#god i love making these i was made for making these

[foxtrology]

sweet sweet baby (since you've been gone)

harry castillo x reader

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader.

The last time he had gone up to a woman was at a wedding reception and it ended terribly for him.

Lucy was her name.

He had thought she was the one. All the time they had spent together, all the nights he held her, it was all for nothing. In the end he was the one left behind while she and that broke fucking waiter—oh how much he hated that broke waiter with a fucking passion—ran off into the sunset all happily.

John.

John was his name. Living in a rundown studio apartment with a struggling college student as a roommate. Yeah, what a fucking life she decided to choose.

He still follows her on Instagram.

An Instagram she begged for him to have. He valued his privacy. Being a successful CEO had its perks but it also had his downsides. Privacy was a major downside. He's lucky if a week has gone by without The New York Times calling his office.

Something he should've done a long time ago was delete Instagram and move on from Lucy, but of course he loves to make things more difficult for himself.

19lucy89 has posted a photo!

He should've at least turn off the notifications notifying him of her posting but he couldn't do it. He still wasn't over her. Scrolling on the social media app had him scoffing.

She had posted a photo of her and that broke waiter kissing.

"Whiskey neat."

Harry slips his phone back into his pocket, thanking the bartender. Sliding off the barstool, he glances at all the couples around him. He rolls his eyes.

Since when is everyone fucking dating? Everywhere he goes it's always a couple canoodling. It pisses him off.

Getting back to his table, Danny slaps Harry on his back as he sits down. He cringes as the hand hits his back. He's always had back problems but never acknowledged them.

Not until Lucy. She made him start seeing a chiropractor.

But since she's out of his life, he has been ignoring his pains and ignoring his chiropractor’s calls. She didn't care anymore so why should he.

"Dude Vanessa and everybody are going to an afterparty—"

"Is this not an afterparty?" Harry furrows his brows, interrupting his partygoer friend.

Danny shakes his head playfully, scoffing. "Any excuse to continue drinking, am I right?"

He really didn't want to spend another hour at a party. He's 54 for god's sake, he done.

He's old. He's an old man.

He gets cranky if he doesn't go to sleep at a certain time, he gets aggravated when he pushes paperwork aside leaving it to the last minute, he hated pleasing his friends who have been trying to get him out more ever since the whole Lucy thing happened.

He's leaving, he wants to go home.

"I think I'll be heading—" Then his phone vibrating in his coat pocket stops him.

Maybe Lucy texted him?

Fuck he's so delusional.

"Actually I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of paperwork." Harry stands up, pulling out his phone.

Danny furrows his brows at his friend.

"But you didn't even touch your drink?"

Harry tells him he has liquor at his place, he can finish his drink at home, not here. He doesn't bother to say any goodbyes to any of his friends. They won't remember it anyways.

He hurriedly swipes open his phone as the cold air hits his face.

19lucy89 has added onto their stories!

Clicking onto her profile made him sick.

He should have deleted Instagram.

He should have blocked her.

But he wasn't strong enough.

She posted a video.

Though it wasn't just any other video. The video showed John on his left knee holding up a ring.

He was fucking proposing.

It was like his whole world came tumbling down.

He had never felt this sick in his life.

Harry used to hate the way rich people would talk about money. They used to say money isn't everything, how it doesn't solve anything and it isn't happiness.

He begged to differ.

He didn't grow up with much. His mother struggled especially.

She was sick and wasn't financially stable for treatment so she died.

He used to think that if they had money she would still be here.

He never told anyone about it. Never spoke about the situation, he always tried to ignore it. Until Lucy came around.

She was the only person he confided in. He cried in her arms.

He didn't understand how she could just leave so easily. He remembers the night she told him, they were in the kitchen when she spoke the truth about how she was still in love with John.

She had said that he was the one that got away and that they needed each other.

She packed up her clothes and left his penthouse.

And that was it.

And now he’s standing outside The Met at 54 years old, pathetically hung up on a woman who left him for some broke waiter in a studio apartment that probably has one fucking bathroom.

A couple bumping into him made him come back to earth. He mutters an apology for blocking the entrance.

Another fucking couple.

He shoves his phone into his pocket with too much force, rolling his shoulders as he takes the steps two at a time, the cold air biting against his skin.

Only Vanessa Garnier would throw a goddamn dinner party at The Met.

He needs to go home.

Needs to drink.

Needs to pretend he didn’t just witness the woman he once loved agreeing to marry a broke fucking waiter.

Harry is already pissed off as he stomps down the Met steps. He’s just trying to leave this godforsaken party, get home, and drown himself in whiskey while pretending he doesn’t care about Lucy’s engagement.

Then—he sees her.

She’s sitting on the steps wrapped up in her own world, scrolling her phone.

She’s alone. Not giggling into her phone like the socialites inside, not throwing herself at men with trust funds bigger than their personalities.

Just…sitting.

And for some reason, it annoys him.

"You’re in my spot."

It wasn't his spot but he was annoyed.

Maybe he was annoyed of seeing people who aren't miserable like him.

She barely looks up.

Just a quick flick of her eyes from her phone to the man standing in front of her, assessing him in a single glance before exhaling softly through her nose—unimpressed and unbothered.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Since he was already irritated, already on edge, already a step away from either throwing his phone into the street or smashing it against the nearest wall—he stood there, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come.

Nothing.

No wide eyes.

No forced politeness.

No recognition.

Just a woman sitting on the steps of The Met, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there.

His jaw ticked.

"Did you hear me?"

She sighed—actually sighed—as if he was the one disturbing her.

Well he kind of was.

Finally, she lifted her head, phone still in her hand, her gaze settling on him with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to do a survey on the street.

"Yeah. I heard you."

His brow furrowed. He waited.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t give him an inch of what he was used to—deference, nervous laughter, people scrambling to please him just because of who he was.

Instead, she blinked once slow and deliberate before tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Pretty sure the city owns these steps."

Harry clenched his teeth.

Of course.

Of course, he’d have to deal with this tonight.

This was not his night.

This was not his fucking night.

He didn’t even know why he was still standing there, why he hadn’t just turned and left. He should be in his car by now, should be halfway home with a drink already in his hand.

But for some reason he wasn’t.

For some reason he sat down instead.

A slow, deliberate movement. A shift of his coat as he lowered himself onto the step beside her, his knee brushing against the fabric of her own red coat as he exhaled sharply.

Her brow lifted slightly, her grip on her phone tightening for a moment as if she was considering whether to acknowledge his presence or simply ignore him altogether.

She settled on the latter.

Good.

Fine.

He didn’t want to talk anyway.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out at the street with the same burning resentment that had been sitting in his chest since he walked out of that party.

Another fucking couple passed by.

Laughing. Whispering. Holding hands like they were the only two people in the world.

His grip tightened around his knee. His mouth pressed into a firm thin line.

He should be at home.

He should be anywhere but here.

Instead, he was sitting on the cold steps of The Met beside a stranger who didn’t care that he was Harry fucking Castillo.

He scoffed.

The sound must have been louder than he intended, because this time—she looked at him.

Actually looked at him.

Not just a glance. Not just a flicker of vague recognition before returning to her phone.

No—she studied him, just for a second.

And then…the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not a smile. Not exactly. But close enough.

Close enough for something inside of him to tighten, for his stomach to knot in that irritating way he didn’t like.

She turned back to her phone.

"Rough night?"

He huffed out a sharp breath, shaking his head adjusting his tie even though it wasn’t loose.

"Something like that."

She hummed. Hummed. Like she wasn’t even surprised.

Like she already knew that about him.

Like she had already figured him out.

His teeth clenched.

She didn’t know him.

She didn’t know anything about him.

"What?" His voice was sharper than intended.

She barely reacted. Just tapped her thumb against her screen, scrolling absentmindedly before murmuring

"Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was something.

It was definitely fucking something.

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle deeper into his bones.

This night was never going to end, was it?

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the city hummed around them. Car horns. Distant conversations. The occasional roar of an engine as someone sped down Fifth Avenue.

And then—

"You gonna sit here all night?"

Harry turned his head slightly, catching the amused glint in her eyes as she finally looked at him again.

"Depends," he muttered. "You gonna move?"

She smirked. "Nope."

He exhaled.

Rolled his shoulders.

Ignored the way something unsettled was shifting in his chest.

"Guess I’m staying, then."

And for the first time in a long time—he didn’t mind.

That realization alone should have pissed him off. Should have made him get up, adjust his coat, and leave like he had originally planned.

But he stayed.

The cold air pressed against his skin, sneaking beneath his collar, curling around his fingers where they rested against his knee. The whiskey from earlier still burned slightly in the back of his throat, though it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to settle the restless storm churning inside his chest.

The silence stretched.

Not an uncomfortable one, surprisingly. But an unfamiliar one.

People didn’t let silence sit with him. They filled it, rushed to fix it, scrambled to find something clever or charming or useful to say because people who sat next to him were always trying to get something from him.

The woman sitting next to him, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there. Like he was just another insignificant part of the city.

That part should have pissed him off.

But it didn’t.

It intrigued him.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch the faint reflection of her screen. Not because he cared what she was looking at—he didn’t—but because he needed a distraction. Any distraction.

A taxi app.

She was waiting for a ride.

She was leaving.

Good.

Great.

That meant he wouldn’t have to sit here much longer, wouldn’t have to keep pretending like this wasn’t some strange, unexplainable moment in his otherwise predictable night.

He could go home, pour himself a drink, scroll through Lucy’s Instagram like a fucking idiot, and pretend he wasn’t still furious.

But—

He didn’t want her to leave.

Not yet.

Not before he figured out why the hell he was still sitting here.

Not before he figured out why she wasn’t miserable like him.

His gaze flicked to her hands, the way she tapped at her screen absentmindedly like she wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t anxious about the time, wasn’t dreading the ride home.

He wanted to ask where she was going.

He didn’t.

Instead, he spoke before he thought.

"Where do you live?"

She didn’t react at first.

Just kept scrolling.

Then without looking up.

"That’s a weird thing to ask a stranger."

Harry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

"You’re waiting for a cab."

Finally, she turned to him, brow raised. "And?"

He rolled his shoulders, voice even. "I’ll take you home."

A beat of silence.

Then—

She laughed.

Not a giggle. Not a polite chuckle. A real, unfiltered laugh.

Like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Harry’s expression did not change.

"I wasn’t joking."

That just made her laugh harder.

She shook her head, lips twitching as she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, finally—finally—giving him her full attention.

"You, a man who I met ten minutes ago, are offering to take me home."

Harry blinked, unfazed.

"Yes."

"In your car?"

"Yes."

She exhaled, shaking her head again.

"This is the part where I ask if you're a serial killer."

He smirked, dry and humorless. "Would a serial killer offer?"

"Maybe a dumb one."

He scoffed. "Do I look dumb to you?"

She considered him for a moment. Then—

"A little bit."

Harry almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he sighed adjusting the sleeve of his coat as he stared out at the street again.

"Look, I don’t care where you live. I don’t care what you do. And I don’t care if you take the cab or not. But it’s late and I have a driver waiting." He paused. "Take the ride. Or don’t."

She studied him for a moment.

Not like the people at the party, not like the women who assessed him as a prize, a trophy, a walking investment.

No, she was studying him like she was still trying to figure out if he was serious.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why offer?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

Good question.

Why had he?

Because he was restless.

Because he didn’t want to be alone.

Because he wasn’t ready for the night to end.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead he said, "Because I can."

She hummed at that, something unreadable passing over her face.

Then to his absolute fucking surprise

She stood.

Pulled her coat tighter around herself.

Looked down at him with a grin.

"Lead the way, then."

The Maybach was parked at the curb, sleek and expensive and definitely out of place for a random stranger sitting on museum steps.

His driver, James barely batted an eye when Harry pulled open the door and gestured for her to get in first.

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

And then—

She slid into the seat like she did this every day.

Harry followed, closing the door behind them.

James glanced at him through the rearview mirror, silent, waiting.

Harry exhaled, glancing at her.

"Where to?"

She gave him a look.

"Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman and ask for my name first?"

He huffed. "You never asked for mine."

"Because I don’t care."

His lips twitched. "Then why get in the car?"

She leaned back against the leather seat, legs crossed, gaze flicking out the window.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd actually do it."

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he gave James the silent cue to start driving.

This was insane.

He should have just gone home.

Should have just let her take the damn cab.

But now—he was in a car with a woman who didn’t care who he was, nor his money, didn’t even seem remotely fazed by the fact that she was sitting in a million dollar car with a man who could buy out half the city.

And for the first time all night...

Lucy’s engagement didn’t feel like the worst thing that had happened to him.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the flow of late night Manhattan traffic. The soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, a quiet luxury that most people would have fawned over.

But not her.

She wasn’t running her fingers over the leather seats, wasn’t sneaking glances at him, wasn’t pretending to be indifferent while stealing curious looks.

She just stared out the window, completely at ease.

Harry tilted his head slightly, studying her side profile.

"You still haven’t told me where you live."

She blinked, turning back to him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was even there.

"Oh. Right." She exhaled, stretching her arms slightly before dropping them into her lap. "I’ll just have your driver drop me off at the corner of—"

"Not James." His voice was firm, sharp in a way he didn’t expect.

She raised a brow.

"What?"

"Tell me."

A slow smirk curled at her lips, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Are you always this controlling?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

Her smirk widened slightly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the front of the car.

"Excuse me, take me to—"

"Don’t talk to my driver."

She whipped her head back to him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"He’s not your driver."

She let out a small, sharp laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re serious?"

"Very."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else there, something interested.

She sighed, crossing her arms, "Fine. Since you clearly need to be the one in control, Lower East Side."

He barely nodded before shifting his gaze back toward the front.

James, wordlessly, made a turn.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Harry leaned back against his seat, stretching out his legs, exhaling slowly as the tension from earlier in the night settled into something quieter.

The city moved past them in streaks of light, taxis cutting through traffic, pedestrians still wandering the streets like the night would never end.

She stayed turned toward the window, her fingers mindlessly tapping against her knee.

The silence should have been comfortable.

But it wasn’t.

Not for him.

Because he was still thinking.

Thinking about Lucy. Thinking about how stupid he felt for still checking her Instagram. Thinking about how much he hated the feeling of losing.

But also—thinking about her.

This woman.

This stranger who got into his car without a second thought, who didn’t care about his money, who didn’t care about him.

That part was what unsettled him the most.

Because he was used to being recognized. Used to being admired, envied, feared.

But she?

She was just here.

Like he was just another man.

Like he wasn’t anything at all.

And for some reason—he wasn’t sure he hated that.

She broke the silence first. "So, what’s your deal?"

Harry exhaled, rolling his head to the side slightly.

"My deal?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand vaguely. "You seem miserable."

"You say that like it’s an observation."

"It is."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t like parties."

"Nope."

He arched a brow.

"No?"

"Not just parties. Life."

Harry’s jaw tightened. "Bold assumption."

