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dilfverines · 3 days ago

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teach me | step uncle! logan howlett x f! reader

content warnings: stepcest, drinking, cheating, virgin reader, vaginal sex, fingering, finger sucking, praise, pet names, light degradation, anal play, creampie, oral (fem receiving), cum eating, daddy kink, breeding kink (kinda)

word count: 4.3k

for @nymphomatique thank you for proofing bby <3

18+ MDNI

You were eighteen when your parents first allowed you to start dating boys, that’s how strict they were, and not much has changed in the past two years since then. The rules stayed the same: no parties, no staying out late, no smoking or drinking- typical for someone in their teens, not a young adult. As you grew you found yourself getting tired of your parents’ harsh boundaries, and you always had the nagging feeling of needing to break free, you were just never sure of how to do it, until you met him.

Logan was your dad’s older step-brother, and he had come just a little while ago to stay with you for a few weeks. You don’t really know all the details, something about his girlfriend kicking him out, you weren’t sure. Your dad had told you he didn’t really speak to Logan much, and once you met him, you understood why. The man was a douchebag to say the least. Rude, short-tempered, vulgar. Despite this, you found yourself strangely attracted to him.

The looks were definitely part of it, all dark-haired, muscular and tall, you would be a fool to not be into that- but his attitude was starting to grow on you too. You were respectful, pleasant, the opposite of everything he was. Perhaps his own nature was sparking a bit of rebellion in you the more time you spent with him, and he just never knew.

It was late when your parents had left, deciding to have a date night to themselves, leaving you and your uncle all alone in the house. You had cooked dinner, and after eating, decided to join him in the living room. The tv plays some random movie that the two of you are barely watching.

“You drink?” Logan suddenly asks, breaking the quiet between you two, his eyes still on the tv screen just ahead.

You look over to him, watching his lips around the rim of the beer bottle in his hand as he takes a sip.

“No,” you shake your head. “My parents don’t let me.” It sounds silly, a grown adult who doesn't drink because their parents won’t allow them to, and the little chuckle Logan lets out confirms what you’re thinking.

“Who gives a fuck about what they think?” he dismisses.

“I do,” you respond with a slight frown.

Logan finally looks at you, and scoffs after a moment of silence. “You don’t have to listen to them, you know?” He takes another sip of beer. “You’re what- twenty? Maybe it’s about time to start thinking for yourself.”

You shrug. “Maybe… I just-” You’re cut off by Logan.

“What? Afraid you’ll make them upset at you?” He asks, almost taunting you. “Scared they’ll be disappointed in their perfect little girl?” His smirk widens, and he can clearly sense the slight fear in you when you don’t respond.

“C’mon,” he urges, scooting closer to you and holding the half-drank bottle of beer in your direction. “Take a little sip.”

Your body noticeably heats up at the older mans close proximity. You look down at the bottle in front of your face, then back up at him. “I dunno,” you mutter. “Mom and dad will get mad.”

“Ah, come on.” His arm goes around your shoulder, and he feels you tense slightly. “No one’s here but us, they’re not gonna know.” Rough fingertips graze the top of your chest, just barely. He knows what he’s doing, the little look in his eyes telling you all you need to know.

He presses the bottle to your lips, and with hesitation, you take a sip. The bitter flavor passes over your tongue, and you grimace at the taste. Logan watches with amusement.

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling back the bottle just enough to let you speak once you swallow. “You don’t like it, do you?”

You shake your head, using your sleeve to wipe away the liquid that had dripped on your face. “Not really.”

Logan laughs quietly. “It’s not about the taste, baby.” He brings the bottle closer again. “It’s about the feeling it gives you.”

Half a bottle later, and you can definitely notice the feeling he was telling you about. Your brain feels a bit fuzzy, so sensitive to the alcohol you hadn’t even had a mere sip of before tonight.

“How are you feelin’?” Logan asks you, knowing damn well just how you’re feeling. He��s seen drunk people enough times to know you’re getting there.

“Mm,” you hum. “Feels funny.”

Logan smiles, amused by the sight before him. “Yeah?” His arm around you pulls you closer, to the point that you’re practically on top of him, nearly sitting on his lap. A hand snakes down to your thigh, and he gently squeezes the soft flesh there.

“I think I might know a way to make you feel even better than you already do…” His voice is low in your ear, and your already warm body flushes even deeper. His movement is slow as his touch comes up your thigh, to your hip, his fingertips dipping just under the elastic waist of your shorts.

“You’ve never been touched before, have you, baby?”

Those words make your breath stop in your chest, both out of surprise and slight embarrassment. It’s almost a shame to admit that you’ve never had sex, let alone kissed anyone at your age- but he already knows so much, no shame in admitting this to him now.

You shake your head sheepishly, your voice going soft as you answer with a meek little “no,” which makes Logans dirty grin widen a bit.

“Oh, nothin’ wrong with that.” His fingers sink lower into your shorts, making his way beneath the lace of your panties now too. “Just means I get to be your first…”

You turn your head to the side to look at him, his lips dangerously close to your own. The distance is too tempting, and you both lean in to close it, meeting halfway. He can tell you’ve never been kissed before, the way you freeze for a second before his own lips moving goad yours into doing the same. He finds it cute, and all the more arousing how inexperienced you are.

His tongue presses against your own, wet and hot, just like the cunt he finds himself rubbing his fingers against. You’re already soaked just from the kiss, and he would chuckle at that if his lips weren’t on yours at the moment. You can’t help but moan into him as he circles your untouched clit, making you spread your legs further, instinctively wanting more.

Logans lips part from yours, leaving you breathless. “You like this, don’t you? Like how uncle Logan plays with your pussy?” His voice is low and deep in your ear when he says it, nipping at your neck with his teeth. You can only respond with breathless moans. A stuttered little “yes” leaves you.

“Mm,” he grunts against your soft skin. “Good. Such a good girl, letting me touch you like this.” You could almost cum just from his filthy praises.

Your panties are soaked through at this point, a wet spot on your shorts being the embarrassing sign of your arousal, and Logan is eating it up. You, young and innocent, ripe for the taking. He feels so incredibly lucky to have you like this.

Logan's fingers continue to rub your clit, just at the perfect pace so as to not overwhelm you. His face is buried into your neck, sucking and leaving marks that he’s sure will bruise. You’ll have fun explaining that to your parents tomorrow.

He knows when you’re close, when you start to whine like a puppy more and more, when your hips start to twitch ever so slightly, when your hand tries to desperately wrap around the thick of his wrist. You’re just about to tip over the edge, gripping him so tightly, when he stops.

“You think I’m gonna let this end that quickly?” He asks, voice low in your ear. He gives your cunt a light slap, making you whimper, before he pulls his hand from your shorts. “I wanna take my time with you. Lay down and take off your shorts.”

You’re a bit frustrated that he didn’t let you cum first, but you find yourself obeying his orders, too needy now to even think twice about the fact that you’re doing all this with your dad’s step-brother. You lie back on the couch, and Logan is quick to slot himself between your spread legs, already assisting you in pulling your shorts off. He tosses them along with your panties, forgotten in the corner of the room somewhere and leaving you bare for his eyes to take in. You’re a sight to see, he thinks- his step-niece all laid out for him, ready to be taken. He almost growls at the thought.

His hands are quick in working off his own belt, undoing his pants and hastily shoving them down his strong thighs. Out comes the thick length of his cock, sprouting from a bush of dark pubic hair, and your eyes go wide at the sight. You had never seen one in person before, but you were certain his would be considered big- way too big. It’s long, girthy with a couple veins coming up to the uncut tip.

Logan seems to notice the sudden unease in your demeanor, and your eyes finally meet his again when he speaks. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure it fits. pretty doll.” His smile would be more reassuring if not for the perverse way he looks at you.

He brings a hand between your legs, rubbing his calloused fingertips through your slick folds, feeling how incredibly soaked you are for him before he pushes two fingers inside you. You let out a breath at the stretch, an unfamiliar feeling. You had fingered yourself before, but Logans fingers were much thicker and longer compared to your own slender ones. He starts to push them in and out, climbing on top of you and coming closer as he does.

Your lips meet, the kiss initiated by you this time. Perhaps the alcohol in your system has you getting a bit confident, but Logan quickly reminds you of who’s in charge of this whole situation when he brings his free hand up to give you a light slap on your hip, making you whimper into his mouth. The same hand then moves up your body, pulling your shirt up past your chest before Logan roughly gropes one of your breasts. Two fingers pinch at the hardened bud of your sensitive nipple, a muffled moan leaving your lips at the feeling.

His fingers seem to speed up, plunging in and out quickly, until he pushes them in deep one last time before pulling them out. A string of saliva connects you two, the evidence of your messy kiss when he pulls away. You’re left panting afterwards, your breath hitching when Logan suddenly grabs your face, clearly not trying to hurt you but not being gentle either as he squishes your cheeks with one hand while making you look up at him.

Before you are his fingers, soaked with your essence, which he pushes slowly between your glossy lips. If you weren’t a bit buzzed at the moment, you’d push his hand away and gag at what you’re currently doing, but you don’t. Logan watches, pleased as your eyes seem to relax and your stiff jaw goes slack.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Good…” You suck your slick off his fingers, the taste slightly salty yet bitter, something you can’t quite put your finger on. The last thing you thought you’d ever do was taste yourself on someone else’s fingers, but here you are. Rough fingertips press down on your tongue, making you gag just a bit, before they slip out of your mouth, and a chuckle leaves Logan.

“Didn’t think you’d be such a nasty little thing so quickly.” He gives a soft pat to your cheek. “Couldn’t even get my girl back home to do that.” You try to ignore that, reminded that the man you’re about to lose your virginity to has a girlfriend. He really is a dick.

“C’mon,” Logan says, big hands reaching for your hips. “Turn over, yeah?” You do as he says, allowing him to help you get adjusted in your new position on your arms and knees on the couch, legs spread with your back arched. As soon as you get settled, Logan takes the opportunity to admire the view from behind, a bit of a smirk gracing his rugged features at the sight of his little niece all bent over and spread out for him.

He mutters a soft “damn” as his hands grip the soft flesh of your hips, closing in on you to the point you can feel his body heat on your skin and the head of his stiff cock pressing against your thigh.

“Nice ass you got here, girl.” He gives a soft slap to your left ass cheek with his compliment, snickering a little as he does so and admiring the way the flesh jiggles from the force of his hand.

You glance over your shoulder, watching with anticipation as he keeps one hand on your hip while the other wraps around his swollen cock, giving it a few pumps. He brings himself closer to you, rubbing the pinkish tip through your slicked up folds with a soft sigh at how wet you are. He makes sure to focus on your clit, swiping the sticky slit against that swollen nub just enough to make you twitch slightly with pleasure, before he glides back to your opening. Logan presses himself against you, not enough to slide in, but enough so you can feel it. You tense, and he notices.

“It’s ok,” he assures, tone soft as he seems to try to genuinely comfort you to the best of his ability. He was never good at being nice. His hand on your hip squeezes slightly, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin. “You’ll tell me if it hurts, won’t you, baby?”

You nod, taking in a breath. “Yeah…”

His lips curl into a smile. “Good girl.” Logan moves in so his chest is pressed to your back, his warmth slightly distracting you from the feeling of your heart pounding nervously in your chest. Your hands cling on to the couch cushions, your breath hitching as he presses in, the thick tip sinking just past the tight little opening.

You whimper, and he shushes you, kissing at one of the pink marks that’s just starting to bruise on your neck. He pushes in further, slowly but you feel as though you’re ripping apart when the thin membrane of your hymen stretches and tears. You bite down hard on your lip, stifling back any pained sounds as Logans hips still when he’s halfway in.

“You ok, pretty?” He asks, a low whisper against your ear. “Yeah, ‘m ok, Uncle Lo.” His lips press against your cheek, a way to show you he cares, at least a little bit. For him being so mean all the time, he’s somewhat gentle with you.

He starts to move his hips again, pushing into you more and more, inch by inch. You bite down on your lip, so hard you swear it might bleed. Your hands grip the throw pillow you’ve decided to cling on to. He’s so thick you think he might just split you in two when he’s fully sheathed, all the way inside you. He stills again, not wanting to overwhelm you and letting you adjust to his size for a moment, despite how much he’d love to just lose control and start pounding you into oblivion. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a monster.

His hand goes from your hip to the small of your waist, giving the soft curve a comforting squeeze. “Feel ok? Ya ready for me to move?” You nod, the discomfort fading into a desperate need for more. “Please.”

Logan seems pleased to hear you so eager for him, a low growl leaving his lips. He pulls his hips back, only to push himself inside you with a bit of force, making your body jolt forward slightly. The motion of his hips repeats, in and out, back and forth, until he sets a steady and slow paced rhythm for now.

He’s starting to feel it now, the way your virgin hole is wrapped so tightly around his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, breath hot and moist against your skin. “Never would’ve guessed my little niece would have such a tight cunt.” Logan feels the way you seem to squeeze him even tighter for just a moment when he says it, and an amused yet dirty grin crosses his lips.

