#and make her properly propose

[aaandbackstabbed]

There is something about this scene that just screams scroldie.

[meamiki]

mira !!! :]

[hepbaestus]

:\

[birdy-bird27]

Not me catching my parents trying out ai images 😭😭 I had to step away for a moment without blowing up and going on a long winded passionate rant

[morninkim]

In 1997, Metropolis got its own superhero, the first costumed crime fighter in decades, a flying man who would call himself Superman.

Later that same year, the Batman of Gotham first appeared, his methods much more brutal than the Man of Steel’s chipper and friendly demeanour.

A year later, in 1998, Diana of Themiscyra, the Wonder Woman, returned to Man’s World after nearly a century away, having aided the allies in the first World War.

Though the three were from very different worlds, their activities and efforts to make the planet better would usher in what many would call the Silver Age of Heroes!

[calciumcryptid]

The reason comics wouldn't hire me for adaptations is because they rely on the getting together portion of relationships and I think that is the most boring part.

[anthromimicry]

what's peculiar about your soul?

your soul is... pristine.

... do not consider it a compliment. there is something deep and awful hidden beneath that gleaming coat. years of harrowing actions- malicious decisions and excruciating consequences- have worn this vessel thin. it pulses weakly, its exterior eroded from all the years spent scrubbing at it, removing even the most minuscule specks of wrongdoing. creating perfection at the cost of learning from such mistakes, however painful. you wonder if you ever would have been liked for who you really were. you understand that there is no going back and finding out.

tagged by: @divingdownthehole (thank you!) tagging: @question-marked, @qu-tipie, @twcfaces, @sillyjokes, @fanplastik, and anyone else who may want to complete this quiz!

[tonycries]

O-O-O-OBSESSED!

Synopsis. When he’s gonna hit it, he’s gonna hit it till your mind breaks.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, dúmbifícation, running from it, cervíx kíssing, matíng presses, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK MEN, bréeding, GOJO’S POWERS, mentions of kíds, p talking, headIocks, true form Sukuna, dp, spítting, cúmplay, MEAN Geto, breaking the béd, p spánking, marathons, proposals, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. PHEW hoping you have the loveliest week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 3 min. 12 secs

��Tch- where the hell do ya think you’re runnin’ off to, doll?”

Toji’s trapping both your droopy ankles with one dextrous set of his thick fingers, dragging you about halfway down the king-sized mattress in an instant. He’s oh-so-greedily pinning them over the curvaceous dip of his deltoids with a mean, sweat-slicked palm, “Don’t tell me yer hah- tapping out after only three minutes?”  

Punctuating his filthy push and pull with a few syrupy thwack! thwack! thwacks! of his strawberry-pink tip down your sappy slit. He’s leaving generous wiry ribbons of pre that smudge and smear a pretty lipgloss as you clench.

“N-nooo m’not–” You’re shaking your dizzy head as urgently as you could, huffing at the utter teasing in Toji’s sleazy, dimpled smirk. “I’m just…”

But what could you even say at this point?

“Oh?” Toji’s letting his dark brows scrunch at your hypnotized silence, the way your gaze was practically plastered with little heart-eyes and- Oh. Oh. He can’t help but loosen a breathy snicker as the realization hits. “Already?”

Yes, already.

Because Toji Fushiguro never held back - he never ever hid that his exact goal in these lecherous sheets was to fuck you until you saw stars. 

Always ruthless whenever he’s kissing your spongy cervix with such copious French kisses of his fat, rotund head. Always swollen so thick, with probing little veins sprinting against every one of your tender spots. 

The stretch so maddening that it left a translucent trail of dribble spilling from the corners of your mouth. Puddling out with every pressurized pound to swirl wet splotches all over that magical spot until you were sure it was bruised and battered.  

Until you were sure you couldn’t even formulate the thought process let alone the words to vocalize that he’d utterly fucked you stupid in all but three minutes. 

“Heh- shiiiit-” You’re blinking away the glazed film of lust that’d taken over your eyes, just in time to catch the way that Toji peeks his willowy eyes down below. Letting out the sexiest low whistle at the mess he’s making, “Think s’ a new record. Now, where’d my ngh- mouthy girl go, huh?”

Roughened circles of his digits dig into your legs, tightening and tightening when - with a ragged grunt - Toji bends. He hunches his bulky body until you’re compressed in half, washboard abs melting into your front, your heels imprinting into his back - into the dirtiest mating press. Gruffing, “Have ya seen her?”

And you swear you catch the way that Toji’s fattened tip only stretched tautly wider, swabbing around your sloppy hole in a teasing circle. He’s buttering you up with numerous lecherous slurps until you were dripping. 

But he was so slow - so taunting. Sharp malachite eyes dazzling with sheer amusement when you’re raking frustrated red, red lines down his muscular back. Mumbling tearily, I-If you’re not gonna hngh- fuck me properly already then–”

“Mhm- ya really are fucked dumb already.”

Hah, as if he already needed to confirm.

Because of course he was waiting for just this exact moment. 

Flooding your honeyed lips with the prettiest broken whines when he’s plugging you mind-splittingly full. Rasping out a low fuck! at the gummy resistance, Toji’s vice-like restraint on your legs grow even sounder as he all but hauls you down every snug inch of his cock. 

So solidly and completely spearheading his upright curve into your molten walls, it’s like you were scorching all around him. Sucking him up for more more more-

“Heh, do ya even r-realize how much you’re ngh- milkin’ me?” He’s cooing, pumping you with grinding ram after ram that has your clit massaging against Toji’s tufted black happy trail. Scratching. Filthily. 

“T-Toji—” And it’s the only thing you can say - the only thing replaying in your mind again and again and- Your maw slacks so scandalously open when his gluttonous fat head sugarcoats your g-spot in a melty mess of precum. Sloshing and sheathing your rummaged insides in a sticky second layer. “There- more- more please- m-more-”

You didn’t even have to ask.

Because Toji’s second-ever weakness was having you completely cockdrunk and stupid on his swollen length - his first being, well, you in all your entirety - and his third? Making you even stupider. 

Breath hitching, he’s angling his toned hips just right to brush up recoiling pecks on your precious spots exactly the way you like it. Making the splintering bedframe creak and whine almost as much as you. 

Eyes lounging lazily to the back of your head, your tongue lolls out with every dredge of creamy pre making it’s home near your g-spot. “Ngh- yeah- m-m…” Couldn’t even speak.

With a hoarse belt of chuckles, Toji’s free hand pokes your fuzzily cotton-filled head. “Oiiii- d’ya even hngh- have anythin’ else in yer cockdrunk mind? Ya always get so ah- greedy when yer like this, hm?” Those very same fingerpads hovering over your buttony clit, he’s giving you a sudden pinch. “Especially…her.”

Oh, that did it - just as Toji knew it would. 

Because you’re giving such a gluey squeeze of your adhesive-like walls around Toji’s throbbing shaft - making his chest stutter with a condensed heave, mouth lathering in a fresh batch of saliva that coats his sinful scar, and his brain short-circuiting just enough to feel the way you cum.

And not just any old orgasm - Toji’s spitting out a sharp few slews of profanity when he feels his hefty base soak in shiny, vicious waves of your slick. Blinking his dazed eyes down at his glistening abs - his pecs - to titter at how drenched he was. 

How you’d squirted until his weepy cock was dripping with every ounce of sopping wet juices. That blankly loving filter in your stare that made him wonder if you even realized how hard you’d squirted - or whether you realized that you did at all. 

You looked so tempting that he really, really can’t help but drag a thick thumb around your saturated pussy lips, drawing little hearts round and round where you were still bulging with all his bloated inches. 

“Awwww– already?” Toji’s hips were still so mean, panted out through each scouring jackhammer of his cock. He’s drenching little puddles on his digit, slipping it into his mouth with a greedy pop! And- shit, maybe he’s the one fucked stupid now. “How sweet. S-sooo generous this pretty pussy is.”

Because in a split-second he’s coiled two big, beefy arms around your waist. Biceps digging into your mounds of flesh, silky sheets hot against his back as he manhandles you to pliantly flip over however he wanted. 

Ruddied cock still buried deep into your goopy depths. So easy. So filthy. “Don’t think we’re gonna be hah- done for a long, long time, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 7 min. 4 secs

“My love.” Nanami’s engulfing hand oh-so-sweetly cradles one side of your pretty face as you ride him senseless. Running his fat thumb down the tear-slicked rim of your lips. He’s warm, soft - the complete opposite of that chilling wedding band of his against your scorching flesh. “My love- a-are you alright?”

“Mhm— M’doin’ juuuust fine.” you’re barely able to mumble out, head lolling behind you as he thwacks his plump tip once more against your gummy cervix. Twice more. Thrice. “Ngh- easy, baby, the k-kids are sleeping.”

But your dear husband can sense that something is off. Something is…different. 

Maybe in the way that you’re looking up at him with bigger and bigger heart eyes after every rolling jackhammer, maybe in the way you’re practically plastered against his hulking body. Soft tits glissading up and down up and down the sweat-slicked plane of his wide, cushiony pecs. So drunken. So pliant. And he can’t help but plant a soppy smack! against the hooded of your puffy clit with one free hand. 

“Oh!” Your back curls into such a slutty arch - such a heavenly sight that makes him wish he had a photographic memory - squirmy hips bucking down harder and- “H-harder- Kentooo- wan’ some more–”

Oh?

And Nanami’s feeling his thickened head splurge your gooey insides with creamy wads upon wads of glossy pre at the mere thought - just the simple idea of you fucking yourself dumb while riding him. 

He could probably cum just from watching you like this.

Breath hitching choppily, he’s grabbing your throat - dragging you like some ragdoll until you were only mere condensed inches away from him. You couldn’t be…could you?

“Ken—” Your spit-slicked bottom lip juts out, weighty shuffling forward to press a pretty peck against that shallow dimple on the corner of his lip. Oh, you’d meant for it to land on his lips…but. “Awww, I missed.”

Oh.

But of course he can’t leave his dear wife hanging - especially not when you’re all fucking yourself stupid on him like this. 

He’s gifting you with an utterly dizzying kiss - making your tummy so melty with butterflies even after all these years. And you can’t help but keen-

“D-darlin’-” Nanami almost feels like he’s the utterly speechless one now, curling a singular hand around your waist to help your stumbling hips use his cock steadier. Deepening the angle to pound battered hit after hit against your tenderized favorite spots. Those manicured nails of his leave pretty crescent marks all over your fleshy skin when his uprightly curved cock thwacks! upwards. Feral. “Do you- ngh- know how b-beautiful you look right now?”

“Huh?” It’s so adorable how you’re stealing a few sloppy gyrations first before even registering what he’s asking. Cockdrunk and wordless that he’s coaxing out your answer with a sodden thumb smearing your waterfalling drool. “N-no?”

And without a second’s warning - without even a single speck of hesitation - the hand around your tender throat turns vice-like. Shackling. Cutting off both your airway and your heavenly view of a sexily prespired, half-lidded Nanami - turning that bleary gaze of yours towards the specially-installed mirror by your bed. 

Head craning to the side to catch how fucking ruined you looked right now, hips moving out of control. Cunt just bawling with a syrupy slick mess pooling underneath you two with every shuddering spearhead of his cock. 

“See? Just see h-how ngh- pretty my wife is.” Nanami’s rasping out, utterly wrecking your insides despite his sweet, sweet words. Branding circular divots of his head right into the very resiny bottom of your cervix. His lightning bolted veins just thump cheekily against your g-spot. “Always so pretty- could cum j-jus’ from seeing your ah- gorgeous face ‘nyways b-but…” Fuck- if you were in any better state of mind you’d have caught the way his stoic ears burn red. “...especially when you’re dumb like this.”

“Kento-” You’re crying out, mussing a hand through his dampened strands of blond. Tugging. Pulling to make him hiss. “C-cum inside me. Please. Wan’ it all i-inside- want you to make me pregn-”

“A-another?”

“Another.”

Fuck.

You were making him lose it. 

So rudely swatting your hands away to pin them behind your back with only one of his - metallic wristwatch cold against your heated skin. He’s curling your back into a simpering inflection before hammering you with the almost-inhuman thick curvature of his cock, splotching out a wet few wisps of creamy white- 

“Not yet- not yet-” Nanami’s muttering, and in your stupidly fucked state you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself. “Can’t- can’t ngh- yet-”

Rapturing it like a mantra over and over while blotting your g-spot with sloppy, dirty remnants of precum. Sloshing and glazing his bulky base and all the way down to his tight, thwacking balls. Making such a mess that only leaves you whining incoherently, jolting as if spiked by a sudden million volts of bliss when Nanami’s scooping up the sugary gloss and smearing it back into your gaping entrance. 

Until you’re curling your toes taut enough that you can barely move, fingers digging into the pale skin of his back, your vision tinging with a sudden flurry of stars as you cum.

“Tha’s it- that’s right–” he’s breathing out, labored and throaty. So fucking grateful for those sound-proofed walls he installed when you had your first. Voice dipping into almost whiny territory as your husband’s babbling everything that your dumbfounded maw can’t, “Ride me- f-fuck- ride me until ya cum. Ruin me until I can…”

And with a sopping pivot of his fat shaft to hit right against the edges of your womb, he’s flooding your melty cunt with copious ribbons upon ribbons of thick seed. Milky. Heavy. Icing your weepy insides in his favorite white. 

“M’gonna take c-care of it- take care of ya-” Nanami’s whispering in a hot pant against your ear, breath so strained and heated that it’s sending shivers down your spine. “Got a place hah- alllll safe n’ sound right- here-” 

Nanami can only grin at that inflationary little nudge of where he’s feeling his spattering cum seep press gluey little kisses into your glutinous walls. Because yes, you were gorgeous when you’re fucked dumb like this…but you were even more gorgeous when you’re all round and glowing for him. Patting your pretty tummy, just so impatient for his newborn daughter - yes, daughter - already. 

He’s batting his loving eyes down at your fatigued figure with so much adoration that it’s practically palpable. Sensitive tip twitching a perking jerk dangerously…Nanami licks his lips. When you look like this, he wants m-

“Kento—” 

Your needy whine snaps him out of his pussydrunken hypnosis, smacking a few innocent smooches against the side of your forehead. “Yes, my love?”

