#he loves them but is shit at showing it actually

[stevebabey]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

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

How hard could it be?

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

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

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

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

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

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

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

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

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

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

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

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

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

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You've got a deal, mister."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

It would take an hour, tops.

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

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

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

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

"And just what are you trying to say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Different?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could do that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Think this'll do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Brandon."

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

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

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

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

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

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," You say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

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

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

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

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

STEP TWO: THE ACT

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We got together the 20th—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks." He murmurs.

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

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

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

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

"They definitely did."

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

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

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

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

"Steve."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A new voice interrupts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he does the same to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

"Touchy?" He provides.

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

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

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

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

How different would it really be?

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

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

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

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

Just more. More of this.

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

"Hm?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

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

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

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

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

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

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve met him thrice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he really think all those things about you?

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

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

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

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

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s like- wait, no—”

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

“Is he paying you?”

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

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

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

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

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

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

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

And… oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

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

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

“I'm sorry, okay?"

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

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

"You sound mad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's desperation in his final plea.

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

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

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

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

"And... now?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you... want that?"

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

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

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

And there it is; the true revelation.

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

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

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

How the hell did you miss it?

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

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

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

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

But you want to try.

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

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

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

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

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

You're excited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

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

[pyract0]

Random thoughts with MHA men!

☁︎Lowkey just a heap of stupid ideas I had for different characters I thought were funny/ cute. Might extend on a few of these into longer fics if I find the time :) ☁︎Going back to finishing some requests after this! Sometimes read and can't process what I just read so might take a while to finish them all! Feel free to request but might be a bit slow at the moment, but I'll get through them when I can! ☁︎Not really any warnings other than swearing (Tried to keep it to a minimum but habit when I can't think of a fitting word)! Gn/ unspecified reader :))

╰┈➤ Katsuki Bakugo who follows a strict routine he set for himself to get the most out of the day, in bed by exactly 8:30. Yet he coincidently always happens to be awake when you try to sneak in and cuddle under the covers with him. Gets annoyed at you for "interfering" with his schedule, but he never lets himself fall asleep if he knows your planning to visit, even if at ridiculous hours of the night. ╰┈➤ Shoto Todoroki who lacks certain aspects of understanding when it comes to social cues, specifically the idea of personal space after you start dating. Will stand behind you breathing down your neck just wanting to be near you, not realising how odd it appears to anyone passing by. Similarly, will practically sit ON you instead of beside you, squeezing between you and anyone/anything so he can sit right beside you.

╰┈➤ Izuku Midoriya who often forgets or simply doesn't realise when his habit of rambling starts, sometimes scaring the shit out of you when he suddenly breaks the silence. Will need you to sometimes cover his mouth when out in public before he says something that would accidently make any sane person uncomfortable. Talked about murder out of context at least a few times and got y'all kicked out of somewhere </3

╰┈➤ Tenya Iida who understands the concept of money and it's overall value, but frankly doesn't care when it comes to you. Buys you awfully expensive items that reminds him of you/ thinks you'll like, hiding just how much he actually spent so you don't reject it (you know, you just don't have the heart to tell him.) Will gift you like it's only something small and beat himself up for not getting you something better (It cost more than what you make in 3 months). Prides himself on responsibility but it all falls out the window when about his decisions around you.

╰┈➤ Eijiro Kirishima who shows you off like some sort of deity, constantly praising anything and everything you do. Accidently degrades himself while praising you, saying how he doesn't deserve you (he's literally an angel :(( ). Will do anything for you, if you ask him or not, choosing to show just how much he loves you through his actions not just words. Tells you he loves you at least 5 times a day <3

╰┈➤ Neito Monoma who respects you even if you're in class 1a, never speaking poorly of you even when shitting on your class. Stops whenever you're nearby and starts acting all sweet like he wasn't badmouthing each of your classmates to their faces minutes prior. Another one who worships your every movement and the ground you walk on, but instead of degrading himself puts everyone else but the both of you down. (My favourite little menace)

╰┈➤ Hitoshi Shinsou who without fail whenever you're alone hands you some random ass cat inspired thing that reminded him of you. First it was a small succulent pot, next some really doped out looking cat plushie, then a little keychain of a black cat with a witches hat.. it just kept going. Gets you wondering how he manages to keep finding these objects, and how he always manages to have one when you see each other unplanned (He has a little hidden pocket where he stores the little strange trinkets) ╰┈➤ Rody Soul who sometimes activates his quirk, summoning Pino, at the most random hours of night. Will get woken up by your sudden screams, thinking you had a nightmare only for it to have been Pino scaring the shit out of you by sitting on your chest in the middle of the night and scrutinizing your very being (lovingly). Has been forced as a result to spend the next day begging for forgiveness for Pino's actions (He had a dream of you and she was just admiring you with the same level of affection as him, just hers a bit more creepy..)

╰┈➤ Mirio togata who even after years of practice with his quirk, happens to forget what activating it in normal clothes does. Has tried to phase through the ground to surprise you with his sudden appearance just to end up flashing you, both of you now sitting in embarrassment while your struggling to breathe through your laughter. Apologises before joining you in going along with your everyday life (It will happen again)

╰┈➤ Tamaki Amajiki who uses you as a form of protection, not from physical danger but from people trying to communicate with you both. Will hold your hand in his and stand right against your back, head often against yours or on your shoulder while he lets you talk for him as well as yourself. As soon as you finish, will drag you away to a more secluded area and embrace you with more confidence as a way of showing his appreciation for never complaining about his shying away from socialising.

╰┈➤ Giulio Gandini who chooses to not wear his eyepatch when you're both alone, trusting you in his most vulnerable form. Who is able to use his robotic eye as a camera, recording your interactions to preserve the memory. Often pulls up these moments on the screen of his prosthetic arm when you're apart, watching through them when he misses you. Moves certain ones to a USB and prints out photos to give you (some in lockets, some just as a copy to frame) leaving you confused on how he managed to get them. (I love him so much :(( lowkey the main reason I liked the 4th movie sm)

╰┈➤ Touya Todoroki/ Dabi who will only let you help when it comes to dyeing his hair (aka forces you when the black is washing out to help fix it up). Will sit on a random chair he dragged in or the edge of the bathtub while you touch up his roots, probably moves constantly unless you hold his head in place. Gets you to join him in the shower to help wash through it, being a little shit about it and smudging the dye on you so it'll stain.

╰┈➤ Tomura Shigaraki who refuses to touch you with all 5 of his fingers, even after he's confident in his abilities to control his quirk. Will always have a finger lifted from your body while he holds you in his embrace, wearing artist gloves when sleeping beside you just to be safe. Holds your hand constantly when alone like the touch starved person he is but never has a proper grasp, loosely intertwining your fingers while he leaves his pinkie away from your hand.

╰┈➤ Shota Aizawa who similar to his son has a habit of handing you random stuff when he returns home, though his are more concerning. If you had a nickel for every time he came home to hand you a kitten he found in an alley, you would have two but it was very strange it happened twice. Came home after his long shift one night and handed you a cat like it was just another causal Wednesday. So anyways you guys have 2 cats now :))

╰┈➤ Keigo Takami who likes to use his feathers to tickle you at the least expected times, often resulting in a fresh bruise the next day. Will each and every time forget you like to swing when his feathers are tickling at your sides, with your first or leg accidently colliding with some part of his body. One time was his face, another his calf, or the time you accidently hit him where the sun don't shine. He learnt to move back after that one..

[kittenboom]

Wow, that question really bought back a lot of memories #triggered 🤣🤣 but I have been on the other side of that question where those words were spoken but what they REALLY wanted to ask was "why don't you have a driver licence? What is wrong with you?"

Probably will always hit a nerve for me, because I have been on both sides.

I probably will regret oversharing, but what else is new, it anyone reads this & is dealing with increasing anxiety around getting their license (or getting it 'at the right age')... maybe it will bring you some comfort?

I got my 'learners permit' in high school, as part of my school's curriculum, I would have been 16 turning 17.

That piece of paper is the starting point, but it does require follow up to actually DO the learning to drive part.

Personal context: my dad is not great with patience and even being a passenger would give me anxiety, so he was not an option to train me. My mum agreed to teach me but had zero interest in us driving. I won't get into it, but basically she was always happy to drive us around and here is the most important part -

MY MOTIVATION levels were basically non-existent.

At that age, I had plenty of friends with cars who were happy to drive me around & I had been taking public transport to school/work for years at that point.

People would say "you don't understand how much freedom you get when you get your license" and it would be sooooo easy to dismiss because in my mind - I WAS already an independent teen/young adult.

I made plans with friends who would pick me up & I would feel very mature & free. I could leave home & catch a bus to the train line from which I could go anywhere. I worked part time. I HAD freedom, what was the rush?

Age 17, I fell in mutual love for the first time, they were two years older than me (as most of my friends/partners are).

By the time I was 19, me not having my license was no longer cute. It started internalizing the guilt I had for not getting onto it sooner/having it already. At this point, almost everyone my life (except my sister), had their license. I was comfortable & complacent relying on partner to drive.

Public transport is available but the flip side is the time it takes 20 min drive vs 45-60 mins via public transport. There were taxis too of course, with uber & ridesharing right on the horizon. The reality was even though these "independent options" existed for me, I rarely used them, instead I basically abused the goodwill of my loved ones.

At age 20, I decided to bite the bullet & buy myself lessons with a real driving instructor. I was proud of myself. I had only had my best friend take me out once and my mum a couple of times at that point.

This would be my second time driving a manual car. I really wanted my manual license. The cars I wanted to buy were cheaper in manual, but basically - people don't give you shit about it like they do with an auto license (in Australia anyways).

The down side - this driving instructor I picked was the fucking worst. We only had three lessons, the third license she made me turn out into peak hour traffic and my anxiety went into overdrive. I will never forget her making me pull over to whip out her phone to show me very graphic images of what happens to people who crash with their hands in the wrong position on the steering wheel. Aka she traumatized me something wicked.

I remember this vividly as I had my first international trip ever to Indonesia and whilst over there, I lost my phone. When I got back to Aus, I had to buy a new one, eventually got my number changed over and then started getting all these messages through from the driving instructor - asking about when our next scheduled lesson is that escalated to her threatening to charge me for being non responsive. It was insane as actually, I had to respond "really sorry I just got back from a trip where I lost my phone" & she apologised but I was like "yeah I don't plan to do anymore"

This set me back from driving for another few years. I decided to go for my automatic license, so I could at least drive something, I could always go for my manual drivers licence after the fact. I was sick of waiting.

So I found a driving instructor who specialised in teaching people with special needs. She was amazing. Where I am from you need to complete 50 hrs of supervised driving and I completely my log book hours with just driving lessons. It cost me a lot of money, it took A LOT OF TIME.

My first practical driving exam, I failed within a few minutes because I took a turn too early, having to rebook that was so humiliating (& of course they make you pay the full fee again). However I knew it was a stupid error and something that in Non-test conditions, would not have been an issue.

My second practical driving exam, I passed with flying colours. I had only 1 mark deducted because during my reverse parking, we could feel the back tyres bump the back car park block ever so slightly. I still considered it a massive win.

Unfortunately, by the time I actually got my P plates at age 24, and could drive unsupervised, the person I owed the MOST drives to, my first love, was no longer with us.

The statement: "you get so much freedom when you can drive yourself around" is unfortunately true. It's not just control of your destination that you get, but also better control of your time.

I will tell the story about how I lost my license for a year another time. It's not a fun story either BUT I have a lot to say about having taken so long to get my license, only for it to be taken away during a time when I really needed it.

Also the juxtaposition of my OLDER sister, still not having her license (but making weird meandering progress nonetheless).