“You like that, don’t you?” His thrusts speed up, going harder. “Like uncle Lo tellin’ you what a tight little pussy you’ve got?” You just whine, unable to say anything when you can already feel your brain going numb at just how good his big cock feels ramming into you- but clearly your lack of a response doesn’t suffice for him. A firm slap lands on your rear, making you squeal, before the same hand comes up to grab your hair at the scalp.

“Answer me,” he growls. You would be surprised at how suddenly rough he’s being with you if you weren’t so into it. “N-nnh- Y-yes, Logan,” you answer meekly. “Fuckin’ love it so much.” Logan grins. He’s never heard you swear before.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, his voice low and barely audible above the ‘plap’ sound of his tanned flesh meeting yours. “Gonna turn you into such a perfect slut for me.” His promise seeps into your brain. You can feel it, your body and mind melting, molding perfectly into being his and his alone.

Logan sits up properly on his knees, no longer with his sweaty chest pressed into you as he continues to pound into you with rough and intense vigor. You can’t see what’s happening behind you, but you can feel when he suddenly grips your ass. He squeezes and spreads the round globes of your cheeks, eyeing the little hole hidden between. A dirty looking grin crosses his face, one like no other.

“Cute,” he murmurs. You’re not sure what’s happening, what he’s doing, but you know you feel suddenly more conscious in the moment, just when he presses the tip of his thumb into the tight ring of your ass. A gasp leaves your parted lips, the feeling foreign and so incredibly dirty. “Nice and tight too. Maybe I’ll fuck this hole next time.”

Humiliated is the one word you could think to describe what you’re feeling. Logan can sense it too, and it gives him a sort of sick satisfaction to know that he’s doing this to you, that he’s corrupting you like this. He decides to take it a step further when he speaks next.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya’, baby?”

You could almost cry, lip quivering. But you can’t deny it. “Y-yes, uncle Lo.” Pathetic, he thinks. “Hmm,” he hums, sinking his thumb slightly deeper, feeling the strong grip you have around his finger, just before pulling it out. “I’ll have to keep that in mind then.”

He gives your ass a hard slap, making you whine pitifully before his grip returns to your waist. “God, ‘m gonna fill this pussy up soon,” he mutters low beneath his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. You should be freaked out by that, you know. You can’t be having anyone’s babies at this age, especially not your much older step-uncles babies- but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything other than a thrill at the thought.

“Please, Logan,” you plead. “Give me your cum. Need it so bad.” Logan could bust just hearing that sweet voice of yours begging for it, sounding like the call of the purest of angels. He’s unsure if he’s died and gone up to Heaven or not.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it, baby.” He comes down so his chest is to your back again, and his strong arm wraps around your neck instantaneously, being careful not to hurt you. His thrusts speed up, pounding into you harder than previous. You moan loud, an almost choked sound when his cock head hits your cervix, hard and deep. “Gonna make sure you’re full to the brim.”

It’s not long before Logan fulfills that promise. A few more pumps of his hips against yours, his bicep bulging against your throat when his arm tightens around your delicate neck, and you feel it. ”Fuck-” A low grunt escapes his thin lips, burying himself as deep as he can inside the tightness of your cunt as a torrent of hot cum floods your insides. You gasp at the unfamiliar feeling, trying to squirm away, but Logan keeps you there with his body pinning you to the couch.

“Not gettin’ away from me,” he grumbles. “Let your uncle breed you like you need.” He gives one final, deep slam into you, ensuring that his seed stays planted in your womb before he slips out with a hiss.

You collapse on the couch, body hot and exhausted, but Logan isn’t done with you. His hands grab at your waist, trying to pull you back. You quickly peer over your shoulder, watching as he gets down between your legs, maneuvering your hips to be lifted off the couch again.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Logan’s eyes meet yours when he hears your question. “Lady’s gotta cum too, yeah?” He doesn’t give you any time to answer before his lips meet with your used cunt. A gasp leaves you, a sound of surprise and pleasure. His skilled tongue licks a long stripe from your clit to the end of your slit, going back up and sucking on the sensitive nub and making you squeal with delight.

His tongue laps at your hole, eating the filthy mixture of his cum and your juices from out of you, soaking his stubbled chin. It’s clear he’s done this before, having no problem with doing such a nasty thing.

Your hand reaches back, taking grip of his dark brown locks, styled neatly with gel until your fingers get ahold of it. Your hips push back against his face, and he happily takes it, letting out a muffled growl into your pussy as his hands squeeze the soft flesh of your thighs tighter. He starts to eat you out faster, with more vigor, desperate to get you to your peak, and you can feel it approaching.

“O-oh-” Your fingers nearly dig into his scalp, holding him impossibly tighter, as close to you as you can get him. “Fuck. Feels so good, daddy.” Logan grins against your cunt. Never in a million years did he think he’d hear that coming from you, but he just did. You weren’t sure why you said it either, it just came to you. You’d heard it used in porn a few times, and this seemed to fit the sort of situation you’d see in one of those videos. Perhaps it was just instinct.

Your hips tremble, grinding back against Logan’s aged face. The heat in your belly pools, hot like fire before it hits you. You practically scream. “L-Logan!” If you weren’t home alone he would’ve shoved the throw pillow into your face to shut you up real quick, but thankfully, he’s able to relish in your pretty sounds just the way he’d like to.

He sucks harder on your clit as you cum on his face, grinding against his face wildly, and he lets you- because what kind of man would he be if he didn’t? It seems to be over just as quick as it happened, to you at least, and you’re left panting, head spinning as he pulls back.

Logan gets up, coming to stand in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing you by your jaw and guiding your head so you’re facing him. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip. He clearly wants you to open your mouth, and you do, sticking your tongue out. Logan leans down, and spits the mixture of his cum and your own right on to the center of your tongue. You retch at first, but Logan closes your mouth. “That’s it,” he urges, giving your face a soft pat. “Swallow it.” You do, with a bit of reluctance, letting the salty taste run down your throat with a shiver going up your spine.

“Good job,” he praises, ruffling the top of your head before he turns away, leaving you on the couch, numb and soaked in your own sweat.

It’s quiet for a while, you sitting there collecting your thoughts. processing what all has just happened, until Logan breaks the silence.

“So, daddy, huh?” He asks with a smirk as he pulls his pants back on, and you scoff.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“Now who said that?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he clasps the buckle on his belt. “Just wondering where such a sweet lil’ thing like you got the nerve to say something like that.”

You shrug. You weren’t really sure either.

“Maybe you’re already rubbing off on me.” Your eyes meet his, a little smile cracking your previously tired expression.

Logan can’t help but grin at that. You’re cute, he thinks. He’s not a very sappy guy, but damn if he could just see you like this all the time- all soft and pretty after he’s just had his way with you, all his.

He nods his head, agreeing with you.

“Just maybe I am.”

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #x men x reader #x men smut

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maumimicheonaba · 14 hours ago

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like how could Yoh ask segasaki to confirm he loves him. They had painfully awkward conversations outside of sunny nights. "These two need to talk to each other" and that's what the show is about. They do end up talking slightly at the end but even then when segasaki says everything sincerely Yoh doesn't hear it ( the manga confession scene). He isn't able to fully accept segasakis love even after everything and maybe a very vulnerable conversation would change it all but do you really think with each of thier personalities that will ever happen? People are not ideal therapy patients irl, and I love shows that portray the inner turmoil of not being able to communicate well without having any toxicity.

"Why didn't they just communicate?? They're so stupid!" Have you considered that communicating with someone you love and value and don't want to hurt is scary and that vulnerability takes practice and that perfect characters with perfect words make the most boring stories of all

#my personal weatherman #taikan yoho #May have gone off topic but

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 days ago

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NSFW Alphabet

See Me Through You Series

Synopsis: It's pretty self explanatory lol 🤭

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a gorgeous anon ��

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

A (ftercare)- Joe has always been a gentleman in this regard from the first time you two slept together (which was also your first time ever and was very surprised when you told him). He always helps you to the bathroom, but not before turning on the shower first in order for the water to heat up. He usually gets in with you before going to change the sheets on your bed. He then helps put your hair up no matter what style its in, feeds you if you want something before you both settle into a deep sleep.

B (ody part)- Joe's favorite body part of yours is your eyes. As cliche and cheesy as it sounds, he could get lost in them for hours on end. The color reminds him of honey which is no surprise considering what a sweet person you are to everyone around you.

Now your favorite body part of his was his hands. You loved when he inserted his fingers in you of course, but you always found yourself wanting to hold his hand or having him touch you. Joe doesn't know this, but he always brings attention to them and he obviously doesn't mean to. A lot of times that would consist of him playing with his wedding band.

C (um)- You like to be covered in it and Joe likes to see you covered in it. His favorite place to release besides inside of you was your chest and your face. But ever since he got it in your hair that you had just gotten done hours before, he's been put on restriction.

That interaction ended in A LOT of yelling.

He paid for you to get it redone the next day as an apology.

D (irty Secret)- Joe loves to face fuck you and see you whimpering and moaning underneath of him. The two of you don't do it often, but when he does it takes no time for him to release in your mouth.

Besides that, he absolutely loves watching you sleep and this has been a thing ever since the first night you stayed with him in his apartment at LSU. He loves how peaceful you look and when you had been terrorizing him all day, he can finally be at peace too (But he'll never admit it out loud).

E (xperience)- Although Joe wasn't your first boyfriend, he is the first person that you have had sex with and you're definitely glad that you waited for him. He is always so thoughtful and takes his time with you.

Joe on the other hand had a few girlfriends in high school and when he was at OSU, so the experience is there. Because he knows you aren't as experienced as he is, he takes his time and introduces you to different things slowly and not all at once.

F (avorite position)- As simple as it is, missionary is his favorite simply because his eyes are on you the entire time. As mentioned before, he loves the sounds that you make as well as the faces to go along with it.

Bonus if he can get you in front of a mirror to take you from behind. He makes you keep eye contact with him the entire time. The moment you look away, he stops.

A close second is you riding him as he tightly holds onto your hips.

G (oofy)- Joe takes your pleasure as well as your well-being very seriously which is no surprise. But of course, he has a smile on his face just about the whole time because he has your full attention.

Especially when he knows that you're close.

H (air)- There is definitely a happy trail present and it's very neat and trimmed. You on the other hand hate having hair anywhere on your body except your head so to the wax lady you go.

I (ntimacy)- Joe always makes you feel loved and deeply cared for and you have never felt any differently. He takes his time exploring every inch of your body as if it was the first time.

He has always been possessive of you and makes sure to tell you that he knows that no one will ever be able to make you feel as good as he does.

Your eyes are trained to stay on him the entire time.

J (ackoff)- So does he do it? Not a lot since you officially moved to Cincinnati to be with him. However, the long distance took a toll and the two of you put facetime to good use.

Mutual masturbation.

You also remember getting a surprise in the middle of class which was a video of Joe jacking off. It definitely sent you over the edge and your vibrator got put to good use that night over and over again.

K(ink)- Joe loves to tease you every chance he gets which happens to be often. He'll bring you so close to the edge where you feel as if you couldn't take it anymore and immediately pull away, making you complain. But when he felt as if he had teased you enough, when he did bring you to an orgasm, you swore you could see stars.

Choking is another kink, but more so for you than for him. It's not the fact that he doesn't like it, but it's not his favorite. The only reason why he does it was so that you could reach your peak faster.

He does love tying you up and blindfolding you and you simply go along for the ride knowing that it's going to be worth it.

Spitting is something that you absolutely loved and that's all Joe needed to know in order to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

L(ocation)- Favorite place to pleasure you is of course your bedroom, but his car used to be a close second.

He had toned down a lot since having his NFL status and being in public was now usually a no go.

His most recent spot that was now considered a favorite was the balcony of your newest house in Louisiana.

M(otivation)- Seeing you in lingerie that he himself picked out for you was his number one motivation, but something that also turned him on was you doing the most simple everyday things.

You could be doing something as watching a movie and you would casually be sitting there on the couch in one of Joe’s t-shirts and nine times out of ten nothing else and he would literally walk up to you and throw you over his shoulder and you knew what was about to happen.

N(o)- Something that Joe would never do is cause you physical harm on purpose. One time he tied you up a bit too tight and once he took them off, all you could see was red and indentations on your skin where they had been. He beat himself up over it for a while despite you telling him that it was okay and that you were fine, and you knew that he didn't mean for it to happen.

He literally didn't do anything again with you until everything properly healed despite your obvious protests.

O(ral)- Joe could spend all day in between your thighs and it was his favorite place to be and you obviously had no complaints. He loved making you feel good with his tongue and your favorite thing was obviously when he sucked on your clit.

Now when it was time for you to switch roles, Joe absolutely loved when you deep throated him. As many things as he would do for you, you were more than willing to return the favor.

P(ace)- He loves to take his time with you and make sure that you knew that he loved and cared about you through his actions and him making you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

If he could have you underneath him all day he would.

Q(uckie)- Not normally his favorite since he liked to make you cum multiple times and not just once. But this would happen sometimes in the morning when he had just woken up and wanted to feel you near him.