“More.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 4 min. 27 secs

Shit- shit.

You were so fucking cute - so dangerously ruined on Geto’s cock after only a few sloppy slathers of his thickened shaft down your spongy cervix that it was almost dangerous. That the ever-teasing Geto Suguru is finding his smirking mouth fill up with a few sing-songy coos. 

“Awwww, always so ngh- mouthy. What happened- you doin’ alright, gorgeous?” he’s breathing out in a hot baritone up against your ear, opaline white canines sinking into your lobe eagerly. “Though- guess she’s hah- talkin’ in yer place now, hm?”

She being your goopy cunt, the way it was resonating out the most sinfully saturated squelches! with every sheathing lamination of Geto’s cock inside your gummy walls. Practically talking - begging for more with every probing jackhammer of his angry, ample tip.

And with your teary gaze tiredly panned over your shoulder, you can make out the way that Geto was nodding. Dewy eyes scrunched shut like he was in deep thought, pretty lips moving to speak absolute filth. “Mhm– you’re heh- right. That would feel b-better, huh?”

Conversing - but not to you. 

And within one frowzy bat of your lashes, Geto drags up one of his thick, muscular legs. Years upon years of flexibility in battle being taken advantage of when he’s planting a foot down on your dizzy head and pinning you there. 

“Ngh! Sugu—” you can only whine, struggling and soaking yourself with the deepening change in angle. 

He’s only tutting at your sappy cunt, “I know- such a nasty girl, huh? So fuckin’- loud- too.”

Loud. So loud - and you weren’t even trying to be. Streamy rivulets of your glossed slick slurp out with every thudding thwack! of Geto’s sweltering hot tip drilling its way inside your elastic depths. He was so burning hot - feverish. 

Shoulders slumping, head bowing at just how lecherously you were sucking up every. Single. Blow he gave. And he can already feel the languid trickle of drool spattering at at the corners of his lips, “So cute- sooo cute- but the- ngh- the whole fuckin’ association’s gonna hear ya, y’know~” 

Before you know it you’re being engulfed with one of Geto’s massive palms - cold, slender, reaching over to muffle the utterly scandalous noises spilling uncontrollably from your sagging mouth.

“Not you, though-” he’s tittering, eyes locked down on the way all those weighty inches of his were disappearing and dabbing its way into your needy cunt. “You—” Leaving a particularly wet drag down your mushy insides, “Can ngh- talk allll you like- hah, because you didn’t get fucked stupid after only f-four minutes.”

“Ugh! So mean S-Sugu—” you’re sobbing out when his puffy head sponges against your poor g-spot for the nth time this night. Throbbing veins massaging your walls until you were sure your own heartbeat was syncing up with that staggering cadence. Nails raking down his strong forearm, “M-more–”

“What was that—?” He’s leering his head as close as possible, making your mouth lacquer with a greedy volume of saliva at the way his shoulders flex. Overflowing down his palm. “Heh- making such a m-mess, filthy girl. If ya want something, say it l-louder.”

Oh, by now you’re not just dumbstruck by his relentless pace - but also by how pretty Geto looks. With his long, inky hair freefalling in a soft curtain that tickles your curvaceous spine, half-lidded eyes unfocused and mean, cheeks flushed an innocent pink that matches his weepy tip.

And it’s just about all your melty mind can manage to hiccup out, “More.”

“Awww how cute- s’that all you can s-say?” He’s chuckling in a delirious little tone from above you, free hand nuzzling against your pulsing clit softly. Teasingly. Fully enjoying how you’re struggling against his hold to let out just a few more pretty noises. “Tell me.”

You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard that Geto snickers. 

But, well, who ever said that Geto Suguru was a merciless man?

“Fine- I’ll let ya have yer little fun.” He’s rasping out with a hoarse sort of shudder at the very thought that makes him whimper. But- shit, was he glad that you’re too stupidly ruined on his achy cock to notice. Too drunkenly ecstatic when he’s suddenly setting free your wobbly mouth, “If you can first hah- speak a proper s-sentence while takin’ my fuckin’ cock- how about it?”

“I-I- ngh!” 

But, shit, Geto wasn’t making it easy for you - the weight of his herculean body being pressurized into his foot even harder. He’s driving his hips into you so rocky that you’re sure you spot a few purplish bruises on his sultry hip bones. 

“Heheh-” Ah, he’s having so much fun leaving you stupidly speechless like this. You’re only whining when he toys a thick thumb around your clit, before pressing down on that buttony hood. Hard. “Biiiig stretch makin’ you stupid, gorgeous?”

It was. Oh, it really, really was - and right now you’re so far gone that the only thing you can do is take it. 

And Geto’s so perfectly practised in ruining you this way, too. Planting dense drivels of his fleshy tip against your sweetened spots, dragging the tubby divot in wet little smears in expert time with every squeeze of your clit. 

“Yes-” you’re mewling out a belated response to his question. “Yes yes yes-”

Only to be cut off with Geto’s palms smearing back onto your dozy mouth, blocking out the slews of addicted whines that just won’t stop. 

And, honestly, that heartbrokenly teary look in your eyes is so adorable that Geto’s throat clogs up with his own little whine. 

God, you were breathtakingly contagious. 

Voice strained - halfway through breaking - dipping a few octaves higher than usual when he’s hushing out, “Shh shhh- no needa force that ah- pretty lil’ head to overwork-” Leveraging the hold around your mouth to drag you backwards into his cadence. Filthier. More. “-you jus’ focus on t-taking my cock like a ngh- good girl and I-” Oh, he’s almost collapsing onto you - already in for a long, long night waking up the association. “-will focus on fillin’ this talkative cunt up.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 6 min. 18 secs

“Ch-Choso–”

And, to Choso, it was like the pearly gates of heaven had already opened their way up - and sat right front and center waiting on the other side for him was you. 

With your trembly legs splayed out on either side of his vicious hips, hands sticking oh-so-desperately to the leather seat of his sleek black Hellcat. You’re lathering his swollen cock with thick, lustrous coatings of his cum from just before - when he’d crashed into his orgasm simply from putting it in. Drowning out your thoughts with the most saccharine sweet slurps from down below-

“Cho, baby–” Tapping his lovingly blushed cheeks a few times to knock your dear best friend back to at least an ounce of his senses. You brush away a few chestnut strands sticking to his prespired forehead, “D-dunno how m’gonna face your f-family after- ngh- this!” 

And it takes him a few sloppy seconds - it takes him everything to even think of a jumble of words that might count as a reply. 

Clammy hands latching on greedily to your vigorous hips, Choso has to force your cadence to slow down until he can string together a few syllables with his slack mouth. “Wh-why? I already hngh- parked a few blocks away from dad’s, s-so they won’t catch-” 

“I know but—” your whining comes out so treacly condensed in the heady air of his car. Making him mindlessly ram another syrupy snog into your cervix. “But- you’re just fucking me so- so stupid.”

Oh. 

That’s enough for Choso’s head to fall attractively backwards until his full weighty body was being supported solely by the cushiony seat. Pretty twinkling tears of sensitivity clinging onto his batting lashes, he’s whimpering, “M-me? I’m fuckin’ you hngh- stupid, baby?”

“Mhm—” 

Nodding your head, your thighs just burn after every shuddering dab of Choso’s thickened length probing inside your gooey insides. Mushing up a spot modeled after him, an angry circumference of his fat tip indented into your poor g-spot. You’re feeling rivulets of his veins reaching each and every sensitive spot you never could. 

He was drilling into you so filthily. So dirtily that your head was spinning with each sloshing wad of his seed swirling your insides. 

And Choso - fuck, Choso looked like he was on the very urge of sobbing. Or, perhaps he was, you were much too cross-eyed at this point after every ram to confirm.

“I’m fuckin’ you s-stupid- Me.” he’s breathing out with such an air of worship. Blindly clasping one of your hands smeared against the foggy window to guide up to his lips and kiss. “S-say it again, my pretty baby. Heh…”

And right now, you don’t think you would’ve wanted to even if you could. 

Jostling your hips with fresh pound after pound that leaves your soppy mounds of flesh stinging at the impact, every doughy thwack! of Choso’s plump, cum-filled balls against your ass has you gasping. “F-feel so- hngh- dumbstruck right now, Cho–”

“Because of m-my cock?” He’s giggling - giggling, a sleazy grin splitting that handsome face of his. Choso’s steering your needy hips to bounce down his copious inches faster. And faster. “Heh- is takin’ my cock like a hah- good girl m-makin’ you feel good?” 

Fuck- and you can only nod. 

“After o-only a few minutes?”

Punching your fists against his broad chest, but to Choso it only feels like a few kittenish bumps. “Cho! M’gonna g-get off if you t-”

“No! No no no no—” His knees thwack! against the car interior when he’s manspreading even wider. Legs jerking tightly up and down to collide your tender insides with plumpish mushroomy cockhead, “Stay- stay. Hngh! Hafta fuck you s-soooo much stupider.”

Fully as stupidly speechless as Choso was right about now, you didn’t know who was faring worse. 

His muscular thighs slipping and sliding against yours with a glazed coating of cum and your honeyed slick. A low ah! ah! ah! slipping out every few seconds from those rosy pink lips of his with every drooling blow into your slobbery pussy. 

“R-ride me until ya can’t even think, baby-” He’s pleading - begging. Viscous ropes of spit spattering out between his slack maw, he was drooling. Lips trembling, “Ride me- hngh- ride me a-and…choke me.” 

Oh, the very second those pretty fingers of yours take Choso’s favorite position around his neck, his proudly globular head racks up a few gauzy wisps of pre. Dangerously creamy. Icing down your walls and making his overstimulated self keen. 

Unable to even your sentence, your face hides in the very crook of his neck. Nuzzling against his sweat-simmered skin with how positively heavy your entire body felt. “G-god- feels s-so…”

“Nuh uh.” Choso lets his words drag out into a cute whine, chest hitching purely parched when your digits block off his airway even more snugly. “N-need to see your ngh- pretty face, baby- please- I need you to- need-” Sheer yearning flashes in his eyes when you’re tilting your head towards his fucked-out features once more, “-need you to kiss me.”

You’re giggling out, words airy. “S-so bossy, Cho–”

“Jus’ can’t get ‘nough of you.” He’s mumbling - hot and and heavy against your rawly kissed lips. 

And it was a wonder that Choso could manage to strangle it out from his heaving chest, that he could even manage to breathe. Because with one last shuddering smooch of his rotund crown into your g-spot, you’re both tumbling headfirst into your high - Choso’s second orgasm of tonight.

And with every toe-curling flash of white, he’s smearing such streamlined splatters of seed into your melty insides. Hot. Sploshing down your walls and milking velvety rings upon rings around Choso’s hefty base - so viscous that you could almost taste it. 

He’s making such a mess, too, giggling at how utterly speechless you were. Shrilling out nothing but mewling calls of his name.

Shit, music to his ears that Choso finds himself hypnotized to. Barely even registering when he’s patting the nudge of his puffy tip against your womb, pushing - just slightly - enough for tumbling dredges of cum to spill down your seeping slit and luster him until he was drenched. 

“G-gonna hafta clean the c-car before we get back and ah- announce…” He’s looking up at you with stars in his eyes, so adoring that you could almost cum again from just this. “-our engagement.”

Your words choke up into a rolling ball of lead - an engagement? To your best friend? All the way before dating? And, yet, maybe it’s because your mind is still left in completely stupid shambles from before that you find your lips curling-

THUD! THUD! THUD!

A knock, and Sukuna’s voice through the black-tinted windows.

“OI! Jin is searching for you brats all over the place- SO YOU BETTER BE IN HERE-”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2 min. 8 secs

“Fuck- fuuuuck would ya look at that cute lil’ bulge.” Sukuna’s chest heaves with rumbling little chuckles that echo against your back, two out of his four beefy arms pinning you so helplessly into his cushiony chest. “Well…heh, not little.”

The notorious king of curses was standing so tall - towering - and his dually rock-hard cocks were just the same. Swabbing open your slickly flooded insides in such a lecherous full nelson, he’s splitting open your glutinous walls with branding, thorough thrusts. 

Knocking up against each and every bullseye of magical spots that he’d already memorized. You’re being shovelled with a girthy indent of his upper tip against your mushy cervix, managing out a broken K-Kuna—

“Tch, I know I know-” he’s rolling his eyes, leveraging the sinful uses of gravity below to watch you slip and slide your snug channel languidly down his left-curved shafts. “Ya want more- ‘sn’t that right, spoiled brat?”

But the only thing that thunders in Sukuna’s ears are the melodies of your sweetly singing cunt, slushy squelches of your puffed-up pussy lips slurping up every one of his numerous inches. 

And, now, don’t get Sukuna wrong - it’s one of his favorite songs, one of his few weaknesses - but where was your honeyed voice?

“Oi- silly girl- forgot how ta ngh- speak?” You’re hearing from above you, all monstrous seven feet of Sukuna’s figure hunching over just enough for him to snarl hotly against your ear. “How else is the ngh- entire palace gonna know that m’makin’ my wife feel good?”

Punishing your plump clit with a lingering swat! of his thick fingertips, “Not answerin’ your king, huh? Guess I’ll jus’ hafta-”

“Ngh- m-more-”

Oh? That tone sounded familiar. 

And now usually Sukuna would growl at you for speaking out of turn, usually he’ll plant a few sodden thwacks against your battered cervix to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with. But right now, he’s only scoffing, “The hell was that? Speak up.” 

“More, Kuna—” Fuck, the utterly primal neediness in your voice has even Sukuna stuttering his vicious hips - much to your disappointment. And you’re wrangling in his vice-like grasp to gulp down a few more clingy gyrations of his cocks inside your gluey depths. “More- I n-need more- harder.”

“More?” he’s whispering. Seething. Shaking with a humorless little grin that oh couldn’t have been directed by anyone but you. “More. Heh fuckin’ slut. M-my little human wants more- oh, new record.”

