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andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

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MR. TOKYO BEAT HOTTEST HERO : SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Shouto finds out he’s hot. He swiftly uses this knowledge against you. CONTENT & WARNINGS: pro hero au, established relationship, afab reader (no pronouns used), shouto's general obliviousness, todoroki shouto is a little shit, fluff, aged-up characters, smut, nipple play, vaginal sex, emotional sex, 18+ minors please dni! (3.8k)

Pro Hero Shouto Voted Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero of the Year

It’s been almost six years since Todoroki Shouto swept onto the scene as pro hero Shouto, melting almost as many villains as he has hearts. Currently standing at number four in the hero rankings, he’s armed with a formidable ice-and-fire combination quirk nearly as devastating as his smile.

Shouto’s heartthrob status has created such a sensation that he’s papered the pages of our magazine hundreds of times since his UA days. Now he’s taking home the coveted Hottest Hero crown… [read more]

It was a frosty night in early December when Shouto returned from patrol, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

To an outside observer, his expression probably looked as bland as ever. But years into your relationship, you knew how to read your boyfriend’s microexpressions—the tiniest furrowing of his brows, the softest downward hitch of that perfect, plush mouth. He looked troubled—more troubled than you’d seen him in a while.

You turned off the heat on the stove, abandoning the dinner you’d been preparing, and rushed over to him as he shed his boots at the door. He’d apparently already changed out of his hero uniform at the agency, dressed instead in the high-collared gray coat that always made him look like he’d wandered out of the pages of a J. Crew catalog. He shrugged his coat off in tandem with his backpack, the tiny frown still carving his lips.

“Shouto—what’s wrong? Are you alright?” you asked, immediately taking his face in your hands.

Shouto blinked down at you, twin points of blue and silver fixing on your face. To your satisfaction, his expression seemed to soften, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth instead, and he murmured your name in greeting, his tone low and soft.

“Did something bad happen on patrol?” you asked. “You look troubled.”

Two warm, big hands came up to encompass your own, his thumbs smoothing over the backs of your fingers. You let him pull your hands away from his face to hold in his own, and he pressed a kiss to the knuckles of one, his mouth sweet and hot on your skin.

You flushed. Despite the years you’d been together, you had never been able to establish any sort of immunity to Shouto. If anything, the crush you’d had on him before you’d gotten together had only grown more out of control the longer you were exposed to him—-you still got butterflies whenever he looked at you with a fraction more intensity than normal.

“Hello, love,” he said, his mouth lingering over your skin.

Your stomach swooped, and your face got hot. Damn him.

“Hi Sho,” you backtracked. “I’m happy you’re home. But seriously, did something happen?”

Shouto’s fingers tightened around yours, and a little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Not on patrol. Something else… unexpected happened.”

You watched him, waiting for him to elaborate.

His eyes roved over you, as if searching for the appropriate words on your face, until he seemed to find the right question. “Am I… do people consider me handsome?”

There was a moment of stunned silence before an incredulous laugh burst out of you.

The most beautiful man on earth, the internet’s steadfast boyfriend—the literal stuff of wet dreams, lurid fantasies, and thousands of covert sessions with a vibrator—was asking if he was considered handsome.

You knew Shouto had never been interested in his own beauty, blinking at compliments as if unsure how to receive them, generally oblivious to anyone hitting on him as though he thought people were that friendly to everyone, never spending any significant time in front of the mirror unless it was to stare at you next to him in the reflection, undoing your hair or washing your face or brushing your teeth.

But to be so unaware of his own looks that he was asking you?

“Shouto, you know you’re handsome,” you said. “I tell you all the time.”

The wrinkle between Shouto’s brows deepened. “You think so because you love me. But—I meant… do other people who do not love me think so?”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline, floored by this line of questioning. “Shouto—every single person on earth thinks you are like the hottest man alive. Are you for real?”

Shouto blinked, those gray and blue eyes growing a fraction wider. “They do?”

You nodded, surprise coloring your tone. “Yeah—you didn’t know? Sero calls you ‘pretty boy’ to tease you like all the time. You get hit on every time you leave the house. You have twitter accounts dedicated to you.”

A tiny pout crept onto Shouto’s mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered. “I thought he said it as a joke. And I thought those accounts were fans of my work. And I thought… you only thought so because you love me.”

You laughed. Shouto’s good looks were as serious as a heart attack. So serious they might just induce one, in fact. And you did love him, and would love him no matter what he looked like—his inside was just as beautiful as his outside, and would always make him attractive to you. He was so kind, so thoughtful, and so inherently bone-deep good in so many ways that made your heart swell just looking at him.

Truly he was love-you-even-if-you-were-a-worm material. But this was no laughing matter.

“What’s brought this question on now?” you asked.

Shouto blinked again, looking slightly startled, then turned to his backpack. He produced a glossy magazine with a sticky note stuck to it, covered in his manager’s handwriting that read: check out page 43 >:). Just over the sticky note, two very familiar heterochromatic eyes peered out intensely from the magazine’s cover.

You peeled away the note to see your boyfriend’s face in full—his expression handsome and solemn. The shot must have been taken sometime post-rescue as he had smudges of ash all along his high cheekbones, and his hair was windswept, and a little piecey, like he’d just finished using phosphor. A headline next to his ear proclaimed, Todoroki Shouto: Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero Alive!

You looked back up at Shouto to find both of his ears red, though his expression was determinedly blank-faced. A grin yanked at your mouth.

“Well someone who works there has eyeballs,” you said, laughing. “Congratulations, Shouto!”

The scarlet at the tips of Shouto’s ears deepened. “I do not… I did not expect…”

Your smile grew larger, fondness blooming in your chest. He was so good you wanted to bite him. Of course he never expected anything like this—his concerns were tied to his heroics—had he saved enough people, was he living up to the hero he wanted to be? Even when he’d finally broken the top five earlier last month, he was only pleased to be so recognized because he wanted many people to be reassured by him, not out of any sense of competitiveness with his fellow heroes.

He would never think of anything like this—he was so fucking good.

“I always thought—my scar,” Shouto said, touching his face.

Your heart squeezed and you wormed your fingers under his, placing your hand over the scar in question.

“Your scar is a part of your face and a part of your identity. But to be real with you, it only makes you look more interesting, Sho.” Your own ears heated. “To be completely honest it’s—well it’s one thing that makes you look human. You kind of look, um, unnaturally handsome otherwise, like some kind of vampire or angel or something. When I say things like you’re too handsome to be allowed I actually mean it, you know.”

Shouto paused, those heterochromatic eyes flickering back down to yours. A scarlet eyebrow quirked slightly. “Then you also think that I am handsome,” he said, though it was phrased more like a revelation to him than a question.

“Did you think I was lying?” you asked hotly.

Shouto shook his head minutely. “No—but I did not realize. You found me handsome before you loved me?”

You laughed. “I had eyeballs before I loved you, so yeah. And I wouldn’t be so effusive all the time if I didn’t mean it. You think when I tell you stuff like that that I’m just playing it up?”

Shouto’s expression went suddenly blank, like a marker board suddenly erased of nefarious plans. Instantly, your hackles raised, the smile falling off your mouth, your senses suddenly screaming danger. Shouto might be the most trustworthy, reassuring, and beautiful pro hero of all time, but beneath the surface lurked a youngest child and a major little shit. His expression only ever changed like this when he was about to get up to something.

“Then you think I am so handsome you cannot think,” Shouto said.

The magazine suddenly crackled in your fingers as you clutched it between you. “What.”

Shouto moved a step closer, gaze sharpening. “When you said I was so handsome you cannot think. You meant it.”

A sound like a nervous cow escaped you as you backed up a few steps. “Did I say that?”

A tiny smile pulled at Shouto’s mouth again, a cross between something sincerely pleased and sincerely shit-eating.

“When you said I am so handsome that sometimes your brain goes static,” he said, his tone dropping low, prowling closer. “You meant it.”

You flushed hot. Hearing your words repeated back to you like that was so embarrassing.

You flailed when your back hit the wall, and Shouto stretched out an arm, blocking you in. You couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked to his bicep for a split second, admiring the way it flexed slightly under the sleeve of his shirt as he pressed his hand to the wall, the way the kitchen light shadowed it lovingly.

Shouto’s ears were even redder when you looked back at him, but his gaze was hungrier. He’d definitely noticed your inspection, and his newfound realization about your level of appreciation was clearly both pleasing but embarrassing.

“You said your brain does not work right when I am close,” Shouto said, his face looming near. “Am I doing it right?”

He was doing it right—terribly, horribly, awfully right. Your breath caught in your lungs, lights in your brain winking out one by one as that soft, perfect mouth hovered just over yours. Shouto was so warm this close, and you could feel all the fibers in your body straining towards him like plants unfurling under the sun.

You rallied yourself one last time, throwing your hands up, defeated. “I live with a literal Greek sculpture of a boyfriend, am I not supposed to admire the artwork?”

Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, you saw the smile on his lips widen a fraction, just before his mouth captured yours.

In the space of a heartbeat he’d pressed himself against you, trapping you against the wall just as your knees went to pudding. You could feel every part of him against you and you couldn’t think, all your thoughts slipping away, dissolving like sugar in water. Shouto’s hands came up to support your waist, pinning you against the wall as he kissed you so sweetly and so very thoroughly.

“Is this it, love?” he asked when he pulled back, something both smug and wondering in his tone. “Am I doing it right?”

You scraped the bottom of your mind for any fragments of human language with which to respond. “You always do it right, you little shit.”

Shouto’s mouth quirked in a smile again, and he leaned in to press it to the side of your throat, lips moving softly. You shivered in his hands and felt the way his smile widened on your skin.

You could practically feel delight pouring off of him, this discovery of his new power—a power he’d always had but never understood in full.

It figured Shouto’s beauty would only interest him insofar as he could deploy it against you.

But that was Shouto. Everything he had was something he used in service to others.

Shouto’s mouth mapped a hot trail down your throat, and you clung to his shoulders as his lips dipped under the collar of your shirt and sucked, softly but insistently. One of his hands left its place at your hip to slide up your stomach and beneath the fabric of your shirt, cupping the side of your breast.

He wasn’t touching anything, but the feeling of his hand, warm and strong and so very large that it spanned over your chest and ribcage, sucked all the oxygen right out of the air. You bit back a noise as Shouto left another mark beneath your collar, his long eyelashes fluttering against the skin of your throat as he let out his own soft groan.

“I thought you were beautiful, too, before I loved you,” Shouto said as his fingers traced the outline of your bra, just barely skimming the skin underneath.

Your ears went hot, the way they always did when Shouto got sincere in place of dirty talk. It was even hotter than the filthiest thing he could have said to you, because you knew he meant every single word of it.

“But now I love you, you are even more beautiful to me,” he said. “Is it the same for you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but cut off on a moan as Shouto’s fingers finally found their way beneath your bra, his thumb swiping over your nipple. Your head thunked back against the wall when he did it again, pinching gently as his other hand covered your other breast, mirroring the action.

Heat streaked through your veins, pooling in your core. You bit your lip as Shouto played with you, feeling those heterochromatic eyes hot on your face.

“Answer me, love,” he commanded gently.

You peeked open an eye, realizing you’d squeezed them shut, shuddering as Shouto’s thumbs swiped over your nipples again, the touch perfect and maddening. Shouto was watching you intently, as he always did, but there was an extra dimension of interest, as if he truly did not know, truly wanted to know what you would say.

“Yes,” you told him, your tone hitching higher as he gently rolled your nipples in his long, pretty fingers. “Yes I—oh!—only find you more incredibly handsome every day—ah! Shouto!”

Shouto looked pleased, leaning forward to layer a kiss over your mouth as he played with your nipples. You squirmed under his hands, panting into his mouth, the touches already overwhelming. After years together, he knew exactly how to work you.

A strong thigh slid in between your own as Shouto pressed himself closer to you. You kissed him fiercely, huffing tiny embarrassing noises into his mouth, grinding against his thigh.

“Fuck, love,” Shouto groaned as he grew hard against your hip. You felt like you were floating, thoughts distant, the only present idea the feeling of Shouto’s strong body over yours. He was all over you but you wanted more, wanted to climb inside him and make your home there, wanted him to press inside of you and fill you and claim you and keep you—

“Shouto, bed—please, please—” you managed, before Shouto was hefting you in his arms obligingly.

He dumped you on the bed with a little less finesse than usual, following you down hungrily, weighing you into the sheets.

He made short work of your clothes, and you were bare to him in what felt like seconds. Shouto’s mouth immediately sought your breast again, closing over your nipple as his fingers dipped inside of you. You writhed with the heat of him over you, the heat of his mouth on you, the gentle press of him inside of you.

His thumb brushed over your clit as his tongue did something mind-bending over your nipple, and a moan escaped you, high and shivery. Shouto’s huff across the skin of your chest told you that it had pleased him, and he sucked a little more firmly, a little more insistently.

“Shouto, Shouto, Shouto—” you babbled mindlessly, hands sliding all over him. You wanted to touch him but you couldn’t reach him in return, so you settled for sliding your fingers into his hair, clinging as he made stars fizzle under your skin.

“Shouto—I’m going to come—you have to stop if you want to—ah!” you squeaked, as Shouto rubbed you more purposefully, moving over your clit in the way he knew you liked. His fingers moved inside you unrelentingly as he licked and sucked you slowly, the contrast between his mouth and his fingers too much for you.

Your pleasure rolled over you like a wave, rushing through your veins, pooling in all your limbs. You seized up under Shouto, but his weight held you down, his mouth and fingers working you through it.

You were still whining with sensitivity when he worked his own clothes off and slid into you, filling you up with the familiar shape of him. Your whine trailed into another moan, the feeling of him so utterly perfect inside of you.

“I don’t need anyone to think I am handsome but you, love,” Shouto said, canting his hips up so that he slid in and out of you. “All I want is you.”

You shifted, wrapping your legs around his back, pulling him deeper inside of you. “I know—Shouto, you’re beautiful inside and out. I love everything about you. Your face, your voice, your kindness, your goodness,” you paused as he filled you again, grinning up at him. “Your di—”

A powerful thrust had you choking off into a squeak, and you clutched his bicep as Shouto smiled down at you, his own grin charming and mischievous. You thought he was especially handsome just like this—panting, flushed, grinning, glorious—the way no one else got to see him but you. Mr. Tokyo Beat Hottest Hero he may be, but people still would never know how truly beautiful he could be, grinning down over you.

That was all yours.

Shouto wormed an arm between your back and the mattress, catching your waist and pulling you into him. The new angle had him brushing against your clit as he slipped in and out of you, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head when you caught sight of where you were joined together, Shouto’s abs flexing tightly as he moved back and forth within you.

Sounds of pleasure slipped out of you, and Shouto caught them in his mouth. You kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders, pulling him closer. You reveled in the feeling of his hot skin on yours, shivering in delight with the contrast of his heat and the cool room around you.

Shouto’s hips worked into you, chasing both of your pleasure, his strokes fluid and sure. Those long fingers slid down your body again to press ever-so-slightly over your clit, and you bucked into his hand, delirious with the feeling of him pressing against you from both the inside and out. With the heavy weight of him over you it was like he was all around you, all over you, in your mouth, in your sex, overwhelming you.