Inside and out.

R(isk)- Joe is always down to experiment, but of course he has to hear what your thoughts about it are first before anything can happen. If it's another way to make you feel good, he'll do it.

S(tamina)- During the season is a little different than when it's the off season and for good reason.

Joe is so focused during the season so you might get two rounds out of him on a good day. But, once the season is over, Joe is attached to you every second of every day and if it was left up to him probably wouldn't let you go until the paint on the walls were peeling.

T(oys)- During your first semester when the two of you started dating, he bought you a vibrator as an early Christmas gift and he kept it at his apartment to use on you whenever he wanted.

However, over Christmas break, you took it home and put it to good use on a facetime call with Joe because you were missing him so much.

He also bought you a rose vibrator for your 19th birthday and that combined with him inside of you at the same time was a pleasure like no other.

U(nfair)- Joe will tease you to no end and as much as it might annoy you, you also knew that when that orgasm hit that it was going to be like a ton of bricks.

And you better not cum unless he tells you too.

V(olume)- You can never get over how Joe's moans sound and it was like music to your ears. You really loved it when you two were in missionary and you would have your legs wrapped around him as his head is buried on your shoulder and you can hear his soft moans directly in your ear.

W(ild Card)- You two definitely had sex in the locker room at LSU after hours and it's your little secret.

While you happened to be wearing his jersey.

X(-ray)- We've seen the dick print and we know that there isn't anything small about him.

He makes sure that you always feel every inch of him.

Y(earning)- It’s not the fact that Joe's sex drive is high, but if he knows that he wants you, there isn't a reason for him to hold back so he is of course going to tell you.

Z(zzz)- When everything is said and done, his usual position when he falls asleep is on top of you as his head lays on your (usually) bare chest.

Clothes are probably unnecessary at this point, so when he wakes up he has easy access to you.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow smut #joe burrow blurb #joe shiesty #nfl imagine

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whambambatfam · 2 days ago

Text

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 3

It's scrunkly time.

I hope you guys like it, I wasn't so sure about this one. T∆T

Reader ages 12 - 15

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Not long after Grayson's departure from the manor... He came along, Jason Todd.

Coming in, rough around the edges, and bringing joy to the hollow halls. Ones you've roamed like a ghost on your own for years. He's got more adolescent defiance than your whole clique put together. The type of energy that shook up the old bones of this old house and awakened hope in your heart once again.

This was the kid's first time having a solid roof over his head, warm bed to sleep in, decent food to eat and people to worry about him, a real home. Unlike Bruce, who couldn't come to terms with your relations or Dick, who felt threatened by it. Jason was loud and clear in his intentions, he wanted to make the most of his new family. Including you.

A boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a stocky build for a twelve year old stands besides Alfred. “Master Jason will be living with us in the manor. He'll be a brother of sorts to you, just as Master Dick.” but you didn't want this to be like your and Dick's unstable relationship.

Alfred smiled at the determination set on your face as you gave him your name, “It's nice to meet you.” your hand quickly outstretched to the boy, “Uh, I hope.. we can be.. friends?”

Jason's face lights up your offer, taking your hand in his, “Yeah, friends. ‘Never had a sibling before.” Tugging you closer, his hand in yours pulls you along, “Come on, show me around.”

From then on, your days spent with only Alfred for company had a new, refreshing addition.

Alfred has allowed the two of you to start cooking your own breakfast unsupervised. Given that you don't burn the kitchen down. “How many times have you done this?” Jason huffs as he picks egg shells from the bowl he's whisking. They slip through the tongs of the fork as he scrapes them along the side.

Pouring your egg mixture into the frying pan, you smile teasingly at him. “Only a few.” You take the bowl from his frustrated hands, “Try this, it might be more your speed.”

He accepts the wrapped loaf of bread with a scowl. Pulling out the toaster with a grumble, “I'm not an idiot, I know how to fend for myself.”

“I never said you were. I've seen you do all kinds of stuff.” You move to the sink, wetting your fingers to pluck the last bits from the bowl. “

Jason turns away, stuffing four slices into the double toaster. “So it's just cooking that i suck at?” He drops his head on the counter, arms crossing as he grumbles.

Returning to the stove, you move your own cooking egg to the side. “No! You're the best at, like, everything you do.” Tipping the contents into the pan it sizzles to life again. “A few shells won't change that.”

There's pink clinging to his ears at your praise, “I'm not good at everything..”

“Oh my- obviously!”

“What!?” Sputtering, he whips his head around.

“It's bruning!” Yanking the plug from the toaster, the blackened squares pop up together. Three out of the four of them come out half charred.

“Tha-that doesn't count.” The heat creeping up his neck flushes his face. “You distracted me!”

“Uhuh, yeah.” You slide the omelet onto a plate for Jason as he replaces the burnt bread. “Your eggs are done.”

Jason is quick to deflect the old butler's inquiries on the smell of burnt bread. You'd hate to have your kitchen privileges revoked. When you offer to teach him how to crack eggs and use the toaster, he tells you to shut up with an obscured smile.

You were happy. Even when the newest boy wonder was busy training his nights away with the Bat. Talking about Bruce, spending time with him, connecting with him like you never could. Even when Dick started to hang around again. Coming to the manor, eventually joining the occasional patrol. Now Nightwing, protector of Blüd Haven. Brand new spandex, stupid big collar, and everything.

It didn't hurt to see him appear to come around slowly to his successor. Eventually accepting his replacement with relative ease. When you would always just be a thorn in his side, locked in a one-sided fight for first.

"You know how to fight, right?" The two of you were sitting outside. It was as muggy as Gotham usually is but it felt nice to be out.

He snorts, tossing a stone hard across the water. "Of course. Can't get by on the streets without." The small rock hops only twice before sinking.

Swiping a smooth stone from the shoreline, you run your finger along it, inspecting each divet and groove. "Can you.. teach me?"

Sure, you were trained in martial arts but, being on the mat differs from being on the street. While your work in Gymnastics has helped you slip through and run when need be. You knew you might have to fight back one day. Maybe you wanted to.

There's a huff of exasperation behind you "Yeah, no, not happening."

Dick Grayson's approach was silent until he wanted you to know he was there. Arms crossed and face already set in an unimpressed look.

“What?!" Jason jumps to his feet, making his way swiftly over, "I could totally do it!"

"Then what?" With a raise of his brow, he scoffs, "Get grounded forever?"

"It's not like I'm gonna take them-" Dick cuts him off with a raised hand.

"Stop, Jay. You're only going to get the both of you in trouble." The older siblings' hands make their way to his hips.

Tossing your rock across a water's surface, it skips along three times before sinking. “I'm not exactly new to it.”

You're almost surprised when Dick actually responds. "I'm sorry, kid. Bruce isn't going to be happy about it either.”

As if he would even notice. "You wouldn't have to be so.. worried if I could be taught to defend myself.” Sighing in irritation, you turn your gaze back to the water.

“You don't need to, we can protect you just fine." Dick steps up behind you, patting your head. The contact catches your breath painfully and you have to fight the urge to swat it away. "And if you really don't want anyone to worry. Stay home. Stay safe." Stay out of the way.

When he finally leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. Jason's abrupt grasp pulls your attention back to him, "Dickie and the old man can blow smoke." His grin was brighter than the sun, his hand clasping yours as he pulled you to your feet, "Let's go."

You can't fight the pull at your own lips, feet stumbling to catch up to his sudden pace. "Right behind you."

No, it didn't hurt. Because you won't let it, because, despite it all, he always came back to you.

After packing your schedule with martial arts training Mondays and Wednesday before stitch work and knitting circle with Alfred. Gwen decides to join your gymnastics, her studies leaving her sitting at a desk too long. Tuesdays you drag both girls to self defense classes, you've seen enough shit go down with the birds. Also, it's Gotham, they should be better equipped to handle themselves. Your photos with Mj for the paper is due Thursday morning in time for the paper to come out on Friday. That leaves the weekend up for grabs. This one in particular was claimed by both your friends and brother.

“Whatcha readin’?”

Jason jolts in his seat, slapping his hand over his mouth to subjugate any embarrassing noises. With a bark of your name he whips around to find you snickering over his shoulder.

Cerulean eyes narrow as he grumbles at you. “How do you do that.. it's unnatural.”

It was unnatural to he who trains under the Bat. You used to hate being unintentionally sneaking. Mj and Gwen can pick you out of a crowd of clones, there's no way you could sneak up on either of them. But, other people? Shrieking when they finally realized you were in the same room as them. That only made you feel even more invisible, and not in the ways you wanted.

You scoff, “That's dramatic.” Now, with Jason, you can finally get a laugh from it. Settling down on the couch beside him, you recognize the book in his hand, “Hey, that's one of mine!”

Swiping it away before you have the chance to snatch it, “Ha! Shouldn't have left it out.” he lifts the novella over his head, tongue stuck out at you.

“It was in my room, on my bed.” You huff, jumping for it as he stands, holding it over your head.

“Yeah, it was, wasn't it?” Jason smirks, waving the book just out of reach, “Y'know, you actually have taste. Sometimes.”

“Give it back!" Grabbing his forearm you try pulling it down but do better at lifting yourself off the ground.

"I'm almost done." He chuckles into his fist at your frantic cat like swiping.

"Wow. So, this is the totally cool brother you've been talking about?” At the sound of a new voice, he snaps his attention to Mj. Arms crossed as she leaned against the archway to the living room.

“Dunno.. Sounds like a bully to me.” Gwen chimes in coming up besides her. She mirrors Mjs stance, doubling the judgemental

The book falls from Jason's hands and you catch it. Tucking it away safely under your arm.“Wha- uh, no! I am totally cool, ask them!” Jason whips around to hiss at you, face flushed with mortification, “Why didn't you tell me you were bringing your friends over?”

You roll your eyes, “I did. That's, like, the one thing we talked about before school this morning.” You can just barely hear the strained ‘Oooooh, right.’ as he mumbled something about a long night under his breath. Of course, he tries to make a ‘smooth’ recovery only to be blasted by your friends. You do, eventually, come to his defense.

It's nice to bring these two sides of yourself together like this. Jason may make an ass of himself but at least he knows how to not lose face completely. It makes you proud when, at the end of their stay, they sing his praises. Insisting on involving him again in their next visit to the manor.

He came home, he sought you out, he wanted that connection you craved. The one thing you wanted, for one of them to look away from the stage of their busy lives and find you there. Waiting at home, creating that solace from a bustling world beyond these solid walls.

Creeping your door shut, you slide the lock closed. Having someone walk in on you was never a worry before. Now, whether it be doing homework together, exchanging books, deciding anything, general complaining and gossip, avoiding chores, especially hiding from Bruce and occasionally just to annoy you. Your brother struts in whenever the whim strikes him. The prick.. Shuffling to the bed, you land on it heavily alongside your bookbag. Books, pencils, and such escape their confines, your camera ferried out on top of the pile.

With a stretch and sigh, you get ready to nip pick. Three folders, each with a plethora of candids, articles, and notes. One in particular is becoming just a smidge overcrowded. Threatening to spill its contents every time it's jostled a bit too much.

What can you say? Your brother serves more than just justice in that cute lil Robin suit, and his action shots are the best. The guy is out there having fun and it shows. Your friends even agree when you can't help gushing over your late night photography sessions.

Well, after calling you crazy for going out at night in this city. Especially, with how close to the fighting you had obviously gotten. It may have taken a while to convince them that you weren't going to get yourself caught up in the middle of a Riddler maze or Two-face shoot out.

Deciding which should go in and which should come out is always a tedious process. The one with better exposure or with neater composition? You've already got a shot of him perched on that same gargoyle but, this one's a year old now. Maybe you could keep both, like a comparison, but you couldn't possibly.. maybe.. Then you'd go over your count and need to tosse another and you'd have to pick which and-Your cell rings.

Lost in thought, the noise makes you jump like a cat at the loud sound. Swiping the noisy thing off the sheets, you answer with a huff.

“Heyyyy.. Sorry, I can't make it tonight..” Jason's voice came through the phone with tight regret, “I've got, uh... something came up. Tomorrow, I promise.”

It was a phrase you've heard before, more times to count. They'd use such weak excuses, only for tomorrow to never come. There was no later.

“Yeah, it's okay Jay.” The response was automatic, coming without a thought. How could you deny their call to action? There were always going to be things more important. “I get it. Just.. be safe, okay?”

“Of course, not like I'm doing anything crazy. I'll be with Bruce, we're fine.”

So, it didn't hurt that he tried keeping you in the dark like they did. You knew his concern was real, his care genuine. At least you want to know that he meant it, that he wasn't trying to push you aside. You'd just have to trust him.

“Up there! It's Batman!” A young boy yelps and tugs at his mother's arm, finger raised to the sky.

Eyes cast upwards, you watch as they jump from one building to the next. Capes billowing in the wind behind them. Following close, you run along sidewalks and duck through alleyways to keep up.