The moral of this story is: yes, if you live somewhere that isn't a walkable paradise, I highly recommend you take a step towards getting your licence!

Just say "fuck it" to all the pressure /norms that tell you you have to do things a certain way. The only way is safely. The most important quality you can have with driving is confidence and that takes time!

So I guess this is telling you to give yourself permission to take your time, as much time as you need, to learn to feel comfortable with it. You just have to keep going.

since this is the "no drivers license" website i wanna see everybodys reasons

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— drunken night —

Warnings: alcohol intoxication, excessive drinking, fluff, sprinkle of angst, pregnancy, allusions to violence, nudity (not sexually), a few suggestive comments

Summary: Jason comes home from a boys night out.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader from She’s Mine

Word Count: ~4.7k

A/N: I was initially writing a drabble, but I got carried away. So it’s a little longer than expected, but full of cute drunk Jason. Please, feast upon this!

DC M.List || Navigation M.List || MCU M.List

Jason fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the front door, his coordination impaired by the alcohol. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he managed to open the door and step inside. Roy and Dick followed behind, still thoroughly entertained by the entire situation. They toed off their boots and threw their jackets on a sofa. 

“Careful there, Jaybird. Don’t want you tripping over your own feet now, do we?” Dick drawled out, a little tipsy, but much better than Jason. Jason shot both of them a withering glare before stumbling into the living room. He collapsed onto the couch, groaning as his muscles finally relaxed from the strain of walking. 

“You both are assholes, you know that?” He seethed at them. It was their fault he was drunk anyway—he would never admit it was actually his stubbornness to prove to them he wouldn’t be the first to cut out of the drinking game. 

Roy smirked, unable to resist taking another jab at him. “Yeah, but we’re your assholes, dude. And right now, we’re having the time of our lives watching you stumble about like a drunken buffoon.”

Jason groaned again, closing his eyes. “Thanks for the support. Really feeling the love here,” he grumbled out sarcastically. His head throbbed at the thought of you seeing him like this. 

Dick laughed, unable to hold back his amusement. “Trust me, little bird,” he started with a shit-eating grin as he flopped down to the couch, “this is how we show our love. We lovingly tease and humiliate your drunk ass.”

Roy chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s right, dude. This is just our way of showing we care.” He glanced at the stairs lead for a moment before his gaze flickering back to Jason. “We’re taking the piss out of your state right now because we care. It's called tough love.”

Jason lifted his head just enough to give them a sarcastic smile. “Oh, I feel so loved right now. My heart is just bursting with joy and appreciation.”

“Yeah, Jay. Consider yourself lucky we’re not recording this entire scene for future blackmail purposes,” Dick chimed in, a cheeky grin on his face. 

A floorboard creaked overhead and Jason’s eyes widened as he and the other two men snapped their heads up towards the ceiling. “Please don’t tell me that’s her coming down the stairs...” he muttered, bracing himself for the worst. Dick and Roy turned their attention to the staircase, curious to see what will unfold when you came down at this time of night. 

“Oh, mate, you’re in trouble now,” Dick said with a chuckle, unable to hide his excitement.

Jason groaned, feeling the effects of the alcohol still weighing heavy on him. He tried to sit up a bit straighter on the couch, but it only made his head spin more. “Yeah, I know... I’m screwed.”

You came down to the last step, arms crossed and an unamused expression in your face at the sight of your drunk husband and his tipsy friends. Your hair was in a braid while you wore an old band tee of his to cover your big belly fully and some maternity sweatpants. 

Jason’s eyes widened as he saw you standing at the bottom of the stairs, your arms crossed and a look of annoyance on your face. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, bracing himself for the impending storm. 

Roy snickered, loving every moment of Jason’s discomfort. “Oh, dude, you’re in for it now. The missus doesn’t look too happy, does she?” Roy exchanged a glance with Dick and tilted his head towards the door, a silent plea to leave before you ultimately started your lecture for Jason. 

Dick nodded eagerly, not wanting to be in the middle of a couple’s quarrel. “We should get going,” Dick announced, nodding at you. 

You nodded back, eyes softening slightly at the two. “Do you two have a ride home?” You asked, knowing if Jason was drunk, they’d also be tipsy enough not to drive. 

“Uh, yeah, we’ll be fine. We can call a taxi or something,” Dick replied, standing up from the couch.

“I can—” you started, about to offer to call an uber. 

Dick held up a hand to stop you. “No, no. We don’t want to impose any further. We’ll make our own way home. Besides, we’d hate to further ruin your night any more than we already have.”

You hummed. “Thank you for bringing him home safe,” you murmured, nodding at them. Dick and Roy nodded back, feeling relieved that the tension had eased a bit. 

“No problem. We’ll be sure to keep a closer eye on him next time,” Roy said, giving you a small smile. 

You smiled back slightly. “Be safe, you two.”

Dick and Roy nodded again, grabbing their jackets that they had thrown onto the sofa and heading towards the door. 

“We will, Y/N. Take care,” Dick called over his shoulder as he opened the front door. 

Roy followed close behind, stepping into his boots. “Yeah, we’ll be careful. Thanks again for everything.” And with that, the pair left the house, the door closing softly behind them.

Jason watched in silence as Dick and Roy left, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. He knew he had caused quite a scene in front of them, both at home and at the bar, and he dreaded the thought of them ribbing him relentlessly for the things he had said and done. 

You glanced at him then, hands going to your hips. The movement made the tee stretch across your baby bump and the sight made Jason soften a little. He loved your bump. He loved touching it and talking to the baby. He was almost obsessed with it. 

As you turned your gaze a little sterner, Jason couldn’t help but wince. He knew that look all too well. It was the look that told him he was in for a lecture.

“Why are you so drunk?” You asked, feeling a little irritated at the fact that Jason would drink so much. You wanted him to have fun, but right now he was totally shit-faced. 

Jason looked up at you, feeling a little sheepish under your gaze. “I know, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so drunk,” he replied, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He knew he had overdone it, and he couldn't deny feeling a bit guilty for letting things get out of hand. 

When you seemed to look unimpressed, he sighed and knew he’d have to come forward with a more sincere apology. 

“I guess the drinks just went down too easily, and before I knew it, I was pretty smashed.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry for putting you through that. I know it’s not a great look, coming home like this.”

For some stupid reason, perhaps because of how much you loved him, your eyes softened at his genuine apology. “Stupid,” you muttered as one last word, an insult filled with fondness, before you let a hint of a smile grace your lips. 

Jason couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him as he saw your features soften even just the tiniest bit. He knew he was lucky to have you in his life and he never wanted to take that for granted. The way you had just called him stupid, but with a hint of affection in your voice, reminded him of the playful banter you two often engaged in.

He couldn’t help but crack a small smile in response. Even though he was in trouble for his drunk behaviour, he couldn’t help but find your affection endearing.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stupid drunk. I just got carried away, I guess. But I promise I won’t do it again,” he said, trying to sound sincere despite the alcohol still coursing through his system.

You sighed, shoulders loosening with the breath escaping you. “Tell me that when you’re sober,” you retorted gently, taking a seat on the sofa beside him. Your hands rested under your belly as you glanced at him. 

Jason chuckled softly, feeling a flutter of affection for you as you sat down next to him. Even though he knew he was still in hot water, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in your presence. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you that when I’m sober,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “But you know I can’t promise that I won’t have a drink or two again. It’s just... sometimes I need to unwind, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding the need to loosen up after a rough patrol or even a stuffy gala that he had to attend. You smiled slightly and nudged his shoulder with yours. “Just one or two.”

Jason smiled warmly as he felt your shoulder nudge him. The small gesture felt like reassurance; you weren’t angry with him, only concerned and slightly frustrated. 

“Just one or two,” he agreed, holding up two fingers in a mock salute. “I’ll try to stay within my limits.” 

“Good.” You stared at him for a moment, just raking your eyes over his flushed face and disheveled hair, finding it endear. You nodded, shifting slightly so that you could get up without losing your balance due to the bump. “You reek.”

Jason chuckled, knowing that you had a point. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” He rubbed his face with his hands, the smell of alcohol and smoke clinging to his skin and clothes. “I could use a nice hot shower.”

“Maybe not a shower with your jelly legs,” you teased, knowing very well that when Jason was wasted, he often stumbled and tripped over air. 

Jason chuckled weakly, knowing that you were right. Even though he was a highly trained vigilante, when he was this drunk, he couldn’t even walk without stumbling. 

“Yeah, you might have a point there.” He sighed as he looked at you. “Do you think you can help me to the bathroom? I’m afraid I’ll fall headfirst into the toilet unless you help me.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding at his ask for assistance. He had done this a few times for you when you two had first started dating and you used to come home a little too drunk after a night out with friends. You supposed this was how he felt when he was caring for you; both finding it annoying and endearing. 

You helped him up from the couch. “I’ll run a bath for you, yeah?” You led him to the stairs and then paused, glancing between the stairs and your wobbly husband. “You think you’ll be fine on the stairs?”

Jason looked at the stairs with a mixture of defiance and hesitation. He didn’t want to look weak in front of you—or anyone for that matter, but he knew he wasn’t in the best shape to take on a flight of stairs. 

“Yeah, I think I can manage,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Just, uh, keep a hold of me, yeah?” 

You nodded. “Just so you know, I’ll let go of you if I think I’m going to fall with you. I have the little one to think about.”

Jason nodded, sharing your concern for the baby’s safety. "Alright, that’s fair," he said, draping an arm heavily around your shoulders for support. "And don’t worry, I wouldn’t have let you fall."

With your help, Jason began the slow and careful ascent up the stairs. He clung to you and the stairs like a lifeline, his grip tight on your shoulder and the railing. Every step was a strain, his legs feeling like jelly and his head spinning from the alcohol. But Jason made it up the stairs, albeit with a lot of stumbling and muttered curses.

Despite the seriousness of safety, you couldn’t help but find the situation a little amusing; here you were, guiding your drunken husband up the stairs like a wobbly toddler. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached the top of the stairs and entered the bathroom. “Alright, sit down here,” you instructed, guiding him to the edge of the bathtub. 

Once he was sat, you gently helped him out of his clothes, now a little damp in some places with sweat. 

Despite his inebriated state, Jason tried his best to help you undress him, but it was a clumsy and awkward endeavor. He was grateful for your help, but also felt a bit embarrassed at his lack of coordination. Once Jason was undressed, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking up at you with a goofy smile.

You smiled back unconsciously, something that often was merely a result of seeing Jason happy. “What is it?” You asked in a quiet murmur, started to fill the tub with water, adding some epsom salt and lavender oil as well. 

Jason’s drunken smirk grew wider as he watched you prepare the bath, the smell of the soothing oils filling the room. “Nothing, just enjoying the view,” he replied jokingly, his eyes scanning over your form. “You look pretty damn hot, y’know that? No, wait, scratch that, you look absolutely gorgeous. Beautiful. Stunning.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head fondly as a light wave of heat flushed your cheeks. For as drunk as he was, he was still the same flirt you knew. You didn’t know how he did it, even after three years of marriage, but he always managed to make you flustered. 

Jason let out a satisfied hum, enjoying the sight of you flustered as he complimented you. Even in his drunken state, he couldn’t resist teasing you. He knew just the right things to say to make you squirm and it was a skill he was proud of. 

“See, that's the reaction I was hoping for,” he said, pointing at your flustered state. “You still get all bashful after three years.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and nudged him, turning off the water. “Get in, you flirt.” 

Jason chuckled and slowly stood up, holding onto the edge of the bathtub for support. He stepped into the warm water and sunk down, letting out a sigh of contentment as the heat seeped into his muscles and joints. 