You writhed against him, babbling a string of nonsense when he let your mouth free. Praise about how beautiful he was, about how good he was, about how good he felt, about how much you loved him.

Shouto breathed his own praise into your ear, his mouth closing around the lobe. He told you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how even if everyone liked the way he looked it was “all for you, love—everything is for you.”

His fingers slid in soft circles around your clit as he ground into you, kissing his way up your throat. You panted into the dim of your bedroom, little stars sparking in the corner of your vision. It felt like someone had lit a sparkler beneath your skin, a thousand tiny points of fizzing, burning friction, and Shouto was touching every single one of them.

“Cum for me, love,” Shouto commanded, his tone soft and low, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You couldn’t speak, could only nod, nearly there. His fingers kept toying with you, expert and unrelenting, and in another few seconds the wave of your pleasure was mounting again. It swept over you like a tidal wave, smashing through you, sweeping through every limb, every nerve ending.

You cried out Shouto’s name, clenching around him, and then he was abandoning your clit to pull you up into him, grinding hard. His pace grew faster, more frantic, and he panted into your throat, until he was following you off the edge, pouring himself into you, filling you up from the inside.

You shivered and shook against him until finally the wave of your pleasure crested. Shouto relaxed over you as your limbs went slack too. He pressed a kiss to your mouth, slow and languid.

“Definitely Tokyo’s hottest hero,” you said muzzily, your words a little slurred. “The world’s hottest hero, even.”

Shouto huffed a tiny laugh. “I only need to be your hottest hero,” he told you, his heterochromatic eyes pinning you earnestly.

You smiled up at him, running a hand absently through his scarlet and white mop of hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers.

“You always have been. Before I loved you, but especially now that I love you this much,” you told him.

Shouto smiled, then, a pleased, half-moon grin, so beautiful and so clever that it knocked the wind right back out of you again. You leaned up to kiss him again, soaking in his private beauty, pleased that you out of everyone got to have him like this. And you would make him feel it again—you wanted to show him again how much he meant to you.

He was Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero—but he was your most beautiful, beloved, cherished hero. And that was a thousand times better. So you’d show him a thousand times over.

You rolled over him, delighting in the slight widening of those beautiful eyes, the tiniest quirk of interest on that perfect mouth.

You’d show him—starting right now.

#shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto smut

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too-much-tma-stuff · 1 year ago

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Finally getting help (pt 2)

This one actually is edited thanks to @basementqueercock! Thank you friend!

part 1 | Masterpost

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Vlad had been making a stink at the Gala about the Wayne brats taking his godson from him without his permission when the music suddenly cut out. Bruce Wayne himself stalked towards Vlad with an expression that was honestly a little intimidating, even if Vlad obviously wasn’t scared of such an empty headed pretty boy even if he was one of the richest and most influential people on the planet. He was Plasmius! He could take a rich pretty boy is he had to!

“Ah! Mr. Wayne, thank goodness! Your children have taken my Godson off somewhere! I’m sure it’s just a harmless prank but he’s a bit fragile and unpredictable so I really think that it would be best if-“

“Is he fragile and unpredictable because he’s pregnant and you knew?” Bruce asked low and dangerous. Silence spread out around them, even though there’s no way they could have heard they saw the look on Brucie’s face. He rarely got angry but when he did it was serious, when he did it usually meant someone had hurt a kid.

Vlad blanched for a moment, Danny had been so tight lipped about it, so unwilling to tell even those he trusted how did These people know?! “What? What on earth are you talking about? Of course he’s not pregnant, I mean he’s a boy!” Vlad huffed and Bruce’s jaw tightened even more somehow.

“He’s not leaving with you. Get out.” He said low and menacing, then raised his voice. “Sorry to cut the party short everyone but something has come up, a situation that really needs my attention so I’m going to have to put an end to the party early.”

“What do you mean!? He’s MY God son! MY heir! You can’t just keep him from me!” Vlad said, he knew that his eyes were starting to glow a little red but he couldn’t help it. “He’s MINE! Return him to me or you will regret it I swear!”

“See him out.” Bruce said dismissively to a handful of guards who had approached at the start of the commotion A lot of the socialites were already starting to see themselves out, now was not the time to argue, or even stick around when it looked like this might get physical.

“I will be back! I will be back with lawyers and police and the brat’s parents,” Vlad vowed but couldn’t risk fighting the guards any more than a usual old man would on the way out with so many eyes on him. Well he just needed to find a place alone. Then he could transform and come back, possess Bruce Wayne and make him do something heinous in public to ruin him for this.. this- this INDIGNITY!

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Bruce was having a hard time keeping his Batman expressions off his face as he saw that everyone was out of his house and he knew his children were having the same trouble. Dick looked like he was ready to bash someone’s head in and Steph wasn’t that much better. Damian was standing by the door, seeing everyone out with frosty politeness that no one would mistake as genuine. Bruce felt just a little bad, it wasn’t anyone’s fault what they had found tonight. No one else knew about the clearly abused teen they were currently harbouring, but none of the family could help it either. Bruce would send all the guests gift baskets once they could announce what was going on.

Alfred was on the phone with Bruce’s lawyers, sending them the mildly distorted audio from Danny’s earlier conversation with Cas and Dick, and the footage from Vlad Master’s outburst. That had the same sort of distortion over it too which was odd, he’d have to look into it. Cas had already informed him she thought Danny was a meta of some sort, maybe it was connected to that? Or maybe they were aliens? Though Danny being trans was currently the most plausible explanation for his pregnancy. They’d find out more later. What mattered was the footage of both of those would be enough for Bruce to get emergency custody while the family was investigated.

Tim was with Danny in the room Alfred had fixed for him, helping him settle in and lending him some clothes. Tim was the closest to Danny’s age and also one of the calmer ones right now so he was in charge of trying to make Danny feel safe and comfortable while the family took up battle stations to deal with the legal and logistical elements of this.

Bruce made sure everyone was out, the perimeter was secure, and Oracle was at her computer watching the security feed for anything suspicious including the pattern of distortion Vlad and Danny seemed to emit. He wasn’t sure how paranoid he should be about all this, but he’d seen the way Vlad’s eyes sparked red when he was angry and Batman was sure he was a lot more dangerous then he first seemed. And not just in the way that he was apparently willing to impregnate a boy young enough to be his son.

Finally he couldn’t avoid going to check on Danny anymore. Not that he was Really avoiding it, just that he knew this was going to be an exhausting and difficult conversation and he needed to brace himself for it. With every step towards Danny’s new room he felt the weight gather on his shoulders of what this child must have been through.

He knocked, and let himself in. Immediately clocking the way Danny tensed at the sight of him. Of course a rich older man would set off his alarm bells. Bruce gave the softest smile he could and went to pull out the desk chair across from the bed Danny was sitting on, well out of arms reach so he wouldn’t seem like a threat as he sat down. He glanced at Tim who nodded and went and sat on the bed next to Danny. Solidarity, willing to stand up against Bruce if Danny needed it, safety.

“Hello Danny, it’s nice to meet you. My children told me a bit about.. your situation,” Bruce said with a small grimace. “Would you mind if I ask you some questions? I promise I won’t judge you whatever you say, and I promise I am on your side. No matter what I will try to keep you safe okay? Just tell me the truth, it’ll help me do what needs to be done.”

“Alright Mr. Wayne,” Danny said, though he was still wary.

“Thank you, please call me Bruce. So first, what’s your full name?” he asked deciding to start super easy.

“Daniel James Fenton,” Danny replied softly.

“Your parents names?”

“Doctors Madeline and Jack Fenton,” Huh the fact that he called his parents doctor like it was part of their name seemed to be significant though Bruce wasn’t sure exactly what it meant.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 16,” He said. A little older than he looked but still no where near old enough to have the weight of the world on his shoulders like he did.

“And you’re pregnant?” Bruce asked as gently as he could, Danny nodded. “And you’re sure?”

“Yes,” Danny said softly and Bruce nodded, licking his lips a little.

“Did you take a test then?” He asked and Danny grimaced making a so so motion.

“It’s not… that simple,” He said softly.

“Can you explain it to me please?” Bruce asked softly.

Danny took a deep breath and licked his lips, hesitating, opening his mouth to stat, hesitating again and biting his lip. Bruce stayed quiet as he watched the conflict on Danny’s face. “You work with the justice league right?” Danny asked suddenly which seemed like a bit of a non sequitur to Bruce but he needed. “A bunch of the members aren’t human right?” Ah, Bruce nodded again. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course I am Danny,” Bruce promised, soft and reassuring. “People don’t have to be human or from earth to be people. Whatever is going on with you you’re still a person, and a kid, and deserve to be protected.”

“Okay,” Danny said as he scrutinized Bruce’s body language for any sign that he was lying. “Okay. I’ve never been able to trust any adults with this shit but I can’t keep doing this on my own so okay. I’m not human, not fully anyway, not anymore. These are..” He touched his stomach. “Like if you did an ultrasound you wouldn’t see embryos more like… Hang on Here.”

Bruce blinked as Danny suddenly, reached Inside himself, and before he could panic Danny had pulled out a perfectly round object that filled his palm. It shimmered with light from within, cold and sparkling with stars. “Our kind is more energy and light then anything else. This is Us, the mind, heart, everything we are is stored in our core the rest is formed around that. I mean for most of my kind, I’m still half human.” Danny said before replacing the orb inside him. “I have two other little cores inside me right now, feeding on my energy to develop properly, you could see them on an Xray. I don’t know how long they’ll take honestly.” He sighed caressing his stomach again.

“But I can feel them inside me, I can feel their worry when I’m scared, and their joy when I’m happy, and their love. They’re my babies.” He said with the softest most paternal smile on his lips. The bags under his eyes were awful, he was clearly exhausted and stressed, but his expression told Bruce Danny thought it was all going to be worth it for his children. It brought a lump to his throat he had to clear before he could speak again.

“Okay, do you have access to healthcare appropriate for your.. species?” He asked and Danny nodded. Though he was tight lipped still.

“There are protections for non-human species in America you know,” Tim said.

Bruce and Tim exchanged a confused look as Danny barked a laugh. “Not for MY kind, we were specifically excluded,” He said with a wry curl to his lips. “The shadow or echo left behind when a proper human dies, not sentient or sapient they say. Malicious and dangerous they say. To be captured or exterminated on sight. They would take me, experiment on me, probably put my babies in jars or something.”

Oh, oh fuck, he was shaking, eyes blank and glassy like he was heading towards a panic attack. “Danny! Danny look at me,” Bruce said as he leaned forward and Danny’s gaze flicked up to his face. “I don’t know who ‘they’ are but I promise I will do everything in my power to make sure they don’t get you. You’re clearly not what they say, and anyone who would hurt a child is not the good guy in this story.”

“Who are they?” Tim asked with an expression that promised swift and vicious retribution.

Danny took another deep breath. “The GIW, the Ghost Investigation Ward. They’re a government agency, they’ve been hunting in my hometown for a while. Early on we tried to call the Justice Legue, but I think they were jamming the lines or something,” Danny said looking down and biting his lip.

Fuck this poor kid really couldn’t catch a break! Bruce was sure that the ‘ghosts’ these idiots were hunting weren’t really anything of the sort, but he would look into this and see what he could find. Tim was clearly itching to as well bad he wasn’t willing to leave Danny alone with Bruce, good lad.

“And what about your parents? Do you think you could be safely returned to their home?” Bruce asked, as much as he wanted to keep Danny reunification was supposed to be the goal of fostering.

“No!” Danny nearly yelped sitting up straight. “No! They work for the GIW! They design most of their weapons. If they ever found I’d been contaminated- I don’t want to think the worst of them but even if they still recognized me as their son the babies-“ He cut off, wrapping both his arms around his stomach and curling in on himself.

“Okay, we’ll call child protective services, my lawyer, and the Justice League. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Bruce promised Danny. “And you can stay here as long as you need to. Is there any other family you would want to go to?” Bruce asked, just to be sure, but he wasn’t surprised when Danny shook his head and grabbed a pillow to hug.

“And I know Oracle and Red Robin will be itching to find out more about this ‘government agency’,” Tim said. “I want to go tell them Danny, if Bruce and I go will you be okay on your own or do you want me to ask Cas to come stay with you?”

“Cas please? If she’s not busy?” Danny asked uncertainly and Tim nodded. Bruce was getting up before Danny spoke up again. “I have a sister, Jazz. She knows about me not being fully human, but not about the babies. She’s a good person, and she’s almost an adult. I don’t know, I just need you to know she’s good, and I don’t want to mess things up for her,” Danny said worriedly.

“Of course Danny, thanks for letting me know,” Bruce said with a smile already making plans to get her out as well. “We’ll let you know as soon as there are developments.” He promised before both he and Tim ducked out. They split up, Tim going to find Cas and ask her to go back to Danny before they reconvened in the bat cave, they had a lot of research to do.

next>

#fanfiction #danny phantom #dc x dp #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #vlad plasmius #dick grayson #tim drake #barbra gordon #Danny is pregnant AU #Vlad is a creep #danny is a mother

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

Note

can you make a couple reasons on why two characters would be enemies? Tysm!!!

Character vs. Character Conflict

also referred to as person vs. person, man vs. man conflict, or protagonist vs. antagonist

Power struggles - In many instances, conflicts arise due to issues of power. For example, one person or group desires control over another, leading the other to fight back against injustice.

Oppressive authority figures - Often, this is where the man vs man conflict overlaps with man vs society. Here, characters facing oppression from authority figures (such as an authoritarian regime) undertake resistance to achieve liberty.

Revenge - A protagonist feels as if they have been personally wronged by another character and vows revenge, setting up a complication that needs to be resolved when the two finally come face-to-face.

Love triangles - Two characters find themselves in love with the same person, leading to an unwanted rivalry driven by jealousy of one another and the desire to win the heart of the person they both love.

Examples are the best way to get a feel for what all “man vs. man” conflict encompasses, so here’s a short list of ideas:

Two lovers arguing over disagreements

Knights engaging in a dramatic jousting tournament

Two siblings fistfighting over the TV remote

A corporate employee pranking their coworker

A hero finally facing off with the villain in a battle to the death

Two parents battling over custody of their child

A person getting mugged on their walk home from work

Two competitors trying to ruin the other person’s ability to compete

Two shoppers fighting over who gets to buy the last copy of a video game on the shelf

Examples: Man vs. Man Conflict in Literature & Film

The miller's daughter outsmarts Rumpelstiltskin

Cinderella is freed from the household of her evil step-mother

Greek Mythology: Theseus slays the minotaur

Rebecca: (The Second Mrs. de Winter vs. Mrs. Danvers) After a whirlwind romance with an English Aristocrat, a naïve American woman arrives in Cornwall as the new lady of Manderlay, an opulent coastal estate. But no sooner than she drops her bags at the doorstep, she is met by Mrs Danvers, a frosty housekeeper who’s still intensely obsessed with the first Mrs. de Winter, who died on a sailing trip less than a year before. Convinced that her employer’s new wife intends to replace her beloved Rebecca, Mrs Danvers starts a sneaky campaign to undermine the second Mrs. de Winter.