Ah, new record indeed. 

It’s been only what? A minute? Two? And here was his beautiful queen, all fucked dumb on his cocks again. So ruined that you could barely even speak, a smooth staccato of only wanting more replaying in your mind when your husband plunges in a capsizing few jackhammers. 

You barely even register it when one of his hands tighten on your scalp, overgrown fingernails craning your head uncomfortably up, up, up for him to splatter your tongue dripping wet with a sleazy wad of his saliva. “Yer fuckin’ gone arentcha?”

And he might just be, too, with how pliantly you’re letting that thickened mass slide all the way down your tastebuds. Huffing, “F-fuck- more.”

“Greedy lil’ thing.” He’s puckering up your sodden folds with a slow circles of his fingers, before clashing another good smack! Dragging out velvety ribbons of your honeyed slick that cling to his digits, “Such a filthy pussy, even after- hah- after I can see my bulge in that ah- puny human cunt o’ yours, woman. Ya still want more?”

“B-bulge?” Your head lolls over to rest against one of the curvaceous cushions of Sukuna’s muscular deltoids, glazed eyes drifting all the way down-

Oh.

Fuck- the sight as complete heaven.

Your lips were parting way for Sukuna like butter, slobbering down your sweet sap of juices to him like you were glossing every inch of him. Bludgeoning in his rotund mushroom tip until your ass was bruising against the unruly trail of drenched pink that led to his swollen hilts. And the bulge- shit.

The bulge was rummaging itself to all the way up about halfway down your tummy - edging at your fucking lungs it felt like - was such a perfectly cylindrical outline of Sukuna’s matching cocks. Smearing open your gluttonous walls so widely agape, he’s crashing his smooching tips against your g-spot, your cervix. Both at the same time. Everywhere and anywhere that you could see now. 

“Oh-oh-” you’re whining out, lower lip trembling every more frenzied with every glissading dab against those spots. The way that Sukuna had your clingy walls milking him so tight. “S-s’so big, Kuna–”

“Oh? So ya can speak other words.” He’s chuckling, fat fingers pressing a curving little pattern down on your sensitive nub. Pinching. Tugging. So harshly that you can’t help but flail in his hold mid-air. “Easy, easy there, brat. Jus’ thought ya f-forgot how to, heh.”

Oh, he was such a tease. 

Such feral darkness oozing into his words when a third of his hands guide your own to caress that lecherous bulge. “Here- don’ be shy- wanna touch it, ngh- dontcha?” And of course, you do. Rubbing over the creamed divots of his outlined tips. In awe. “-yeah like- fuuuck like that- heh…such a cutie when you’re all f-fucked dumb.”

Shit- so utterly adorable that he can’t help but leave another sopping wet smack! on your clit. Another. And another. And another and another until the heat curls up scorchingly in your stomach, and Sukuna’s taking your star-struck moment to snicker, “Mhm– m’feelin’ a little bad for this ngh- p-poor cunt though. Maybe  I should take out one cock…” 

“No!” You’re crying out, hips trying so ravenously to scoop up every sloshing glob of pre that butters up your insides. And you’re sucking in every inch that you get, every merciless ram. All while boring your eyes into Sukuna’s tearfully, “N-nooo I wan’ it- wan’ them both s-so badly.”

Fuck, you were dangerous.

And the most powerful can’t do a single thing. Because, really, who was he against you?

Can’t do anything but lacquer your drooly tastebuds with another syrupy ball of spit - enough to make you cum. 

Sparks of your high sprinting throughout your body, sheening an almost-sparkling wet slobber around Sukuna’s bucking cocks - all the way down to his flexing thighs. It’s thwacking and skidding your jiggling ass against his mounds of muscles even harder, riding out your orgasm on the way that Sukuna’s gifting sopping smacks! on that poor hooded peak of your clit. 

Blinking back overstimulated tears, “Kuna–”

“Ah ah- ignorin’ the king when he’s t-talking to ya, cutting me off, cumming with no warning…” he spits hotly against your ear. “I should make ya pay for treason, woman.”

“H-how?” Still so cockdrunken. Still uselessly struggling against his twitchy gyrations, zig-zagging little wet paintings down your inner walls. 

Sukuna pretends to think, a sleazy grin plastered permanently on his face. “Hmmm, how about…ya ah- squirt f’me.” All the while boring his devilishly red eyes into your heart-eyed ones. How cute. “If that pretty lil’ empty head remembers how that is, h-heh.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - 11 min. 6 secs

“C-can I cum inside? Again? P-please?” Ino’s hissing - more to himself than anything. Words bubbling out after each and every lazy swat! of his fat, ruddied tip down the very bottom of your pappy wet cervix. He wants more. He need more. “Shhh sh sh- jus’ a lil’ more- please. Just some- ah-”

Shit- it’s been what feels like hours now. 

Your beloved boyfriend stuffing you full of ropy smears of cum over and over. Until your slick-filled cunt was flooded with an excess of his seed, until you couldn’t even think over the deafeningly saturated slurps of thick wads oozing out from you down below. 

Until you were fucked stupid after only a few greedy hits of Ino’s fattened tip into your melty core - until he was utterly spellbound, too, after about solely ten minutes into this new round. 

“T-Taku…” You yelp, throat scratchy with how strained your poor whines have become. Your legs dangle helplessly off his strong shoulders, such a sloppy mating press by now that it would be embarrassed to even be called one. “Baby- harder. Wan’ more…wan’ you to f-fill me up.”

Fuck.

Now, Ino knew that you were thoroughly drowned and cockdrunk - but he didn’t know you were this ruined. And fuck- fuck, he’s giving the side of his fatigued thigh a harsh pinch. Once. Twice.

Trying oh-so-hard to blink back some semblance of thought into his dizzy mind. He feels like he’s nodding drunkenly, planting a damp trail of pecks down your cheek because shit, he missed your mouth. “Oh. Wh-what was that? Ngh- say it again f’me, pretty? P-please–”

“Taku—” you’re whining impatiently. Cloying wet grinds of your hips swirling his thickened length around you so blissfully, sugarcoating thick rings of pre around your insides. “J-jus’ cum inside me again.”

“Sh-shit-” Ino’s pretty features scrunch up in such bliss, plumped-up balls squeezing to dredge out another wispy chain of cum. “Ohh ya have n-no idea what ya do to me.” Decorating your familiarly bruised cervix with a freshly lathered glaze, he’s whimpering. “C-can you say that f’me a-again, sweetness?”

And you’re letting your pouty maw fall slack in order to - to demand for more. A few stupidly mewling sentences on the edge of your tongue when Ino’s reeling his hips back and thudding numerous wet collides into your sloppy cunt. Prespired body glissading easily - so sloppily - against yours in determined smack! smack! smacks! such a tangled mess of limbs and need.

God- it almost hurts. Overstimulation and pleasure hitting him doubly all at once, he’s gritting his teeth with a rough groan of your name before planting more pounds after pounds. 

“D-didn’t say it f’me- ngh- ah! again–” Ino’s panting into your dumbstruck-open mouth, sweat-lacquered forehead resting against yours. Pinching his thigh over and over to just keep his senses. And his deep voice cracks into a whine at the very end, “Talk to me. Please, tell me- ngh- t-talk me through it, pretty. Please-”

But his actions spoke the complete opposite. 

Ino was clashing the steamy curve of his rotund tip against your g-spot so hard, beating it like a sloppy drum with every jackhammering dab of his hips. Fucking out every thought and gurgling syllable out of you with a pussydrunkenly boyish grin.

Spitting a thick pwah! of saliva onto two of his slender fingers, he’s dipping them down, down, down to roll a few zig-zagging patterns on your pulpy clit. 

“C’mon- w-wanna hear your pretty voice—” he’s babbling, pearly tears making their home at the crinkled ends of his delicately pretty eyes. 

“T-Taku–” You don’t think you could’ve spoken even if you wanted to, tugging through his smooth woody hair. Until it makes him hiss, and his sultry crownhead gush out wet globules of precum. “No ngh- fair.”

“Heh. Who has ya f-feelin’ like ah- this, sweetness?” He’s snickering into the corner of your mouth, chestnut eyes drooping further and further half-closed the deeper his veiny shaft was poking into the goopy bottom of your pussy. The further he was milking his seething tip on every miniscule cling of your walls. Teasing, “Who? Oh whoops- h-heh- tha’s right…you can’t talk right now.”

But oh, Ino had forgotten that just how fucked stupid that his brain was meant the exact same for his body, too. 

Because in a split-second, you’re elbowing the pillowy mattress determinedly to flip the two of you over - Ino’s swollen girth still sunken inside, your brain still woozy. Even more so when straddling the slender curve of your boyfriend’s hips, trembly palms trekking down his mountainous pecs to push him flat onto the silky sheets. 

Ino has such a sexy look of drunken adoration in his eyes when you’re bouncing your squelching cunt to ride him out of his mind. Prattling with your currently one-tracked brain, “S-said I wan’ you to f-fill me up, Taku–”

Oh. oh. And then he is - both of you are. 

You’re jerking almost-violently at the wracking bouts of high that take over your body, flashing silvery stars behind your scrunched-up lids. Those sobbing thwack! thwack! thwacks! of his bulbous tip have you shrilling, letting Ino reach out a hand to draw little circles over your overwhelmed clit.

And he isn’t any better off - has his eyes sliding all the way back until all you could see was pure ivory, Ino’s chest arching deliciously into yours. His lower lip strawberry-red from being bitten hard enough gulp back those wrenching whimpers threatening to burst pathetically free.

One hand leaving a quick smack! to the fat of your ass before swirling it in hypnotic little circles to feel those ribbony globs of his cum sloshing around. Ah, he can feel it steaming thick masses so deep inside you - jittery fingers feeling for that familiar hot nudge at your womb. Such voluminous amounts that laminate his twitchy shaft with layers upon dripping wet layers of glistening seed, making such a mess-

Ino ends off with a giggle - a giggle. “Oh, I love it when yer r-rough w’me, pretty.” 

♡ GOJO SATORU - 25 secs

“-twenty-three…twenty fouuuur-” Gojo’s dragging out, rounded tips of his fingers ghosting over your pulpy clit - just far enough to zap! your sensitive hood with an atomic buzz of jujutsu. Grinning down at you from where he’s holding you captive in a lecherous prone bone, “-twenty-five- h-heh…n’ already gone. New record, sweetheart.”

And you would’ve snapped back at your utterly ecstatic boyfriend if you could, you would’ve huffed out that he totally drawled on the count far longer than it should’ve lasted - but how could you?

Because just the sappy peck! of Gojo’s globular tip down the treacly pucker of your slit makes you dizzy. Meady wet spurts of his precum strolling languidly down your pussy lips, making such a mess - and he’d barely even shovelled you overly snug of his full, thickened tip. 

But oh what was unfair - what was so completely dirty - is the way he was buzzing his filthy fingerpads with a shimmer of cursed energy, pinching your sensitive clit just enough to make you see stars.

“Ngh- oh my god.” you’re babbling out through slacked lips that feel like they’re fucking numb. Hips dizzily confused whether to bury yourself in a cocoon of those silken navy sheets or to run away. 

“Yes- yes tha’s right–” he’s cooing, one hand swiping away the globular pearls of sweat that trek down your forehead, the other ringing out against your peaked clit with a miry swat! “Talk t’me ngh- l-loove hearin’ what that empty lil’ haaah- cockdrunk mind of yours has ta say.”

Sobbing out, “S’jus’ so- so big, Toru—”

“Heh…see?”

Yeah, he loved the cute wafting nonsense that spilled from your lips whenever you were fucked stupid on his thick, throbbing length. Red and angry to make your head even emptier-

And you’re scrambling helplessly towards the plushy pillows, the edge of the bed, the fucking headboard - only for Gojo to slam! one massive palm down on the mahogany headrest. Splitting it straight down the middle-

Muttering in your ear so sultry, Gojo’s slurring out a stumbling, “Now now- where’d ya think you’re going?” Your entirely shivering body being scooped up with a single curl of his bulging forearm around your throat. Fuck- his sweat-glossed biceps flex as you’re hauled back down, down, down onto his thoroughly rummaging cock. 

“B-barely even halfway in n’ yer already so heheh- fucked dumb.” Giggling - giggling - deliriously in your ear in condensed little pants, he’s so hot glissading his weighty body down your back. Rows of ivory white teeth sinking into your precious ear lobe, you’re graced with a firm set of six-inch fingers on your waist. “Get- get ready for a hah- biiiig stretch, sweetheart.”

And a big stretch, it was. 

It feels like you’re being rawly split apart - Gojo’s intruding girth caving out a bulging cylindrical pathway down your slobbery pussy. Puffy, crowned cockhead smearing open your gluey walls until you were sure you could feel every ridge, every thumping vein. Feel him poking his weepy divot into your mushy cervix in thick drags - you could cum from just this. 

And you think you do - without your poor, spellbound goo of a brain even realizing. Your back arches into an almost painful curvature when you’re throwing your head back and cumming. 

“Please- please please-” Garbling out, so fucking cute that he can’t help but lick a sleazy stripe down the glistening middle of your back and hum.

You’re gasping at the thickly vicious splatter of something on your shoulder - only to bleary your heart-filled eyes over your shoulder at the way that Gojo was drooling. 

Whining, with every pap! of his prettily full balls against your ass. Slumping his heavy bodyweight like he was melting into your, ridged washboard abs massaging your back, hefty bodyweight pinning you down onto the mattress. His bicep curls into an even tighter headlock around your straining neck, “Yeah- ohoho yeahh that’s the stuff- t-talk to me s’more, my girl.” 

“C-can’t even-” You’re whimpering out, hips jostling upwards in embarrassing little grinds that swirl the very rounded tip of Gojo’s tip around your melty insides. Milking out heaps upon heaps of creamy precum with every one of his greedy drives. “-can’t even think- can’t even b-breathe. J-jus’ want you…”

God - he was making a sheerly sludgy mess out of you. Branding your sweet insides with sugary coatings of precum, with thorough bruises. 