"Accurate assumption."

His gaze flicked toward her, sharp, assessing.

She met it without hesitation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she shrugged.

"Look, I don’t know what rich guy problems you have but you were sitting on those steps like someone had either ruined your life or just rejected your marriage proposal."

Harry stilled.

His fingers twitched slightly against his knee, his pulse slow, heavy.

She didn’t know how close she was.

How dangerously fucking close.

She didn’t know about Lucy. About the proposal he never got to make. About much time he spent believing he was enough only to realize that he wasn’t.

She didn’t know anything.

But she still saw right through him.

And that?

That pissed him off.

"Maybe I just wanted some fresh air." His voice was clipped, sharp.

"Sure." She smirked, looking out the window again. "And maybe I’m a billionaire, too."

Harry inhaled, slow and deep, rolling his head back against the seat, eyes flickering up toward the roof of the car.

"You’re insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Then—

"Was it a girl?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The reason you were brooding." She tilted her head slightly. "Was it a girl?"

His fingers clenched.

She smirked.

"It was, wasn’t it?"

He clenched his jaw.

"Not everything is about a woman."

"I never said it was." She lifted a shoulder. "You just confirmed it, though."

Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

This was insane.

She was insane.

Why was he even still talking to her?

Why hadn’t he just dropped her off and left?

"I don’t do small talk." His voice was firm.

"Good. Me neither."

Then—silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Not forced.

Just…there.

The car slowed as they reached her street.

She shifted slightly, sitting up, unfastening her seatbelt as James pulled over.

For a second, Harry felt something strange.

Something he didn’t want to name.

She reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open—

"Wait."

She paused.

Glanced back at him. Brows lifted, waiting.

Harry swallowed.

"Let me take you to dinner."

Silence.

Her head tilted, lips curving up at the corners. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Does it matter?"

She smirked.

"I guess not."

She pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold.

Harry watched her go, watched as she turned, hands stuffed into her pockets, eyes unreadable as she met his gaze one last time.

Then—

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

And just like that—

She was gone.

Harry sat there for a long moment.

Watched the empty space where she had been.

Felt the quiet weight of something new settle over him.

And for the first time in years, he found himself hoping—

That he’d see her again.

And knowing, somehow—

That he would.

[stormsies]

Sexy to Someone

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

summary: reader attends her first Devils game as Luke’s girlfriend, though she can’t help but get a little self conscious along the way

a/n: i didn't intend for this to be this long but i just had sm fun writing it. there's a short lil epilogue at the end of this bc i was in a silly goofy mood! (also for the sake of this, pls pretend Jack did not get injured this season T-T)

warnings: insecure reader, allusions to sex, but this is mostly fluff!

wc: 2.4k

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

You had been to a handful of Devils games in your lifetime. It seemed only natural—and like a requirement to being a citizen of New Jersey. Plus, hockey was a sport you genuinely enjoyed - you could recall a number of evenings spent at The Rock, nursing an overpriced beer while sitting next to your girlfriends. 

But you could confidently say you had never been to a Devil’s game while dating one of the players.

Luke and your relationship was still a fairly new, delicate thing. So new, that you still found yourself pinching yourself at the realization that he was really yours. And so new, that you honestly felt nervous when he personally asked you to come to one of his games. Although his shy little grin had tugged on your heart strings and melted away any cause for concern.

So, you had agreed, starting to feel the excitement of being able to cheer for your boyfriend in person. 

Luke had breathed a sigh of relief when you told him you’d come, “Thank god - I already bought the tickets.” 

“So, where am I sitting?” his eagerness had made you laugh.

“Right at the glass,” he smiled down at you.

Now it was your turn to breathe a sigh of relief. When Luke had popped the question, your immediate anxiety had been prompted by the prospect of possibly sitting with the other WAGs. You felt like you still didn’t even deserve to call yourself one, and the idea of being introduced to any of the women sounded like the most intimidating trial you could possibly be faced with. 

“Oh wooooooow,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect, teasing Luke. “Never been that close before.” Which was true, you were used to cheaping it out in the nosebleeds.

“Only the best for you,” Luke wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, “besides, wanna see my girl up close.”

You could get used to being called, “his girl.”

Now you stood in your apartment, getting ready to support Luke in person against the Columbus Blue Jackets. Standing in front of your full-length mirror, you pulled his jersey over your head, recalling his reaction when he first discovered you owned it. That had been back when you were only friends, still tiptoe-ing around your feelings for one another.

Luke had been over at your apartment, rifling through your closet when you told him you’d had a spare rain jacket he could borrow on a particularly rainy spring day. It was an oversized, well-loved thing that used to be your dad’s; but in his pursuit to find the jacket, his eyes skimmed over a familiar white jersey sporting the number 43.

He couldn’t contain the shit-eating grin that slowly spread across his face (or the light blush that tinged the tips of his ears) at the realization that you owned his jersey. You had worn his name and his number. The thought was enough to make him delirious - though, he’d never tell you that seeing as you were only friends, much to his dismay. 

Carefully, he took his jersey off the hanger and called to you from the other room, “Y/N! Think I found it…is this it?”

When you entered your room and saw him standing there, holding his own jersey, your face turned beet red. Suddenly, you wished that your floor would open up and swallow you whole. 

“Luke…” was all you could think to muster up. 

“Didn’t know you were such a fan,” he laughed, “I can sign it for you if you want!”

“Get out.” you deadpanned, though there was no bite to your words.

It only made Luke throw his head back, laughing even harder.

Now, instead of feeling astronomical levels of embarrassment, you could look back on the memory and laugh too. 

Surveying yourself in the mirror, you straightened out the white New Jersey Devils jersey that you were now wearing. The sweater was accompanied by a simple pair of black leggings and a pair of red converse, though you felt there was something missing.

“Oh,” you murmured to yourself, rummaging through a drawer to find the pièce de résistance.

You placed the devil horn headband atop your head like it was a crown, careful not to ruin your meticulously braided hair. 

The headband was something you wore to every game you attended with friends, one of them claiming that it was the statement piece that pulled the entire ensemble together. You had laughed then, sure that you all looked ridiculous in your devil horns, red and white striped overalls, and red heart-shaped sunglasses. But that was just your group’s thing - going all out for the games. It had become somewhat of a tradition that you didn’t wanna break, even if you were attending this one alone.

You heard your phone chime, perched on your nightstand, announcing a text from the man of the hour:

Lukey ♥️: Excited to see you ;) 

You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, picking up your phone to quickly shoot a text back before his pre-game warmups begin.

Y/N: Excited to watch you play! About to leave, see you soon 🫶

Though you’d have no way of knowing it, your words warmed his heart and sent a wave of motivation coursing through Luke. He’d be sure to give you a show.

Closing your phone, you took one more look at yourself in the mirror before deciding that you looked good enough. It wasn’t like you could spend any more time mulling over your appearance if you wanted to make it in time to see warm-ups. Turning on your heel, you quickly grabbed your keys and purse, mentally preparing yourself for the Tuesday evening Newark traffic.

Prudential was buzzing, much like your thoughts at the moment.

The atmosphere of the stadium was electric, just like it had been during every other game you’d attended. But as you walked through the concourse in search of your section, you found your attention being drawn to the other attendees - mainly, the other women.

As you made your way to your seat, you passed by several stunning women, many not in jerseys, but in figure-flattering, red dresses paired with custom-made NJ varsity-style jackets. Others donned sleek black bodysuits and sparkling red boots, while some sported white and red-accented sweaters paired with black leather pants.

It was then that the earth-shattering realization settled upon you that you didn’t look like a WAG, you looked like - well, just a fan. 

Were you supposed to dress up like them? Of course you were, you were Luke’s girlfriend now. You had become so accustomed to wearing your usual spirit wear that you hadn’t even stopped to consider what Luke would think. Would he be embarrassed by you? You felt your face heat up, thinking about the hip-hugging black dress you had hidden in the back of your closet. 

Why didn’t you wear that? It would have gone nicely with that red cardigan…

As your mind was filled with all the possible outfit combinations you could be wearing besides the one you currently found yourself in, you quickened your pace, eager to find your seat and settle in. 

When you finally find it, just behind the glass as Luke had said, your nerves ease for a moment, replaced by the thrill of sitting so close to the ice for the first time. Before your mind has the chance to wander again, warm-ups begin and the team begins to trickle out onto the ice.

You feel your heart quicken as you spot Luke, his tall figure effortlessly gliding across the ice. He’s followed by Jack, who spots you before his brother can. Jack gives Luke a nudge to the shoulder, nodding his head in your direction as you offer up a shy wave.

“Oh wow, she actually came!” he teases.

Luke rolls his eyes as he skates towards you, “Of course she did…”

You watch as Luke draws closer, first making a pit stop to throw some pucks over the glass to a group of kids near you. Your heart warms at their shrieks of glee and Luke’s subtle smile.

When he reaches you, Luke’s grin only widens as he takes you in. You feel your face warm again, once again remembering your less than glamorous outfit as Luke's eyes rake over you. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, though he breaks eye contact to toss a puck over the glass to you, “Got something for you,” he calls.

You reach up, catching the sleek black puck with ease, “Luke, you could get me one of these anytime,” you laugh, “And you better go! Get your head in the game!” you tease, but his lingering presence makes you glance over your shoulder, growing more self-conscious under the curious eyes that watch your interaction. You couldn't help but worry about the potential rumors circulating about your relationship—though Luke seemed completely unbothered by it.

“Just tryna give you the whole experience,” he replies, beginning to skate backwards towards his team once more, “Meet me outside the locker room and I’ll sign it for you.” he winks, turning on his skate and leaving you once more.

You bring the puck closer to you, smiling to yourself over his antics.

Maybe it was the fact that you had the best seats in the house, or that Luke scored both a goal AND an assist—sending you jumping out of your seat—or even that Mrs. Fields won the dessert race for the first time all season (you honestly couldn’t believe your eyes). Whatever it was, you could confidently say this was the best hockey game you’d ever been to. And being able to call one of the star players your boyfriend? Definitely a nice bonus.

The crowd was brimming with excitement at the conclusion of the game, beating the Blue Jackets healthily with a final score of 5-3. You hung back in your seat for a while, waiting for the stadium to empty a bit more before you made your way to the locker room as Luke had instructed.

Now, you stood in the hallway outside the room, fiddling with your puck while you waited for Luke to exit. You were filled with a strange mix of nerves, excitement, and pride. 

Being able to watch Luke do what he loves in person was like nothing you’d seen before, and the fact that he wanted you there–really wanted you to see him–made your heart swell.

But then, you began to remember the look he had given you upon seeing you at the glass–that unreadable expression. Was it embarrassment over you? Your appearance? He had definitely expected you to be wearing something different–something nicer.

As you start to contemplate whether or not you should take off your head band, you hear the locker room door swing open. Luke steps out, and any exhaustion from the intense game he’d just plays feels like it leaves his body upon seeing you standing there, waiting for him eagerly. 

“There you are, you did amazing tonight! I mean seriously, you-” your praise is cut off by Luke, who quickly breaches the distance between you two and pulls you into a hug, lifting you up off the floor.

“S’cause you were here.” he mumbles against you

You giggle, “No come on, that was all you Luke.” You feel him grin into the crook of your neck.

He sets you down, pulling back to look down at you, “Maybe, but seeing you in the stands is definitely a huge motivator,” he brings a hand up to fiddle with your devil horns, “You look adorable, by the way.”

“No- I,” squirming, you scoff at his words, “I’m sorry I didn’t wear something…I don’t know? Sexier? I kinda look like a dork…especially compared to some of these other women.” Your voice grows quieter, losing more and more confidence as you ramble on. Your eyes find your feet, focusing on your red shoes–though the color just feels gaudy now. Luke laughs.

“Baby, are you kidding me?” You feel a hand grasp your chin, Luke gently pulling you up to meet his eyes. “You’re already wearing the sexiest thing you could be–-my name on your back.”

You shake your head as if it will rid you of the blush settling across your face, “Luke…”

“Seriously Y/N. When I saw you at the glass during warm-ups I had to get out of there quick!” he chuckles, “You have no idea what seeing you wearing my jersey does to me.”

You swat at his arm playfully, because you are still in public after all. Though you’d be lying if you said hearing his words didn’t give you a boost of confidence. It was exactly what you’d needed to hear. 

“These horns are a nice touch too. Always thought that was cute…kinda your thing.” he smiles down at you, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that you mean it.

“Alright alright,” you take his large hand in your own, “I get it…you ready to go celebrate?” You were fully anticipating Luke would want to go out with Jack and his other teammates to keep the good vibes going. He blows out a puff of air and grips your hand, leading you down the hallway, “M’ready to go home baby. Just wanna celebrate with you.”

You hum, feeling the cool air fan over you as you two exit the stadium, “I think that can be arranged.”

“Good, I need you all to myself tonight.” Luke leans down to pepper a few kisses to your face while you giggle. “Maybe you can keep this on too,” he runs a hand through your hair, touching the headband again, “think you’d look pretty sexy wearing it while we-”

“Luke!” you squeal, covering your face with your hands, the two of you laughing the entire way to your car.

Epilogue:

Pulling into your apartment’s parking garage, your ears perk up at Luke’s voice, who had opted to take a short nap while you navigated the late night traffic.

“We could hear the crowd going crazy during the second intermission, what happened out there?” he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

You smirk at the realization you’d be the one to tell Luke this earth-shattering news, “Oh…Mrs. Fields won the dessert race.”

You can practically feel Luke pause, his entire body turning towards you, “What?!”

“Yup.”

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “No wonder we played so good.”

“Hey! Thought it was because of me,” you poke at him, teasing once more.

“Oh of course babe,” he grins, “You AND the cookie.”

[rafes-slut]

Whaaattt about You overheard rafe and his friend talking about the new girl in town so later that night when rafe is fucking you- you moan out one of his friends names on purpose?

Say His Name Again

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), dom/sub undertones, jealousy, possessiveness, rough sex, revenge, degradation, choking, hair pulling, orgasm denial, Rafe being toxic and unhinged, foul language, semi-public tension, possessive behavior, toxic relationship dynamics, manipulation, heavy angst, brief mention of infidelity rumors, over-the-top reaction, reader moaning another man’s name for revenge.

You knew what you heard.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Not really. But when Rafe was talking loud as hell with his friends out by the pool, practically yelling over the music and the laughter, your ears tuned in—especially when you heard her name.

Some new girl. Some random nobody you didn’t even know. Apparently, she was “fine as hell,” with “the kind of ass you just wanna bite” and “a mouth made for sin.”

You heard him say that. You heard Rafe say that.

And it fucking broke something in you.

You didn’t even remember what the excuse was you used to leave the party early, but you couldn’t stay and watch him act like he wasn’t already spoken for. Like he didn’t have you. Like he didn’t already get everything he needed and more from your mouth, your ass, your everything.

The rage brewed in your gut for hours.