The Great Gatsby: Self-made millionaire Jay Gatsby wants nothing more than to win over his childhood crush, Daisy Buchanan. Standing in the way of Gatsby’s goal is Daisy’s husband, Tom Buchanan, an old-money cad with a mile-wide mean streak.

The Prestige: Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige features two rival magicians in Victorian England, each determined to master a mind-bending illusion: teleporting a person from one side of the stage to the other in an instant. One magician (Borden) is secretly a pair of twins sharing a single identity to protect their trick, while the other (Angiers) clones himself onstage each night and murders his original to keep the performance seamless. The fierce competition pushes them to start cutting moral corners, sacrificing relationships and even their own mental and physical well-being (or replicas thereof) in pursuit of the perfect illusion. The rivalry is used to highlight how ambition, when pushed to the extreme, can corrode even the most gifted and passionate hearts.

Othello. In Shakespeare’s play, Othello is in conflict with his confidant, Iago. Iago believes that Othello is after his wife, a conflict that only deepens when Othello promotes another man over Iago. Slowly, Iago begins to take measures to destroy Othello.

The Old Man and the Sea. In this classic Hemingway tale, the fisherman Santiago is having a streak of bad luck. He is so unlucky that his apprentice, Manolin, is forbidden by his parents to go fishing with Santiago. Although Santiago wants his apprentice to go fishing with him each day, Manolin needs to learn to fish from someone who is more successful.

Robinson Crusoe. When the book’s titular character is marooned on an island after a shipwreck, he encounters the island’s locals, who are cannibals. Crusoe first wants to kill them but decides against it; his reasoning is that the cannibals don’t think that what they’re doing is wrong. In confronting a group of people with wildly different values and views from his own, Crusoe faces the ultimate character vs. character conflict.

Character vs. character conflict - two characters have motivations, desires, needs, or beliefs that place them in opposition with each other.

This type of literary conflict places characters in a situation where these motivations and beliefs are tested.

While the conflict may be resolved with one character defeating another, it can also be resolved through persuasion or conversion.

This is an external conflict (rather than an internal one), meaning that characters face resistance from a force outside themselves.

How to Write a Character vs. Character Conflict

A character vs. character conflict can provide tension in a story. This type of conflict can also be used to highlight or expose certain characters’ strengths, weaknesses, and deeply held beliefs. Use the following tips when creating a character vs. character conflict in your writing:

Decide which two characters will be in conflict. Flesh out their desires, motivations, and the source of their conflict. Think about their lives and their histories. Write a detailed backstory for each character, and include factors like family, what they have lost in life, how they have been hurt, and what their most cherished memories are. This may seem like a lot of detail and it may not even come up in the story itself, but these characters’ full backgrounds will help you create a richer and more realistic conflict.

Next, decide how your plot will lead these two characters into conflict. If your characters don’t know each other yet, create a scene in which they come together. If they already know each other well, think of how your story can bring the topic of their conflict to the forefront. Maybe one is keeping a secret from the other, for example, and the conflict will begin once the secret is revealed.

Make your conflict matter. If your characters are arguing over ice cream flavors, it will be hard for the reader to get invested. Giving the conflict real stakes is what keeps readers interested and also allows you to create greater insight into your characters. You can continually escalate the stakes of the conflict throughout the story to create more tension before your final resolution.

Consider combining your character vs. character conflict with other types of literary conflicts. Other types of external conflict can place your characters in conflict with nature, society, technology, or the supernatural. Perhaps you want to include a subplot in which your characters are in conflict with an external force; alternatively, you can also give your characters an internal conflict, in which they are struggling with their own beliefs or values.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hope this helps with your writing!

#writing ideas #writing tips #writeblr #character development #literature #writing reference #dark academia #writing prompt #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing advice #on writing #character building #writing resources

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bimrwolf · 3 months ago

Text

The Christmas Arrangement

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 12,672 warnings: eventual smut!!! 18+ (minors dni) steve's emotions are supressed in this one.... his dad died summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: everyone writes for summer steve... but i need more christmas steve sigh Part 1 / Part 2

The office was quiet except for the low hum of the heater kicking in and the occasional rustle of cardboard boxes. You stood in the middle of the sleek, open-plan space, hands on your hips, surveying the mess of holiday decorations strewn around you. Red-and-gold garlands coiled like lazy snakes, tangled string lights blinked in erratic patterns, and a stuffed Santa Claus stared at you from his perch on the countertop, looking unimpressed.

The office smelled like old coffee and artificial pine as you adjusted the garland on the filing cabinets for the third time that morning. The decorations were your idea—an attempt to liven up the drab Harrington & Co. Advertising office.

"Corporate holiday spirit, my ass," you muttered, yanking a plastic wreath out of the chaos. The smell of fake pine hit you in the face as you tried to fluff it up, but it only ended up looking sadder.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall made you freeze mid-fluff. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Fantastic,” you grumbled. You purposely turned up the radio to blast Santa Baby. You were the first person in the office and you knew your boss, Steve Harrington, would make a comment about you being early for once.

Your boss was, how you say, an asshole. It took you selling your soul for him to agree to use the company credit card for these cheesy decorations.

Steve Harrington stalked past you toward his glass-walled office, shedding his coat and scarf like they were physically offending him. His dark hair was windswept in that annoyingly perfect way, and he looked like he had stepped straight out of a GQ spread, down to the polished leather shoes and a slight pout that made you want to smack him or… well, something else you weren’t going to admit.

You turned to watch him cross the room, his broad shoulders stiff under his tailored navy suit. He dumped his briefcase unceremoniously onto his desk and flopped into his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked tired. More tired than usual, which was saying something. For someone who seemed to have it all—wealth, looks, charm—Steve Harrington carried a cloud of stormy energy around him that seemed to zap the joy out of every room he entered lately.

You couldn’t help it. You strolled into his office, smirking when it was clear your presence was unwanted.

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington.” You knew he hated when you called him that.

He winced, rolling his eyes. “Morning,” he muttered.

You waltzed closer to his desk, holding an animatronic snowman, hopping on the desk, crossing your ankles. You placed the snowman in front of him, pressing the button that made it wiggle back and forth as it blared a jazz version of Frosty the Snowman. Steve gave you an unimpressed brow.

You hesitated, humming to the tune. "Bad morning or bad life?"

Steve's hazel eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. "You always this…perky, or is it just when I haven’t had coffee yet?" He pressed the button on the snowman to make it stop.

"Wow, Grinch vibes already. It’s not even eight," you said, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Don’t tell me you hate Christmas, Mr. Harrington. That might actually make me quit."

“That would be a Christmas miracle!” He snorted, though it was more a tired exhale. "I don’t hate Christmas. I hate…" He gestured vaguely, his mouth flattening into a grim line. "Stuff."

"Stuff," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Very descriptive. I’ll be sure to add that to my notes: ‘Boss hates stuff.’”

Steve didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes briefly flicking to the decorations scattered behind you. His gaze landed on the garlands outside, and his jaw tensed.

"Remind me why I agreed to all of this?”

You didn’t answer right away, busy adjusting the stuffed snowman that now sat precariously on the corner of his desk. It was probably a bad idea to push him this early in the morning, but it was hard to resist. Something about Steve Harrington’s thinly veiled irritation was endlessly entertaining.

“Because I wore you down,” you said finally, sitting back on his desk with a self-satisfied smile. “Persistence is a key marketing strategy. Consider yourself sold.”

"No," he replied, dragging a hand through his hair and leveling you with an exasperated look. "I agreed because it was faster than arguing with you."

This was how most of your interactions with Steve went: a series of minor battles where you, armed with stubborn optimism and just enough sarcasm to keep things interesting, chipped away at the polished, vaguely disheveled wall he called a personality. Most days, he didn’t give you much to work with—just clipped answers, unimpressed glances, and the occasional reluctant smirk when you pushed the right buttons.

Today, though, something was different. The faint crease between his eyebrows had deepened. His tie was slightly askew, like he’d thrown it on without bothering to check the mirror. He looked... off. The usual self-assured edge was dulled, replaced by a quiet tension that made you hesitate, just for a moment.

You reached over, straightening his tie and he quickly swatted your hand away. “You’re in a mood,” you huffed.

He looked at himself in the reflection of his computer, fixing the tie himself. He raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

“Mine’s the fun kind. Yours is… whatever this is. Like someone pissed in your cheerios.”

“I don’t eat cheerios.” You rolled your eyes, messing with some papers on his desk. It was obvious he didn’t want you to touch them because he snatched them from your hands.

“It’s a figure of speech, Mr. Harrington.” You paused, examining him. “What’s going on?”

"Nothing," he said too quickly, picking up a pen and tapping it against the desk. "Just tired."

It was a bad lie, and you both knew it. But if he wasn’t going to elaborate, you weren’t going to push. You learned early on that prying too much only made him retreat further into himself.

Instead, you tilted your head and let a teasing smile creep back onto your face. "You sure? Because you’ve been walking around like someone canceled your favorite TV show."

“I don’t watch TV.”

"Of course you don’t," you said, sighing. "Too busy glaring at people and sighing dramatically."

The sudden buzz of his desk phone broke the tension. Steve reached for it, but you were faster, snatching the receiver off the hook before he could stop you.

"Harrington & Co.,," you answered, saying your name brightly, giving him a look that dared him to stop you.

He didn’t care, leaning back in his seat, probably thinking, one less person I have to talk to.

"Hello, dear!" a warm, feminine voice said on the other end. "I wasn’t expecting such a cheerful voice. Who is this?"

You froze, your bravado faltering for the first time. Steve noticed your demeanor change. “Uh…” You scrambled for a response, ignoring Steve trying to reach for the receiver.

The woman answered, “This is Steve’s office? He gets on me for always calling his personal telephone. So I thought today, I would call the office. How rude of me, this is his mom. Who am I speaking to?”

“Steve’s mother?” You asked absentmindedly. You grinned cheekily when Steve’s eyes went wide.

He took a sharp intake of breath, reached out to take the receiver away, and hissed, “Don’t–”

“Mrs. Harrington!” You greeted her, pulling away from Steve. “I’ve heard so much about you from your son.”

Steve quickly stood up, standing in front of you when he saw you were going to try and jump down from the desk. You held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer. Steve’s jaw tightened, and he mouthed, Hang up.

"Oh! Are you the girlfriend he’s been hiding from me?" she asked, her voice bright with excitement.

Your stomach dropped. Girlfriend? You glanced at Steve, who looked like he was actively regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"I..." You hesitated, torn between correcting her and seeing where this was going. "Well—"

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You shrugged at Steve. You would be smarter to say no and just give him the phone, but also watching him react the way he did made you buzz.

"It’s all so new," you said vaguely, tilting your head to shoot Steve an innocent smile. You twirled the phone cord around your finger, taking far too much delight in the way he was practically vibrating with barely contained frustration. "We haven’t really put a label on things yet."

Steve’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand down his face like he was trying to physically wipe away the situation. He mouthed again, Hang up! but you ignored him, your smirk widening.

"Oh, that makes sense," Mrs. Harrington said brightly. "Steve has always been so private. But I knew something was up! A mother knows these things."

"Of course," you said, your voice light and agreeable. "He’s such a delight to be around. I can see why you’re so proud of him."

Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, pointing at the phone like it was going to combust in your hand.

"And you sound so lovely!" Mrs. Harrington continued. "You must come to Christmas. We’d love to meet you properly."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "Oh, um..." You hesitated, glancing at Steve, whose expression had shifted from exasperation to outright panic.

"It’s just a small family gathering," Mrs. Harrington added, as if sensing your hesitation. "Nothing too formal, in fact, it’s mostly his friends. Steve hasn’t brought anyone home in ages, so this will be such a treat!"

You opened your mouth, half-ready to backtrack, but Steve grabbed the phone from your hand before you could say another word.

"Mom," he said sharply, his tone strained. "Hi. Yeah. No, she’s not—"

He paused, his free hand rubbing at his temple as he listened to whatever his mom was saying on the other end. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like the weight of the world had just landed squarely on him.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Fine. Yeah. I’ll talk to you about it later. See you then. Bye."

He hung up with a sharp click and turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief, annoyance, and something you couldn’t quite place.

"You’re unbelievable," he said flatly.

"You’re welcome," you replied, hopping off the desk and dusting your hands like you’d just finished a job well done.

Steve just stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to will himself into a different dimension where this conversation had never happened. Finally, he sighed, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “Will you just go finish polluting the office with more cheap plastic while I try to write your termination letter.”

You knew he was fibbing, but you still frowned. “What? It’s not like I told her your deepest darkest secrets.” You just made his mom believe he was in a relationship.

He laughed incredulously. “You know exactly what you did. You made her believe we…” he motioned between you two. “As if.”

You crossed your arms, scowling. “Excuse me? As if? Mr. Harrington, you would be lucky to even dream about dating me.”

He held his hand up. “This is your fault,” he said, his tone sharp, “If you hadn’t answered my phone–”

“You’re seriously blaming me?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You’re the one who didn’t tell her the truth.”

“And say what? Say, ‘No mom, that’s only my annoying pain in the ass intern who can’t stay out of my business. Not my girlfriend.’” He readjusted the items on his desk from the spot you had sat on.

“Yes, although I would leave out all the filler words, that’s not really important.” You regretted your comment immediately.

Steve’s nose flared. You looked at the clock. Wow, new record of making Steve Harrington angry enough to kick you out of his office. He shut the door in your face, the lock clicked on the other side. You tried to peer inside, but he closed his curtains so no one could look into the office.

The next morning, the office was humming with quiet activity. A few coworkers had come in early, and the sound of keyboards clacking mixed with the faint murmur of a distant phone ringing. You were nursing a cup of coffee at your desk, trying to forget about yesterday’s debacle. Steve hadn’t spoken to you since slamming his office door, and frankly, you were hoping to ride that silence out for the rest of your internship.

But peace wasn’t in the cards.

Your name was called out. Steve’s voice cut through the office like a blade. You glanced up to see him standing in his doorway, his tie slightly loosened and his jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “In my office. Now.”

A few heads turned toward you, and you resisted the urge to groan. With a quick glance at your coffee as if it could save you, you stood and made your way to his door.

When you stepped inside, Steve closed the door firmly behind you, leaning against it for a moment like he needed to gather himself. His office smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, and the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“You okay there, Mr. Harrington?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

His jaw tightened when you called him that. But he didn’t say anything about it. There seemed to be more pressing matters on his mind. “No,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “We need to talk about yesterday.” He walked past you, leaning against his desk.

“Oh, come on,” you said, throwing up your hands. “It wasn’t that bad. Your mom seemed thrilled. I bet she even slept better knowing her darling son isn’t as emotionally unavailable as he looks.”

“This isn’t funny.”

You frowned, suddenly aware of how serious he looked. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he interrupted, cutting you off.

Your mouth fell open. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My mom is expecting you. She’s already told everyone that I’m bringing someone.” He walked behind his desk, looking out at the busy Chicago streets. You thought he was being melodramatic.

