I’ve been all consumed by frank thoughts… and thinking about making out with him and how he’d want his hands all over you literally everywhere that man cannot keep still… in your hair, on your waist, on your ass.. god and listen I’m a firm believer that man can be a true switch okay and as soon as you start kissing his neck he is PUTTTTTYYYYYY the whimpers. THE WHIMPERS. god. anyway. I had no one else to talk to about this
no and i’m so glad you came to me with this because you are so fucking correct and i think about this all day
he’s so one of those guys who just NEEDS to be all over you like the minute his hands get on you? they’re not coming off. it needs to be this all consuming thing to him he needs to be so wrapped up in you so that he can’t think about anything else in the world. and of course he’s a switch! how else is he getting the fucking praise! also like life is hard and sometimes he needs to turn his brain off and be taken care of and other times he just needs to feel like he has control idk
i do feel like he’s embarrassed about having a little whine because it’s “not manly” or whatever the fuck so he always tries to keep his voice deeper and keep it as a Deep Manly Groan but like he can’t help it sometimes! sometimes he loses control and a little whine squeaks out! as it should!! and if i was meaner as a person i’d tease him about it immediately
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ogilvie just needs to get pegged that’ll call him down
well yes! i know he’s a little shit… but listen. he’s exactly the type of guy you have a weird freudian pyscho sexual work-crush on. maybe someone just needs to tug on his leash a bit.
the guy’s a 6”2 curly headed child prodigy med student - i think he has an inflated ego for a reason.
he’s a couple weeks into his rotation, and you had been on his ass since day one, but now you’re riding him harder and he’s getting snarkier. the boy wants to be right. you want him to shut up.
you know what makes a man real quiet? a mouth full of silicone cock…
what do you mean, isla? you ask innocently
i mean you and a few others go out one night and you get to drinking with him and you start to realize he’s not such an asshole outside of work. if only he could behave himself in uniform.
the two of you are bickering, bickering turns into flirting, flirting turns into making out against the door of the stuffy bathroom. he makes a snide comment about how sloppy you kiss. you shove your fingers between his lips before making him put his mouth to good use. and maybe you keep hooking up. and suddenly his bedside manner is improving. and you tell mckay all he needed was a little discipline.
𖥔 ✴️ . ノ His brothers like to crash at your place . . .
with JASON TODD ◜ content ⸝⸝ short n' sweet . i didn't mention the girls :( ! ୧ head empty just batfamily ♡
It's quiet when you both turn in to sleep ― warm, comfortable ... shielded from the filth of Gotham. His heavy duty and your deep-rooted fears, far from your guys mind. Your face is turned towards his, head nestled comfortably under his chin, and ... Jason breathes softly, in n' out ... It's calm ... quiet ... Maybe even a little too quiet ? You hear the faint noise of the city below your apartment complex and all the way down the streets. Traffic, sirens ― it's all a familiar sound that would usually lull you right to sleep. Even the light rumbling of your partners' chest ― not quite snoring, but something close ― normally has you knocked out in under five minutes. But ...
The doorbell. It's a sharp tone in the otherwise silent apartment, that has your eyes wide open again, and Jason on his last nerve. You hear him sigh. Annoyed, yes, but also in a way that tells you ― he has an idea of who that might be. It's still dark, and you can barely see just what he's really doing, but you feel how he peels his side of the blanket away, muttering something like 'jus' sleep, i'll check' which is barely audible by how sleep drunken he sounds. Then, he's already out of the bedroom, lazily walking towards the door, already dreading which bat will greet him at such an hour ...
When he finally opens it, it's ... Richard Grayson, grinning. The sight has another heavy sigh escape him. "Yeah?" Jason liked to pretend that it was unusual for his brothers to show up ― which it wasn't. He also liked to pretend that he never lets them stay ― but he does. And it ― embarrassingly so ― never even takes that long to convince him. When asked, though, Jason claims it's because he rather gets right back to sleep than argue with any of his brothers.
Everyone believes him. Not.
So, Jason just steps aside and lets a much too triumphal looking Dick crash on the couch.
You hear them talk, hushed, comfortable, and soon enough, Jason is back in your bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him as he crawls back to you and underneath the sheets. "S' he okay?" You ask softly, shifting back into your previous position, flush against his chest as you breathe out, content. You're used to Richard coming over and crashing, so you're more concerned on why. Wouldn't be the first time he came over bloodied and beaten, much more eager to let you patch him up than have the batman give him a lecture. "He's fine. Will be gone in the morning."
'He doesn't want to deal with Bruce today' is what he wants to say, but he doesn't want his father to be the last thing he thinks about before going back to sleep. So he just presses a kiss against your forehead and tells you to go back to sleep.
You do, for maybe a minute, then there's a loud crash somewhere, and you're obviously wide awake again. This time, Jason doesn't even pretend to 'go check' because it's one of two people ― and he has this vague idea that it must be Tim, by how stupid his landing was. Probably came through the wrong window and fell right into that new Vase you bought.
Great.
You quietly follow behind when he leaves the bedroom again. You carry a blanket and a smaller pillow that you know is more comfortable than whatever pillows you keep in the living room, handing both to a drowsy Dick when he opens one eye ― not even bothering to check what caused such a loud noise in your guys' apartment. He just thanks you, turns around and goes right back to snoring. It's sweet, you think, how he feels more at ease here, than the large Mansion of his father...
"Go home, Tim," You hear your boyfriend mutter and follow his voice to the kitchen. His brows are furrowed as he watches the boy ― still glad in his suit ― try and puzzle the vase back together. "It's fine, we'll clean it tomorrow..." you find yourself saying, offering the kid a reassuring smile when he sheepishly lets it all fall back together. You know why he's here ― Jason knows too... and it goes without saying that he, too, is always allowed to stay. Even when Jay plays the annoyed older brother, grumbling and huffing when you show Tim the foldable sofa in your bedroom ( the one you guys bought specifically for nights like this ... )
He gets the last spare blanket, and a pillow, and he's good to go, bright smile and rosy cheeks when he thanks you so genuinely, you almost tear up a little. Your boyfriend grunts something about it being 'the last damn time' and Tim just nods. It won't be the last time. Jason acts like his brothers are intruding ― you know better.
Then everything slowly settles. It gets quiet again, there is the occasional shifting of blankets and pillows ― but, everyone seems asleep. Jason is cuddled against you, you can hear the faint snoring of Dick, and even Tim smacks his lips in deep content.
Yet, you can't help but feel like something is still not right. And like the universe agrees with you because ― of course, someone is still missing ― you hear the noise of your window being shoved open, with careful, skillful little hands... and soon enough, a smaller body wedges itself right between you and Jason as if it belongs. You don't say anything, and neither does he ― Damian Wayne fits right in the middle, barely three apples, yet he gets comfortable as if he owns the place. And you know Jason is rolling his eyes, deeply annoyed and beyond done with having so many siblings seeking him out when he just wants to spend time at his apartment with his partner. But even he is quiet and settles easy, his arm lazily thrown over his youngest brother and you, shifting the blanket so that all three of you are warm.
It's the sounds of a full apartment that finally lets you find comfortable sleep ― the warmth of two bodies right next to you ( of which the smaller keeps his hand laced with yours, as if you would ever even dare leave during the night ).