By the time he stumbled into the house later that night, a little buzzed and definitely unaware of the storm you were about to unleash on him, you already had a plan.

Rafe thought he was going to walk in, get in your bed, and fuck you until you forgot every single thing he’d said earlier.

No. You were going to fuck him up first.

“Get on the bed.”

You didn’t wait for him to get settled. As soon as he closed the bedroom door, you turned on him, voice sharp and commanding, your eyes dark and unreadable.

Rafe blinked, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips, amused and already turned on by your tone.

“Oh? You missed me that bad, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him, waiting.

Rafe stripped, slow at first, until he realized you weren’t playing games. His shirt hit the floor, then his jeans. You were already naked, sitting on the edge of the bed with your legs spread just enough to tease him, just enough to control him.

He groaned under his breath, cock already hardening at the sight of you.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, you know that?” he muttered as he crawled onto the bed, towering over you, hand gripping your thigh.

But you moved faster, flipping him onto his back, straddling him, grinding against his bare cock without letting him in.

Rafe’s hands shot to your hips, but you slapped them away.

“I said—I’m in charge tonight.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise. Then excitement. Then…confusion.

He liked when you got like this—rough, demanding, mean. But this wasn’t just some fun little roleplay. You were pissed.

And you were going to make him feel it.

You rode him hard. Not with love. Not with passion. With rage. With purpose. You used him like he was nothing more than a toy under you, nails digging into his chest, hair wild around your face as you bounced on his cock like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

Rafe was loving it, moaning, cursing, gripping the sheets until his knuckles turned white.

“Fuck, baby, just like that—shit—you’re so tight—you’re mine, you hear me?”

You didn’t respond.

Not with words.

Not until he was close.

Until Rafe was falling apart under you, eyes squeezed shut, hands now gripping your ass, slamming you down onto his cock harder, faster, desperate for release.

That’s when you leaned forward, lips brushing against his ear—and let it rip.

“Oh, fuck, Topper.”

Rafe’s eyes snapped open. His whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck—?”

You said it again, louder, moaning it like you meant it this time.

“Oh my god, Topper, right there—right fucking there.”

Everything stopped.

Rafe’s hands grabbed you, lifted you off of him like you were nothing, slammed you down onto your back.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice was low. Deadly. He loomed over you, chest heaving, his cock still rock hard, slick with your arousal, but his *eyes—*they were murderous.

You smiled sweetly, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“You heard me,” you whispered, running your tongue over your bottom lip like you weren’t scared shitless. “Or are you too drunk to remember names tonight?”

Boom. You watched it hit him—the reason. The realization of what you’d heard earlier. And that rage in your chest? It had now transferred directly into his.

Rafe’s hand wrapped around your throat in an instant, not choking, just holding—just letting you feel the power he had over you.

“You think you’re fuckin’ funny?” His voice was low, shaking. “You think you can say his name while I’m inside you? You really wanna test me like that?”

You tilted your chin up, lips curling into a smirk.

“I just wanted to know how it feels to be disrespected, Rafe. Like I’m not even here. Like I’m not enough for you.”

He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Rafe growled, hand tightening just enough to make you gasp, to make your thighs squeeze together. He saw it. He felt it.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Such a jealous, needy, little slut. You think I want her? You think I’d let you ride my dick like that if I wanted anyone but you?”

He pulled back, standing at the edge of the bed.

“Get the fuck on your knees.”

You obeyed, trembling—not from fear. From anticipation. Because when Rafe got like this? You never knew how far he’d go.

He gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes up to meet his.

“You wanna play games? Say his name again, sweetheart. Say it one more fuckin’ time, and I’ll ruin you. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You stared up at him, mouth parted, breath heavy. Your hand moved to stroke his cock, slow and teasing.

“…Topper.”

Rafe grabbed you by the hair, yanking you up, bending you over the bed in one brutal movement.

“No mercy now, bitch.”

He slammed into you from behind, no buildup, no warning. Just rough, deep, punishing thrusts. The bed creaked under you, headboard slamming the wall with each savage movement.

You screamed—his name, this time. Over and over.

“Rafe—Rafe—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

But he wasn’t listening.

“You wanna be a little whore? You wanna moan another man’s name while I’m fuckin’ you? Let’s see if he can make you come like this.”

You cried out, legs shaking, body limp, unable to fight him even if you wanted to.

Rafe owned you now.

By the time he was done, you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

You were wrecked.

And Rafe. He wasn’t satisfied yet.

His hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“Mine. Say it.”

You nodded weakly, voice broken.

“Yours.”

“Say his name again. Go on.”

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

He smirked.

“Didn’t think so.”

[chrisst4r]

PASSIONATE

Matthew sturniolo is passionate in everything he does

The pale light of the sun gently spills through the window, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the room. Its delicate rays stretch lazily across the floor, wrapping the space in a warm, almost tender embrace that seems to soothe every corner, filling the air with a quiet comfort.

“Matt” you breathe out, your hands wrapped around the headboard of the bed, one leg over Matt’s shoulder, other foot on the bed bent at the knee. “I know baby— feels good don’t it?” he speaks gently, slow strokes to match.

The thing about Matt was, anytime you had sex he always made sure it was intimate and passionate. He loved to make you feel good and savour the moment. And you loved it too.

He never rushed to make you or himself finish, he always went slow as if you were a piece of art he needed to perfect. Your eyes shut as you fully immerse into the pleasure, your body and the bed slightly moving each time he thrusted up into you. Groans fell past his lips as he rolled his head down.

“God can never get tired of this” he whispers out. You whine slightly in response as he gentle brushes against your cervix with each thrust. “So good fuck” your head digs into the pillow behind you, neck extended as you moan. His fingers caress your cheek gently, brushing a hair behind your ear as he watches you in awe.

The way your face contorts and you bite your lip as he hits that one sweet spot within you has him near nutting inside you. He’s making you feel this way. He’s pleasuring you. No one else, just him. And he’s passionate about it.

You flutter your eyes open and gaze up at Matt, pure and utter lust in his eyes. “Matt, I’m so c-close— fuck” you moan out, biting your lip after. He grunts and drops his head forward, watching himself slide in and out of you. The leg on his shoulder slightly twitches beside his head.

His hand finds its way to where your bodies are connecting, his thumb drawing slow, deliberate circles. You shut your eyes, body convulsing beneath him. “Fuuuuckkk” you groan out, back arching off the bed. “S’okay baby, let go and just feel” Matt coos, placing a kiss your forehead. Your whole body spasms underneath Matts form as you release.

He continues fucking you through your high, before his releases inside of you with a groan. “Atta girl” he says with a smile, kissing your cheek as you pant out. You slide your leg off his shoulder and let out a deep sigh. “Do you need anything?” Matt asks as he heads to the bathroom to get a damp cloth. “No thank you” you breathe out, slightly overheated from what just happened.

After all, Matthew Sturniolo is passionate in everything he does.

Including you.

🏷️ @mattscoquette @theyluvivi @leisturni @chris444evr @courta13 @strnilolover @y2kstarr

[skeltnwrites]

A Family Affair ✶ part one!

In a fit of jealousy over Nancy’s perfect new boyfriend, Steve falsely claims to be dating someone too. Robin recruits you to help Steve out, despite the fact that you’re practically strangers. | MASTERLIST

⤷ Fucking Brad ›› Hawkins Elementary puts on Peter Pan, Steve has FOMO, and you have all sorts of crazy plans 8k

Fucking Brad. Brad, with his slim waist and his broad shoulders and his chiseled jaw. Brad, who doesn’t slouch and can grow a full beard and always smells nice. Brad, who is the better version of Steve in every way. He’s the Ken of Barbies. He’s what every man wishes he looked like at thirty-two. He’s like Steve, if Steve had Botox injections and a gym membership. 

And God he has stupidly good hair. All layered and cropped like it’s trimmed every other week. But effortless in the way it sits perfectly on either side of his face. He probably hasn’t had a bad hair day in his life. And even worse, Steve’s yet to find a single gray hair on the man’s entire head.

It’s too good to be true, obviously. You can’t be that attractive and a good person. Steve doesn’t make the rules. 

But Nancy seems happy. And as a good ex-husband and father of her children, Steve’s trying to be happy for her and her new boyfriend. There’s just this sharp little shard of his heart that never quite slots back into its old place. And every time he thinks he’s patched it up, Brad comes along and knocks it loose again. 

The divorce took a heavy toll on Steve. He’ll admit that now, almost a year down the line. He lost weight, then gained twice as much back. He pushed Robin so far away that they didn’t speak for two months. It really changed him. It made him question things he used to be so sure of. 

Nancy was never cruel, not even on their worst nights. But the arguing became constant. Steve slept in the kids’ rooms more than his own. He became obsessed with finding solutions that Nancy didn’t care to try.

She was never cruel, but she did break his heart for a second time. So maybe that’s part of the reason he tells her a little white lie. 

It happened last week. Steve had been out of town for the weekend and subsequently didn’t have the kids for a whole week straight since Nancy couldn’t swap days with him. And this is the longest he’s not seen them in… probably ever, so he’s extra excited to pick them up. He even offers to drive to Nancy’s house on the other side of town rather than meet her somewhere halfway. But guess who pulls into the driveway at the same exact time as him? Brad. 

And Caroline, bless her sweet little second-grade heart, beams across the yard, right past Steve’s car up to Brad’s. Steve remembers watching in a daze, the scene unfolding in slow motion. His heart wrings itself in his chest just thinking about it. Caroline, his firstborn, his baby girl, his own flesh and blood, betrayed him, for fucking Brad. 

It’s not fair. Nancy breaking his heart is one thing, but his daughter? At this rate, he’s not sure he’ll live long enough to walk her down the aisle. And like hell he’ll let Brad be the one to do it. 

Steve steps onto the driveway and quickly receives the same armfuls of enthusiasm Caroline treated Brad with. He kneels to hug her back properly, both arms around her waist as he sprinkles kisses along the side of her head. 

“You’re back!” Steve feels the shape of a big smile through his shirt. 

“I missed you,” he says, pulling back to see her lovely face, “so, so much.” 

Caroline is proof that Steve’s done something right in his life. He finds more and more evidence every day. It’s in her kindness to strangers and her bottomless well of curiosity and her sunbeam of a smile that weirdly looks like a smaller version of his own. He used to hate the way his teeth looked in his mouth but now he wonders why.

He’s received comments about their alikeness since the day she was born. She obtained his hooded eyes, his square jaw, and his strong nose. She has lighter eyes, like Nancy’s, and lighter hair, like Steve’s when he was her age. But still, Caroline’s his carbon copy, his mini-me. 

“Missed you too, like, more than the whole universe.” 

“Woah! More than the whole universe? That’s a lot of missing to do.” His fingers crawl across her chest until she arches away in a fit of giggles. “Is your poor little heart okay?” 

Brad waves incessantly from the top of the driveway until Steve glances up. He’s not an asshole, he waves back, but he can’t help his smile curdling into something sour. 

Caroline, of his two children, is by far the least likely to lie to him. She burst into tears the last time Steve caught her red-handed and over something so insignificant he couldn’t even tell you what it was. But her words feels hollow when the memory of her picking Brad over him still stings fresh. Logically, Steve knows it wasn’t a malicious decision. Caroline’s a daddy’s girl to her core. But just knowing doesn’t make the hurt ache any less. 

Steve pulls Caroline up as he stands. “Where’s your brother?” 

“Mom said he can’t play outside ‘cause he got in trouble at school.” 

“What happened?” 

“He threw rocks at someone.” 

Steve presses his lips together with a hum. “Not good.” 

Caroline beats him to the front door, swinging it hard enough to shake the house. “Dad’s here!” she announces. 

Steve’s still in this weird limbo about entering the house without Nancy’s permission. To his knowledge, she’s never cared when one of the kids has invited him in, but it feels sort of wrong because he hasn’t lived there in quite some time. 

It’s a quaint little home at the top of a hill, purchased in their early twenties when Nancy was pregnant with Caroline. So many years of his life, etched into floorboards and door frames and garden stones that he rarely ever sees anymore. 

In the foyer, a riot of blonde fur slams hard into Steve’s knees. He’s expecting it, delighted more than anything to greet his honorary third child, Daisy. Eighty pounds, a golden retriever with more energy than Steve knew a dog could have. She was a Christmas gift from Steve to the family, a surprise Nancy has slowly grown to love over the years. Still, she would’ve been happy to let Steve take her, Daisy’s always been more his than hers, but signing the lease on a place that doesn’t allow pets complicates things. 

Steve’s crouched on the floor, receiving a face full of wet kisses when someone smaller barrels into his side. 

“Daddy!” 

Steve’s hand catches the carpet before he falls, his free arm slinging around his youngest, Andrew. “Hi, buddy.” He pulls him in for a forehead kiss but pushes him back for a better look at his face.

He’s got big brown eyes, round like Nancy’s, and feathered with a long set of lashes. He’s a fair mix of their genes, Nancy’s button nose and pointed ears but Steve’s thick hair and plush lips. He’s like Daisy, with endless reserves of energy and no off switch, but he’s half the dog’s size, tiny, even for six. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi. How was school?” 

“Good,” Andy smiles, words whistling in the gap his front teeth left behind. “I got something from the treasure box and I had music specials today.”

Steve gives his shoulder a loving squeeze. “That’s fun. I heard you got in trouble though, hmm?”

“Barely. It wasn’t really bad. I had a timeout but mom says I still can’t play.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to Mom.” 

“Talk to mom about what?” Nancy frowns from the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest. 

One thing from their marriage that Steve doesn’t miss is Nancy materializing out of thin air. She’s quiet and quick on her feet, always appearing at the most incriminating moments. He can think of a dozen times he’d gotten in trouble for letting the kids do something she already forbade. 

Steve shifts his focus to her begrudgingly. He presses his lips into a cordial, tight-lipped smile. “Why can’t he play? He said he had a time-out already.” 

“Because he didn’t do what I asked, Steve. I know you like to let the kids get away with everything, but in my house there are consequences.” 

“Okay,” he raises his eyebrows and his smile slips away, “unnecessary.” 

She breathes a quiet sigh, hooking her fingernail under the fresh tear in her tights. “It’s been a long week.” 

“Sorry.” Steve means it because he’s been there, but he doesn’t waste much sympathy on Nancy these days.

Brad fills the leftover silence as he zips down the stairs, his fingers drumming along the handrail in time with his hums. “Steve!” he grins. “How was Florida? Catch some sun?” He cruises over to Nancy with a much gentler excitement, pecking her head with a soft, “Hi, honey.” 

Steve wants to gag. No, he wants to projectile vomit all over their nice floors. He stands and chooses to look at Nancy as he replies the simplest, “Yeah.” 

Nancy stares blankly back at him. He used to have some kind of superpower when they were in love. Could read her mind by looking at her eyes alone. But these days he can’t tell her frown from her smile, let alone her thoughts.

“Is your dad doing better?” she says. 

