#i hate drawing so much but i NEEDED this to be real. right now.

[hightowerqueen]

Thursday Bangers

thank you for the tag @serensama <3 i'll tag @no1lucanispegger, @rookamell and @corvus-frugilegus if you guys want to play!

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week's prompt: I'm prepared to sacrifice my life I would gladly do it twice - Mercy by Shawn Mendes

i fear i may have stumbled my way into ANOTHER parallel universe for the De Rivas. Rafe belongs to @nonagesimus (hi bb, i love you) and i am extremely not normal about him or him and Bea or either of them and Illario so. here you go.

referenced m!rook/illario, rook/rook

"Just go. They'll need someone to string up over this, but it doesn't have to be you." Bea's jaw drops. There's no fucking way Rafe is saying what she thinks he's saying. "What do you mean, go? I'm the one who dragged you into this in the first place!" "Yes, Bea. But do you want to make me watch them kill you, too? Haven't you done enough?" He's mad, and of course he is, but it hurts all the same, proverbial knife slid between her ribs as easily as if it were real, sinking through the flesh like butter.

The wound stings, because this is her fault. She's the one who'd gone and played hero, dragging him behind her, only to find out they'd somehow blown a Crow operation's cover sky high.

Rafe sighs, anger replaced by something defeated in his expression. "Viago is going to come knocking soon. He won't argue if I tell him I was working alone. He'd rather that than the truth."

He's right, again. He's looking at her with those maker-forsaken beautiful eyes of his, and she hates the way it makes tears pool in hers. Hates everything about this, hates how she's fucked everything up again.

This time it can't be fixed, she's pretty sure.

"You need to go, Bea," he continues, more insistant, "He can't find you here. Let him believe the lie, please."

There'd always been a line between them, before, an electrified fence they both stayed a respectable distance away from. But that seems stupid now, because they might very well never see each other again. The thought makes her feel ill.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, she finally crosses that line. Grabs him by the cuirass, yanks him in close enough to crush him in the circle of her arms.

"I'm getting Illario. There's gotta be some strings he can pull, especially for you," she whispers into his ear.

And then she's chasing his mouth with hers, the kiss a desperate, pleading thing she hopes speaks years of ignored feelings into his mouth.

She thinks it works, because Rafe goes slack in her arms, tension bleeding out of him and kissing her back like he's clinging to her just as hard.

They should've done this earlier. So much wasted time, and now it's over before it ever really had a chance.

She can still taste him on her tongue when she leaves.

-

In the end, Illario's connections aren't necessary. Viago negotiates for Rafe to be sent on a contract with Varric Tethras, something absurd about gods the only thing Bea catches. It's not death, but it also is, a mission with a scope that's almost designed to kill him off away from her eyes. Mercy, and not. Guilt claws its' way up her throat and she retreats to the rooftops, settling there and hugging her knees to her chest.

That's where Illario finds her, and they share a bottle of red to mourn the departure of the man they both love in silence.

She wonders, briefly, what ghost is hitching a ride with Illario for him to be so understanding of the weight she's going to carry from now on.

[acevity]

There is a girl who haunts that lighthouse She saved me, I was swimming So young I almost drowned

this was stuck in my head all day. abstragedy week day 6, free day.

in which zooble is a lighthouse keeper and is kept company by gangle, a ghost who watches over every new keeper.

[civetcider]

Heeey ladies, how's it going? oh what's that, You wanna see my motorcycle? Oh of course

Pretty badass huh? Wait why are you walking away

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Interesting. Don’t necessarily think I’m autistic but I have more going on than just ADHD and I’m not sure what that is.

[freakalot]

gojo hates condoms ☆

not even in an ‘i can’t feel a thing’ frat-fuck way either. he just wants to be close to you. he’s touch starved as it is and being inside of you is quite literally the closet he can be to you. why would he want a barrier between his achy length and your silken walls?

he hates condoms. hates them like they’re pointing south on his moral compass. hates them like they hurt to use—which they do, in a way—the mental anguish feels real to him, at least. he picks up a fuss in the grocery store when you pull a pack of ribbed condoms from the shelf to try because why would you seek pleasure from artificial ridges when the protruding veins of his cock would feel just as good if not dressed in a condom?

sometimes he eats you out for twice as long as usual to get you really fucked out and dumb. he’ll make you cum hard and fast and so much that your mind is a mess in the hopes that you’ll forget all about your safety precautions and let him feel you from the inside out. but you always catch on. with a tsk and a finger pointed to the draw where he keeps the horrid things out of sight.

so when you let him fuck you raw for the first time, gojo is reeling. it’s on the condition that he promises to pull out, and promise he does—with a pinky finger hooked around yours and his lips to his thumb—he promises to pull out.

he decides on missionary, because as much as he loves the hundred different positions he knows how to wrangle you into, he wants to connect with you. to make love, not fuck.

and even your wetness against his tip is enough to jolt his stomach downwards. collecting your glossing over his angry head as he rubs himself up and down your folds—he would cum just like this if he wasn’t so stuck on feeling all of you. you’re warm and wet and tight as he pushes against your entrance and oh god he’s going to cum already.

“oh,” he stills, eyes deadset on yours as he slides into you. his tip is rubbing against that spot that makes your back arch upwards and it takes everything in you not to laugh at the distraught look on his face as he says “i have to pull out.”

“you’re joking, right?”

“i really wish i was baby,” he looks pained. he’s never felt something so heavenly and ungodly at the same time. he wants to do bad things, to fuck you into the mattress and breed you full of himself until you’re too weak to care about the aftermath of such recklessness. “i can’t pull out.”

“what?” you laugh, his balls tighten at the sound.

“if i move—” satoru has never looked so serious, “—i will cum. this was a bad idea. why would you let me do this?”

“you’re the one always—”

“actually don’t argue with me, you know what it does to me.” he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on anything other then the way you feel around him. he does math in his head, thinks about the people he’s killed, how much he loves you… how pretty you look right now… growing old with you.

“i swear you’re getting harder inside of—”

“imsorryiloveyoubutpleasebequietorelseyouaregoingtogetpregnant.”

it takes him a minute of mental gymnastics to feel confident enough to start slowly sliding out of you, but all hope dies when the heel of your foot presses against his ass and with a smile made of sin you pull him deeper inside of you.

he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he is not joking and all that comes out is a beautiful strangled moan that makes you tighten around him. for a man who claims to be the strongest he is rather weak-willed when it comes to your pussy. he needs to cum so hard that it hurts, but a fear of maybe ruining your life and relationship digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“don’t do this to me,” he whines.

but you’re smiling. you’re so tight and wet and beautiful and everything he’s ever dreamt of having and holding and you’re smiling. “satoru,” you say, and he’s weak. “cum inside.”

anything for you. it’s gorgeous: the way he lets loose, falling forward to press all his weight into you as he groans and his balls release in hot spurts that you can feel painting your insides white. it’s the connection, the intimacy, the tears that prick at his eyes.

and he doesn’t pull out. no, he presses his hips forward to fuck his cum as deep into you as he possibly can and he vows to throw out every condom in the goddamn house.

god he hates condoms.

part 2

[buggachat]

adrien never went to public school / adrienette have never met AU where Ladynoir are dating but Marinette has beef with Adrien Agreste™ on twitter, spurred by her interest in the fashion industry and her friendship with Mylene. ads are all over the place of Adrien promoting products like air in a bottle and NFTs and just generally so many products that are extremely poor taste/bad for the environment. Marinette tweets about beauty standards in the industry and all the shit Gabriel brand does to the environment and how Adrien Agreste perfectly encapsulates it all.

Adrien, of course, never responds to any of her tweets. her tweets are just white noise in the background. she is nowhere near on his level. one day Marinette tweets out something akin to "if I saw Adrien Agreste irl i'd punch him in the face" and her twitter gets banned for Threats of Violence, Alya draws attention to the injustice of it via the Ladyblog and suddenly "I want to punch Adrien Agreste in the face [gets banned]" becomes a bit of a meme. NOW people know who Marinette is and are listening to what she's saying (on her new account or whatever). Chat Noir also tweets that he wants to punch Adrien in the face

A hashtag trends. Marinette caves and starts tweeting about the scandals of the industry on her Ladybug twitter too. Adrien's twitter and instagram comments are flooded with both threats to punch him but also just generally critical comments like "nice pic and all but are you not going to address the sweatshop allegations?". Adrien still does not address it. At most he turns comments off. Marinette is gnawing at the wood of her desk.

Then a Ladybug and Chat Noir identity reveal happens.

Marinette is stunned. Absolutely mouth agape. Cannot form words. Chat Noi— NO, ADRIEN— ADRIEN FUCKING AGRESTE looks at her and is like "oh ha :) .... Marinette Dupain-Cheng, right? You're the girl who wanted to punch me hahaha"

after recovering from her world being shattered, she's like...... "hahaha...... um............... yeah...... uh..... so you... DO know who i am. and you're just. ignoring it then. hahaha... ok... thats....... fine..... anyway..... u-uh...... im not... gonna actually punch you. but. um. k-kitty do you um. maybe want to stop promoting deforestation and all that"

he's like "I don't"

she's like. "yes you do. literally in your newest ad you said to the camera 'who needs trees when bottled air is the way of the future'. like did you really read that line out loud and not see a problem with it"

"yeah, that wasn't me"

"what are you talking abou—"

"it's deepfaked"

"..... what"

"all of my ads in the past few years are deepfakes. I complained too much so my father fired me. turns out that i signed away all rights to my face and voice to him when I was 13 or something. he can just use my face and voice and name however he wants. he generates ads. i dont even have access to the 'Adrien Agreste' twitter or insta accounts. sometimes he makes me do runways but beyond that I'm not involved in all."

"... ... ... ... ... what"

"yeah haha... :") im sorry. i wish i could help you more. but he never listens to me. i don't like it either, i.... i've asked him to stop sooo many times. but he never listens to me. i hate seeing my face used without my consent but haha.... i don't... have any rights here so. sorry. i really wish i could help more"

and now marinette hates "Adrien Agreste"™ ads/posts EVEN MORE and is threatening to kill Gabriel Agreste himself. all while kissing the real adrien agreste silly

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 . ( a collection of dialogue prompts based on varying types of demands &. requests . adjust phrasing as necessary . this prompt WILL likely be updated in the future . )

don't say a word .

don't leave me here .

meet me at our spot tonight .

follow me and stay close .

don't beg , it's pathetic .

can you ( tie / zip ) this for me ?

stop lying to me . tell me what you did .

put that down , you don't know what it ( is / does ) .

get out of my sight .

stop pretending you know what's going on .

find a first-aid kit . quickly !

don't get yourself killed .

leave them to me , just go .

just admit that you love me .

just admit that you hate me .

come here , let me look at you .

( name ) , don't make me do this .

drop your ( weapon ) .

stay here and wait for my signal .

don't just sit there , move .

take this and run , don't let anyone have it .

pretend you're my ( partner / girlfriend / boyfriend ) .

don't look , you'll give us away .

don't say another word .

stop pretending like you care .

go make sure the coast is clear .

take this with you . it's a good luck charm .

don't tell anyone about this .

if anybody asks about today , lie .

stop looking at me like that .

tell me you love me .

just kiss me , already .

keep your eyes on the road .

stop crying and calm down .

come with me . there's so much we could do .

wear the ( dress / tie / item ) i gave you tonight .

show me how you like to be touched .

hold my hand .

kiss me , make it look real .

look at me . how many fingers am i holding up ?

will you marry me ?

just slow down for a minute . what's going on ?

take a deep breath , you need to calm down .

get out of here , ( name ) !

draw your weapon .

go rest . i'm not asking .

take a step back .

give me a straight answer .

be polite to our guests .

look me in the eye and say that again .

put your feelings aside for a moment .

keep close to me .

here , let me see that .

look up at the sky .

get out of here , i don't want to see you right now .

stand up , this isn't over yet .

close your eyes and count to ten .

smile for the camera !

keep your head down .

( name ) , let me past .

listen carefully to what i'm about to say .

don't just stare , come in .

stop laughing , this isn't funny .

take this and hide it .

don't make a sound .

put your hands up .

quit causing problems everywhere you go .

just admit that you don't know what you're doing .

stop right there , i mean it .

don't say that name aloud .

just trust me , okay ?

stop acting so childish .

call the police . now .

tell me you love me , even if it's not real .

take a good hard look .

stop the car , ( name ) .

don't make eye contact .

stay out of trouble .

just do it already , we've waited long enough .

hold me tight , and never let me go .

finish what you started .

tell me what you know .

just stay away from me .

turn around . slowly .

don't be scared .

put it down before somebody gets hurt .

stop pretending , i'm tired of the pretending .

grab me my ( item ) , will you ?

don't make assumptions .

put this over it to stop the bleeding .

get to safety !

wipe that look off your face .

secure the area .

keep an eye on them .

look at yourself in the mirror .

run . run and don't stop .

eat . you haven't touched your food in days .

[seasprincess]

nerd!rafe x popular!reader

mdni

warnings: smut-handjob, pathetic sub!rafe, this is not cannon Rafe AT ALL

Rafe Cameron is a quiet nerdy boy with about no friends. Where as you, you’re loud and popular, friends with everyone.

Ever since you had joined the school Rafe’s eyes have been on you. Watching you laugh and smile with the people that flocked to you like moths to a flame.