When morning comes, your sofa is empty, the vase glued back together and one demon child can't even look at you because he knows you're aware he's been clinging. He's embarrassed, you ruffle his hair, and together with Jason you bring him back to the Manor. You know it won't be the last time... and you honestly don't mind.
someone take " ... " away from me / i wrote this for myself honestly ―
tense morning (requested! + ft. batfamily!)
bruce wayne x wife!reader
mentions: okay this time i really dont know how to explain it so pls read the request, just know that bruce is at fault and that the argument isnt specified lool
(wowza okay this took a while to write and i am not proud of this at all ugh 0: insignia and 1: this fic)
—————————————————————————
last night was….okay, last night wasn’t good
you and bruce got into an argument. sure, arguments were okay and healthy in relationships, plus, it wasn’t the first time you and he had a disagreement. but this one was different— this one was deeper, emotional
it was so bad that you shattered and threw literally everything you saw in view out of anger and frustration— a lamp, random books, one of the antique chairs, even a vase that you bought in an art auction back in shanghai. you weren’t like this, and the fact that this was happening meant that bruce fucked up bad
now, it was morning. and even though it felt surprisingly peaceful, bruce didn’t wake up to the sight of you like he always did since he slept in one of the guest rooms for you to cool off. to bruce, a morning without waking up to the sight of you wasn’t peaceful. he needed his daily dose of you, he needed his wife
everyone was already downstairs in the small dining room, except for you. dick, jason and tim decided to stay overnight in the manor since they were tired from last night’s patrol unlike damian, duke and cass, who were the only ones living in the manor alongside you, bruce and alfred. (they all overheard aka eavesdropped on your argument)
and soon, the doors opened as you walked in calmly, too calmly. and everyone held their breaths. you avoided eye contact with bruce and just quietly sat down at your chair, your eyes still looking tired but sharp enough to give a glare to enough if they dared
alfred walked and placed your breakfast in front of you before giving everyone else a small knowing look that said ‘proceed-with-caution’ before walking away, not planning on saving anyone from your wrath. you just silently took your utensils and began to cut up your food in the tense silence
dick cleared his throat to break the tension and gave you one of his usual easy going smiles, though it had the hint of nervousness. “morning… uh, how’d you sleep?”
“great” you didn’t even bother hiding your flat tone as your words were opposed to how you truly slept last night— restless, angry, sad, every emotion hitting you all at once that night
the tense silence came back as you just casually took a bite of your breakfast, ignoring how everyone was awkwardly trying to think of how to break the silence and pretend that they didn’t eavesdrop on your argument with bruce
dick shifted nervously, trying not to meet your gaze without actually looking at you. “uh.. breakfast smells… nice?” the entire table internally cringed from dick’s poor attempt at holding a conversation.
“mhm” you said, barely acknowledging him and cutting another bite of your food. and while you chewed, you looked up and dick almost flinched from your eyes. once you swallowed, you spoke with your eyes fixed on his hair. “fix your hair, its more of a mess than it usually is”
dick blinked twice as you looked back down at your food, making him touch his hair as if he was checking if his hair really was messy— after all, dick grayson never played with his hair.
strike one
jason cleared his throat, realizing dick was a lost cause and now shooting his shot.
“so.. uh, wanna like… watch the news or something later?”
“jason, if i wanted to be entertained, i wouldn’t need the news. i’d just watch you make toast”
duke almost choked on his coffee, trying hard to conceal his cough while jason just closed his eyes for your words to sink in before opening them and silently continuing to eat his food in defeat, not even going to try to defend himself.
strike two
you took another bite of your food and swallowed it before picking up your cup, eyes scanning the entire table as you took a sip before putting it back down. “anyone would like to explain why you all eavesdropped on our conversation?” you finally spoke, and the room froze
tim’s fork hovered mid-air with widened eyes. a horrified look slowly replaced dick’s smile as the mug in jason’s hand now froze before he could even take a sip. damian just continued cutting his food like it didn’t bother him, when he was in fact, drafting up 5 possible ways to leave the dining room before you’d notice and duke held back a sigh— he was the one who told them not to do it. cass just sipped her drink with ease, hiding her amused smirk and watching with entertained eyes
but you continued as you raised an eyebrow. “no one? you all really thought i didn’t hear you outside the door?”
tim slowly put his utensils down, the food still on his fork and opened his mouth to make an excuse, then closed it after realizing that you weren’t gonna buy it— you never did.
your eyes narrowed not from tim’s attempt to form words but to his dark circles under his eyes, looking worse than they normally did. “when’s the last time you slept?” you spoke, changing the topic.
“i-"
“nevermind” you cut him off with a hand raised before he could actually answer your question. “forget i said anything” you couldn’t believe you were talking about sleep with tim drake, out of everyone. and your sudden realization made tim freeze mid word as dick just silently patted him on the back, as if that would suddenly make him feel better. it didn’t.
strike three
damian placed his utensils down, about to open his mouth to stop this entire situation from esclating but you cut him off with a sharp look. “eat your food.” and that made damian close his mouth and reluctantly pick up his utensils to finish his food.
strike four
duke closed his eyes in relief, thanking god he didn’t eavesdrop with the others and was spared mercy. everyone knew that cass would be spared mercy— i mean, cmon.
bruce looked at alfred — who was standing by the door with a tray tucked under his arm— for help, eyes literally begging for alfred to intervine since he didn’t have the guts to do it himself. but alfred just gave him a look that basically said that bruce put himself in this situation. not like he was wrong—alfred was never wrong.
bruce just held back a sigh and took another bite of his breakfast as the room was still frozen. dick fidgeted with his fork, jaosn avoided your eyes, tim looked like he’d aged ten years rather than stay here for ten more seconds, damian slumped after surrendering to your authority, duke has never thanked god more than ever, and cass was too busy hiding her amusement
when bruce made the wrong choice and finally looked up at you, his eyes already made contact with yours. but it wasn’t the eye contact that had him internally panicking; it was the glare that you sent him— the same one that said that you’d talk to him later to resolve the situation
once finished with your food, you quietly stood up and left the dining room. and once you were out of sight, the room collectively let out a sigh and an exhale they didn’t know they were holding. jason murmured “jesus christ” under his breath as dick ran another hand through his hair, taking a knife and looking at the reflection to really see if his hair was messed up
bruce needed to apologize, and fast. before the entire family takes more of your wrath than they can endure
bruce wayne taglist: @planetevermore @calzone-d @anthy-jay-ander @whispers-unspoken @nessasmultiverseoflove @androgynousstrangerbouquet (tags are open)
mentions: fluff, that's literally it
(ik im sick and dying but i thought of this idea after talking about it with one of my beloved moots last night and i saw a reel about it so i took it as my sign)
🎧 -- strange fruit by billie holiday
—————————————————————————
running a whole enterprise wasn’t easy, even for you. and after a whole day of doing nothing but stuck in the office with phone calls and signatures, you wanted to go back home to your husband
“bruce?” you called out for him in the hallway, heels in your hands after walking with them all day. but there was no answer.
you entered your shared bedroom and there was no sight of him, the sheets still folded perfectly as they were in the morning. you raised a small eyebrow but still proceeded to look for him
the library? filled with books but no sight of him. his study? the chair didn’t look like it had been sat on for the entire day
you were about to think to yourself as to where he would be, until a realized sigh left your lips. “right” you murmured to yourself, almost forgetting that your husband was a vigilante at night
entering through the grandfather clock, you walk down the stairs with small sounds of your barefoot steps being heard. lo and behold, there he was— sitting in front of the monitors with a case file at hand, reading it very intensely. you wondered how you had almost forgot the one place where bruce would spend all his time in
“hey” you murmured with a small smile, though the murmur was loud enough for him to hear due to the cave’s echo. without looking, bruce mumbled a greeting back, already sensing your presence due to hearing your footsteps.
and as if from muscle memory, he slightly manspreaded his legs before tapping on his thighs— your invitation to sit on your favorite chair, in which you gladly accepted.
once you walked over, you kissed his cheek before sitting on his lap. bruce’s free hand immediately slid around your waist, absorbing your warmth and presence while making sure you were okay.