“Ah, this is nice,” he mumbled, his eyes half-closed. “Join me?” He peeked up at you with a smirk plastered to his face. 

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the tub. “No. You’re drunk.” You tucked a hand under your belly while the other rested on the edge of tub to keep your balance. 

“Damn. Can't blame a man for trying.” Jason pouted playfully, but he knew you were right. Despite his desires, he was in no condition to be intimate with you right now. He leaned back against the bathtub, soaking in the warmth. 

“You're such a buzzkill, you know that?” He joked, the words slurring together slightly. He didn’t blame you for not wanting to get into the tub. If roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have gotten in either. 

You merely hummed as he moved to rest his head against your thigh. Jason closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his head resting against your thigh. It was a simple but comforting gesture and it made him feel even more relaxed. 

“You know,” he said, his words still slurring slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

You raised an eyebrow at his unexpected confession. “What makes you say that?” You asked softly, your free hand moving to gently stroke his hair. Jason groaned, enjoying the feel of your hand through his hair. 

“I just... I don’t know. I’m a mess, y’know? I screw up all the time. I'm always away on patrols and missions, I've got a stubbornness problem, and I'm hardly a ray of sunshine.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You deserve someone better than me.”

You sighed softly, your hand still stroking his hair. “Jason, you may have your flaws, but we all do. And you’re not a mess, you’re just human. You do what you have to do for your job, and sometimes it's hard on you.” 

You kissed his temple, whispering the rest against his skin. “And as for someone better than you, I don’t want anyone else; I want you.” 

Jason opened his eyes to look up at you, his gaze searching your face. He could see the sincerity in your eyes and it made his heart ache. 

“I just feel like I’m a disappointment,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, the protector. But here I am, drunk and needing you to take care of me again.” 

You leaned down, gently placing a kiss on his damp forehead. “You are strong, but that doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time. Everyone needs help and support sometimes, even you.”

You continued, “As for being a protector, that doesn’t mean you can never show any weakness. You may be a vigilante, but you’re also human, and humans make mistakes and stumbles. And I’m here for you, to pull you back up when you stumble.” 

You rubbed your belly. “We’ll always be here.”

Jason’s eyes softened at your words and the gesture of rubbing your belly. He placed a hand on top yours, feeling the warmth of it and the knowledge that there was a baby growing inside you. 

“Yeah,” he said faintly. “You and the little one. You two... you’re my everything.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, cupping his cheek. “And you’re our everything.” 

You wanted to take every little self-deprecation thought of his and drown it in your reassuring words and sweet kisses, but you knew it would take a lifetime to do so. The best you could do was just tell him. Remind him why you chose him. 

Instead you settled on changing subject for now. “Boy or girl?” You asked with a glint in your eyes. 

Jason looked up at you, feeling the warmth of your hand on his stubbled cheek. The change of subject caught him off guard, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He pondered the question for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Well, I don’t think we'll know for a while,” he said with a shrug. “But if I had to guess... I think it’s gonna be a girl.” 

You raised a brow, silently asking why. 

Jason chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t know, just a feeling I have,” he said with a shrug. “I think it’s gonna be a little girl who’s as beautiful and strong as her mother.”

“And if it’s a boy?” You asked, not expecting anything but the best from him. You knew all he wanted was a healthy and happy baby. So did you. 

Jason smiled, a warm and genuine smile, at your question. “If it’s a boy, then he’s gonna be a little hellraiser, just like me,” he joked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “And I'll teach him everything I know about the world and how to take care of himself. But most importantly, I’ll teach him how to treat a woman right.”

He took your hand in his, his touch soft and gentle. "But no matter if it's a boy or a girl, they're going to have the best mother in the world. And that's all that matters in the end."

“And father,” you said, tugging his locks gently to emphasize your point. 

Jason chuckled softly, his head moving with the tugging of his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, the best father in the world too.” He looked up at you, a small grin on his face. “Can I be honest with you for a moment?”

“Of course. Always.” You stroked his cheek as you reached for a wash cloth with your other hand. 

Jason sighed, his eyes closing briefly as he leaned his cheek into your touch. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “Terrified, actually. I don’t know anything about being a father. I had a terrible upbringing, and I’m afraid I’ll screw this up.”

You hummed, rinsing the cloth and then gently trailing it over the expanse of his back, not even blinking at the scars you had seen so many times that littered his body. 

“Can I be honest with you, baby?” You murmured, waiting for his response. 

Jason nodded, his eyes still closed as he relished the feel of the cloth gliding over his back. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured back, his voice low and rough.

“I think you’re worried for no reason,” you whispered, pressing the cloth into his skin a little firmer to drive in your point. “You’re attentive, caring, and responsible. You love with all you got and that’s what matters. Maybe you can’t be home all the time, but the quality of the time you do spend with us is what matters.”

Jason opened his eyes, his gaze settling on your face as you spoke. Your words sunk in, each one chipping away at the self-doubt that had settled in the back of his mind. You were right. He was more than capable of being a good father. The fear of screwing up was natural, but he had to trust himself and his abilities to do right by you and the baby. 

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice tinged with an edge of amazement and affection. 

You grinned. “That’s what happens when I know your brain, Mr. Todd, and, as your wife, I’m supposed to know what to say.”

Jason chuckled weakly at that, his shoulders shaking slightly in the warm water. “Supposed to, huh?” he said, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, I’m glad you do. I swear, you’re the only one who can put up with me and my bullshit.” 

You put away the wash cloth with a gentle smile before grabbing his shampoo and pouring a decent amount on your hand. “I love you,” you murmured before massaging it into his scalp. 

Jason closed his eyes again, the feeling of your fingers massaging the shampoo into his scalp making him sigh in contentment. “I love you too,” he murmured back, his voice low and raspy. As you continued to rub his scalp, he couldn't help but let out a soft moan, the mixture of the heat and your touch lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

As you worked through his hair, you noticed how tension seemed to seep out of his body. His shoulders relaxed, and the lines on his forehead seemed to soften. You smiled softly, loving the effect you had on him.

“Feeling better?” You asked quietly, your fingertips tracing lazy circles on his scalp.

Jason hummed in agreement, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub. “Much better.” He opened his eyes briefly to look up at you, a lazy smile gracing his features. “You have magic hands, you know that?”

You chuckled softly. “Is that so?” You continued massaging his scalp for a few more moments before rinsing the shampoo from his hair. The warm water cascaded down over his head, the suds running in rivulets down his neck and back.

As you finished rinsing the shampoo out, you noticed his gaze was on your belly, his hand moving to rest on the small bump.

Jason’s eyes were drawn to the swell of your belly, his hand reaching up to rest gently on top of it. His touch was tender, almost reverent. It was clear that he was already feeling protective of the life growing inside you.

"You're starting to show a little bit more now," he commented softly, his finger tracing a gentle circle around your belly button.

You hummed, feeling the slight swell of your belly under his hand. It was a constant reminder of the life growing inside you, and it made your heart flutter every time you thought about it. 

“Yeah,“ you murmured, your hand covering his. “Won’t be able to hide it much longer with these old shirts of yours.” 

Jason chuckled, his eyes shifting to the oversized shirt you were currently wearing. It was one of his old ones, the fabric faded from years of wear and tear. 

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing your hip. 

You hummed. 

“Makes me think about what you're wearing beneath them,” he added, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You laughed then, flicking his nose and getting up carefully to make sure your balance didn’t falter with the growing weight of the baby. 

Jason chuckled at the playful flick on his nose, his eyes watching you as you stood up, carefully making sure you didn't lose balance. “Careful there, sweetheart,” he said, his hand resting on your hip briefly to steady you. 

You could see the weariness in his eyes now, the exhaustion slowly taking over as the effects of the alcohol wore off. He looked tired, both physically and emotionally. 

“Looks like the alcohol is wearing off,” you murmured, your hand tracing his shoulder.

Jason nodded weakly in agreement, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub. “Yeah... it's catching up to me now,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired. “I’m gonna pass out any second, I think.”

You smiled. “Let me grab your towel and get you dried up.” 

Jason grunted in assent, his eyes fluttering open as he let you attend to him. He was too tired to protest, and secretly he relished the feeling of your touch, tender and loving, as you dried him off with a soft towel.

You draped the towel over his shoulders, gently patting his back and chest dry. Jason leaned into your touch, his body heavy and weary. You could see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the weight of the world and his demons catching up with him.

“Come on, baby,” you said, grabbing his bicep and helping him. “Let’s get you in some cozy pyjamas and then in bed.”

Jason nodded, allowing you to help him out of the tub. He wobbled a bit on his feet, clearly still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but he managed to stay upright with your support.

“Cozy pyjamas, huh?” he mumbled dryly as you helped him walk to the bedroom. 

You chuckled softly. “I suppose it would just be a soft shirt and sweatpants.”

“Probably more comfortable, anyway,” he agreed, his arm looped around your shoulders for support. He shuffled to the bed and collapsed onto it with a weary sigh, his body immediately sinking into the mattress. 

You quickly grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and an old, soft t-shirt, helping him into the clothing. He was practically half-dead at this point, barely able to move on his own. 

Once he was dressed, you helped him under the covers, tucking him in snugly before making your way around to your side of the bed. You settled into bed next to him, the sheets cool against your skin. You could hear Jason’s ragged breathing, a sign of just how tired he was.

Jason grunted in appreciation as you tucked him in, his eyes already drooping shut. He was exhausted, his body desperate for rest.

You reached out, gently stroking his hair, letting your fingers trail through the messy, damp locks. Jason let out a soft moan, his head instinctively tilting towards your touch. He may have been drunk and exhausted, but he still craved your affection.

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered, your hand continuing to stroke his hair. “Just sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jason mumbled something incoherent, his words slurred with sleepiness. But you could tell he was comforted by your presence. He shifted closer to you, his head finding a place on your shoulder and a hand on your stomach protectively as he finally succumbed to sleep. 

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[darkmarkmarauder]

Call me and I’ll come - S.S.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x you

You should have known better by now.

Should’ve known that getting your feelings hurt was just part of the deal when it came to Sebastian Sallow.

Because he never promised you anything, did he? He never said he was yours, never whispered I love you when his hands were all over you, hot against your skin, when he fucked you like he actually meant it.

Sebastian Sallow was not a good person.

That was fine, though, because neither were you.

Whatever this was between you—this thing—that was built on the kind of pleasure that left bruises and bite marks and bad decisions. It was never meant to be sweet. Never meant to be kind.

And yet, there he was. Playing at chivalry, walking Poppy Sweeting back to her dorm like she was something to be protected. Like she hadn’t spent the past seven years getting under your skin, all sunshine smiles and Holier Than Thou bullshit.

You weren’t sure why you even followed them. Maybe it was the way Poppy's laugh rang through the corridor, soft and sweet, like she wasn’t the most insufferable person on the planet. Maybe it was the way Sebastian looked at her—really looked at her—as if she were saying something worth listening to. The thought made your stomach churn. You had him first. Had him beneath you, above you, inside you. You should’ve been the only thing occupying that wicked little mind of his.

But no. He was escorting her back to her fucking Hufflepuff common room like some noble gentleman. Heart-of-gold-ass-bitch. God, you hated her.

So you had a little fun.

Just a little.

Legilimency was easy when your target was oblivious. You slipped into her mind without so much as a whisper, poking at her thoughts, nudging her attention away from whatever painfully dull story she was telling him. Watching her stumble through sentences, lose her train of thought, look almost dizzy with confusion. Sebastian’s brows furrowed as she trailed off mid-sentence, blinking rapidly.

“You alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. That made your teeth grind. So concerned for little Miss Perfect.