He couldn’t help admire you in a way. But mainly he was admiring your beauty.

He has never spoken to you of course. God no he wouldn’t dream of it. Well that’s not entirely true.

He’s dreamt of it, thought of it, imagined it while his hand was around his length. But not in a perv way of course. No no. Not in the way the other boys do it. In a sweet way. Right?

But no, he couldn’t talk to you. In the world of high school. Rafe isn’t allowed to talk to you. He’s too ‘low’ for you. Which he thinks is stupid but he can’t rewrite the social laws of the school.

So he’ll just sit in class staring at you instead of doing his work. Not like he needs to do more work in class. He’s smart enough to pass a test with just a glance. So here he’ll sit waiting for his chance to talk to you properly. Instead of that couple times you were sweet to him, sticking up for him and that one time he said thank you for you holding open the door. And god did that thought make his heart beat.

But soon enough, here’s his lucky day.

“Rafe, you’ll be working with y/n.” The teachers words ring in his head as his eyes are pulled up from the desk. He turns to face you and sees that you’re looking at him. And he c-wait-you’re looking at him.

He does a double take before seeing you wave at him. A small gesture that means so much to him you don’t even know. So he does a wave back. But he’s shy and awkward so now he’s stressing that he looked weird and seeing your friends giggling and whispering doesn’t help the feeling he’s embarrassed himself.

So quickly he turns away, back to the page on his desk. Drawing random lines on it to make it appear he’s doing something. Doing anything other than looking at you and gawking.

Why does he have to be so shy and embarrassing? Why can’t he be like the popular people like Bryce and Zach? They can just talk to everyone and just be confident all the time. He hates himself for his anxiety that is in the bottom of his stomach everytime anyone even breathes to close to him. He hates it so much th-

“Hey partner.” Rafe’s brought out of his spiral of thoughts when you speak to him. He’s frozen looking up at you, is this real? Or is he dreaming?

“H-hey.” He says, pushing up his glasses on his face as he adjust in his chair.

“So when we doing this project?”

“Anytime. Anytime that’s good for you, I’m free. Like all the time. I’m not doing…anything.” Rafe decides to stop himself from babbling and making himself look like a complete and utter loser.

But all you’re doing is smiling at him. Not pulling the disgusted face he’s use to.

“Tomorrow night? My place?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Cool, do you have snap so I can send you the info?” You say as you pull out your phone. Waiting for him to respond to you.

Rafe rubs the back of his neck as he thinks how to reply to this. He couldn’t say that his mom doesn’t allow him to have social media and even if he was to have it he wouldn’t have enough friends anyway.

“No. I don’t use snap anymore.” He lies.

“Oh right okay. Insta? Tiktok?”

Rafe just shakes his head.

“I can give you my number?”

“Yeah sure okay.”

Rafe gets out his phone, a tiny phone that was probably made eight years ago that his mom told him was ‘cool and trendy’. She’s so wrong it almost hurts.

Rafe had been waiting and waiting for this day. Yes the plans were arranged yesterday but he’s just so excited it’s almost sad really.

But after making his way to your house and you giving him a tour of the mansion you live in. You’re now both sat on your bed.

He’s in your room.

On your bed.

“No you’ll have to tutor me.” You say as you smile before looking back at the work that’s in front of you. You’re laying on the bed as Rafe is sat stiff.

“Tutor you?” Rafe asks, adjusting his glasses again for the second time this minute.

“Well we’re doing this project and I don’t get what it’s about so you’ll have to help me.”

Earlier when Rafe started talking about the project he had presumed that he’d been doing it all himself like he’d usually do with other people. But you insisted you’d actually help. Even if you have been distracted a couple times.

“Yeah sure.” Rafe replies as he smiles, looking down at you. He’s rather close to you it’s making his heart beat so fast. If it beats any faster it’ll pop out his chest like in those cartoons. His eyes might also pop out his head too. We��re just waiting for that.

God he’s so close to you he can smell that perfume you wear every day to school. It hasn’t changed since the first time he met you.

He’s just watching you lay on your stomach on the bed, writing down some things. He just can’t seem to pull his eyes away from you. You just look so beautiful and calm. Of course he has to go and ruin it.

He’s just staring, and before he thinks he leans in and kisses you. His soft lips pressing against yours until he realises what’s happened and pulls back.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He says as he starts panicking. Of course he’s ruining things like he always does. He may be smart when it comes to academics but he’s so stupid when it comes to social situations.

But all you do is smile. Just smile at him before pushing up and climbing onto his lap.

“Oh, oh. Okay…” He says as he holds his breath and looks anywhere but you. His hands don’t touch you. Just in the air, frozen in place by this very unexpected action from you.

So you place his hands on yours hips looking at him before your hands are placed on his cheeks. Gently rubbing them as you look down at him.

“You have a crush on me Rafe?”

Rafe nods as he stares into your eyes. He’s too shy to say anything, and also incredibly aroused by having you here. On his lap. His hand sneaks as he brings it close to his face to adjust his glasses. He look looks up at you like a puppy.

He’s so cute and shy it makes him all the more attractive to you. Some people think he’s all these things but unknown to him you’ve always had some feelings for him. Even if you did try and stop them.

Your hand travels downs Rafe’s body until it reaches his zipper. His dick twitching in his pants as he lets out a low whine. He’s so pathetic it’s so hot to you.

“You want me to touch you Rafe?”

This has escalated very quickly, and as scary it is to Rafe. It’s very exciting for Rafe too. He’s never even held hands with a girl. Or spoken to one for longer than thirty minutes. Twenty minutes. Ten minutes at best.

“Yes please.” He whines out as he wriggles lightly underneath you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He has thought about thus situation before but this is not how he was expecting at all.

You smile as you start to kiss him, lips pressing softly against Rafe’s. His lips are soft, different to what you’ve kissed before. Your tongue slips into his mouth which is met by more whines from the boy underneath you.

Your hand slips into Rafe’s pants and before he can say a word you start to stroke him. His dick hard and leaking with precum. He feels slightly embarrassed but that’s quickly stopped as you begin to go faster. And all he can think about is how good it feels and how much better it is than his own hand.

The moans and whimper from this man is heavenly. Making those panties you chose to wear just for him wet.

“Please, please can I cum?” Rafe is begging for this. Begging for this release from you. His whole body is practically shaking. He knows he’s acting needy and pathetic. But he can’t help it. He’s practically brainwashed by you.

He’s a man who could genuinely have any job he’s ever wanted but here he is whining for you. Whinging and moaning and begging. A possible future president is begging to cum.

“Yeah baby. Cum for me.”

You will definitely be doing this again.

a/n: don’t know how to feel about this one and i am still upset over bae’s eyebrows.

[hans-wh0re]

PRAISE ME, BABY

Synopsis: Jisung just can't act normal when you praise him. A.N: Idk how this turned out to be as it's been a while, so don't have high expectations lmao (i wanna kms).

Jisung prided himself on being a pretty calm guy. Sure, he got flustered easily, especially around his friends. But he considered himself to be pretty chill, all things considered. That is, until you came along.

He had known you for a while, you were one of his closest friends. You were always bubbly and outgoing, the life of any party, and always ready with a compliment or word of encouragement. He always appreciated your presence, but recently, he's been feeling a strange pull towards you, something he can’t quite place.

It all started with your voice. He swore he’d never been so attentive to his own name until you were the one calling him for a project. His stomach would twist, his palms would sweat, and the tips of his ears burned. At first, he figured it was just a passing thing, the nerves that everyone has when they begin a new friendship. He wanted to be your friend, and it only seemed right that the nervousness would wash away eventually. Yet weeks turned into months, and the only thing that faded was your shared space for the project.

And now, even though you’re done with the thing you were assigned together, you spend just as much time together as you did while working on the project.

The real problem began when you decided to tell him he’s good at things. Things he knew he was good at, but for some reason, meant so much more coming from you. A compliment on the new song he wrote? He nearly passed out. You telling him you thought his drawing was good? He felt like his skin would melt off. You telling him he was the best friend you could ever ask for? He was a goner. Completely gone.

It was starting to affect him in ways he couldn’t explain. He'd find himself thinking about you at the most random moments, his heart racing whenever you were near, and an insistent pull between his legs whenever you were even the slightest bit nice. And as much as he liked the feeling, he also hated it. He didn’t want you to know that he was so easily affected by you, that your kind words could turn him into a blushing mess. He wanted to be cool, to play it off, to pretend it didn’t bother him. But he just couldn’t.

Which brings him to now, in your living room, trying his best to focus on the statistics research you’ve assigned him.

“Jisung, can you check these numbers over one more time?” You ask from across the room, and he tenses at just the sound of your voice. He wants nothing more than to scream, to run into the bathroom and jerk off, to cry at the overwhelming amount of horniness you cause him.

He nods stiffly, pushing away from the small table with a gentle “mhmm” before leaning over to peer at the numbers on your laptop. His face burns hot as you lean closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you point out what he’s supposed to be looking for.

“Okay, so what you need to do is– oh! Good job! Thanks, Jisung!” You practically sing as you reach over to pat him on the head, and that sends him over the edge. His cock jumps in his pants, and he feels his face turn tomato red.

Your hand, still resting innocently on his head, feels like a fucking brand, searing through his hair, through his skull, straight down to the mess you’ve made of his insides. Good job. The two simplest words, uttered in your bright, infuriatingly cheerful voice, and he’s instantly, shamefully, rock hard.

He jerks back from the laptop, pulling away from your touch like it’s electrocuted him, though every nerve ending is screaming for more. His face is burning, radiating heat he’s sure you can feel even from a foot away. He can’t look at you. If he looks at you, sees that oblivious sunshine smile, he might actually combust. Or worse, grab you, shove you against the wall, and demand you say it again while he grinds his aching erection against you.

“Uh�� yeah,” he manages to choke out, his voice cracking embarrassingly. He clears his throat, turning away, pretending to be intensely interested in a dust bunny near the leg of the table. Anything to avoid your gaze. Anything to hide the pathetic state you reduce him to with a casual pat on the head and a few kind words.

This is fucking pathetic. He hates this. Hates how easily you unravel him. Hates how that simple, genuine praise ignites something dark and needy deep inside him, something that feels distinctly wrong for a friendship. He shouldn’t be getting hard because you think he did a good job double-checking some stupid statistics. He shouldn’t be picturing the way your mouth would look wrapped around him while you told him how good he is, how much you need him.

But he is. Fuck, he is.

His hand instinctively drops to cover the embarrassing bulge straining against his zipper. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself, but it’s useless. He’s thick, throbbing, painfully aware of every beat of his pulse echoing between his legs. He needs release. He needs it now. Needs to lock himself in your bathroom, your scent probably clinging to the towels, and just fucking ruin himself thinking about you, whispering your praises back to himself like some kind of mantra while he pumps his fist raw.

“Jisung? You okay?” Your voice again, closer this time. Concerned. Fuck, why are you always so nice? Don’t you see what you’re doing to him? Or maybe… maybe you do? A tiny, insidious thought worms its way into his brain. Maybe this bubbly, outgoing act is just that – an act. Maybe you know exactly how much power your words hold over him. Maybe you like seeing him squirm.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat through him, darker this time, mixed with a confusing flicker of anger. He forces himself to look up, meeting your earnest, slightly worried gaze. God, you’re so fucking pretty it hurts. Your eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, head tilted in that way that makes him want to either kiss you senseless or push you down onto the floor.

“Fine,” he bites out, the word harsher than intended. He sees you blink, taken aback by his tone. Good. Maybe if he’s an asshole, this feeling will stop. Maybe if he pushes you away, the relentless throb behind his fly will finally subside.

But then you offer him another smile, softer this time, understanding. “Okay,” you say gently. “Well, you did a really great job with this, Sungie. Seriously, I was totally stuck.” You even reach out, squeezing his arm briefly.

Sungie.

His breath catches. His cock gives another violent jump, straining against the denim, slick head weeping pre-cum he can suddenly, agonizingly feel dampening the inside of his boxers. The urge to groan, to grab your hand and press it against his hardness, to make you feel what you do to him, is overwhelming.

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Your hand drops from his arm. He can’t stay here. Not another second.

“Gotta… uh… bathroom,” he mutters, already moving, practically fleeing towards the hallway, avoiding your confused expression.

He finds the door, shoulders his way inside, locking it behind him with trembling fingers. He leans his forehead against the cool wood, breathing hard, trying to regain control. The small space smells faintly of your cherry blossom body wash. Torture. Absolute fucking torture.

His eyes squeeze shut. Good job, Jisung. You’re the best, Sungie. Lifesaver. Your voice echoes in his head, sweet poison fueling the fire. He can almost hear you whispering other things. Filthy things. Telling him how good he feels inside you, how much you need his cock, how perfect he is while he pounds into you.

With a ragged groan, he rips his jeans open, yanking himself out. He’s dripping wet, painfully hard, veins standing out in sharp relief. He doesn’t bother with lube, doesn’t need it. He wraps his fist around his shaft, tight, punishing, and starts stroking, fast and frantic.

He needs friction. Needs pain to cut through the overwhelming pleasure-ache your praise causes. He imagines you kneeling right where he’s standing, eyes wide and adoring, chanting his praises while he fucks your pretty mouth raw. He imagines pinning you against this sink, lifting one of your legs, shoving into you while you gasp out how good he is, how perfect his cock feels splitting you open.