“Yeah, he’s– yeah, fine. He’s home now.” 

“Good.” 

Andy pulls Brad down to his knees, eager to funnel a “very important” secret into his ear. Steve tries, but he can’t decipher any words over Nancy’s voice. 

“So, can you take him?” she asks.

“Where?” 

“The dentist. Are you listening to me? I said his appointment is after school.” 

A vein pulses on Nancy’s forehead, though Steve isn’t privy. His attention swings across the living room behind her like a compass needle, always pointing to Andy and Brad. They’re both giggling, falling onto the couch like ragdolls. Steve’s never had worse FOMO in his life. 

“Yeah, sorry, yeah. I’ll take him,” he answers finally. 

“He’s been complaining about his mouth since last Tuesday. Think he has a cavity.” 

Steve nods. Nancy nods. The silence is awful. 

She turns her nose to the stairs and he knows she can’t bear the awkwardness either. “Andrew go get your stuff. Caroline!” 

“What!” 

“Come on! Dad’s waiting!” 

Andy shrieks and Steve turns instinctually. It’s a happy shriek, he finds, paired with pleads of, “Again! Again!”

Brad nods knowingly, slotting his hands under the boy's armpits and swinging him up and up and up until he launches him right back into the couch. 

Andy’s thrilled, of course. But Steve doesn't know how to feel. There isn’t a sound he loves more in the world than his kids laughs’, but his body tells him what is happening right now is all sorts of wrong. 

“Oh and don’t forget about the play on Friday,” Nancy adds. 

Steve can’t answer. He can’t fucking think over the sound of his molars grinding against each other. A switch flips in his brain. 

“It’s at six I’m pretty sure. Care’s pretty nervous so just, I dunno, don’t bring it up maybe.” 

“I’m bringing someone,” he blurts. 

Nancy shifts her weight from foot to foot, her stare sharp as a thumbtack, pinning him right to the floor. Why the fuck did he just say that? 

“Who?” she asks strangely. Her mouth is smaller like she’s mad. But her eyes are curious, a sudden softness to them. 

Steve clears his dry throat but finds no relief. He hasn’t fucking thought this through. He shrugs, his chin tipping toward the floor. “Just this girl I’ve been talking to. She’s…” He chances a glimpse up but steers his eyes away from Nancy’s the second they land. “It’s kinda gettin’ serious, so, you know.” 

“Really?” 

He squirms at the way she says it. He feels like he’s in trouble and about to get an earful. “Yeah,” he swallows, “Yeah. She’s great. You’ll like her.” 

“How long?” 

“Hmm?” 

“How long have you been seeing her?” 

His eyes rove across the ceiling as he pretends to count the imaginary days he’s spent with his imaginary girlfriend. “Ya know, a few months.” He frowns for show, “Give or take.” 

Nancy chuckles wryly. She very clearly doesn’t buy it. And of course, she doesn’t buy it, they were married for a third of his life, she knows Steve inside and out. Steve is officially, utterly, and irreversibly doomed. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he slips in nervously. 

“Right.”

“Yeah, so…” 

“Okay, well, I look forward to meeting her.” 

“Okay. Me too. Well– to you meeting her. I’ve met her, obviously.” 

Her mouth twists in a struggle to hide her amusement. “Okay, Steve.” 

This is pathetic. Steve’s never been more embarrassed in his life. Ten-plus years he’s had to make a fool of himself in front of Nancy and nothing will ever top this. 

Tiny arms curl around his legs and he knows they’re Carolines before he’s seen them. She’s a foot taller than Andy and ten times as gentle. Her ear presses into Steve’s side, her hair newly pinned with a set of plastic butterflies. Steve’s positive she gets prettier by the day and he’s just grateful to have anyone besides Nancy to look at. 

Andy hustles down the stairs not long later, sneakers swinging from his wrist by the laces, wearing a backpack twice the size of his chest. And with both kids in sight, Steve cuts straight for the front door, encouraging a round of goodbye hugs and kisses for Mom from the safety of the porch. 

On the ride home, Caroline has a deck of questions about his trip. If Grandma and Grandpa still live in that big house on the water. If the airplane ride was bumpy or not. His favorite– if he ordered the fish tails (popcorn shrimp) from that restaurant they all went to last time. 

Eight years he’s been a dad and to this day the infinite questions never fail to fascinate him. And even more remarkable, how Caroline remembers things from years ago like they happened this morning.

He hadn’t told her why he went to Florida or the real reason she couldn’t come. Steve’s dad had a minor health scare, and if it weren’t for his mom calling in hysterics, he probably would have saved the PTO. He spent most of the trip in the hospital, listening to his dad fuss about every possible thing he could find to complain about. 

Nancy preached honesty when it came to explaining things like this to the kids. But Caroline’s a worrywart. Steve couldn’t let her spiral, certainly not over his dad of all people. 

He’s very happy to be back home. And even happier to be distracted from his poor decision-making by the bottomless pit that is his daughter's brain. But time flies when you’re having fun as Steve apparently says now. Dinner goes fast, and bedtime even faster. 

The kids are asleep and he’s left to simmer alone in his stupidity. He replays the conversation with Nancy on a loop, each turn twisting the words until he can’t tell what’s real apart from what he wishes to have said. He fucked up, that much is clear. And for what? A fleeting satisfaction if Nancy had believed him? He truly can’t think of a time in the last ten years he’s said something so dumb. 

Steve dials Robin’s number and slips the phone against his ear as he opens the fridge. He stares at his groceries, or lack thereof, and listens to the phone ring and ring and ring until he’s turned over to Robin’s answering machine. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Robin! Or, well, it's not, obviously, because you're talking to a machine. Anyway, I’m probably busy doing something incredibly important, so, leave a message, and I’ll call back– unless I forget— which, statistically speaking, is very probable. Sorry.” –Beep! 

“Hi, um, this is Steve.” He shuts the fridge door and swipes the takeout menu from the magnets on the side. “I’m having an… emergency type of situation and if you really, truly love me you’ll call me back, like, as soon as you get this. Yeah, okay, bye.” 

Robin’s at work he’s pretty sure. That or sucking face with her new girlfriend, Lin. She’s busy a lot nowadays, Steve just as much. It’s put a weight on their friendship but Steve can’t imagine his life without her. She’ll surely call him a dumbass or an idiot or the classic dingus for what he’s done. But being snarky with each other is their love language; he looks forward to it. 

Steve’s three or four Cheers’ reruns deep when the phone rings. He rocks himself out of his recliner and takes the half-empty pizza box in his lap back to the kitchen. He’ll be the first to admit, his evenings aren’t all that glamorous. But things could be worse and he’s happy with the majority of his life’s choices– minus the most recent one, obviously. 

The phone slides against the pizza grease on his fingers. He pins it between his ear and shoulder to swipe his hands down the front of his shirt as he speaks, “You know, you’re lucky this isn’t a life-or-death emergency. I’d have been dead hours ago.” 

“Uh-huh. Tragic,” Robin rasps. “I’ll write your eulogy for you. ‘Steve Harrington: untimely death by dumbassery.’” 

“That’s not a real word, genius.” 

“It is now. I’ve made it one.”

“You can’t just make it a word. That’s not how it works.” 

“No, it is. Check your dictionary.” He hears the clinking of pans, water running in a sink. “But wait, what did you do? Lock your keys in your car again?”

“Ha, no. I wish.” 

“Forget to pick up the hellspawns?” 

“No, Rob.” 

“What? It’s happened before,” she laughs in that scratchy way she does. He can picture her whole face like she’s stood there beside him. “I dunno, I’m tired. I give up. What’s the crisis?” 

“Um, so, I told Nance that I’ve been seeing someone and that it’s serious and I’m bringing her to the kid’s thing on Friday.” 

Robin’s silent long enough for Steve to pull the phone back and check if the call’s still connected. But her laughter builds slowly, rattling through the speaker in beats. “Oh no, Steven.” 

“Yeah, so…” He shears the last bite off of the pizza he was working on before and tosses the crust back into the box.  “I’m fucked.” 

“You could say that.” 

“Thanks for the encouragement.” 

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, fuck dude. Why’d you say that?”

“I don’t know, okay? It was stupid. I fucked up.”

“Big time.”

“I have to figure something out.” 

“Can’t you just say it fizzled out? You had a good run, but you weren’t right for each other, cue dramatic sigh, problem solved.”

“No! She knows, Robin. She fucking knows I was lying. She was giving me that look she gives Andy when he’s done something he’s not supposed to.”

“Heh, I know the one. God, that’s hilarious. I love her mad face. Was she doing that weird lip thing, like she’s trying to suck them back into her skull?” 

Steve cuts off his own laughter, “Probably– I don’t know! I was panicking, bad, you should’ve seen me.” 

“Oh, I would pay so much money to see a video of this. Were there cameras? Where was this at?” 

“No, no, I have to do something. I need to bring someone to the show.” 

A beat. Two. “What? You want me to revive straight Robin? I can’t walk in heels to save my life, you know that.” 

“Jesus, no. She knows you're gay, dude.” 

“Then who?”

“I dunno.” Steve throws his hand in the air. “You know people.”

“I know people?”

“Yes?”

“You’re right, hold on, let me get out my address book and just call every single woman I know. ‘Hey, how do you feel about pretending to be my friend’s boyfriend so his ex-wife doesn’t make fun of him?’ Sound good?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” 

“Maybe while we’re at it we just start calling random women in the phone book. I saw a billboard with this sexy lawyer lady today.” 

“Robin.” 

“Steve,” she chuckles. “Come on. This is crazy. You have to see that.” 

“I don’t care, Rob. You don’t get it. Nancy is dating America’s next top model and I’m,” his words feel sticky as bubblegum, “I’m watching shitty TV and eating shittier pizza by myself.”  

Robin sighs. “Don’t act like I haven’t been a good wing-woman. I’ve tried to set you up with people.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not ready to date anyone for real, I just– I just want to pretend for a night, that’s all. I don’t want Nancy to think any less of me than she already does.” 

Robin sighs again, worse. He feels bad about bugging her but she’s his best friend and she bugs him to the same extent with her own relationship problems. He listened to her cry for an hour about a fight she had with Lin last week.  

“If I help you… will you promise me that you will move on and go on a real, actual date with a woman who is not Nancy Wheeler?” 

Steve’s about to say ‘I’ll do anything’, but the sentence catches in his throat. 

Robin complains about Steve’s dating life (or lack of) about once a week, if not more. It’s been a year since the divorce, yeah, but he’s short on time with two kids and a second full-time job that affords him the first. He’s not in any rush to do awkward first dates or even worse breakups again. 

But fuck, he’d rather die than face the consequences of his own actions. “Fine, yes. I’ll do it.” 

“Hallelujah.” 

“Please, just call a couple of your friends for me. One night, that’s all I’m asking.” 

“Honestly, I definitely know a couple of people who’d do it for a hundred bucks.” 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “If that’s what it costs to keep my dignity then so be it.” 

He hears Robin’s breathy smile. “You’re so dramatic. Shelly might do it for free. She doesn’t exactly look your type though.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“I dunno, Steve. We both know Nancy has a better gaydar than you.” 

“I hit on one lesbian at the height of my divorce-depression. I was desperate, okay?” 

“You hit on two, actually. I do count, still. And she was like the most butch woman I've ever met. You guys basically had the same outfit on.”

“It was a good outfit!” 

Her laughter is loud through the speaker. And before he realizes it, he's laughing too. In retrospect, that woman very obviously was a lesbian and not at all his type. 

“Wait,” Robin gasps, “what about Y/N!” 

“Who?” 

She repeats your name with even more emphasis. “She was at my birthday thing. You definitely met her.” 

Steve describes a vague version of the person he thinks is you. His memory is hazy. 

“Yes! Yes! You wouldn’t stop showing her fucking pictures of the kids.” 

“Excuse me, she wanted to see them.”

“No, I think you need to ask her that again, pal.” 

Steve reconsiders that moment he met you. He recalls a polite smile and how you had several nice things to say about his kids. He remembers you being pretty but it was too soon post-divorce for him to process that information then. 

“Oh my God,” Robin roars, “How did I not think of this sooner? You guys are perfect for each other, I’m telling you!” 

“Wait, wait, Robin. This is just pretend. I’m not actually dating her.” 

She scoffs. “Will you give her a chance? Please? This can count as your real date.”

“No, absolutely not. No. I can’t– I already know her. That’s weird.” 

“Oh my God. You’re making dumb fucking excuses already. You better hold up your end of the deal, Harrington.” 

“I will, I will. Just not her. We’ll figure it out after, okay?” 

The line is silent but he can almost hear the gears in Robin’s head cranking out a new negotiation.  

“I’m serious. Don’t tell her it’s a date.” 

“Ugh. Have you no faith in me anymore?” 

“Will you ask her? Seriously, Robin, please?” 

“Yes, whatever, I’ll ask her. But don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.” 

“Don’t tell her it’s a date, Rob. I mean it.” 

“I knowww.” 

“Thank you,” he sighs. He feels like a load of bricks just dropped from his back straight to his stomach. 

“But I really think you and Y/N should come to that romance retreat with me and Lin. She knows the owner so I’m sure she could snag us another couple of tickets.” 

“Mmm. Sorry, no. I’m actually busy that weekend, ‘member?” 

“Oh, I know you did not just lie to me right now. What is this, a compulsion?” 

“Oh my God. I was kidding,” he laughs. “But also hard no. I’m hanging up.” 

“You can’t avoid all your problems forever.” 

“Whatever. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight. Love you, dingus.” 

“Love you.” 

Steve slots the phone back in its cradle and presses his hand into the countertop. He thinks of you again, your face, your clothes, your voice– what had you said to him? He turns you in his mind like an unravelled spool but there are way too many loose ends. 

He agrees with Robin, this is a bad idea. He can’t imagine you’ll drop everything to help a guy you met one time. And if for whatever reason you do agree? You might be really awkward or rude to the kids or a kidnapper! He really, really hopes Robin doesn't befriend kidnappers. 

She assures him you are not a kidnapper when she calls him the next night. She also tells him he’s won the lottery and somehow you’ve agreed to this ridiculous plan. You’ll pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his kids and ex-wife and her boyfriend, just to save him from some embarrassment. Steve thinks you might be crazy but Robin promises you’re a match made in heaven. 

Steve jots down your phone number and thanks Robin until she hangs up on him. But he doesn’t call you yet. He chews on the plan all week and decides it still tastes bad. Very, very bad. But what choice does he have now? He’s groveled with Robin until she gave in and asked you and you’ve actually agreed. He’s in too deep now. 

It takes him three tries to dial your number all the way through. He only works himself up to the final digit with the mental image of Brad and his stupid, sparkly teeth. Steve's stomach starts cartwheeling as the line trills. 

“Hello?” 

He freezes. He doesn’t know what he expected you to sound like but your voice throws him for a loop. Every sentence from his practiced speech erases itself from his memory. 

“Helloooo?” 