Poppy nodded quickly, but she was uneasy now. You could feel her nerves, the confusion settling deep. You kept at it—poking, prying, twisting little intrusive thoughts through the cracks of her consciousness.

Poppy winced, pressing a hand to her temple. “I… I don’t know. I just feel a little—”

You rolled your eyes. Pathetic. You got bored of that real quick. Whispering under your breath you sent a nauseating little hex and she was doubled over, face paling, gagging.

Sebastian stepped back, startled. “Poppy?”

“Uh, I think—I think I need to go lie down,” she groaned, turning away hastily.

You strolled up behind Sebastian just as Poppy stumbled off, pouting mockingly. "Aw, hope she feels better."

You barely kept the smirk off your face as Poppy disappeared into her common room, her face pale as she clutched her stomach. Whatever. She’d be fine. Maybe next time, she’d learn not to bat her pretty little lashes at your Sebastian.

Not that he was yours.

Sebastian turned to you the moment she disappeared, a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes were anything but.

"Yeah, okay, princess, we’re really gonna pretend?"

You folded your arms, feigning innocence. "Not sure what you mean, Sallow."

"Cut the shit," he scoffed, stepping closer, the scent of fresh pine, something unmistakably him filling the space between you. "The second she started looking like she might kneel over, I knew you were up to something. And then—what? you just coincidentally show up the moment she leaves? Please."

You rolled your eyes. "Please," you mimicked, voice dripping with mockery. "What, am I not allowed to take a little evening stroll?"

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Because you, of all people, just love late-night walks around the Hufflepuff dorms. Admit it, you’re jealous."

That word. Jealous. You bristled at it, anger flashing hot through your veins.

"Of what, exactly?" You sneered. "Little Miss I-Save-Orphaned-Dragons? Please. You think I’m worried about you wasting your time with a boring little goody-two-shoes like her?"

His jaw tensed, and fuck, you loved getting under his skin.

"You’re so full of shit," he muttered, voice dropping an octave. "What was it? You didn’t like seeing me with her? Didn’t like the thought of me walking her back? Maybe—" he took another step closer, and you refused to move back, even as your breath caught in your throat— "maybe you didn’t like knowing she actually enjoys my company without having to spread her legs first."

The words hit like a slap. You felt them crack through your ribs, shatter through your lungs. But you weren’t about to let him see it.

"Wow," you let out a sharp laugh, masking the ache blooming in your chest. "That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t seem to keep his hands off me."

Sebastian tilted his head, brown eyes dark and unreadable. "Yeah?" he mused, his tone almost taunting. "Maybe I should try. Since it’s not like you’re anything special."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fuck you," you spat.

Sebastian smirked, slow and lazy, his words venomous. "You already did. And if I recall, you come crawling back every single time."

Your vision blurred red. Your nails dug into your palms, the sting barely grounding you. You wanted to hex him. Wanted to make him hurt the way his words made your chest feel like it was caving in.

But instead, you took a step back.

"Go fuck yourself, Sallow."

And then you turned on your heel walking away, fists clenched, heart pounding, body burning with fury and something you weren’t ready to name. Jealousy.

Behind you, Sebastian let out a sharp exhale.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, voice laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

You were drunk when you called him.

Drunk and pissed off and reckless.

You’d heard about it from Imelda—how Sebastian had actually taken Poppy on a date, how he’d sat with her at The Three Broomsticks, bought her a drink, showed her a good time. How they sat together at dinner.

You refused to look at him for the rest of the day. You ignored him in class, in the halls, in the library. You ignored him even when he tried to get your attention, knocking his knee against yours under the desk, whispering your name when the professor wasn’t looking. You ignored him all the way up until tonight.

Right up until the moment you floo-called him from your room.

The moment he picked up, his voice came through the flames, exasperated but familiar. “What do you want?”

“Come over.” You softly demanded.

He sighed. “I’m busy.”

You leaned in, let your voice drop lower, silkier. “Didn’t ask if you were busy, Sallow. I said come over.”

A pause. He wasn’t even pretending to think about it—the sound of him moving, the clink of his belt as he got dressed . “Give me ten.”

You grinned.

Of course he’d come. He always did.

It didn’t matter how much he flirted with Poppy, how much he tried to pretend there was something there. It didn’t matter if she was sweet and kind and everything you weren’t.

Because at the end of the day, when you called—he answered.

Always.

Not even a minute later, there he was, disheveled, eyes swirling with something that looked like relief. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened like he had rushed here.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re such a fucking piece of work, you know that?”

You didn't bother responding as his dark eyes bore into yours. Tilting your head slightly, biting your lip before yanking him inside, fingers wrapped around this tie as the door slammed shut behind him.

Yeah. Poppy Sweeting didn't stand a fucking chance.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: raw, next question.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[munsonsmixtapes]

That's My Man

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

Eddie defends you in an interview and you repay him in the most generous way

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (m receiving) handjob, the interviewer makes some inappropriate comments about reader

This is a request made my the always lovely @the-witty-pen-name who also came up with the title!

Eddie puts on the pair of headphones that were pervaded for him as the “on air” sign glows the bright red, signaling that the show has started. He doesn’t even know why he even agreed to this interview. The guy’s an ass and Eddie just knows that he’s inevitably going to say something inappropriate. 

He’s really only doing this because his team begged him to. Why, he doesn’t know since the majority of the band’s fanbase hates the kind of guy that Rick is. He’s everything in the book that Eddie can’t stand and now he’s gotta sit here for an hour for his segment. It can’t be too bad, can it? 

“Eddie, welcome,” Rick greets and Eddie puts on a smile even though all he really wants is to kick Rick’s ass. He’s unfortunately caught clips of the show here and there and all he does is sexualize women and talk badly about people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community. 

“Hey, thanks,” Eddie replies, trying his best to not say something he really shouldn’t. He just sits there and waits for Rick to start the conversation. 

“So you’ve got a new album out which is “From the Upside Down.” What was the process like for creating the record?” Eddie’s genuinely caught off guard by the question considering that Rick never seems to care about that kind of thing. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he initially thought. 

“It was actually so different from what we’ve done for past albums. We actually did everything ourselves this time and that was really fun. We took some time off and wrote a bunch of songs and Gareth actually produced them so that was a really cool process to see.” 

Eddie loves talking about his music. It’s like a parent talking about their child. He’s always so proud of himself and his bandmates for what they do and he doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. They worked so hard to get where they are now and he’s nothing but grateful that this is his job. 

“That’s very interesting,” Rick nods and there’s just something about the look on his face that makes it obvious that he’s about to say some dumb shit. “So I know you’re seeing y/n l/n and can I just say, well done, man.” Yep, definitely some dumb shit. 

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. Normally, Eddie would love to talk about you. It’s actually his favorite thing to do. But not like this, not in the way that Rick and a lot of other men like to. Where they just sexualize you and reduce you to an object. Eddie won’t stand for that for anyone, but especially not you. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m “seeing” her,” Eddie laughs nervously. You’ve been trying to keep your relationship under wraps for the past six months but it’s so hard to do when the two of you are under a microscope. 

“Oh, so you wouldn’t categorize this as seeing her?” Rick asks as he pulls up a photo of you and Eddie kissing outside a bar. He didn’t even know that anyone had taken photos of that and now he feels gross.

“Well-” he tries to explain himself but Rick quickly cuts him off. 

“Is she a good kisser? Better yet, is she good in bed?” All of this makes Eddie want to throw up and he can’t believe that men like Rick actually have the audacity to ask questions like that. 

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that,” he answers politely even though he’s seconds away from a crash out. 

“C’mon, you can tell me. It’s just us.” It’s actually not considering it’s a live radio show and even if it wasn’t, that’s something just between you and Eddie and no one else. Especially not pigs like Rick. 

“No, I’m not sharing anything about our relationship. That’s the only thing we have that’s ours.” 

“Is she flexible? I bet she’s flexible.” He shows Eddie a photo of you doing a split on stage and his lunch is about to come up. “Oh yeah, definitely-” 

Rick doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence before Eddie snatches the tablet and slams it down on the table. He would never let any woman be talked about this way. Especially not his girlfriend. 

The anger is festering and he’s having a real hard time trying to keep his cool. Fuck that. He’s not going to be so nice anymore, not wanting anymore disgusting things to be said about you. He can’t let anything else be said about you or he’s going to do something he regrets. 

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he points at Rick, glaring at the man and the man actually looks afraid of him. Good. “I know you tend to objectify women and that shit stood today. If I ever hear you talk about anyone else this way or in a derogatory manner, you’ll have me to answer to. Now keep my wife’s name out of your mouth or we’re going to have a problem.” 

With that, out of the room. Nothing is worth sitting there and letting that man sexualize you. It makes him feel disgusting and now he feels like he needs a long shower. He’s wiping his jacket with his hands to try to literally get rid of that feeling, but he knows the only thing that will help is seeing you. He just needs someone to talk to about the whole thing. 

He’s driving to the venue where you’re performing tonight before he can stop himself. He just wants to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loves you, hoping that you haven’t been listening to the radio even though he’s sure that you are because you always listen to his interviews. 

Eddie’s so angry about the whole thing, still letting it eat at him even though he already took care of it. He just needs to calm down and he will as soon as he sees you. That always makes him feel better. Just thinking about you is doing the trick and when he pulls up to the venue, the weight on his shoulders is lifting.

You’re sitting in your dressing room, doing your makeup when he walks in, your face lighting up when you see him in the mirror. The anger on his face seems to melt away when he sees you, his smile matching yours as he makes a beeline for you. He saw you just this morning but the time you’ve spent away was far too long. 

You get up from your chair and he’s quick to pull you into a hug, a tight one as he buries his face into your neck. This is all he’s wanted all day, especially since he stormed out of the interview. You always seem to calm the screaming that’s constantly going on in his head. Your hand moves up into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he kisses your neck, moving your hair away from it as he does so. 

You pull away far too soon for his liking before pulling him in for a kiss. He’s needy and desperate and he just wants to show you how much he loves you. Your hands are in his hair as you lick into his mouth, moaning loudly which is only making him harder. He needs your cunt so bad and is so close to taking you right there until you begin to grind against him. 

“I heard what you said on the radio,” you tell him as you kiss down his neck, unbuttoning his jeans. “Defending me like that, it was so…hot,” you whisper the last part into his ear before biting down on the lobe before kissing his neck again, giving it a rough suck, making him squirm. 

You’re backing him up against the vanity, pinning him there as you continue to suck, his hands falling from you to grip the table behind him, white knuckling it as he lets out a whine, his cock hardening even more to the point where you can now fully feel him against you. 

“Now I feel like I owe you.” He defended you and you know it’s because you’re his wife, but you know that he would do that for anyone and that’s how you know you got one of the good ones. 

“You-you don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,” he breathes. He really wants whatever you’re willing to give but only if you really want to not because you think he deserves in return for defending you.

“How about I suck you off, is that payment enough?” His eyes widen at both your question and the way you’re biting down on him. 

“Please,” he whines, needing to get some sort of relief. You give his neck one more kiss before pulling down his jeans, his underwear following as you get down onto your knees. You’re looking up at him with lustful eyes and he watches you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

You start by spitting into your hand then grab hold of the base, slow strokes to warm him up but they progressively get more intense. He’s already leaking with precum, letting out stuttered breaths as he watches, white knuckling as a moan escapes his lips. 

You keep up the pace, moving as fast as you can as Eddie lets out moan after moan. He’s coming undone already so you know he won’t last long. And you only have a few more minutes before you have to be on stage, so you’ve gotta make it worthwhile. You’ve really gotta make this count. 

You bring your tongue to the slit, licking up the cum that’s already come out, not wanting to waste a drop then bring your lips to the base, kissing it which catches Eddie off guard. You’re now peppering it with kisses and he somehow gets even more hard as he watches you leave lipstick prints behind. It’s hot. You’re hot and he thinks this is where he likes you most, on your knees.