“Fuck… yes…” he pants, knuckles white, pumping harder, faster. He can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight and low in his gut, spurred on by the phantom echo of your voice telling him he’s good. He bites back a louder groan, thrusting his hips forward, fucking his own fist against the closed door. He pictures your face contorted in pleasure beneath him, screaming his name, telling him he’s the best you’ve ever had.

He’s close, so fucking close, vision swimming, when he hears it. A soft tapping on the door.

"Jisung? Are you… sure you’re okay? You sound kind of… strained."

Your voice. Right there. Concerned. Oblivious. Or maybe… not so oblivious?

Panic crashes through him, cold and sharp, momentarily dousing the heat. He freezes, hand clamped tight around his still-throbbing cock, slick with sweat and pre-cum. Did you hear him? Did you hear the harsh pants, the low groans, the frantic rhythm?

Fuck. He is so fucked!

A.N: This man makes me have urges i don't normally have like uhhh the things i wanna do to him! Also i have so many thoughts on how/where i want this to go from here, but m not sure! So this will stay like this until i settle on one ending. Sorry :(

[getaapologist]

Flow Backwards to Me.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know. Some people are gonna hate this. But there are some of us out there that can't handle this look. And Sam isn't the real name for the person the character is based on in the movie, so I'm using 'Sam' as just a made up person. I have seen the movie and this contains no spoilers. Timeline-wise, if I had to place it, it's before the movie.

Pairing: Sam [Warfare] x reader

Summary: Sam has orders. You two are a bit melancholy about it.

Warnings: 18+ only. Goodbye sex. That's all. A slight smattering of plot.

“Hey, eyes on me.” A strained whisper.

Rough fingers pressing at your cheek. 

A fever. Sweat, damp sheets below proof of the exertion. The effort spent to get here, right here.

Your eyes meet his and you’re plunged into their dark depths, his face, his torso lit by the muted tv, some show long abandoned. 

The harsh light flickers over his features, like he’s submerged beneath the surface, hints of light reaching these depths. Casting over the focused expression he wears, the cut of his musculature. The light similarly bathes you in blue, and he commits it to memory.

A technicolor sea.

You see a flicker of relief in him at the eye contact. His grip on your hip tightens. 

His discipline doesn’t leave him, even here. Lips parted. Steady, measured thrusts. Driving deep, almost too deep.

It’s normally quite subtle, but not now. Because things are bubbling just beneath the surface.

He leaves in the morning. Doesn’t know when he’ll be back. Doesn’t know where he’s going. 

Well, he probably does, but he’s not going to tell you. 

He knows you. He knows everything you’re thinking. He doesn’t want you to worry. Doesn’t want you to flinch if the city gets named on the nightly news.

You would spiral.

It’s what he signed up for. What he’s trained for. And by extension, it’s what you signed up for too.

It doesn’t make it any less terrifying to give him up.

“I need you here with me, please,” Sam begged, covering your body with his, his nose pressing against your cheek. “For now.”

He’s trying to survive the weight of the reality that awaited. Pretending things are normal. 

Pretend with me, he wants to ask. But how could he? It’s too much.

Your hands find the soft velvet of his freshly buzzed hair and hold him close. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he shakes his head, his lips finding yours in the process. 

There’s a level of detail in his every movement. Things that might normally get glossed over in the rush of chasing down that delicious morsel of pleasure are studied, taken apart.

It’s almost clinical.

He’s made it his job to map your features, to view you like this, to memorise the sounds his fingers elicit. Selfishly, he would draw on it later. But above all else, he needs to impart upon you just how much he cares. 

Just in case. 

So he takes his time. Well-versed in you, like it’s a vocation. His lips find your neck. His fingers dive low, drawing desperate, keening moans from your throat that he feels the vibrations of in his lips.

Your body chases his touch.

The tide pulls back. Threatens to wash you away. 

And right when things are too much, there he is.

“Breathe,” he urges, lips ghosting over your cheek as he lifts his face, watching you come undone.

Tense muscles, strangled cries, grip burning as the tide rushes back in all at once. 

Your legs clamp his hips in place against yours, keeping him trapped, your tremors bringing him close, too close, and he’s panicking. On the verge of relief, but he needs more friction.

Whines leave his throat, his fingers wrapping around one of your ankles, freeing his hips from your vice. And he moves.

Just a few seconds more, that’s all it takes. He’s buried deep, as deep as he can be, feet pushing off against the mattress, desperate to meld with you permanently.

The recovery is slow. It needs to be, this time.

For now.

The crush of him on top of you is welcome. Your eyes draw lines between the freckles on his shoulder as you both just breathe.

It’s easier now, after. Easier to forget about tomorrow.

“Sam,” you whisper. 

“Hmm?” he hums, his head turning so his lips brush over your cheekbone.

“It’s not forever.”

He allows himself a smile. “Right.”

The current changes. It reverses. Passing over the threshold. To acceptance.

He rolls off of you, staying on his side, his eyes still focused on you, but there’s a comfort in them now. A weariness, too.

“You’ll be fine without me,” he mutters, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

You force yourself to smile. You can be sad later, after he’s gone. “I don’t know, who else will remind me to get up on time after I’ve snoozed all my alarms?”

He laughs. “Sounds like it’s time to sink or swim, baby.”

He grins at your show of frustration, his heart a fraction less heavy. He needs the levity, craves it. 

He reaches out, pulling you into his chest as you pretend to push him away. But once his lips find your skin, the jig is up, and you’re melting again.

“Hey,” he says, cutting through the noise, the thoughts. As you focus on him, he smiles, big and bright. It’s meaningful. Something worth searing into memory. “I’m gonna miss the fuck out of you, you know that?”

It could’ve been sad. Depressing, even, to acknowledge. But oddly it doesn’t feel that way right now. 

You’re just grateful. Grateful to have him so close, to get to watch him smile, to get to hear his laugh. 

“I’m gonna miss you too, Sam.” It was a guarantee.

Distracting him with little touches, talking through the next few months you’ll spend without him, it all gets a fraction of a percent easier. 

Waking up will be hell, but it’s all temporary. Eventually, he will be returned to you, and you’ll be waiting to help him get back to this.

A/N: Hope this was okay. I had something more lighthearted in mind when I first started trying to write anything for Sam, but tonight his just kind of fell out. Hope you find something to like about it, and if not, that's fine. If it's terrible, please tell me. Thank you!

[unknown-cold]

Has anyone noticed this too? A girl who lost her mother.

No wonder Caitlyn was so fucking angry at this time, not only was it an attack on the memorial after losing her mother and being kidnapped and tortured etc... but her people died and children lost their mothers, just like this girl. And Cait was definitely feeling her sadness and fear.

This also reminds me of those people who say Caitlyn changed just bc her mother died, or how can she change just bc of one person's death? Well idiots IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!!

Like “Oh but she’s from Piltover, she gets all the luxuries that ppl of Zaun don’t” burying your mam in a nice casket does not make the pain any easier to deal with assholes!! she went through sm and people still overlooked her trauma as if she shouldn't be sad and angry bc she's an enforcer, rich, and an adult. WHAT STUPIDITY IS THIS? Seriously what does all this have to do with the character not being traumatized? These people should study psychology and educate themselves a little.

Like people forget this all happened to her in the span of less than a week. She went from a peaceful, pretty sheltered life to being terrorised by Jinx with almost no reprieve.

Video edited by: @mirellvi on TikTok

These people are asking and others are angry why Caitlyn has changed, this girl has been through hell bc of Jinx.

Jinx didn't show any mercy to Caitlyn. And Caitlyn has every right to hate her!! People who overlook what Jinx has done to her are so annoying. The change that happened to Caitlyn It did not start when her mother was killed.

She is gets more hate than the actual villains, and she did less harm than any other leader of Piltover or Zaun. People who excuse characters like Viktor, Sevika or Silco and even Ambessa, but they draw the line on Caitlyn?? they just wanna hate her tbh. Like they don’t comment on the bad and worst things that (Silco, Viktor, SINGED) did

Silco flooded the lanes with shimmer, pay the enforcers to 💀 zaunites and kid / nap children to work on his shimmer factories, and he was a perpetrator of his people suffering. All this and people are justifying his actions, well what about Caitlyn!?

And now someone will come with their stupid excuse and say “Silco is oppressed and wanted to free Zaun” Well being oppressed does not justify him oppressing his people too. Like where is the independence you guys are talking about, when he hurt his people to obey him, and force children to work in dangerous factories and pay enforcers to kill anyone who opposes him, why didn't he pay enforcers to work with him for benefit Zaun, if he really cared about people in Zaun!? And of course there is no need to talk about Ambessa and Singed, the most evil characters who did selfish things, and Viktor as well. But People Don't Care🙄

(I love Viktor btw) but what he did was so bad and terrible!! way worse than what or any other character.

But again people don't care what bad things Viktor did or would do, is it bc he's from Zaun, or bc he's a man? Anything goes... So I really want to know what's wrong with these people who hate Caitlyn so much.

Like it's okay to not like her and not accept her character, but spreading false information about her like “she gassed all of Zaun or that she does dictatorial things” which is absolutely not true. or worse, insulting and cursing people who love Caitlyn and spreading lies about them like they support corrupt regimes or that they are part of the KKK or that they support police brutality in real life bc they love a fictional character. This is so fucking crazy and I sick of it!! Like what makes these people think that I would be act like a fictional character in real life? They really need therapy.

Like they criticizing her bc they feel morally superior bc she's an enforcer and rich?? This is really so ridiculous.

[angelltheninth]

Hey you know that trope where (usually) friends have to hide from a suspecting enemy but there is nowhere to really hide so the next best thing as to not draw attention to themselves is “quick we have to kiss because they are onto us!” One example is that one kiss scene with Steve rogers and Natasha.

Can you please write Clark, Bruce, Dick and Jason being in that similar scenario with reader? Whoever initiated it is up to you :)

I've written multiple fics with that exact premise, I know the trope very well.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, undercover mission, kissing, catching feelings, flirting

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Would do this with Clark more than anyone tbh. He's so cute!

BRUCE WAYNE

Takes his mission very seriously, a lot serious than you actually. Not to say that you don't but as long as you're at a fancy party you might as well have fun with Bruce. He however wants to get in, get out and get the mission over with without the two of you getting discovered, which proves harder when people keep whispering about what a cute couple you are and looking at you all the time. When he tilts your chin and captures your lips in a kiss he notes the surprised sound that leaves your lips after which he tells you he's sorry for the quick decision, but he needed to sell the idea of the two of you actually being a couple now that that is the most popular narrative and the one that will help the two of you the most.

DICK GRAYSON

Is more than happy to go on a mission with you and be your pretend boyfriend for the evening, now if only he could gather up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend for real. Maybe he will if this mission goes well, it would make him a lot less awkward around you at the very least. Dick keeps glancing at you and at the people around you, hearing them getting more and more suspicious of the two of you right before you pull him by the tie and take him to the dance floor, smirking the whole time. As he's blushing his body falls into a rhythm with yours, the movements natural, the music and the atmosphere getting to his head so much that he kisses you at the very end of the dance, eliciting cheers and claps from the crowd, no more doubt.

RED HOOD

Loved the fact that the two of you got picked for this mission because it gives him even more chance to tease you and make you blush. Jason knows he can be a bit of an ass sometimes, okay, a lot of the time, but that doesn't diminish the fact that he still enjoys your company a lot more than the company of others. The people around the two of you are constantly looking over, at you specifically and he hates that, he was supposed to look at you like that, not anyone else so he leans in close and asks you for a kiss, otherwise he fears someone might ask you instead and he will blow your cover. Blushing at his request you smash your lips against his to shut down any smug words he might say to you next.

CLARK KENT

Was flustered when you asked him to be your partner on this mission, but he did say yes, he wanted to go, he wanted to make sure you were safe. He was a little fidgety around you, nervously glancing at you, at your lips, at your pretty dress, then quickly back at the crowd when he'd get caught. You loves teasing Clark when he got like this, you knew he had a crush on you but didn't want to call him out on it, he should tell you that himself, which is what you hoped would happen on this mission. Instead he kisses you out of panic when someone asks if he was your boyfriend and then apologizes profusely afterwards, saying how he couldn't think of any other way to make the lie convincing, which is funny coming from a man like him.

[stevie-petey]

lonely hearts club

You kiss her forehead and pull Steve up from the couch, putting your jacket on and tossing him his. “Our Valentine’s day wouldn’t be the same without someone crying or throwing up. We’re going. Dinner can wait.” Steve wraps an arm around your waist. “She’s right. This is just tradition for us. A sacred thing we look forward to every year.” “You two confuse me so much.” Nancy laughs wetly, overwhelmed by your kindness.  “We get that a lot.” Steve kisses your temple. “C’mon, angelface. The lesbians need us.”

Summary: ten valentines days with steve. some years it's romantic, some years it's heartbreaking, but for better or worse, he's your forever valentine.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of vomit, pregnancy, cheating (steve doesnt cheat)

Words: 11.9k

Before you swing in: happy valentines day !! is this a day late ? sure. but we're going to ignore that ! heres a cute little fic of valentines day with steve throughout the years. joe touring really influenced this because i made steve a rockstar but honestly it fit tbh. anyways, hope you enjoy !

-

Somehow it’s always Steve who you spend Valentine’s day with.