“That’s not my problem,” you said, crossing your arms. “You could’ve told her the truth, but instead, you—”

“You’re the one who answered the phone,” Steve said, his voice rising. “You’re the one who decided to play along and make it worse.”

“Worse?” you scoffed. “I saved you from having to explain why you’re still single and miserable. You should be thanking me.”

Steve’s face fell. “You think I’m miserable?” He turned away, and you thought he looked almost sad.

“Don’t dodge the point,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re the one dragging me into your family drama.”

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” he said, leaning forward and planting his hands on his desk. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“A deal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ll pay you. Whatever you want. Double your hourly rate for every day you’re there. All you have to do is show up, pretend to like me, and keep my mom happy.”

You stared at him, your brain working overtime to process what he’d just said. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

“You want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend for Christmas?” you asked. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“No, what’s insane,” Steve shot back, “is the fact that my mom is already planning to introduce you to half of Hawkins like we’re engaged. So unless you want to explain to her why you suddenly bailed, this is happening.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of a response. Part of you wanted to storm out and let him deal with the fallout on his own. But another part of you—the part that had seen the vulnerability in his eyes—hesitated.

This wasn’t just about avoiding an awkward conversation with his mom. Steve was clearly under a lot of pressure, and as much as you hated to admit it, you’d helped create this mess. Walking away now would feel… wrong.

“Fine,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “But I have conditions.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What kind of conditions?”

“For starters,” you said, holding up a finger, “I’m not answering any weird questions about how we ‘met.’ That’s on you.”

“Fair,” Steve said, nodding.

“And I get final veto power over all cringe-worthy PDA. In fact, minimal to no PDA unless absolutely necessary,” you added. “I’m not about to get handsy with my boss.”

Steve grimaced. “Trust me, that’s not on my list of priorities.”

“Good,” you said, ignoring the small flicker of irritation at how quickly he’d agreed. “And finally, you’re driving.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Deal.”

You studied him for a moment, still trying to wrap your head around what you’d just agreed to. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Steve said, sitting down and leaning back in his chair.

You shook your head, already regretting this. What a Merry fricking Christmas to you.

***

The road stretched out ahead, flanked by frost-tipped trees and the occasional weathered fence. The closer you got to Hawkins, the quieter it became, as if the small Indiana town had been forgotten by time. Even the car seemed to absorb the silence, its heater humming softly against the chill that seeped through the windows.

You glanced at Steve, who was gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather. He hadn’t said much since you left Chicago, aside from the occasional grunt in response to your attempts at conversation. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be closed off, but there was a weight to his silence now, something that settled in the car like a third passenger.

For the past few hours, you’d filled the space with music and idle chatter, throwing out observations about roadside diners and Christmas light displays in an effort to keep things light. But as the miles ticked by, your energy waned, leaving only the sound of a muted playlist in the background.

When Steve finally turned onto a narrow residential street, the tension in your chest grew. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting—some sprawling estate with a wrought-iron gate, maybe—but the house that came into view was surprisingly… ordinary.

The two-story home had a certain charm, with its neatly trimmed hedges and a string of multicolored Christmas lights hanging from the roofline. A dusting of snow covered the front yard, softening the edges of the picket fence and the stone path that led to the front door. A wreath hung crookedly from the door, its red bow slightly frayed, as if someone had pulled it out of storage at the last minute.

Steve pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, leaning back against his seat with a deep exhale. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the house like it was something he’d rather avoid. You resisted the urge to ask what was on his mind, instead focusing on the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the trip began.

This was it. You were about to step into Steve Harrington’s world—the one he avoided talking about, even when you pried. The weight of that realization made your throat tighten.

"Home sweet home," Steve said finally, his voice flat as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You followed suit, stepping out into the cold. The air was sharper here, biting at your cheeks and turning your breath into soft clouds. As you stood by the car, taking in the house, you couldn’t help but notice how still everything was. Hawkins felt like a far cry from the bustling chaos of Chicago, a place where time moved slower and the world seemed quieter.

Steve grabbed your bag from the trunk without a word, slinging it over his shoulder before nodding toward the house. You trailed after him, your boots crunching against the snow-dusted path.

The door opened before you reached it, revealing a petite woman with short, dark hair and a radiant smile. She stepped out onto the porch, clapping her hands together against the cold.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. "I was starting to think you got lost."

Steve’s mom, you realized. Diane Harrington was every bit as charming as her voice had suggested on the phone. She descended the steps quickly, wrapping Steve in a tight hug before pulling back to examine him.

"You look tired," she said, brushing a stray piece of lint off his coat. "Have you been eating? You look thinner."

Steve sighed. "Hi, Mom."

Her eyes shifted to you, her expression lighting up as she stepped closer. "And you must be the girlfriend," she said, taking your hands in hers before you could react. "I’m so happy to meet you. Steve said you were pretty but I wasn’t expecting you to be this gorgeous."

Pretty? Heat crept up your neck, and you shot Steve a quick glare. He looked away, suddenly very interested in the snow beneath his boots.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harrington," you said, mustering your most polite tone. "It’s, uh, really nice to meet you too."

"Diane," she corrected with a smile. "Come inside, both of you! It’s freezing out here."

Steve brushed past her into the house, leaving you to follow. The moment you stepped inside, warmth enveloped you, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. The interior was cozy, with polished hardwood floors, soft lighting, and a large Christmas tree dominating the living room. Ornaments dangled from its branches, reflecting the twinkling lights, while neatly wrapped presents were piled underneath.

"This is... cute," you said, glancing around. It was homier than you’d expected, filled with little touches that spoke of a family that cared about the details—a bowl of candy canes on the coffee table, stockings hanging from the mantel, and framed photos lining the walls.

"You make it sound like a dollhouse," Steve muttered, dropping your bag by the couch.

Diane bustled in behind you, already pulling off her scarf. "I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got cookies in the oven and plenty of hot cocoa if you want some."

"That sounds amazing," you said, offering her a genuine smile.

"Good! I’ll grab you both a cup," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

The moment she was out of sight, you turned to Steve, your voice low. "You could’ve warned me your mom was this... friendly."

Steve let out a short laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch. "What, did you expect her to interrogate you at the door?"

"Honestly? A little," you admitted, glancing toward the kitchen.

Steve smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something guarded about him now, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t eased since you arrived.

"You good?" you asked quietly, crossing your arms.

"Fine," he said, brushing off the question. "Just... try not to make this worse than it already is."

You frowned, about to respond, but Diane returned, balancing a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of cookies.

"Here we go!" she said cheerfully, setting them down on the coffee table. "Now, sit, both of you. I want to hear everything."

You exchanged a quick glance with Steve, the unspoken weight of the situation settling between you.

This was going to be a long few days.

You weren’t sure what you had expected from Steve’s mom, but “relentless enthusiasm” wasn’t at the top of the list. Diane seemed to have a bottomless well of energy, firing off questions between sips of cocoa as you and Steve sat side by side on the couch. The way her eyes sparkled with every word made it clear she was thrilled you were here—and just as clear that Steve hadn’t prepared her for your arrival.

It was a stark contrast from her annoyingly moody son.

"So," Diane began, leaning forward with a curious tilt of her head. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at Steve. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t deeply regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"A little while," you said finally, keeping it vague.

Steve let out a small, sharp breath—relief, maybe—but you weren’t about to let him off the hook completely. "Steve didn’t tell you?" you added, shooting him a pointed look.

Diane’s brow furrowed slightly as she turned to Steve. "No, he didn’t."

"Must’ve slipped my mind," Steve muttered, his tone flat. He grabbed his cocoa and took a long sip, clearly hoping to disappear into the mug.

"Slipped your mind?" you repeated, incredulous. "Wow. That’s not the kind of thing you forget, Mr. Harrington."

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you, his hazel eyes narrowing. "I’ve been busy."

"Too busy to mention your girlfriend to your mom?" you shot back, the word "girlfriend" sticking to your tongue like peanut butter.

He returned a sarcastic smile. “Seems I get a bit distracted when I’m worried about my employees coming in late to work and messing with things that’s none of their business.”

Ouch, that was definitely targeted at you.

Diane’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smile turning a little more amused. "You two bicker like an old married couple," she said with a laugh.

Steve groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’re not—"

"That’s just how he is," you interrupted, cutting him off. "Always so cheerful and charming. It’s why we get along so well." You grabbed his hand. You suddenly became aware that you had never touched him before. It felt strange. His hands were softer than you had imagined. Not that you had imagined what they felt like… but you just assumed they were callused just like his personality.

His glare deepened, but he couldn’t exactly contradict you without blowing the whole thing wide open. Watching him squirm was deeply satisfying. He gave you an awkward smile, laying his other hand on top of yours.

"Well, it’s nice to see him with someone who keeps him on his toes," Diane said, clearly delighted.

"Trust me," you replied, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. "It’s a full-time job."

Steve didn’t respond, instead finishing off his cocoa with a pointed slam of the mug onto the table. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, but he kept his cool, probably for Diane’s sake.

"Speaking of full-time," Diane said, seamlessly steering the conversation back to you. "What do you do? Steve said you work together."

"That’s right," you said, nodding. "I’m a marketing intern at Harrington & Co."

"Oh!" Diane’s smile widened. "So you work for Steve?"

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Technically, yes."

"Technically," Steve repeated, his voice dry.

You shot him a look. "Yes. Technically."

"Interesting," Diane said, her tone growing more curious. "That must make things... complicated."

"It’s not so bad," you said quickly, plastering on a smile. "We’ve got a great dynamic."

Steve snorted, earning a sharp nudge from your elbow. "Right, dear?"

"Sure," he said, rubbing his side where you’d jabbed him. "Great dynamic."

Before Diane could ask anything else, the sound of the oven timer chimed from the kitchen. She clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. "The gingerbread cookies are ready! Stay right here—I’ll bring some out."

The second she was out of earshot, Steve turned to you, his voice low and tense. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Me?" you said, feigning innocence. "I’m just being the charming, delightful girlfriend your mom thinks I am."

"Charming?" Steve repeated, his brows lifting. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

You ducked your chin into your chest, taking away your hand from his because there was no point since his mother wasn’t in the room.

You hoped he was too self-absorbed to notice the shift. But you were never that lucky. “Wait, don’t tell me…”

“Just, shut up.” You snapped.

Steve shook his head, muttering something under his breath as Diane reappeared, balancing a tray of perfectly iced gingerbread men. You quickly fell back into the good girlfriend role you were hired to play.

"Here we are," she said, setting the tray down with a flourish. "Steve, be a dear and get her a blanket from the closet. I don’t want her catching a chill."

You smiled sweetly as Steve stood, his frustration barely hidden. He stalked toward the hallway, mumbling something about how "this was all a mistake."

When he was gone, Diane leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "He really likes you, you know."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"My Steve," she said, her smile softening. "He doesn’t bring just anyone home. At least not since his father…” she sniffled. She gave you a hopeful smile. “You must mean a lot to him."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Steve reappeared before you could process what she’d said, tossing a folded blanket into your lap without a word.

"Thanks," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Don’t mention it," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The tension between you lingered as Diane handed you both cookies, her voice filling the space with cheerful chatter. You focused on nibbling the edges of your gingerbread man, trying not to think too hard about her earlier comment—and why it made your stomach flip.

“Uh… sorry. Is there a restroom I could use?” You asked shyly, biting your lip.

Diane put her hand on her cheek. “Oh dear! I got so excited I forgot to show you around. Steve, can you meet us upstairs in your room with the bags?”

Diane led you up the staircase, her steps light and quick despite her small frame. You followed behind her, gripping the railing as you took in the house. It was cozy in the way older homes often were, with creaky wood floors and framed photos lining the walls. One caught your eye—a younger Steve in a basketball uniform, his face frozen in a proud, gap-toothed grin. Another showed him with his arm slung around a shaggy-haired boy, both of them laughing mid-moment.

“This way, dear,” Diane called, pulling your attention back to the present.

She stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed open a door, gesturing for you to step inside.

“Here we are!” she said brightly. “Steve’s room.”

You hesitated at the threshold, peering inside. The room was surprisingly neat, with a made bed covered in a navy comforter, a single wooden desk tucked into the corner, and a few sparse decorations on the walls—mostly framed posters and a few shelves of books. It was plain, a little impersonal, like the room of someone who’d stopped living here a long time ago.

"Uh, nice," you said, stepping inside awkwardly. "Where, um… where am I staying?"

Diane blinked, her expression shifting from cheerful to confused. “Here, of course.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Uh… here?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s plenty of space, and the bed is big enough for the both of you.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. “Oh, that’s, um… generous of you, but—”

“Mom,” Steve’s voice interrupted from behind you. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, bags in hand, his expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “You didn’t say we’d be sharing a room.”

Diane’s brows knit together in a faint frown. “Well, where else would she sleep? The guest room hasn’t been used in years—it’s full of boxes. And the couch is far too small.” She smiled at you. “I’m sure you two don’t mind. You are a couple, after all. I’m not a naive mother, I know you had girls over back in your high school days.”

Steve coughed, “Mom!”

You glanced at Steve, your heart pounding. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. His cheeks were red.

“Right,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of course. No problem.”

“See?” Diane said, beaming. “I knew you’d be fine with it.” She reached out and patted Steve’s arm. “Be a gentleman and help her settle in. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving the two of you standing in thick, suffocating silence.

Diane’s footsteps creaked softly down the stairs, leaving behind a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You glanced at the door, half-expecting her to reappear and tell you it was all some kind of misunderstanding. But no—this was your life now. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington, who looked about as thrilled as you felt.

You stole a glance at him. He stood near the bed, his hands on his hips and his lips pressed into a tight line. His jaw worked like he was biting back a string of words he wasn’t quite ready to say. It was strange, seeing him out of his usual sharp suit and into something more casual. The Steve Harrington you knew from the office had a confidence that bordered on arrogance, like he could handle anything thrown his way. But here? He looked... different. Smaller, somehow.

You pushed that thought aside and forced yourself to focus on the practicalities. The bed was big, sure—but not big enough to share without bumping into each other all night. And the floor, with its thin, scuffed wood, didn’t exactly scream comfort. You could already feel the ache in your back if you tried to sleep down there.

“This is a disaster,” you said quietly, half to yourself.

Steve snorted from where he stood, arms crossed. “Tell me about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head and leaned back, letting out a long, slow breath. His hazel eyes drifted to the window, where the faint glow of the Christmas lights outside cast soft shadows across the room.

“Look,” you said finally, breaking the silence. “We have to figure this out.”

Steve turned back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Figure what out?”

You gestured at the bed, your voice sharp despite your best efforts. “The sleeping situation. Because I’m not sharing that with you.”

His brows knit together. “You think I want to?”

“Good,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Then you can take the floor.”

“Why do I have to take the floor?” Steve snapped, his voice rising slightly. “It’s my room.”

“Because you’re the one who… hired me. I can walk downstairs right now and tell her this was all a lie.” From the grunt he made let you know you had won the battle.