Pulling your camera up, you snap shots of Robin as he leaps off a rooftop. Capturing him mid-air, bright yellow fluttering behind him. The domino hardly masking his face of sheer joy paired with intense focus. His were always your favorite, filling his folder was easy. You wish you could show him some of the pictures you have of him. Maybe someday the two of you could go through it together. Would he find it creepy? Hopefully not...

You would never dare voice it but, you were envious of them. When they took to the soggy Gotham skies, gliding with ease above it all. Mouth hung agape, you watched the wind blowing through Jason's hair, and Dick with his flips and twirls. Even Bruce, using his cape to glide alongside them.

Well, maybe you told- “Alfred!” Your ride’s here and your mad dash through the city has been cut short.

“Crime alley is no place for an upstanding teen.” He tuts with a smile as you reach the car. Always a pinch of sugar with his scolding, “Come along, let's get home.”

Hopping in beside him, you can't keep your eyes off the stars. “I want to fly like them one day...” With a hum, He drives you two back to the manor.

Life is feeling better by the day. It's as if everythings clicked into place. The years you get with him are the most whole you feel. The only real sense of normalcy throughout your youth.

That night, he was home late despite not being on patrol. You overheard, well eavesdropped, that Jason was put off duty. Still he was out on his own, positively pissed, and came home after dark. Heading straight to his room, he brushes off Alfred, insisting on being left alone.

You can't help finding yourself standing anxiously at his door anyway. It didn't feel right, letting him fester in his anger alone. Knocking yields no results but, calling out his name softly earns you the same in return.

Opening the door slowly you peek in to see him, sitting on his bed with a box. His face is grim but he waves you in, motioning for you to sit with him. You do, placing yourself at the foot of his bed. Across from him with a box of papers and photos between you. Jason fiddles with an old looking photo, scanning it over and over.

"I know you don't like talking about it, but," He swallows thickly before his eyes can meet yours pensively. "You, um, got a mom, right?"

It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of you. Yeah, you didn't like to talk about it, let alone think about it. "I guess, technically." You shrug it off the best you can, "I mean, ya know, everyone's gotta come from somewhere."

He rolls his eyes, dropping the picture back into the cardboard. "Yeah, no shit, that's not what I'm saying."

Really? You came to check in on him. Now you’re being snipped at over something he knows you're sensitive about. "Well, then, I don't want to know if your just-" Before you can fully lift yourself off the bed, he's gripping your wrist.

"Wait! I'm sorry, don't go!" His fingers tremble around his hold on you. He tries not to squeeze you too tightly while still keeping you close. "I-I just.." His other hand grips the box enough to crumple the cardboard under it.

"Jay..." You sigh, this unusual distress from your brother making giving in easier "I don't know. Maybe before but, I don't remember back then." Just nightmares of things you couldn't grip the memory of fully. Thinking of your mother and what she may have gone through with you? Only if it could help with whatever's eating at him, "I can't remember anything before being here. Blurry faces, locations I can't place. I didn't even know what her name was. Can't remember her face.."

When you sit back down he finally releases you. A hand runs through black curled, "I shouldn't have asked. Sorry if it's..."

"No, it's whatever. Who cares? Just..." You shrug, looking over the darkening Gotham sky, "Must not have been anything good." Fingers twist into the sheet below you in unease.

It did hurt though, every question slipping through your finger never to be answered. Flitting past your mind painfully when you linger too long on the past.

Your eyes are drawn back to Jason as he pulls a paper from the box. "I got some stuff earlier and..." He shows you old documents and photos that he was given by an old neighbor. You recognized the little Jason with, from what you're told, his father and stepmother.

His explanation paused as you cooed at his baby face, which he does not appreciate. So, the woman who raised him, who passed, wasn't the same as his birth mother, who's alive. "I think I can find her but I don't know how long it'll take. I"

"That's," Blinking a few times at plie of evidence towards his childhood, you look back at him. "alot, but I'm sure if anyone could do it, that's you."

"You're not gonna.. try to talk me out of it?"

"Would you listen?" You raise a brow at him, his shoulders shoot up in turn, guilt evident. "Exactly." With a smirk you help him pack away everything. His face still knit pensively even after he sets the box aside, you scan the partly packed suitcase. It starts to feel too real but you know there's no helping it. So, you offer him all you can, taking his hand in yours, "Look, I don't know where you're going or what you're doing exactly but,” You squeeze his fingers and he returns it, “I trust you and I'll always be here for you."

Jason pulls your connected hand, rigging you into a tight embrace. "Thanks." His chuckle waivers against your shoulder, arms constricting around your midsection.

You repay his embrace in kind, forgiving the crushing weight of his hug as you blink away tears. "Just, please, stay safe. Okay?"

"Of course, look at who you're talking to, I'm the definition of cautious." He pulls away enough to give you a winning grin and you return it with your hardest 'You're joking, right?' face. "Alright, fine. I'll be careful. I'll be safe. Promise.”

“So, how are you getting there?" You sit crossed legs on his beds as he packs his bag. Chin resting on your palms you tilt your head as his rifles around his pocket.

“These!” He presents her a literal handful of credit cards. "I'll be flying, first class, duh” he notices your dropped jaw. "Please don't tell Alfred..."

Teeth snapping shut, hands dropping to your lap, you blink at his little card haul, “Jason," you sighed, exasperated, “Where are you going?"

“The.. middle east?” Chuckling nervously as he stuffs them away, he watches the concern grow on your face at just how far he would be going.

“Your- Please, if you listen to anything I say. Jason.” You grab his shoulders, setting him with your sternest look “Do not die.”

“Oh my- Seriously?!" Rolling his eyes he shrugs your hands off, “I'm not gonna die!"

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humanjarvis · 2 days ago

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i learned from you

synopsis: while talking with your colleague, you realize caleb is the closest thing you have to a mother figure.

pairing: caleb x reader, reader is mc tags: light angst, comfort, fluff, reader had a rough childhood, reader has a period, reader and caleb's relationship is ambiguous but he kisses her head once, reader questions existence, reader is kind of a crybaby, grandma josephine implied to be a bum in this no shade to her word count: 1.3k

a/n: i hope this doesn't read weird #imnotintothat i just keep thinking about how caleb fulfills like 6 different roles in mc's life. he is so gender studies to me

“What do you mean you don’t know how to straighten your hair? Didn’t your mom ever teach you?” Tara asks in genuine confusion.

With your sandwich halfway to your lips, you freeze. Although you were close with your colleagues, you weren’t all that open about your upbringing, for obvious reasons. Before now, everyone had always accepted your reticence on the topic. They’d never been people to overstep, but you guess there’s a first time for everything.

“I don't remember much about my parents,” you respond carefully. “My memory from before the Wanderers came is a little blurry, sorry.”

Tara’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as her cheeks turn scarlet. “I didn’t mean to—” she starts. “I wasn’t trying to—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

You knew she didn’t know. That was kind of the point. Your whole thing was to move through life ignoring your early childhood, pretending you’d simply spawned into Linkon as a tween. But you couldn’t tell Tara that—she was sweet, it was an honest mistake, and she didn’t need your baggage at noon on a Friday.

Scrambling for something to break the tension, you blurt out, “I think she did teach me how to dry it, though!”

The peace offering is bland—to most people, drying hair is nothing special—but it works. Tara jumps back into the conversation, tactfully choosing to talk about her childhood so you could keep yours locked away in the depths of your mind. Crisis averted, you think.

Except as the minutes tick by and Tara drones on, you realize the crisis is very much not averted. You’d brought up your “mom” teaching you to dry your hair to save you both from an awkward lunch, but when the lie left your mouth, it wasn’t your mother you were thinking of. It wasn’t Grandma Josephine. It was Caleb.

Caleb had taught you how to dry your hair. It’d happened when you were twelve; a rowdy classmate had snuck up behind you and pushed you into the pool, leaving your hair a tangled, matted mess. When Caleb had found out your teachers were letting you go home early, he’d skipped his last two classes to be right by your side, running a shower for you while you sulked by the bathroom door. After you’d dried off and changed into the pajamas he’d left on the counter, Caleb came in from the hallway, carrying the same towel he’d used to dry your hair countless times before. Section by section, he’d squeezed the water from your hair, showing you how to without frizzing it up. “Not saying that ‘wet cat’ is a bad look on you, but I get the feeling you don’t want to look like that all the time,” he’d quipped.

Caleb had been there for you for as long as you could remember, you realize. As you walk back to the Hunters Association, halfheartedly entertaining Tara’s chattering, the memories flood your brain: Caleb teaching you math. Caleb nursing you back to health when you had the flu. Caleb packing your lunchbox, Caleb doing your laundry, Caleb holding you through your first period. For all your firsts, all your milestones, and even the dull moments, he had been there. Your head spins as you stare at your desk, not even remembering sitting down. All your life, has Caleb been your only mother figure?

You go home lost in thought.

You stay that way for the whole afternoon, nearly forgetting about the movie night you’d planned for that evening with—you guessed it—Caleb. As you float around your apartment on autopilot, tidying up your living room and throwing on comfier clothes, the doorbell rings. He’s right on time.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he greets as you welcome him in. “I hope you’re hungry—I brought your favorite snacks.”

You thank him with a smile, hoping his observant eyes can’t spot the way it wavers. Just two hours, you think. Two hours and then you’ll be free to question your existence all weekend.

The movie plays as normal. It’s easy to escape the worries on your mind with a fantasy blockbuster stealing your attention. It’s only when Caleb offers to make you a late dinner that the weight of your day falls back down to your shoulders.

“No, that’s okay. I can just order something after you’re gone,” you refuse shyly. Having returned to your earlier haze of overthinking, you make a mistake. As Caleb moves to ruffle your hair, you flinch, dodging under his hand. The ensuing beats of awkward silence are all it takes for him to register that something is off.

“...You just pulled away from me. You never do that unless you’re upset. Talk to me, pips—did I do something wrong?” He pauses. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you rush, throwing your hands out in front of you. “No, it’s just…”

When you trail off, he steps closer. “It’s just…what? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me,” he presses.

“It’ll sound silly. And weird,” you say quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing about you is silly, pipsqueak. Except when you’re actin’ cute for my attention,” he adds, gently poking your nose.

You reward his efforts to put you at ease with a shaky giggle, finally finding the will to talk. “Earlier, Tara just asked me about my parents—wondering if my mom had ever taught me to do something.”

Caleb grimaces.

“And with Gran so busy all the time…and with her…gone…now… I just realized the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother figure is you,” you breathe, your voice breaking at the end of your confession.

Caleb’s unreadable gaze makes the tears arrive faster. “It’s just…you’re everything to me, Caleb. You’ve been with me through everything,” you sniffle. “Every role in my life you could possibly play, you play it, and I didn't even notice until now. You’ve spent over half your life guiding me through mine, and I just feel so helpless. I don’t even know if I'd be alive without you, and—”

Your tears constrict your throat, forcing you to pause if you want to breathe properly.

Even though he knows now is a bad time to dote on you, given the circumstances, Caleb would rather eat glass than turn a blind eye to your tears. He quickly shushes you, letting you cry into his sweater, and the more you relax in his embrace, the more you hate yourself. You really can’t do anything without him.

Settling you both on the loveseat, Caleb rocks you for a few moments before he begins. “I didn't know you felt that way, but it seems like you didn't either. Look, pipsqueak,” he sighs, tilting your head up to make eye contact. “Don't ever feel bad about how you were brought up. I won’t let you keep stressing yourself out over something that was never in your control.” He pauses, as if weighing the consequences of his next words. “And if it means anything, which I hope it does, I thank the stars every day that the universe was kind enough to let me take care of you. To see you grow,” he murmurs, pressing a long kiss to your temple. “Any way you'll have me in your life, I'll be there. Never feel ashamed for that.”

With your heart pounding, you peek up at him, hesitant awe on your still-teary face. He meets your gaze with a soft smile, softly stroking your back, and you wonder what heroic deeds you accomplished in your past life to deserve him. “I’m sorry for pulling away from you earlier,” you whisper, nestling your head into his shoulder.

You don’t know how long you stay there curled beside him, but the moon is high in the sky when he next speaks.

“So…mother figure, huh?” he asks, voice mischievous now that your tears have dried. “Better me than anyone else. You might have liked her more than me—can’t have that.”

Lifting your head, you swat his chest. “Caleb!” you groan.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #lads caleb #caleb #lads #lads x reader #lads comfort #lads angst #lads fluff #lnds #lnds caleb #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace comfort #love and deepspace angst

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niwaart · 22 hours ago

Text

See what I can do.

Spoiled idiot Bruce Wayne decided to adopt another child and Jason had only been dead for a few weeks... And what did Y/N do? She burned every Robin suit in the cave except Jason's old one, to remind spoiled idiot Bruce of his mistake.. The new kid only came out as Robin twice.

Y/N stands in the park throwing all of Robin's new outfits into the fire she started. Needless to say, Bruce comes running from work to stop her. Alfred has failed and is getting tired of trying to stop Y/N. No matter how hard they try to stop her from getting in, no matter how hard they try to protect the new suits by locking the doors, putting up new codes, and putting the suits in unbreakable glass, it doesn't stop Y/N.