In high school it’s because of academic obligations. You’re student body president and Steve is the president of the key club. Each year when February rolls around, the two of you are responsible for hanging pink streamers in the gym and selling enough tickets to afford a decent DJ.

Thanks to the infectious Valentine’s day yearning for love and potential makeouts under the bleachers, the Lonely Hearts dance always manages to draw in a crowd. That, and Steve promises that anyone who buys a ticket is guaranteed a dance with him.

It’s gross and highly exploitative. And also quite brilliant. 

You never cash in your ticket, though. While Steve spends the night spinning around girls dressed in pinks and reds and whites, you’re manning the punch bowl to make sure no one spikes it.

Each year, Steve finds a way to sneak gin into the cherry liquid behind your back.

“I’d stop serving little Benny there that punch of yours.” Steve slides next to you, dressed in all black with a rose pinned to his ribbed vest. He reeks, a terrible concoction of every perfume worn by the girls he’s spent all night with. 

Benny, a small, frail fourteen year old with eyes too big for his comically small glasses, hiccups. His hand is extended towards you, empty cup waiting for more. His face is flushed and he sways ever so slightly.

You sigh. “How much gin did you pour in this time, Harrington?”

“An entire bottle.”

“I hate you, you know.”

Steve laughs. “Not my fault that you never catch me.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you glare at him. “I still hate you.” Then, remembering that a severely intoxicated Benny is still waiting for his drink, you gently tap the kid’s arm. “Why don’t you go sit in a corner, buddy?”

Benny hiccups again and stumbles away. Steve snickers, but his laughter turns into a yelp of pain when you kick him in the shin. “Don’t you have girls to dance with?”

“Not if you keep kicking me like that,” he winces, rubbing his quickly bruising injury. “Jesus, are those heels made of steel?”

“Why are you still talking to me?”

“Can’t a guy talk to his most consistent girl?” 

A snort masks the reddening of your cheeks. “Real flattering, Harrington.”

“I’m serious!” Steve nudges his shoulder against yours. He’s smiling wide at you, charming as ever. “You realize this is like, our third year spending Valentine’s day together, right?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re only spending it together for a school dance.”

“Still makes you my longest running Valentine, Y/N.” He winks, smug, and you want to stain his pretty face with the cherry red of the punch before you. He’s close to you now, close enough that you can smell his expensive cologne under all the perfume that taints it.

Suddenly your mouth goes dry. You look up at him and find that he’s already staring down at you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t shy away from the proximity that only seems to be growing smaller and smaller between you.

“Steve!” Heather Morgan stomps over, the ruffles of her lilac dress swishing with her forceful steps. She stops in front of you and him, though she doesn’t bother to acknowledge you. “I thought I was guaranteed a dance?”

Three Valentine’s days with Steve Harrington, countless prom committee meetings and club organization conferences, shared lunch periods and classes, all have led to the intimate knowledge of the lines of his face and how every miniscule twinge of muscle reveals everything he’s feeling.

The forced smile that he gives Heather, eyebrows drawn together and eyes dim, is nothing like the bright and overwhelming smile he gave you only moments ago.

“You’re absolutely right.” Steve holds his hand out to the girl and walks towards her. “With all the hard work Y/N put into this dance, it’d be a shame if I let it go to waste and not abide by my promise.”

Your cheeks burn at the indirect compliment and Heather simply rolls her eyes. She yanks Steve’s arm and he gives you one last weary, yet shy and gentle, smile that’s etched alongside his freckles and moles. 

–

After graduating and moving to Chicago for college, you figure that maybe your first Valentine’s day in a big city will be spent with someone who doesn’t get freshmen drunk and dance with demanding girls. 

Then, your first week in intro to philosophy, you meet Oliver. 

He enters five minutes late, out of breath and frantic, and blindly throws himself into the first seat he finds. In his rush, he doesn’t see you until he’s thrown his jacket off and hears your quiet, “ouch.”

“Oh, my god.” His blue eyes are wide as he stares at you in horror, taking in the scene before him. He’s completely thrown his jacket on top of you. “I-I am so sorry!”

His British accent nearly sends your brain reeling. Oliver is tall, his black hair makes his skin appear almost luminescent, and there’s a dimple in his cheek that softens the harshness of his accented vowels. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug the jacket off, too shy to say much else. He’s arguably the most perfect man you’ve ever met and it’s eight in the morning and you’re not quite sure if this is a dream. “Just… caught me by surprise?”

“Christ, I’m genuinely so sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I-I overslept and I only just switched into this class quite literally twelve hours ago and–”

“Top row,” your professor clears her throat, glaring at you and Oliver. “Is Aristotle really so interesting to you that you decide to interrupt my class in glee?”

You’re beet red, frozen in shame and fear, but Oliver simply laughs and ducks in head. “My apologies, Miss. Please, continue.”

Even the professor is charmed by his accent, and she shakes her head with a slight chuckle. She carries on with the lecture and Oliver is quiet next to you. You don’t speak for the rest of class, but during the last five minutes, a note slides across your desk.

Coffee? 

– Oliver (the dunce who threw his jacket on you)

A second coffee date follows the first. Then a third. A fourth. A fifth and sixth until they slowly turn into dinner dates. Sneaking into each other’s apartments when your roommates aren’t home. Kissing as you lazily study together in bed. 

Late January comes and you think that you’ve finally, finally, found someone to spend Valentine’s day with. Someone real and yours and lovely. 

Oliver tells you to meet him at his apartment at 7:30 for dinner. He’s promised you homemade roast, a recipe from his mother. Valentine’s day will be a quiet dinner with only candlelight as your company. No streamers or spiked punch; it’s everything you could’ve ever wanted.

“The potatoes need a few more minutes, then we can eat.” Oliver kisses your forehead as he wipes his hands with a towel. The kitchen is warm, the smell of herbs and garlic infiltrate the air. On the counter the beef is resting, its aroma enough to make your mouth water.

You take a sip of wine. “Thank god.”

“Hungry, are we?”

“A home cooked meal by my hot boyfriend?” You raise your glass. “Of course I’m hungry!”

Oliver laughs, kissing you again. “Well, good thing I have all night to feed you–”

The front door slams, startling the two of you, and someone calls out, “Sorry! Sorry, please ignore me!”

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your wine glass hearing their voice.

Oliver groans, “one second, babe.” He leaves your side, but you don’t follow, too afraid to face what’s waiting for you on the other side of the wall.

“I thought I told you I had the apartment tonight?” You hear Oliver hiss at the intruder.

“You did! I just-I kinda left my guitar here and Robin will kill me if I–”

“Hurry up!”

“What, your date can’t wait five seconds?” A laugh, pleased with his own joke. You close your eyes, imagining the scrunch of his nose and tilt of his lips; you haven’t forgotten the details of his face, even after months of not seeing him. 

Oliver mumbles something and you strain your ears to listen. He sounds upset, anxious, arguing with the other person in the room, and something akin to unease creeps into your stomach. 

“Relax, man. Just go finish that bizarre British dinner for Bianca.”

Silence. 

You set down the wineglass and finally walk into the living room. The click of your heels is the only evidence of life within the apartment. Oliver stands near the door. His eyes are closed, he doesn’t want to face you just yet.

Steve’s back is turned to you. His posture is relaxed, natural. He isn’t aware of what he’s just undone. 

“Long time no see, Harrington.” Your arms are crossed, shielding yourself from what’s to come. Your voice sounds more confident than you feel. “I guess you’re the roommate I never got to meet.”

He spins around quickly, almost falling over, recognizing your voice immediately. His childish stumbling tells you that he almost doesn’t want to believe it. When Steve’s eyes land on you, they soften, warm brown filling with fondness once more. 

“Y/N!” 

Steve steps forward as if to hug you, but then seems to remember where he is, what he had previously been talking about with Oliver. He stops, the fondness in his eyes diminishing to confusion, then slowly to anger. 

“You’re… not Bianca.” 

“Evidently not.” Your laugh is bitter. 

Steve narrows his eyes at Oliver. “What the hell, man? You told me you were dating some chic named Bianca.” He points a bewildered finger at you. “This is Y/N.”

“In my defense,” Oliver sighs tiredly, clapping his hands together in a defeated manner. “I didn’t think you’d know either one of them, so. This is just brilliant.”

“Are you dating them both?” Steve’s eyes bulge out of his head. If you weren’t on the brink of crying and throwing up, you’d laugh at his poor state of shock. 

“That’s how cheating works, Steve.” You say weakly.

Oliver tries to say something, but he’s drowned out by Steve’s yelling. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Steve–” He tries again.

“No! I-I was unknowingly an accomplice in your cheating?”

“I did try to hide them both from you–”

“You’re such a jackass! I thought the British were supposed to be posh and all that-that bloody bullshit!”

You touch the back of Steve’s elbow. You’re mortified and embarrassed and you really want to cry right now. No words come out. Your mouth won’t open. All you can do is hope that your touch is enough.

Immediately Steve stops yelling. He tugs you against his chest, understanding everything the touch meant. He doesn’t care that it’s been six months since he’s seen you or that you were never particularly close in the first place. He wipes the tears that have started to fall from your eyes with a tenderness you didn’t know was innate within him. 

“I’m taking you home,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Go get your things, alright?”

Weak and numb, you do as you’re told.

“Y/N, wait–” Oliver tries to reach out for you.

Steve steps between you. The look on his face is violent, almost frightening. You’ve never seen him like this. “Don’t.”

Oliver stumbles back. It’s enough of a distraction for you to quickly grab your purse and keys, vision blurry from tears as your body shakes. Every nerve, every fiber of your skeletal body is screaming at you to run. 

When you’re ready, Steve uses his body to prevent Oliver from looking at you. His hands are gentle as he guides you to his car. He whispers reassurances, rubs circles into your back, and allows you to cry the entire way home. 

It doesn’t surprise you when Steve doesn’t leave after parking in front of your apartment. It also doesn’t surprise you when he walks you to your door and lets himself in. 

“Stay here,” he all but shoves you onto the couch before making his way to your kitchen. He walks through the apartment as if he’s done so his entire life. “I’ll be right back.”

“What are you–”

“Less talking, more crying!”

You curl yourself into a small ball, too tired to argue with Steve. While you have no idea what the hell he’s doing, you’re relieved that your roommate, Jane, is out with her boyfriend for the night.

At least someone is having a happy Valentine’s day.

Steve returns with two pints of ice cream and spoons. He’s already opened one of them and hands it to you as he plops onto the couch. “Figured you’d have a stash.”

The ice cream he hands you is your favorite flavor. You don’t remember ever telling him this. “How did you–”

“This is our fourth Valentine’s day in a row, Y/N,” Steve pokes your side. “When are you gonna stop questioning my loyalty to our sacred tradition?”

Mouth cold from ice cream and face hot from crying, Steve manages to pull a laugh out of you. It’s feeble and small and more of a grimace than something joyous, but it’s more than you ever thought was possible.

Steve laughs with you, knocking his own pint of ice cream against yours. “To Valentine's day, angelface.”

“To Valentine’s day,” you sniff, laughing again. The moment is bizarre and not at all how you envisioned spending the day, but somehow it’s wonderful and reminiscent of the years before. There’s only one thing missing. “I miss the pink streamers.”

“I’ll hang some up next year.” Steve promises, winking at you as he always seems to do, falling back in familiarity. 

You rest your head against the couch, warm, and hum thoughtfully. Steve always keeps his promises, and you can almost envision the messily strewn up streamers and tacky holiday decorations he would find and insist on using. The apartment would be full of light and warmth, and the thought makes you smile.  

“I’d like that.”

– 

Inexplicably, Steve becomes your best friend.

He all but declares Oliver dead to him and refuses to step foot in their apartment unless it’s to eat or sleep. He cuts off all contact with the guy without even blinking. You try telling Steve that he doesn’t have to jeopardize his relationship with his roommate and he scoffs at you.

“I’m giving that motherfucker the coldest shoulder known to man, Y/N. Whether you like it or not.”

And there isn’t anything else to talk about, really. 

Slowly Steve starts spending all his time at your apartment to avoid his, and you find yourself actually enjoying his company. He doesn’t stray far from your room and he always brings over extra napkins from the restaurant he works at, saving you an extra five dollars a week in household supplies.

Plus, Steve introduces you to his coworker Robin, and she’s so enthralling and chaotic and vibrant that it’s only natural that when she becomes your best friend, Steve does, too. 

Spring semester ends and Jane announces that she’s moving out to live with her boyfriend come summer. The first person you call is Steve. He moves in a week later. 

“Have you looked over the sheet music yet?” Robin has her legs tossed over your lap as the two of you sit on the couch. Steve sits on the floor, leaning his head against the couch, his hair tickling the bare skin of your leg. 

You’re watching some movie that Steve had been dying to see. It’s Valentine’s day and he’s begged you to let him watch some cheesy romance movie he saw an ad for. He claims it’s to get into the holiday spirit, but you know it’s because he has a crush on Patrick Swayze.

Robin tagged along because she has a crush on Jennifer Grey.

“Hey, doofus!” She throws popcorn at Steve’s head when he doesn’t respond to her question. 

“Can you at least aim for my face?” He flicks the popcorn out of his hair, cringing. “The butter makes my hair feel gross.”

You ruffle the locks, shaking his head in the process and he swats you away, albeit without any cruelty or malice. “Could be from all that hairspray you drown it in.”

