on our first date…” You grinned while Luke groaned, dropping his head into his hands as the rest of the family eagerly listened.

By the time the night wound down, everyone was exhausted from the long day. As you and Luke retreated to his room, he closed the door and leaned against it with a dramatic sigh.

“That was exhausting,” he mumbled.

You chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

He lifted his head, opening one of his eyes to give you a pointed look. “You know, I think my family really liked you. Maybe more than they like me.”

You smirked, motioning for him to join you on the bed. “Can you blame them?”

He groaned, letting his full body weight rest on top of you. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry, Lu. You’re still my favorite Hughes.”

He huffed, but you felt him relax against you, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck. And after a while, between getting ready and finally settling underneath the covers,  Luke pulled you to him, holding you close, the warmth of the day still lingering between you.

[mi9yuz]

pull ups ✶ kmg

kissing ! wc 247

THE gym was nearly empty, just the steady thump of bass-heavy music overhead and the occasional clang of weights hitting the floor. You leaned against a bench, arms crossed, watching Mingyu stretch his arms over his head. He’d been insufferable all workout, throwing cocky grins your way every time he outperformed you.

“You’re stalling,” you said, tilting your head.

Mingyu scoffed, shaking out his hands. “Please, I could do these in my sleep.”

“Uh-huh,” you mused, raising an eyebrow. “Then do it.”

He shot you one last smug look before grabbing the pull-up bar, effortlessly lifting himself up. But instead of completing the rep, he slowed as he reached the top—pausing just as his face came level with yours.

Your breath hitched. He was too close, his eyes locked on yours, lips curling into that signature smirk.

“Made it,” he murmured.

Before you could react, he closed the gap, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your lips. It was quick but enough to send a jolt of warmth through your chest.

Then, just as effortlessly, he dropped back down, landing lightly on his feet. He wiped his hands on his shorts, grinning like he hadn’t just stolen a kiss mid-exercise.

“Told you I wasn’t tired.”

You blinked, still processing, then scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mingyu’s grin only widened. “And yet, you’re still blushing.”

You rolled your eyes, willing away the warmth creeping up your neck. “Drop and give me twenty push-ups for that stunt.”

He groaned dramatically but dropped to the floor anyway, knocking out the push-ups with ease. If showing off earned him a kiss, maybe it wasn’t such a bad trade.

[nilla03]

𝑪𝒀𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑬𝑿 ✰ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 : 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒎𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠: 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑙𝑎𝑝 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑡: 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡

You had been good—for the first thirty minutes. Now, though, you were over it.

“Megs,” you whined, kicking your feet a little as you pouted at him from across the room. “This is taking too long.”

Megumi didn’t even glance at you, his dark hair hanging over his eyes as he sat with his arm stretched out, the artist carefully dragging the needle over his skin. His sleeve was nearly complete, intricate blackwork and delicate shading wrapping around his muscled forearm. His rings clinked against the chair’s armrest when his fingers flexed.

“Not my problem,” he muttered.

You huffed, crossing your arms under your chest to make sure he saw the way your tits pushed up in your tiny, low-cut top. “But I’m bored.”

“Then go home.”

You narrowed your eyes. Oh, he was being mean.

Pushing up from your chair, you strutted over to him, placing yourself right next to his seat. “No,” you said, pouting. “I wanna sit with you.”

His eyes finally flicked to you, heavy-lidded and sharp, the silver hoop in his lip catching in the light as he exhaled. “Sit over there.”

“I wanna sit here.” Before he could stop you, you climbed onto his lap, settling yourself right over the hard muscle of his thighs. He stiffened beneath you, but you just curled your arms around his neck, brushing your fingers over the piercings in his ear.

The tattoo artist gave a short laugh. “She always this needy?”

“Worse,” Megumi muttered, but his big hands found your waist, gripping you tightly. “You’re testing me,” he murmured low enough for only you to hear.

You smirked, shifting ever so slightly, feeling the bulge beneath his sweats press against your barely-covered core. His grip tightened.

“I just wanna be close,” you whispered, tilting your head as you trailed your fingers down the back of his neck. “That a problem?”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking. “You keep moving like that, and we’re gonna have a big problem.”

The second you shifted on his lap again—just a little grind, a little test—Megumi exhaled hard through his nose, his grip on your waist turning bruising.

“Yo,” he called to the artist, voice tight. “Gimme a break.”

The tattoo artist lifted a brow, setting the gun down. “Need a smoke or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Megumi muttered, but his hands never left your body. The artist shrugged. “I’ll be outside. Ten minutes.”