“what’s this?” you asked, eyes skimming down the file in his hands. “more case info on that riddler break-in downtown.” bruce hummed a response, eyes still not leaving the page. you just hummed back, too tired to even care. and instead, you buried your face in the crook of his neck
bruce could basically feel how tired and drained you were due to your long day, which made him place the case file down before fully turning his attention to you. “long day?” he murmured, making you nod as you felt his other hand run through your hair. “my hand is cramping from the amount of papers i signed.”
a small huff left bruce’s lips, close to a laugh. then, he continued asking. “what was on the table for today?”
“more confirmations on our 2030 plans, budget checks with r&d and promotion, a last minute shareholder’s meeting, all that good stuff”
“and?”
“everything went well. no cracks, no nothing” you let out a sigh in his neck. guilt started to creep onto bruce, his eyes softening from how exhausted you looked
“you don’t have to continue to do this” he offered, his thumb now running slow and small circles on your waist. “i can take back control and-“
“i was the one who insisted.” you interrupted gently before looking up from his neck with a small tired but reassuring smile. “plus, i’d be bored if i stayed by myself at the manor all day”
“you have alfred”
“alfred is too busy to give himself a break”
“… you also have a point”
both of you let out a small laugh, smiling at one another with so much love in your eyes it was almost sickening. bruce’s hand that was running through your hair went to cup your face, making you instinctively lean to the warmth from his hand
“thank you” barely a whisper leaving from bruce’s lips. if he were still busy with wayne enterprises in the day and batman at night, he probably would be running on less hours of sleep and more cups of coffee than ever.
the sincerity in his eyes made your smile soften more as you placed a hand on top of his. and instead, you sat up a bit straighter to lean your face to his, lips on his as your response with a sigh leaving from you. bruce melted into the kiss, his hand sliding from your face to fully grip your waist. it was soft, slow yet filled with more love than ever.
but of course, all good things must come to an end. bruce’s phone started to ring on the desk, making both of you slowly yet reluctantly pull away. he gave you an apologetic look while you gave him an understanding one
he reached for his phone, answering it without looking. “what?” there was a hint of irritation in his voice. but his composure loosened up a bit as he heard the person from the end of the line, making him look at you and mouth “it’s lucius”
you nodded silently, watching bruce talk with lucius over the phone on papers that probably needed his signature after yours for double confirmation. you would focus and try to be a help, but you were drained from your day at the office that you didn't even want to think about it at home
you silently waited for bruce to finish his conversation with lucius over the phone, his thumb still rubbing absentminded circles on your waist as an apology. but from the looks of his furrowed eyebrows and his grip slightly tightening on the phone, it didn’t look like he was gonna finish soon
not wanting to be a bother, you were about to get up from his lap until bruce pulled you back down, his eyes on you with a small shake of his head as if not wanting you to go yet. you paused mid-movement as you looked at him with slight confusion. bruce didn’t say a word — he couldn’t— but the look he gave you was enough. stay— so you did
you settled back against him, but heavier as you let your full weight rest into his chest. you felt his arm tighten instinctively around your waist as a response while he continued speaking into the phone
“yeah, no i saw the numbers” he spoke on the phone, voice low as he shifted slightly in his seat. a brief pause followed and it made his expression sharpen bit a bit. “no— don’t escalate it yet”
another pause
“i’ll handle it in the morning”
but before lucius could protest, bruce hung up and placed the phone back on the desk. you shifted slightly to glance up at him. “that sounded important” you mentioned, making him sigh and respond. “just talks about our plans with city hall”
“that doesn’t sound like a ‘just’ situation”
“it never it”
that made both of you chuckle with amusement, knowing that lucius never called late at night for ‘just’ situations. but to bruce, it wasn’t important— not when you were right here beside him
“now, where were we?”
and that made your smile grow before you sat up straighter and placed your lips back on his, feeling his hands trail down to your hips as he kissed you back with a relieved sigh. the city, the company, the world can wait.
until then, bruce wayne was busy with his wife
—————————————————————————
masterlist!
(a/n: my throat is so sore but idc i can still take this man also i feel so bad not posting considering that i only have 8 drinks left for the 1k event so take this as my apology until i feel better)
bruce wayne taglist: @planetevermore @calzone-d @anthy-jay-ander @whispers-unspoken @nessasmultiverseoflove @madlycunninghex @melodicduck (tags are open)
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love at first sight (requested!)
husband!jason todd x fem!reader
mentions: 1k event, established marriage, fluff in the shower, uhh consent, soft makeout sesh is, lowkey a bit self indulgent SORRY
(.... this looks wrong considering my last post buuuut anyway!! this was a bit self indulgent because you dont know the struggles i face when i scrub my back 😭)
—————————————————————————
there was a saying that said marriage can truly change someone— and jason was an example
he always thought he was going to stay the way he was— an aggressive, short tempered man who ran around the city wearing a mask and carrying unresolved trauma— and that nothing would change it. until he met you
jason read about love at first sight and had always told himself there was a reason it only happened in books. but the moment his eyes landed on you for the first time, his heart believed it for a second.
and when he saw you walk down the aisle in that beautiful dress, that’s when jason peter todd became a believer. because he’s convinced that if he saw you in any other alternate universe, it would always be love at first sight, and that sliding that ring in your finger was the only decision he’s never proudly regretted
however, jason’s train of thought was interrupted when you called out for him from the shower. “jay?” you exclaimed from the running water
he turned to the bathroom door. “yeah?” jason called out from the other room, but immediately remembered you wouldn’t be able to hear him from the bathroom. jaosn walked towards the bathroom, opening the door and feeling the slight steam greet him along with the sounds of the water running.
“forgot your detangling brush again?”
“no— uh, i need your help”
“what’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“can you join me so—"
you didn’t need to tell the man twice because the moment the words ‘join me’ left your lips, jason closed the door and immediately started to take his clothes off— you could tell by hearing the sounds of fabric shifting before dropping to the ground
the glass door slid open, feeling a curl of steam drift out into the bathroom as jason stepped in. once he slid the glass door shut, warmth immediately clung to his skin with water now beading over his shoulders
you turn around to face him with a small smirk on your lips and an all-knowing eyebrow raised. “you’ve been waiting for me to say that, haven’t you?”
“since the moment you walked in the bathroom” jason responded with no hesitation with a mirroring smirk, hands settling instinctively at your waist like always. he knew that he could always walk in and join you in the bathroom. still, he never did— not without asking you once. it seemed small to anyone else but to jason, it mattered. you mattered
then, his voice softened into a soft murmur. “you called for me?”
“mhm. mind if you help me with my back?”
“like i’d say no to you, now turn around”
biting your bottom lip to hold your smirk from widening, you turned around to face your back to jason. his hands left your waist — a warmth that you already missed and a warmth that the warm water can’t compensate for— to brush your hair to your shoulders, making him lean in to place a gentle kiss on your nape before reaching for your body wash
he squeezed a good amount before placing the bottle down and finding his hands on your back before starting to work in slow, deliberate circles across your back. he didn’t rush, he never did. and for someone who once met everything in his life with force, jason handled you like something meant to be kept
“pressure okay?” he asked quietly, his voice closer as it sounded softer by the steam and the close proximity. you just hummed quietly in approval, shoulders relaxing under his touch. yet despite your answer, he adjusted anyway— just slightly
there was silence between you two but a comfortable one, just the sounds of the steady rhythm of water hitting tile and jason’s hands moving across your skin, making your breathing even out as you leaned back into him without thinking
jason dipped his chin for a second for his eyes to trace your composure, to see the way you relaxed against him, to see the way you trusted him so easily. for a gesture that was simple to you, it was everything to him
after lathering your back with soap and rinsing it down with water, jason murmured an “all done” before his hands slid back to your waist— where they belonged
you turned around to face him, arms now sliding around neck. god, the way you looked at him with so much love made him feel like he was undeserving to be looked like that— to be looked at like that by you
“thank you” you smiled softly, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on his lips to which jason happily reciprocated, feeling the water droplets slide.
“thank you” he whispered back after your lips pulled back, but still close enough for your breaths to hit one another and for the water to hit both of you. that made you raise a small eyebrow
“for washing my back?”