“I’m with Y/N on this one,” Robin leans forward, invading Steve’s space with ease. “Anyways, did you read the music or not? Kelly wants your opinion before our gig tonight.”

“Why does she care what I think?”

“Because you’re the lead singer?” Robin looks at you. “Do you think all that hairspray has rotted his brain?”

You shrug. “Probably.”

Steve flips the both of you off and you giggle together at his annoyance. Ever since meeting Robin, making Steve’s life as miserable as possible has become your favorite thing to do together. 

Robin then asks again about the song and she and Steve fall into a conversation about Kelly and her obsession with their other bandmate Connor and whether or not the song is actually good or if it’s just another attempt for her to win him over. 

You watch them talk with a lazy smile. They become so animated when they discuss music, and you admire how well they work together. It doesn’t surprise you that they formed a band together after only being friends for two days. They take music seriously, obsess over it in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite understand, but that you will always admire.

“You’re coming to our gig tonight, right?” Steve suddenly turns to you, eyes pleading and hopeful. 

“Where is it again?”

“The Vexture. We go on at ten.”

Robin has turned her hopeful eyes to you as well and you shift uncomfortably. The Vexture is a grungy club that’s always packed with people looking for someone to call their own, and given the fact that it’s currently Valentine’s day, it’ll only be worse.

The thought makes you nauseous. 

Steve sees you grimace and he immediately throws himself into your lap. “No. Absolutely not. You have to come.”

“I haven’t even said anything–”

“You were going to bail!”

“I–I wasn’t!” 

Robin pinches your cheek. “You’re a terrible liar, dear.”

You try to argue but Steve covers your mouth. You thrash underneath him, completely opposed to his body weight on you and his grimy hands covering your mouth, but he’s freakishly strong and Robin is a traitor who helps him hold you down.

“Look, Y/N.” Steve’s hair falls in your face. “We all know that last year was rough.”

“Fuck Oliver!” Robin shouts, wringing her hands together as if envisioning choking him. 

“What she said. Anyways, you took a hard hit. It’s understandable. But I refuse to let you spend Valentine’s day all alone, alright? You haven’t dated anyone in months. You’re coming tonight.”

You want to bite him, to kick him off and pinch his skin, but you know he’s right. Deflating, you cross your arms and reluctantly nod. 

Steve and Robin cheer, jostling you around, and despite the annoyance and fear you’re feeling, you can’t help but laugh at their childish joy. 

“Love the enthusiasm, but can you guys get off me now?” You croak out in between laughs. 

They scramble off the couch and Robin helps you up. She fixes your hair and kisses the tip of your nose. “We have three hours to make you irresistible tonight.”

“I’m not dressing up–”

“You have no free will when it comes to me.” Robin smiles wickedly and grabs your hand, pulling you to your room, having long forgotten about the movie that’s still playing in the background.

“Can I join?” Steve calls after the two of you.

Robin slams the door in his face.

The Vexture is loud and overflowing with people by the time you get there. The lights are dimmed and Robin has to hold your hand as she guides you through the crowd. Since they’re performing, they’re allowed to cut the long lines and are able to get you the best seats in the house: backstage.

“You made it!” Kelly throws her long and lithe arms around you. She smells of vanilla and honey and her hair is tied in loose knots. Glitter adorns her eyelids and pink hearts dot her cheeks. 

“I’m being held against my will,” you shout into her ear, hugging her tightly. “But I’m here.”

Connor pats your back and chuckles. He’s matching Kelly’s heart theme with a pink heart painted on his own cheek. “Well, at least you’ll have a good time!”

Steve hands him a guitar and checks his hair in the mirror. Robin dressed him in a white button down and demanded that he leave the first four buttons undone. The exposed strip of skin from the base of his neck to the swell of his chest burns your lips. 

“We ready?” Steve pulls you by the waist, flush against him, and winks at his bandmates. 

Kelly and Robin cheer and Connor slams his drumsticks together. A cheer of your own tumbles from your lips, allowing your body to lean against Steve’s, and his fingers dig into your side as his chest rumbles with pleasure. 

The crowd erupts when they get on stage. They all get into their places. Robin with her keyboard. Kelly and the bass. Connor behind his drum set. And Steve, front and center of the stage, smiling into the mic as his fingers pick at his guitar. 

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He’s a natural on stage. People scream his name and he plays into it with such confidence and charm. Steve smirks, knowing he has the audience in the palm of his hand. “That’s what I like to hear!”

He plays the first few notes of the song they’re starting with tonight. Easy and light. He’s setting the audience up, tempting them, leaving them wanting more. 

Steve grabs the base of the microphone and tilts his head at the crowd. “Who’s here with their Valentine tonight?”

Almost everyone cheers and whistles. Hands get thrown into the air and lovers kiss the smiles off each other’s face. 

“Hell yeah!” Steve laughs, high on the energy in the room. He plays a few more notes, turns his head away from the crowd as he does so. You watch him, curious, and find that he’s looking at you. 

When he has your attention, Steve laughs again and goes back to the mic. He’s smiling wide, cheeks pink. “You know, I’m also here with a Valentine tonight.”

The audience gasps and cheers and claps for him. Robin wolf whistles, loud and obnoxious, teasing eyes looking only at you. Kelly snickers and Connor points one of his drum sticks at you, clutching his heart dramatically.

The apples of your cheeks pinch together a glorious red and Steve can’t take his eyes off you. His eyes, soft as they always are when he looks at you, are like molten earth. He smiles into the mic again, unable to look away from you.

“This is our fifth Valentine’s day together,” he tells the crowd, smiling so much he’s almost slurring his words. “I kinda hope that this angelface will always be my Valentine.”

Robin whistles again and the roar of the Vexture is so loud now that you can’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in your head. Steve screams along with the crowd and Connor counts the band in and there’s music all around you and dancing and Steve’s sweat drips down his chest and there’s a burning deep within your stomach.

He’s beautiful. 

You hope that he’ll always be your Valentine, too.

– 

Sophia enters your life early junior year. You find her in your kitchen one morning wearing one of Steve’s old t-shirts, and you make her a cup of coffee.

She’s nice. Her hair is bronzy and she has incredible green eyes and an angelic laugh. She studies English and she’s the only other person besides your classmates who has read Plato, so you’re honestly quite fond of her, and you can see how Steve falls for her hard and fast. 

Robin, however, has other thoughts.

“I don’t trust her.” She says one day in January. Steve is at Sophia’s, so you invited Robin over to bake cookies and watch the latest episode of a show you both enjoy. 

You frown at her. “Why not? I think Sophia is nice.”

“Ever notice how the only way we can all collectively describe her as is nice?” Robin shivers. “What kind of psycho only has one personality trait?”

Well. There isn’t a lot you can argue with there. Sure, everyone who has met Sophia has liked her, but when you think about it, Robin’s right. They’ve all described her as nice, maybe quiet, but always nice.

“I think you’re just overprotective of Steve.” You try to defend. You like Sophia. She’s become a very loose, very distant, acquaintance. “Just give her some time.”

“They’ve been dating for months now, Y/N. She creeps me out.”

“Sophia isn’t some off putting creature, Robin–”

“Guys!” Steve barrels through the front door. You and Robin both scream, but he ignores your terror and throws himself at the two of you. “How much do you guys love me?”

Robin responds with, “how much money do you want?” while you reply, “depends on the day.”

Steve breathes heavily, grasping your hand. “I need you guys to please, please do me the biggest favor.”

“Did you kill someone?” You pull your hand away, weary of the scene before you.

“What? No! I just–” Steve inhales sharply. “It’s Sophia.”

“I knew it!” Robins screeches, but you jump and cover her mouth. She tries to scream through your silencing, but her words are muffled and jumbled. 

You smile at Steve awkwardly. “Don’t mind her. What’s going on with Sophia?”

“She wants to go on a double date for Valentine’s day.” You and Robin stare at him as if he’s insane, and Steve groans. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, alright? But she-uh. I guess she’s had some shitty Valentine’s days in the past and thought it’d be better if we had other people with us? As a safeguard?”

“That’s…” Concerning, you want to say, but Steve is staring at you, pleading, and you really don’t feel like dealing with his anxious monologues. “Interesting.”

He rubs his face. “It’s insane, I know, but I just… I really like this girl, you know? So if one of you could just–”

“I’m out.” Robin raises her hands and you shoot her an incredulous look. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I actually have plans this year and I really don’t feel like spending them with Steve.”

“And you think I don’t have plans?” You ask them, offended, and Steve looks at the ground and Robin suddenly finds the tile very interesting. “Okay. At least pretend that I have some dignity.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of dignity, angelface.” Steve tries to amend. “And you’d have even more dignity if you went on a double date with me and Sophia. I’ll even find someone to be your date!”

In theory, it sounds like your worst nightmare. Spending a night with a loved up Steve and Sophia while you’re with some guy you met only hours ago. All because Steve’s girlfriend doesn’t feel comfortable enough spending Valentine’s day alone with him.

But Steve has had to hold your hand through a nasty breakup and other horrific dating exploits since then. He’s held your hair up when you’ve been sick. Makes you your favorite snacks during busy exam seasons. He cleans your room when he knows you’re exhausted. 

Steve is your best friend. The least you can do is this. 

“Fine,” you finally give in. “But the guy better be hot.”

The guy Steve finds you is, in fact, incredibly hot. His name is Max and he meets you and Steve outside the restaurant dressed in a well tailored suit. 

“Where’d you find this guy?” You whisper to Steve while Max isn’t looking.

“He knew Connor in high school.” He whispers back. “Makes a lot of money. Works in finance.”

Your mouth drops, but you quickly cover it up when Max opens the door for you and Steve. He’s a perfect gentleman and rests his hand on the small of your back. “You guys been to this restaurant before?”

“A few times together, but I don’t think my girlfriend Sophia has been here yet.” Steve sits down and grabs a menu before checking his watch. “Actually, she should be here by now.”

Max’s face twists slightly. “Her name is Sophia?”

“Max?” Sophia, rushing towards your table, stops and gasps out his name as if she’s been stabbed.

“Oh, dear.” You set down your menu. Something tells you that there won’t be any eating tonight.

“Sophia?” Max nearly falls to his knees in front of her, eyes shining at the girl as if she’s hung all the moon and stars with her delicate fingers.

They stare at one another, neither moving, and Steve looks between them with a bitter taste in his mouth. “So… you guys know each other?”

Sophia winces and Max coughs.

You grab your purse. “Steve, why don’t we head home–”

“What’s going on here?” His voice is strained. He looks at Sophia and you see the upset he tries to suppress. The clench of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. “Soph, who is this guy?”

“He’s no one, I promise–”

Max steps forward. “We dated for a few years.”

“Years?” Steve exclaims.

“Broke up on Valentine’s day last year, actually.” He looks at Sophia with a pained expression. “I… I missed you.”

Steve falls against his seat in disbelief. Sophia holds the base of her throat in a weak attempt to soothe herself.

“You’re really not helping, Max.” You glare at him, rubbing your friend’s shoulder as he sits at the table, mourning. Steve’s mouth doesn’t seem to be able to close and he’s looking at Sophia as if trying to silently plead with her to tell him that none of this is real.

Except is it, and Sophia closes her eyes. “I-I can’t do this, Steve.”

Her apology sends the chair flying back as he stands abruptly, desperately reaching for her in the crowded restaurant while you and Max remain silent. “Wait, can’t we just–”

“I should go.” She’s crying and the green of her eyes are a startling shade of brilliance. She really is quite lovely; the beauty breaks your heart. Steve calls after her as she leaves. 

You hold him back. He screams at you to let him go, but you know that this time you have to be the one to break his fall. To catch him as he caught you the year Oliver broke your heart. There are tears in his eyes and his hoarse voice begs the girl to stay, but she’s long gone. 

Max stands there in the wreckage. He doesn’t know what to do or who to follow. 

“Just go,” you tell him, pulling Steve back down to sit. He collapses into your side, too ashamed to cry and too exhausted to care. He’s weak against you and your arms encase him. Max doesn’t move, and your voice raises before you can stop it. “Go!”

He listens, and the other patrons in the restaurant watch as yet another person runs from your table. A waitress gives you a pitying smile that you don’t reciprocate.

Steve hides his face in your neck and you gently cup his cheek to make him look at you. “Hey,” you say when his eyes finally focus on you. “Let’s get you a drink, okay?”

He drops his head on the table with a defeated sigh. “Give me whatever liquor they got.”

“The stronger the better?”

“Yes.”

“Coming right up.” You wave a waiter down and order four shots and two beers. Steve doesn’t say anything while you order, but he does shift closer to you once the waiter is gone.

The buzz of the restaurant is low, though full of laughter and conversation. You sit with Steve, fingers stroking through his hair as his head remains on the table. He lost all sense of pride the moment he begged Sophia to stay, so he allows your nails to scratch his scalp.

Drinks get set on the table and Steve throws both of his shots back before you can even pick one of yours up. He wipes his mouth and cringes at the taste. You stare at him, slightly concerned. “Alright over there?”

“Need more liquor.”

You stroke his cheek. “How cute. You think I’m going to let you drink your sorrows away.”

He bats your hand away. “I don’t know if you’re all caught up, but I just got dumped on Valentine’s day, Y/N.”

“And?” You laugh at him. “That happened to me too, buddy. You’re officially a part of the lonely hearts club. How’s it feel?”

Steve drops his head back onto the table. “It feels like we’re fucking cursed.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you clink your beer against his. “Cheers.”