“What do ya w-want, sweetheart?” Gojo’s muttering all over again, bearing your puffed-up clit with another pinch. Then another. And another. “Anything m’gonna give ya- ahhh, fuck- anything.”

Blinking up tearily, “A-anything?”

Which only makes him fuck you hard enough to practically mesh into one with the mattress - and then some. And it’s like he was pounding himself just as stupid on your cunt as you were with every one of his animalistic rams. 

Sodden. Heavy. French mushes against your bruised g-spot - and you could already tell by the scarily bittersweet accuracy and those stray bolts of tiny blue lightning that Gojo was using his six eyes to cheat his way buttering your pretty cunt with lethal hits. 

To spy your sweetest spots inside-

“M’gonna marry ya-” Promising over and over when he’s routing a wet trail of kisses down your perfectly arched spine. “-buy us a niiice big mansion- or a small one- your hah- choice. Grow old together, n’ I’ll kill off anyone that dares object.”

“Satoru…”

“Yes- yes?” Sapphire eyes wide and wild now - like he was in the middle of a fight, like he was prowling for prey just the way his fat tip was probing down every orifice of yours. “Tell me- tell me, sweetheart.”

“I-I want-” your lower lip wobbles adorably, and Gojo can’t help but slither his own down and suck like his favorite gummy candy. Making you mewl, “-wan’ a baby.”

And you swear you could hear the lilting crack in Gojo’s voice when he’s echoing out a highly-pitched. “A b-baby?”

The only thing your poor brain can manage out is a nod, and the only thing he can manage out is to just barely not fucking snap. 

THUD!

Gojo’s got you locked in his powerful hold - muscled figure pinning you to the soiled bed, his deadlocked bicep hauling your mouth onto his. And he’s snapping his hips to yours so hard that you wince ever-so-slightly at the bruise surely formulating by now - or, well, would have formulated had it not been for Gojo’s reversed curse technique. 

Working overtime now to not break a bone when he’s plugging your sodden insides with thick knots of cum. He’s cumming and cumming so hard that Gojo thinks he can’t stop - thinks he doesn’t want to. 

“H-how I love when ya talk outta yer ngh- pussy, sweetheart-” Your shoulder stains with a few more translucent spatters of drool - and tears. Big and overstimulated, beading behind his glazed lids. 

Gojo can’t let a single swashing wad of his seed drizzle to waste, plugging in numerously overspilling ounces back in through your puckered pussy lips. The sheer volume making his achy balls twitch with more and more. Doubly penetrating your sloppy hole with two fingers, he’s taking the sinful opportunity to slither a few spiralling patterns around your sensitive entrance. 

A baby. 

“A baby. A…a fuckin’ baby.” Gojo’s shaking his head - crazed. Smile humorless and dangerous where it was directed at you, and for a moment you’re wondering who really is the one fucked stupid right about now. “Oh, my girl, I’ll give you ten.”

A/N. Smooches to that one nonnie for sparking the idea hehe <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[autism-corner]

OH

[punkshort]

Swept Away: Season Two

Prologue: Two Rings

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: To celebrate taking a step forward in your relationship and moving in together, Joel charters a yacht for the night. He couldn't possibly have an ulterior motive, right?

Chapter Warnings: language, reader has a strained relationship with her parents, smut (18+ MDNI), fluff, unprotected piv sex, oral sex f! and m!receiving, multiple orgasms, reader has at least shoulder length hair, food and alcohol consumption

WC: 7.7K

Series Masterlist

"Reschedule it for next week. I made a promise."

Seven days never flew by so fast.

Joel had been pacing around his house like a caged animal all morning. It was Saturday, but he still took a few work calls just as a distraction. It didn't help much. He found his hand drifting to his pocket every two minutes where a flawless diamond ring in an expensive box was kept.

A couple months prior he had woke up early with you curled up against his side. There wasn't anything particularly exceptional about that day. It was a workday, he remembered that much. It was raining, which was unusual for Los Angeles. But on that day he woke up and looked at you sleeping so peacefully in his bed and it hit him out of nowhere: he wanted to wake up like that for the rest of his life. He had never felt more certain about anything.

He quickly ran into a problem, however. You technically already had an engagement ring. One that was used as a prop, although a very fucking real and very fucking expensive prop, back when you first met and accompanied him to Fiji. He had hired you through a dating agency that specialized in catering to higher end clients like himself. His needs were slightly unusual, however. He had wanted you to pose as his fiancée with the stipulation you weren't to breathe a word about your fake arrangement to anybody in order to win over a real estate tycoon and bid for the last parcel of land on the island.

Behind closed doors, you had your separate rooms.

It was temporary. It was only supposed to be one month and he would never see you again.

It made him laugh now to think about it. He didn't stand a chance. You had him hooked from the moment you stepped into his office with your quick wit and no-bullshit attitude. It took him a while to accept it, but once he did, he never looked back.

When you returned from the island, Joel insisted you keep the ring, which you'd worn on your right hand ever since. He went back and forth over it for weeks. Should he get you a new ring, or should he use the old one and propose to you properly?

He was going to let you decide. Either way, they were both yours, which he anticipated fielding an argument over as you still struggled to adjust to your new, lavish lifestyle with him.

As he looked out the window at the moving truck and two cars puttering up the long driveway, he wondered if he should have spaced things out a little for your benefit. Asking you to marry him on the same day you were moving into his home might be a lot for you to handle all at once. But then he saw you step out of your beat up car, one he planned to replace as soon as possible, and smiled at the excitement written on your face.

He was about to step away and go downstairs to greet you when he saw your mother and father step out of the second car. He froze for a moment, an unexpected jolt of nerves rocking through his chest. He hadn't met your parents before and when you told them you would be moving in together, they suddenly decided to drop everything and travel all the way from Tennessee to help you pack your things.

You thought it was a nice gesture given your delicate relationship with them, but he knew better. They were worried about you and they wanted to make sure he wasn't some psycho coming along to take advantage of their only daughter.

He didn't blame them one bit and he suspected he would behave similarly when Sarah met somebody one day. But he knew how he came off to people. He had a tendency to be gruff and a little cold. It was the by-product of a few horribly failed relationships, as well as years and years of cutthroat business deals. Anyone would have to be hardened to get to where he was in his career.

Still, he intended on making a good impression. These were your parents and, hopefully, his future in-laws. He wouldn't let anything screw this up.

"Honey?"

"In here, Mom!" you called from Joel's master bathroom. Your master bathroom now.

Your mother appeared in the doorway, eyes bugging out of her head when she took in the sizable room. A crystal clear glass shower that could easily fit two people, something you and Joel had already proven more than once, sat in one corner with a built in granite bench and custom tile walls imported from Italy. In the opposite corner was a massive claw foot tub that sat in front of a huge window overlooking the breathtaking ocean view from Joel's backyard. Currently, you sat on the floor in front of the double sinks built into the white marble countertop going through your boxes of toiletries.

"My goodness," your mom breathed with a hand pressed gently against her chest. "Why on earth would he have a tub right in front of a window? Anybody could see you bathing!"

"It's one sided," you giggled. "You can see out but no one can see in."

Her face relaxed and she took a step into the room, making a surprised little noise when she felt the warmth emanating from the tile floor.

"It's heated," you explained before she could ask. She nodded slowly and continued to look around in awe.

"I see."

You could hear her tone, a tone you had grown too familiar with your whole life. She wasn't pleased.

"What's wrong?" you asked, setting down your bags of makeup so you could give her your full attention. She bit her lip nervously before quickly shutting the bathroom door and joining you on the ground.

"Don't you think all this is a little... much?"

You frowned. "Much?"

"This lifestyle is what I mean. This isn't you, honey," your mom said with a soothing squeeze of your arm.

"No, but I'm getting used to it," you said defensively. "This is what Joel is used to and I love him. It doesn't bother me so much, it's just an adjustment."

"He's got a whole staff to tend to this place," she continued with a low voice. "I saw a gardener and a pool boy. Don't tell me he has a maid, too."

"Well, yeah, he does-"

Your mother's jaw dropped with a disbelieving snort.

"He can't pick up after himself?"

"He doesn't have to! He's paying someone to do it for him! Besides, he's very busy. He works long hours every day to afford all this. Why should he-"

"It humbles a person to be able to cook and clean for themselves," your mother said firmly. "It builds character."

"Mom," you whined, "it's different out here and you know it. This isn't Tennessee. Most homes have some hired help, it's just how it is."

"Well, I was just envisioning a different life for my only child, don't come for my head about it," she huffed while straightening her skirt.

"No one's coming for your head, I'm just trying to explain how people live out here. It's different but I really like it. And most of all, I'm happy. I love Joel, Mom, more than anything. And he loves me, too. He treats me well, he cares for me... he's a good man," you finished softly. Your parents never liked the idea of you moving to the west coast with your best friend, Celine, for college. It unknowingly deepened the rift between you and them that you had been trying to mend for years.

"Well, I suppose he does seem rather charming. He has nice manners, at least," she sighed. You thought back to the lunch the four of you had shared not an hour earlier, finding it surprising that your mother found something nice to say about Joel at all given the uncomfortable atmosphere. To his credit, Joel really tried. He asked your parents about their jobs and their church. He even shared some stories about himself, trying to find some common ground, but your parents hardly offered anything in return and it irked you.

"Then why were you and Dad so stand-offish during lunch?" you asked pointedly.

"We were not-"

"Yes, you were," you argued back before she could lie. "I was sitting right there. Why don't you like Joel, Mom?"

She sighed and looked around the ornate bathroom again before floating her hands in the air.

"We just aren't used to all this, sweetie. It's a lot for us. Your father feels uncomfortable around all of this... grandeur."

"Well, do you think you can try a little harder? For me?" you asked, sounding exasperated. "All of this stuff shouldn't matter as long as I'm happy, right?"

After a beat, she slowly nodded.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll talk to your father."

"Thank you," you breathed with a small smile. "Now, can you please help me with the last of these boxes?"

She grinned and pulled the last one over to open it up. "Of course," she said, then made a face at the way everything inside was tossed about. "You're lucky none of these things are broken. You pack like a maniac, honey."

You laughed and pushed yourself onto your knees to get a better look inside the box.

"Well, guess it's a good thing you and Dad helped out with the important stuff."

"That reminds me, the boxes for your office are still in the foyer. Dad packed all of that for you," she said while taking out a few bottles of shampoo. "You know him, properly organizing everything. He's retired but he's still labeling and sorting everything in the house like he's working a case." Your father, a recently retired police detective, always had an attention to detail. "He said your important looking work documents were all in one box he marked fragile."

"Oh, great, thank you. I think Joel's still having one of the bedrooms converted into an office space for me so I'll have to ask him where to store it for now," you said, pausing when your mother gave you a look.

"One of the bedrooms?" she repeated. "How many does he need?"

"Mom! You said you'd try!"

"You're right, you're right, I'm sorry," she said with a light laugh. Then she stood with an armful of items. "Where should I put all this?"

"That door right there is a walk-in linen closet."

You noticed her eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the spacious linen closet, but you let it go. Your relationship with them was still a little rocky and you didn't want to press the matter. She said she and your father would try to get used to Joel's lifestyle, so you had to give her time to follow through on her promise.

Your parents left for the airport in the late afternoon. After your tense conversation with your mother, you were ashamed to admit you were a little relieved that their visit had come to an end. But when you saw both your mom and dad give Joel a hug before they left, you softened up a bit, even if their hugs were a little stiff. They promised they would try and that was all you could ask for, even though Joel didn't deserve to be treated unfairly in the slightest. As their car disappeared down the winding driveway, you had visions of all the ways you could make it up to him, but then he surprised you with some unexpected plans.

"You chartered a yacht?" you exclaimed. "Why? To mark the occasion?"

Joel thought about it for half a second.

"Yeah. I wanted to celebrate," he said smoothly while sliding his hands around your waist. "We got it overnight so pack a small bag."

You squealed with delight and grabbed his face to pull him down for a quick kiss. When you turned to hurry back inside, he swatted you lightly on the ass, making you yelp and then giggle your way up the stairs towards your shared bedroom.

The marina was absolutely beautiful at sunset. The last golden rays from the sun reflected off the water as you approached, spreading flashes of deep purples, pinks and greens across the horizon. Joel had insisted on driving you both himself, something that surprised you but you shrugged off, assuming he wanted to allow his driver, Richie, to enjoy the weekend.

"We have this entire yacht?" you asked, mouth agape as you approached a huge two story charter.

"Yep," he had replied, pleased with your reaction. Two crew members had met you at the car and grabbed your bags, leaving your hands free to walk carefully across the bridge to board the yacht. You smiled bashfully when the crew of eight introduced themselves, then tucked yourself into Joel's side as the captain gave you a quick tour. When he paused in the doorway of the master suite to point out all the amenities, you shot Joel a playful look and waggled your eyebrows. He stifled a laugh and rolled his eyes before kissing the top of your head and following the captain through the lounge and to the deck, where there had to have been what looked like a hundred candles lit on every available surface. The sight took your breath away, it was so stunning. Flickering candlelight reflected off the polished wood and glassware that sat atop the table, already prepped and ready for you to be served once you got out onto the open water.

"Pink roses?" you said when you spotted the centerpiece as well as the decorative adornments that were peppered throughout the deck. You leaned in to sniff them and closed your eyes.

"I know you like the pink ones the best," Joel replied as he watched you look around in wonder. Then your eyes found his again and you smiled.

"When did you become such a romantic, Joel Miller?"

His heart skipped a beat in his chest when he replied, "When I met you."

While the yacht made its way a few miles off shore, the two of you found the bar inside the lounge and shared some drinks in front of the small fireplace while soft, classical music filtered through the speakers hidden strategically throughout the room. In the left corner of the room sat a white baby grand piano, sparkling but untouched. To the right was the bar, tended by a discreet looking gentleman with greying hair.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Your leg was draped across his lap and he was drawing slow circles over your calf, but his movements paused when you asked your question.

Joel grinned and nodded, pulling his eyes away from the flames to look at you.

"Glenn's yacht?"

You smiled and leaned in closer.

"Yep," you said, lowering your voice so the bartender couldn't overhear. "Remember the last night we were there?"