“Fine. Only because I don’t want my mom on the list of people who think I’m a loser,” he mumbled. He started to unpack his suitcase, mostly toiletries.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you said quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Steve paused, his mouth half-open like he was about to retort. His walls crumbled for a split second before he composed himself upright, turning back around to the suitcase. “Tonight we always go downtown to the tree lighting ceremony. You’ll probably see some of my friends.” He changed the subject quickly, walking into his bathroom to put his stuff away.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The weight in his voice was unexpected, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t like. You wanted to poke fun at him, to say something snarky and lighthearted to cut through the tension. But the words caught in your throat, stuck behind the realization that Steve Harrington wasn’t as bulletproof as he seemed.

He came back into the room, eyeing you up and down. “Are you wearing that?”

You looked down at your denim jeans and sweater. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

The corner of his lips upturned. “Nothing. Nothing…” he trailed off, pretending to be busy with something. “I just imagine if you’re dating a wealthy man then you’d wear something…” he was treading in dangerous waters. “Sophisticated.”

You scoffed. “Sophisticated? Have you tried hearing something called, humility, Mr. Harrington?”

“You know, it’s weird to call your boyfriend that.” He turned, tilting his head. His 5 o’clock shadow was becoming painfully obvious to you.

“Good thing you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Then what am I paying you for?”

You flopped on his bed, legs up, smirking. “Have you seen Pretty Woman?”

He shot you daggers. “You wish.”

“Don’t think I catch you staring when I wear that one skirt.” The statement was casual.

Steve froze for half a second, his hand lingering on the edge of his suitcase. He recovered quickly, scoffing like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I wasn’t staring. I was—”

“Admiring? Appreciating? Objectifying?” you supplied, your smirk widening as you folded your arms behind your head and sank into the plush comforter. “Take your pick, Harrington.”

“Monitoring,” he retorted, zipping his bag with far more force than necessary. “Making sure you weren’t breaking the office dress code.”

“Is there a dress code?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’ve seen your ties. If we’re holding people to a standard, you might want to start there.”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he couldn’t decide which insult to throw at you first. He shook his head and grabbed a pair of shoes from his bag instead, sitting down on the chair to lace them up. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” you said, feigning innocence. “I’m just making sure you’re held accountable. You know, for all your staring.”

“I wasn’t—” He stopped himself with a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like your name.

You let out a laugh, leaning up on your elbows to watch him. It was too easy to get under his skin, and honestly, it was the most fun you’d had all day.

“So,” you said, shifting gears, “this tree lighting thing. Is it, like, a big deal? Or just another excuse for small-town folks to put on their Sunday best?”

Steve glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “It’s a thing. Hawkins doesn’t have much going on, so the tree lighting’s kind of... important. Everyone shows up. Friends, old classmates, people you try to avoid but somehow always run into.”

“Sounds delightful,” you said, swinging your legs off the bed. “Can’t wait to meet all your friends. Maybe I’ll find out what you were like before Chicago turned you into a grumpy corporate sellout.”

Steve gave you a flat look, tying his second shoe with more aggression than necessary. “Careful, or you’ll blow your cover.”

“Oh, please,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Your mom already thinks I’m perfect. I’ve got this in the bag.”

“Right,” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “You’re a regular Oscar winner.”

“Thank you,” you said, hopping up from the bed. “I like to think I bring a certain… authenticity to the role. But hey, if you’re worried, feel free to jump in and charm your way through the night. Oh, wait.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shrugging into his coat. “Keep talking like that and I’ll tell everyone you begged me to hire you.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shot back, grabbing your own jacket. “They’d believe it. Who wouldn’t want to work for Mr. Harrington?”

He paused at the door, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something serious, something that would shatter the rhythm of your playful back-and-forth. But then he smirked, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “You ready, or do you need time to come up with more ways to embarrass me tonight?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harrington,” you said, brushing past him with a grin. “I’ve already got a list.”

***

The drive to the town square was brisk, the chill of the evening air biting at your cheeks despite the layers you’d bundled into. Hawkins, for all its sleepy charm, had a way of making winter feel like something out of a picture book. Strings of warm lights crisscrossed overhead, illuminating the streets in a soft golden glow, while shop windows displayed carefully arranged holiday scenes. Wreaths hung on nearly every lamppost, their red bows fluttering slightly in the cold breeze.

As you followed Diane through the growing crowd, your gaze wandered over the scene, taking in the families, the couples, the quiet buzz of a small town coming alive for the holidays. It was… nice. Not the kind of “nice” you were used to in Chicago, where everything felt rushed and artificial, but something simpler. Quieter.

Beside you, Steve walked with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his posture a little stiff as he glanced around. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or the fact that he was being dragged into a public event he clearly wasn’t thrilled about. Probably both.

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him. His hair, ruffled by the wind, still somehow managed to look effortlessly styled. The sharp lines of his jaw stood out against the glow of the lights, and the way his coat fit—broad shoulders, lean frame—was almost unfair. He was handsome in a way that felt infuriatingly natural, like he didn’t have to try.

You quickly looked away, embarrassed by your train of thought. Since when were you noticing things like that about Steve Harrington? You chalked it up to being stuck in close quarters—forced proximity was bound to mess with your head.

Before you could dwell on it any further, Steve’s pace slowed, his head turning sharply toward the sound of a voice cutting through the crowd.

“Harrington!”

The name was called with an edge of disbelief and excitement, and Steve’s expression shifted immediately. His stiff shoulders loosened, and for the first time since you’d arrived in Hawkins, a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real irritation in his voice. “Robin.”

You turned your head, catching sight of the woman weaving her way toward you both. She was tall and lanky, with short brown hair that framed her sharp, curious features. Her grin was wide, a little lopsided, and when her eyes landed on Steve, she broke into a jog.

“Steve!” she said, launching herself at him in a hug that nearly knocked him off balance.

“Robin,” Steve said, laughing as he stumbled slightly. He hugged her back with a fondness that felt almost out of character for the grumpy boss you knew.

When Robin pulled back, her gaze flickered to you, her brow quirking as her grin shifted into something sly. “And who’s this?”

Before you could answer, Diane appeared at your side, her voice brimming with pride. She gave Robin your name. “She’s Steve’s girlfriend!”

You froze, feeling your cheeks heat as the word hung in the air. Girlfriend. It sounded so foreign—so wrong—and yet, Diane said it with such certainty that you almost believed it yourself.

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint in her eye now, a sharpness that made your stomach twist. She looked between you and Steve, her grin growing wider. “Girlfriend?”

“It’s new,” Steve said quickly, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive.

Robin turned to you, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her handshake was firm, her gaze lingering just a second too long. You forced a smile, hoping you didn’t look as awkward as you felt. “Nice to meet you too.”

Robin’s eyes flicked back to Steve, and the smile on her face turned mischievous. “Well, isn’t this interesting. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Harrington.”

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Robin—”

“I mean, a girlfriend?” Robin interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell me? I called you three days ago and you never mentioned her.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Steve muttered, his cheeks reddening.

Robin shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re talking later.”

Before Steve could respond, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, drawing everyone’s attention to the tree in the center of the square. The mayor stood on a small platform, microphone in hand, as he began his annual speech.

You took the opportunity to lean closer to Steve, your voice low. “Your friend seems nice.”

“She’s fine,” Steve said quickly, his gaze fixed on the tree.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” you pressed, unable to keep the smirk out of your voice.

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t know anything. Yet.”

“Right,” you said, drawing out the word. “Because she definitely didn’t look like she was onto us.”

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you. Then he looked back at Robin, noticing the way she was still looking at you two suspiciously. “I’m going to put my arm around you,” he said, looking straight ahead.

You were taken aback. You hadn’t really been physical, but I guess it was different when it came to being around friends. They probably knew him better than his mom. So, you just stepped closer, leaning into him. His body tensed, arm wrapping around you. It was another odd feeling, but different from how it felt when you held his hand. A jolt of warm electricity buzzed through you as you relaxed into him.

The mayor’s voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the countdown, and the crowd erupted into cheers. You let yourself get swept up in the energy, your smile lingering as the tree came to life in a brilliant display of twinkling lights.

For a moment, you forgot about all the lies that were bubbling inside you. The air was filled with warmth and light, and for the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you felt yourself start to relax.

But then you glanced at Steve, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked at the tree, and that knot in your chest tightened all over again.

As the cheers from the crowd subsided, the tree’s twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the square. People milled about, sipping cocoa and chatting, their voices blending into a low hum that filled the crisp evening air. You found yourself lingering near Steve, half-listening to Diane’s enthusiastic conversation with a neighbor while Robin hovered close, her sharp gaze bouncing between you and Steve like she was piecing together a puzzle.

“Well,” Robin said suddenly, stepping into your personal space with a grin that could only be described as trouble. “Since Steve clearly doesn’t plan to introduce us properly, I guess I’ll take matters into my own hands.” She extended her hand again, this time with exaggerated flair. “Robin Buckley, certified Steve Harrington expert and general pain in his ass.”

You laughed, taking her hand despite the slight wariness creeping up your spine. You introduced yourself again, and this time, it felt genuine. Something about Robin Buckley made things less awkward. “Nice to meet you, Robin. It’s been... an eventful few days.”

“I bet,” Robin said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she released your hand. “So, how’d you two meet? Steve’s not exactly Mr. Social these days.”

Before you could think of a plausible lie, Steve jumped in, his voice a little too quick. “Work. We met at work.” You wanted to to stomp his foot. You had given him the job to explain how you met, but you had thought he’d at least come up with something unique.

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Work, huh? And now you’re dating?”

You felt Steve tense beside you, and it took everything in you not to burst out laughing at the way he was fumbling. “It was, uh, kind of unexpected,” you said, jumping in to save him. “One of those things where we just... clicked.”

Robin’s grin widened, her eyes flicking between you and Steve with laser focus. “Clicked. Interesting choice of words.”

“Robin,” Steve said, his voice low and full of warning.

She ignored him completely, stepping a little closer to you. “So, tell me—what’s your favorite thing about Steve?”

Your heart skipped, panic rising in your chest. What was your favorite thing about Steve? His ability to get on your nerves? The way he always found new ways to irritate you at work? The fact that, despite everything, you couldn’t stop noticing how stupidly handsome he was?

“He’s...” you started, glancing at Steve, whose face had gone pale. “He’s thoughtful. In his own way.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Thoughtful? Harrington?”

“He is!” you said quickly, warming to the idea. “Like how he makes sure everyone at work has what they need, even if he doesn’t say it outright. Or how he always, uh, remembers little things—like how I like my coffee.”

Steve’s gaze snapped to yours, surprise flickering across his face. You weren’t sure why you’d said it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. And now, looking at him, you realized they weren’t entirely untrue.

Robin studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before finally shrugging. “Huh. Well, guess there’s a first time for everything.” She turned to Steve, smirking. “Look at you, Harrington. All grown up and thoughtful.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Can we drop this now?”

“Fine,” Robin said, clearly amused. “For now.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, Diane reappeared, holding two steaming cups of cocoa. “Here you go,” she said brightly, pressing one into your hands.

Steve frowned. “Where’s mine?”

Diane took a sip of her hot chocolate tauntingly. “Maybe you should have been the one to bring her cocoa instead of standing around like a bump on a log.”

Steve groaned, his breath misting in the cold air. “Seriously, Mom?”

“Seriously, Steven,” Diane shot back, her tone sweet but firm. She patted his cheek with a gloved hand, clearly delighted by his irritation. “You could learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, muffled slightly by the rim of your cup. Steve turned his glare on you, but it lacked his usual bite, his cheeks tinged with more than just the cold.

“Oh, come on, Steve,” you teased, swirling your cocoa for emphasis. “Maybe if you were more thoughtful, your mom wouldn’t have to show you up.”

Robin snickered, enjoying every second of the exchange. “She’s got a point. Chivalry, Harrington. It’s dead because of people like you.”

Steve threw up his hands. “Great. Gang up on me. Real festive spirit, guys.”

Diane grinned, clearly pleased with herself, before excusing herself to chat with a neighbor who waved her over.

Robin, still grinning, folded her arms and leaned closer to you. “So,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “What’s it like working with him? Does he actually do anything? We used to work together in our younger days and I wondered if anything had changed.”

You hesitated, unsure how much to say. Robin’s sharp gaze made it clear she was fishing for something, and while you couldn’t exactly throw Steve under the bus, you also weren’t about to give her nothing. “He’s... efficient,” you said carefully. “Most of the time.”

Robin barked out a laugh. “Efficient. That’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘bossy.’”

“Thanks,” Steve said flatly, glaring at both of you.

Robin clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I’m sure she’s just being polite. Take it from me, it is exhausting dealing with you all day.”

Before Steve could respond, Diane called out from across the square, waving for you all to join her by the skating rink.

As you started walking, cocoa warming your hands, Steve fell into step beside you. His usual scowl was back, but there was something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you.

“Efficient?” he said under his breath, his tone low enough that Robin wouldn’t hear.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“That’s how you describe me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Efficient?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your cocoa. “Would you rather I say ‘thoughtful’ again? Because I think we both know that’s a stretch.”

Steve huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” you shot back, your grin widening.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the rink. “Let’s get this over with.”

For a moment, he looked younger, softer—like the weight he carried wasn’t quite so crushing under the glow of the lights.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” he said, snapping out of it. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Steve hesitated, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

The square buzzed with holiday cheer as the three of you approached the rink, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off the ice. Families glided hand-in-hand, couples laughed as they stumbled together, and the faint sound of holiday music filled the air.

The rink was smaller than you expected, a modest oval surrounded by strings of lights and wooden benches dusted with snow. A few families skated in lazy circles, their laughter cutting through the quiet hum of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

You stood at the edge, sipping your cocoa and pretending you weren’t sneaking glances at Steve as he leaned against the railing. He looked more relaxed here, his expression softening as he watched the skaters.

“You used to skate?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Steve snorted. “Not exactly. I was more into sports that didn’t involve falling on my ass.”

“Ah, so basketball and being a high school heartthrob?” you teased, smirking.

He shot you a sideways look. “Something like that.”

Before you could press further, a group of skaters passed by, waving at Steve. One of them called out his name, laughing, and you could see his old reputation hadn’t faded entirely.

“Small-town royalty,” you said under your breath, shaking your head.

“Jealous?” he asked, his smirk returning as he straightened up.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I prefer the anonymity of city life. No one there knows me well enough to make assumptions.”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the good part, isn’t it?” The weight in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he turned away, his gaze fixed on the skaters again.You wondered what memories were circling in his head, what had caused that flicker of something—regret, maybe?—to cross his face.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “if you want to prove Robin wrong, this would be the perfect opportunity. Show me your moves, Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement behind them. “I don’t skate.”

“You just said you don’t fall on your ass,” you countered, grinning.

“That’s not the same thing,” he replied, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “And besides, I don’t have anything to prove to Robin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, tilting your head. “Then why do I feel like you’re avoiding it because you know you’ll look ridiculous?”

Steve straightened, his brows knitting together in mock offense. “I do not look ridiculous.”

“Then prove it.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I’m not playing this game.”