The second the door clicked shut, Megumi’s fingers flexed, then tightened—before he was flipping you onto the chair so fast your breath hitched. You barely had time to squeak before his big hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, yanking your little skirt up so fast the fabric nearly tore.

“You just couldn’t fucking wait, could you?” His voice was low, dripping with irritation

You batted your lashes, feigning innocence, even as your cunt clenched around nothing. “I don’t know what you mean, Megs.”

His lips curled, amusement flashing for just a second before his ringed fingers hooked into your panties and ripped them clean down the middle.

“Megumi!” you gasped.

“Shut up,” he muttered, shoving them into his pocket like a fucking souvenir. Then he was undoing his sweats, pushing them down just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking. He stroked it once, twice, and you whimpered, your hips lifting off the chair.

“Look at you,” he scoffed, dragging the tip through your slick folds. “All that whining, all that attitude—just to end up bent over looking like a slut for me”

Your face burned, but you still pouted. “Took too lonnng”

Before you could throw another bratty quip, he was sinking into you, stretching you open with one slow, brutal thrust. Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, eyes rolling back as he bottomed out, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Megumi groaned, head tipping forward, lip piercing glinting under the harsh shop lights. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Always so fucking wet everytimee-.”

You whined, fingers scrambling to grip his tattooed forearms as he pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, the chair creaking under the force.

“What happened to all that attitude?” he taunted, setting a ruthless pace. His hands dug into your hips, keeping you still while he fucked into you

You sobbed, legs wrapping around his waist as his cock dragged against that spot inside you over and over. “M-Megumi—”

He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “You wanted my attention, baby,” he murmured darkly, rolling his hips deep. “Now fucking take it.”

Your nails dug into his back, pleasure twisting tight in your gut. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the shop, filthy and obscene, mixing with your breathy moans and Megumi’s ragged groans.

“Gonna come already?” he taunted, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him.

You gasped, nodding frantically, tears welling up. “Y-Yeah—”

“Too bad.” His fingers wrapped around your throat, just enough to make you whimper. “You wanna be a brat? You come when I say.”

A sob left your lips, legs shaking, body strung so tight you thought you’d snap.

Megumi smirked, cruel and satisfied. “Guess you should’ve behaved, huh?”

[sylphidine]

@i-am-a-fish

From one of my longfics [it's dinner, not lunch, but it's delicious and everyone is happy]:

The vibrant, art-filled walls of SpaHa Soul never failed to send a shiver of happiness down Swatch’s spine. The Friday night after they got their job offer letter, they followed Uncle Julius to a corner glass-topped table, while Indigo pulled out a chair for Aunt Desiree. Catechu chatted with the guitarist setting up for the evening’s set and waved at Artist T., just emerging from the kitchen with plates for the group of diners in the opposite corner.

Uncle Julius had found this place about eight years ago and it had become THE go-to place for Dyer-Paletta family celebrations.   

And tonight they were here to celebrate Indo and Catto’s getting summer internships at the Wythe in Williamsburg, as well as Swatch’s internship.

“Chef’s choice tonight, sir,” Uncle Julius said to Artist T., after getting a hearty backslap from the proprietor. “All three of these fine young people, going out into the world and making their mark!”

“It’s a better world for you all being in it,” agreed Artist T., making a note on his pad and heading back through the swinging doors.

“I like the new eyeglasses, honey,” Aunt Desiree commented to Swatch. “You look good in aviators, and brown is a nice color for you.”

Swatch nodded.”The tint’s helpful for cutting out blue light, and since I expect I’m going to be spending a lot more time in front of screens with the new job, I figured they were worth a splurge.”

On the other side of the table, Indo was listing off all the different areas in the boutique hotel where he and his twin would be working during their ten weeks. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face when I’m answering phones and directing calls to ‘Le Crocodile’. It’ll probably get easier after a while. At least ‘Bar Blondeau’ sounds more normal. Only thing I’m worried about is getting there on time every day.”

“Better than the commute would have been if we’d gotten the gig at The Ludlow. That commute would have been a real bitch.” Catto caught his mother’s glare and muttered, “Sorry, mom.  It would have been a real bear .”

Uncle Julius laughed and then turned to Swatch. “You’re going to be cutting it awfully fine, between graduation and starting this new job. You’d better start looking at apartments now if you don’t think your landlady will extend your lease past June.”

“I know. Even with a decent salary, I’m either going to have to spend all my time commuting or all my money on a shoebox to live in.” They realized that it sounded like they were complaining, and quickly added with a laugh in their voice, “Or I could ask my favorite aunt to use her real estate agent superpowers and her mad networking skills.”

“That’s the spirit,” Aunt Desiree answered. “We’re not going to leave you out in the cold, even if you have to stay with us for a month or so while you’re getting your feet under you. You’ve got family, don’t forget."