“Stop!!” Bruce grabbed Y/N’s wrist “That’s enough you crazy girl! You’ve crossed the line!!” Y/N smiled at Bruce’s words, angering him was her goal, and she succeeded. Richard stood silently behind Bruce… Oh yeah, Richard came home after hearing the news of Jason’s death, and decided to train the new kid to be Robin, but first they had to stop Y/N.

"Oh please tell me what are you going to do now? Are you going to hit me? Kick me out of the house? Punish me by not going out? Give me what you have, because I won't stop until you cry more pain and regret than you did over Jason, he died because of you so you have to take responsibility for your actions... so act like an adult and take what comes your way..." Y/N pushed Bruce's hand off her wrist then patted his shoulder and walked back inside the mansion, on her way back she saw the new kid hiding behind one of the walls looking at her angrily with tears of frustration filling his eyes. Y/N simply gave him a wicked smile and continued on her way without any regrets.

The next day, Bruce was standing in front of her room door telling her that he had booked her an appointment with a psychiatrist. Y/N pushed Bruce out of the way and ignored him and went to make breakfast. But Bruce stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. Y/N was about to turn around to break his arm if she hadn't felt a needle prick her neck and everything went blurry and she lost consciousness. This was Bruce's plan with everyone... Richard, Alfred, and the new kid, they all planned this...

As Y/N tried to move and wake up, her headache was severe and the room was spinning in circles. When she tried to move her hand, she found that she was tied to a chair, her hands and feet bound. She tried to speak, but her tongue was still heavy... "I see you're awake, very good. Do you need some time to get your bearings or should we start right away?" Y/N lifted her head up, the voice was familiar... Who else but that doctor who claims to know how to treat mental patients... Leslie the devil... digs lies into people's minds so that they believe her... Pretending to be a victim... But she is a devil in human form. Jason went to her several times, and every time he came back from the sessions, he came back a different person... Someone who wasn't Jason, a stranger, so she forbade Jason from going to her...

Y/N bit her tongue to speak. “I see that spoiled brat had no other solution than to send me to the devil… right?” Leslie’s eyes narrowed at Y/N’s words. “It’s not appropriate to talk about your father that way. Bruce brought you here for your own good, you have anger issues.” Leslie said as she scribbled notes in her notebook. Y/N was silent for a moment before she smiled and said, “Well… show me how you can change for the better… just to let you know before we start that me being here now is going to cause a lot of problems so I hope you enjoy it with me.” Y/N laughed as she relaxed into chair, she couldn’t wait to see Leslie Thompkins fail at her job.

And so three days passed while Leslie kept asking Y/N questions and Y/N answered them with complete honesty. This surprised Leslie. “You answer the questions with such confidence. I thought you would be stubborn and not answer…Are you planning something?” It was already the fourth day, and Y/N had been in a good mood since she arrived until now. Y/N laughed at Leslie’s words and said, “I thought you would never ask, and since today is the fourth day I will answer you. Actually, Bruce’s plan to bring me here… I knew about it before he drugged me.” Leslie was surprised by Y/N’s words but she did not believe her. “No way-..” Y/N interrupted Leslie and said, “Everything that’s happening now is part of the plan I made. Of course that spoiled brat put up security cameras all over the house, so I took advantage of that to monitor them… I had all the security cameras at my disposal from the beginning, so I knew what you and Bruce planned to do to stop me… Aren’t I a good actress? Maybe I should get an award… What do you think?” Y/N smiled mischievously at Leslie who was terrified. Leslie picked up her phone to call Bruce and confirm the matter, but Bruce wasn’t answering the calls or even the messages. She tried calling Richard, Alfred and even the new guy, but no one was answering. Leslie turned to Y/N in fear and found that Y/N had been freed from the handcuffs. “Leslie Thompkins..It's your end now.”

@crazycaoticsimp @randomlyappearingartist @ninihrtss @lovebug-apple @artistwithcreativeburnout @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @hopingtoclearmedschool @eyeless-kun @s4raahi @roseytheteacup @jsprien213 @uu-uuu

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wholoveseggs · 2 days ago

Note

Hey lovely, re-reading through your works on my commute. :) I got another idea to put on your ever-growing pile of requests: reader and Elijah are having an affair. Sex is amazing (duh!), but reader is bothered that Elijah never climaxes. He always stops right after she had her pleasure, insisting he prefers to stay in control the entire time and that he doesn't like to be overwhelmed by any kind of strong emotion. Naturally, reader sets out to change that.

Dissolve

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah always puts your pleasure first, never letting himself fully let go. Until you push him over the edge and he falls completely.

♡♡ Ugh @originals23 what a delicious idea, he deserves to receive the same amount of affection he gives out~ ♡♡

4.6k words - Warnings: smuttt, lots of teasing, oral (m + f receiving), light restraint (wrist pinning), some steamy shower fun, riding, reader worshipping her man, Elijah struggling to be vulnerable, some vampire face, biting, blood-sharing, soft dom!Elijah vs. your mission to break him && the only Mozart song I know the name of...

Being in Elijah Mikaelson's bed was nothing new to you. You had been in it enough times to know exactly how soft his sheets were, the exact way his pillows smelled, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, how his lips tasted when he kissed you.

It was all a routine. You would show up at his place after work. He would lead you to his room. The door would shut, and for the rest of the night he would make sure you thought only of him.

Tonight was no different. He invited you over. You had a few glasses of wine. Then his lips were on yours. He carried you to his bed. Clothes were shed. Your back pressed into the mattress as his mouth traveled down your neck. His kisses were always so slow. So methodical. Each one deliberate, with the intent to leave a mark.

You had noticed that this was his favorite part. The foreplay. Taking his time to drive you insane. He enjoyed watching your reactions. The way your eyes fluttered closed when he kissed your stomach, or the soft whimpers you would make when he ran his hands up your thighs.

And of course, he loved the sounds you made when his tongue explored your most intimate places. Your hand was in his hair, urging him closer, trying to get him deeper. He hummed against you, knowing it would send you over the edge.

"Elijah..."

Oh, how you said his name. No symphony could compare. He looked up at you with those eyes, so dark and hungry. They were telling you not to look away. He wanted to watch the pleasure roll through you, he wanted to feel the way your body tensed, he wanted to hear his name leave your lips over and over again as he made you come.

As your breathing calmed, he kissed his way back up your body, lingering on the places that made you whimper the most.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered in your ear, making your cheeks flush and your heart pound. He could do that to you. Turn you into a giddy teenager with just one compliment.

"Hush," you said softly, trying to hide your grin.

He didn't say anything else. He just pressed his lips to yours, his hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. He was gentle and sweet, which was the perfect segway into the second round.

You tried to push him onto his back, to get him under you. He wouldn't budge. He knew what you wanted, but he would never let you do that to him.

"Let me," you said, running your hand down his chest.

He smiled and shook his head, his hands moving up your thighs, spreading them as he pulled you under him. His lips captured yours again, his hands pinning your wrists next to your head. You didn't fight it. Not tonight.

He needed to feel in control. That's how it had always been with him. Maybe he was scared of losing it. Of becoming too vulnerable. Maybe he just liked the thrill of power. Or maybe he was trying to protect himself. From what... you couldn't tell.

"Are you okay?"

You looked up at him, realizing you had been spacing out.

"Yes," you smiled, reaching up and pulling his lips back to yours.

He released your wrists and let his hands wander to your waist, his erection pressing against your stomach. He continued to kiss you, not wishing to rush things. But your hands were impatient. They moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer, trying to make him understand that you needed more.

Your impatience made him smile. You could feel his lips curling up against yours, he was enjoying your desperation.

"Do you want me?" He said, his words teasing.

He always had to ask, no matter how obvious the answer was. He liked hearing you say it. He liked the way your voice got needy and breathless.

"Yes," you said, kissing him again.

He eased inside you without breaking the kiss, and you let out a soft sigh. He enjoyed the feeling of you around him. The way you pulled him in. It was heaven.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him deeper, making him groan against your mouth. He started slow, making love to you the way he knew you liked. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot against your skin, his lips brushing yours between moans.

It wasn't enough for you, though. You wanted to see him lose control.

"Harder," you whispered, hoping that it would spark something.

You reached down, grabbing his ass, pulling him closer, trying to coax him into taking you harder. It worked. For a second. Then his pace slowed, his hands moved from your hair to your hips, holding them down.

He changed the angle, lifting your thighs to his sides. The new position made your toes curl, and you gripped the sheets.

"Fuck," you said, your eyes closing.

"Look at me."

The words were gentle, but commanding. He wanted you to look at him, and not stop looking.

You did as he asked. His gaze was intense, and it made your whole body flush. He smiled, leaning down and kissing you as one of his hands moved to where you were joined. His thumb circled your clit, and you whimpered.

You tried to break the kiss. He wouldn't let you. He held the back of your head, his mouth swallowing the moans he was eliciting.

His thumb was relentless, his hips moving faster, his thrusts growing sloppier. His breathing was getting ragged, and he groaned against your mouth.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him, wanting to finally feel him come undone. He kissed you deeper, his tongue dancing with yours.

You were already sensitive from your first orgasm. Your nails digging into his skin as you tried to hold yourself together, but you were falling apart. You wanted to hold off, to have him go over the edge with you.

It was too late, he was too good at this, the coil inside you snapped. Your muscles tightened around him, a wave of pleasure washing over you, making you moan his name. He smiled against your lips continuing to move his hips, not wanting the moment to end.

But then he did what he always did.

Once you came down from your high, he pulled out, kissing you one more time before getting out of bed. You watched as he went to the bathroom, and heard him start the shower.

This is the part you hated. The part where you were left alone, feeling confused and empty. It happened every time. He would take you to his bed, fuck you senseless, then leave you with your thoughts. You didn't understand why he was the way he was.

You laid there, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he was so distant. Why he never let himself fall over the edge. Was it you? Did he not trust you?

You couldn't help but wonder, and you had been wondering for months. You knew Elijah was complicated, he had experienced many losses and he liked to keep his feelings private. Only letting certain people get close enough to see the real him.

You were in love with him. He was everything you wanted. And maybe he loved you too. But he wouldn't say it. He had never said it. Not even during the throes of passion. The words never passed his lips, but he showed you in everything else he did.

That's why you didn't understand him pulling away. Why didn't he allow himself to be vulnerable? You sat up and threw the covers off, heading into the bathroom, not caring about the cold air against your skin.

He was already in the shower. You opened the glass door, taking a moment to admire him. The muscles in his back were defined and tense. Water was streaming down his hair and the curve of his neck.

He turned, surprised to see you there. His eyes raked over your naked body, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I thought you had fallen asleep,"

"I would rather be in here," you said, stepping into the steamy air.

"You should rest," he said, running his hands through your hair.

"I will, after I finish what we started."

"As I recall we did finish. Based on the sounds you were making and the way you were squeezing me," he teased, a hint of cockiness in his tone.

His hands went to your waist, slowly turning you around, switching places with you, letting you get warm under the water. You couldn't keep your hands to yourself. You pressed against his chest, kissing his lips. He smiled, his hand resting on the small of your back, keeping you close.

"I want to please you too," you said, trailing kisses down his neck.

"You do please me." He ran his hand up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair, gently tugging.

"You know what I mean."

He didn't respond. His grip on your hair tightened as he tilted your head back, forcing you to look at him.

"Not tonight," he said, his tone soft.

"Why not?"

"I just wanted to enjoy you. No distractions. Nothing to worry about, just make you feel good."

He sounded genuine. You could hear the sincerity in his voice. But it wasn't enough. You were tired of being the only one who got off.

"What if I want to give you that same feeling?"

He didn't have an answer. Instead he picked you up and pressed you into the cold tile, his lips claiming yours. He wasn't going to give you an answer, instead he was going to try and distract you.

And by the time he carried you back to his bed, it had worked.

But tomorrow would be a different story.

The next day you had a lot on your mind. Elijah was always distant, but he seemed especially detached today.

It didn't matter that you were having mind-blowing sex nearly every night. There was still a wall between you. Elijah was always trying to make you feel good, but he would never let you do the same for him.

And you were going to figure out why.

You were working late that night, and when your phone rang and you saw Elijah's name on the screen, a smile crossed your lips.

"Hello."

Just one word and his voice could make you blush. You missed him already, and you had seen him a few hours ago.

"Can I come over?"

"Of course," he said, his voice warm and gentle.

"Good. I'll be there soon."

When you arrived, his place was dark. There was music coming from somewhere upstairs. It was soft and melodic. A violin maybe.

"Elijah?"

"In here."

You followed his voice into his bedroom. He had a vinyl record playing, and he was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, a glass of bourbon in his hand.

He looked gorgeous. Dark blue button down, sleeves rolled up. His hair was perfect, and his gaze on you was so soft.

"Hello," he said, his eyes traveling up your body.

"Hi."

"How was your day?"

"Tiring. Yours?"

"Quite uneventful."

"Oh really?"

He smiled and put his glass down, standing and walking towards you. He put his hands on your waist, and pulled you closer.

"This is nice, what composer is this?" You asked, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

"Mozart."