“Scared?” you teased, stepping closer and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s fine if you are. You can just admit it.”

Steve stared at you, his lips twitching as though he was trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Efficient and insufferable,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s called versatility.”

Robin reappeared then, her grin wide as she caught the tail end of your exchange. “What’s this? Harrington getting cold feet?”

Steve groaned, running a hand down his face. “Not you too.”

“Oh, definitely me too,” Robin said, slapping him on the back. “Come on, Stevie. Show your girlfriend how it’s done.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to remind Robin that you hadn’t actually agreed to this skating charade, but the words caught when Steve turned to you. There was something challenging in his gaze now, something that made your stomach flip.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low and even. “Let’s do this.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted proof, right?” he said, already pulling off his coat and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “I’ll show you.”

Robin’s laughter rang out as she clapped her hands together. “This is going to be amazing.”

Steve stepped onto the rink, his movements deliberate and measured as he adjusted to the ice. For someone who claimed not to skate, he wasn’t half bad—his steps steady as he began to move in slow, cautious circles.

“See?” he called out, flashing you a smug grin. “No falling. No looking ridiculous.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re going slow enough for a toddler to keep up.”

“Keep talking,” Steve said, his grin widening as he picked up the pace.

For a moment, you just watched him, the teasing comment you’d planned dying on your lips. Under the glow of the lights, his smile was defenseless, easy—something you weren’t used to seeing from him. He moved with a kind of grace that caught you off guard, his confidence radiating as he made another smooth lap around the rink.

“Okay,” you said reluctantly. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Steve echoed, stopping just in front of you. He leaned against the railing, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “That’s all you’ve got?”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Fine. It’s impressive... for someone who spends most of his day sitting behind a desk.”

Steve’s laugh was warm, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the crowd faded away. Then Robin appeared at your side, nudging you with her elbow.

“Careful,” she said with a sly grin. “Keep looking at him like that, and people might start thinking you’re into him for real.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Steve pushed away from the railing, his gaze flicking to Robin.

“Alright,” he said, his voice full of mock bravado. “You’re next, Buckley. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Robin snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Steve smirked, gesturing toward the ice. “Scared?”

“Not a chance,” Robin replied. “I just have this thing where I don’t voluntarily humiliate myself in front of an audience.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That’s a shame. Because if you’re half as bad as I remember, it would’ve been a great show.” Robin rolled her eyes, muttering something about “childhood trauma” before stepping back toward the bench.

Steve turned back to you, his grin softening. “You coming or what?”

You hesitated, your heart doing an unexpected flip. “I... don’t skate.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Really? And here I thought you were fearless.”

“Fearless,” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “Or just smart enough to know my limits?”

Steve held out his hand, his smirk fading into something gentler. “Come on. I won’t let you fall.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached for his hand.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over Steve’s outstretched hand. It was warm, even in the freezing air, and the way his hazel eyes held yours felt... different. For a moment, you forgot the small-town square, the hum of holiday music, and even Robin’s knowing smirks. All you could focus on was Steve.

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Steve’s smirk softened, and he tightened his grip, leading you cautiously onto the ice. Your boots wobbled the instant you stepped off the safety of solid ground, your legs feeling impossibly unsteady.

“Relax,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder as he guided you. “You’re not going to fall.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered, clinging to his arm. “You’re not the one flailing like a newborn deer.”

Steve chuckled, and the sound sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. It wasn’t his usual scoff or the dry laugh you’d heard before—it was quieter, more genuine. “You’re doing fine,” he said, slowing his pace.

Fine wasn’t the word you’d use. Every step felt like a battle, your balance precarious as you gripped his arm like a lifeline. You caught a glimpse of Robin on the sidelines, her grin wide with amusement. “Do you think she’s buying–”

Before you could finish, your skate caught on the ice, and your legs gave out. Steve’s hand shot out to steady you, but in the process, his own balance faltered. The next thing you knew, you were both tumbling down in a tangle of limbs, hitting the ice with a loud thud.

The cold bit into your palms, and for a moment, all you could do was blink up at the string lights above you, your breath fogging in the air.

“Okay,” you groaned. “This was a mistake.”

Steve’s laugh broke through the haze, full and unrestrained, and you turned your head to see him lying beside you, one hand over his face as he tried to catch his breath. It was the first time you’d ever heard him laugh like that—loud and free, without any trace of the prudent bitterness you were so used to. The sound was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing too, the absurdity of the situation overtaking you. Your head fell carelessly on his chest.

“You’re terrible at this,” Steve said between breaths, his voice light with amusement. You felt his hand splay against your back.

“Me?” you shot back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You’re the one who said you wouldn’t let me fall!”

“I didn’t think you’d take me down with you!”

Your laughter mingled with his, echoing across the rink. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just the two of you, lying on the ice, laughing like kids.

When you finally managed to untangle yourselves and scramble back to the railing, Diane was waiting, her expression soft. The two of you giggling as you took off your skating boots. “That laugh,” she said, her voice wistful. “You sound just like your father.”

Steve froze. The easy warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a tension that tightened his jaw and straightened his posture.

“Mom,” he said flatly, the single word carrying a warning.

Diane’s smile faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—”

“I’m going to return these,” Steve cut her off, his voice clipped as he turned toward the rental booth.

You watched him walk away, the lightness from earlier evaporating with every step. The Steve Harrington who’d been laughing with you on the ice was gone, replaced by the closed-off version you’d first met.

Robin sidled up beside you, her expression unusually serious. “That’s a sore subject,” she said quietly, nodding toward Steve.

“What is?” you asked, though you already had an idea.

“His dad,” Robin replied, crossing her arms. “It’s been... hard on him. They weren’t exactly close, but, you know, losing a parent messes you up. He tries to act like he’s fine, but... well, you’ve seen how he is.”

Your stomach twisted. You had no idea. The Steve you knew from work never mentioned his father, and you hadn’t thought to ask. Now, pretending to know him—really know him—felt heavier than ever.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding as if you understood. “I know it’s been hard on him.”

Robin gave you a small, sad smile. “You’re good for him, you know.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “What makes you say that?”

Robin shrugged. “You make him laugh. He hasn’t done that much lately.”

Your chest tightened as you looked back toward Steve. He was at the rental counter, returning his skates with a forced politeness that didn’t reach his eyes. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself like he was bracing for a fight.

You weren’t sure what to say or do. But as you watched him retreat further into himself, one thing became clear– Steve Harrington wasn’t just your grumpy boss or the boy-next-door pretending to be your boyfriend. He was someone who carried more weight than he let on.

The drive back to the Harrington house was quieter than you expected. Diane hummed along to Christmas music on the radio, and Robin had waved goodbye at the square, promising to catch up with Steve later. You’d stolen a few glances at him in the passenger seat, his profile sharp against the faint glow of streetlights. He hadn’t said much since the rink, his jaw tight and his gaze fixed on the snowy roads ahead.

By the time you reached the house, the warmth of the living room felt almost stifling. Diane retired to her room with a cheery “Goodnight!” and Steve muttered something about getting water before disappearing into the kitchen. You lingered in the living room for a moment, trying to steel yourself for what would inevitably be an awkward bedtime arrangement.

When you finally made your way upstairs, Steve was already in the room, leaning against the dresser as he scrolled through his phone. He glanced up when you entered, his expression unreadable as you shut the door behind you.

“Uh, so,” you started, gesturing toward the bed. “How do you want to do this?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“The sleeping thing,” you clarified, crossing your arms. “You’re right. It’s your room, so—”

“No.” His voice was firm, cutting you off before you could finish. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, then... I can grab some pillows or something. Make it work.”

Steve shook his head, setting his phone down on the dresser. “That’s not happening either.”

“Steve—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone a little softer now. “Just take the bed.”

You frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt. “What about you? Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, but the way his gaze flickered to the bed made it clear he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

You let out a sigh, brushing a hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous. We’re both adults. We can share the bed. It’s not a big deal.”

Steve hesitated, his jaw ticked as he glanced at the bed again. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not weird unless we make it weird.”

Steve let out a breath, nodding slightly. “Okay. But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Because I’m the one who snores.”

He smirked faintly, grabbing a spare pillow from the closet. “Just don’t hog the blankets.”

The bed was softer than you expected, the navy comforter heavy and warm against the chill seeping in from the windows. Steve lay on his side, facing away from you, his breathing steady but not quite even enough to pass for sleep. You stared at the ceiling, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, listening to the faint creak of the house settling, before you finally worked up the nerve to speak.

“Steve?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shifted slightly but didn’t answer.

“You’re awake. I know you are,” you pressed.

After a moment, he sighed, his voice low and rough. “What?”

You hesitated, turning onto your side to face him. His back was still to you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenched slightly against the pillow. “I was just... thinking about what your mom said earlier,” you ventured carefully. “About your laugh.”

Steve didn’t respond, but the silence felt heavier now, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“No.”

The word was curt, final. But you didn’t back down.

“Sometimes it helps,” you said quietly. “Talking, I mean. You don’t have to, but—”

“I don’t want to,” he interrupted, his voice sharper now. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

You frowned, your chest tightening. You should’ve dropped it, let him have the space he clearly wanted. But something about the way he said it—like he was pushing you away out of habit, not because he didn’t need to talk—made you stay.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I just... I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. Losing your dad.”

Steve stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he’d snap at you again. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost bitter.

“You don’t have to pretend you get it,” he said, still not turning to face you. “We weren’t close.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt,” you countered gently.

He let out a hollow laugh, finally rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “You don’t get it. My dad wasn’t... He wasn’t some great guy. He didn’t care about me or my mom. He only cared about what I could do for him.”

You stayed quiet, letting him find his words.

“He wanted me to follow in his footsteps,” Steve continued, his voice low and bitter. “Take over the business, be just like him. I thought... I thought maybe if I did what he wanted, he’d finally be proud of me. But it didn’t matter. Nothing I did was ever enough.”

Your chest ached at the weight in his voice, the years of frustration and hurt wrapped up in every word.

“And now he’s gone,” Steve said, his jaw tightening. “And I’m still doing this job because... I don’t know. Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Because I don’t know what the hell else I’m supposed to do.”

The room felt impossibly still, his words hanging in the air like fragile glass. You wanted to say something, anything, to make it better. But you knew there wasn’t a quick fix for something like this.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice soft.

Steve let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah. Me too.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a while, and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped. His breathing was steady, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling, and you wondered if he was retreating into himself again.

You sighed softly, turning your own gaze back to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth,” you started, your voice quiet but steady, “tonight was kind of... nice.”

Steve glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression skeptical. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a small laugh. “The lights, the skating, even Robin grilling us... It was different. A good different.”

He frowned, shifting slightly. “Different from what?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. This wasn’t something you talked about often, and definitely not with people like Steve Harrington. But something about the quiet of the room, the faint hum of the heater, and the way he’d let down his walls just a little made you feel like you could.

“From how I usually spend Christmas,” you said finally, your voice soft. “If I was back in Chicago right now, I’d be on my couch. Probably eating takeout. Watching some random TV marathon.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “That’s it? No family dinner? No tree?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve never really done the whole Christmas thing.”

His frown deepened. “Why not?”

“I was a military brat,” you explained, letting your hands rest on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling. “We moved around a lot. My dad was always deployed, my mom was always busy, and holidays just... weren’t a priority. There was no time for decorating or big dinners. Half the time, we didn’t even know where we’d be by Christmas.”

Steve’s gaze softened, his brows furrowing slightly. “That sucks.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It was what it was. I didn’t really know anything else. But nights like tonight? They’re kind of a breath of fresh air. Hawkins is... cozy. Even if it’s a little chaotic.”

Steve let out a small huff of laughter at that, and you smiled despite yourself. You thought you heard him whisper, “You have no idea.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you continued, glancing at him. “Your mom is relentless, and Robin is terrifying in the best way. But the lights, the tree, the skating... it was nice. A little overwhelming, but nice.”

Steve didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering back to the ceiling. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. “So you’ve never had a tree? Or, like, stockings or presents or any of that?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the "p." “I mean, there were a couple of years where my mom tried to make it festive, but it was always last-minute stuff. A wreath on the door, maybe some cookies if she wasn’t too busy. But the big, magical Christmas? Never had it.”

Steve turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “That’s... kind of depressing.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Gee, thanks, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t know. Christmas was always a big deal in my house. My mom would go all out. Lights, decorations, giant tree. My dad hated it, but she didn’t care. She said it was her favorite time of year.”

You smiled faintly. “She’s good at it. Making things feel festive.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “She is. She’d approve of your atrocious office decor.”

You snorted.

Silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt... softer. Like the weight you’d both been carrying had eased just a little.

“You know,” you said after a moment, turning your head to look at him. “If you ever get tired of this job, you could probably make a killing as a skating instructor.”

Steve snorted, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, grinning. “You were, like, weirdly good out there. It was kind of infuriating.”

“Infuriating?” he echoed, his smirk growing.

“Yeah,” you said, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “You’re annoyingly good at things you don’t even like. It’s not fair.”

Steve chuckled, the sound warm and low, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the fake relationship, the awkward sleeping arrangement, even the tension lingering from earlier.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Thanks for coming.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile before flopping over. Sleep finally took over.

381 notes · View notes

badomensbaby · 10 months ago

Text

rules of the road. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: finally getting your driver's license after moving to the big city for college, you're a bit stunned by your dorky, charming driving instructor.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. flirting/flustering, protected smut, praise kink, mommy kink, car sex, safe sane and consensual, explicit sexual content. (driving instructor! luke, racecar driver! luke)

words: 6,307

a/n: one beautiful evening, as i was driving home with a frosty from wendy's balanced in my lap, i saw a student driver vehicle and i was like! hm! what if... and then this kind of happened. i tried to keep a keen eye while editing but if there's an error, feel free to let me know! <3

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

You weren't a typically nervous person.

Growing up in a town where you practically had to just figure it out on your own, nothing really got under your skin. Not tractor maintenance nor harvest schedules, or that nasty little wasp's nest in the cattle barn in the spring.

But tests, those were a different story.

From college entrance exams to applying for your driver's license, those were the types of tests that made your heart race and your palms clam up. Because it was the unknown that bothered you so much. The unfamiliarity.

And, sprinkle in the fact that you'd left the family farm to pursue a college degree into the mix and every worry's been increased tenfold. As the baby of the family, first daughter behind a handful of rowdy, hard-working boys, being the first of your household to attend college was a serious milestone. You could only hope to make your parents and siblings proud.

But moving to the big city meant learning to drive. Well, legally. You've spent countless hours in your father's farm truck or your grandfather's tractor, you weren't necessarily inexperienced when it came to driving but you've never really been surrounded by other drivers. Just gravel roads and grassy two-tracks and your bothers dirt bikes.

The initial exam, a knowledge test about road signs and rules, wasn't too bad. They'd given you a practice test and a helpful guide booklet when you'd arrived at your appointment. It felt odd, being just barely twenty years old and taking a driver knowledge exam alongside kids barely pushing sixteen. You felt behind but it wasn't your fault.