“for choosing me”
your gaze softened more than it could. “always” you murmured back, eyes still on his. and without looking down, jason’s hand slid from your waist to his neck to reach for your hand, bringing your knuckle — your ring— to his lips
your hand gently slid from his hand to cup the side of his face, to which jason instinctively leaned with his emerald eyes giving you a look with such softness and love— a look that he thought he wasn’t capable of giving, let alone feel
and like magnets, both of you leaned in for another kiss. and this one lingered— not rushed or teasing, just slow and certain, like neither of you had anywhere else to be. jason exhaled softly against your mouth, a quiet breath that almost sounded like relief.
because this— you— was the only place he ever really let his guard down, and jason couldn’t remember the last time he had his guard up, not since he met you
a changed man he was, indeed.
—————————————————————————
masterlist! ⤷ 1k event !
(a/n: help i almost wrote bottle as bottole and i thought it said butthole LMAO also atla has been rotting in my head all day... esp aang holy shit... katara i applaud you because she saw the vision before ANY OF US ever did)
jason todd and the snide little, "'fuck's wrong with you?" that comes out from under his breath if anyone bumps into you in the street, even if just by accident -
i imagine it's a busy day in gotham, an early morning or a late afternoon, sunny. and he's leading to or away from your work, a little bit brisk, too brisk, if only to get through the crowd a tad quicker. someone dings your shoulder, just barely, just enough to slip your rhythm and ripple through jason's hand when you're tugged back a step.
(one of those things that overlaps with being a vigilante -- his sensitivity to pace and proximity no matter the occasion , even in the broad of day, or during the softest moments with you.)
but he’s turning before you can register--first to you, to give you one of those, not-so-secretly-a-bat (nor quick) onceovers to check for any kind of collateral (then to tuck you back into the side of his coat)... then to put those big, new jersey canines on display in a sneer that says much more than he'll ever need to...
before finally pulling you forward again, like the city will move around him before he ever lets it move you, not letting it linger you single second longer.
first time Brendon Park ever said please at work, was when his son was with him. PTMCs intimidating ortho surgeon, who has an infamous reputation, was told by his kid— his son— to say please.
it came as an absolute shock.
the magic word and seeing that he had a kid.
he was called in for an immediate surgery and rip to the poor person who had to make that call because if there’s one thing Brendon Park hates more than being interrupted in his time off with you, his wife, it’s being interrupted in his time off with his son. even more when it’s the both of you. but you were at work and it was just him and his boy.
and if the person on the phone hadn’t started off with the other on call doctor is unavailable, they would’ve been in the jaws of the shark.
he didn’t even care about the looks he got when he came in. toddler in arms. he hadn’t had the time to get someone to watch after him, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have liked the idea of someone he didn’t know looking after his kid. so he picked one of the residents.
didn’t ask, but told. just nodded his head as if to say “you.”
even if he didn’t like the idea of leaving him with them. at least it was with someone he knew. and they were in the same building.
if it was up to him—and he would do it— Brendon would have his boy strapped to his chest. but he could already see you giving him a look if he so much as joked about it. even if he wasn’t actually joking.
he can just hear your immediate “no.”
if anything, he probably has one of the nurses looking after his son and the resident.
Brendon makes sure the little boy is situated before his sharp eyes pan over to the poor person who is facing more pressure than what med school gave them.
“if anything comes up, you tell me. I don’t care if I’m in surgery.” the resident is just nodding at their attending. and Brendon’s eyes sharpen. “you. tell. me.”
his son is just staring at dad, expectantly. almost as if waiting for him to say it. because he always says it. it’s what his dad taught him. and when the kid doesn’t hear it, he says something.
“say pease.” please.
the little boys enunciation is still in the works but he’s trying.
the surgeon looks to his boy who is stares at him with the same color eyes he has. “say pease.”
it makes Brendon’s eyes soften. “say it daddy!”
the kid has manners but he’s also a toddler and is a little impatient.
Brendon glances to his resident who has just been staring at them, wide eyed.
“you let me know” he exhales through his nose, “please.”
and if the residents eye weren’t wide before, they’re practically saucers now.
summary : nobody could disturb jason peter todd when he was knee deep in a dostoevsky. except you, of course, his hot neighbour who liked making his lips bruise up and brain fall out as a friday night hobby.
contains : heavy making out, well read!jason, post Lazarus pit!jay, whipped!jay, thighs man!jay, grinding, basically dry humping, forearm tattoo!jason, but he’s actually a softie, reader wears warm sweaters, bookish!reader but that means she’s a lil freaky, neighbour!jason, booksmart!jason, streetsmart!jason, he’s a moaner I’m calling it, baddie!reader
inspiration : she’s my collar (g + k.u)
It started with a smile.
He'd been carrying boxes from the moving van Bruce had hired, in the middle of the rare heatwave in Gotham. His luck really was something.
He’d been hauling boxes in, wiping his forehead with the hem of his tee, dropping the wet fabric to hang by his waist. Your figure framed in the light of the hallway, like some sort of halo.
He blinked. “Uh, hey?”
You just smiled. Like you knew something he didn’t. “Hey, neighbour.” You disappeared into your apartment, slamming the door shut. With a mutter of “people”, he kicked open his door, resting the box of all his childhood photos on his new dining table. The thing was made of fucking MDF.
He’d failed to notice the copy of Twisted Love tucked in your elbow.
You’d done it, somehow. Ripped through his defences, your will a fist in his wet sheet of paper.
The copy of Twisted Love should’ve been a sign. It should’ve told him that you’d show up at his door after a few weeks of knowing him with a rain cloud over your head and an irrational desire to turn him on like a fucking switch every Friday since.
He’d pull a Glock 19 on whoever disturbed him when he was reading Crime and Punishment, but the annotated copy lay open beside him, his brain was engrossed in something else. Kissing you.
His hands gripped your thighs, sleeve of his plush hoodie sliding up and over the ink on his forearm, tugging you closer. Your lips burned his, nape of his neck stimulated by the drag of your nails.
“Bad day, ma?” His words were muffled by your mouth, tilting his head back into the gentle pressure of your fingers. You took and you took, sucking oxygen from his lungs, rolling your hips down so you dragged across his dick.
He couldn’t suppress a moan at that.
You hummed in agreement, dragging his bottom lip down with your thumb. He should’ve read the signs. Now he scheduled make out sessions with you in avoidance of admitting he liked the way you used him. He ached to be your boy toy whenever you saw fit. He wanted you to push him down, tint his lips with kisses and gloss.
Your teeth snagged at his lip, tugging, moulding him to you. His hands sliding up your back made your sweater drag up, bunching, cold of his apartment pricking at your skin. “Dostoevsky?” You mumbled, between wet, obscene smacks, pornographic moans and following the string of saliva that connected your mouths.
“Mhm,” He nodded dumbly, hips jerking up to catch his dick on your clit, the slow grind in response melted his brain. “Crime and Punishment.”
You chuckled, kisses burning down his jaw till your teeth pressed against his pulse. Nipping, latching, sucking a bruise. Maybe you got how to do that from Twisted Love, cause his toes fucking curled. He’d come, no joke. Right here, fully clothed, he’d do it. “Great book. Read Atonement, I still wanna watch it.”
He would, but he was a little tied up right now. “Later, ma.” He breathed, hand slipping in your jeans’ back pocket to squeeze your ass. Jesus, maybe that thing owed him rent. “Later.” He kissed back up to your mouth, allowing you to siphon his thoughts again.
He was 6’ 2”, 225 pounds and you had him like this. If anyone thought he’d been taken hostage, fuck no, he was right where he was supposed to be. Yes, he had patrol in ten minutes. Yes, he’d texted Dick to take his place while he dealt with a personal matter. Yes, he gave no fucks.