You then bring your mouth back to the slit, licking it again before bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly as Eddie’s hands wind into your hair, letting out yet another whine as you bring him in deeper, sucking harder as your tongue swirls around the head. You’re taking him inch by inch and he’s so close, on the edge of an orgasm as you finally get the last bit of him inside. 

Cum leaks into your mouth as he screams your name, your eyes watering as the head hits the back of your throat, gagging as you suck him off for just a bit longer. Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop, making sure to swallow as he helps you to your feet. 

Eddie pats your tears dry with a tissue so as to not smudge your makeup before you press a lingering kiss to his lips. You clean him up before pulling up his pants and touching up your lipstick.

“How’s that for repaying you?” You ask and he smiles, still dizzy from receiving the best head of his life as he follows you to the side of the stage, wondering how he can get you to do that again once your show is over. He’s sure that you won’t need much convincing.

[catholicfacade]

joost sucking the strap is A++. whenever he comes up for air he needs to be a blubbering mess, asking if he's doing good. his pale face flushed with redness and his lips puffy and pink from the effort. drooling like an actual dog, spit dripping to the floor when he gasps for air and down the sides of his mouth as the strap is pushed in and out of his mouth.

you get it !!!!! 🙂‍↕️

CW: RPF, 18+, NSFW, afab reader, gn pronouns, blowjobs [obviously], mention of pegging, mention of light puppy play bc i can’t help myself.

—

joosty learning that your strap in his mouth is so much better than a stupid cigarette, so much more satisfying.

he was apprehensive at first-he's not gay after all—the most he'd done in that regard was joke about sucking dick, little quips at shows or at friends that he'll "suck their dick" because he loves them so much. but now? now, he's sitting on his knees in front of you, blushing when confronted with a "real" cock between his favorite pair of thighs. joost feels shy and flustered, after getting his dick sucked a million times by you, he surprisingly doesn't even know where to start when it's your turn.

his mind is only eased by the idea that if his teeth accidentally scrape, you won't get hurt. and the way you look down at him, pupils wide and dark, almost breathless with anticipation, you want this sooooo bad—he can see it.

stuffing his mouth with your cock feels so awkward at first, joost flicks his eyes up to yours, seeking validation that he's doing it right. your jaw slacks open, watching the gentle and slow bob of joosts head up and down your strap. his plush lips and blonde mustache stretch around your girth, this strap is average size, nothing crazy for joosts first blowjob [and inevitably his first pegging afterwards;P]. the movements of his mouth are clearly exploratory, cheeks hollowing, tongue laving over the silicone veins and ridges, the head poking the inside of his cheek every once in a while.

you cup joost under his chin, thumb petting his jaw, gentle praises fall out of your mouth, his confidence builds—your moans sound like you actually fucking feel it—and that turns him on so baaaad :((. this thing is you, his favorite person in the whole wide world suddenly grew a dick and he’s just doing what any good boyfriend would do in this situation…suck you dry!!!!!

it turns joost on even more to think he’s trying to replicate your movements when you give him a blowjob onto you. copying what he knows he loves and feels good when you do it to him. he takes more of your length into his mouth, hands gripping your thighs for stability, baby blue eyes locked onto yours. you can’t help but to grab his hair now, pressing down ever so slightly so he takes even more and more. when joost feels so full with your strap, he gags and pulls away, there’s a sparkle in his eye, like holy shit…this is FUNNNN.

and from that day on, joost honestly becomes OBSESSED with giving you blowies!!! even if you’re not going to peg him later, sometimes his oral fixation kicks in and baby boy wants to feel your [now bigger] strap fucking his whole mouth open, sliding against his tongue, making him gag and drool :(( its so cute because no one knows that he’s actually soooo cock-hungry for you and his friends would call him gay for sucking dick, but it’s YOUR dickkkk he doesn’t care !! :((

joosty wants to hear you praise him, telling him that he’s such a good little puppy for licking your cock, loving the teasing sneer in your voice when you realize he usually has so much to say until his mouth is too full to talk. he wants to feel your fingers scratch his scalp, tug his hair to make him go faster or slower, push his head down so he has to keep your length stuffed in his little throat. the weight of your strap on his tongue is so fucking delicious, especially when you make him stick his tongue out and smack your cock on it :(( orrr smacking your strap on his fucking face!!

i could literally think about this alllll day ughh i’m going crazyyyy i need it i need it i need it i need it 😵‍💫

[authors note: DO NOT be surprised if you see some of this used again in my joost fic ;)]

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Bunny I just finished watching Jumper and I'm obsessed??? 😭 I could only find like, 3 fics about David (yours included, i loved it btw ✋🏻😞) so I thought about requesting something from my favorite writer

I don't have any specific idea so I guess I'll take anything. Here's Leia the egg as an offering 🫴🏻🥚

Luv ya - 🦢

STOLEN BY A JUMPER..

PAIRING: david rice x thief!reader

You were stupid for not seeing him coming.

One second, you were standing in the middle of a private vault, fingers skillfully working over the golden lock of a case that held something very expensive—something you had been paid a lot of money to steal, to bring back to the ugly-ass man that made sure to stuff your bank account full of cash.

Well, what happened the next?

Your stomach lurched, vision suddenly blurred as you felt like you were literally floating in sleep, like you just got hit in the head, and before you could even think about screaming, you were somewhere else. With a painful sigh that echoed from your pounding head, you brought yourself to open your eyes, trying to at least adjust them to the situation, trying to use them as your source of information. Because as y/n, you weren't known for being defeated so fast.

A cabin. Remote. Quiet. Four walls. Dim lamps lighting the space. And standing in front of you, looking thoroughly unimpressed, was the man who had just ripped you from your own goddamn reality.

DAVID RICE; tall (for someone who made you see red), broad shoulders framed by that worn leather jacket, dark hair, sharp blue eyes piercing you in half like you were a problem he was debating how to solve.

“Well,” he said, voice smooth, a little mocking. “You must have some serious balls, sweetheart.”

Pulse thundered in your ears, but you tried your expression cool. Calm. You didn’t survive in this business by panicking. You had to think. It's not like you meet a freak for the first time.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” you lied.

David’s jaw only clenched more, before a flash of irritation crossed his face. “Try again,” he said, stepping closer. Too close. “You broke into my vault. My money. My shit.” gaze flickered down to the duffel still clutched in your hand. “And you were gonna walk away with it like I wouldn’t notice?”

You lifted your chin with more confidence and energy this time, fingers tightening its hold over the bag. “Finders keepers.”

How you should know it was a bad move..

David moved fast—faster than any normal man should probably be able to. One second, he was in front of you, the next he was behind you, hand fisting in your jacket before the world tilted again—

You were falling.

The cold air whipped at your skin, your eyes widening at the clouds that passed you by, at the sharp nibbling the wind did to your skin. You barely had a second to process the fact that you were free-falling through the goddamn sky before—

thud

You landed hard on a rooftop, your side slamming into the concrete. Your breath ripped from your lungs, the impact jarring, disorienting, your world twirling..

You're about to throw up. You're about to throw up.

With a wince of a person who's about to lose her life, you moved your hand to where your ribs were, trying to magically smooth the painful, sharpening like a needle, pain.

And David?

He landed like nothing had happened at all.

After taking some steps towards you, he crouched, gaze sharp, smug amusement curling his lips as if your situation was even.. satisfying for him.

“That,” he said, gripping your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his, “was a warning.”

Your heart hammered, pulse wild, but you refused to let him see your fear. To let him see how weak you started to get. By one freaking movement of his..right..what was even that? His mind? His hands? His..how did he do that?

“So you’re a show-off,” you bit out, wrenching away from his hold. Too weakly. Too painfully. “Congratulations.”

David chuckled. Actually chuckled. “Oh, you’re fun.”

You lunged for him, intending to—what? Punch him? Tackle him? You weren’t exactly sure but everything seemed to be reasonable when you had to take care of a real piece of shit

But before you could even touch him—

The world shifted again.

You were back in the cabin.

Your knees buckled, body reeling from the constant shifts, ribs screaming at you, making you dizzy, making you choke on your own breath, but David? David just stuffed his hands into his pockets and grinned at you.

“Go ahead,” he said, watching as you steadied yourself against the wall. “Try to run.”

You glared at him, fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

He laughed, moving towards the fridge like this was just another normal night for him. Like kidnapping you was just another thing on his to-do list for today.

Great. Just freaking great.

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a beer. “I’ve been told.”

You watched him, mind racing, calculating, pain still flickering through your body, making sure you never forget about it. How the hell were you supposed to escape someone who could teleport?

You had no idea. But you’d be damned if you didn’t find out soon.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

[arbiterlexultionis]

Idea because one of the part 1’s was tagged as Danny x Cass and that’s one of my favorite ships:

Fair warning, this wound up significantly longer than planned whoops.

Jason is a stinky, no good, homicidal, feral man child. 0/10. Babs is Not trusting that man with her sister.

Cass on the other hand? She’s responsible, observant, kind, thoughtful and actually has her shit together. Babs is still kinda suspicious about it at first, especially when she finds out Cass is stalking safely escorting and observing Danny (without his knowledge) while he’s out and about, but then she finds out Danny has -10 survival instincts and Cass has saved him from 12 muggings, 4 kidnappings and a distressing number of head on collisions with cars, trains and on one occasion a helicopter.(Danny has zero fear because he’s secretly a super powered crime fighter, but for people who don’t know about that it makes zero sense that he hasn’t wound up dead yet. He kinda already has, he got better.)

After realizing how often Cass is saving Danny Babs gives her seal of approval, at first kinda leaving Cass to do her own thing but after Cass comes to her for advice a few to many times and keeps failing she gets invested. This leads to Babs constantly switching from full feral mode trying to fend off Jason with a broom and turning around to Cass like “I got you a date, here’s a bag of his favorite candy’s, get him a bouquet of flowers on you way he’ll love it. I’m so proud of you!”

On the one hand, Jazz is all for it. 100% into Jason and knows he reciprocates. Assuming Jason can sneak past Babs they are the single most romantic and cheesiest couple in all of Gotham. Babs cannot stop them, and they say that like a threat.

Danny on the other hand has low self esteem and is oblivious. He gets a heart shaped box of chocolates and bouquet of roses and is like “oh wow you’re such a good friend, thanks bestie!” not even thinking for a second it could be even somewhat romantic. Cass is the single least subtle person on the planet while she’s flirting with him because she’s doesn’t want to be subtle but Danny just won’t take the hint. Whether it be in sign or spoken word Cass is waxing poetic about how beautiful his eyes are and how his laugh fills her with joy and Danny’s just like “aww thanks, you make me happy too!” And Cass can read his body language so she knows it’s not a case of him intentionally ignoring her flirting because he doesn’t reciprocate, he’s just so. Fucking. DENSE. Now matter how much Babs wingwomen’s Cass it never works.

After months of Cass trying to woo him Vlad shows up to do Vlad things.