Swatch smiled back at her. “I will never forget that.”

“And don’t forget we’re proud of you. All three of you,” Uncle Julius interjected, waving his hand to include his sons. “Not a bad apple in the bunch.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Indo replied for himself and for his brother. “Especially thanks for being such a good sport about us not working at Ambit Automation.” “Oh, you boys might still end up there if the economy tanks. Luxury disappears, but people always need manufacturing. Look at the Brooklyn Navy Yards. That’s as big a comeback as the Jazz beating the Nuggets.”

“But the boys are using their degrees,” Aunt Desiree pointed out. “Degrees that you and I both approved of, husband mine.”

“Yes, dear.”

At that moment Artist T. and Amber swooped in with platters of fried chicken, stuffed pork chops, coconut rice, spicy yams, and collard greens, enough to feed an army.

Catechu raised his glass. “To family.”

Four glasses clinked against his.

how would one of your OCs react to a HUGE burger and delicious seasoned french fries?

[lov3yv4mps]

Can you make aftercare with bangchan and fem reader please! Of course only if you want <3

Yes, of course! Thank you guys so much for all the requests!

⋆⑅˚₊ aftercare ₊˚⑅⋆

Warnings: MDNI, suggestive content, some kissing, some cursing, let me know if i missed any!

The world felt like it was still spinning, but in the best way possible. The remnants of shared moments hung in the air like the fading scent of perfume, warm and intoxicating. You lay nestled against Chan’s chest, your body pressed so close to his that it felt like you were both part of one another. His heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, thudded in your ear, grounding you.

Chan shifted slightly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soothing circles on your back as if checking in with you, making sure you were still in one piece. His touch was tender but firm, the kind of touch that made you feel safe and cherished. “Feeling okay?” His voice was soft, laced with that quiet concern you were so used to hearing, yet it never failed to make your heart flutter.

You nodded, your cheek still resting on his chest. The lingering sensation of your time together hadn’t quite worn off yet, but you were comfortable. He always made sure you were comfortable. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice still thick from the intimacy of it all. “Just... tired.”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that vibrated through his chest and directly into you. “I figured as much. You really gave me a run for my money,” he teased, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, burying your face into his chest. “Shut up.”

Chan’s grip tightened gently, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Nah, not a chance.” He paused, the teasing tone giving way to something softer. “I’m proud of you, though.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were soft, searching yours like he always did when he wanted to make sure you were okay. “For what?” you asked, voice a little less steady than you intended.

He smiled that warm, sincere smile that made your chest tighten. “For trusting me. For letting me take care of you,” he said, his voice low, steady. “You’re always so strong, but tonight, I saw you let go. And it made me proud.”

His words hit you in a way you didn’t expect. There was something in his tone—something raw and real—that made your heart swell. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of praise. Not like this.

You swallowed, feeling your cheeks warm. “You’re such a sap,” you muttered, looking down to hide the way your heart was beating a little faster than usual. Chan chuckled, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but only for you.”

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s presence, the kind of silence that didn’t need words to be understood. But you knew he wouldn’t let you rest for long without taking care of you properly.

“I’ll be right back,” Chan murmured, carefully untangling himself from the sheets. “Stay put, okay?” You groaned softly, curling into the blankets. “Fine, but hurry up. I’m comfy.” He laughed quietly, a soft, affectionate sound. “I’ll be fast.”

When he returned, it wasn’t long before you felt him gently lifting your head to place a glass of water into your hands. “Drink,” he instructed softly, his voice tinged with that same caring authority that always made you feel a little weak in the knees.

You took a sip, grateful for the cool relief. He watched you with that intensity in his eyes, as if making sure you drank enough, his gaze never leaving your face. You finished the glass and handed it back, letting out a soft sigh. “Good girl,” Chan murmured, his tone warm but with an underlying trace of something that made your skin flush.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Stop calling me that,” you teased, though the effect of his words had your heart beating just a little faster. But Chan’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’ll call you whatever I want, baby.” His lips curled into a smirk. “And you love it.”

You didn’t even try to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your tone was fond, affectionate. Chan leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead before murmuring softly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” You groaned in protest, curling back into the sheets. “I don’t want to move.”

“I know, but you’ll feel better after,” he coaxed gently, already pulling the blankets back and making his way to the bathroom. He scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, his strength comforting and solid as he walked with you toward the bathroom.

“You’re such a show-off,” you muttered, though you couldn’t suppress the smile that pulled at your lips. “And you love it,” he teased, pressing a playful kiss to your temple.