"Oh, I know him," you chuckled, "What is the song called?"

"Lacrimosa,"

"Hmm. Pretty."

"Very."

He was looking at you with a small smile, his eyes filled with lust and adoration. His fingers hooked into your belt loops, and he led you to his bed, sitting down and pulling you into his lap.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

"Only a hundred times."

"Well, it's worth saying a hundred more."

"Sweet talker," you said, leaning in and capturing his lips.

"You like it."

"Maybe a little," you grinned, kissing him again.

His hands moved down to squeeze your ass, making you giggle. You unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside, letting your eyes travel down his toned chest.

"I have a question," you said, running your hands up his torso.

"What is it?" He asked, kissing your neck.

"Why are you always so focused on my pleasure and not yours?"

"I get pleasure from pleasing you."

"You know what I'm asking."

"It's a complicated thing," he said, his voice muffled against your neck.

"I want to understand. Tell me," you said, running a hand through his hair, tugging gently, making him look at you.

He studied you for a moment. The expression on his face was hard to read. He was deep in thought, thinking of the right thing to say.

"I'm afraid," he said, his eyes locked on yours.

"Of what?" You asked, your voice soft, not wanting to push him too far.

"I... it's difficult." He swallowed hard, his gaze falling.

"You can tell me." You took his face in your hands, tilting his head up, forcing him to look at you again.

"If I lose control, if I let myself go, I'm worried I'll hurt you," he said, his tone quiet and almost ashamed. "I've hurt many, and I do not wish to do it again."

His dark eyes became glassy, and the words caught in his throat. You knew he had a lot of guilt over the things he had done, and the pain he had caused. You had known him long enough to know he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"'lijah," you said softly, bringing his lips to yours, kissing him slow and tender.

You felt him relax under you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, gripping them tight.

"You won't hurt me," you whispered, your breath hot against his lips.

"You don't know that." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he rested his forehead on yours, his eyes closed.

"Trust yourself," you said, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

"You have no idea the kind of monster I can become," his words were a whisper, his hands trembling.

"I know the man I'm in love with, and I trust him." You kissed him again, trying to show him that he could be vulnerable, that it was okay.

He didn't say anything. He kissed you back, his hands moving to the small of your back, holding you close. You could tell he needed a moment. This was a big step for him.

So you just kissed him.

His lips were gentle and slow. His hands moved from your back, to the hem of your shirt, and he lifted it over your head, tossing it aside.

He was quiet. So you took his face in your hands, pulling him closer, not wanting to break the kiss. You could feel the tension in his jaw, the slight shake in his hands, the way his breathing hitched.

"Hey," you said softly, leaning back.

He looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours. You could see the worry behind them. He was afraid. He was afraid that if he gave in, if he let himself lose control, something bad would happen.

You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, and his eyes fluttered shut. He looked so afraid. So unsure.

"Let me take care of you," you said, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

He let out a soft sigh and nodded, his eyes still closed. You smiled, trailing kisses down his jaw and to his neck, his skin warm and soft against your lips.

You slowly climbed off his lap, kneeling on the floor, between his legs. Your hands traveled up his thighs, and you unbuckled his belt, taking it off and tossing it to the side.

He opened his eyes, looking down at you. You bit your lip, smiling up at him as you unbuttoned his pants. His breathing hitched as you dragged the zipper down.

You pulled his pants off, leaving him only in his boxers, his erection straining against the fabric. You leaned in, kissing his length through the thin layer of material, and he groaned.

"Please," he said, his voice raspy.

You grinned, hooking your fingers into the waistband, and dragging them down, freeing his erection. You took him in your hand, stroking him slowly, enjoying the way his head fell back and his hips lifted.

"Fuck."

You loved it when he cursed. It was rare, and it always sent a rush through you. The way it rolled off his tongue, the way his accent thickened, and the way his voice dropped an octave.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes," he hissed, his jaw clenched.

You moved your hand a little faster, loving the way his muscles tensed, and the way his breathing changed. He looked so sexy. His hair a mess, his skin flushed.

You lowered your head, taking him into your mouth, making him groan. You looked up at him through your lashes, and his eyes were shut, his head back. You could tell he was still trying to hold back, trying to keep control.

You swirled your tongue around his tip, making him curse again, slowly taking him deeper and deeper. You moaned and his eyes snapped open, looking down at you, watching his length disappear past your lovely lips.

His hands were in your hair, pushing it out of your face so he could watch. You felt his grip tighten as you relaxed your throat, taking all of him.

"Darling, if you keep doing that..."

You hummed, looking up at him. His eyes were blown wide, his breathing ragged. His hands were tugging and guiding, as his hips began to lift, thrusting up, pushing himself deeper. You tried not to gag, the sounds lewd, but the look on Elijah's face made it worth it.

He was falling apart, his self-control slipping away. Eyebrows arched, his muscles flexing, his lips parted in a silent moan. It was the most erotic thing you had ever seen.

You kept going, not wanting the moment to end. His grip on your hair was borderline painful. You moaned around his length, the vibration causing his hips to jerk.

"Shit," he growled, his hands tightening.

His jaw was clenched, his hips rocking, his eyes turned black, his vampire nature peeking through. Veins dancing under his eyes, his fangs extending, and a low growl rumbling through his chest.

You kept your eyes locked with his as you took him all the way, pressing your face into his pelvis, swallowing around him. The sound he made was feral and carnal, his hips lifting on their own, chasing the pleasure.

He was close, you could feel it. His movements were getting sloppier, his grip on your hair tighter, his breathing more labored. You hummed around him, sending a shockwave through his body.

"Y/n, please, fuck, I can't-"

His words came out broken and rushed. Then he came, a string of curses leaving his lips, his hands gripping your hair so tight you thought he might rip it out.

You kept your lips wrapped around him, swallowing everything he gave you, his cock pulsing against your tongue. He was panting, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, still holding on to your hair.

You hummed once more, making his hips twitch, his hands finally releasing your hair. You pulled away, letting his length slip from your mouth, before sitting back and looking up at him.

He was a mess. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were still pitch black, his fangs visible as his breathing evened out. He was a sight to behold. You had never seen him this unraveled.

You took advantage of his dazed state, and stood up, pulling your pants down and climbing into his lap, straddling him. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, his hands moving to your waist, gripping it tightly.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Not even a little, in fact, I rather enjoyed it," you grinned, running your hands through his hair.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh," you hummed, leaning in and capturing his lips.

He kissed you back, his hands traveling to your hips, holding them, his tongue sliding against yours. You could feel him starting to get hard again, and you pulled away, smirking.

You reached down and slowly took him in your hand, pumping him, loving the way his breathing changed. He was still sensitive and the sounds he was making were driving you wild.

"Elijah," you said, biting your lip.

"Hmm," he hummed, his eyes shut, his hands on your waist, squeezing, his hips lifting slightly.

"I love you," you whispered, leaning in and kissing him.

His hands moved from your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. You could tell the words were affecting him. He didn't need to say it, you could tell by the look in his eyes, and the way his heart raced under your hands.

You lined yourself up and slowly sank onto him, taking him all the way. He groaned against your lips, his nails digging into your skin.

"I love you too," he whispered, his lips brushing yours.

His words made you melt. Hearing it for the first time, made your chest tighten. You kissed him again, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

You started moving, your pace slow, taking your time. You wanted him to enjoy it. To make him feel everything. To remind him that he had nothing to worry about, and that giving himself completely was okay.

He broke the kiss, his head falling back, his eyes closing. You took the opportunity to quicken your pace, bouncing in his lap, making him groan.

You steadied yourself against his shoulders, rising from your knees on the bed to your feet, fully in control now. The new angle let you dictate the pace, lifting yourself almost completely off him before slamming back down, making him groan beneath you. Skin met skin in an intoxicating rhythm, the sound nearly as filthy as the way he gasped your name.

His eyes opened and he watched, his breathing uneven. The sight of you was incredible. You were flushed, your lips parted, breasts bouncing, and when he looked down at where your bodies met, it was almost enough to push him over the edge.

"Fuck," he rasped, his hips jerking.

Your thighs were beginning to burn, and you were getting tired, but you didn't stop, couldn't stop. The look on Elijah's face, plus the pressure building deep inside kept you going.

His hands guided you, his grip on your hips impossibly tight. His eyes were watching, his breathing growing ragged. You knew he was getting close, and by the way you felt your own orgasm beginning to crest, so were you.

"'lijah," you whimpered, moving as fast as your body allowed, chasing that sweet, sweet release.

He could hear it in the way your voice wavered, and the way your muscles tensed. And then he let himself feel it too, giving himself permission to let go, he held you tighter, your name falling from his lips.

The coil snapped, and pleasure washed over you. You moaned, and he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you to him.

He suddenly flipped you over, laying you on your back, keeping your bodies connected. He thrusted hard, making your eyes roll back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him, encouraging him.

He gripped your thighs tightly, his pace rough and sloppy, his head falling onto your shoulder. You could feel his fangs scraping against your neck, and you tilted your head, giving him better access.

He could sense it, the way your heart was racing, and the anticipation of what was about to happen.

He thrusted into you hard and then bit down, sinking his fangs into your neck. It was euphoric. His entire body was pressed against yours, his hands holding your thighs, his mouth sucking and drinking, his hips slamming into you. The combination of sensations was too much, and another orgasm crashed into you. You moaned his name, your nails dragging down his back, making him growl against your skin.

And just like that, he was falling.

His thrusts became erratic, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed himself deep inside, emptying himself. You could feel the heat, the way his body shook, the way he clung to you as if you were the only thing grounding him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, your bodies entwined, his weight warm and solid against you. He lingered there, and he slowly pulled his fangs out, reluctant to move, reluctant to let go of this fragile moment.

His grip on you loosened, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ghosting over your lips. His hand came up, brushing his fingers over the bite mark on your neck, his expression shifting.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quiet, hesitant.

"Yes," you smiled, brushing his hair out of his face.

He frowned slightly, his thumb tracing over the bite. "I... didn't mean to lose myself like that."

You caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I liked it," you whispered.

"Oh, did you?" he murmured, his lips curling into a soft smile.

"Uh-huh," you hummed, kissing him again, your lips moving slow and tender. "You are so fucking hot when you lose control."

His dimples showed, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. You couldn't help but smile back. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Please do," you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

He chuckled, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder, his lips finding the mark he left behind. He bit his own lip and you felt the sting fade, his blood healing the wound. His touch was reverent as if sealing something between you.

When he pulled away, there was something different in his expression. His dark eyes shone, his smile softer, more open. He had never looked at you quite like this before. Like he had let down some invisible barrier, like he had finally let himself dissolve into the feeling, let himself believe.

You leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He sighed, his hands tangling in your hair, holding you there, savoring the closeness.

"Will you stay?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Of course."

"Good," he murmured, his hands settling on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

You hummed and kissed him again. Your lips moved slowly, enjoying the feel of his mouth against yours. The two of you slowly fell asleep, tangled together, warm and content.

And in the morning, he would still be there. He would kiss you awake, make you breakfast, and show you. Through touch, through words, through the way he looked at you. That you had changed something in him.

Because the night before had been different.

You had given him a piece of yourself, and in turn, he had given a piece of himself to you. And in a thousand years, that was a rarity.

In a thousand years, no one had ever loved him like this. And for the first time, he let himself believe he deserved it.

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thedragonofbadasstemple · 1 day ago

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I don't normally comment on posts like this, but obsessed with the take as well that the point of this is to "cheer for them". The project is collecting testimonies from people who were involved with the MAGA movement, explaining why they fell into it, and why they left. We NEED stories like this to understand others and their viewpoints. We can't change people's minds, much less help them, if we can't understand why they think they way they do, or why the made the decisions that they did. Not everyone who voted for Trump did so for the same reason. Not everyone who wears a MAGA hat wears it for the same reason. A personal example, my father and my sibling both voted for Trump. My father blindsided me by this. He didn't vote for him the first two times, but did this time. With a sigh he explained his reason as "I watched the debates. He had a plan for the economy. Kamala didn't." He's a disabled vet. He works two jobs and my mom brings in more money than him. He's sick. He's a wounded dog that reached out for a shred of hope where he saw it. I know its misguided. I know that he made a lot of mistakes in life that led to where he is now, and that the economy is not to blame for his current predicament, but he can't see that. He has an entire lived experience different than mine that led up to this. My sibling is bisexual and transgender. He is 1.75 years younger than me. He is autistic and very mentally ill. He has never moved out from our parent's house, despite having thousands of dollars saved. He enjoys Warhammer 40k. He is a MAGA cultist. This is a change that happened out of nowhere for me. He blindsided me three years ago when we were hanging out on Christmas Eve and he wanted to show me Ben Shapiro stuff. I was surprised. I asked how could he watch that kind of stuff when he was queer and trans. He just responded "why are you bringing identity politics into this?" Its only gotten worse from there. Despite being trans himself, and despite me being his biggest ally and supporter for coming out to our parents, he misgenders me and says that he "doesn't believe in non-binary". He gets mad when I shit talk Trump and Elon. He is someone who doesn't always have a grip on reality, treats everything as a personal attack against him, and has little self-confidence. He has always been someone easily persuaded by others. Hes always had a nasty selfish streak. it makes absolute sense to me that he would end up falling into a hateful cult that would make him feel better than other people. If you have a loved one in the MAGA cult, you need to understand how they got to that point if you want to help them and get them out. If you want to be politically active and engage with other people of opposing viewpoints, then you need to know what those viewpoints are and why they hold those views in order to debate them. If you don't care, then you don't care. Not your circus, not your monkeys. But this information is valuable, even if its not relevant to you. No one is asking you to bend over backgrounds and congratulate anyone. This is just information for those who would seek it. That's all.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

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colubrina · 2 days ago

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OP of the “men need to do the laundry” post is a radfem, I’m afraid.

i don't do research on posters ideologies, but thanks for the info I guess. the source doesn't make it not true that men -- even leftist men who talk a good game -- have a real historical problem of picking up their share of housework or the load of child care. hell, it's almost a joke that men don't know the names of their children's teachers.