Danny and Cass are at a fancy restaurant for lunch, Cass dressed to the nines and Danny in all his blue jeaned and ratty t-shirted glory, the flowers she brought for him and homemade cookies he offered in exchange with a face flushed crimson sat off to the side. Vlad shows up halfway through and warning bells start blaring in Cass’ head. She takes one look at how Danny tenses the moment he enters, trys to put himself between Vlad and everyone else, flinch’s at every movement and more. Sees how scared he is. Sees how despite obviously being scared, damn near traumatized, he’s also obviously ready to fight. Vlad starts talking shit and just tells Danny he’s coming home with him to which Danny, understandably, says no, go to hell. Vlad, who has been spending Months tracking down Danny and Jazz, looses his shit. “No? No! You think you can say No to Me!? I OWN you! You are Mine, Little Badger. You will do as I tell you, when I tell you, no matter what I tell you, boy.” Half way through a smug smile spits across his face as he begins to withdraw some sort of custom made taser. He keeps it half hidden in his sleeve and turns to hide it from the crowd that’s gathered to watch the scene he’s making. Cass sees the way Danny’s eyes lock onto the device. Sees how Vlad taps it with his finger, turning it this way and that, flicking his wrist once or twice. Sees how Danny flinch’s at every movement, how Vlad seems almost giddy at every sign of fear and choked on breath. Vlad brings his other hand up almost casually, sets it on Danny’s shoulder almost gently. But Cass sees it, sees it all. Sees the hunger-possessive-obsessive-need in Vlad’s stance. Sees how the moment his hand lands on Danny shoulder it shifts into a white knuckled grip for an ever so brief moment, fingers digging into skin as his smug grin shift into a sickeningly sweet imitation of fatherly affection as he turns to the crowd to try and apologize for “his boy” causing such a ruckus, assuring them that he “Will be giving the child a very stern talking to” and something in her brain screams that Danny’s caution and fear, hi need to protect the people around him from the man in front of him is a learned response.

Vlad means his little I Own You speech as in “I am your godfather, your parents are dead and you are my evil apprentice.” He’s just referring to all the evil apprentice stuff that Danny refuses to do. But Cass, while fairly certain that Danny is some flavor of meta human has deliberately chosen to respect his privacy and not dig up all the answers until he trust her enough to tell her/something happens to force her hand, doesn’t know about any phantom stuff and as a result comes to some slightly different conclusions. Danny’s shifting his feet to something closer to a proper stance, muscles tensing like a coiled spring as his eyes dart around, taking in the environment, finding what he can use as a weapon, which civilians he needs to look out for, coming up with a plan to disarm Vlad. Cass sees all this, knows that Danny can and will defend himself. She also knows that she can afford significantly better lowers than him and Jazz.

So Cass Fucking Lunges for Vlad. She waits until he looks just barely far enough away for her to not be in his peripheral vision. As she vaults over the table it does not creek and shake, and nothing on it is disturbed. No sound is made and Vlad receives no warning. In less then a second he goes from smooth talking the public into not calling CPS on him because of how much of a pain it was to find people that would accept his bribes the last time to being laid out on the floor with a broken nose and 110 pounds of vengeance wailing on him. Unable to use his ghost abilities with all the witnesses he tries to get her with the Plasmius Maximus, because while it’s not deigned for humans a tasers a taser. Only for Cass to smoothly disarm and then damn near punch him in the throat with his own weapon before she tags him two more times in the torso before stashing it away and going back to beating the guano out of him with her bare hands. Eventually she gets up, stomping on a kidney for good measure, before turning around and seeing Danny, still tense and ready to fight, his eyes scanning over her, checking for injuries in the same way Alfred always does. When he confirms she’s unharmed, a tiny portion of the tenseness and nerves that claimed him when Vlad walked in leaves his shoulders and he takes a breath for the first time in minutes, having seemingly not even realized he’d stopped breathing at some point. Cass promptly turns back around to plant her heel in Vlad’s liver before returning to Danny and grabbing his free hand, his other already holding the cookies and flowers, and the two flee the restaurant in nearly a dead sprint with Cass leaving a few hundreds on the table for the food and trouble. Once they’re a few blocks away they stop, and Danny can’t help but stare. Can’t help but think that Cass’ now wind swept and messy hair looks far more beautiful then it ever has before, that the bright red of the blood splattered on her cheeks like constellations in the night sky brings out the blue in her eyes better than any make up ever could. Can’t help but remember the way his nearly still heart beat twice at the way she surged forth to protect.

Can’t help but speak in an oh so soft whisper, very nearly a prayer. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No, I don’t mean as a friend. I, like, love you love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No, like, romantically. I love you romantically. I know you don’t feel the same, but I’ve felt this way so long and I need you to know. I still want to be friends though. If you’ll let me. If you don’t think I’m just some cree-”

In an instant she pulls him in until he’s safely wrapped in her arms, leaning in until her forehead gently wrest on his and their noses barely touch. He can feel her breath on his lips as she speaks.

“I love you, romantically. Can I kiss you?” Seconds pass before Cass’ hand flys to the com in her ear. “Babs, he fainted! What do I do?”

This is way to long as is and it’s late so I tried to dump the rest of my thought in the tags but apparently there’s limits on the length and number of tags. So I might have to do a separate post about Jazz and Jason.

can we connect the 'Duke gave Jason Jazz's number' ask with the ask of 'Babs being Jazz and Danny's sister'?

(Sure :3)

Jason gets Jazz's number, Babs is their sister

When Duke walked into the Clocktower, he paused in place at seeing the people on her screen.

"Uh. Babs? What's that?"

Barbara turned and blinked tired, exhausted eyes. She had spent several sleepless nights just researching everything she could find on her siblings.

She was so, so proud of them, especially because Danny was going to school to be an astronaut and Jazz had already graduated, currently working within Arkham Asylum as a fair and hard working psychiatrist.

"This? It's nothing," she said absentmindedly. Like hell she was going to let any of the vigilantes she knew linger around or pester her darling siblings!

"... that's a picture of Jazz Fenton."

Barbara blinked. "You know her?"

"Yeah, sometimes Jazz volunteers at Gotham University to tutor people. She helps me with my anatomy classes," Duke explained.

A first witness account about her siblings from someone she knew!

"Tell me more," Barbara said eagerly.

Duke crossed his arms. "Tell me why you're looking into her."

Barbara sighed deeply. Then she said, "We're half siblings. I found out that she and my half-brother are in Gotham so I just wanted to learn more about them. I never met them before because my biological mom left when I was young."

Duke's eyebrows rose. Then he said, "Huh. Well, alright. Jazz is really nice. She explains things really well and she's also really patient. Everyone wants her to tutor them, but she's pretty busy so you have to schedule her in advance sometimes. I have her number, so I usually get tutored by her often. She also talks a lot? But she's super nice!"

Barbara nodded. She had hacked into several places and had already figured out most of her sibling's personality traits.

Jazz was an overachiever, eager to please, helpful, chatty, and a bit of a know it all. Danny, meanwhile, was a bit antisocial, but very kind, thoughtful, clever, and quick to help others.

Had she mentioned that she was very proud of them? She wanted desperately to meet them in person one day.

Duke then continued with a small laugh, "Y'know, if nothing else happens, I think you'll see your siblings again. Maybe even as in-laws! Jazz gave Jason her number the other day and he's been super eager to ask her out."

All time seemed to freeze. It was like a record scratch that turned off the music.

Barbara stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Even if Duke wasn't a meta that could predict the future, he could already feel the danger.

"Uh."

".... did you just say that Jason is trying to ask out my adorable little sister? Jason? Jason who once killed 8 people and put their decapitated heads in a duffel bag? Jason who lives in a trashy apartment because he's too busy committing crime to clean it? Jason who forgets to shower sometimes because he gets lazy?"

"............ yes?" Duke sounded afraid.

Barbara turned around to her computer again, bringing up more files. This time, they were named after Jason and Red Hood.

"Leave. You didn't see anything here."

Duke immediately bowed. "Yes, ma'am. Please spare me."

"You'll live only because you can tell me more about Jazz."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Then he scrambled out of the Clocktower. RIP Jason. You will be missed.

[fairys-dream]

started watching severance..so…..obviously i had to make a serverance sabrevine au(those who Know know why)

major spoilers for the show, so all thoughts are hid safely under the cut👍

vic severs immeditely after logan breaks off their relationship. logan had started seeing silverfox, thinking she was a better influence on him. then about 3 months or so later, she mysteriously dies(its a gemma type situation). it doesnt take long for logan to sever too

department X. a newer 2 person department, victor c. working alongside david n. they spend a lotta time organizing military equipment, and theorize maybe theres an apocalyptic war going on topside. but overall, they dont really talk much. 3 months in, kayla s. joins their team. 5 months in, logan h. shows up as well. and he n vic IMMEDIATELY click.

innie vic n logan have a lot smoother of a time falling into a relationship, as well as managing it, due to their lack of memories making them unaware of the reasons for their own issues

they obviously still have reactions n thoughts similar to the shit their outies deal with, feeling deep self hatred while not really knowing why, but theyre easier to deal with due to the lack of context, and they end up helping eachother out with that mutual struggle of mysterious pain

and these guys are basically experiencing the most giddy First Puppy Love of their weird little innie existence. its sappy, its fun, office supplies is getting messed with as they tease eachother, theyre sneaking out to go on lil dates around the maze of their workplace, etc etc

so. the purpose of their department is actually to test replacement of an outies memories. first, outie logans memory of silverfox’s death is replaced with vic being the culprit. and overtime, regular arguments in their relationship gets replaced with more intense abuse, on both sides

their innies start getting flashes of it as a result of it being so early in testing. logan starts to back off from vic a bit, but vic tries to reassure him their outies are different. at somepoint, flashes of their actual relationship slip thru too, and its like having 2 sets of memories. logan cant tell which one to trust...but he decides to trust the vic infront of him, since his own outie seems a lot meaner too

meanwhile their outies are getting flashes of their innies relationship, logan being scared for his innies safety and vic praying that his innie is somehow nicer than he was(even tho in reality he wasnt ever really that bad)

vic catches on that somethings up when he gets a flash of silverfox, obviously still alive, and is over the fucking moon that he didnt actually kill her(which he was inclined to believe cuz he really did want to do it at the time). hes also kinda selfishly hoping that innie logan doesnt start anything with her and just sticks with innie vic this time

at somepoint logan just stops going into work for a couple days out of fear for his innie, and thats when outie vic seeks him out to attempt to explain the stuff hes gotten flashes of

while talking, logan suggests the idea that if theyre working on replacing memories, then maybe they could erase them too…his memories of existing the way his innie does, purely, without having fucked anything up in his life yet, seems a lot more healing than the way he feels now. vic agrees, but…that kinda thing seems like a slippery escapist slope. ‘it aint just about erasing yer past, yer trying to erase yerself aint ya?’ vic’d miss him if he did, even admittedly the bad bits

even with all the abusive memories in their brains, sitting next to eachother they felt something comfortable, something warm, something that made them both feel present in the moment

ig ideally it’d end with them getting the false memories flushed outta them and integrating with their innies, giving their relationship another shot

[spillthepuckingtea]

Hi sorry if this is a tad bit long, but

Toxic relationship anon here, so this is how I see this relationship with Sammy and Jack: in the beginning it most definitely was good, and you could tell at family skate he was happy and he genuinely looked happy, but after he got his shoulder surgery he was in a very vulnerable place and his mental and emotional health wasn’t the best, and Sammy knew that and took advantage of it, and in a way he feels like he owed it to her to at least try a relationship. Being in a toxic relationship with a manipulative narcissist is not easy, they gas light you so much and you don’t even realize it because it’s normal behavior. They blame you for fights and anything they can to not take blame theirselves. You’re friends and family can tell you they don’t like the person and they aren’t good for you because you see someone different than they do, you don’t see the toxic manipulative things they are doing to keep you around , because around you they are a totally different person. A person you think you’re happy with and a person you love . When reality they are the complete opposite.. they make you feel insecure no matter what it is but you don’t see it as that. They will make your confidence shit. But once again you don’t see it as that because you have rose colored glasses on and a part of you chooses to believe they aren’t a bad person but they belittle you like no other and you just go through a toxic cycle. Until you for yourself see someone for their true colors and intentions no one can convince you to leave the relationship.. your friends and family are going to be civil for your sake but they don’t like your relationship and how you’re treated . I finally for myself saw after 2 years, he wasn’t good enough for me and I was worth so much more.. with that being said Jack most definitely had rose colored glasses on , but I believe he’s slowly but surely figuring out the relationship isn’t what he thought it would be. He felt like he owed it to her, but to him it was never going to be anything long lasting.. I think he’s finally seeing her toxic behavior and her intentions. And maybe he’s a routine guy and doesn’t want cause more problems before playoffs so he’s waiting the relationship out… but him not getting her a wag jacket and not publicly claiming her is one thing I most definitely took notice of, because I was a wag in that relationship and he always made sure I had a jacket or whatever was made for said games.. so for him not to do that really speaks volumes… and just his playing lately has not been the potential of him as a player; people don’t realize when you’re in a toxic relationship it does affect your everyday life even if you try and not let it; and I think he’s going to notice that eventually.. I know everyone wants this relationship to end, but believe me he will get tired of the toxic behavior eventually… if you have any questions I’ll be happy to answer them ❤️

first off I’m sorry you even know any of this. It’s something that nobody should go through. What causes me the slightest bit of hope is that he did not get her a jacket which like you said speaks volumes it shows that slowly he’s starting to realize that she is not in this relationship for the right reasons and I don’t like to call people, toxic, or manipulative when I don’t know them, but all the signs are pointing to that because what kind of dies a human being goes for the brother of the guy that rejected you to spite him. I just hope he starts playing like he used to because I know when he’s back on his grind it’s gonna help so much with his internal turmoil and his confidence that he might actually have the confidence to realize what’s going on.