Steve forces all the air from his lungs until he makes a strangled sort of noise. “Hey– sorry, um– hi, it’s Steve. Uhh, Robin’s friend.”

“Oh! She said you’d call.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Here I am.” 

You chuckle back but are otherwise quiet, waiting for him.

“So like–”

“How did–”

“Sorry,” you say overtop each other. 

“You go,” he begs. 

“Well, I mean– so Robin gave me the run down already, but like, how exactly do you want this to go?” 

“So,” Steve takes a deep breath, “my kids are both in the school play over at Hawkins Elementary. It’s this Friday from six to seven-ish. All I need you to do is just show up and pretend that you’re my girlfriend.” He cringes through the last part. The more times he explains this plan, the more outrageous it sounds. This might as well be a form of torture. 

“Just show up and watch the play and agree that we’re a couple if somebody asks? That type of thing?” 

“Yes, exactly. Yes. My ex-wife and her boyfriend will be there, so probably just them and the kids.” 

“Right, Robin said. But how much should I– how do I say– should I hold your hand, I guess, kiss you, things like that?”

“No, no,” he swallows so hard you probably hear it too. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

"Would you..." you pause for a while. He fears you’re backing out. “Would you want to meet up, maybe? Like, sometime before the play?” you ask. “We could talk more about boundaries and, I dunno, how we met, our first date, all of that junk. In case it comes up.” 

Steve doesn’t think that’s really necessary. He only needs you for one hour, the majority of which you won’t be talking. You’re really just there to sit beside him and smile. But you are doing him a massive favor, if it makes you feel better, it wouldn’t hurt to discuss it in person.

He lets you pick the time and place and thanks you endlessly before he hangs up, very much ready to crawl into bed and never come back out. 

His second impression of you doesn’t stray far from the first. You’re sweet, maybe a little too sweet for someone who barely knows him. And you must be smart. You have enough wits about you to question him and this plan. Maybe, with you there, it won’t completely fall apart.

But as luck would have it, Steve is forced to cancel on you last minute– thanks to Brad, of course. Well, it’s not really his fault his sister goes into labor but Steve likes to pretend it is when Nancy asks if he can take the kids that night. He reschedules with you once, then again when you can’t make it. But shit happens and things don’t work out how he hoped. Neither of you can make it work before the play. 

So Steve pulls up to Hawkins Elementary with his heart lodged in his throat like a stone. He’s about to make the biggest fucking fool of himself if you don’t show and he’s only about forty-five percent sure that you will. As of yesterday, you were still game, sounded excited, even, to come. But maybe you forgot about the whole thing or maybe you’re chickening out because you never solidified where you had your first date. Steve wouldn’t blame you either way. 

Brad’s already seated in the front row of the auditorium, Nancy likely dropping the kids off at their classrooms. Steve slinks around the back to a denser part of the audience hoping not to be seen. But it’s Brad. He’s got twenty-twenty vision, no doubt. He flags Steve down as soon as he turns around, standing and waving emphatically, leaving Steve no other choice but to sit with them. 

Brad talks his ear off, to no one's surprise, but Steve’s mind is stuck somewhere else. His eyes skip between the lavish rose bouquets in Brad’s lap to the measly assortment of pink and blue daisies in his own. It’s silly to worry the kids would love him less over something like flowers, but he can’t help himself. 

Nancy joins with a knowing smirk and immediately asks about Steve’s plus one. He feeds her some generic, bullshit line about you and how you’re trying so very hard to make it, and he decides Nancy must fucking hate him. She knows it was a lie. She just wants to watch him burst into flames and char into a corpse of embarrassment and regret. 

There are less than two minutes to showtime. The audience is buzzing, the auditorium doors are closing, and the bench space beside Steve remains unoccupied. He turns around for one last pathetic look behind him before his dignity is tarnished forever. 

But there you are! Stood up against the back wall, searching and searching until your eyes lock onto Steve’s and your whole face brightens like a sunrise. 

Steve waves, a little shy suddenly, but largely overwhelmed by the complete one-eighty his heart’s just spun. And it only worsens as you make your way up to the row. 

You look fucking unreal Steve realizes. You pat a pretty dress down your thighs, two big bouquets wedged in the crook of your arm, and shimmy past the family seated beside him with a dashing smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say to him, so genuinely apologetic Steve can’t remember the reason you’re there in the first place. You bend to wrap your arms around him, his nose tapping the sugared sweetness of your perfume. 

His brain reboots itself, a blank slate. He’s completely forgotten about Nancy and Brad until you lean across his lap to address them. 

“Nancy,” Steve coughs, “um, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.” The words trip off his tongue slow and he thinks it can’t be more obvious that he doesn’t mean them. 

But while his head is busy imploding on itself, you’re acing introductions. You’re smiling and waving, your voice stays so calm— exactly the reassurance Steve needed. He peels his eyes off your face for a glimpse at Nancy’s and nearly laughs. 

Her brows are up, obscured by her bangs, and she blinks like she’s got something caught in her mascara. Priceless. 

“Y/N, this is Nancy and her boyfriend, Brad,” Steve finishes. 

“Nice to meet you,” Brad smiles, squeezing Nancy’s knee until she does the same. 

The pretending is clumsy at first. Steve’s arm hesitates on its course behind your shoulders. And you go stiff as a board the first time his fingertips brush your bare arm. You overcompensate, laughing at something that’s not all that funny while Steve rambles on about how you met when no one even asked. But eventually, you find a balance somewhere between too much and too little.

And Steve can’t stop fucking smiling. You’re polite, funny, really pretty, you’re perfect. You’re more than what he hoped to have tonight. 

The lights dim and the curtains part, Steve’s excitement shifts toward the stage. His hand remains on your shoulder but his attention is reserved solely for his kids. You cheer for them just as loud as he does, for two children you’ve never met in your life. You remember their names and are eager for Steve to point them out when they appear. You’re a convincing girlfriend. You actually seem to care a whole lot. 

Caroline is a fabulous mermaid. She has a tail made of sequins and glitter gel down her arms. All those hours of practice were worth it, Steve nearly cries watching his little girl recite her two lines to a T. 

And Andrew plays a scruffy dog called Nana. He has no lines but he makes several appearances throughout the show, barking with flawless comedic timing for a kindergartener. Steve’s biased when he thinks his kids are the best actors here, of course, but he couldn’t be more proud. 

Touching you doesn’t become any less strange as the evening rolls on. Your thigh is smushed to his. Your back warms the inside of his elbow. He hasn’t touched anyone like this since Nancy, maybe besides Robin who doesn’t really count. And perhaps that’s pitiful, he’s not touching you all that much. But he likes it, which, is probably even more pitiful, you being his pretend girlfriend and all. 

The main cast of fifth graders bow, the crowd erupts with applause, and the lights flicker back on as the big curtains close. 

Nancy is staring at you when Steve checks her way. It’s not the first time he’s caught her tonight but he still isn’t certain that she fully believes this whole thing. At least you’re here and you seem normal and you’re a much better actor than Robin gave you credit for. That’s a mission fucking accomplished in Steve’s book. 

“They did really good, Steve,” you say in his ear. “They’re both adorable.” 

His smile is immediate. He won’t miss an opportunity to rave about his kids, not even to a stranger. “Did you see Andy’s run? He does this little skippy-thing, I dunno where he learned it.” 

“Mhmm! And Caroline, she’s only eight? She seems so much older the way she talked.”

“I know! She was so worried before, I can’t believe how good she did.” 

Nancy is one of the first parents to her feet. Brad collects her purse and the flowers as she scans each exit for the quickest route. Her face is rigid as she explains, “I’m going to get Caroline if you’ll…”

“Yeah,” Steve nods when she looks. 

Nancy’s eyes veer from his to yours for the briefest second before she turns around. Her chin juts up to Brad. “Ready?” 

He works a hand across the cardigan on her back and starts for the end of the row where parents squeeze and squish by each other toward the hall doors. 

Steve waits until their bodies bleed into the rest of the crowd before he faces you again. His lips tilt into a funny line, his eyes alive under the auditorium lights. “I kinda think that worked?” 

“Are you kidding?” you laugh and knock your shoulder into his. “She kept staring at me! She totally bought it.” 

Steve’s smile pinches up into his cheeks. He thinks you're really quite beautiful. It’s not new information to him, he noticed the first time he met you, bumbling up behind Robin in her kitchen. And he remembered just last week when she brought you up out of the blue. 

But today that knowledge feels different. Today you’re all smiles and sweet touches and sneaky glances. It’s doing something scary to his heart. 

Steve stands quickly. He’s hot all over, uncomfortably aware of the sweat accumulating under his clothes. Being sardined against every other parent in the school will do that. Plus, there’s you and your nice face. Still, somehow, he misses the heat of your thigh pressed to his. 

“She’s smart, Nancy, I mean… I dunno,” he worries. 

You stand too and your hand finds a home on the back of his arm. “No, no. It worked. Trust me.” 

“Trust you?” He can’t help but grin at your nonchalance. He wishes he could be like that, but having kids makes you worry more. 

You grin back and shrug. “Yeah, trust me.” 

Well, he can’t not trust you. Not when you’re looking at him with all the confidence in the world and squeezing his arm in gentle reassurance. 

His cheeks ache from smiling by the time you make it to the hall. He gestures one way and you follow him past doors and bulletin boards and as many children as there are adults. And finally, he turns through an open classroom door and it’s just absolute chaos. 

A ball pops against a ceiling tile, Steve’s heel slides under a stack of notebook paper, and a string of kids fly between his hip and yours, all in one blink. 

You recognize Andrew faster than Steve expects, pointing him out where he’s barking at a child sprawled on the rug. The other boy stops giggling as you approach, prompting Andrew to spin around with the crazed expression of a real puppy looking for trouble. 

His costume is even cuter up close, a painted snout and a fur-onesie with a floppy-eared hood to match. Andrew barks at Steve, crawling across the carpet on all fours until he’s panting at his father’s jeans. 

Steve squats down to his level, a gentle hand on either side of the boy's neck. “Oh, nooo. They didn’t turn you into a real dog, did they? Are we going to have to feed you from Daisy’s bowl now?” 

Andy slurps a rope of spit back in his mouth and rolls his eyes. “I’m just pretending, Dad.”

“Ohh,” Steve laughs, pressing him impossibly closer. “You did so good, bud. Proud of you.” 

“Did you see me? When I barked at the pirates?” 

“I did! I actually thought it was a real dog.” 

Andrew cackles once, throwing his head down on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve pats his fuzzy back. “Tired?” 

He blinks up at you curiously and shakes his head. 

“Andy,” Steve cranes toward you, “this is my friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?”

He lifts his head and barks, high-pitched and snappy as a chihuahua. 

Steve tilts his ear away and pinches Andy’s side until the barking turns to giggles. “In English, please.” 

“Hi, Y/N,” Andy squeals out between the remainder of his laughter. 

“Hi, buddy.” You kneel beside Steve and fawn, “You did such a good job!”

Andy pokes his tongue through the gap in his smile. He looks you over entirely and bats his long lashes like a paper fan. 

“I got these for you,” you say, tipping the colorful blooms toward his face. “This one’s for your sister. Here.” 

He chokes the plastic-wrapped stems in his tiny fist, half his face hidden behind a rainbow of petals. 

“Here, bud,” Steve takes one of his bouquets from the floor and tucks it in with yours, “this one’s from me.” 

Andy can’t see much of anything with his nose pressed to a daffodil but he loves them all the same. You pick yourself off the floor, your laughter spilling like the sun. 

“Let’s go find your sister,” Steve says, a hand braced on Andy’s shoulder as he stands too. 

Andy looks between you and Steve in amazement. “She was a mermaid. Did you see?” 

“We did,” Steve answers. “She was a great mermaid, don’t you think?” 

“Yes. She was all sparkly.” Andy slips his small hand into Steve’s, then automatically offers you his other.

You find Nancy, Brad, and Caroline outside the school near the parent pickup circle. Brad’s got Caroline’s hand in his, her feet tracing the edge of the sidewalk like a balance beam. 

She jumps off the curb when she spots Steve, tripping over her toes before breaking into a sprint for his arms. 

Steve kneels right there on the asphalt. “Hi, baby,” he laughs. She sets her elbows on his shoulders as he kisses her on each cheek. “Did such a good job up there!” 

“Did you see me!” she yells. “I wasn’t even scared! I didn’t forget my words like I thought I would.” 

Steve thumbs the corner of her crinkled eye where eyeshadow glares silver under the moon. “I know! My big girl. I’m so proud. Know that?” 

She giggles, her fingers scrunching around the cellophane wrapping in his hand. “Are these for me?” 

“They are. For my best little lady.” 

She sticks her smile in the bouquet and sniffs. 

Steve is oblivious to the heart-warmed grin on your face. But you watch the scene unfold, feeling an unexpected fondness for a family that isn’t yours. You’re only a guest in their little world, an outsider looking in— but even from here, it’s undeniable. He’s a great dad.

“Hey, I have someone I want you to meet,” Steve says. 

You’re so enraptured by the moment, you completely forget that’s your cue. Steve beckons you over with features that echo Carolines, not just in emotion but in shape too. They’re cheek-to-cheek looking at you like a pair of very happy identical twins. 

“Hi, Caroline,” you wave and offer the same hand to shake.

She smiles big and wraps her smaller fingers around yours. “You came to see our show?”

“I did! You were a really amazing mermaid, you know? I especially liked the dance with the sea stars.” 

She shrinks away, suddenly sheepish as she thanks you. 

“Oh, here,” you shift the bouquet in your arms toward her, “before I forget, these are for you.”

“Another! Oh my gosh!” Her beaded hair-tie clinks as she pivots. “Mom! Look! I have three flowers now!” She takes the bouquet at the base and books it toward Nancy who’s engrossed in a conversation with Brad. “Can I keep them in my room, please? And can we get some more vases tonight? I’ll water them, I promise, Mommy.”

You have a fondness for his kids Steve doesn’t often see in the eyes of strangers. They're quite rambunctious a lot of the time and while the elderly compliment him and his genes occasionally, this is different. Affection softens every line of your expression and there’s joy stitched in each sweep of your lashes. It’s endearing as it is strange because ultimately you are still very much a stranger. 

Steve trusts Robin’s judgment more than his own sometimes. If love for his kids were a race, she’d take a very close second against him. She takes her duties as an aunt very seriously and so he’s confident you’re as great as she says. But still, he doesn’t know you personally. He can’t know your intentions for certain. And he might feel guiltier about that in the context of introducing you to his kids— if you weren’t so undeniably wonderful.

You idle beside Steve, a short distance from the rest of the crew. He places his hand on the small of your back and you exchange quiet smiles. 

It’s mostly for show. He feels the weight of Nancy’s gaze in his peripherals. But an ounce or two of Steve is motivated purely by his own self-interest.