Joel bit back a groan at the memory of you on top of him, practically begging him to fuck you, but he had refused. That didn't stop you from finding another way to drive him completely insane. Instead, you had gotten yourself off by riding his thigh. It was the first time the two of you had blurred that line from a business relationship to something more.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember," he murmured. Your eyes looked heavy as you gazed up at him and it took every ounce of strength he had not to toss you over his shoulder and take you back to the master suite right then and there. Instead, he pulled you in for a deep kiss, tasting the sweetness of champagne on your tongue.

His hand drifted back to get lost in your hair when you both heard someone nearby softly clearing their throat. You pulled away and let your gaze sheepishly fall while Joel handled the crew member who had come to let you know that dinner was about to be served.

"Oops," you whispered once the they were out of sight. A low rumble of laughter bubbled up from his chest and once you stood, he tugged you against him and cupped your face.

"Don't worry. Place'll be all ours after dinner," Joel told you. He gave you a quick kiss before curving his arm around your shoulders so he could lead you out towards the deck.

"Wha - Joel! We - we can't drive this thing!"

He chuckled at the panic in your voice. "Just for the evening. They'll drop anchor and be back in the morning. I ain't gonna get us killed, baby."

"Oh," you breathed a sigh in relief. He pulled your chair out and you sat down primly, glancing down at the complicated looking appetizer that waited for you. A small smile played at your lips when you asked, "And why are they leaving overnight, Joel?"

He sat down across from you and flicked out his cloth napkin with a wink.

"You'll see."

Dinner was elaborate and rich, but you had grown used to that with Joel. You had lost count of how many courses they brought out but when a cheese plate was placed between you after the main dish, you gave him a pained look.

"Joel?"

"Hmm?" he hummed while taking a sip of red wine. Your fingers inched across the white linen tablecloth, seeking out his hand. When his own fingers linked with yours and curled around your knuckles, you smiled at him tiredly.

"This is lovely," you began, "but I'm wondering when I'll get my dessert."

"Dessert's after the limoncello," he assured you. He shifted a little nervously in his chair and adjusted his tie. His mind was elsewhere but you had no idea.

"That's not the kind of dessert I meant," you whispered. You saw the realization dawn on him and you stifled a giggle. He leaned forward, hands still intertwined, and picked up a piece of cheese. He held it out between his thumb and forefinger and as seductively as you could, slowly stretched your neck forward to wrap your lips around his fingers and the small cube, all while maintaining eye contact with Joel.

"Good?"

You nodded and swallowed. "But I know something that tastes better."

"Christ," he groaned, eyes darkening as heat began to spread under his collar. Subconsciously, his finger began to slide your ring back and forth, fiddling with it. He wanted to just ask you right then and there. Just take the thing off and put it on your other hand and say the fucking words. But he had to wait. He had a plan.

Mercifully, dessert finally arrived. Actual dessert. Tiramisu, to be exact. But you were growing restless. He could tell by the way you sighed and tugged at the straps of your dress or flicked your hair over your shoulder to rub your neck with a soft moan. You were trying to get him to break and it was working magnificently. It had him checking his watch and mentally doing the math, trying to figure out if he had enough time to fuck you before his plan was set into motion.

The crew was packing up somewhere in the depths of the yacht. The captain had just left your table after confirming with Joel whether or not he needed anything else, and the anticipation of having the boat all to yourselves was killing you. But when he stood and extended a hand, asking you to join him on the deck instead of dragging you back to the bedroom, you hesitated. He grinned and wiggled his fingers.

"C'mon. Trust me."

You did. Of course, you did. So you stood and let him take your hand, leading you out onto the deck which was alight with flameleas candles and string lights wrapped around all the railings. A small seating area sprinkled with rose petals awaited you, the sight causing your suspicions to stir.

"All this to celebrate moving in together?" you asked. Joel didn't respond. He just smiled and sat down on the plush couch, which was facing the vast, empty ocean, and patted the seat next to him. Slowly, you sat down and leaned into his side before scanning the water. The moon was full that night and blazed a bright beam of light across the sea. It was quiet and serene and had you melting into his chest as his arms wrapped around you.

"It's peaceful," you murmured. In the distance, you could hear the soft hum of a motor from the boat taking the crew back to shore. Joel glanced nervously at his watch and you frowned. Tilting your chin up a bit, you caught his eye.

"What's going on?"

"Nothin'," he said immediately in response, only furthering your suspicions. You shifted so you could get a better look at his face.

"Why are you checking the time? What's-"

"You want somethin' to drink? I can get it for you," he interrupted. Okay, now you knew something was up. His fingers were tapping rhythmically against his leg, which was bouncing so fast the deck was creaking.

"No," you said, "Joel, why are you acting-"

A loud boom muffled the rest of your sentence, which ended up being a scream, anyway. Then a flash of color appeared in the sky above your heads and you looked up in surprise. Fireworks. There were fireworks going on above you, being set off from a barge somewhere you couldn't see on the water.

"Joel," you breathed in between booms. You looked at him and he grinned. "You did this?"

He nodded and said, "Wanted to do somethin' special."

"This is too much!" But you laughed and jumped when another firework popped in the sky, undermining any scolding on your part.

Your curiosity vanished, successfully distracted by the fireworks display. Joel curled an arm around your shoulders and you sunk against him once again with your back pressed against his front. You tipped your head back to rest on his shoulder so you could watch the fireworks, completely missing the way his heart began to beat faster against your back when he reached for your hands, which were resting in your lap.

Thinking he was just holding your hand, you shot him a quick smile before refocusing your attention on the sky. Maybe it was the drinks you had with dinner, but you hadn't even realized he slid your ring off your right hand until he held it up. Your gaze dropped down to look at it pinched between his fingers and your eyebrows knit together. The huge diamond sparkled with the reflection from the fireworks, all the reds, blues, and yellows shining within every flawless carat.

"Joel?" you said quietly. So quietly that it was impossible to hear over the loud booms.

Then you saw the tremble in his hand that held your ring and your eyes widened with a slow realization: the private yacht, the fancy dinner, the fireworks... this wasn't an evening designed to celebrate moving in together. This was something else.

Joel lifted your left hand from your lap and adrenaline began to course through your whole body. Your ability to blink and breathe just... vanished. Time might have even stood still as you stared down at your hands, watching in disbelief as he carefully slid your ring onto your left finger. Then you felt his beard brush against the shell of your ear from behind.

"Looks better on this hand. What do you think?"

Tears welled up in your eyes almost immediately. You splayed your fingers out in front of you both to look at the ring on your hand, but your vision blurred and your hand shook worse than his. Then two fingers found your chin, tilting your face to the side so he could look you in the eye.

"I wanna spend my life with you," he murmured softly. Your lower lip began to tremble and your heart stuttered in your chest, but you did your best to focus on his words. "You changed everythin', sweetheart. Changed my entire life. Brought me back together with my brother, with my daughter... reminded me what it's like to enjoy life again." His own eyes grew misty when he gave you a small smile and added, "Made me believe in love."

You laughed a little and two fat tears trickled down your cheeks.

"I've never known a peace like the one I have when I'm with you," he whispered. He was talking softly but even with the fireworks still going off above your heads, you could hear every word, almost as if the entire world melted away in that moment and all that remained was just the two of you.

His eyes looked so warm as he stared at you. They were so adoring and vulnerable. It made you want to crawl into his lap, wrap your arms around him, and never let him go. But you wanted to hear the words. You were desperate to hear the question you longed to hear, so you bit harshly into your bottom lip and fought back the desire.

Finally, he dragged in a ragged breath and asked, "Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" you sobbed, and it was like the floodgates opened. You flipped around and tossed one leg over his lap to straddle him, missing the way his face beamed with excitement when you grabbed his cheeks with both hands and kissed him. Your tongue slid easily between his parted lips, catching his groan between your teeth. When your thumbs brushed over his cheeks, you felt dampness there. Tears. Shortly after, your own streaked down your face, but you couldn't stop smiling.

The fireworks were probably coming to an end, you couldn't really be sure. You were too lost in your little bubble, perched on Joel's lap with his hands fiercely gripping your waist. You couldn't remember if it was you who started to grind your hips into him or if his hands had urged you to move. Regardless, within just a few short minutes, you found yourself dragging your pussy up and down his thigh while your kisses grew more and more urgent.

"C'mon, let's go inside," he panted while you sprinkled kisses down his jaw. When he tried to pull you off him, you shook your head and pushed your knees deeper into the cushion, keeping you both planted in place.

"No - here," you murmured before hiking up the skirt of your dress so it pooled loosely around your waist, freeing your legs to spread even wider. Joel groaned when his chin dropped to his chest, watching as you pulled your panties to the side with two fingers. You bit your lip and swiped your fingers through your folds while he nearly ripped his belt open with shaky hands. He had just unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard and leaking, when you pressed your glistening fingers against his lips. His blood was pumping so fast, he was growing lightheaded, and when he parted his lips to taste your arousal on your fingertips, his eyes fluttered shut and his head dropped to the back of the couch in a daze.

"Dirty girl," he rasped after he licked your fingers clean. You smirked and reached down between your bodies to wrap your hand around his aching cock. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat and opened his eyes so he could watch you stroke him up and down.

His hands squeezed your hips and encouraged you forward, unable to wait any longer. Fortunately, you couldn't, either. You lined him up against your entrance and removed your hand, the only sounds that filled the air now that the fireworks were over was your shared heavy breaths and the water lightly lapping at the side of the yacht.

"It's why you sent the crew away, right?" you breathed as you slowly sunk down on his cock. "So you could fuck me wherever you wanted?"

A strangled groan slipped past his lips when you began to shift ever so slightly, the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him taking his breath away.

"Didn't want them to hear," he replied through clenched teeth. "Didn't think you'd - fuck - didn't think you'd be so fuckin' needy so fast."

The fact he really thought you wouldn't want to jump him as fast as possible after he proposed was laughable, and you told him so as you began to bounce quicker in his lap, gasping when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

Joel just chuckled breathlessly and clutched your hips harder, helping you glide up and down his shaft.

"Ain't got nothin' to do with it. You wanted me to fuck you halfway through dinner."

"Is that such a bad thing?" you moaned, arching your back when his hips began to buck up into you. You grappled frantically at his shoulders and tipped your head back with a sharp gasp, leaving you with a beautiful view of twinkling stars above you.

With your throat exposed, Joel lunged forward to suck a red mark just below your jaw. You smelled so good and your skin was so soft that it had him sitting up straighter so he could gain better access.

"God, Joel!" you cried out into the night sky. His hands grabbed at your ass, fingers digging roughly into each cheek, forcing your body up and down on his cock while he slammed into you, knocking all the oxygen from your lungs and every thought from your brain.

"Gonna make the perfect little wife, baby," he growled, teeth scraping lightly down your jaw. Wife. The word sent a thrill through you.

"Yeah?" you gasped, eyelids fluttering as you felt yourself nearing your peak. "You think so?"

"Mhm," Joel murmured into your neck. "Love you so much, love you so fuckin' much, y'make me so happy. Just wanna spend my life takin' care of you, give you everythin' you need."

He was rambling now and a lazy smile stretched across your face.

"I love you, too," you whispered before tilting your head down to capture his lips in a searing, messy kiss.

Your hips stuttered and your moans grew more high pitched each time you dropped yourself back down on his cock. And because he knew you so well, he grinned against your mouth and murmured, "You gonna come for me?"

"Yeah," you whined in between heated kisses. Your hands clawed at his face and hair and you gasped shakily every time your clit rubbed against the curls at the base of his shaft. "Yeah, yeah I'm - I'm gonna come," you breathed, too lost in your own pleasure to say much else except repeat him, so fucking close that all it took was one or two more deep thrusts and it sent you reeling into your climax.

You tightened around him with a silent scream. Your brows were furrowed and your mouth hung open against his as your orgasm rocked through your entire body. Boneless, you drooped against him, nuzzling into his neck. He pulled you in tight against his chest while fucking up into you recklessly until he let out a deep groan and his body stilled.

"Look." Joel tapped your shoulder, stirring you back to life. You forced your eyes open and followed his gaze down where you were connected. A second later you watched as a small amount of his thick, milky white release dribbled out of you, pooling at the base of his cock.

Unable to put into words how hot it was to watch yourself overflow with him, your mouth greedily found his, tongue probing past his lips with a moan.

You sat there for as long as he would allow, limp and spent while sharing wet, lazy kisses until his cock softened and he slipped out of you with a grunt. The palm of his hand was soothingly rubbing your back and you had never felt more content in your life, but when a sharp breeze drifted over the ocean and made you shiver, Joel broke the kiss and cupped your face.

"Let's go to bed."

You nodded sleepily and allowed him to lead you back into the yacht, through the abandoned lounge that still played classical music faintly through the hidden speakers, down the well lit hallway, and finally to the master suite. The bed had been turned down by one of the crew members before they left. A bottle of champagne with two glasses with a note that read congratulations! was left next to the bed, but you were too exhausted. It was a miracle you were able to wash up and change out of your clothes before slipping into the plush bedding, but you stayed awake until Joel had turned out all the lights and joined you. With a sigh, you curled up next to him, resting your cheek on his shoulder and slotting your leg between his, then finally drifted off to sleep.

The clock read a little after three in the morning when you awoke. You were in the same position you found yourself before falling asleep hours earlier: fitted snugly into Joel's side with your palm placed gently over his heart. You used the bathroom and drank some much needed water but you had trouble falling back asleep, so you perched on the bench by the window and watched the way your ring shone in the moonlight.

It took you back in time when you saw the ring on your left hand again. Memories of confusing feelings, devastating rejection, fake love stories and intense pain flickered through your mind when you thought back to the whirlwind month you spent with Joel in Fiji, masquerading as his fiancée.

But now, it was real.

Now, that lie, that story, was going to become reality.

You couldn't have been happier. After everything you had been through, all the ups and downs your relationship faced from the very beginning, you were finally going to get your much deserved happy ending.

You just wished your parents and their opinions would stop plaguing your mind.