[ineffablecabbage]

THE PITT, 3 PM

Not Spoilers: I don't care how many people on this show kiss Santos' ass: it's just gonna make me hate her more, actually!

SPOILERS

First of all, Robby's little speech about where to put your feelings definitely reminds me of "there are TWO KINDS OF DOCTORS." someone should make a gif set lmao

Secondly, Frank is a great mentor when his student isn't an asshole. Mel + Frank is my favorite team. "YES YOU DO." AWW.

showing Dana breaking up the fight is the reality of nurses' every fucking day lives. love that for this show.

DAMN IS SANTOS GOING TO QUESTION EVERY SINGLE TIME EVERY DOCTOR GIVES AN ORDER? HE'S YOUR FUCKING ATTENDING, YOU DUMBASS.

Look, I can't be mad at Langdon for being bitchy to Santos. .This dumb girl is trying to frame him for drugs, so she deserves what she gets! Anyway, she's been terrible all day. I DON'T CARE that he's mean to her, show. tHIS GIRL could not have survived Benton or Season 5 Carter. She'd crawl in a hole and cry about Dr. Bailey. She deserves all THREE.

THOSE RATS ARE PET RATS. I love them. Offer them a sandwhich, Whitaker.

Oh, does Robby have a bad back? Hmmmmmmm. DON'T COME FOR ME, LAWSUIT.

Oh, are they flirting over the patients again? LOL, Either that baby was his or that was an IVF baby. That woman is not with anoher man.

Okay, so yes, Langdon did too much here. But lmao. If you are yelling "Shut the fuck up" at your underlings.... maybe your advice is hypocritical here, Robby. AND ACTUALLY, getting Mel out of the game was a good thing.

I'm sure Santos' defenders will pretend that Robby was in the right there, but he needs a good smack. And so does Santos.

If belitting and humiliation or whatever aren't effective teachign tools, then maybe yelling in the hallway aren't either, Dr. Robby, buddy.

Oh, poor Victoria. Also, that was awkward as fuck.

"I wish you many Utahs." Awww, I love Dana.

OH JESUS H. CHRIST. NOW We have to hear Samira go on about how good Trinity is at this. lmao. Nah, she sucks, actually. If there is one bad writing issue in this show, it is how they are approaching Trinity. She is a complete shit doctor who occassionally gets lucky, and we have to hear the likes of Samira and Robby to go bad for the dumb girl while Trinity treats everyone else like shit.

I genuinely hope nothing good happens to Santos for the rest of this show. I haven't hated someone this strongly since Owen Hunt screamed at Cristina Yang.

Awww, Whitaker. Awww, the psych patient. Awwww warm fuzzies.

Oh, damn. Collins calling out fatphobia. NICE.

that fucking asshole punched DANA? what a fucking asshole.

[sillysealll]

Pls publish more hcs abour dickroy they drive me insane

Well if you insist anon…😊

Teen Titans days HCs :

- Dick became the first sidekick but Roy was pretty close behind and for some time, it was only the two of them and the JL. They barely interacted during that time so Dick always admired Roy from a distance because he thought Speedy was so cool with all his trick arrows (this one is directly taken from the Teen Titans 2003 TV show where Dick is a huge fan of Roy)

- Roy, on the other hand, wanted to get to know him but he was too scared of Batman to dare to approach Robin, who was always glued to the man

- Both of their perspectives changed when Robin, Kid Flash, Wonder Girl and Aqualad formed the Teen Titans and Speedy would drop by. Dick began to find Roy too arrogant and Roy found Dick insufferable

- But they eventually warmed up to each other when Roy officially joined. Though, they kept on bickering even after they started to actually appreciate the other, both too prideful to admit otherwise until wayyyy later

- Another thing that set a gap between them early on was their difference maturity level. Not to say that Roy was childish but he actually knew how to act his age when he could, while Dick was pretty psychorigid. He was acting so beyond his age all the time that it was uncanny for Roy (and most of the team)

- Roy took it upon himself to make Dick act his age and thanks to him and the team, Dick eventually loosen up a more and more around them

- I find the fact that Wally used to be a conservative hilarious (but also sad bc he got it from his parents) and in my mind Dickroy were his exposure therapy

- Even when Speedy was supposed to not like Robin, he couldn’t help but be amazed by Dick’s acrobatics

Outsiders time HCs :

- Roy and Dick shared a place for a little while after Donna’s death because Roy was scared Dick would let himself die while Dick was scared Roy would relapse

- Grace and Anissa used to gossip on Dickroy and at some point the whole team joined them (except for the two aformentioned)

- Unknowingly, Roy stopped Dick from ending his life more times than the latter cares to admit (When he would visit him as Dick was about to grab his gun or call when Dick was about to step off the highest building he could find) Dick never told anyone

- Roy and Dick coddled Lian for weeks after she was rescued from the human trafficking ring and Roy had a hard time bath her without feeling sick to his stomach because of the scar she had kept from that time

Civilians (teen) Dickroy HCs :

- As civilians, Roy and Dick were somehow always put against each other by the media’s and all the comparisons they were making made Roy despise Dick before he even properly met him

- Then they met as civilians in a Gala and they surprisingly clicked together immediately.

- Dick already knew who Speedy was behind the mask and he had to remind himself that Roy had no idea so he wouldn’t be surprise by how different he was treated by Roy whether he had the mask on or not

- On interviews they kept on shitting on each other just to make the media’s gossip about their non-existent rivalry because they thought the headlines were hilarious

- When Roy learned about Dick’s identity he felt so humiliated for not having figured it out that he didn’t speak to Dick for the next three galas they had together (the media’s loved it)

Random HCs :

- Roy and Starfire took Jason under his wing because he has the little brother privilege thanks to Dick (and the fact Roy and Starfire were/used to be helplessly in love with Dick has nothing to do with it, not at all)

- Roy genuinely grows fond of Jason (platonically) but he always has an after-thought about Dick whenever he looks at him

- While Roy is tolerated by most of the batfam, Dick is somehow an honorary member of the Arrow family (it’s because of Lian (and Roy))

(Dick is an honorary member of most families in the DC universe)

- Whenever Dick or Roy doesn’t finish his plate, he pushes it to the other who always finish it

- Roy likes most movies he watches and after coming out of a cinema he loves to talk about the movie to analyse it and compliment it. While Dick is a tad more difficult, he also just want to annoys Roy and every time they watch a movie together, Dick ends up saying he didn’t like it just to see Roy go on a rant for the next fifteen minutes

- Dick pretends he’s bad at cooking just to escape the choir and leave it to Roy, who falls for it every time

- Roy braids hair automatically when he’s doing nothing and has someone beside him. Dick is often seen with small braids in his hair

- Roy is never cold while Dick supports heat pretty well. In winter, Roy is Dick’s heater while Roy just hates Dick in summer because the guy always looks good (both figuratively and literally)

Mmmh okay I think I’m done ?

Hope you enjoyed those silly HCs as much as you enjoyed the previous ones 🤗

[rafessweetgirl]

better than the movies / rafe cameron

a/n: if ur seein this its my first fic on here <3 hope its good, i actually don't hate it. it's long for my first tho.

word count / 1.3k

to you, love was just something people found in the movies. it was fiction. you had given up on finding love a long time ago.

but here you were. looking at him and feeling so much love. rafe cameron. you smiled to yourself. how did you get here? how did you even know that you loved him? that you were in love with him? you just knew.

if someone had told you that you'd be here in bed, spending your early morning with rafe, you wouldn't have laughed. no, you would've looked at them like they were deranged. "are you fucking crazy?" you'd say. "never in a million years."

you hated each other. rafe was the biggest asshole ever and you were the only girl who wouldn't put up with his shit. in your eyes he was some spoiled brat who turned to drugs when things didn't go his way. you hated how everyone glorified rafe and ignored who he really was. and you were like a punching bag to him. you frustrated him immensely. he hit and hit and hit you over and over again. only you hit back. he was so used to running over people with no regard to their feelings. he had to admit, he enjoyed the fight a bit.

the first time you had seen rafe differently was at topper's party, last spring. it was hot and muggy outside. it had stopped raining a couple hours earlier, before the party started. you were out back, sitting on the edge of the pool with your best friend niya. there were people everywhere and you were starting to sweat. "i need out or im gonna die," you told niya. you got up and walked toward the house.

she shouted after you. "please don’t take your sweet time!"

you rolled your eyes and smiled.

i need to find a bathroom. i can get away from everybody in there.

you kept walking throughout the house knocking on and opening doors until you found one. finally, shit. when you opened the door all the way, you were met with an unfortunately familiar face.

"what the fuck?" he looked at you with disbelief.

"rafe?" you're kidding.

you were pissed now. you were hot and sweaty and just when you thought you had a chance to breathe you run into him.

"get out."

"gladly," you were about to turn around when you noticed something. his nose was red, his eyes watery. almost as if he’d been crying. "wait, were you crying?”

"get the fuck out, now."

"no, not until you answer my question."

he rolled his bloodshot eyes. "no, i wasn't crying."

"it's okay to have feelings rafe, i know you're not used to it."

that set him off. his tough exterior crumbled when he was around you. you never failed to get under his skin. he lunged for you, grabbing you by your arm before you could react. he dragged you inside the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind you, reaching down to lock it.

"and i know you're not used to being anything other than a fucking bitch."

while you would've fired back with some smart ass comment any other time, you weren't worried about his insults right now. no matter how rude he was to you, you were genuinely concerned. you'd never seen him show any emotion other than anger or annoyance.

"rafe, i'm serious. are you okay?" you asked softly. you and rafe stared at each other for what felt like years. he was scared now. he didn't show it but it felt like you could see right through his big, scary act. but he couldn't look away. you had him hypnotized and he could see the genuine worry in your eyes.

"what do you care?"

"im not as big of a bitch as you say i am. i have a heart."

he realized he had you against the door, your head caged between his arms. he stepped back and broke eye contact to stare at the ground.

"i just- i'm going through it right now." he dragged his hands down his face. "i dont wanna talk-" the tears were back.

you stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around his waist. the fuck? what is she doing? he stood there confused. the hug actually felt....good. so he let his arms hang and the tears fall.