He misses these simple acts of affection. Tracing the veins in someone else’s palm, kissing their eyelids, counting their lashes. It’s human nature, a need, he supposes. A need he’s been trying to convince himself is much more of a want. 

And you’re so very gentle with him. It’s really driving him mad. 

Nancy must tell the kids it’s time to go because they’re scrambling over in a cacophony of goodbyes. Steve gives them each a big squeeze and a little shake for the road. Caroline hugs you like you’re no different than the rest of them, while Andy, ever the little charmer, asks your name for the third time. They disappear behind the first row of cars, their voices carry far but fade into all the rest. 

When Steve turns, he finds you already looking at him. 

“They’re really great,” your smile worsens and Steve’s stomach capsizes, “your kids. You should be proud.”

The joy is contagious, infecting Steve with the same toothy smile, spreading through every cell in his body straight down to his jumping heart. “I am,” he manages. 

“God,” you shake your head at the stars, “I can’t believe that actually worked.” 

Steve closes his eyes and exhales a rough laugh. “You’re telling me.” 

“Did I make you uncomfortable at all? I didn’t want to do too much.” 

“No,” Steve promises. “No, no, it was perfect. You did great. Thank you.”

You throw your hand up in dismissal. “Don’t. That was… weirdly fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “is that fucked up?” 

“Not any more than me asking you to do this,” he snorts. 

“How long exactly do you plan to do this for? I could probably do most evenings but mornings are trickier with work.” 

Steve blinks unceremoniously. “Oh, I– well, I was just gonna tell her it didn’t work out, actually.”

“Really?” 

He struggles to understand your squinting. He didn’t expect you to question this part. “Yeah?”

“You want it to be believable, don’t you?” 

“Well, yeah–”

“Then you have to sell it, Steve. Give it a little buildup, some emotion. It would be so obvious if you ended it now.” 

He searches your face, not sure what he’s hoping to find. But there’s at least some level of authenticity there. “You’d want to? To keep going?”

“Like I said,” you frown, “weirdly fun.” 

He hums. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay.”

“I say we make a few more appearances, you know, as a happy couple. Then, we stage the breakup.” 

“What, in front of her?”

“No, not necessarily. But we plant the seeds. We aren’t as affectionate, we get a little worked up over something stupid. I don’t know. Just enough to make her catch on that things aren’t all that good. That’s believable.”

Steve stares at you for a long minute before his smile turns a sinister shade. “You’re crazy, aren’t you?” 

You huff but there’s no heat behind it. You’re grinning too. “I thought you had more manners than that, Steve.” 

“Yeah, well, if it's any consolation, I also think you’re a fuckin’ genius.”

“You’ve been a nice boyfriend, so, I’ll let it slide.”  

He rolls his eyes like a kid. He likes talking to you but he isn’t sure what else to say. 

“So, see you next time then?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, I’ll call you. Thank you.” 

“‘Kay. See ya.” 

There’s a beat before you go, a split-second where Steve could hug you, kiss your cheek, touch your arm. He’s not exactly sure what the protocol is for this type of situation, though. He makes the executive decision not to subject you to any more PDA lest you get the wrong idea about him. But the way you’ve got this all planned out, he’s not so worried anymore. 

“Bye,” he waves. 

You walk the same path Nancy and his kids had, the back of your head slipping behind the bed of a truck. There’s something about you. Something fun, something that makes him feel alive again. And a fake relationship isn’t really harming anyone if you’re both enjoying yourselves. So why the hell not? 

[yanderedrabbles]

Helloooo! I just loved the old west gang. Traumatized? Yes. Curious? Yes. But specifically the Lakota wrangler caught my attention, and oooh this part:

"""Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation." He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again.

"I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you? ""

VAL, TELL ME WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WHAT'S HIS STORY? WHAT'S HIS DEBT?

OH MY GOD HIS PART IS SO 💕💕💕💕

TELL US THEIR BACKGROUND PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹

Yandere Outlaws - The Wrangler's Past + the gang hearing about you for the first time

I think the wrangler probably has one of the most interesting backgrounds. We all know that the Wild West era was no fun at all for Native American tribes. Manifest Destiny and all the terrible things done in it's name saw Native tribes being confined to smaller and smaller reservations, with stricter and stricter rules. Bison were disappearing, the railroads were cutting across hunting lands, and permanent settlers were coming west in droves.

I think in the face of all that, the wrangler felt like he had to adapt or die. Set out on his own and try and make it in the white man's world.

I reckon he falls in with the boss after a nasty bar fight. Him against some cowboys who feel like a Lakota on "their" turf is blasphemy.

Things don't look good at all. He's a strong fighter but numbers almost always trumps skill. He's going to end up dead in the mud and no one will give a damn.

Well, until the boss arrives. Maybe the boss is an old quick draw and when the smoke settles the cowboys are down for good. Or maybe the boss just has that look to him, that keen eyed glare that makes dumb cowhands think better of their bravado.

Either way, he hauls the wrangler out of the mud and offers him a job.

"Need a man for my horses. I'll pay you good to stick with us for coupla weeks."

The wrangler agrees. Because hell, what else is there to do? And if the older man looks hard edged and hard eyed, how much does that really matter? This is the West. You either get tough or get buried.

I think one way or another, the boss earns his loyalty. He gives him a sense of belonging he hasn't felt since he set out on his own. Gives him a purpose. And well, robbing banks and derailing trains and sticking it to old Uncle Sam is about the best he can do to make up for what his tribe has been through. Just one more outlaw pricking Washington in the thumb.

And as for you, sweet thing that you are, oh, you're what he's waited for all his life.

A girl to call his own. Soft and kind, to keep the cold away. Looking in your eyes makes it so easy to forget all the shit he's been through, all the shit he's done. He's been through his share of trouble and then some. He deserves a place to rest his head, a person to call home.

So what if you aren't willing? The world has gone out of its way to take what should have been his by right. The bison, the land, the open sky and flowing water. All of it divvied up and fenced off. He's not letting anyone get in the way of the one good thing he can finally call his own.

I think the thing that initially attracts him to you is the story of you and the second in command. The second is Chinese and he hasn't had it easy either. He could either work the railroads or die in a ditch. Not the best options, but just about the only ones open to an immigrant's son.

If you were anyone else, you'd have screamed your head off when you found him bleeding in your barn.

You didn't. Instead, you put him back together and kept him safe from your pa.

When he first heard the story, it was a cold night out on the planes. They'd just pulled off a job and were sleeping rough, trying to throw the law dogs off their trail.

The second kept looking out to the west. Maybe he was keeping an eye out for pursuit, but they'd pulled their job off back east. Marshals would be coming from that direction, if at all.

Finally, he gave in to his curiosity and asked the man what the hell he was looking for.

"My girl," he said simply. "My girl stays out that way."

The outlaws grew quiet around the fire.

"I didn't know you had one," the boss said, elbows on his knees as he sharpened his boot knife. "Is that where you go off to when we're in town?"

"Mm-hmm. I like to check in on her."

The gunslingers leaned forward then, as in sync as coyotes.

"She must be one hell of a girl, if she can put up with your ugly mug."

"Is she pretty? Got those nice eyes that look up at you all sweet?"

He ignored them and went back to looking west, like he could somehow see over all those miles.

"Do you love her?" the wrangler asked suddenly. He didn't know why he asked that, just that it seemed important.

"More than I thought possible. Every time I see her it's like my heart is breaking. If I can't have her, I think I'll go mad."

The boss looked up for a second, blue eyes catching the firelight. "You gonna marry her then?"

The second laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. "She doesn't even know I exist."

The boss stopped sharpening his knife. "How do you know you love her, if you ain't never talked to her?"

"She saved my life. That's how I know."

The wrangler looked up at the sky and wondered who would go out of their way to save an outlaw.

The boss stuck his knife in his boot. "Tell us the story."

Maybe if anyone else asked, the second would have refused. You were his girl. He didn't want to share even the memory of you with other men.

But you don't say no to the boss.

When he was done telling it, the outlaws were quiet. Lost in their own thoughts. All of them thinking how sweet it would be to have a girl like that. Feeling for a second what he felt every time he thought of you.

It was the wrangler who broke the silence, only half aware he was speaking. "I'd do anything to have a girl like that. Someone so kind..."

The dark skinned outlaw leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "She sounds too good for either of you."

"And you're any better?"

He didn't get to answer. The green eyed gunslinger cut in, his voice low and mean.

"She sounds real innocent. Kind of girl who'll cry when you fuck her for the first time."

The second in command stood with a snarl, already reaching for his rifle.

"Don't."

The boss, quiet but no less dangerous for being so.

"We're all men here. We're all gonna think somethin' like that when you tell us 'bout a girl so...untouched."

The second sat back down stiffly, his jaw clenched tight.

The boss continued, "Ain't like we're gonna steal your girl from you. Let it go."

The wrangler didn't let it go though. Not even when they were back in their hideout, a whole lot richer than they were a week ago.

He stopped the second in command when he was saddling up his mustang.

"Take me with you. I want to see this girl of yours."

If it was anyone else, he'd have said no on the spot. But the wrangler had a quiet gentleness about him that made the second agree.

They watched you from a hill overlooking your father's ranch. Just two shadows against the setting sun.

One of your horses had taken sick and you were walking it around the corral. Stopping every little while to stroke its neck or rub its nose, whispering encouragement. You were patient, gentle. The hem of your skirt tucked into your belt and showing off a sliver of thigh as you moved.

The wrangler sighed and stroked his horse's neck.

"I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you keep looking for her, even if you're a hundred miles away."

As they rode home, he found himself doing the same thing. Looking over his shoulder like he could somehow see you one last time.

And the first time he saw you up close? Backed up against the kitchen table, corned like a vixen at the hunt? That's when he realised exactly what you were.

You were his reward.

The one good thing he'd struggled all his life to find. You were going to be his peace. His home.

And the first time he had you? On your knees, kissing his cock, your eyelashes still wet with tears? That's when he decided he'd keep you, no matter how cruel it was. No matter that doing it would strip him of any claim to goodness. A good man wouldn't get hard seeing you cry. A good man wouldn't fuck you when all you wanted was to go home.

But then again, how could he stay a good man in a world that hated him? That wanted him dead and gone?

When he kissed you, he signed away his last bit of honour. It doesn't matter that he holds you so gently, that he touches you like a lover.

He'll never let you go. And ain't that just a bitch?

[muqingslover]

[ Pushing my virgin Caleb agenda again yippieeeee. God he's such a loser I love him. Thinking about making a masterlist but im a full-time procrastinator lmfao ]

Virgin!Caleb who has zero sexual experience but is the textbook definition of sexual frustration. This man is about to snap in more ways than one.

Virgin!Caleb who during his teen years had to deal with his raging hormones and finally caved and searched for porn one night. He couldn't care less about the content itself only that the person MUST look like you, bonus point if their voice sounded similar to yours.

Virgin!Caleb who feels incredibly guilty each time he cums using your clothes but he can't stop himself from burying his nose into the soft fabric of your coat as his other hand quickly moves up and down his dripping cock— By the gods, you just smell so fucking heavenly.

Virgin!Caleb who wants to try everything at least once (as long as it doesn't hurt you) because he simply can't get enough of you and your body. Of all the LIs I think he's the most open to pegging but that's a topic for another day muehehehe

Virgin!Caleb who watches you sleep like a creep and notices your shirt riding up while you laid comfortably on your stomach. His eyes trail down to your exposed skin, body growing uncomfortably hot and causing him to shift the way he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He wonders...Would you squirm if he brushed his fingertips down your back? Would you tell him to stop? Or would you let him move lower? Would you let him slip his hands under the waistband of your shorts to feel your soft thighs and press against the thin fabric of your underwear, that would surely be wet by now— ....Yep, he definitely needs an extra cold shower tonight.

Virgin!Caleb who gets nosebleeds every freaking time you do or say something his dirty, loser mind considers as too much to handle. I will die on this hill if I have to listen to mE HE GETS NOSEBLEEDS AND IT'S SO HOT BELIEVE ME ! !

Virgin!Caleb who tries to keep his composure after he accidentally caught you grinding into a pillow and whining so good. He knows he should leave, that this is beyond immoral, but his body won't listen and honestly it's not like he really tried all that much.

Virgin!Caleb who is now leaning against the wall next to your door as he ignored his throbbing boner straining against his tight pants, trying to imagine that your pretty moans were because of him instead. How he wished he could just walk in there and taste you. To mark you as his so no one else would even dare to look at you. To keep you locked in his room, safe and healthy, while he spent his day buried into your soft little hole until either of you were unable to form a coherent thought.

Virgin!Caleb who had to cover his mouth to prevent your name from spilling out when his climax hit him and he made a mess in his own pants without even touching himself, sliding down the wall after his shaky knees gave out. Oh yeah, he's in biiiig trouble.

[the-fuckwizard]

How my OCs would say goodnight:

The Wizard: g'night, love 😉

Semelesemetra: Night. (+low effort little wave.)

Alice Reyes: Goodnight everyone!! 🤗 😘 (It's like 2am and she's too chipper for this time of night.)

Stargazer: Sweet Dreams! 🥱☺️(proceeds to spend all night in the lab)

Heather: 😴💤 (this guy falls asleep when and where he falls asleep. It's 5pm and he's drooling on a book about the Byzantine empire or something.)

Susan (not technically an OC but I made her regenerate and fleshed out her characterisation so much she might as well be) : Goodbye 👋 ( Would not say goodnight even when it makes more sense to say goodnight. Is it autism or trauma? She learned one departing phrase and decided that was sufficient.)

and Introducing...

Valerius: May the Gods protect you while you slumber, my comrades. (this guy talks like Woke Thor.)