It’s quiet for a while. You finish your shots and sip slowly at your beer. Steve remains hidden away at the table, refusing to sit up and face the reality of heartbreak. You allow him to take all the time he needs, replenishing his drinks when he runs low. He’s quiet, but he knocks his knee against yours every time you squeeze his hand. 

I’m here.

Thank you.

The chatter in the restaurant dies down and you pay the tab and help carry Steve home. He’s significantly more drunk than you are, and you’re relieved that you chose to eat somewhere close enough to walk. He stumbles the entire way home and you have to cling onto his hand so that he doesn’t fall.

Steve drags your body onto the couch the second you open the apartment door. He collapses on top of you. His arms hold your waist and his nose presses against your neck. You bring your hands to his hair and sync your breathing with his. 

“Think it’ll always be like this?” Steve murmurs after a while. “You and me and goddamn Valentine’s day?”

Six years of sharing the holiday together. Six years of being each other’s person to spend the day with and draw cheesy cards for. Six years of laughter and tears and secret glances and inside jokes. 

Six years, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“We’re best friends, Steve.” You whisper into his ear, lips brushing skin. “Of course it’ll always be like this.”

He shivers at the sensation of your lips. Alcohol burns through his system. He finds himself upset that he drank tonight. He wonders what would’ve happened had he not met Sophia. If he had taken you to the restaurant alone and left sober.

Steve wonders if he would’ve kissed you then. If you would’ve let him.

But he had met Sophia. He’d taken you to the restaurant to have dinner with her. He got drunk tonight to forget the way she tasted. You walked him home because you couldn’t trust him to take care of himself. And now he’s too afraid to kiss you because he knows it could ruin everything he’s so carefully built with you.

He falls asleep to your heartbeat.

– 

“Who gets married on Valentine’s day?” Robin tugs at her dress in disgust. “I mean, that should just be illegal.”

You help her fix her dress and shrug. “I don’t know. I think it’s sweet.”

“That’s because Steve’s walking you down the aisle tonight. You’re biased.”

“He’s the best man and I’m the maid of honor,” you poke her stomach. “It’s quite literally tradition to walk down the aisle as a pair.”

Kelly, who has been fixing her makeup the entire conversation, peeks her head from behind the mirror. “To be honest, Connor and I did intentionally plan for Steve to walk you down the aisle.”

Your jaw drops. “Kelly!”

“The two of you are just so cute!” She laughs. “You’re two of our closest friends. We want what’s best for you, so Connor and I figured we’d just give you guys a little push.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Believe me. I’ve been trying to get them together for years now. What is this, your eighth year of being each other’s Valentine’s?”

Your head whips to her. “It’s only our seventh. And what do you mean you’ve been trying for years?”

“I’m practically the reason Steve moved in with you. He wanted to live with me months before you asked him to move in. Naturally, I’m a prophet, and I told him no. Now here you guys are, walking down the aisle together. Tada!”

“Oh my god.”

“I mean, it worked!” Robin frowns. “Well. Sort of.”

You’re speechless and Kelly takes pity on you. She walks over and rests a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, I love you. Connor and Robin love you. Steve loves you. You know that, right?”

“I…” You’d be a liar if you said the thought never crossed your mind. Especially after the breakup with Sophia. You’ve always been close with Steve, but in the last year there’s been this shift that you haven’t been able to describe.

There’s coffee waiting for you every morning. He holds your hand and strokes his thumb against your palm. Steve ends up falling asleep in your bed most nights now, wrapped around you as his breath warms your skin. His own room has slowly been turned into a makeshift studio for his music. 

Sometimes you catch Steve staring at you, and sometimes the heat of his gaze doesn’t scare you. 

But sometimes it does.

“Why are we even talking about this?” You deflect, setting your eyes on Kelly and her gorgeous veil. “You’re getting married in less than an hour. Can’t we talk about that?”

“Babe, all I’ve done for the last year is talk about this goddamn wedding. I’m the bride and right now I demand that we gossip.”

Robin laughs at you and you’re about to make up some excuse about needing to go organize the roses again when the bride’s door opens. Kelly yelps and covers her dress as you and Robin step in front of her to block the intruder’s view.

“Relax,” Steve holds his hands up. “It’s just me. Unfortunately, I’m not the groom.”

Kelly shakes his head at him fondly. “What do you want, Steve?”

“Connor sent me here because apparently I lack the ability to shut the fuck up and it was stressing him out.”

You snort and Robin hunches over as she giggles. Kelly smirks. “Yeah. I believe that.”

Steve sticks his tongue out at the three of you, and the conversation from earlier gets dropped. He helps you and Robin with the rest of Kelly’s makeup. He irons her dress, showers her with compliments, and your heart constricts every time he touches the edge of your silk dress with childlike wonder. 

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” He whispers when it’s just the two of you. The door to the aisle hasn’t opened yet. The rest of the wedding party stands behind you, waiting. 

A blush coats your cheeks. You loop your arm through his and bask in his fondness. “Thank you,” your hand rests on his chest. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

And he does. Steve is cruelly beautiful in his suit. His tie matches the lace of your dress and you want to pull the end of it and bring his lips to yours. He stares down at your lips and you wonder if he’s thinking about yours, before the music starts.

The door opens. Down the long, carpeted length of the church stands Connor. There are flowers everywhere and Steve grabs the hand that rests against his forearm. He squeezes it, takes a deep breath, and together you walk down the aisle. 

During the wedding Robin cries. The vows are exchanged and she has to cover her mouth to contain the sobs that spill from her. Steve catches your eye from across the pew and the two of you smile at your friend, your love for her forming into one. 

Sometime late into the night Steve finds you. He hands you a drink before promptly dragging you to the dancefloor. You protest, shy, but he doesn’t listen.

“I told myself I’d dance with the prettiest girl at this wedding, angelface. And it just so happens that that girl is you.”

You laugh at him, following his hands as he guides you through the motions of dancing. “Don’t let Kelly hear you, otherwise she’ll strangle you.”

“Let her,” Steve spins you, eliciting more giggles to fall from your pretty lips. “I’ll die a happy man now that I’ve danced with you.”

“That was disgusting.”

“And charming. Don’t forget charming.” He spins you again before bringing your bodies even closer together. “You know what this reminds me of?”

You gaze up at Steve. “What?”

“The Lonely Hearts dance.”

Exasperated laughter follows his confession. “You’re really thinking about our high school dance right now?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Every year I was dying to dance with you.” Steve’s thumbs stroke up and down the sides of your waist. His grip on you tightens. His voice lowers and you recognize the adoration that paints his brown eyes. The air between you stills. Steve dips his head, his forehead brushes yours. “And now I finally got that dance.”

You don’t breathe. If you do, you’re afraid that the exhale would shatter the fragility of this moment. 

“Was it worth it?” You don’t recognize your own voice and the breathy way it comes out. Your hands move up Steve’s chest and snake around his neck. His head knocks against yours, your noses centimeters apart, lips separated by inches.

You feel Steve’s smile more than you really see it. “You tell me.”

He kisses you, cradling your body as if it were made to fit into the crevices of his palms. Lips move against lips and your skin hums at the sensation of finally welcoming him home. His skin greets you with a soft tenderness and your lips coat his mouth with sugary sweetness.

“Get a room!” Robin throws a napkin at the two of you, forcing you apart, and when you come up for air you see the biggest smile on her face. 

You hide in Steve’s neck, embarrassed, though not enough to not leave small, fluttery kisses on every mole your lips can find. You’re already addicted to feeling him shiver beneath you.

“Seems we have a wedding to plan for next year!” Connor raises his beer and points at you and Steve, cackling loudly. 

Kelly is next to him and she kisses her husband’s cheek and beams at him. “It took ‘em long enough!”

“Do you guys mind?” Steve pulls you away from the dancefloor, glaring at his closest friends who all love him endlessly and whom he loves even more, and basks in your giggling as he whisks you away. “I’m trying to kiss Y/N here!”

“Use protection!” Robin calls out while Connor and Kelly whistle and cat call. 

Steve finds an empty closet and no one can find you for the rest of the night. Kelly never lets you live it down, Connor commends you for the bravery, and Robin has to wipe away her tears.

– 

Your first semester of senior year, Steve and Robin’s band gets signed. The record label is apparently legendary because they collapse onto the ground screaming when they get the phone call. Twenty minutes later, Connor and Kelly are at your apartment screaming alongside them.

Two weeks later they book tickets to New York and you help Steve pack his bags. Everything happens so quickly and it’s almost nauseating trying to keep up.

“We’re in the studio from nine to five every weekday, so I’ll call you every day at six.” Steve folds a pair of jeans and hands them for you to place in his suitcase. “Weekends I’ll call you at five so that we can eat dinner together.”

You give him an odd look. “Don’t you want to go explore the city while you’re there?”

“I mean, sure. But I can do that during the day. The moment the clock strikes five or six, it’s my girl’s time.”

“Steve…” You’re so stupidly in love with him sometimes. “I don’t want you worrying about me while you’re there. This is a huge opportunity for you.”

“Who said anything about worrying about you?” Steve walks up behind you and kisses your neck. “Angelface, I’m worried I might die after the first week without you.”

Your hands brush through his hair. “You’ll be fine, Stevie. I guarantee that in five days tops you’ll be having too much fun to miss me.”

“Wrong. I will be talking everyone’s ears off about you and will probably get banned from a lot of bars because of it.”

Sighing, you turn and face him, pressing a soft kiss to his brow. “Steve, it’s only for a few months. Each day we’re apart will be one day closer to being together.”

“How about no days apart and every day together?”

You kiss him, slowly and drawn out, as if time is on your side and you’re in excess of it. Steve hums against you, tightening his arms in a lazy hug, and you know that you’ll miss him forever.

The first few weeks are hard without Steve. You’ve never lived on your own before and you’ve never really spent a day without him since you were eighteen. Now you’re twenty-one and there’s no one to kiss you awake or make faces in the mirror with you as you brush your teeth.

What’s worse is that Robin is gone, too. And Kelly. And Connor.

Their absence makes you realize that you direly need other friends who aren’t in a literal band together. 

Steve keeps his promise and calls you every day. He always asks about how your day has been, he tells you every detail about his. He tells you that he’s started writing all his thoughts down in a notebook that he wants to tell you so that he doesn’t forget, and it makes you ache even more. 

The months pass by slowly. December drips into January and then February greets you with her winter’s kiss. There’s snow in Chicago and even more to come, and you know Steve will be excited to see it when he gets back.

Which coincidentally happens to be Valentine’s day. 

And also the day you get violent food poisoning. 

After months of being apart, the first time Steve sees you again is with your head in the toilet bowl, hacking up your lungs and dying. 

“Oh, Jesus.” He drops his bags and comes running over, immediately gathering your hair so that you don’t get it dirty as yet another wave of nausea hits you.

“Welcome home.” you say in between bouts of bile. Truly, you think this is a new low that you’ve reached. Here you are, deathly ill and incredibly sweaty, while your lovely boyfriend has just arrived home after months of missing each other. “Sorry that you have to see this.”

Steve rubs your back and sits with you on the ground. “Don’t be ridiculous. Even spilling your guts out I think you’re hot.”

“That’s sweet,” you throw up again. “Would you be a dear and kill me now?”

He laughs, massaging your tender body, and doesn’t once leave your side. He flushes the toilet for you when needed. He gets a rag and soaks it in cold water and rubs it across your forehead to help regulate your fever. He hums to you when your stomach twists in pain. 

Eventually the nausea settles enough for you to ask Steve to carry you to bed. He does, and he sets you down gently before crawling in next to you. He fits your body against his, hand on your stomach as if he himself can ease its ache. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice is raspy, the acidic bile still lingering. “I’m sure this isn’t the grand reunion and Valentine’s day that you had in mind.”

“I’m laying in bed with you and you love me.” Steve kisses your overheated forehead. “That’s all I ever want for Valentine’s day.”

Your eyes fall shut and you exhale shakily. “I just… I wanted our first Valentine’s to be special. I had it all planned out. I rented your favorite movie and bought all the ingredients to make the gnocchi you love so much, and then as I was folding the laundry I just-I died.”

“Food poisoning. America’s silent killer.” Your laugh rings in Steve’s ears and he smiles, kissing your face again and again and again. He runs his nose down your chin, brushes the hair out of your face. “Besides, this isn’t our first Valentine’s. I’m counting all the ones we spent together single and lonely whether you like it or not.”

“The fifth one wasn’t so bad,” you muse. You still remember the roar of the Vexture as Steve announced that you were his Valentine. “You were annoyingly charming that night.”

“That was me declaring my love for you, you know.”

You turn to him, startled. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” Steve clutches his chest. “There I was, telling the love of my life that I wanted her to be my Valentine forever, and then in the end she friendzones me. Truly brutal stuff.”

“But that was years ago! We were nineteen, there’s no way in hell you were actually in love with me.”

He grabs your hand and kisses it. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen. I was just waiting for you to like me back.”

The idea of Steve being in love with you since you were kids nearly sends you back to throwing up. You’re overwhelmed by it. By the idea that someone could’ve loved you for as long as he has. That he still loves you now. For nearly a decade.

“Y/N? You got all quiet over there. You alive?” Steve pokes your cheek and it’s then that you know that there was never anyone else for you. You were his from the moment he walked into student council and demanded cleaner mirrors in the men’s bathroom.