"What're you doin'?" Joel's groggy voice called from the bed. You snapped your head up in surprise, just to find him sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his eyes.

"Nothing. Sorry. I couldn't sleep. Too excited," you grinned when holding up your left hand. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness, so he reached over to flick on one small lamp next to the bed. The room was cast in a dim, yellow glow, but he saw you holding up your hand and he smiled.

Joel stood and took two steps forward when he froze. Something passed over his face that had you frowning with concern.

"What's wrong?"

"I - shit!" he exclaimed before turning on his heel and rummaging through his suit coat, which he abandoned across a chair on the other side of the room when you came to bed. You cocked your head to the side and allowed yourself a moment to appreciate how fucking handsome your fiancé was, bending over in just a tight pair of black boxer briefs. Your gaze flickered back up when he swiveled around, holding a small, black box in his hand.

"I got you a new ring," he said as he crossed the room, "I'm so sorry. Forgot to give it to you earlier 'cause, well -" he shrugged and shot you a playful grin. "Y'know."

"A new ring?" you repeated as you stood. "W-why? I have this one!"

He opened the box and you gasped when you saw the flawless cushion cut, crystal clear diamond engagement ring, which was bracketed by two smaller diamonds.

"Joel," you breathed, eyes flitting back and forth between the one in the box and the one already on your hand. "I-I can't! I can't have two!"

Joel chuckled and plucked it from the box.

"Why not? You got ten fingers."

You scoffed and shook your head, but he continued.

"I wanted you to have the option and I wanted to get you somethin' new," he explained while holding it out towards you. You stared at it, still in shock, but stopped yourself from reaching for it.

"You know..." you began slyly. Joel arched an eyebrow at your tone. "You never actually did get on one knee."

His hand dropped to his side and he narrowed his eyes.

"You want me on my knees?"

You bit your lip and nodded vigorously, and when he held your gaze and began to sink down to the ground, still clad in just his underwear, your heart began to do flips in your chest.

On one knee, he murmured your name lowly and reached for your hand. You gave him your right one and grinned when he slipped it onto your finger and asked, "Will you marry me?" for the second time.

"Yes," you whispered. You took a step forward and carded your fingers through his hair. Joel leaned into your touch and briefly closed his eyes, enjoying the way your nails scraped gently over his scalp.

"I see the appeal, now," you said softly, "having a man fall to his knee like this."

"Yeah?" he rasped, opening his eyes to give you a heated look. Then his fingers drifted up your legs to push up the satin nightgown you had slipped on earlier and your breath caught in your throat.

"Get used to it, baby, 'cause I'm ready to spend the rest of my life right fuckin' here." He leaned forward, pressing his face right between your legs and taking a deep breath before mouthing hungrily at your waiting cunt through your panties. You gasped, skin tingling, and fell forward almost instantly, hands sliding helplessly over his bare back while he held you up with his hands wrapped around your thighs.

With one swift turn to the left, he pushed you up against the wall and tugged your underwear down your legs. Tossing them somewhere behind him, he lifted one of your legs to drape over his shoulder, spreading your pussy underneath your hiked up nightie.

His fingers dug into your skin when his mouth came in contact with your center, groaning in delight to find you already so wet and eager for him.

Joel's jaw dropped open wide, sealing his lips over your slit and running the tip of his tongue up the middle. Your vision immediately blurred and you threw your head back against the wall in ecstasy. The scrape of his beard against your sensitive skin, the feel of his fingertips dimpling your thighs, the way his hot tongue laved over your cunt all had you reduced to a trembling mess in a matter of minutes.

You wailed out his name into the room, your voice echoing off the walls and suddenly Joel's plan to send away the crew was making a lot of sense.

"More," you whined while rolling your hips as much as you could without losing your balance. The one foot that remained on the ground was stretched, perching on your tiptoes, while the other was curled tightly over his shoulder, holding him in place.

His mouth released you with a gasp and you whimpered pathetically at the loss while your fingers clawed uselessly at his hair.

"C'mon, let's move to the bed. Want you to sit on my face."

His voice was deep and gravelly and it send a shudder through your limbs.

"No, please, Joel, I-I... I'm so close," you begged, looking down at him with watery eyes. He looked like a mess: disheveled hair, wet mouth, flushed neck. He scanned your face and relented, giving you want you wanted and diving back in between your thighs.

You immediately resumed rolling your hips against his face, chasing your high while his tongue slid messily between your lips over and over, collecting the arousal leaking from your hole and flicking over your clit teasingly each time he dragged his tongue back up.

"I'm- I'm gonna come," you gasped, unable to look away from how enthusiastically he ate at you. It was such a turn on to see such a wealthy and powerful man on his knees for you, a man people not only in his office but throughout the country cowered before. But not you. No, you had him wrapped tightly around your finger.

Well, two fingers now that he had gifted you a second ring.

It was the way Joel's lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue over it with a deep groan that had you tumbling over the edge. Your body bent forward with the force of your release, curving over his back with your hands buried in his hair for leverage.

"Fuck, that's it," he whispered into your pussy before swiping his tongue through your slit again. Tears stung the backs of your eyes from the stimulation but you let him continue, trusting him implicitly.

There was no doubt in your mind you would find little circular bruises on your thighs later from the way he clutched at you. The thought of seeing those marks, of seeing the way he claimed you, had your stomach muscles tightening unexpectedly once again. You cried out weakly as another gush of fluid flooded his tongue, then shivered when you heard his surprised groan vibrate throughout your entire body.

"Jesus," you rasped, chest heaving, when he finally pulled away. His pupils were blown wide, making his eyes look nearly black in the dim lighting as he gazed up at you from his spot on the floor.

"So beautiful," he murmured breathlessly, dragging his wet lips over your thighs, kissing your bare skin and working his way up your stomach. His mouth brushed along the silky fabric of your pajamas until he reached the tops of your breasts. Once he found your warm skin again, he peppered kisses all across your chest and neck until he was finally standing upright and plunging his tongue greedily into your mouth.

His cock pressed hard and pulsating against your stomach while his tongue leisurely mapped your mouth, and your legs trembled from the idea of taking him inside your cunt again. You knew yourself. It would be way too much. You were exhausted and your muscles felt so weak, but you would be damned if you went to bed without taking care of him. So you broke the kiss, gave him a playful wink, then sunk to your knees between his body and the wall.

If he had any qualms about the change of plans, he didn't show it. He braced one hand against the wall and the other got lost in your hair when you peeled down the band of his boxer briefs and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft. You dragged your fist up and down a few times, humming softly under your breath at how hard he was for you.

You locked eyes with him. He looked absolutely wrecked, leaning against the wall and looking down at you, jaw slack and eyes glazed over.

While still maintaining eye contact, you opened your mouth wide and slid your lips carefully around his girth, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock before taking him deeper. His hips shifted forward, gently pushing more of himself inside your mouth until he kissed the back of your throat. You gagged a little and pulled back, earning a chuckle from up above.

"Too much?"

All you were able to do was shake your head. Your mouth was full of him, sucking him deeper once again while taking steady breaths through your nose. Joel's fingers tightened in your hair when you began to bob up and down, hollowing your cheeks with one hand still fisting his base and the other gripping his thigh for support.

"Fuck yeah, that - that's good," he moaned. Your chest swelled from the praise so you kept going, keeping a steady rhythm, sliding your tongue up and down the length of him until your lips felt numb and your jaw ached, and even then, you kept going.

"Oh shit, baby, don't stop," he growled. His fist tugged at your hair a little harder than you expected and you gasped around him. Somewhere above you, his other arm collapsed against the wall, now relying on his forearm to keep him upright while you sucked his cock with the kind of enthusiasm that had his knees going weak and his stomach pulling tight.

His hips rocked forward, meeting you thrust for thrust, groaning your name as he watched himself disappear inside your mouth over and over. Your tongue was flat along the underside of his cock when you felt it pulse and a moment later he spilled down your throat, swallowing every drop of his hot, sticky release.

He was cursing breathlessly above you while you cleaned him up with your tongue, and it wasn't until his hips stuttered and he yanked you off him by the hair that you stopped.

"Christ," Joel whispered, sagging tiredly against the wall with his forehead pressing against his wrist after you kindly fixed his boxers for him. His eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were parted, sucking in air fast as he tried to catch his breath.

"Oughta propose to you more often," he panted with his eyes still closed. You giggled and stood, taking his hand. His eyelids fluttered open, allowing you to lead him back to bed.

"Please don't tell me you have a third ring somewhere," you said tiredly after you burrowed under the covers and he curled himself around you from behind. He chuckled and kissed the back of your neck.

"Nah, just two."

You smiled when he nuzzled your ear, his deep breathing already lulling you back to sleep.

"Where do you think we should get married?" you yawned, yearning to just hear his voice. His fingers searched for your hand resting across your stomach and he gave it a squeeze.

"Thought we already decided a year ago," he mumbled. His lips grazed the shell of your ear when he said:

"Fiji, baby."

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[gloomwitchwrites]

I loved the recent "calling your husband boyfriend on purpose" imagine....what about...

Calling your boyfriend husband on ACCIDENT? 😍🤭

By the time that I'm actually getting around to this, "calling your husband boyfriend on purpose" is now no longer recent. Oops! Sorry! (If you want to read that imagine you can find it here.) But is it really an accident? I feel like it could honestly be both, but the accident factor would make the whole thing so much cuter!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, brief alcohol, suggestive themes, established relationship

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Can you help me, John?”

“Yeah, love. Give me a minute.”

The counter top is covered in groceries. It’s the first big day in the new apartment with John. The two of you have been dating for a few years now, but this is the first time you’ve properly lived together.

John comes around the corner in nothing but a pair of shorts. He’s a bit sweaty from building furniture.

“There’s ice cream. Don’t want it to melt.”

“Course.” He gives you a quick kiss before digging through the bags, removing items as he goes.

The two of you work seamlessly, putting away all the groceries quickly.

“Give me a kiss.”

John grins, and goes in for a tooth-achingly sweet one.

“Thanks, hubby.”

The word is out without thought. You don’t even realize you’ve said it until John blinks, a bit startled.

“Hubby?”

You don’t know what to say. You’re staring at him, a bit flustered.

But John smiles. He leans in, stealing another kiss. “You want to marry me?”

“Do you want to marry me?” you counter.

“You proposing?” teases John.

“Stop answering my question with a question.”

John chuckles and pulls you close. “Wifey sounds good on you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“The husband will love this!”

Husband slips out naturally, as if you and Kyle have always been together. The two of you have been dating for years, but there is no marriage. There isn’t even an engagement. But Kyle isn’t around to hear the slip up—at least, you don’t think so.

The store assistant smiles. “Happy to help,” she says brightly before walking away.

You exhale slowly, and turn around, nearly smacking into Kyle.

“Holy shit,” you say, placing your hand on your chest. “You startled me.”

Kyle has a smirk on his face with arms crossed over his chest. “Did I hear you correctly?”

“That I swore?” you ask, perplexed.

“No,” he laughs. “You called me your husband.”

Oh shit.

“You heard that?”

Kyle leans in as if he’s about to tell you a secret. “I did.”

“And?” you prompt, trying to brush this off as nothing.

Kyle shrugs. “Think I like it.”

You blink. “You like it.”

Kyle glances around but there isn’t anyone nearby. He takes a step into your space, lowering his head as if to kiss you. “Say it again.”

You lick your lips. “Husband.”

“Again.”

“Husband.”

Kyle closes the distance, stealing a kiss.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Across the pub, your boyfriend is ordering drinks at the bar.

The two of you are enjoying a free weekend. They are few since Simon is always working—always off on some mission.

What isn’t all that nice is the woman talking to Simon at the bar. He’s politely ignoring her, but she clearly cannot take a hint. She’s smiling at Simon like she wants to climb him. Plus, you’re feeling bold. You have a few drinks in you at this point. The liquor is hot. It is poison.

And you’re ready to strike. Show some fangs.

You stride toward the bar, shoving yourself between the woman and Simon. Wrapping your arms around Simon’s waist, you snuggle up to him.

“Hello, husband,” you croon.

Simon’s mouth quirks with amusement as the woman behind you snorts and makes a flippant remark.

Going up on your toes, you reach for a kiss, and Simon obliges. It is slow. Wet. Way too intimate for such a public setting. You kiss him like you’re starved.

When the two of you part, the woman is gone.

Simon’s hand dives, grabbing your ass in a possessive hold. “Husband?”

“It slipped.”

“Sure it did, love,” laughs Simon.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“This is John. My husband.”

Husband.

The word slips out and you’re not able to draw it back. You can’t correct yourself. Not in front of your peers. You’ve fumbled this completely.

Johnny’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline, his gaze pointed as he glances at you. But he doesn’t correct you either, and you decide to roll with it.

“That’s lovely,” replies your boss. “How long have you two been married?”

This is a new job. It’s the first company party you’re attending, and bringing a plus one is encouraged.

But you’re not able to answer. Johnny steps up and takes the lead.

“Newly,” he says, grinning like it’s true.

Your boss laughs. “That accent! My goodness. Scottish?”

“Aye. Born and bred.”

“How lovely.”

Johnny inclines his head. His hand delicately grabs your arm, pulling you in. “Pleasure meeting you.”

The two of you move on, but Johnny takes a turn, drawing you to the side, his head lowered.

“Husband?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

“It slipped out,” you mutter.

“Your coworkers are gonna think you’re a married woman.”

“I know.”

“Should make it official,” shrugs Johnny.

“What?”