⤿ you were just trying to text your friend, and accidentally ended up texting the man the gossip was about. includes CLARK KENT, ROY HARPER, BRUCE WAYNE.
!! smau. fluff. implied fem!reader. established relationship. no real warnings. this has been in my drafts for a while. reader is so real tbh. language. lmk who we want in other parts innuendoes. taglist open. ENJOY. here's pt. 2.
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Can you do one where you ask Clark for money (as a joke) but he’s so immediately down and also kinda worried? thank you!
Cat Grant loves a good scheme. “I see it all the time online, you have to test him.”
You pick at your sandwich. The Daily Planet’s cafeteria is more of a restaurant. It’s the biggest news outlet in all of Metropolis, with a skyscraper for an office. The cafeteria has to accommodate that. It’s always open, always busy, but you and Cat managed to carve away space at a table in the corner of the room far from the kitchen and all the food laid out across stainless steel bars. “I don’t know,” you say finally. “I don’t want him to think I’m a user.”
“You’re not using. Don’t tell him what it’s for and watch what conclusion he comes to. It’s a good indicator.” She tucks a streak of her blonde hair behind her ear, her hoop earrings giving a gentle clink. “Seriously, boys are evil. You need to know if you can depend on him in your time of need. And I need to know how much I respect him.”
You take a big bite of sandwich to avoid answering while you think, but the thought comes suddenly, “What if he actually gives me money?”
“That’s a win.”
You’ve never asked Clark for anything, as far as you can remember. You’ve been dating for five months and two weeks, which isn’t long, but sort of is? Like, you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him, and he’s so consistently lovely to you that you’re reluctant to ask, ‘cos maybe his answer will affect the way you look at him. Or what if he thinks you’re only dating him for the easy life he could provide?
“We’re basically on the same pay,” you say, “I don’t think he’ll believe me.”
“Sure he will.” Cat smushes the last half of her sandwich with her hand. The chips inside all crunch into crumbs.
You find you’re not that worried. Clark is sweet, and he likes a good joke.
You pull out your phone and take another bite. The sandwich is not good, but you’re hungry.
Clark can you send me some money, you type. You turn the phone to Cat for approval. When she nods, you hit send.
It takes a minute for him to answer. It’s an Apple payment via text for $50. You laugh like a shock.
“What did he say?” Cat asks.
You show her the phone, but Clark is already typing, his messages popping up on the screen in quick succession.
Is that enough?
$50
Is everything ok ? I can send more
“He sent another fifty,” you say.
“Oh my god.”
Your phone starts to ring in your hand, Clark’s profile photo in the middle of the screen: his sleeping face tucked over your heart. You giggle to yourself as you answer, doughy bread in your mouth. “Hi, sorry, I’m chewing.”
“That’s okay, honey,” he says, sounding cheerful and worried all at once, “what’s up? Is that gonna be enough?”
“Oh, er, my card declined. I’m getting lunch with Cat.”
“Downstairs? I can come down, sweetheart, I have my wallet.”
“No, I already paid for it.”
“Aw, great, I was worried for a second there.”
“I can send it right back to you, now,” you say, feeling ever so slightly guilty. You don’t know what you were expecting, but his urgency makes you wanna kiss him stupid, not trick him further. “Thank you, for– for being so quick. You saved me the embarrassment.”
“That’s okay, I don’t need it back–”
“Well, no, I can’t keep a hundred dollars just ‘cos you sent it, baby, I– my card declined, but it was the card reader, that’s all.”
“Just keep whatever you paid for lunch, then, and use the rest for lunch tomorrow.”
“It’s a sandwich."
“Then you can have sandwiches all week.”
You meet Cat’s eyes, failing to hide your unyielding elation. He’s such a catch. “Okay. Clark, I’m sending it back, okay?”
“Don’t tease me, I got so excited.”
You laugh and hang up on him.
Clark texts you ten seconds later: If you send it back to me I’m gonna send it back to you. Have a good break, see you later? <3
“I bet he will,” Cat says, having read the screen upside down.
You text Clark back: Yes!! Can I come home with you?
Yeah honey meet me by the elevators? I’ll be waiting for you
“He is such a dork,” Cat says, eyebrows raised. “But I’m happy for you.”
You’re feeling pretty good about it all yourself. You and Cat finish lunch and head your mildly separate ways. You’re in the print room today supervising, and it stretches into the uneventful afternoon. By finishing time, you’re excited to give Clark a kiss and sneak his hundred dollars back into his pocket somehow, but he’s not waiting by the elevator.
It’s tempting to keep the money. He did sound excited for you to keep it, as strange as that might be. He rejected your offer to give it back, then tried to compromise that you could keep it. He'd pay for your lunch all week.
Would he give you money for nothing at all? He was just worried, right? But when there was no problem, he didn’t want it back.
It doesn’t hurt to poke around a little.
Clark exits the elevator with a blank expression. When he sees you waiting a few feet away with your shoulders on the wall, his face lights up. His eyebrows soften, his lips lift and go white from the force of his smile.
“Let’s go home,” he says, grinning as he wraps his arm around you from the small of your back.
You lean up and kiss his jaw. “Today was long.”
“Too long, bubby.”
Bubby. You give him a harmless shove, but Clark pulls you right back in. Keeps his arm on you all the way home, give the few seconds getting off of the tram, where he offers his hand to guide you onto the road.
“So,” you say, “about earlier…”
“What happened earlier?”
“With the money.”
Clark narrows his eyes at you. “What about it? Honey, I already told you to keep it. It was yours the second I sent it.”
“No, it’s not– Clark. I would much rather you take it back, I really don’t need a hundred dollars for a sandwich I already paid for. It was this–” You pause, giving him a bashful, sorry smile. “Cat wanted me to see if you’d complain or not, I guess. So I lied about my card declining, sorry. I am actually sorry, and I can’t keep the money in good conscience.”
“Ooh, in good conscience,” he murmurs, mirroring your smile, though his is more of a smirk. “Well, that’s okay. If you feel bad about it, send it back to me, no hard feelings.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Thank you, handsome,” you say.
“What else is on your mind?”
“You… this isn’t supposed to sound like you need to say yes, but I guess I was wondering if you would’ve sent me it no matter what? My text literally just said can you send me money. I didn’t even say please, and I didn’t say it’s an emergency or anything.”
Clark shrugs at you. “Yeah, I would’ve sent it to you. I don’t care what it was for.”
“Clark, it was a hundred dollars.”
“Do you think you’re not worth a hundred dollars?”
“Not for no reason.”
“In the moment, I assumed it was an emergency because you never ask me for anything, do you?”
“Not really.”
“Would it shock you to know that I wish you would?” A curl falls onto his forehead, just above his dark brow. “You are the most important woman in my life. A hundred is nothing compared to that. I don’t really care what you want it for.”
You’re pretty sure that’s an I love you. Maybe he’s saving the real thing for somewhere more intimate than the street, but that’s gotta be close.
“Keep the money,” he says, kissing your cheek quickly. “I was still gonna send it back, even if you were just satisfying your curiosity. You didn’t lie to get it, you lied after.”
“You’re such a reporter,” you grumble, secretly very pleased. “Poking holes in my argument.”
(Clark sends you $50 the next day at lunch, with the text: Buy yourself dinner or whatever you want, do not send it back!
Then: Please just take it. For my gratification if nothing else. Please!!