"it's okay rafe, you don't even have to tell me."

he finally hugged you back. now he was sobbing, pouring his heart out into the hug. into you. you hugged him tighter. you were so sweet, he realized. he couldn't believe he spent all this time hating you, insulting you every chance he got. how could anyone hate this sweet, sweet girl? nobody had been there for him like this.

his father didn't believe in emotions. maybe that was why he was like this. he felt like he had to be an asshole. not because he wanted to but because if he didn't protect himself, who would?

rafe tucked his head into your shoulder. you smelled amazing, like strawberries and vanilla. it added to your sweetness.

"shhh it's okay." you rubbed his back. "let it all out."

so he did. and when he was done, he pulled away from you and you let him. your heart panged a little at the loss of warmth. but you were glad he let you in. it wasn't as hard as you thought because you genuinely were a good person. rafe just had it out for you for some reason. you acted how you did towards him in self defense.

"dont say shit about this to anyone." good ole rafe.

"oh im so ready to tell everyone," you deadpanned.

"seriously."

"i would never."

"thanks." he sniffled, glancing at you then at himself in the mirror. "really, thank you."

"anytime." you smiled that sweet smile. he hated that he actually liked it.

rafe found a hand towel then turned the sink on, wetting it. he turned it off and wiped his tears away. he looked at you one more time and actually smiled. you stepped out of the way as he reached for the door, opening it and walking out.

you hadn't talked to rafe for a couple months after that. you'd see him around but he'd make it a point not to look at you. at least not while you were looking at him.

it wasn’t until the beginning of summer that you’d heard from him again. you were lying in bed, watching the sunset out the opened doors of your balcony when he called you. how rafe got your number you couldn’t figure out (you make a mental note to ask him about it when he wakes up). but you picked up, and thank God you didn't hate him anymore or you would've hung up when you heard his voice.

thank God you didn't hate him.

he hated to admit it but, "i need you." he said. "please."

and so you ran out your room and drove over to tanneyhill without a second thought. and you were there for rafe. eventually it became routine. he would call you when he needed a shoulder to lean on.

suddenly, his hate for you was gone. maybe it had been love masked as hate.

rafe let you know that he was there for you too, of course. after being around a vunerable rafe for a while, you finally let him in.

you and rafe spent the whole summer together. at the end of everyday, you found yourself wrapped in his warm embrace. you pretty much lived at tanneyhill. being with him felt better than the all the movies you’d watched and the books you had read.

you made love. you argued. you cried in each others arms. you laughed together. and kissed. and held each other, and so much more. but most importantly, you loved each other. and looking at him now, lying on his stomach , the sunrise shining on his toned back, you realized love wasn't fiction. it was real. you had found love. or maybe it had found you.

rafe was love.

a/n: i thought my first fic would be a drabble or smth, but it kept goin and goin and goin. i have drabbles in my drafts and they'll prob turn into full on fics. hope smb see's this and loves it! i would love feed back and suggestions. i dont have a masterlist or anything yet so this is just me trying smth out, thanks @littlelamy for encouraging me. i’m dedicating this to you! <3

cute divider by @dollywons

[problematicturtle]

Idk maybe Bucky didn’t bring up the disability jokes because he was too busy being rude, yelling at Sam, blasting past his boundaries and clear “nos”, blaming him for everything from giving away the shield to walker killing that kid, to idk probably also for the moon being in retrograde.

Last I checked your traumatic past doesn’t give you the right to repeatedly be an abusive asshole to someone who is also going through shit and actually also didn’t ask you to show up to their place of work, berate them for their life choices, and then spend the next few days being as nasty a bitch as possible while you just try to hold your own shit together while the world burns down around you, including your own personal life and your family’s legacy.

I mean I guess the OP shouldn’t have said “when Bucky got his shit together” and went “when Bucky decided to stop being a raging dickhole to a man who actually didn’t ask for his opinion or to be the subject of rude and unnecessary behavior” instead, because that’s accurate.

Again, your trauma does not give you the right to be an asshole, especially to people who also have shit to deal with. But in general, really. Don’t be an asshole, don’t expect others to put up with asshole behavior just because you have trauma. You’re not entitled to pay it forward so others should suffer too for your own pain.

I can’t believe this is the first fatws post I’ve made in years. And it’s because this bullshit nonsense has come across my dash.

Anyway I love Bucky, and I love Sam, and honestly 2028 Bucky and Sam seem to have moved past whatever differences they have had, but you do you I guess, and constantly expect

Btw accusing others of always playing the race card when it comes to Sam does not in fact absolve you from the racism and inability to see Black characters as human being who do not exist just to comfort and coddle your white fave. But thanks for playing!

Also you wanna talk ableism? Man it’s pretty fucking ableist to infantalize a character to such a point that you expect every single character around him to not only put up with his behavior but coddle and indulge him to an extent where they aren’t allowed to have reactions to his behavior lest he becomes sad and cries.

Me: The whole "making amends" idea in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is incredibly stupid and smacks of victim-blaming because Bucky should not be forced to make amends for things he was *made* to do against his will.

Its literally like telling a SA victim to apologize to all the other people their attacker also hurt.

Also, don't tell trauma survivors to *get their shit togeher* its extremely insentistive and misinformed. Mentally ill people aren't just being annoying or mean on purpose.

Sam Stans and people in wider fandom:

*That's not victim blaming! Bucky was never a victim, it was doing it all willingly anyway and that's why Sam said to make amends!

Also Sam has PTSD too. He is the only person in history who ever suffered discrimination, so Bucky trauma doesn't count and if you keep mentioning it you are a big bad racist!!

Me: OK, that's messed up. Don't dismiss and invalidate people's trauma.

Also know its not just black people who are subject to discrimination? Lots of people suffer discrimination, including disabled people and mentally ill people and this applied historically as well.

Furthermore, having been subjected to racism doesn't give Sam or anybody else a free pass to mistreat others. What's wrong with just treating those around you with basic decency, sympathy and compassion?

That includes Bucky, who is also disabled BTW.

Sam fans and others in general fandom:

"Bucky is not disabled! I already told you HE IS NOT A VICTIM he never was! He is not marginalized! Stop babying him! He's an adult and he CHOSE to do all the things he did as the Winter Soldier!"

He's just being mean to Sam on purpose and being selfish. Sam doesn't have to be nice to him! That's so tone deaf and its racist!"

Seriously poeple: if Bucky had bought up how the disability jokes and blaming him for things that caused his PTSD made him uncomfortable IRL Sam would have been receptive and understood because he's actually a decent human who knows its wrong to mock people for things they can't help. Or blame them for things that they didn't choose.

It is a shame that the writers of FAtWS and a good number of Sam Stans can't seem to grasp this.

[daddydixonscrossbow]

You show up to Daryl’s house after getting hurt on a run

You limped your way through the gate, shooting down everyone asks about you being alright.

“Yeah I just hurt my knee, gotta go rest it.”

“Rolled my ankle, I’m fine.”

It was always something different, but never the actual reason. You made your way to Daryl’s front door, knocking on it. Dogs bark alerts from inside and a few seconds later, the door swings open.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.”

He moves aside, allowing you to come in. Dog jumps up, earning a whimper from your lips and Daryl snaps, “Dog. Down.”

You turn around and Daryl’s eyes are moving up and down your body, “Please tell me that ain’t yer’blood.”

You force a small smile, laughing slightly as you raise your shirt, “I took a tumble, dealing with some walkers..” you turn and Daryl moves closer to you, “Looks like ya did more than that. Ya ain’t big are ya?” His hand moves your shirt up more, slow and gentle.

You shake your head, “No, I’m not. I just fell on some rocks after taking down two of them.”

“Goddamn. A’right, hold on.”

You move to sit on the couch, wincing and groaning lowly as you do. Dog comes and sits between your knees, tilting his head back indicating he wants scratches. You laugh slightly, “Hi, boy.”

“A’right.” Daryl walks around and sits down behind you, “Can ya take that off?”

You nod, sliding your bag off of your shoulder and reaching for your shirt. You gasp, pausing as you tilt your head, “Shit.”

Daryl lays his hand on your not injured side, “Here. I’ll just cut it. Y’don’t like this shirt do ya?”

“Don’t make me laugh.” You sigh, “It hurts.”

“M’serious.” He mumbles, “M’gonna cut it.”

You hold still as he pushes the blade the thin plastic, his knives were always sharp so it cut through easy, “There.” He pushes the split fabric open, “This is gonna hurt, M’sorry.”

You take a deep breath, trying to brace yourself, but that didn’t work. You grip the back of the couch, pushing your forehead against your bicep as you breathe through the pain, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I know. I know.” He grips your shoulder with his free hand, dabbing off the blood with the cloth, “M’sorry, darlin’.” He rubs his thumb over your shoulder, “Almost done. Are ya hurt anywhere else?”

“My hip, but I think that’s just bruised.”

“Let me see.” He leans back, tossing the dirty cloth onto the coffee table. He helps you stand up and you undo your belt and jeans, pushing them down slightly, “How bad is it?”

“It ain’t good.” He shakes his head, “But jus’as y’said. It’s bruised.” He helps you sit back down, “I need t’clean that one more time, then I’ll bandage it up.”

You nod, “Go for it.” You grip the back of the couch, your other hand gripping your knee. The stinging pain returns and you let out a whine, arching your back away from him, “Sorry. Sorry.”

“I know it hurts. S’okay.” He holds your shoulder with his hand, “M’gonna patch ya up now.” He grabs gauze and the roll of medical tape, ripping some off with his teeth, “I’ll go get ya a shirt, you can sleep here t’night. Wanna make sure yer’good.”

You nod, biting your lip as he gently rubs his fingers over the tape, “A’right. Good?”

“I think so.” You nod, smiling as Dog comes back over.

“Be right back.” Daryl gets up and makes his way upstairs. You pay the couch for dog to come up and he jumps up, resting his head in your lap. Your fingers gently drag over his fur.

Daryl comes back down and stops when he sees the scene in front of him, “That dog loves you.”

“You seem jealous.” You tease and Daryl scoffs, “Nah, I ain’t jealous over no dog.” Dog perks his head up and looks at Daryl. You laugh, pointing at the animal, “He thinks different.”

“Fine, you can sleep down here with him then.”

“Now wait a minute.” You hold a finger up and Daryl tosses the shirt at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He smirks and reaches down to scratch Dog’s head. You go to stand up and Daryl moves around, helping you, “easy.”

“I’m good.” You nod, “Can you cut this the rest of the way, please?”

He nods, pulling out his knife. He grips the fabric and slices through it, “I’ll.. be upstairs.” He turns walking towards the steps, whistling, “Dog. Come on.”

You smirk as dog jumps down, running up the steps.

You pull the fabric of your shirt down, dropping it to the floor by your bag. You slip on Daryl’s shirt and kick off your shoes as you undo your jeans. They join the pile of your stuff and you walk over to the kitchen, washing up quick before making your way upstairs.

You walk into Daryl’s room, smirking as you see him lying there shirtless in bed, dog’s head resting on his chest, “Hey. Buddy. Make room.” Dog perks up, moving to the end of the bed and you crawl into bed, laying next to Daryl.

“C’mere boy.” You make a kissing sound with your lips and dog comes and lays next to you, Daryl on your other side.

“You and that damn Dog.” Daryl grumbles with a laugh, “I think you like him more than ya like me.”

“Not possible. He couldn’t have helped me like you did tonight, speaking of.” You turn your head, “Thank you for that, by the way.” He nods, “Not a problem.” He leans in pressing a kiss to your head, “just means ya owe me one.”

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’ 💋