Nerves didn't erupt in your stomach until the kind lady in the Secretary of State's office informed you that you'd be taking an on-road driver skills test. An instructor will watch you, quiz you, and grade you accordingly and if you fail, you can kiss your ability to drive legally goodbye until you pass.

Now that makes you nervous. Like there's ravenous butterflies swarming your stomach. You're already under a lot of pressure with fall classes starting soon and your part-time job, now you're worried about passing your driver's exam. The lady assured you there's nothing to fret over, that the instructor you've been assigned is well versed in the rules of the road and he's a total sweetheart.

Waiting in the parking lot wasn't the worst part. You were told he'd arrive shortly, a man named Mr. Hemmings, in one of the contracted company's instructing vehicles. Plastered with bright yellow stickers along the back, just shouting to everyone on the road that you're an inexperienced driver so take it easy.

Expecting some middle aged, married, grumpy man with nothing positive to say, the nerves weren't so bad as you basked in the moderate heat of the Michigan summer sun. Your phone pings a few times, a slew of good lucks and you've got this! from your family members. You don't even realize there's a stark white Toyota Camry pulling up to the curb until the scuff of shoes on the asphalt catches your attention.

"Y/N L/N?" A thick, low voice questions. A text message to your eldest brother sits unfinished beneath your thumbs, lips parting with shock. There's no bald patch or flat tire sticking out beneath his shirt, hell it barely looks like he's wearing a shirt at all because the white fabric is so snug and pulled taught over his abdomen and chest and arms that it's absolutely ludicrous. "Y/N?" he repeats.

"Yeah- yeah, that's me," You hesitantly stand, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jeans before brushing your now clammy hands along your thighs. His eyes flicker between the clipboard in his hand and you, shamelessly raking up and down your frame before clearing his throat.

"Great," His lips twist into a wide, toothy smile, shoulders seemingly relaxing at the confirmation. His stance laxes, nodding his head of bouncy, golden curls towards the vehicle that's idling behind him. "Why don't we go ahead and get started?"

You nod, swallowing the thick lump forming in your throat, hardly maintaining eye contact with the instructor as you climb into the driver's seat and watch him awkwardly fit himself into the seat beside you. "Okay," He blows out a breath. "I'm Mr. Hemmings but you can just call me Luke, it's easier and nobody likes saying a long name especially if you're in a panic."

You barely manage a short, clipped laugh. "Rad. Anyway, we're gonna be in here for the next hour or so. I'm mainly here to make sure you understand vehicle safety and that you're prepared to operate this beauty on your own," With a laugh, Mr. Hemmings taps the dashboard with his palm. "Well, not this beauty obviously, but you get my point. Oh! And I have break pedals over here just in case. I haven't used them yet this month so please don't put us in a situation where I might need to."

He's funny, you'll admit. In a dorky, charming kind of way. He hasn't stopped smiling the entire time and you're curious if he's just that way in general or if it's a front because he probably deals with some right idiots when it comes to being an instructor. "You're quiet."

"Sorry," You mumble, hands still folded in your lap. "I'm just a bit nervous."

"There's really no need," he assures you, turning in his seat with an excited smile. "If you've passed your vision and knowledge tests then this is like, a cakewalk. Have you driven before?"

"Yeah, back home," You tell him. "Mostly just old trucks, though. I don't think I've ever driven a proper car."

"Cool, car virgin. I like that," Luke turns his attention back to the clipboard, scribbling something that you're unable to make out because it's complete chicken scratch. "Well, why don't we get going so we can stay on track."

"Okay," You breathe out, clasping the seatbelt over your lap. Under your breath, you rattle off the first steps of safety before your hands ever touch the steering wheel. Seatbelt, check. Rearview mirror, check. Side mirrors, check. When everything seems as it should, you rest one hand on the wheel before shifting the vehicle into drive, peering out of the passenger's side mirror to ensure no cars are coming up behind you in the lot.

Luke stays silent, observing you, pen hovering over his checklist sheet. As you head towards the exit, you realize you have absolutely no clue where you're meant to go. "Uhh-"

"Take a left here," Luke tells you. Signaling, you check both ways for any oncoming traffic before exiting the parking lot, keeping an eye on the speed limit signs posted on the side of the road. "And at the next light, hang a right. We'll follow that through downtown and then get you on the highway for a bit."

Nodding, you try to keep yourself composed and not let the nerves get to you as you follow his instruction. You make sure to slow down appropriately as you cruise through the city's downtown area, briefly taking in the brick buildings and shops as you pass.

The vehicle's air is a little stiff, a little warm underneath the summer sun and you're considering asking Luke if he can turn the air on but he's too busy drumming his fingertips along his bare thigh to really pay you any mind. You'd always heard that driving instructors were very observant, overly cautious and very strict about everything but Luke's so laid back it's slowly beginning to relieve your nerves.

"Would you mind turning on the air?" Luke asks, eyes soft and kind when you glance over at him. You're just trekking along behind other vehicles, following signs for the highway that's still a few miles out. It's probably one of the things on his checklist, for you to tinker with something and hope it doesn't distract you enough to cause any accidents.

Glancing at the various knobs, luckily they're standard and simple, similar to your father's truck so pressing two buttons quickly has cool air flowing into the car. You feel a little more at ease, less of an iron grip on the steering wheel. "You're doing great, by the way." Luke chimes in.

"Thanks," You keep an eye on the Jeep that keeps randomly breaking in front of you, easing off of the accelerator when applicable. You weren't a newbie when it came to driving itself, just following the actual road laws and learning the flow of traffic. "I need to turn right up here?" You ask.

Luke hums with a nod. He's began muttering some tune under his breath along with his finger-drumming, as if he isn't remotely worried about you merging onto the highway. Picking up speed, you join alongside the few cars rumbling along the road. "We'll take this to the next town over, about thirty minutes, then we'll head back and do a few simple maneuvers and that's it."

You nod, fighting the urge to sigh. Who knew your road test would be so boring? There's no music, just the sound of your tires on the asphalt and Luke's low humming. "Why'd you decide to become an instructor? Isn't it- well, boring?"

A slow chuckle slips out of your instructor's mouth, elbow perched on the door, hand clasped against the side of his face. "It's not all boring, I swear. I just like helping people become confident drivers. You'd be surprised how many students I've had that are too terrified to even start the engine."

"You're pretty laid back, it's definitely making me less nervous," You laugh softly, keeping your eyes on the empty road. "Helps that you're not bad looking either."

Shit, you weren't meant to say that.

In your peripheral, you can see Luke squirm slightly in his seat, instantly worrying that you've made him uncomfortable. You're about to retract your statement and apologize but the grin that overtakes his pink lips stops you. "Thank you," he says honestly, his tone a little strained. "So are you. I mean, I wouldn't say not bad looking, you're pretty- like quite pretty- and okay, is it a little warm in here? Jeez."

You stifle a laugh at his nervous rambling. It's cute, kind of refreshing, too. But a weight settles in your stomach because no, you absolutely cannot think your driving instructor is cute. Doesn't that cross some kind of line? Break a rule? It has to. "So- are you uh.. getting your driver's license to.. drive to your boyfriend's house orr.."

Oh god, he's also pretty damn terrible at flirting. Normally, you'd find it cringey and a tad obnoxious but it's cute on him. Adorable, even, because he's definitely a handful of years older than you but he flusters so easily it makes your confidence soar.

There's nothing wrong with indulging in it, is there? It's not like you're gonna fuck him on the side of the highway or anything.

"No boyfriend," You keep a straight face, like you're intently focused on the billboards you pass by. "Or girlfriend." You tack on, just to see him flounder a little more.

"Oh- yeah, rad," Luke nods a few times. "That's- yeah, okay, cool."

God, he's so fucking cute. How'd you get so damn lucky to have him as an instructor?

Luke's tapping the window ledge aimlessly, almost looking uncomfortable but not with you, like something's gnawing at him. "Hey, can you pull off at this rest stop for a minute? I need to- uh- bathroom. Yeah."

"Sure." You signal off, slowing down as you near the small building, only a few cars scattered in the parking lot. Luke quickly unbuckles himself and slips out of the car, almost too fast for you to realize there's a tent in his shorts. Well, fuck.

You've never really been the hook-up type in the past, coming from such a small town there's slim pickings when you know everyone's faults. Only when your family would travel up to Mackinac Island or down to Kalamazoo to visit family would you end up fooling around with some local for an afternoon but that didn't happen very often.

Though the circumstances aren't ideal, there's obviously some kind of attraction on both sides. Probably just some silly short-term infatuation and who knows what's running through Luke's mind. But he's hot, there's no denying that, and guilt tugs at your chest because he's here to do a job and you're just being a massive distraction.

Luke returns about fifteen minutes later, a little flushed in the face but there's this look he's sporting that looks nothing short of pure bliss. You're not stupid, you can recognize a post-orgasm haze from a million miles away.

God, did he really get off in a public rest stop bathroom? What the hell was he so worked up over? You bite back any inappropriate questions lingering on your tongue as he buckles himself in and you merge back onto the highway.

Luke doesn't say a word until it's time to circle back. He's quiet, too quiet, thrumming his fingers against his knee in a rhythm you aren't able to recognize. You decide to go the exact speed limit, setting the cruise control and waiting for Luke to ask why you've done that but no such comment comes.

"You okay?" You finally ask. The two of you are trapped in here for at least another thirty minutes on the highway alone, then likely another twenty or thirty around town after that. The silence isn't deafening but it's making you a little uneasy.

"Me? Yeah- I'm great. Fantastic, actually. Why wouldn't I be? Nothing's wrong. Everything's peachy." The instructor rambles.

Something's definitely wrong. You're not a very confrontational person but you'd rather have whatever issue at hand out in the open than let it linger silently the remainder of your test. "Luke-"

As you're getting his attention, the car begins to splutter. Numerous lights illuminate the dashboard, a loud rumbling sound making the steering wheel shake beneath your hands. Immediately, Luke begins to press on the emergency instructor's breaks and with some guidance, he helps you pull off on the shoulder just as the engine dies.

Not believing the sight before you, you turn to Luke, who's equally as shocked and silent, both of your chests heaving. "What the hell?" You ask aloud.

"I have no clue," Luke says frantically. "The car's been running fine all day. There weren't any warning lights, were there?"

Truthfully, you don't remember. "I don't.. think so? All of them lit up before it crapped out."

"Shit," Luke curses lowly. "Let me see if I can figure out what's going on."

Luke slips out of the Camry, leaving his clipboard behind. You hear him yell, muffled, "Pop the hood!" And you do, after taking a second to find the button with your shaky fingers.

The longer Luke is beneath the hood the longer you worry. It's an early Thursday evening, on a fairly quiet highway, and the likelihood that some passerby is going to offer assistance is slim. Plus, tow trucks in this area only operate within a ten mile radius, so it's unlikely you'll find one for a reasonable price if the car is toast.

This is what you get for thinking he's cute, your brain tosses at you. You know it isn't true but it's kind of ironic, isn't it?

Luke slips back inside the car. "Well, one of the hoses broke," He sighs, digging through the pockets of his shorts in search of his cellphone. "So the car won't start even if we wanted it to. We'll have to call a tow truck."

"Of course this would happen during my driving exam," You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as a low, frustrated groan crawls up your throat. "Just my luck."

"I probably shouldn't include the fact that I have no service then, should I?"

Your eyes pry open. "What?" You ask, finding your phone and sure enough, no fucking signal. "Seriously? We're on the damn highway, not in the middle of the ocean!"

"Hey, we'll be fine," Luke rests his hand momentarily on your shoulder and you try to ignore the goosebumps rising on your skin. Sheepishly, he pulls it away. "I'll see if I can make an emergency call to highway patrol."

"Please do," You mumble weakly.

Your father would have a field day if he could see you. Barely a week into living away from them and you're stranded on the side of the highway with a hot driving instructor. What a joke.

With no luck, Luke groans, tossing his phone onto the dashboard. "My phone died," he says. "Can you call on yours?"

"Yeah," You dial using your phone's emergency function, only to be met with CALL FAILED in big letters. "How the hell can an emergency call fail?"

"Okay, well at least we've both probably eaten recently and I keep snacks in the trunk," You toss a glare towards the blonde, not finding his statement remotely relieving at all. "What? Teenagers get grumpy so I always have granola bars on hand."

"So we're stuck," You sigh softly. Luke nods, hands toying with one another. "Until I get signal or someone passing by takes pity on us."

"I'm sorry Y/N," Luke says quietly. "About- about all of this. I really had no idea, this car's never given me any problems."

"It's not your fault," You glance over at him, noticing his lower lip tucked between his teeth. "I'm gonna walk a bit and see if I can get signal, alright?"

"You shouldn't go alone," Luke says, a bit rushed. "I mean, not that you aren't capable or anything because I'm sure you are - female empowerment and all that I just- uh-"

"Just stay here," You say, a little clipped. You aren't upset with him, just the situation. "I'll be right back."

Luke swallows thickly, blue eyes wide. "Yes m'am."

You slip out of the car and begin walking along the shoulder, grass and gravel crunching beneath your feet, checking your cellphone every few seconds in hopes that a signal will appear. A big fat SOS stares back at you, practically mocking you.

After ten or so minutes, you aren't sure how far you've walked but you can't see the Camry anymore. You know it'll cool off soon as the sun begins to set and it'll be best if you're somewhere safe. Regretfully, you head back to the car to find Luke scribbling on his clipboard in the passenger seat.

"Nothing," You say, checking your phone once more, noticing it's been about thirty minutes since you've pulled off the road. "What're you drawing over there?"

"Just doodling," He says, showing you a mix of scribbles along the bottom of your driving checklist. "What else am I supposed to do? We're stuck for the time being."

"Yeah, you're right."

It's silent for a few minutes, aside from Luke's been inking the checklist. "We could.. play a game, maybe? Something to keep our minds off of.. y'know, the whole car breaking down thing."

"What kind of game?" You ask.

"Oh- uh, twenty questions?" Luke offers.

You snort. Twenty questions is for horny teenagers, not two almost-strangers stuck in a broken down vehicle on the side of the highway. "Guess that's a no."

"What about what are the odds?" You suggest. "I played it all the time with my soccer friends, it's pretty fun."

"Okay," Luke agrees. "You'll have to explain the rules to me, though."

You sit up a little straighter, a smile unknowingly tugging at your lips. Maybe there's an ulterior motive ping-ponging in the back of your mind. Maybe.

"It's really easy. One of us says something like 'what are the odds that you'll make an embarrassing noise', then pick a number in your head, and on the count of three we'll both say a number and if it's the same the other person has to do that thing. Make sense?"

"I think I've got it," Luke nods, turning in his seat with excited eyes. He looks fucking adorable. You shake your head, getting comfortable in the seat. "Okay, can I go first?"

"Go for it."

"Okay- uh, what are the odds that you'll.. you'll- tell me something about yourself?"

That's not quite it but a good start, Luke.

"One through fifteen." You say. "Three.. two... one.."

"Ten."

"Twelve."

"Ah, shit," Luke frowns. "I don't think I'm very good at this."

"You'll get the hang of it," You tap his knee with the back of your hand without a thought, watching his cheeks twinge pink. "I'll go. What are the odds you'll pass me?"