The fun thing about people with ocs is that you can just ask them about their ocs opinions. Like oh what would your oc say about this. What would they think. How would they tell me good night. It's great

[rafesangelita]

♡ dilf!rafe loves to make his pretty bunny squirm..

warnings: use of the name ‘daddy’ (scroll if that’s not your thing), vibrator + overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, oral (f. receiving), crying, dumbification (?), multiple orgasms, reader is restrained, praise, soft aftercare, fluff

“no more, no more, no more— r-rafe!” you squealed, your eyes screwing shut as the man between your legs turned up the setting of the pink vibrator currently pressed against your poor, overstimulated clit. “shhh, you could keep going..” he reassured you, using his free hand to stroke your soft skin. the searing pleasure alone made you cry out, the overwhelming feeling building up in the pit of your tummy. moving your hips away from the buzzing device was deemed useless as your restraints kept you in place, your wrists and ankles sore from all of the tension.

rafe watched the way your body trembled beneath him, your eyes basically sparkling up at him as tear drops rollled down your cheeks. “tell daddy what’s going on in that empty fuckin’ head of yours.” he cupped your face, squeezing your cheeks together as you whimpered. he knew you didn’t have a single thought, your ability to think or speak a coherent sentence had since been long gone. “i asked you a question.” his voice reverberated in your ears, your eyebrows pinching together as you struggled to answer him. “w-want your fingers, please!” you sobbed, feeling empty despite having came four times already.

switching off the bunny vibrator, rafe shushed you as you gasped in relief, your chest rising and falling as you fought to catch a full breath. “you’re so pretty like this,” he cupped your tits, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers, “i love watching you turn into a desperate, brainless slut.” trailing a hand down between your legs, rafe ran a single digit up your folds, his jaw clenching as he felt just how soaked you were. watching your face carefully, rafe waited until he saw your eyelashes flutter closed before delivering a harsh smack to your cunt, a choked sob sounding out from you at the painful yet pleasurable sensation.

you didn’t have time to register what he had done before you felt his head dip between your thighs, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses along your skin. feeling his gentle ministrations allowed you to relax for the first time in an hour, your neck craning as you looked down and met rafe’s dark gaze. watching as he brought his hand up, you melted when you felt the delicious stretch of his digits, your eyes screwing shut once he curled them and hit that soft spot inside of you. clenching around the welcomed intrusion that was his fingers, rafe pressed a kiss to your folds before his tongue delved in between.

he groaned at the taste of you. “you’re so fuckin’ sweet,” rafe contined circling your clit, his cock straining painfully against the material of his pants, “just give me one more, babygirl.” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his mouth so you couldn’t even attempt to move away from him. “oh, god..” you whimpered, wishing you could reach down and hold onto rafe’s hand while he made you lose yourself once again. you felt pure unadulterated pleasure lick your insides, the jolting euphoric feeling shooting through your body as your heart started beating in your ears.

for rafe nothing was more gratifying than seeing the way you writhed underneath him, your glossy lips pulled tightly between your teeth as you moaned. holding you with a death grip, it wasn’t until he heard you mutter a ‘gentle, please..’ before he let go and rubbed soothing circles into your side. you looked absolutely spent. with your eyes shutting in and out of consciousness and your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, rafe decided to give you one more kiss before undoing your restraints, your limbs falling like dead weight.

taking a seat against the headboard, rafe pulled you between his legs where he started leaving gentle kisses to your wrists, the raw skin already feeling better with his lips there. “hurts..” you whispered, burying your face in his chest as he hummed. “i know,” rafe spoke quietly, “you took it so good, ‘pretty, you know what that calls for?” he pulled your fluffy robe from where it sat on a nearby chair before covering you with it. “your credit card?” rafe laughed, thumbing your chin before pecking your lips.

[pinecavity]

You weren’t supposed to care. Not really, anyway. It was just Caleb. Just your silly older “brother,” always teasing, always calling you “pipsqueak” like it was some title you’d never outgrow. But that stupid image—him leaning against the fence outside your house, hands shoved in his pockets, a girl in front of him all bright-eyed and hopeful—was burned into your mind. You didn’t even stick around long enough to hear him turn her down, didn’t see the way he scratched the back of his head with a grimace and muttered, “Yeah, not really my thing, sorry.”

All you knew was that some girl—some pretty, older high school girl—wanted Caleb.

And that was enough to ruin your entire week.

At first, you tried to brush it off. Tried to pretend like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t make your stomach feel weird and tight. But then the questions started creeping in, relentless and awful.

Did he like her?

Did he think she was pretty too?

How many other girls have asked him out before?

What if he already liked someone?

And before you knew it, you were spiraling.

You got weird. Weird in the way only a teenager with a crush and absolutely no ability to process emotions could be. You started avoiding him, but only in the way that made it really obvious something was wrong—sitting farther away than usual on the couch, suddenly being too busy to hang out, giving clipped, single-word answers whenever he asked about your day.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he noticed. And it drove him insane.

It took exactly three days before he finally had enough. You were hunched over your lunch tray, stabbing a little too aggressively at your meatloaf when a shadow loomed over you, and then suddenly, Caleb was there, plopping down beside you with all the grace of someone who knew he was about to be annoying.

“Alright,” he said, dragging your tray closer to him just to be obnoxious. “What’s your problem?”

You scowled. “Nothing.”

“Oh, definitely something,” he shot back, unbothered. “You’ve been acting like I kicked your puppy all week.”

“I don’t have a puppy.”

“Yeah, well, if you did, you’d be treating me like I ran it over. So,” he propped his chin on his hand, watching you like a puzzle he was determined to solve, “what gives?”

You gritted your teeth. You refused to bring it up. It was stupid. If you said it out loud, it would make it real, and that was the last thing you wanted.

But Caleb? Oh, he was too good at reading you.

He smirked but didn’t let up. Just kept watching you, waiting, until finally—like a switch flipped—his teasing edge softened, just barely.

“…Is this about the girl?”

Your breath hitched.

Caleb noted it. He filed it away, leaned in, too smug, too entertained.

“Oh,” he grinned, slow and obnoxious. “Ohhh, no way—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, already burning.

“No, no, hold on—” he leaned in, eyes alight with pure, unfiltered amusement. “You’re mad about the girl, aren’t you?”

“I said shut up.”

“Holy shit, Pipsqueak, you are.”

He laughed—laughed. And God, you wanted to disappear.

“I turned her down, you know,” he said, still grinning like this was the best thing to ever happen to him.

You blinked. “…What?”

He rolled his eyes, nudging your foot under the table. “Not really my thing.”

And just like that—just from those four words, from the casual way he said it, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it never was—you felt your entire world tilt back into place.

You hated him. You hated how easily he could do this to you, how just one sentence could make all that awful, twisting insecurity vanish.

But at the same time…

God, you loved him, too.

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐰 — 𝐂.𝐒.

SUMMARY ��ɞ Chris misses you, even after waking up together.

CW ʚɞ Fluff, kissing, cuddling, established relationship.

PAIRING ʚɞ Pink Petals .ᐟ Chris Sturniolo x Reader

A/N: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. This can be read as a stand alone, but it is based off my series Pink Petals!

With love and big tits, Rose ➜ series masterlist

[ Chris’ POV ]

She’s beautiful. Her face is glowing with the sunlight as she breathes softly on my chest, her hand tangled in my hair, mindlessly twitching with sleep. 

I lean down carefully, planting a soft kiss on the crown of her head. My eyes widen as I watch her lashes flutter, the morning sunshine reflecting in her pupils as she blinks up at me. 

“Sorry,” I murmur, cradling her head tighter against my chest, “-didn’t mean to wake you up, petal—just… just wanted to kiss you.” 

She hums, the noise vibrating against my bare skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stiffen as I feel her finger trace downward, drawing patterns on my collarbone. Her lips plush against my chest. I shiver as the sensation, pulling her closer as I massage my hands through her scalp. 

“-’s okay.” 

God. She’s barely awake, her voice still scratchy from sleep, yet she’s just so… perfect. 

“I missed you.” I mumble the words before I can think twice. 

She shifts, perking her head up as she stares at me with squinted eyes. “Missed me? We’ve been cuddling all night.” she smiles, petting her hand over my chest as I feel warmth spread from the subtle touch. 

My shoulders shrug. “So? Still missed you.” 

She rolls her lips together, her eyes narrowing with amusement. “Well,” she sighs, leaning forward, bumping her nose against mine. My breath hitches in my throat. The sensation of her lashes brushing against the top of my cheek makes my hands fall to her waist, squeezing gently as I melt under her gaze. “I missed you too,” she announces, the statement full of adoration. 

I bite back a smile, my eyes glazing over as I find myself sinking into her words. The sunlight doesn’t compare to the brightness locked in her eyes, a reassuring glow that feels like some sort of dopamine—a wave of innocent euphoria that makes me feel accomplished. 

And the day is just getting started.

A/N: I love them so much. Also, peep the new custom-made Pink Petals dividers!!! (Pls get the references)

With love and big tits, Rose 🌹

[sepdet]

I find it incomprehensible that Lee is not a household name, when she certainly was for my friends. Then again, we attended a women's college full of scifi nerds in the 90s, so those who hadn't found her were quickly initiated.*

Her Night's Master series is, incidentally, horny in a literary, non-explicit way that was 👌 for horny 18-year-olds back in the day, although it may seem quaint to the AO3/PWP reader. And it was in many cases our first exposure to queer and genderfluid characters.

That is by no means all it was about, however. It was original mythology of a type Gaiman would later emulate.

Sorry to bring him up, but there's another point of similarity: Tanith Lee penned two scripts for another British scifi series, Blake's 7. Both test the boundaries of the show. Sarcophagus is extremely odd, epic, unsettling, and wonderful, bringing out the mythological archetypes within each of the main characters.

* The usual method of indoctrination was for someone to read aloud this much-loved passage from the novel Delusion's Master, in which one of the characters tells a folktale:

The best beloved beast of Underearth was nothing other than the serpent. Down below in the bright shadows, he was admired for his grace and elegance, and for his cool blood and wicked self-command. Presently the demons, innocent then, or merely extremely cynical, brought the snake up to the earth, supposing thereby to make men also fall in love with him. But men took against the snake, scenting his demonical origins, mistrusting his lack of legs and ears, his smart teeth and implacable garment. Indeed, they turned on the snake, threw him out of doors when he came in, brained him with mallets when they were able and cursed him and spat on him when they were not.

The Eshva [minor demons, but demons in this universe act like Fae] mourned for the serpent, for they loved him best of all. The Vazdru [upper class demons; think Sidhe] said to each other: "Let us trick mankind into adoration of the snake." And this they did by various means, causing him here and there to be elected a god and worshipped, or venerated as useful in magic.

But one of the day-nights in Druhim Vanasta, certain Vazdru princes began to bet with each other that they could persuade men to like the snake himself. And this they tried, and this they failed at.

At last the vexatious problem came to the notice of Azhrarn [Night's Master, Lord of Underearth— unseelie Jareth]. And accordingly Azharn went by night to the world to listen to men's opinion of the snake. "How we abhor his cold scales," they complained. "And his teeth, which are sometimes venomous, and his forked tongue, which might be. And how allergic we are to his leglessness. He is all tail, and the sound of his hiss causes our hair to rise up like bristles."

Then Azhrarn smiled, and he went back to the Druhim Vanasta. There he took up a snake and he inquired, "Would it be worth while to you, in order to win the affection of mankind, to be a little changed?"

"Of what good is mankind's affection?" asked the snake.

"Those they love," said Azhrarn," fare well. And those they hate they harm."

The snake had heard reports from his cousins concerning mallets, and after some thought, he agreed.

Then Azhrarn conducted the snake to the Drin [dwarf-like demons], and the Drin made for the snake particular extras, which had all to do with what men had said they disliked about him. First the Drin make him four muscular little legs with four round little paws on the ends of them. And then they make him two little pointed ears to stand up on top of his head. Then they bulked out his body with a cunning device, and straightened his tongue with another — but it remained in fact a thin tongue, and in fact a great deal of tail remained to him at the back. Next they made him an overcoat of long soft black grasses, and decorated his face — which was now very pretty - with ornaments of fine silver wire. His jewel-like eyes, which had always been quite wonderful, they had need to alter only a jot. Lastly, to compensate for removing his venom, (although they left the shape of his teeth alone), they presented him with some sharp slivers of steel to wear in his round feet for purposes of self-defense.

When Azhrarn beheld the result, he laughed, and ran his hand over the new animal's spine. At which all was transmuted into flesh and muscle, and the coat of grass into luxuriant, velvety hair. And at the touch of Azhrarn also, the new animal made a strange sound, not a hiss, but —

"My dear, you are purring," said Azhrarn, and again he laughed.

To this day, no cat can bear to be laughed at, even in love.

However, sure enough, the animal, legged, eared and furry, was an enormous success on earth. Men were pleased by his grace and elegance, admired his cool blood and wicked self-command. And when he grew sometimes peeved, forgot himself, and hissed - they did not remember the snake, but remarked: "There is the cat, hissing." Nor did they notice how both the cat and the snake slew mice, or enjoyed milk, though both became the pets of sorcerers. And men never would credit that if they overlooked the fur and held flat the two pointed ears of the cat, then and now, you might see still the wedge-shaped demon head and the sharp teeth of the serpent, poised there, under your hand.

Tanith Lee Recs

Since Tanith Lee deserves to be known for much more than having been plagiarized, I thought I'd share some recommendations. She had a HUGE body of work, and I've seen it suggested that the reason she never became a household name in fantasy and science fiction is that she wrote so many things that were different from each other, rather than staying in one easily labeled niche. I've only begun to make a dent in her catalogue, but here's the stuff I liked the best.

Note: A lot of her stuff can be disturbing, and I can't remember everything well enough to give perfect trigger warnings.

Red as Blood and Redder Than Blood: These fairy tale collections are being talked about now for the title story, but my favorite is The Golden Ladder, an incredibly creepy and hot version of Rapunzel, or perhaps When the Clock Strikes, a horrifying beautiful take on Cinderella.

The Weird Tales of Tanith Lee: As you can see, I love her short stories. These are all the ones published in Weird Tales, which includes some of the above fairy tales (including When the Clock Strikes) but also Arthurian, steampunk and science fiction stories. It's a great sampler of all the things she could do.

Blood 20: One more short story collection! This one is (most of) her vampire stories, so I know you goths will like it! There are things erotic, fantastical and grotesque in here, but to me the most haunting is the tragically mundane The Vampire Lover.

The Secret Books of Paradys: In this series, an alternate history of Paris, bad things happen. Supernatural things, sexual things, horrifying things. And sometimes good things happen, such as a man saved by a Jewish sage an his beautiful daughter who then actually converts to Judaism.

The Secret Books of Venus: I've only read the first entry in this similar series about an alternate world version of Venice, but once again it leaves the reader feeling totally transported to this sometimes sinister, sometimes lovely place where romance and cruelty live next door to each other.

Vivia: This tragic medieval plague-influenced vampire story is maybe the darkest thing of hers I've read, but dear god can she paint a picture with words. Along with The Birthgrave (which I didn't like as much), George RR Martin definitely pulled a lot of Danaerys's story from the title character here.

Islands in the Sky: And now for something completely different- a children's book. I remember finding this at the library as a kid and wanting to cry when it was over, because it gave me an equal sense of wonder and happiness as The Lion the Witch and the Wardobe, which I hadn't known was possible and worried would never happen again.

...but if you're like me, you'll just see which of her books you find at the library and used bookstores. You may not love every single thing, but it will always be interesting!

[gracie-eilish]

Prompt 1 with 🩷

“what would you do if i kissed you?”

prompt list

*contains smut

“BABYYYYY!!!!” billie practically pounced into your arms when she finally saw you backstage.

you and billie had been best friends since god knows when, and for your schools spring break you planned to go see billie in australia and spend the week there.

“i’m so happy your here love,” she giddily whined into your neck, squeezing the life out of you making you giggle. “i missed you,” she added in her little voice pulling back to see your face.

“i missed you too bils" you replied. "however my body is missing my time zone more, so can we pleaseee head back to the hotel?" you playfully groaned. billie just chuckled, shaking her head.