DAVE LIZEWSKI catfishing you. He’s seen you around, he’s heard you talk about the kind of guys you’re into. It’s hard to ignore you when you pass by him, hard to forget the smell of your shampoo as it unfurls under his nose. It took him ages, but he finally got a hold of your information, and slowly establishes a friendship. He’s getting the dirty details on you while you think you’re being charmed by a 6’4” hockey player who’s into books like Pride and Prejudice. He’s in your IM’s hearing about how you like to suck it, how you cup balls for a massage while you make yourself gag on purpose. You like it when your nips are bitten, held between teeth while you ride it. All night he thinks about your naughty little secrets, confessing to him what you’d let him do to you if you meet up. Anything, you say, I’d let you do whatever you wanted. And his hand strangles his boner, jacking off to the imaginary sight of you taking it up your pretty asshole—the one he’s gotten pics of when you bent over for a shot of your open and wet pussy.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Desperate!Steve x HopelessRomantic!Reader
Genre: friends to lovers, fake dating, fluff, angst if you squint, yearning Steve, hints at sex?
Summary: Steve swears you're just friends and that he's not in love with you. Then why does he want to light himself on fire whenever he sees you with your boyfriend?
Word Count: 5521
A/N: rewatched Heated Rivalry (already), and the look Shane gives Ilya when he talks about marrying Svetlana makes me feral. Poor Shane wanted to kill himself just thinking about the possibility. Also, this is set somewhere in Season 4, and let's say Starcourt happened almost 2 years ago in July thanks. (Btw i can't keep up with my timelines).
A/N: This feels kinda cringe but idc anymore to be honest :)
The sunshine was a mockery to the despair Steve was currently feeling.
As if the weather itself was laughing at him and the misery he brought upon himself.
It was a mistake.
That's all he could think about as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white from the force.
The chatter in the car became white noise to him as he got lost in his thoughts. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, Dustin was able to get him out of his trance with another one of his ridiculous questions.
By the time they arrived at Family Video, Steve's mood was way better than when he woke up. Dustin was impatiently standing by the front door while Steve looked for his keys. And as soon as he got out of the car he heard someone's laugh not far from them.
His good mood lasted for about 10 seconds.
Because he knew who that laugh belonged to.
There was only one girl on the entire planet whose laugh he could recognize this easily.
He knew he would only cause himself more pain, and yet, he couldn't stop himself from turning around, because for Steve it was instinct to acknowledge you, even when he didn't want to.
"There you are", he thought to himself.
Then his brain recognized the person you were laughing with, the person that should've been him.
James.
Fucking James Graham.
Your boyfriend. The one you've been dating for the past month. The one you grace with your smile. The one Steve has to hear about when you call him. The one whose name feels like a stab to the heart.
The one whose place Steve desperately wants to take.
He would give his arms and legs if it meant he would be the one you gush about, the one who makes you blush, the one who takes you on dates and spares every minute he has to spend it with you.
Steve was possessive with his friends, especially now that Dustin was always talking about Eddie this, Eddie that, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He wasn't angry at him, even though he might look like it. Steve felt a little neglected and his frustration came out in snark remarks aimed at his friend.
So no, Steve was not really a jealous person.
But Lord was he lying if he said he didn't want to take James's face and stitch it onto himself just so you would stare at him like that.
Maybe he was getting a little too graphic.
But he was sure as hell if he stared at you longer he would get in his car, go to the nearest cliff and drive off of it.
He didn't know how long he was standing there staring at you and James looking like a fucking creep, when Dustin grabbed the keys out of his hands with an impatient huff.
Steve allowed himself one last painful look, before following Dustin inside.
"You should've gotten your shit together sooner, you fucking moron."
----------------------------------------
Saying you were nervous would've been the understatement of the century.
You were currently in the bathroom, doing your hair and makeup, getting ready for your date tonight.
A date.
A date Steve set up for you with one of his old friends.
"What the fuck are you doing?", you kept thinking to yourself.
Ever since you accepted Steve's offer you've been living in a haze. A week passed you by in a blur and you woke up dreading tonight.
It's not like you were meeting with a stranger. You met James a couple of times during high school and despite having assholes for friends, he seemed actually nice.
No, there was this nagging voice in your head, the one some people would call Common Sense, that told you it was wrong. That this whole situation was wrong, that this isn't how it was supposed to go.
When Steve came over last week and you went from watching Grease to crying about never getting a date, you had thought he offered the set-up as a joke to comfort you.
And of course you said yes, because what else were you supposed to say to the boy with big brown eyes who treats you as his number one? "No, I can't go, because I'm catastrophically in love with you and I want YOU to date me amongst doing other things? "
Yeah, right.
Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that he'd actually do it.
And now here you were, putting on your jacket with shaking fingers, hoping that James would cancel at the last minute.
But he didn't.
He showed up in time, opened doors for you and asked questions about you instead of talking about himself all night.
And you wanted to be angry at him. Maybe you were ridiculous for trying to find a fault or a mistake, just so you could end the date and go home.
But like Steve said, James was a gentleman. He looked like he really did enjoy talking to you, although he either didn't notice the fake tone in your voice, or he just didn't want to comment on it.
You wanted to be angry, you wanted something that would justify this feeling of wrongness in you, but you had to admit that James really was a good person. That you could see yourself dating someone like him.
But you didn't want someone like James. You wanted Steve.
You wanted Steve so badly that you agreed to this date in hopes that he would get jealous seeing you with someone that wasn't him and finally make a move. Yeah, you were such a goner for him you started to sound delirious.
So here you were, on a date with a guy you had no intention of dating, with a guy Steve set you up with, feeling like the shittiest person to exist for doing this to James.
Because he seemed to like you, even with how you were acting right now. And it wasn't fair to him, you knew that.
By the time he took you home, you had a fight with yourself on how to let him down gently.
"I-um, I know this might sound a little forward, but I wanted to ask you if we could-" James started, but you quickly cut him off before you could back out.
"I think we shouldn't be dating."
Silence fell on the car, and you could hear a needle drop. It made your skin crawl with nerves, but you continued.
"I know I should've said something sooner, and that this is not fair to you. I had to tell you now, because I don't want to lead you on, or-or make you think we want the same thing, when I don't." You told him and looked him in the eye. "You're a good guy James, just not for me. I'm really sorry."
James looked back at you silently, clearly both surprised and shocked by your sudden confession. He let out a long exhale, his fingers going through his hair, a sign of his confusion at the situation.
He sighed as he finally spoke up. "Well, shit." He leaned back in his seat. "I should've seen this coming."
"No, James, it's really not your fault-"
"Come on, you were zoning out all night, and you clearly looked like you didn't want to be there!" James sighed again and he rubbed his temple.
"I thought you had a bad day, I mean like, everyone has them, or you're probably just nervous or something!"
"I was nervous...just for a completely different reason." You said quietly and felt the familiar nerves flare up in you again as you waited for James's response. After a few seconds of silence he turned to you with a click of his tongue.
"It's someone else, isn't it?" You looked at him with furrowed brows, but when you didn't answer, he nodded his head as if he already knew the answer. "Of course." He mumbled more to himself than you. "It's always someone else."
"I'm sorry. I really am," you whispered to him and he let out a smile, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. It made you relieved that maybe he wasn't as hurt as you thought he'd be.
"No, no, it's okay. It' neither of our faults. Can't control who we love, right?" He joked and you let yourself smile at that.
"Is he good?" He asked after a few seconds and it made your smile falter. "Is who good?"
"Come on, you know who! The one you were thinking about tonight," he said with a playful roll of his eyes. Despite his behaviour you still stared back at him with confusion.
"Are you sure you want to hear about the guy I was thinking about while we were on a date?" You asked him and he shrugged his shoulders with a faint smile.
"Well, despite acting like a gentleman I'm just like any other guy. I want to know who my competition is," he told you and you had to laugh at the fake cockyness in his voice.
After quickly considering your answer, you tell him about Steve. You don't mention his name, or anything that could make James recognize him, because that would be just mean.
Telling him you're in love with the very guy who set you two up on a date? Yeah, you're not going to ruin whatever friendship James and Steve has, despite the fact they rarely talk to each other anymore.
Your plan is ruined as soon as James opens his mouth.