“I love you.” You tell him. They’re the only words created for what you have. 

Steve scrunches his face in an endearing manner. “I love you, too.”

“Now tell me all about New York.”

And he does.

– 

Robin tells you that tour life is romanticized and that within the first week you’ll strangle her and Steve to death, but you don’t believe her. When you see the size of the bus the five of you will be staying in for months on end, you start to second guess what she’s said. 

“It’s… cozy?”

Connor huffs at you. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“It’ll be fun, guys!” You try again to make light of the situation, though really you also don’t believe what you’re saying. “I mean, think about how much closer we’ll be after this.”

“Weren’t you a philosophy major?” Connor looks at you skeptically. “Isn’t the whole schtick of those old white dudes pessimism?” 

Steve throws an arm around you. “She graduated top of her class, actually. And yes. Those old white dudes loved being bitter bitches.”

“I think Y/N’s right.” Kelly joins in now. “We’re a family. It can’t be that bad.”

“Famous last words.” Robin mutters.

They are, in fact, famous last words. 

Connor learns that he gets car sick easily on day two. Kelly learns that she has a fear of car sickness on day three. Robin leaves her keyboard at one of the venues they play at the second week and doesn’t realize it until you’re already at the next venue an entire state away. Steve loses his voice after the sixth show and spends the entire bus ride to the next venue sulking.

You, however, are honestly having a great time. You didn’t get to travel with the band last year due to school, and now that you’ve graduated, you’re enamored with seeing places that aren’t native to Illinois or Indiana. 

“Steve, if you gargle salt water in my ear one more time, I will shave your head in your sleep.” Robin threatens during week four. Her eye is twitching and you truly do believe that she has a razor hidden somewhere.

“I have to protect my voice.” He argues, pouring more warm water into a cup before mixing salt in. “I can’t lose it again!”

“That was a pretty rough show.” Connor says from his bunk. Being nearly 6’4, he barely even fits in it. His legs hang off awkwardly and he’s been complaining about his back for weeks now.

“I thought Robin sang pretty well.” Nancy, the band’s tour photographer, says quietly from the makeshift kitchenette. She joined during the third show and you think Robin’s been in love with her since the fourth one. 

“Uh, thanks. I guess.” She squeaks out, hiding behind you in a not so subtle manner. You pat her hand, sympathetic. 

Steve gargles and spits the water into the sink. “Robin has an incredible voice, I agree. But that’s besides the point. We’re on the clock full time, even if we don’t have a show tonight.”

“And tell me, my dear wife, why we don’t have a show tonight?” Connor sings to Kelly.

“Why, my dear husband, I do believe it’s because it’s Valentine’s day and Stevie over here demanded the night off so that he can court our beloved Y/N.”

Steve rolls his eyes at them and you laugh. “In our defense, we haven’t exactly had a normal Valentine’s day together. We’re in dire need of one normal night.”

Nancy tilts her head at you. “But aren’t you guys together?” 

“Yeah, but we weren’t for a while.”

“One Valentine’s day Y/N found out her boyfriend was cheating on her, who also just so happened to be my roommate.” 

Robin throws her head back and shouts, “Fuck Oliver!” And Connor and Kelly join.

“Thanks, guys.” Steve turns back to Nancy. “Another year I made Y/N go on a blind double date with me and a girl I was dating at the time. Turns out, the guy I brought for Y/N was also the ex boyfriend of my girlfriend. So that was fun.”

“One year we actually walked down the aisle together. Before we were even dating.” Nancy’s eyes widen and you shrug at her. “We were in the same wedding party.”

“Happy anniversary, babe.” Connor blows a kiss to Kelly and she catches it, blowing him one back.

“And last year I got horrendous food poisoning and Steve had to drive me to the hospital since I was so dehydrated. He cried filling out my paperwork.”

“I did.”

Nancy looks between you and Steve. “And this year, you guys will…?”

“I’m taking Y/N out to a nice, totally normal and totally romantic dinner. I’m going to wine and dine my girl and then we’re going to cuddle in our way too small bunk bed and sleep.”

You beam at everyone. “It’s a pretty good plan.”

Except you and Steve don’t even make it to your reservation. Later that night, right before you call a taxi, Nancy bursts through the bus door with a frantic look in her eyes. You drop the phone and rush to her. “Woah, hey. What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Robin?” There are tear stains on her delicate face. 

Steve’s body tenses. “Last time we saw her was when she left with you guys, why?”

“I–” A broken sob prevents Nancy from telling him anything else, and you take her into your arms.

You soothe her, your own worry for your friend setting your body on edge. Steve shares a look with you, both wondering what the hell is happening. Robin left with Nancy and the others hours ago to go check out some local bar, and now here Nancy is, crying in your arms, with Robin nowhere to be found.

“Nance,” drying the girl’s tears, you try to get her to calm down enough to speak. “I need you to breathe with me, okay? Take a deep breath and then let it out slowly.”

You inhale, so does she, and after several seconds you exhale long and slow. Nancy’s breath stutters and her tears soak the white blouse she looks so delicate in, but still she breathes.

Steve stands over the two of you, arms crossed with his eyebrows pinched together in worry. He taps his foot and you know it’s taking everything within him not to tear down the entire town to find his best friend.

“What happened with Robin, Nance?” Steve gently asks her, crouching down to her eye level. “Is she okay? Are you okay?”

Nancy wipes her face and sniffs. She can’t look at you or Steve. Her eyes face only the ground as she picks at her nails. “We… We kissed.”

“That’s…” Steve looks at you, silently asking if he should be elated or concerned, and all you can do is shrug helplessly at him. “That’s-that’s great, right? I mean, you two were totally love at first sight. Like, Romeo and Juliet but without the, you know. Death. I mean, at least I hope there’s no death, but seeing as you’re currently crying I’m a little nervous–”

“What my boyfriend is trying to say is that we’re happy for you guys, but also a little concerned.” You interrupt Steve’s ramble. “What happened after the kiss?”

Nancy continues picking at her nails. Her crying has subsided but her face remains broken and anguished. Her eyebrows knit together and her mouth draws into a thin line. “I-I kissed her, and then she just… She ran.”

“Shit,” you sigh, dropping your head.

Steve throws his own head back and curses as well. “Another category five.”

“Yup.”

Nancy turns to you. “Category five? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You wince, grabbing her hand in hopes of quelling her sudden anger. “Look, Robin is…”

“A gem.” Steve finishes for you, and you nod at him.

“She’s my best friend, and she’s incredibly brave and charismatic and bold. I’ve seen her punch men five times her size. She always speaks her mind and never takes no for an answer, but she’s also vulnerable. She hides a lot behind her humor.”

“When I first met Robin, she was going through a pretty rough breakup.” Steve sits next to you and Nancy now. “And since then she’s become the worst person imaginable when it comes to dating. She always freaks out and leaves the relationship before they can leave her. And a category five freakout is… bad.”

“We’ve only seen it once before with some girl she met at a gig a few years back. They kissed and Robin locked herself in the bathroom and refused to leave until the girl was gone.” You tuck Nancy’s hair behind her ear. “We aren’t telling you this to scare you, we’re telling you this because you clearly love Robin, and she loves you. She’s just… she’s been hurt before.”

Nancy slouches on the couch. “But I don’t want to hurt her! I didn’t even mean to kiss her, but she looked so pretty under the purple lighting and was laughing at some stupid joke I made and-and suddenly we were kissing and it was incredible and then–”

“Category five.” Steve mimes an explosion with his hands. You glare at him.

“How about this, we’ll find Robin for you and bring her back here. I think the two of you just really need to talk about this.”

Steve raises his hand. “I personally think they just need to makeout.” You elbow his side and he groans in pain. “Yeah, okay. That was fair.”

“I can’t ask you guys to do that.” Nancy sniffs. “You were so excited for your date tonight and you’ve already done enough.”

You kiss her forehead and pull Steve up from the couch, putting your jacket on and tossing him his. “Our Valentine’s day wouldn’t be the same without someone crying or throwing up. We’re going. Dinner can wait.”

Steve wraps an arm around your waist. “She’s right. This is just tradition for us. A sacred thing we look forward to every year.”

“You two confuse me so much.” Nancy laughs wetly, overwhelmed by your kindness. 

“We get that a lot.” Steve kisses your temple. “C’mon, angelface. The lesbians need us.”

Nancy nearly chokes on her laughter and you giggle as well. The bus door closes and it’s just open road before you. You’re in the middle of Wisconsin with nothing but grass and dirt for miles ahead. Wherever Robin ended up running off to, you sincerely hope it’s close.

In the end, you and Steve end up walking nearly two miles to a nearby gas station and find Robin face deep in a pint of ice cream. Her cheeks are smeared in chocolate and her puffy eyes are red. The moment you find her, Steve throws himself into her arms and you hold them both as she starts to cry.

It takes several conversations, many tissues, and a few threats before you’re able to convince Robin to walk back to the bus with you. She freaks out the entire two miles and Steve has to fully pick her up at one point to prevent her from fleeing, but eventually you’re standing in front of the bus door with Robin’s iron grip on your hand.

“I-I can’t do this.” She chokes out, short of breath as panic sets in again. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You can,” Steve pokes her cheek, though his hand rubs her shoulder with affection. “And you will.”

“What if she hates me now?”

You hook your chin over Robin’s shoulder, butting your head with hers. “Then we’ll be here to catch you, dummy. But we won’t need to, because Nancy is currently pacing the bus waiting to kiss your pretty face again.”

Robin’s body tenses and she gets ready to run, but Steve swoops her into his arms and you yank the door open so that he can throw her inside. She screams, but you slam the door shut and Steve helps you keep it closed as her fists pound against it.

“Let me out!” Robin screeches, throwing her body against the door.

“Kiss and make up! Those are the rules!” You scream back, clenching your teeth to keep your footing. 

Robin screams again and Steve has to throw his entire body weight back to keep her inside, but eventually her anger exhausts her and soon there’s only silence within the bus. You and Steve press your ears to the door, breaths held so as not to miss anything, and faintly, very faintly, you hear Nancy’s soft voice mixing with Robin’s embarrassed tears.

Stepping back, Steve holds his hand for you to high five, which you gladly accept. “God, we’re great.”

“The best matchmakers this town has ever seen.”

Steve tugs you against him and holds you close to his chest, inhaling your scent and humming in content. You melt into him and he holds you for a while, just the two of you, swaying softly together as the gentle February wind dances around you.

“I think year nine went pretty well.” You murmur into Steve’s skin.

He buries his face in your hair. “I have a feeling year ten will be even better.”

–

The band’s breakout album, Angelface, becomes an instant success. It tops every chart, critics praise it, fans scream along to all the songs, and Steve claims that you’re the reason for it.

“I name an album after you and suddenly it sells a million copies overnight.” He nips at your neck, humming when you writhe beneath him. “You’re my good luck charm, angelface.”

You want to tease him and call him crazy, but when his hand comes up to massage your breast through its thin fabric, your moans drown out the noise in your mind. 

Connor and Kelly buy a house with a studio built inside of it. The band rehearses there every day in preparation for their next album. Robin brings Nancy along, the two of them always giggling quietly to themselves in between sessions. Nancy becomes the band’s official photographer. All the photos are of Robin. 

Steve surprises you one day with the keys to your own home. He tells you that the second the money from Angelface was his, he went out and bought the house the next day. The home is much bigger than the apartment you once shared together, though small enough to still feel intimate. There are mahogany floors and a bay window in your bedroom and you couldn’t be more in love with it.

February comes and Steve sits you down at the kitchen table with a pen and paper in front of him. 

“Alright,” he says, setting his hands on the table with an air of authority to him. “Valentine’s day is approaching. We know what that means.”

“That disaster is ahead.” You nod solemnly, following along.

“Exactly, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to make you a fancy dinner without anything that can possibly get you sick. No eggs. No meat. No dairy. Nothing prone to yacking.”

“Not sure what that leaves you with, but I’m listening.”

Steve writes everything down. “There will be only electric candles because I’m now terrified that the only disaster left is a house fire, and I spent a concerning amount of money on this house.”

“I fear the same.”

“Perfect. I’ll get us some wine and a movie to rent. Our landline will be turned off so that absolutely no one can contact us. We’re going AWOL here, Y/N. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You lean forward and place your head in your hand. “What if Robin tries calling, though?”

“I love her, but we landed her a girlfriend last year. She owes us this Valentine’s day.”

“Touché.” 

Steve looks down at his list. “Okay. Am I missing anything?”

You think for a moment. “No, I think that’s all, just don’t forget I have a doctor’s appointment that day so I won’t be home until a bit later.”

“Already accounted for that. I’ll be buying undisclosed decorations for the house to surprise you with.”

“Undisclosed? How many spy movies did you watch before this?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

True to his word, Steve does decorate the house while you’re gone. You get back from your appointment and your home is an explosion of pinks and reds. There are streamers everywhere and a small disco ball hangs from your living room ceiling. Music from your high school years plays softly in the background and the house smells of acidic tomato and garlic. 

“Steve?” You call out, breathless as you walk towards the kitchen. He’s spared no expense. The floor is littered with roses and there’s wine waiting for you on the table with small electric candles flickering in the darkness.

“Do you like it?” You turn around and find Steve holding a bouquet of roses, dressed in a familiar tuxedo. It’s all black and his ribbed vest has the same rose pinned to it that it did back when you were in high school trying to stop him from pouring gin into the punch. 