(I should note, here, that my husband always knew this stuff, and does dishes, but he also once called me in a panic because I was on the other coast dealing with my father's aging and there was a snow delay and he didn't know what to do because he'd literally never had to navigate any unscheduled kid things because I did all of it. Women pick up the bulk of this work almost all the time even if their partners are 'good liberal men'.)

It's super easy to pay lip-service to breaking gender norms ("boys can wear nail polish! girls can play baseball") and a lot harder to actually do anything that changes the housework and childcare load that women carry. So, like I said in my tag of the offending post, your leftism doesn't mean shit if you don't do the dishes

#don't fall into the 'she's a heretic so all her ideas must be bad' trap #get your son nail polish if he wants it #but make him do the dishes too

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bunnyluvx · 3 days ago

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hii could you write castlevania nocturne alucard x fem!reader💗maybe the reader is a vampire or speaker/witch

enchant me, lover. ♡

featuring: adrian fahrenheit ţepeş / alucard x f! vampire, speaker & witch! reader.

summary: you're stargazing with your husband, and he doesn't get the chance to wish on a shooting star. you know just what will cheer him up.

warnings: minors and ageless blog dni regardless of content. i made the line dividers, so please don't use them. | support divider: @cafekitsune | wc: 2.3k | ao3

a/n: i'll do you one better, friend, and combine ALL OF THEM!! >:D i'm trying to make my way through my requests, so there will be lots of castlevania stuff for awhile! this is set a couple of years before adrian left to track sekhmet. i hope that i did you justice, anon, and please enjoy, dear friends!!

date started: 7:08PM, february 16th, 2025. date finished: 8:45PM, february 25th, 2025.

The moon cloaks itself amidst the twilight to leave room for the stars to illuminate the sky. Thousands gather closely together to observe the night's events, and whisper gossip that the breeze tells them. A castle, tall enough to hold the heavens and older than most museums, resides within the forest. Its worn stone enjoys the scenery's tranquility, and the surrounding wildlife serves as a reminder of its reason for standing.

There are two occupants in this castle; The legendary Alucard, A.K.A Adrian Țepeș, and you, his lovely wife. You have been married for almost two-hundred years, and there is nothing that you would change about the life that you have built together. You both enjoy travel, so the adventures that you go on together are eternally endless. Adrian has solidified himself into your soul, and he is part of you that you never wish to do without. In moments where you felt like you couldn't go on, his face came to mind and you remembered just how strong you are.

Adrian knows that the connection that you share will last far beyond the relevance of your immortal lives. Not even at the chance of death will your love's resilience waver, for it is a force stronger than any enemy that you have vanquished together. If you were not in his life, then he would not laugh, smile, ponder or explore as much as he has in your company. Adrian Țepeș is not a man who fears much, but the idea that plagues his mind into restlessness is how much darker his world would be without you in it. Imagining a reality where he lives without your rants about all of the things that he wouldn't think twice about, paired with its angelic echo chanting off of the walls of your home would send him into madness, if not for the comfort of your body lying asleep by his side in your shared bed.

Every day that you spend together is a day that you both cherish, and today has felt particularly special. From dawn 'til dusk, you walked through the forest and discovered things that you hadn't noticed before; The different flowers blooming within the grass or unfamiliar streams, for instance. You have lived in this area for some time now, yet when journeying with Adrian, all sorts of new encounters appeared. It was very fulfilling to wander out with him to see what awaited you.

Now, your exciting day has come to a close, and both of you agreed that the best way to wind down before bed was to stargaze together. You stand on one of many bridges of the palace, your hands resting on the cold stone railing while your eyes sparkle just as brightly as the stars you stare at. Adrian stands not far behind you, a smile gracing his pale lips as he admires the great darkness above. Every once in awhile, he will look back at you and treasure the warmth that pools within his chest. Your joy while looking up at the stars is more beautiful than any twinkling light in the sky, and if he spent his night watching you like this instead, then he would be just as content.

Occasionally, you'll point out an exceptionally bright star, or a constellation, and Adrian's eyes will follow where you lead them. You'll tell about the story behind how the constellation was named, and anything else that comes to mind in relation. Being born into a group of Speakers has left a lot of room for you to acquire all sorts of knowledge about a variety of different subjects, and at one point in your life, you found yourself very fascinated with everything related to space. As a result, you did a lot of research on the subject so that you could share it with your family, and anyone crossing your path willing to listen.

Both of Adrian's parents were people of science, so he gathered quite the bounty of information himself, but he would always make an effort to listen to you. No matter how many times you repeat the same tales and facts, he will nod along and asks questions as if it's the first time, just to prompt your endless, passionate rambles. Gaining the opportunity to share your wisdom grants you an ethereal, excitable glow that he will gladly blind himself with, if it means that the last thing he ever sees is your smiling face.

A comforting quiet lingers in the air while you both gaze up at the stars, cherishing the night's delightful weather that provides you the freedom to enjoy this moment together. Sky's stillness suddenly dispels when a star swiftly descends from the shadows, and immediately, it catches Adrian's attention. A blissful, child-like smile graces his lips as he takes a step forward, then points above while announcing, "Look, a shooting star!"

Instantly, your head whips into the direction where Adrian's finger follows, and you see it. Fortunately, before it leaves your view, you are able to make a wish. Many would see it as silly for an over three-hundred year-old vampire to believe in wishing on stars, for you have lived long enough to know that not all myths are true. Regardless, you like the hopefulness that the idea brings; That someone, somewhere is listening, with the goal of helping you achieve your dreams.

Wherever this comet is going, it's in a hurry, for it's leaving as quickly as it came. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath, thinking about what you want most in the world. When you open them, you release the wind trapped inside your throat at the realization that the shooting star has disappeared over the horizon. Disappointment dwells in your heart and on your shoulders briefly before you spin around to look at your husband, whose arm has lowered. His face illuminates with a gentle joy as he gazes into the distance, a display that lightens your disheartenment and replaces it with bliss.

Long ago, you swore that you would commit all of Adrian's smiles to memory, so you take this time to do just that. The radiant expression that he wears is one of wonder, faith and longing, as if he wishes to chase that star to the ends of the Earth. You think that he looks so adorable like this, and you would hate for him to stop, but you become curious as to if he made a wish too, so you ask him, "Did you make a wish, Adrian?"

Blinking out of his awestruck state, golden eyes meet yours. You are so glad that during all of this time, the color of Adrian's eyes never changed. You think that it gives him individuality, and they remind you that through every hardship, you will always have someone at your side to endure it with. Sunshine dims into a soft sadness, which rawly clenches at your heart. Adrian's eyes glance to the ground, a frown on his face while he admits, "Oh, no. I didn't get the chance to."

The vessel which keeps you standing feels like it is being brutally mauled through at this response. Now, Adrian gazes out into the sky with furrowed brows, and your own face falls as his does. While he is skeptical about the idea of wishing on stars, he does find it fun to do sometimes. It didn't even come to mind when he saw it passing by, and seeing just how disappointed he is hurts more than any wound you could ever receive.

You use your quick-thinking skills to come up with something to cheer the dhampir up, when it hits you. You have been studying human magics for one-hundred years, and while you are quite skilled, you do not practice enough to fully achieve your true potential. Typically, you only use your magic on occasion when you're bored to make fun shapes, or when you're in combat with no other choice, but this is just as vital- no, even more-so. This is more dire than any foe that you have vanquished, more monstrous than any beast you have slain; Your sweet husband is sad, and as his wife, you want to make him feel better!

So, you cup your palms together and hold them out in front of you. Adrian notices the shift of your body, and turns to watch as you close your eyes. You focus on your desire, and think about the way that a star feels. You feel a tickling sensation spring its way up your back, as if stardust brushes your skin. Slipping into a deep state of concentration, you reflect on your early studies of magic when a yellow spark erupts into your hands. Adrian watches with fascination while the spark begins to brighten; It begins to take shape, until a thin, golden diamond glows in your grasp.

Adrian is completely blown away by your demonstration, his mouth hung open and eyes gawking widely at what you've just created. You open your eyes and smile at the dumbfounded look on your husband's face, giggling. "Make a wish, Adrian."

Realistically, you both know that this isn't what a star looks like, but that doesn't matter to your man. What matters to him is that it's yours, and it's perfect. For a moment, Adrian is silent, too bewildered by your manifestation to summon his voice. He knows that you are a very talented magician, and he has seen your capabilities at their finest. The fact that you have forged something so precious just to make him happy deeply touches Adrian. A smile adorns the man's face once more, eyes holding a love that is reserved only for you. He reaches a hand over to the side of your face to allow gloved fingers to graze your skin while he leans forward, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You watch as he melts before you, your smile growing wider when seeing that he's happy again. Unexpectedly, he gives you a kiss, and this makes you feel even better. Adrian's lips have a very dastardly power to make you weak; One brush of them, and you feel like you could faint on the spot. His lips are soft, and he tastes of the most captivating spell. You would have dropped the illusion and wrapped your arms around him to properly relay your passion, if you didn't know how meaningful this was to him. Heat crawls its way into your cheeks, and your shoulders have hiked up from surprise, but they slowly lower themselves as you allow your body to relax. You return his kiss and tilt your head slightly to enhance the experience for both of you, and you stand like this for a moment to cherish how perfectly your lips mold together.

Albeit regrettably, Adrian is the one to back away. The sun of his eyes shines brightly with admiration, and the smile on his lips is tender. "I don't need to," He murmurs sweetly.

Seeing this look on the dhampir's face is everything that you could want out of tonight. You have shared a wonderful day together, but this has been the best part of it by far. A crooked grin curls its way your lips, and you give him a knowing look when you decide to tease him, "If you say it's because you have everything you could wish for right here, I'm going to hit you."

Adrian's posture straightens as he throws his head back to laugh. Light blooms within your chest at the sound, one that you would listen to every hour for all of your days if given the chance. Tilting his head upright, he meets your eyes and responds, "Alright, I hear you." Then, he leans over to examine the star in your hands more closely, asking, "Could we save it?" Your husband aligns himself upright again, reuniting your gaze to his while adding, "For my next wish."

You smile at the man, head slightly tilted while fondly gazing at him. Any request of his is one you will gladly satisfy, so you tell him, "I think I can do that."

The look on your face causes Adrian to soften, his shoulders noticeably relaxing a bit more at the sight. "Good." He then turns so that his side faces you, and offers an arm for you to take. "Shall we head to bed now?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips together harshly, charging all of your energy into the little splendor in your hands before hopping up. With your little bounce, the star shoots up into the sky, stardust hot on its trail, before it lowers down to settle itself floating slightly above you and Adrian. The dhampir turns around to recognize what you've done, that same stupefied expression on his face. You see it and laugh, an arm coming over your stomach as you take a step back and point at him. You gather yourself shortly after, and brush away any lingering dust on your clothes before you turn to face where Adrian is to take his arm. "Let's go."

It's only when you make contact with him that your husband comes out of his shock, his face relaxing when seeing yours and a smile decorating his lips. "As you wish."

With that, you head into the castle to begin your nightly routine. The star you created twirls around you both the entire way, and you laugh at mystical friend's enthusiasm. Love has brought you two a long way, and you guarantee that it will take you even farther. In every life, you know that Adrian would do anything to make you happy, and he knows that you would do the same.

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captain-huggy-bear · 3 days ago

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“What’s that bruise from?”-clayton

I had so many ideas of how I could take this particular prompt and this is only one of them but I like how it naturally developed as I wrote it so, enjoy more Clay content! Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

On any given night of the week when Clayton isn't playing a game you find yourself at his house for a sleepover, if you can calling staying round your boyfriend's house a sleepover. Like always you found yourself in your comfy clothes the moment you arrived at his, not even needing an overnight bag anymore as Clay kept everything you needed at his. Even down to having bought every item in your makeup bag so that you had everything you wanted when you stayed over.

A pair of sleep shorts, an oversized Arizona Coyotes tee and your fluffy socks had you feeling extra comfy on the couch, curled up watching a re-run of Buffy while shoving an chocolate ice-cream mochi in your mouth because they're little bundles of joy.