"Wow. Steve Harrington does have it all. Rich parents, an empty house, great hair and a girl who's head over heels in love with him. Wow, just wow," he chuckles and you stare at him with a shocked expression, but he continues.
"I mean the guy used to be a ladies' man, he sure knows how to sweep you off your feet."
"He doesn't." You say and now it's his turn to look shocked. "That's, kind of the whole problem," you whisper.
It's silent for a few long minutes, and you're about to awkwardly thank James for dinner and get out of the car, when he turns to you with a mischievous smile.
"I might have a very stupid idea."
At first you were wary of his plan, because you were still not 100% sure he wasn't hurt over the date-fiasco, but James, bless his heart, reassured you multiple times that it's totally fine with him. Plus, his friends would stop trying to set him up for a while at least, so it's a win-win situation.
That's how you came to fake-date James Graham, high school graduate, current mechanic at the downtown auto shop. It's not like his name was the most popular in town, but when he stepped in somewhere some people recognized him. Probably an after-effect from his party goer time with Steve.
Also, he wasn't not good looking. He didn't have the perfect hair or the perfect body, but he was a handsome guy. Of course, he didn't make your heart flutter like Steve did, but you weren't blind, you knew he looked good.
A guy who can fix anything around your house, and also a gentleman? Yeah, you knew a few girls will be jealous of you.
But you didn't care about them, because you weren't actually dating. You held hands, hugged longer than friends do, maybe a kiss on the cheek every now and then. You and James had a long talk about what to do in certain situations to make it believable enough, without having to cross lines.
But no matter how many times James told you that Steve was about to crack, you were slowly losing hope.
One entire month of this facade and Steve was still making angry glances at James when he thought no one was looking, listened to your fake rambling about him and still didn't make a move.
Once he even drove you to your fucking date. You couldn't even keep your act up that night and James had to take you home so you could cry yourself to sleep.
Despite giving you a deep analysis of Steve's emotions, again, you were convinced that Steve was going to watch you date his friend, even if it slowly killed both of you.
---------------------------------------------
Steve felt like he was dropped on a battlefield with his sunglasses as his only armor.
There was a heaviness in his chest, his heart a ticking bomb that was ready to explode at the slightest trigger.
And the trigger was you.
He never thought you could ever become someone he was dreading to see, someone he tried to avoid, whose sole thought tightened his stomach, making him feel nauseous.
Coming to this "high school reunion" party at Tommy's place was turning out to be a very bad idea.
The red solo cup turned into his only weapon. Always ready to be filled, but never staying empty. Drink after drink, cigarette after cigarette, Steve slowly but surely reached rock bottom. Stumbling around, laughing with people he had just met, knocking things over.
And when Robin finally found him outside, she could see what everyone else overlooked.
This wasn't Steve Harrington. This was King Steve, who could drink inhuman amounts of alcohol and smoked two packs a day.
Right now he was the very person he was afraid of returning to, the person he left in the past.
"Uh, Steve?"
He froze at the sound of Robin's voice. He surprised himself by registering it over the sound of the music and the crowd.
"Steve? You okay? Why are you out here?" Robin asked him, concern evident in her eyes.
Maybe it was the drinks he forgot to count, or the cigarettes he smoked on top of them, nevertheless he had something to blame his behaviour on.
When Robin asked again if he was okay, Steve just gulped down his drink and stomped on his cigarette, before lighting another one.
"Everythin's fine, party's great, people are great, music could be a bit betterr," Steve's words were slurred, but he didn't correct himself, he just kept on rambling.
"But yeah, everythin's fine. Everythin' is fucking great, I'm havin' the time of my life, drinking and ssmoking. You know, I stoped smokin' around her, cause she hates the smell, but she's not here, so I can do what I want! And right now I. Need. Another. Drink!"
Steve said and began stumbling his way inside the house, only for Robin to step in front of him. She looked at him with a very worried face, grabbing the cigarette out of his mouth.
Steve looked down at Robin's hand holding it, then his eyes slowly looked up to her face with a kind of gaze that could only be described as empty.
A few strands of his hair fell into his face, and his eyes looked void of any emotion, the familiar warmthness gone from them. His eyes were rimmed with tears, blurring his vision and Steve felt his composure crumble the longer Robin looked at him with those sad eyes.
The numerous drinks he had opened the gate to the thoughts he was harboring for the past month, and every single one of them revolved around you.
Every feeling, every emotion, every thought had one thing in common and that was you.
"How many drinks you had, dingus?" Robin asked him gently, but Steve didn't answer, because he was suddenly focused on something else behind Robin's back.
When she turned she immediately saw why he was acting this way. There you were, laughing and dancing with James inside the house.
Robin turned back to Steve with a pitiful look, noticing his shoulders curling inwards and he was maybe seconds away from dropping to the ground. His eyes slowly glanced at Robin and then back to you, and his lips began to wobble.
He looked down at the red solo cup in his hand, wondering how much alcohol would it take for his body to become flammable. Robin noticed the faraway look on his face and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Okay, listen dingus, you can't keep doing this to yourself. Either move on, or make a move. You can't pine after her all your life," Robin told him matter-of-factly, like she always does.
Steve let out a shaky chuckle. "I alreadydo," he mumbled.
Robin just shook her head with a sigh. "Okay, I really didn't want to do this, but someone has to say it. Get your shit together Steve!" Robin shook him by the shoulders and Steve looked at her with furrowed brows. The movement didn't help with his blurry vision.
"What?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.
"You heard me! Grow a pear and talk to her you moron! You're in love with your best friend and you had the brilliant idea to set her up with your friend?! What the hell did you expect?! That she'll say no? When she deliberately told you she never goes on a date?! You chicken out all the time, so be a man and tell her you love her!!" Robin yelled at him and Steve had to take a step back.
"Whyyy are you yelling? Jesus, Rob, I'm drunk not deaf," Steve mumbled, but made no move to do what she said.
"Yeah, and that's exactly why you should talk to her right now! While you still have something to blame your shit behaviour on!" She told him and Steve shook his head.
"Rob, I love you, but I'd rather kill myself than see her with another guy."
"And whose fault is that, huh?" Robin asked incrediously, and Steve smiled sadly at her, some of his tears escaping and rolling down his face.
"I know I'm an idiot." Steve sniffled. " And I just...miss her. I miss her so much Robin, you don't know. I'm happy she's with a good guy, 'cause James is a good guy, so she should be happy with him. But I know she would be so much happier with me," Steve's voice cracked and Robin had to hold back her own tears.
"T's my fault, everythin's my fault," he whispered. "I missed my chance, and now she's with someone else and I feel like... dying?" He asked the last word more than saying it.
"But like, you know, not in a depressing "I'm sad I want to die" way, more like kinda, like, when I see them together I want to gauge my eyes out, or-or bash my head into concrete," Steve sniffled again, then let out a chuckle as he swayed on his feet.
"And now, the loser I am, I am crying to you about her, because I miss her, I miss her so much, and-Fuck, I already said that, but I love her, and now there's this other guy, who probably loves her too, and I'm just-I just-"
Steve felt himself collapse onto Robin as she hugged him, letting him cry into her shoulder.
"Seeing her with someone that isn't me is pain Robin, it's painful. I love her and it hurts," Steve sobbed and Robin hugged him tighter.
"Is this a bad time to say 'Welcome to the club'?" She asked and after a pause Steve let out a watery chuckle. Robin sighed in relief that she didn't make her already miserable friend even more miserable.
Steve pulled away to wipe his face with his sweater's sleeve and Robin gave him a pat on his shoulder. "You're basically the last one to find out."
"You guys knew?" He asked, somewhat sobering up. Robin looked back at him with an 'Are you serious?' look. "It's completely obvious, you look at her like there's no one else around. Which, sounds very romantic and everything, but like, it's irritating when you can't hear the customer standing in front of you because you're daydreaming about her again."
"Oh." Steve mumbled, and after a long pause shook his head. "I do that?"