Your heart beats wildly and an overwhelming mix of emotions simmer in your stomach. “You’re…”

“The best boyfriend in the world? I know.” Steve grabs the wine and pops it open, pouring you a glass. He hands it to you with a wink, but you don’t accept the drink. He tilts his head in confusion. “I thought you loved red wine?”

“I-I do.” You’re quick to reassure him. “But after my doctor’s appointment today, I’m not so sure I should have any.”

Your heartbeat spikes again and Steve sets the glasses down immediately. He’s at your side a second later, worry for you written all over his handsome face. “You said it was just a regular checkup. Are you alright? Are you sick again? I-I can drive you to the hospital, just let me turn off the stove before we actually do have a house fire–”

“Steve,” your voice cracks with love and warmth. He looks up at you, pink lips parted in a small frown that you want to kiss better. “I can’t have wine for nine months.”

“Nine..? That’s an oddly specific number.” His lips turn downwards. “Is it like, some type of allergy now, or–?”

“No, Stevie.” You cup his face with a smile. Grabbing his hands, you bring them to your stomach. His palms lay flush against your abdomen, warm, and something in his face shifts. His eyes widen slightly, soft air escapes him, and your face burns from how wide you smile. “It isn’t an allergy.”

“You’re–?” He doesn’t want to say it, afraid that if he does, that if he’s wrong, his heart would be broken in an irrevocable way.

You nod, brushing his hair back. “I’m about ten weeks along.”

Steve sinks to his knees, dropping his head to your stomach and staring at it with an innocent gaze of love. His eyes fill with wonder, with tears. “Y/N.”

He whispers your name like a sacred prayer, lips pressing to the flesh over and over again as your fingers tangle in his hair and your joy coats his skin. 

“I know we’re young, but…” You whisper down to him. “I want this. I really, really want this.”

“I want this, too.” Steve slides his hands up your body and stands, cradling you in his arms while his face buries itself into your neck. You can feel his tears wet your skin, the slight trembling of his body. “God, I want this.”

Your lips ghost the shell of his ear, down the veins in his neck, the crest of his collarbones and the lines of his jaw. Steve pulls you, closer and closer and closer, until your skin is his and his breath is yours. 

“Happy Valentine’s day, Stevie.” 

Steve smiles down at you. His face has changed since you first met ten years ago. The lines around his eyes have deepened slightly, his boyish smile is now more charming than endearing, and his jaw has become more defined.

His eyes, however, are the same eyes you fell in love with all those years ago. The toffee brown still reminiscent of the student council meetings you always bickered in. They’re still soft when he looks at you, open and lovely as they were at the Lonely Hearts dance. 

There is still so much love that is embedded in Steve’s hand woven features for you. His hands stroke your stomach and your lips are against his. The excess of love is syrupy thick. 

All it took was ten Valentine’s days.

-

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[n0vazsq]

Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader

summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him

request . . . no!

word count . . . 759

warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33

. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.

"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. You’re stressing me out."

He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "You’re not exactly making this easy for me."

His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "That’s me?"

"Who else do you think I’ve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"

Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower he’d taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."

You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? You’re lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."

He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? That’s rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.

"Go on," you urged, smirking now.

"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "You’re not worth the fight."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.

But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didn’t reach as far.

"What’s going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.

He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About....?"

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like… I don’t know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Where’s this coming from?"

He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "It’s just… I don’t know. Everyone’s always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like that’s all I am."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know that’s not true, right?"

"Isn’t it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. "You’re so much more than what people say. You’re brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.

"I don’t see some ‘pretty boy,’" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people don’t, that’s their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"

You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your ego contained."

He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being… ," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.”

Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someone’s gotta put up with you."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"

And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.

[psformybss]

for secret fiancé reader could you maybe do like their instagram posts of each other or like the fans finding out?

(i love your writing soooo much btw) xx

Soft Launch (but not really)

series masterlist

pairing: drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader

warnings: fluff, cuddling, social media chaos, drew being soft, y/n being a menace, teddy is the real star

an: i loved both ideas so i combined them but thank you so much saying you love my writing that is the biggest compliment anyone could ever give me 🫶🏼

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The room was a cocoon of quiet: low flickering light from the TV, Teddy softly snoring against Y/N’s stomach, and Drew’s steady breathing beside her, his fingers drawing mindless shapes on her back. They’d barely spoken in the last twenty minutes—no need to. The comfort between them was thick and easy, like a blanket they didn’t have to think about.

And then her phone started buzzing.

At first, just once. Then again. Then a burst of notifications that made Teddy grumble and lift his head, blinking like he’d been personally offended.

Y/N groaned, reaching blindly toward the nightstand. “What now?”

Drew didn’t even open his eyes. “Group chat meltdown?”

She turned the screen toward her. “Nope. Instagram.”

At that, Drew cracked one eye open. “Wait, what did you even post today?”

She gave him a look. “Seriously?”

He sat up a little, rubbing his face as the memory clicked. “Oh. Right. The birthday thing. The one you definitely didn’t tag me in.”

Y/N stifled a laugh, unlocking her phone as the notifications kept rolling in. “I thought I was being subtle.”

Drew shifted to lean against the headboard, pulling her back against his chest. “Apparently not subtle enough.”

Her thumb scrolled, and she read a few of the comments out loud between amused snorts.

“obxupdatesonly: who IS she and why is everyone tiptoeing in these comments??”

Drew raised his eyebrows. “They’re so dramatic.”

She kept scrolling. “drewstarkeysource: her posts are always quiet and lowkey but somehow he’s in half of them??”

He laughed at that. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“poguespilled: the way none of them have posted her but she’s clearly always there.” She shook her head. “Creepy accurate.”

“Told you,” he said, grinning. “You soft-launched me a year ago without realizing.”

“Oh no, it gets better,” Y/N said, voice rising with barely restrained laughter. “starkeysofts: this caption feels like a love letter in disguise. sorry i don’t make the rules.”

Drew let out a low whistle. “Yikes.”

“madibaeobsessed: ‘life lighter’ ‘something golden’ — you don’t write that about your friend.” She nudged his side with a smirk. “Guess we’re not fooling anyone.”

He took her hand, the one with the thin, gleaming band tucked just behind her knuckle, and pressed his thumb over it like muscle memory. “We didn’t exactly try that hard.”

“outerbanksanon: calling it now. soft launch of the century,” she read, then buried her face in his chest. “I hate how right they are.”

He grinned, resting his chin on top of her head. “I kind of love it.”

“jjxkiaraminds: who is she, and why do I want them to be in love.”

At that, they both laughed. Drew tilted her chin up just slightly. “Joke’s on them.”

“They got their wish.”

He kissed her once, soft and lazy. “Should we be worried?”

She shook her head, smile curling at the edges. “Nah. It’s still ours. They’re just guessing.”

“And guessing wrong,” he added, lifting her hand again and tapping the ring gently. “They have no idea how far in we are.”

“Exactly.” She grinned. “Let them think it’s a soft launch.”

Teddy gave an exaggerated sigh from beside them, clearly tired of the lack of attention.

Y/N set her phone aside, burrowing closer into Drew’s side. “Okay, mystery man. Want to finish the movie or read more fan theories about our non-existent relationship?”

Drew reached for the remote with a grin. “Let’s pretend we’re just friends a little longer. For sport.”

“And because it’s fun,” she added.

And just like that, with the world still trying to piece them together from crumbs and glances, they leaned into each other—quietly, secretly, completely theirs.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

ps. this was supposed to be posted yesterday but i made the mistake of writing it in here and somehow it deleted. also i could not figure out for the life of me how to make the instagram comments so i just wrote them into the story. i have a new found respect for people that write smau’s because it’s lowkey hella hard 😭

[moonlightcycle571]

Lantern Corps and a 10 year old Child

In a last post, I said the Lantern Corps would love Captain Marvel because he’s omni-lingual (and there’s so many different species so it makes sense that they would feel comfertable around a guy who can speak their mother tongue, no matter how obscure it is).

And then it came to me in a glorious vision, the Cores would LOVE or absolute HATE Billy Batson, be it as a kid it as Captain Marvel.

First on the Love Captain spectrum:

Red Lantern: that’s the corps that’s the most insistent. Man’s fights littéral Wrath and demons alike on a weekly basis. Man’s go to weekly poker night with Satan and other Wardens of Hell. Why? Because he has his own prison dimension in th Rock of Eternity, who also holds the strongest demons.

Yellow Lanterns: as champion of magic, he holds a lot of weight. Especially for magic users. One flick of a wrist and boom, your magic is gone. The whole concept of ‘The Champion’ is enough for most to fear him. That and one does not play poker with The Devil from The Bible and other figures from various religions, and just have a normal presence. He’s terrifying when he wants to be. In his Cap form, he needs to actively tamp down to appear more family friendly, and not the eldricht horror he knows he could easily look like.

Green Lanterns: Homeless Child Superhero dealing with horrors must adults can’t handle. That takes willpower. Even before Captain, I’m pretty sure off willpower alone he could qualify. But what’s the real ringer is his imagination. The Rock of Eternity has access to magical dimensions that no amount of crack could dream up. Man’s had to learn how to use Looney Toones Logic irl and it works. Man’s got a while Disney Dimension with Ballerina Hippos with their Croc partners. Mans has debates about files with littéral walking talking dinosaurs. Billy is hella creative, and who knows what would be made with a ring.

Blue Lanterns: do I … do I need to explain? There are the lantern corps of Hope, I think the rest is pretty self explanatory. I will say though, he was close to accepting when he found out they got a Corgi. Even closer when Dex Starr, the red lanterns cat got a

Orange Lantern: bro fights the physical manifestations of the Seven Deadly Sins , including Greed on a regular basis. By right of conquest, he really should be wearing the ring rn. They be trying to put a ring on it for ages.

Black Lanterns: he once revived Freddy and or Mary by reconnecting them to the rock, and since then is considered a ‘nécromancer’. Also (similar to the Avatar State) he has memories of past champions, including death, so one can argue he’s in a life and death loop.

White lanterns: same reasons as the Black Lanterns. They’ve been trying to get Billy to also out-do said Black Lanterns (who in turn try to recruit him some more). It’s just one vicious snowball effect now.

Now for the Hate Captain spectrum:

Star Sapphire Corps: The thing about Billy is that he’s AroAce. Very Aro and Very Ace. So those who draw power from love and try to flirt are met with the disgusted face of someone who’s famously nice. It was a devastating blow to the whole corps. At some point Hal decided to hide behind Cap to escape another Star Sapphire who fell inlove with him, and they just, lost their power. No longer had the ability to fly and everything. He’s Ace-ness is crippling. And it did bring memes. The Ace community was winning.

Indigo Tribe: he’s too autistic for them. And while being the warden of multiple dangerous beings fits their MO and all, they ain’t touching the bullshit magical logic with a ten foot pole. That, and the first time a ring was sent to him to recruit him to keep the evil ones in line, he roasted their whole system, their ugly ass uniforms (that particular shade of indigo clashed with his Hero Outfit way to much) and ended with a comparison to them with a guy called ‘King Kid’ and the fucking ‘Easter Bunny King’ that somehow did a much better job at Machiavellic while also being uhly. They never sent a second one. The red lanterns sent more.

Ultraviolet lanterns: again, man’s fights the Seven Sins on the regular, is their warden along with other sick evils, lies to the Justice League on the regular and plays poker with Demons (and wins) despite being one of the most honest people there is. That and he’s so dad shaped, it counters their power of daddy issues.

Bonuse:

It’s not uncommon for various JL members to receive lantern rings. They just don’t want to. So the standard procedure is to find your local lantern, and give them rings. At some point all the Corps made a lantern offers chart (and maybe the JL got a bit competitive).

Problem, that screen was using old alien tech that didn’t have colour. So they knew Cap had the most lantern offers, but they didn’t know which colours. Until it got fixed.

J’le looking at the rainbow that’s Captain Marvels Ring List: …

Batman: Captain, why is there so many red ones?

Billy, sweating: …

Hal, not comfy with the amount of yellow: I… I need to make a few phone calls.

John, the one who’s been receiving all of his rings: Uh, don’t remind me. I’ve been getting cramps with the amount of times I had to input the different colours.

Dinah: I don’t think even I’m qualified for the amount of therapy everyone is going to need.

WonderWoman: How to you have Negative Pink Rings??? You can’t get a negative number in a list

Billy, inputing the Zeta Tube: haha, it’s so weird

John: … do I need to add AroAce as a weakness for the Sapphires???

Bonus points if the results are open to the galactic public, and just wonder who tf are and ‘Billy Batson’ and Captain Marvel and why they are dominating the top ranks. What is in the Terra city Fawcette.

Extra Bonus Point if the JL go: Who tf is Billy Batson, and why is he ranked above Captain Marvel.

I’ve been waiting to do this one for a while. But never got the motivation. Let me know if I missed any, and feel free to write fanfic (please tag me if you do, I wanna reeeeead).

Final note, I want to give a certain someone a comment of appreciation.

@wonderjanga you are my favourite person on this app. You are the reason I decided to get out of my procrastination slump. Thank you for you content, it’s always so creative and I deeply enjoy it.

For those who don’t know them, I recommend checking out their content. It’s genuinely inspiration for me to start writing again. I don’t think I’ll be writing on ao3 soon, but maybe one day.