He lightly bumps your shoulder with his own. “You heard me.”

taglist:

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@pearljamislife @ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @gingergirl06 @arrozyfrijoles23

[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

[blackdykegirlblogger]

nsfw werewolf abby hcs ^^

a/n: this is 1000% inspired by @abbyscoochiecruncher and her werewolf abby drawing. ilysm consider this a "be my mutual" proposal. anywayssss

side note istg i'm going to get to all the other fics i have planned eventually. consider this a side quest <3

you can claim to be a freak all you want, but sex with abby will genuinely make you reconsider your belief in god. 

first and foremost. the strap is long. and mean. and knotted. and goes so deep you swear to everything you love it tickles the back of your throat. none of that "it won't fit" shit is flying with her. she'll wait until you're properly aroused, lube you up as much as you need in order to take her, but um, you're taking her. every inch. until she bottoms out.

she likes when you whine about it being too big. It fuels her ego like nothing else. 

has body hair everywhereeee. arms? hairy. legs? hairy. happy trail? more like a happy forest. (unrelated side note: she’s surprisingly not musty. i like to think she smells like cloves and pine cones)

her stamina is…well…frightening, but that's to be expected when fucking a supernatural creature. rounds go well into the double digits. it could go much longer than that tbh, but you always find yourself tapping out (much to abby's dismay).

if you’re on your period it’s literally game over for you. she’s already obsessed with your pussy as is, but when it’s all bloody and ultra sensitive and bloody and sore and BLOODY??? nothing is getting her to pull out bro. nothing.

practically owns the mating press, especially during full moons. she loves watching the way her cock glides in and out of you, loves watching the stretch and the struggle as you try to take all of her girth. and watching your cum ooze out of you as she keeps on pushing herself in. she also adores pronebone and fucking you on your tummy in general.

breeding kink up the wazoo, but are any of us surprised? i think not. when i say she wants to give you babies, i mean babies (or maybe a litter in this case). like, she will dig her claws into your hips to hold you down as she (in her head but shhh don't tell her that) pumps you full of so much cum that you can't even hold it all. she'll stay inside you for hours while you're passed out due to her brutally fucking all the energy out of you, giving a slight thrust every now and again to make sure nothing tries to leak out of your (horrifically abused) pussy.

outdoor sex! outdoor sex! outdoor sex! yes ma'am chasing you into the woods and eventually catching you and shoving you into the ground and tearing apart your dress and-

yall are gonna boo me for this but no fingering :( i'm not that much of a freak chat i'm not trying to get my coochie all scratched up. but hey if you're into that then follow your heart ig.

often gets carried away when giving head. believe it or not, the overstimulation isn't even on purpose. she's so just enamored and pussydrunk and stupid that she loses all track of time and physically can't pull her lips away from your clit.

werewolf!abby isn't as big on dominance as regular!abby. like she still won't bottom (i'm a bit of a pillow princess but ntm on that) but she's a lot more open to you "taking control" via riding her, tying her up, maybe choking if you catch her in the right mood etc. she thinks it's beyond adorable.

if you're not into biting then don't even bother laying with this woman bc by the time she's done with you....

throatfucking! next question-

[atebyflowers]

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ professor!abby who punishes you for a bad grade by making you cum until it adds up your percentage. thinking youd never get before 95, you always agreed. but now, as you're tied to her bed with a vibrator propped up against your swollen cunt — you undoubtedly are starting to wonder if it was the right proposal.

she didnt care if it had to be two times or ten times, you were gonna to orgasm under her guidance until she had a reason to not completely ruin your status in her class.. and god was she brutal with it. making you get off by yourself the first few times — watching comfortably as you desperately grinded against the edge of her bed, taking what felt like forever to finally cum the first time — whining in her ear the moment she made you start over again. "pl-please abs.. s'too much work .. c-can't do it" you begged her to touch you some how, anyway that would give you a slight break.. but she wasn't having it. "should have studied like i told you baby, the more you cry the longer it'll take" she replies sternly. part of her enjoyed watching you struggle and fill the room with cries and plea's — but another part of her wanted you to over fuck yourself so she can have you in your most sensitive state. she loved the satisfaction of fucking you senseless, even more when she knows you're already overstimulated. "god look at you.. so fuckin' swollen.." she groans as she's pounding into you with her thick strap, always using the biggest one she can find. you're unable to speak properly — only mumbling out incoherent noises with every thrust, abby occasionally mocking you. "poor baby can't even speak huh? s'okay.. only a few more to go doll.."

[notapradagurl7]

In The Backseat.

Black Fem!Actress! Reader x Kelvin Harrison Jr.

Summary: You were featured in a pioneering black romance movie alongside Aaron and Kelvin, completed the promotional course and interviews, but felt exhausted, all while dating Kelvin. You both finally reached the limo and chose to ease the pressure on him once it halted and arrived at your house.

WC: 4146k.

A/N: Here is a better khjr. fic for ya’ll hope you enjoy my loves, ☺️ don't forget to leave comments, likes and reblogs are welcome to support, drop a request if you like, they're always open!🫡 let me know if you want a part 2!

Warnings: praise, car sex, fingers in mouth, exhibitionist kink, fingering(fem receiving), oral(m), dirty talk, slight voyeurism, consensual for both parties, kissing, unprotected sex, drunk sex, cussing, let me know if I missed any.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @babybratzworld

@becauseimswagman1

@superheroprincess22 @pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @kaylalb @yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn @dpennedit

@secretlifeoofmarpessa

@westside-rot @mymindisneverhere

@mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@irlvampfairy

@browngirldominion @madamedantes

@chaoticcoffeequeen

@valarghoulis @jazziejax

@saturnville

@enchantedillumination

@mogul93

@uzumaki-rebellion @lady-olive-oil @23jammy

@zillasvilla

—————

Sitting between Aaron and Kelvin in the seats, in front of the camera and your brown eyes locked on the interviewer and asked you, and your castmates Aaron and Kelvin about the movie, you fake smiled and nodded. It’s been hours and hours, of interviews, talk shows, photoshoots, talking with your manager Leona and bodyguard Felix to make sure you're good.

But this was exhausting mentally and physically, you knew that this part came with the entertainment industry but the fame part was difficult, deranged and delusional, stalker fans, toxic gossip blogs ready to get something on you. The worst part was no privacy when it came to certain things.

“Y/N, how does it feel to be in an award-nominated and award-winning film with Kelvin, and Aaron?” The interviewer asked, using a bright tone.

“It feels great to be in this film beside these two, showing the right ways to tackle certain topics that are spoken about enough, you feel that my character Nia is conflicted and chooses the one who’s been yearning for her all along, it’s reminded us that she’s human,” You spoke with confidence, smiling again. Your cheeks ached in pain.

You’ve been acting for seven years, your film credits have expanded significantly, and you’ve won Emmys and an Oscar by the age of 31. Hobnobbing with your favorite stars like Angela Bassett, who inspired your dream.

You were picky when it came to roles in Hollywood, the reboots, remakes, sequels and constant shady, predatory directors, asshole producers, and stuck and entitled managers.

But you finally your manager Leona, who was the best in the business. You preferred working with a black women, you felt safe, seen, and protected properly by her. You had to do so much on your own but it took a toll on you.

You've made it, you were proud of yourself. You had a black-owned production, management team.

You starred in a black romance movie titled More To Love, which revolves around two close friends employed at a black-owned law firm. In the story, they handle legal cases, and things take a turn when your ex, portrayed by Aaron, arrives to propose. Your character named Nia never forgot how much her ex hurt you from heartbreak and betrayal, so your character pretend to be with your colleague Kelvin.

It was very similar to your story when you began dating in high school, Aaron played the role so well and it made you not speak to him, you explained to him that the story was personal to you. Aaron understood completely, shared the same story as you and he apologized.

As the interviewer continued to throw questions your way and Kelvin’s, you could feel the weight of the promotional duties pressing down on you. Your cheeks ached from the forced smiles, and you stole a glance at Kelvin, who flashed you a reassuring grin. It was a momentary distraction from the barrage of queries.

You wore a black knee-length dress that exposed your back paired with black heels, French tip nails with gold rings, and your natural curls pulled up in a cute bun. Your plump lips are adorned with lip gloss, and Your dark brown skin beautifully shines.

Kelvin and Aaron were matching with you, wearing the classic black suits, with white tee shirts, and black pants without ties, thin gold chains draped around their necks while diamond stud earrings hung in their ears.

They were so handsome, and the size difference was cute, Aaron was much taller in person though. Was Aaron a Greek god in another life? You wouldn't be surprised.

“Y/N, do you think the film accurately portrays modern black relationships?” the interviewer chimed in, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Absolutely, the film highlights the complexities and intricacies that many couples face today. Not just about love, but heartbreak and understanding,” you replied, your voice steady and calm.

As the interview wrapped up, you felt a rush of relief. You stepped out of the studio and outside to the lane that led to the red carpet, the rush of the day almost dissipating.

“Great work, we’re getting to the finish line,” Aaron spoke up, nodding.

“Yeah, we did,” You sighed until the both of them noticed that you looked exhausted. Burn out approaching.

“You okay baby?” Kelvin asked concerned, his brows raising.

You shake your head, “No, sweetie. I’m tired as hell,”

Kelvin rubbed your back in the soothing circle, the feel of his hand and the cold chill from the gold metal of his ring sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s going to be alright, once we’re done with this red carpet, we’ll be heading home after that okay?” Kelvin reassured you softly, kissing your cheek.

You nodded, biting down on your lip as you gazed upon the man, he smelled good with the scent of cinnamon and citrus. Your hand rested on the back of his neck, your thumb swiped over. He groaned lowly.

Regrettably, the gossip and dating scene have been lacking recently; you vowed to avoid dating celebrities because of all the negative press surrounding them, as they tend to be deceitful and dishonest.

Until your best friend, Nia introduced you to Kelvin Harrison Jr. and Aaron Pierre, others would assume that you were dating Aaron but you explained repeatedly that you were just friends, nothing more.

Kelvin had his eyes on the moment he met you, and he wasn't like the rest, he was funny, kind, patient and charismatic.

The better you got to know him, the closer you became, transforming the typical friends-to-lovers storyline from the film you acted in into something genuine in real life—who would have thought?

The three of you stepped toward the red carpet laid out for you, a fence in front of you to block paparazzi from stepping too close, Kelvin and Aaron stayed between you, he held your hand.

Your anxiety fell silent amidst of the overlapping chatter of the paparazzi, bright flickering lights from every corner and Kelvin’s thumb swiped over your palm. Exhaling through your fake smile, almost there to the finish line like Aaron.

Relax, you said in the depths of your mind. It almost suffocating from amount of things happening all at once. Your cheeks on your face ached again, your mom did tell you that if you kept that face, it would freeze up like that.

Was she just messing with you? Yeah, she definitely was. You resumed walking close with Kelvin along the velvet red carpet as you peeped at the waiting limo at the end of the carpet rope. So close.

Until you were stopped by someone in the paparazzi, fuck, you were so close. They annoyed the hell of you A LOT. The fact they get paid a huge amount of money for this should be a crime.

“Show us some love!” a photographer shouted out with enthusiasm.

Next thing you know, Aaron strode past the two of you before winking at you while Kelvin’s hand snaked from your back to around your waist, wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a snow day.

“I’ve got you, don't worry,” Kelvin said in a reassuring tone, smiling at you as you mirrored the warm action.

The warmth of Kelvin’s body against yours caused your heart to flutter, his touch made you feel safe, protected from everything and everyone out there, especially in Hollywood, another destructive, soul-sucking world that you heard of, seen in documentaries, scary Lifetime movies, tv shows, the news.

A series of crazy shit flying around and you refused to catch it, you couldn't. You've worked too diligently and consistently to get where you are today.

That is definitely what everyone feels, you couldn't be like them.

Kelvin’s head turned towards you, leaning in close before you did, his plump lips brushed against yours, pressing his onto yours gently. You kissed him back passionately after pulling away from each other.

“We’ve got a new star couple!” someone shouted in glee, you couldn't help but mentally roll your eyes. Here we go.

That was the big announcement from the two of you and to the world.

You were dating Kelvin secretly until the two of you had the conversation of not wanting to be a secret anymore, people had a lot to say, and celebrity relationships won’t last long, in and out like a drive-thru. Cheating, sex scandals, some weird cult shit, or some connection to Illuminati.

Aaron, your manager Leona, and your bodyguard Felix were the only people who knew.

But you didn't let what other people say or think, or do kill your joy, Kelvin and you were happy with each other, that is what mattered most.

“I'll see you lovebirds later,” Aaron spoke up, waving goodbye to you.

You waved back in response, smiling at Aaron with a head tilt. He was so sweet, you focused on the cameras flashing before winking at the camera.

At this point, when is it going to be over? It had to be.

You walked through the strobing lights of the cameras, moving from side to side in those same painful heels. With a forced smile for the photographers and your boyfriend by your side, you were nearing the limousine.

“Time to leave, beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, gently guiding you toward the sleek, black limo.

“Thank God,” you whispered back, turning to face him, walking toward the door as Kelvin opened the door.

You ducked your head and settled into the plush suede backseat of the limo with its tinted deep windows, which was spacious and the color of ink black for the seats and the car floor below your heels were soft as a cloud, the color of macaroon cream.

Kelvin ducked his head and settled onto the suede backseat beside you, grinning at you like he was ready to eat you out in the backseat as he shut the door behind himself. “Glad that’s over and done with, now I can focus on you,” he said, his tone low and seductive.

You chuckled lightly, biting down your lips, clenching your legs before opening the door to the refrigerator and grabbing a champmage botte, “I need a drink first before I deal with your nasty ass,” you shot back using a sinful smirk.

The limo had buttons atop your heads, for the white florescent lights including a small refrigerator for drinks, water bottles, champagne, and wine.

He grabbed the glasses and passed one to you, before kissing your lips again, the taste of strawberry lips gloss adorned his lips, your thumb carefully rubbed it off. He groaned at your touch, damn he was in love with you.

You were 100% sure that Kelvin was so smitten with you, he indeed was.

“My nasty ass?” Kelvin asked in a tone as if he was shocked, his hand resting on the armrest.

“Yeah, you heard me right, Mr. Harrison. All those kisses on the red carpet, I can't help but feel like you're trying to stake your claim,” You laughed, pouring the champagne into the glasses.

Kelvin raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave. “And what if I am? You’re mine, Y/N. And I'm yours, You know that, right?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you took a sip of the bubbly drink. “I do know that, but let’s not forget that the limo driver is watching us, he’s probably a pervert,” you whispered back.

Until you suddenly realize that the limo driver was a woman, her brown skin and brown eyes go with her makeup, her lush lips in red lipstick, giving you a reassuring smile through the rearview mirrors. The limo peeled away from the event, gliding smoothly onto the road where your destination was.