Chan’s gentle care didn’t stop once you were in the bathroom. He helped you out of the tangled sheets, his hands moving with an ease that came from years of knowing exactly how to make you feel cared for. There was no rush. No shame. Just the comfort of him taking care of you in the soft glow of the bathroom light.

You stood before him, naked and vulnerable in a way you had never felt with anyone else, yet with him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Chan’s eyes softened as they traced over you, his touch tender as he gently took a warm washcloth and pressed it against your forehead. The coolness of it calmed your senses, but his steady hands were the true relief.

“You’re amazing,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. Chan’s lips curled into a soft smile as he brushed the washcloth down your neck, gentle and slow. His touch made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “I just want you to feel good, baby. You deserve it.”

The water on your skin made your body feel alive again, but there was something so calming about his care—his focus solely on you, his gaze warm, loving, but with just enough edge that made you shiver. “Feel better?” he asked, his voice smooth, with that soft teasing tone that always lingered.

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered, leaning into his touch as his hands gently rinsed off the remnants of the night’s heat from your skin.

After a few more moments, he helped you back into bed, carefully tucking you under the blankets as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His own skin, warm and close to you, kept you grounded as he climbed into bed beside you.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise. You smiled, resting your head against his chest again, letting his heartbeat lull you back to comfort. “You say that every time,” you teased, your voice soft but warm. “I mean it every time,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

The night stretched on, quiet and comforting. Chan’s kisses, his tender words, his touch—they were all you needed. With him, everything else faded away. There was no rush, no expectations, just a space where you could both exist together, safe and loved. And as your eyes fluttered shut, you knew—you had everything you could ever need in this moment.

v4mps note: this was so fun to write! Please spam me with requests I absolutely love them!

[shikaizer]

IT'S MINE| p.b and c.c HC

summary: reffering to her strap as her cock while your on top of her 18+

PAIGE BUECKERS

"paige please..." you whined, she kept teasing you, and she was fucking enjoying herself seeing you suffer, and seeing the frowned fucked out face you'd show her once you felt the dissapointment

"paige dont stop me please.." you begged and she smirked amused "but you need to work hard for it baby." she uttured bucking her hips up thrusting up a gasp leaving your mouth, but i wasn't enough, she didnt even help you she just layed there letting you work alone, and whenever you felt close to your climax, she would hold onto your hips hard stopping all movements you are doing.

she was gripping on your hips and she smiled tilting her head

"maybe if you suck my cock, i'll consider doing the rest tonight" she stared deeply at you and you are quick to get off her cock and leaned down, purposely arching your back giving her a better view, this made her chuckle in amusement biting her lips

you start to the tip of her cock looking up at her and she breath heavily at the sight of you "suck on it fuck"

"gosh, im loving this shit so much" she threw her head back as if she can really feel the way your sucking her up, you leaned down fully taking her cock inside your mouth.

a few seconds later, her hands finds its way to your hair gripping on them and switching your position, now your under her she lifted one leg and put the other on her shoulder making your cheeks heat up at the weird position.

you gasped loud when she slid her cock inside you shocked at how deep it has reached you, it also hit the spot where you like it most, you have now discovered a new favorite position.

she didn't even let you adjust and started going faster and faster until you came, whole body shaking from your blissful climax.

CAITLIN CLARK

"FUCK!" You screamed when caitlin lifted you up and slammed you down her cock again making your grip on her shoulders

"yeah, fucking bounce on my cock.." you started to move yourself slowly whining at the pain every thrust you do

"oh fuck shit" you whispered to your self watching her cock dissapear inside you. "are you enjoying this? little slut." her words shot straight to your core

"holy shit, your fucking turned on by this aren't you?" she smirked scoffing when she saw the small drool on the corner of you lips, you fucked out face looked to perfect for her she started bucking her hips up to see more of it

the both of you have been going on it for hours, and caitlin didnt let you get off her cock, and whenever you tried to get off and she would pull you back harshly

"are you gonna talk to that bitch again?" she hummed and you shaked your head your movement bouncing as she was bucking her hips up

"no no! please!" she smirked and clicked her tounge

"its such a shame she wont be able to fuck you like this right?" she cooed and slapped you ass hard as she gripped on your thigh that would leave a mark on your skin

"i...i dont care! i want you!" she nodded chuckling as she sat up letting you wrap herself around her as she bucked her hips more obviously doing the work while you sat there her cock inside you as your brain fucked.

her hands starts gripping on the back of your hair as she placed her lips on your neck as you felt her warm breath, her kisses on you neck is rough and she was defienately sucking them harshly

"cant fucking get enough of you..." she cursed breathing heavily turning you on more, and finally you wrapped her closer to you as your climax has reached.