"can't fucking take you anywhere," she mumbled, wrapping an arm around your waist as you two walked to her dressing room.

billie took her time getting changed and freshening up from her show while you sat on a nearby couch, the two of you chatting and catching up on everything. eventually billie made her way over to the couch at first to put on her shoes, but the two of you got caught up in your convo, so now both of you were sat facing each other, talking away.

the tension however shifted as the two of you got closer to each other without even trying. billie had her arm across the back of the couch, and you had your legs across her lap, both of you facing each other, practically no room between you.

billie reached over with her other hand to push some of your hair behind your ear, letting her fingers trace your cheek a bit. she smirked a bit at the blush growing on your cheeks.

"what?" you asked, smiling nervously.

she just shook her head fondly, softly biting her lip. "nothin, just missed ya." your smile grew tenfold as you rested your cheek in her hand.

“what would you do if i kissed you?” she whispered, her minty breath hitting your face.

"i'd probably kiss you back," you replied, voice barely over a hushed whisper.

billie smirked before leaning in to close the distance between you two. the kiss was tentative at first, giving you room to pull away if you didn't want it. but when you kissed her back firmly, she deepened it.

her hands went down to your waist pulling you closer, practically straddling her lap, while yours found a home in her dark hair. soft gasps and moans came from you as her kisses descended down your jaw and neck, careful not to leave any hickies... yet.

when she returned to your lips, her tongue swiped across your bottom lip but you didn't grant her entrance just yet, wanting to tease her a bit longer. her hand resting on your thigh and creeping up your skin however made you gasp, allowing billies tongue to explore your mouth.

she fiddled with the hem of your dress, pushing it up slightly so she could slip her hand underneath, rubbing the soft skin of your upper thigh. she took your soft groans of pleasure as permission to go further, tracing the waistband of your panties. and you whimpered. actually whimpered at the feeling of her fingers so close to where you needed her.

"this okay baby?" she whispered against your neck. you nodded and moaned as she pressed a warm kiss to your pulse point.

her fingers traced down the center of your panties until she found the little wet spot on the bottom, making her smirk. she instantly found your clit, even while clothed, rubbing tight slow circles around it. overwhelmed, you let your head fall to her shoulder as you gasped out in pleasure, attempting to presses kisses of your own to billies collarbone and neck.

"you wanna go back to the hotel lovey?" billie asked right in your ear, not stopping the movement of her fingers. you whined a bit before looking up at her.

"can we- um.. if we go back uh, can we keep..." you stuttered, suddenly nervous under her sultry gaze.

her fingers sped up along with your heartbeat as she leaned back into your neck, moaning herself as she kissed your soft skin. your head started to grow fuzzy as her fingers kept moving on your clothed clit.

"can we what angel?" she whispered between kisses. your breathing started to get heavy as your orgasm was approaching.

"keep going," you squeaked out, half answering and half pleading. your arms tightened around her shoulders, as you started grinding down on her fingers hoping to speed up your release. billie chuckled at your desperation before finding the soft spot behind your ear and sucking lightly.

"c'mon princess-" she barely finished her sentence before you were cumming. her fingers slowed but didn't stop as you rode out your orgasm, and finally went limp in her arms.

she softly fixed your panties and the hem of your dress making sure you were covered before scooping you up in her arms so you guys could finally go back to her hotel... only took a couple of hours ;)

[salemrph]

Stay with me, Sylus

A/N: I just needed this moment after Magnum Opus. The yearning, the love, and the soft moment between Sylus and us... I can't get enough of it. So this is my little fantasy of how it should have ended.

Character: Sylus & Reader/MC/you

Genre: romantic, fluffy

Word count: 950 | Reading Time: 3 min | AO3

You walked Sylus to the door. This date was something you needed, even when you were tired and exhausted from the previous missions. Having Sylus around made you feel relaxed. Your new dynamic was heartwarming. And even if you didn’t quite understand why this man was so persistent about getting hiking gear, you were glad he used that excuse to come visit you.

Your back-and-forth, the way you both danced around the real matter, was something that might never change. The ironic way Sylus said:

"We’re dating now? Should I bring you roses next time?"

It made you smile, and of course, you didn’t miss a beat, asking for the roses with the most thorns.

You didn’t want him to leave. And he wasn’t in a rush, either. So he stayed, half in the corridor, half at your door. He keeps talking, stretching the moment to part. His words were coated in honey, filled with those promises he never made lightly. Because everything he had ever said he would do, he had kept his word.

Your heart flutters as if a thousand butterflies have taken flight, and you find yourself gripping the door frame without realizing it. 

“Are you just going to… stand there all day?” you asked. His red eyes flicked to you, amused. 

“I could camp here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He smirked, taking a slow step closer. “You always dance around the real question, though. It's charming.”

You exhaled sharply “Do you-” You hesitated, suddenly unable to finish the sentence.

Sylus tilted his head. Leaning in, placing one arm on the door frame. “Do I?” 

“You know.” You gestured vaguely, as if that would clarify anything. “Want to Stay over.”

The smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. “I suppose that depends.”

“On?”

“Whether the couch is still my designated territory, or if I’m being upgraded to… somewhere else.” His voice was teasing. 

Heat crept up your neck. You huffed. “Why do you say things like that?”

“Because it’s fun watching you try to untangle them.” He took another step closer. Too close now, the air between you shrinking, charged. “But if you’d rather be direct, just tell me where you want me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your entire brain short-circuiting at that choice of words. Sylus chuckled, clearly enjoying this too much.

“I-” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to find a way to say it without actually saying it. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Sylus hummed, pretending to consider. “So that means…”

You groaned. “It means you can sleep wherever you want.”

At that, something shifted, without warning he closed the distance entirely. Pulling you against him, one hand on your back and the other still on the door frame. The heat of him is impossible to ignore.

“Wherever I want?” he murmured. Your pulse stuttered. You don't want him to leave but the way he makes you blush so easily is annoying. He is so annoying. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. 

“N- not anywhere, but if you’re so into camping, do it in the living room” you muttered, half angry. 

Sylus smirked. He definitely caught that hesitation.

His fingers brushed your lower back before suddenly pinching lightly at your side, making you hitch and instinctively press closer into him. The reaction was immediate, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up. You barely had time to swat at his hand before he stepped fully into your apartment again.

The door clicked shut behind him. His back rested against it as he tugged you into his arms again, dragging you effortlessly against his god-blessed body. The space between you vanished, replaced by the solid warmth of him, the way his breath fanned against your temple. Your fingers pressed against his chest, an attempt to put some distance between you, but the moment you tried to escape, his grip tightened. 

“Kitten,” he drawled, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “You were the one telling me I should be more direct and now you’re stumbling around?”

Your jaw clenched, your body betraying you even as you tried to resist giving him the satisfaction. The heat from him seeped into your skin, making it impossible to think clearly, to ignore the way your pulse stuttered against his touch. You swallowed hard, tilting your chin up in defiance, even though your face was already burning.

“It’s different when you do it.”

Sylus grinned, amused how you twist things in your favor. “Oh, I see.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He exhaled, his breath brushing against your cheek as he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed your skin. “You are making this difficult, sweetie,” he murmured. His breath  sends a shiver down your back. “Do you want me to push a little more?”

And then, just when you thought he might close the distance, just when your pulse spiked up, just when your fingers curled slightly against his chest, he pulled back.

"Say it."

You clicked your tongue, the spell breaking, pulling you back just enough to remember who you were dealing with.

“Fine…” you muttered, lowering your head for a brief moment, biting your lip. It’s only fair, you told yourself, trying to ignore how your heart pounded against your ribs. Slowly, you looked up again, your gaze locking with his, losing yourself in his eyes.

“Sylus…” The word lingered between you, a breath, a confession.

"You can sleep in my bed…"

The word left your lips like a surrender, and his expression shifted. Something that told you he wasn’t planning on letting you get much sleep tonight.

[pearlcigs]

ELVIRAAAAAAAA WRITE MAKING SUB ELLIE CRY BY FINGERING HER AND USING A VIBRATOR AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSS

⋆ cry for me — tlou discord server

ellie was always whiny during sex. she made it known how good you made her feel. her noises were always oh so sweet. and now she lay beneath you, your body straddling her thigh, just like every other time but this time you held a small vibrator to her aching clit. your fingers pumped into her abused cunt repeatedly, not sparing any mercy on her poor pussy. "god, babe— oh, shit!" ellie sighed through whimpers, her chest heaving with every breath. ellie brings her own hands to her small tits to distribute some of the pleasure to her upper half.

her eyes are rolling back, back arching at your skillful fingers. you half laugh at her state, clicking the speed of the vibrator up to really mess with her. she hisses at the intensified vibrating sensation on her swollen clit. she rambles nonsense about how she can't take it, it's too much, but you don't let up. the sound of her lewd whines and her warm pussy stir something up inside of you.

your own body is just as hot as ellie's. you want to take complete control over her, want to completely break her. there's a blush growing on ellie's face, from her body heating up and from the embarrassment of how little control she had over her own body at the moment. your fingers fucked into her harder and faster, ellie's eyes tightening closed. she gasps and whines, writhing on the sheets underneath her. but you don't let her get away from your relenting pleasure.

"i know you can take it, open your pretty eyes for me." your voice is low and raspy, a direct reflection of how turned on this was making you. ellie's eyes flutter open, revealing the tears that were welling up in her eyes. "aw, baby." you coo with a faux pout. ellie moves one of her hands off her tit and uses it to wipe the tears from her eyes. a smirk falls onto your lips, you rut yourself against her thigh without faltering your attack on her cunt.

"let it all out, baby." you coo again and ellie starts to feel a little embarrassed. but she can't help but let out a sob at the pleasure as you press the vibrator further against her clit. pearls of tears roll down her cheeks and into her hair, which was falling out of it's half up half down style. ellie arches her back more, which you didn't think that was possible, pushing herself closer to you, begging for a release. you had been teasing her for at least an hour now. she craved any satisfaction you would give her.

you lean forward, pressing your clit against her thigh unintentionally, kissing the tears off her cheeks. her whimpers grow louder and now she moves both of her hands to your back, holding you close to her. she hides her face in your neck, muffling her whimpers and sobs as she finally cums. her body shakes, your fingers slowing their pace but still pumping into her gushing cunt. the vibrator doesn't resent either, drawing her orgasm out for longer.

finally, you let her breathe, pulling the toy away from her red and puffy clit. she sniffles and lets her body relax, relishing in how hard her orgasm was. "you're alright, yeah?" you reassure, and she nods. "good girl, all these tears just for me." you continue with the reassurance, praising her as your pussy throbs against her thigh at the sigh of her red eyes and nose. "you like when i cry?" ellie asks, out of breath, with the sweetest voice you've ever heard. "fuckin' love it." you smile and wipe her tears.

[rafes-slut]

Can you write one when rafe and reader are doing it and reader accidentally chokes rafe but he likes it

Too Much to Handle

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: SMUT (18+), choking (light breath play, accidental then consensual), dom!Rafe, sub!you, praise kink, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, explicit language, possessiveness, a little bit of humor, light bruising, detailed descriptions, soft moments amid filth. MINORS DNI.

It started with his mouth on your neck, hot breath trailing along your jawline as his fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, yanking it over your head like it was in his way—because it was. His lips moved greedily, teeth scraping, tongue tasting every inch of skin he could get to. The hunger in him was insatiable, as always.

“Can’t ever get enough of you,” he growled, voice low and thick with lust, pressing you down against his mattress, the muscles in his arms flexing as he caged you beneath him. “Look at you. All laid out for me, huh?”

You gasped, arching up against him, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “Rafe—please—”

His smirk was sinful, cocky, knowing damn well the effect he had on you. “Please what, baby? You gotta use your words.”

You hated that he made you ask for it, hated how good he was at making you beg. “Please, touch me.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the center of your chest before dragging his mouth down your body, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, I plan on doing a lot more than that.”

His hands were everywhere—sliding down your thighs, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He made quick work of your panties, tossing them over his shoulder carelessly. And then his mouth was on you, and you could barely think.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard when he sucked your clit into his mouth, moaning against you like you were the one giving him pleasure. “Rafe—shit—too much—”

He ignored your protests, holding you down as you writhed, his tongue relentless, fingers pressing into you until you were trembling beneath him.

You came hard, your entire body tensing with the intensity of it, and he didn’t stop—not even when you tried to push him away. “Rafe, oh my god—”

“Gonna give me another one,” he muttered against you, voice wrecked, “You can do it.”

By the time he finally pulled back, you were panting, your body limp, mind foggy with pleasure. Rafe climbed up your body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he’d won some kind of prize.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him. “Bet you’re ready for me now, huh?”

You nodded, still dazed, and he didn’t wait for permission before lining himself up and pushing in with one slow, delicious thrust that made you cry out.

He fucked you deep, steady at first, watching the way your body arched, how your nails dug into his back.

“God, you feel good,” he grunted, picking up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “So fuckin’ tight.”

You couldn’t help it—your hands flew up, gripping his shoulders for leverage, and one of them slid to his neck, purely instinctual, needing something to hold onto as he pounded into you.

Your fingers tightened slightly.

And Rafe froze.

His eyes flew open, pupils blown wide with surprise and something else—something dark and wild and needy.

“The fuck was that?” he asked, breath ragged.

You tried to move your hand away, panicked. “I—I didn’t mean to, I just—”

But his hand caught your wrist, holding it in place.

“Don’t stop,” he growled. “Do that again.”

Your eyes widened, heart racing. “Rafe—”

“Choke me, baby.” His voice was hoarse, low. “Harder.”

It was like something in him snapped—like the idea of you having even a hint of control fueled him. Your hand tightened slightly, hesitant, and his eyes fluttered closed, a low moan slipping from his lips.

“Fuck—yes—that’s it.”

You’d never seen him like this, undone and desperate, loving the feeling of your hand around his throat as he lost himself in you. He thrust harder, rougher, and you gasped, your body rocked with each stroke.

“Rafe—oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, eyes blown wide when they met yours. “Such a good girl. My good fuckin’ girl.”

His praise sent you spiraling again, your body clenching around him. You felt yourself slipping over the edge, the pressure building to an unbearable high.

“Come for me,” he hissed, grabbing your hips, driving into you harder, deeper. “I wanna feel you.”

You shattered, crying out his name as your body convulsed beneath him, stars exploding behind your eyes. He didn’t stop, chasing his own release, your hand still at his throat, both of you lost in the raw, filthy intensity.

He finally came with a deep groan, spilling inside you, his body collapsing over yours. His head dropped to your shoulder, breath ragged against your skin, and your hand slipped away from his neck, trembling.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing, the rapid pound of your heart.

Then he laughed, low and breathless.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “You trying to kill me or what?”

You flushed, burying your face in his shoulder. “It was an accident.”

“Well,” he said, pulling back to look at you, eyes still hazy, “accidents like that? Feel free to happen again.” He grinned. “I liked it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was undeniable. Because yeah, you liked it too.