Clay's eyes are drawn to your legs the moment he sits down on the couch after changing into sweats. At first it's appreciation. You hide your legs away so often under tights or jeans that he can't help but look when they're out. But, appreciation quickly turns to worry and then anger when his eyes catch onto a big purpling bruise on your thigh. It's the size of his hand, large enough to be a fist mark and it's the first thought he has...that someone's touched you, hurt you and you haven't told him. It has him gritting his teeth, grinding them together to quell the upset that starts in him at all the worst possible scenarios.

“What’s that bruise from?” His voice is clipped, tense and when you look up at Clayton from where you're curled up on his couch, legs on show because you're in your pajamas, he's got his lips pursed tight. He looks angry, the sort quiet anger that Clay so often gets on the bench when he's frustrated. Not yelling. Not screaming. Not a big outburst, just tension held by a series of strings ready to snap. You're just struggling to understand why he seems angry when he'd been so relaxed when you'd arrived at his that evening.

"Mmm?"

"That bruise, baby. Where'd you get it?" He wants to ask 'who' gave it to you, but he knows better than to do that...maybe he's overreacting, maybe he's thinking of every worse case scenario when in reality there's nothing there for him to get angry about. But, fuck, the thought of someone putting a hand on you? Of someone hurting you? It makes him blood boil as much as it makes him feel like he's failed somehow.

"Oh, this one?" He watches your fingers rub across the bruise like it's nothing, like it's not larger than your hand, like it's not marring your skin like some sort of plague. He hates it. Hates that it's there at all.

"Yeah, baby. That one. The giant fucking bruise over your thigh that wasn't there 3 nights ago when you slept over." He's snapping now, doesn't mean to, but it wasn't there last time you slept over. You hadn't mentioned falling over or anything that would cause it and he knows for damn sure it's new.

There's a brief pause, a moment in which you seem to take him in, to realise that Clay's really bothered by it. It's like a light bulb goes off in your head, a realisation that he's worried, the way his blue eyes are fixed on the bruise not even looking at you, how Clay's fists are clenched on his thighs, whole body tense like he's waiting for a bomb to drop. How he's snappy in a way that Clay very rarely is with you, always so soft spoken.

"Clay...I ran into a table while teaching." You smile at him like he's an idiot, all amused and patient, like he's a little kid that believes candy grows on trees.

"A table?"

"Yeah, you idiot. I was walking around my classroom and just walked fully into the edge of a student's table...I bruise easily, remember?" You can't count on two hands anymore the number of bruises you've had on your legs over the years. Always bumping into tables, the edges of doors, counters, anything that might possibly be in the way.

You watch the anger drain from him. Clay's shoulders slumping, far more relaxed, tight jaw and tense purse to his lips replaced by a sort sheepish smile that tells you he feels silly...but it's sweet you think. Sweet that he was so worried, that he jumped to concern, that he wanted to look out for you.

"Right...So I guess I'm not beating anyone up then?" You're moving towards him even as you laugh at him, settling yourself down until you're straddling his lap, sitting back on his thighs.

"Unless you want to beat up a table?" You rest your arms over Clay's shoulders, your fingers playing with the hairs at the base of his neck and the back of his chains as you smile at him in good humour. There's a pause before the goofiness fades to a quiet softness from you, a whispered question, "You'd really fight someone for me?"

"Of course I would. No one puts their hands on my girl." He says it so matter of fact, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he'd never considered another option. As simple as water is wet. The idea that if someone touched you, hurt you, then that was it, he'd have to deal with it. It makes your arms tighten over his shoulders, shuffling closer until you're chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. Clay's arms wrapped around your waist to draw you closer to him.

"You were really angry weren't you?" It shouldn't surprise you, Clay thinks, it's natural. To be angry when you think someone's hurt your girlfriend. You should only be surprised if he isn't angry about, if it doesn't bother him.

"Well, yeah, I thought someone had hurt you...I thought...I thought I'd failed." He grows quieter as his sentence reaches its end, hands falling to your hips. Clay's fingers dig in just enough to tell you he's upset, that the heavy swallow that rocks his Adam's apple isn't nerves but a sort of weighted sadness.

"Failed?" You try your best to sooth him without fully understanding, fingers running through the hair on the back of his head, nails scratching at his scalp in a way you know often makes him relax.

"At keeping you safe. That's like boyfriend duty number 1, keep your girl safe."

You get it now...god, of course you get it. Clay's always been the leader, the guider in your relationship. Most importantly he's always been your provider and protector. He never let you walk closest to the road. He always made you wait for the green man before crossing. He kept a hand on you in crowded public spaces, and made people give you room, space. He had spent your entire relationship trying to make you feel safe, secure, loved...and he'd thought for a minute that he'd failed at the one thing he'd taken such pride in ensuring.

"Y'know you've never failed at that, right?" You press your forehead against his, nose nuzzling against his own in an effort to bring back that smile you love so much, missing his dimples. "You make me feel safe...doesn't matter where we are or what's happening, even when there's cameras and fans and it's overwhelming...I just feel safe with you." You're more spontaneous around Clay, your brain shuts off so often because you simply trust him that much. You're so safe around him that you know he'd never let you get hurt and it makes just existing so much easier.

"Good, means I'm doing my job, baby..." The smile starts to form, first one corner of his mouth, then the other...a slow spread until his teeth are showing and his dimples are on full display.

"You're like the president of the good boyfriend club."

"Yeah?" His smile grows wider until it's basically a grin, corners of his eyes crinkling up, baby blues twinkling at you because fuck, he loves hearing that he makes you happy, makes you feel safe. It strokes some part of him that needs to provide, needs to make sure you're sorted for life.

"Mmm, definitely getting re-elected this year as well. Might even get a promotion to the president of the good husband club one day."

"I love you."

#huggy bear writes #clayton keller x reader #clayton keller/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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byfulcrums · 1 day ago

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I hate the third movie so much!!!! Like a lot!!!!!!!

Prepare for a rant (under cut bc it got a bit long, sorry!)

First of all, here's a thing I always complain about when talking about HTTYD 3: the designs, and the characterization

The designs as in, the armor, is cool as hell, I'm not complaining about that I love the armor so much. But I hate how they made Toothless a literal puppy. His head is literally a square!!! They changed his personality too, when he's always been more similar to a cat than a dog

There's also the light fury. I have no words for this. The fact that they only made her Like That because they needed her to be "feminine" says enough about her

It was weirdly sexist for a HTTYD movie, considering how well done the female characters are in this series. They only made this character to be Girl Toothless, and being a girl was her only character trait

Besides that, they gave some of Toothless' mannerisms to her! The more cat-like behavior, at some points, for example. Toothless in the first movie was more graceful, stealthy, moved silently, etc. They gave all of his different, elegant ways of moving to her, because they wanted to push the golden retriever agenda on him (that's a joke btw. Like they did do that but "golden retriever agenda" isn't a thing)

Ruffnut was far too stupid too. She would NEVER in rtte

Now; let's move on to why the ending is shit

First of all! Toothless is not an Alpha. He is king, yes, but king of Berk's dragons specifically. When he defeated Drago's Alpha, he did not suddenly gain telepathy powers; the dragons under the Alpha's control went to Toothless when he won, and it was a willing decision. They listen to him, yes, but not every dragon will, because HE'S NOT OF THE SPECIES THAT HAS LITERAL DRAGON MIND CONTROL POWERS

That being said!! If Toothless isn't an Alpha, then why the hell did all the dragons leave when he did? And why did all the dragons in the Hidden World immediately bow down to him? Maybe they recognize his status as King (of Berk), but that doesn't mean he's the king of them

There's also no way all the dragons wanted to leave. Just no way. I know I wouldn't!

Then, there's the Death Song problem

There are multiple cannibalistic dragon species. If they go to the Hidden World with the rest, they will try to eat everyone else, and if they can't do that, they'll starve. These dragons can't just change their entire biology and start eating fish, plants, boars, or whatever thing you have in mind. They have to eat other dragons, or they'll die. Sending them all to the Hidden World means that either they'll eat all the other dragons and eventually they'll be one of the few species left standing (highly unlikely) or they'll just go extinct (most probable)

Along with that, there's the fact that many dragons are extremely territorial. if stuck in the same place for the rest of their lives, there will be fights, and dragons don't have medicine! They can only heal naturally, there's no outside help. So many will die, far more than necessary

Now, I do like the ending of the dragons leaving. In the books

And sure, dragons die every day; no one can stop that (no matter how sad this makes Hiccup), but putting them all in a big cave will result in losses that are WAY bigger than necessary and than what they're used to

Plus, what about the species that can't fly? The Speed Stingers, for example? The mutation in RTTE was a thing that only happened with that one group. Only they would be able to reach the Hidden World

I understand that they were trying to end the sagas the same way the books did, but it doesn't work in the movies! Also, (I haven't read all the books yet, it's a work in progress, so correct me if I'm wrong, but) as far as I know, in the books the dragons were basically slaves to the Vikings. It makes sense that they would want to leave. In the movies, it's not like that. Berk's dragons are friends, not servants! They have no reason to want to leave!

And even then, I'm like 99% sure that in the books Toothless still didn't leave Hiccup. And even then, apparently leaving (or when to leave, most likely) was left to be each dragon's choice, not something a random telepathy powered Toothless told them to do

The villain also sucks. I didn't like his design, but I'm not gonna complain about that

It makes no sense for just one person to wipe out an entire species! And besides, Grimmel wasn't scary, wasn't interesting, wasn't anything at all. He's as bland as the Light Fury

Also also also. Toothless would never leave Hiccup for a girl. I'm not talking about a "bros before hoes" thing (I hate that phrase) I'm talking as in, Toothless would never leave Hiccup. Ever. No matter the circumstances. ES MÁS, he wouldn't have let the Light Fury get close to him after she attacked Hiccup! He would've defended him! That's his friend. HIS FRIEND. He's his best bud, his soulmate!!!!!

God the Toothless characterization pissed me off sm

I'd say Hiccup was pretty spot on in the sense that if Toothless wanted to leave and could leave without, like, dying, he would let him; he'd be sad about it, but he would let him. There's other things I don't like about the way he was written, of course, but that wasn't too bad. WHAT WAS BAD IS THE FACT THAT TOOTHLESS LEAVING WAS EVEN A POSSIBILITY IN THE FIRST PLACE

And, to add something: doesn't the "oh I built a new tail and now he can leave forever because it's like basically his old tail! It's like it was never missing at all!" thing feel a bit ableist? Idk that's just a hunch, I'm not disabled so I can't talk about it, but. Just leaving that there

Still, even without the ableism, it's still shitty. The tailfin would never hold that long. It'd need repairs. Things like that can't be permanent, and I know Hiccup is a great inventor, but he's not a god, come on. He can't do everything

Toothless can fly on his own now, yes, but if the tailfin breaks (which is a thing that can happen, either because of an accident or simply because of time), there's no one to fix it. In a place like that, he'll be stranded. It's dangerous!

Also they made Snotlout, Hiccup's cousin in the books, be attracted to Hiccup's mom. HIS AUNT

The HTTYD universe's ecosystem must've been so damaged when all the dragons dissappeared.

"but people wanted to hurt them!" people want to hurt wolves to, but we don't send them all to an isolated cave because it would destroy the ecosystem.

In fact, "dragon" is just a collective word for multiple species so they really fucked themselves with that one.

In conclusion, the third movie was stupid.

#sorry for the rant Dx #i just really dislike this movie #httyd #httyd the hidden world criticism #httyd 3 hate #how to train your dragon

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stevebabey · 13 hours ago

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the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

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

How hard could it be?

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

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

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

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

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

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

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

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

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

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

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

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

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

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You've got a deal, mister."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

It would take an hour, tops.

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

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

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

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

"And just what are you trying to say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Different?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could do that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Think this'll do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Brandon."

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

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

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

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

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

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," You say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

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

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

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

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

STEP TWO: THE ACT

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We got together the 20th—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks." He murmurs.

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

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

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

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

"They definitely did."

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

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

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

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

"Steve."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A new voice interrupts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he does the same to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

"Touchy?" He provides.

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

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

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

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

How different would it really be?

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

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

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

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

Just more. More of this.

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

"Hm?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

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

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

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

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

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

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve met him thrice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he really think all those things about you?

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

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

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

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

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s like- wait, no—”

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

“Is he paying you?”

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

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

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

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

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

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

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

And… oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

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

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

“I'm sorry, okay?"

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

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

"You sound mad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's desperation in his final plea.

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

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

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

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

"And... now?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you... want that?"

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

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

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

And there it is; the true revelation.

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

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

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

How the hell did you miss it?

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

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

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

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

But you want to try.

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

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

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

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

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

You're excited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

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

#if u think this has nick & jess energy from new girl you would be correct; i took insp from their first kiss hehe #heavy inspo tehe #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #best friends to lovers #fake dating #getting together #ruby writes steve #I HAD SO MUCH FUN I HOPE IT DOESNT FLOP #also yessss i did reuse a line from a different fic in this one no one point it out pleek

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