"One in.. ten," Luke says. "Three.. two.. one.."

"Six."

"Aha!" You grin, victoriously. "See, I'm a mindreader."

"As if I'd flunk you," Luke rolls his eyes. "You're a good driver, Y/N. You need to be a little more confident but there's no way I'd fail you."

You need to be a little more confident. Sure, Luke was talking about driving but that doesn't mean you can't apply that statement to anything else, right?

"Alright, my turn," Luke rolls his lips in thought. "What are the odds that.. you'd be my friend on Facebook?"

"Facebook?" You ask, a brow raised. "Nobody uses Facebook anymore, Luke."

"I do," Luke defends softly, shoulders drawing inward. "Just play along, Y/N."

"Okay, fine," You laugh softly. "Uhh, one in ten. Three.. two.. one.."

"Four."

"Eight."

"Damn, looks like we won't be Facebook friends," You tease, the flush still bright and red and pretty on Luke's cheeks. He's so easy to fluster. You almost regret what you're about to say. "What are the odds you'll admit the real reason we stopped at the rest area?"

Luke's face falls. "I.." He glances away from you, clearly caught off guard and there's a stinging in your chest. You should've just kept your mouth shut, he didn't deserve to be called out like that.

"I'm so sorry, that was too far, I-"

"It's..okay," Luke lets out a wavering breath. "I feel really bad about that," Your brows furrow. "Look I- I think you're really pretty and this is so, so unprofessional of me but I uh- you said girlfriend and my mind just- went off on it's own. I'm sorry."

"Oh," Your mouth feels dry all of a sudden. "You were thinking of me with- oh."

Luke looks away, clearly embarrassed, a blush blooming down his neck. "I'm sorry, Y/N. It was really inappropriate and I shouldn't have."

"It's okay," You assure him. Luke looks like a kicked puppy, unsure as his eyes slowly meet yours, not quite believing you. "Seriously, it's fine. I- yeah, I'm also into girls. I don't blame you for your.. thoughts, or whatever."

Luke sucks in a sharp breath, like you've said something sinfully explicit. "I- maybe we should end the game here before I say something really stupid."

He isn't covert about it, covering his growing hard-on, beginning to tent his shorts. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, trailing along the inside of your lower lip. Fuck, you have quite the opportunity here and it would be a shame if you let it go to waste. Consensually, of course.

"You're thinking about me with a girl again, aren't you?" You boldly accuse, your eyes narrowing in a teasing manner, watching Luke's gentle blue eyes widen and mouth fall open. "It's okay if you are."

He's so.. submissive. You've never really explored the whole dynamic of positions like that but making your instructor blush and squirm makes you feel.. hot.

"Maybe," Luke's voice is small, soft, and you're loving every second of it. "Y/N, I-"

"What're you thinking about, Luke?" You ask, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the center console, your tone low. "Me kissing another girl, maybe? Getting all hot and bothered and messy and wet?"

A whimper crawls up his throat. "I- fuck."

You trail a finger along his thigh, tracing the leg of his shorts. "Maybe you'd just watch, huh?" You provoke him, watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah- I would.." His voice is weak, lips parting and soft little pants escaping them. He's so easy for it, you love it. The dominance rolling off of you in waves seems to come naturally and who are you to deny it? "Y/N.."

"What, Luke? What do you need?"

Need. Luke keens. "I.. can I.."

"You wanna touch yourself?" You ask.

"No.. you, please."

You hum. How can you say no, when he sounds so wrecked like that? "Think there's enough room for us in the back there?"

"Don't wanna.. move," Luke mumbles, eyes already glazed over. He's so far gone. "My lap?"

You won't toy with him anymore, not when he's offering to get you off. To touch you. God, his fingers are beautiful and long and you're dying to have them buried inside of you. "Yeah, 'kay." You puff out, watching Luke adjust himself properly and helping guide you to sit in his lap, your knees on either side of his hips.

It isn't ideal but it'll work. He works with shaky, excited hands to unfasten the button and zipper of your jean shorts before trailing his fingers along the waistline of your underwear. "Can I?" You nod, teeth sinking into your lower lip in anticipation.

Without hesitance, Luke dips his hand into the waistband, finding your damp heat with ease. His fingers curl around you, whimpering at the warmth before a finger slips inside of you, slick and velvety. "Oh- fuck."

"Luke," You moan out softly, clasping a hand on the instructor's shoulder. He carries a steady pace, sliding a second finger beside the first, brutally hard at the warmth coating his digits. "Fuck, feels so good."

"You're so wet," He mumbles, like he's surprised, peering up at your blissed out features. "Fuck, did I- did I do this to you?"

"Yes," Your hips shift greedily, making his fingers sink deeper into you. "You're just so.."

"So?" You can feel his breath against your collarbone through your shirt.

"So needy," You moan, rotating your hips, effectively riding Luke's fingers, like he's some kind of toy. "It's so hot, how hard you get so easily- I- fuck, there."

"Y/N," Luke pants against you, his free hand trailing up to your hip, holding tightly. "Wanna make you cum, please."

"Yeah?" You breathe out. "Gonna let me ride your fingers? Fuck myself until I cum?"

"Oh god," Luke trembles, his movements faltering but it doesn't matter, you're moving steadily and the more you shift the more his fingers hit that perfect spot. You can feel it in your toes, that you're close, but you need something else to get you there.

"Did you think about me?" You ask, a light sweat forming on your brow. "When you got off in the bathroom? Did you moan for me?"

"Yes," Luke admits in a whine. "Yes- fucking- came so hard, Y/N. Thought of you the whole time."

Just thinking about Luke, working his cock so quickly in his fist thinking about you is enough, warmth flooding your stomach as your orgasm rapidly approaches and you're releasing all over Luke's fingers. Like a fucking floodgate.

"Oh fuck," You hear him moan, fingers slowing as your hips come to a halt. "Fuck, Y/N."

Blissful and warm and flushed, Luke retracts his fingers from you, the digits glistening as he slips them into his mouth with needy, complacent hums. He looks more wrecked than you do.

"Can I- can I ride you?" You blurt.

Luke goes rigid. "What?"

"I wanna ride you," You reiterate. "I wanna fuck you, Luke. Can I?"

"You- yeah, fuck of course," Luke's eyes are blue and glassy and glazed and you aren't even sure how he's functioning right now. He hasn't even cum yet so- wait. "Just give me a minute.."

Curiously, you shift back a bit on his lap to see he's half-hard and there's an obvious damp patch on the front of his shorts. "Did you cum while you were touching me?"

Luke nods. "Sorry."

"Fuck that's so hot," You can't help it, fitting both hands beneath his jaw to tilt his head upward, capturing his lips easily with your own. He tastes like spearmint gum and flavored coffee, it's all you can think about when you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. That was too easy, you can already feel his dick fattening against your thigh again. "Do you have a condom?"

"In my wallet," Luke pants against your mouth. "I wasn't like- expecting this, by the way."

"Neither was I," You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Let me get my shorts off."

Car sex seems so hot in theory until you're caught up in the moment and you're stuck trying to take off clothing where it's just not possible. You manage to slip your shorts off, leaving your damp underwear on before claiming Luke's lap once again. The condom sits in the crevice between his thigh and hip, fly open and dick straining against the seam of his boxers.

"Get yourself ready for me," You tell him softly, your fingertips trailing along your lower abdomen, along the inside of your shirt to cup your breasts beneath your bra. Luke's in a trance, nearly swallowing his own tongue before nodding and barely wiggling his shorts and boxers down his hips. He slips the condom on, abandoning the foil packet god knows where, before stroking himself a few times with a gentle hiss. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

Luke squirms at that. "Thank you," he mutters. "Can I- are you ready?"

"So ready," He carefully aligns his hips with yours before slowly pressing inside, letting out tiny whimpers with every inch he sinks in. "Fuck."

"Y/N," Luke moans, eyes threatening to fall shut. His hands find your thighs, blunt nails digging into the soft skin there, hips threatening to rut upwards at the sheer warmth encasing his cock. It's immeasurable, how good you feel wrapped snugly around him.

"So good, Luke, you're doing so good," You praise gently, holding yourself upright with your hands on his broad shoulders. Once he's buried to the hilt, you slowly rock your hips in a circle, eliciting a short gasp from the blonde. "Such a good boy."

The simple phrase makes Luke choke on his own breath. "You're so warm," he mumbles, lips barely moving, chest rising and falling steadily. You rock your hips again. "Oh my god."

Luke isn't like the guys you've slept with before. He's sensitive and responsive and it's probably the hottest thing you've ever witnessed. It's like he's fighting the urge to give in. Slowly, you begin to bounce in his lap, testing the waters. Luke moans every time you sink down.

"Yeah?" You ask him after a particularly whiny moan falls from his mouth. "Feel good, Luke? Tell me. Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels so good," He babbles, a wheezy, whining mess every bounce you make. It's slick and wet and so fucking hot you know you'll cum again sometime soon. He's hitting all the right spots inside of you. It helps he's probably the biggest dick you've taken by far. "So good. Please don't stop, please."

"Not gonna stop," You mutter, nails sinking into the skin of his shoulders. "You're such a good boy, Luke. Taking it so well. Feel so good inside me."

Luke lets out a squeak when you clench around him. "Mommy-"

Your hips falter briefly but you can't stop, you refuse, because that word, though you've never been called that before it lights a flame inside of your stomach that makes you want more and more and more. "Yeah?" You abandon your grip on one of his shoulders to clasp his jaw, making Luke meet your eyes, his half lidded and cloudy and dark blue. "Gonna let mommy fuck you, Luke? Ride your cock until she cums?"

Luke bites down on his lower lip so hard he swears he can taste blood. His head is swirling, like yours, all fuzzy and fucked dumb. Your pace grows quicker, a bit more focused but frenzied, until Luke's panting to the point where he's babbling words that don't even make any sense. "Gonna- please- need-"

"What, Luke? What do you need?" You ask, ghosting your lips over his own. He whimpers against your mouth.

"Wanna cum, mommy. Can I?"

"Yeah baby," You press a hard kiss to his mouth, pushing your tongue past his lips and that's all he needs, gripping your thighs tightly until he's fully inside of you before releasing into the condom. Luke slumps slightly, clearly spent but you're far from finished. "Stay still, won't you?"

"What-" Luke mutters, flushed and confused when you begin to raise your hips and sink back down on him. "Oh fuck me."

"So close, Luke," He isn't softening in the slightest. It almost makes you smile, makes you proud because he's so turned on, just letting you use him like some kind of fuck toy. "Touch me?"

Luke nods, blissed out, attaching his thumb to your clit and rubbing furious, hard circles. Your thighs tremble as your orgasm builds up, toes curling inside of your shoes before finally letting go and releasing all over his length.

Shuddering through the warmth spreading up the base of your spine, your nails sink into the instructor's shoulders, panting against his mouth as he tips his head up to connect your lips in a soft kiss. Your skin feels tingly in the best way, electric, and your head swarming furiously.

Luke pulls away first. He's so flushed, from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck and you're positive that pretty pink blush has reached his naval, there's no doubt. He's definitely a full-body blusher. "Y/N.."

"Yeah?" You ask quietly, breathless, noticing the windows have fogged up a little bit from your activities.

"Can you.. sorry, it's just uh- the condom's a bit uncomfortable." The blonde grimaces apologetically, reddening further when you muffle out a short laugh and slowly climb off of him. Your underwear are soaked, from your own release, but you slide your shorts back on anyways as Luke ties off the condom and places it hesitantly on the floorboard.

Now that the two of you are dressed, less short on breath, you figure it might be best to address what the hell just happened. "Luke-"

"Y/N-"

"Sorry, go ahead," You mumble.

"I wasn't- planning that. Or, expecting it, I swear," Luke says rather quickly, eyes flitting away from you, a bit embarrassed. "Please don't think I make a habit of this. You're- you're the first."

You swallow harshly. "The first?"

A nervous, awkward laugh tumbles out of Luke's mouth. "No, no, that was a girlfriend in high school. I mean- uh- student."

"Oh," You puff out a relieved breath, resting your head back. You're still warm and relaxed from your orgasms. "Well in that case, I don't really sleep with driving instructors, so I guess it's a first for both of us."

"It's not.." Luke trails off, his voice low, like he isn't sure how to phrase what he's thinking. "It won't be the only time, will it?"

That comes as a bit of a surprise to you. Again, you weren't really the hook-up type but the guys you have hooked up with in the past were quick to forget it even happened and move on with their lives.

You're stunned into a short silence. Will that be the only time you hook up with Luke? Sure, he's funny, and insanely attractive, but aside from the few things you've shared during the drive he's still almost a complete stranger.

"I understand," Luke quietly says.

"No I- sorry, I was just- surprised," You say. "I'd like to see you again. Maybe not in a broken down car on the side of the highway."

Luke chuckles briefly. "Okay, cool," The tension seems to slip from his shoulders. "Sorry, I'm not really good at this. I don't really uh- date? Just, with work and everything it's hard to find the time."

"Being a driving instructor is that demanding?" You inquire, a lighthearted teasing lift to your voice. The highway is still dead silent and the sun is slowly beginning to set. Soon, you'll be cast in a hue of pinks and oranges and pretty purples.

"I race for a living," Luke says, catching your attention abruptly, your brows furrowing in confusion. "It's not something I really bring up in conversation or during uh- other things."

"You're not like, a Nascar driver or something, right?" You joke. Luke stays silent. "What the fuck?"

Way to go, Y/N. Fucking a driving instructor slash Nascar driver. Your parents would be so proud. Stupid girl.

"Like I said, I don't really tell people," Luke quickly defends, swallowing as an anxious look perturbs his features. "This doesn't uh- change anything right? About seeing me again?"

"No but if my dad finds out you're gonna be forced into every Sunday dinner until you're dead," You speak without thinking, still shocked about Luke's line of work. And here you were thinking he was just a dorky driving instructor for the state of Michigan. "Sorry, that was weird."

Luke laughs, shaking his head. He took your comment well, like too well, and you're starting to think maybe Luke isn't real at this point. He's too.. perfect. Handsome, dorky, a fucking racecar driver. "You're fine, I get it. Your dad's a big fan, then?"

"Huge," You sigh. "My brothers, too."

"You think they'd come to a race if I set aside some tickets?" Luke's teeth sink into his bottom lip, a hopeful look on his splotchy, pink face.

"I- I mean yeah," You stumble. "Luke, you really don't have to.."

"I want to," He reassures you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I really wanna see you again and if free tickets is the way I can then, I'd be dumb not to offer."

"For the record, I'd see you again regardless of the free tickets," You tell him, leaning to rest your elbows on the console. One of his eyebrows arch curiously, in a way that's so damn hot and Luke doesn't even realize it.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah," You confirm. "By the way-"

You're cut off by the chirping of a siren, glancing out of the rearview mirror to see a State Trooper has parked behind you, lights flashing.

Well fuck. This'll be fun.

#5sos fanfic #5sos imagine #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings imagine #5sos x reader #luke hemmings x reader #5sos smut #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings x you

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