“Oh, you didn't? I'm so glad that she’s a woman but you never know these days,” You mentioned with a shrug.

“Agreed, I'm not sure about how long this drive so how about we make the most of it? Hm?” Kelvin asked with a soft hum, shrugging.

The two of you finished your drinks, feeling the buzz of the drink flow through you, “Yeah, how about we try an exhibitionist kink that I want to do?” You suggested to him.

The sleek limo began to take a gentle turn to the right, going through the bright towering lights and passing through other cars, paying them no mind, as if you two were the only ones in the world.

Kelvin nodded, it was something that he never thought he’d do but with you, he wanted to try it. Just thought of it turned him on. An idea popped up in his head.

“Just imagine…there’s the driver named uh…Kendra watching us and the cameras few inches away from us, and here we are,” Kelvin replied in a seductive time.

You grinned at the man before kissing down his neck, “You’re bad, huh?” you said to him.

“Only for you, baby, but what do you want to do first?” Kelvin asked with that sinful grin, kissing your lips again.

His fingers trailing over your arm and shivered from his touch, with your hand snaked below his pants before stopping, “Can I suck your dick while the driver watches? Just a taste Kel?” you whispered softly in his ear.

His breath hitched from your voice, and he nodded at you. “Y/N..yes you can, don't make me beg,” he sighed blissfully with a smirk. He was in for a treat from you, he didn't even know it yet.

And with his consent, you unzipped his zipped and gently slid down his boxers and pants a little bit, kissing his tip before wrapping your mouth around his thick, long brown dick, his arms rested on the armrest of the limo.

His tongue gliding over his lips, he groaned loudly once you bopped your head onto his dick, your tongue tracing shapes on the veins, he knew you looked so gorgeous doing this, “Fuck…so beautiful, suck it harder..” Kelvin panted heavily, his head fell back onto the soft cushion.

“Mmm..so good,” you mumbled lowly, your hand stroking him with your fingers rolling between his balls, he grunted once he locked eyes with the female limo driver. The soft slurping and squelching sounds filled the car, the warmth of your mouth spurred him one.

“That mouth of yours..is perfect, I couldn't resist you, seeing you walk down that carpet…fuck!” Kelvin shouted out, pushing his hip upwards.

Your palm stroked Kelvin's dick with your cheeks hollowing around him as spit dripped from the corner of her lips, spit stuck to your hand and tricked down to his balls, "Fuck..Y/N.." he groaned deeply, his hands gripping the armrest tightly, You moaned around him, sending vibrations through his body.

“It’s turning me on when you suck this dick, the driver is watching us…that feels so fucking good,” Kel moaned again, hearing your muffled moans in response, filling that exhibitionist side of you once the driver’s eyes flickered back to Kelvin.

You bopped your head faster and your cheeks hollowed harder, wetting his dick and seats up, covered with drops of precum and spit. Staining his pants, your dress. Good thing both of you wore black, “Just like that! Shit!”

His balls tightened in response around your fingers, Kelvin’s mouth parted as you twisted your hand around his dick, squeezing it lightly. “Shit!….Shit!…Y/N, please!” he begged for you, he gasped as if he lost oxygen in his lungs.

Finally, he reached it, Kelvin's hot cum spilling into your mouth, you quickly swallowed every drop while you lifted you head,

“It was good wasn't it?” You bragged with confidence, Smiling and using a warm towel from the edge to clean your mouth, you tossed it into the trash. You put his dick back into his boxers, he zipped them up, and pulled up his pants.

Before you could reply, his hand settled on the back of your neck, drawing you in. He kissed you passionately and intensely, and as you returned the kiss, you let out a moan. When you finally pulled away, a strand of saliva connected your lips and his.

“That was amazing, baby, my turn,” Kelvin sang playfully, giving you an tender kiss as you moaned, your pussy from his touch.

More friction, desperately.

You leaned in, “Touch me, please,” you whimpered softly, giving him consent to touch you.

His fingers grazed the edge of your dress as Kelvin planted kisses on your collarbone, marking your deep brown skin with hickeys. “K-Kelvin…” you moaned again, His fingers slipped beneath your panties, sensing your wetness through the fabric, humming softly in response against your shoulder.

“I couldn't leave my girl like this, so wet just from sucking my shit off?” Kelvin asked in a deep tone, his voice deepening. His finger rubbing your clit. “Y-yeah, I-it was big, couldn't fit it all..” you groaned before moving your hips. No teasing was a rule of yours, but Kelvin’s hand slid through your panties, pinching your clit.

He pushed your panties to the side, and rolled them down and off your ankles. You parted your legs wide for him, while gazing into his eyes, “You’re so fucking nasty, girl,” he groaned softly, his legs parted a bit.

His fingers parted your folds and slipped inside with ease, making you moan wildly, causing Kendra to look back at him but she paid attention to the road still. “Shhh, I got you, my girl’s been stressed out?” he said, his lips nibbling on your bottom lip, the taste of wine and lip gloss.

“Kel..fuck!” you cried out, rolling your hips to that torturous pace, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tight, he must've told the driver to take the long way, your essence poured onto the seats, as he gently pulled the strings of your dress, your breasts poked out. He licked his lips.

“Beautiful titties,” he mumbled, his hands cupping your breasts softly, pinching your nipples roughly before sucking the right softly. “Mhhm..” you hummed but moaned, you’d almost forgotten that you were still in the limo, you definitely needed this. Your hand rested on the back of his nape, feeling that comforting warmth.

In need of his touch as if it was religious, you hoped to your ancestors and God above that Kendra kept driving, eventually you would get home later, you need more.

His fingers thrust in and out of you, he watched your face scrunch up in pleasure, he pressed your back to his clothed chest. “I love it when you make a fucking mess on my fingers, I can't wait to feel it on my dick,” He teased, curling up his fingers. He was so nasty, so passionate. His dick hardens in his pants.

“I..i..I love this shit with you, so much, get deeper for me papa,” You babbled softly, panting while moving your hips a bit. Your hands gripped the armrest, Kelvin was still behind you, keeping you close so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

“Oh shit! Shit! Kelvin!” you moaned suddenly once his fingers slid in deeper, your wet walls clenched tightly around his digits. Your wetness covered him completely and stained his pants but didn’t care.

The limo resumed driving straight again, while the little bumps on the roads made every sensation. Your pussy sucked his fingers right back in and clenched tight, “That’s right, you feel it? That pussy sucked me back in..fuck,” Kelvin groaned raspily, biting down his lip, You gasped, feeling the rhythm of his fingers and the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

The thrill of being in a moving vehicle, with the driver just a few feet away, was pulling you close to the edge. You were so close, but you weren't ready to go home; he pressed his bulge against you and moved his hips, “Don't see what you do to me?” Kelvin groaned as he felt your ass against him, giving your backside a playful smack that made you moan, clearly turned on by you.

His thumb flattened on your clit and circled, your mind blurred from pleasure and saw thousands of stars behind your closed eyelids, you were moaning loudly as his fingers went faster. “That pussy knows me so well,” Kelvin teased with a grin.

“You’re so good to me, just a little more baby,” You begged, your voice softened a bit, his fingers hit that sweet spot. Moving in a ‘come here’ motion over and over. “I got you,”

You nodded, feeling the tension build within you, the pressure mounting as he resumed to thrust his fingers, in and out, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot. “You drive me crazy, I'm gone fuck you so good when we get in that house,”

After his fingers turned sporadic and curled again, you felt yourself clench around his fingers. Waves crashing over you as you cried out his name, “Kelvin!”

He slowed his movements, letting you ride out the waves of your orgasm, feeling you pulse around him. The rush of it left you breathless, and you leaned back against his chest, panting as the aftershocks coursed through you.

“Damn, you’re beautiful when you cum,” he murmured, planting soft kisses along your shoulder and lips, sending little sparks of electricity through your body.

You turned to face him, still catching your breath. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you teased, a playful smile creeping onto your lips.

Kelvin chuckled, the sound low and rich, filling the quiet space of the limo. “I love you,” he said, he pulled out his fingers, watching you tie up the strings in the back of your dress.

“I love you too,” you agreed, stealing a quick kiss from him, feeling the warmth radiating between you.

As the car slowed down, you could see the lights of your house glowing in the distance. “Looks like we're almost home,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

“That was fun, I liked that,” Kelvin replied, grinning like it was his birthday and he enjoyed his present. His eyes are still on you.

You nodded, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, “Yeah, I liked it too,” you said, that shy side coming out.

The limo finally came to a stop, and the driver turned to look at you both. “We’ve arrived,” she announced with a knowing smile, as if she understood the connection that had just blossomed between you two.

“Thanks, Kendra,” you said, feeling a bit shy as you realized the driver had witnessed more than just a simple kiss.

Kelvin opened the door, helping you out as you stepped onto the pavement. The cool night air hit your skin, and you shivered slightly, but Kelvin wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close again. He closed the door and let Kendra that he pay her immediately, apologizing for the mess on the seats.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, his tone both playful and protective.

Once inside, you closed the door behind yourself. Kelvin brought you into the bedroom, removing his suit as you peeled off your dress. He quickly kissed you, your lips meeting. Your legs spread, he buried his dick inside you. His hands on your hips.

“My beautiful girl,” he groaned softly.

And with that, he made love to you all night long, distrubing your neighbors who obviously sent a nose complaint but you knew Kelvin would talk care of it. Your moans echoed through the walls, he kissed your shoulder and said, “Fuck ‘em, you can scream as loud as you want to,”

————

[hexhomos]

Dropping into the Mel convo to add that I don't see how the stans that erase/ignore the Things She Actually Does And Says and claim she was just helping Jayce out of the goodness of her heart can claim that anyone pointing out that she's a billionaire imperialist who manipulated him for her own gain is racist when THEY'RE the ones claiming she spent all of season 1 helping a nonblack man for. idk. reasons. Why is it "better" for her to be a Black woman who supported a man and asked for nothing in return...?

That reading of her makes everything with her mother make no sense. Is she like, just mad her mom is interfering with her ability to Support and Love Jayce? Lmao.

The reading that the text and the inherent set up of the politics of Piltover/Zaun supports is a complex woman with her own personal motivations, wanting to live up to the image of the family she believes shunned her on her own (nonviolent) terms, using the craft of social engineering (manipulation, etc) within the political and economic sphere rather than through weaponry and warfare. She starts to shift due to growing some actual attachment to Jayce, but it's not a perfect switch flip, and then her mother arriving forces Mel to contend with what she had actually been doing by "preparing" the city for her family.

That's infinitely more interesting than "oh she just helped this guy out of the kindness of her pure heart and because he's hot" and also has canonical basis that can be pointed to In The Text. That's a complicated, multifaceted character. The fanon Mel who just helped Jayce because she's a good person is a flat, tired trope.

And personally, I find people who "love" characters but have completely inaccurate readings of them to be far more annoying than people who "hate" characters but understand them perfectly. Love/hate is just a matter of taste. If someone can spend time honestly analyzing a character, that's more important than ten thousand blandly positive comments or tweeted out fanfictions dressed up as appreciation.

Paragraph #2 on this actually blindsided me like I could kiss you on the cheek (consensually) rn I've never been able to properly articulate WHY the take rankled me so much even when I tried to see it from a completely best-possible-intentions perspective. And this gets it. It's like you're not even flattening her into a girlboss caricature, it's worse, you're actually making her a 2D saccharine pastry servant with no will of her own except furthering some man's narrative as his mommy and denying the one massive, defining character conflict Mel has in the entire show: she is her mother's daughter! She IS a wolf in sheepskin!

When you have all this power, all this privilege and resources at your disposal from day 1, and you choose to look the other way - what happens then? Is this really being kinder than her mother? Is this being merciful, or just prolonging a sort of system-wide torture? It's absolutely relevant to how we see kid-Mel in that flashback from s1 too. Her idea of mercy and salvation from her mother's more violent ends is to enslave someone. She puts it in gentle terms and dresses it up fancily as a beneficial thing to both parties, but that is what she is proposing, in the context of the Noxus' hostile invasion of Ionia; they'd chain that princess and mold her in training until she became an useful asset in their service. Is that kindness? Is that good? I don't think Mel is able to answer to this even in her big age during season 1.

She certainly thinks it could be, when compared to death, but it's also a lie she tells herself while she ignores the rest of the world and the place she holds within it. Mel hates getting her hands dirty, because she's never /had/ to do that to enjoy the brilliant spoils of success; her mother loves her enough to make sure she could avoid the bloodshed. She carries the strategist's fallacy of thinking whole wars and countries can be managed from the privileged seats up top, out of touch with the blood and gristle. From up there, when people die you don't see it. You can mark the numbers off as necessary collateral damage in the path to Exponential Growth.

The core assumption that has always bothered me is defining this as 'kindness' without actually examining what it says about her character and the story. She was created that way for a reason. She was clothed in this way for a reason. The first fact we learn about Mel in the first episode she appears in is that she is the richest person in the entire city, and then there is a 10 year timeskip, and she hasn't truly done anything to address or prop up the undercity at all (they are ONE city too, under her own philosophy; Zaun is only a separate entity in the mouths of the zaunites who want freedom.) In that context, when her goal of statecraft clearly is to continue advancing Piltover as much as it can be advanced and do nothing about the screaming bleeding diseased dying hordes below the bowels of her capital - is that goodness? Is that really better than mother? I think Mel's arc is about finding out really quickly and really horrifically that it isn't, and that she played a big part in making a lot of things worse.

It's not that she failed at her job, it's quite the opposite. She succeeded in her mission so incredibly well her mother could swoop into power in a single day and then put another hundred necks to the blade, no sweat, and Mel has to reckon with what that says about her, and what she thought of herself. The power she has obviously always had and never sought to use as it Should have been used.

The idealistic future-path here is that now in full control of her Mother's armies, she's returning to Noxus to challenge the predatory system it perpetuates on a world scale, but only god knows what we'll see come January. And all of this is infinitely more interesting to me than docile fandomized ship accessory n.9999