"Yes. Very frequently."
"Fuuuuuck," he sighed as he closed his eyes for a second.
For a long minute neither of them said anything. Steve stared at the cup in his hand, visibly in deep thought, and Robin was ready to ask him if he was okay again, when Steve spoke up.
"So...I should, I should talk to her, right now?" He sounded unsure, which was not a common thing Steve did.
"Are you asking or saying that?" Robin asked back and she saw Steve take a deep breath and straighten himself, or at least tried given his drunken state.
"I should talk to her," he mumbled, then looked up at Robin and nodded, gaining more confidence. "I should talk to her. No, I will talk to her. Right now." He nodded again as he handed his cup to Robin and rushed inside.
She had to stiffle her laugh as Steve stumbled on his own feet and tried to make it look like it was the sliding door.
---------------------------------------------
You felt him before you saw him.
You turned your head just barely enough to see Steve looking around the crowd of people, clearly looking for you.
James handed you a cup of something but you couldn't move. It was as if every nerve and muscle in your body was anticipating something, waiting.
You took a sip from your drink, then another, and without thinking you drank the entire thing. You handed the cup back to James who looked at you with hidden worry, but didn't question you.
You turned your head back to see if Steve was still there, and as soon as you did all the air left your lungs.
Steve was staring right back at you.
Your eyes were locked on his, and you couldn't have looked away even if you tried to. His hair looked messy from running his hands through it too much, a clear sign of his frustration.
The brown eyes you loved so much were replaced by a darker look, the bright color almost nonexistent. You took in the way he seemed slightly out of breath, how stiffly he was standing.
Then he took a step closer. Another step. As he got closer you noticed the brief moment his eyes glanced at something behind you, before finding you again. You tilted your head just enough to realize James was still standing close to you, but now he had a smug smile on his face.
You poke his arm and he flashed you that same smile with a look that clearly meant to say "I told you he was about to crack."
You turned back and you were met with Steve, who was standing right in front of you now. You felt your heart literally beat against your chest as he took a step closer, and the noise around you got muffled. You saw his lips moving but your ears couldn't register what he was saying.
As if he could sense what you were feeling, like he had done countless times before, he nodded towards the sliding door where he just came from. Your head nodded before your brain even had time to grasp what he was asking. Steve sent a look towards James, a look you couldn't describe, before walking towards the door.
Once outside, you noticed just how loud everything was inside, and felt your hearing come back to you.
Steve stepped in front of you, his gaze not leaving yours. He opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it, as if changing his mind. He let out an irritated sigh, looking down at the ground before lifting his head back up.
"This sounded better drunk," he mumbled to himself, and took a deep breath.
"I've been dreading this conversation for the past month." Steve looked at you. "I-I had this talk with my mirror, my closet, my car, my keys and my-, with practically every inanimate object I could find to prepare myself fro this and I still don't feel ready. It's not like that kept me from much though, so umm-" he sighed, running his hand through his hair.
"Do you love him?"
Everything in you froze at his question. You held your breath as if he knocked it out with a simple question.
"W-what?" You whispered.
"Do. You. Love. Him?" Steve asked again, but this time he looked...Scared? Hurt? Was that hurt in his eyes? You kept staring back at him in shock, and you both knew it wasn't because you didn't hear him. You both knew who he was talking about.
"No."
That one, simple word slapped Steve back into the present and he let out a long and shaky sigh as if something was visibly lifted off of him.
"I don't love James," you continued, your breathing barely under control. "But Steve, what's going o-"
"Dump him." He interrupted you and you were breathless again. Not exactly because of what he said, but how he said it. The raw emotions in his eyes, his bright brown eyes, made it unable to look anywhere that wasn't him.
"Break up with him, leave him, do something please, because I can't take this anymore." He shook his head his voice trembling from his emotions.
You felt your eyes burn seeing Steve, your best friend, the boy you were irrevocably in love with, in this much visible pain. Your heart was screaming for an entirely different reason now.
"Can't take what anymore? You-, I-I don't understand, what are you saying Steve?" You asked him on the verge of tears.
Steve took a step closer to you and you could see just how desperate he looked. His chest was heaving, clearly just as out of breath as you felt. His lips trembled as he opened his mouth to speak.
"I can't watch you date James any longer, because I might just light myself on fire. And I don't mean that literally, but that's what it feels like when I see you two together, because it just reminds me of the-,my biggest loss in my whole life, because it feels like I have lost you," he swallowed before quickly continuing. "A-and I know how desperate I'm sounding right now, but frankly, I don't give a damn, because I have lost one entire month of my life that I could've spent with you!"
"And whose fault is that?!" You asked back but immediately regretted it. Your eyes went wide at your own words and you watched Steve's face fall.
"I-I'm sorry, Steve I didn't mean that-"
"You think I don't know that?" He asked and it made you shut up. "I know I screwed up, okay? I ditched you if I could, I made things awkward for you and-, damn it I'm the one who arranged the fucking date for you, what the hell did I expect?!" Steve exclaimed at his own actions.
"We both screw up, okay? You think I would give you hints while "dating" someone else if I didn't want you to ask me out?" You air quoted dating and watched Steve's face slowly go from confusion to realization.
"What? What do you mean by "dating"?" He air quoted back to you, sobering up.
"It was fake!" You exclaimed, all the pent up emotions bubbling to the surface. "We were pretending to date each other so you would get jealous! All the times I talked about him and showed him off at your work, I was hoping you would have enough of it!"
Your breathing became ragged as you tried to slow down your racing heart, but Steve didn't give you a chance to collect yourself from your outburst, because in one second he was holding your face in his hands.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please tell me I have a chance to make this right. I'll-I'll beg if I have to, but just tell me I still have a chance to be with you," he paused, "If you love me just half as much as I love you. I won't screw it up, I promise you."
You didn't notice when you began crying, just that Steve wiped your cheeks with his hands despite on the verge of crying himself. You opened your mouth to say something back to him, not caring how much your voice trembled.
"I-I don't even know-, I-It's, fuck-why is it this hard to say I love you when I actually have to say it?" You complain and feel Steve's hands began to shake on your face and it makes you look up at him.
"Steve? Oh-" You let out a surprised gasp before his lips crash onto yours.
There's nothing slow in the way he kisses you, no, he pours every ounce of his repressed jealousy and desperation into the way he moves his lips. You might sound crazy, but you swear you can taste his hopefulness.
It's not like you're holding back either.
You grip the shirt at his chest with such force you would worry you might actually tear it, if you cared about that at the moment. No, at the moment you were busy with trying to make him taste your own emotions. The kiss becomes frantic, and suddenly the two of you are trying to eat each other up.
Steve pulls apart just enough to mumble onto your lips. "I love you." He kisses you again, then moves to your jaw. "I love you," he kisses your neck, "I love you so goddamn much." He nibbles at the spot between your ear and neck, letting out a quiet groan at your gasp.
"I love you Steve," you whisper onto his skin as you kiss his jaw. "I've been in love with you since you put on that ridiculous Scoops outfit." You kiss him again and he pulls apart briefly to look at you.
"That long? You've been in love with me for almost two years?" Steve asks you with wide eyes, voice disbelieving and you just nod. "We could've been together for two years?" He asked with a teary chuckle and you smiled back at him.
He leaned his forehead against yours and let out a long exhale, before quickly snapping his head up. "Wait did you answer? Do you give me a cha-"
This time it was you who interrupted him, kissing him the same way he did mere moments ago. It seemed Steve didn't have to be told twice to kiss you, because he instantly followed your rhythm, even deepening the kiss.
"Guess you sobered up Steve, huh?"
The voice made both of you pull away and turn towards the sounds. Robin and James were standing a few feet from you, with a smug smile on their faces.
"You guys look like you've seen a ghost," James added casually. You and Steve stood stiff next to each other, trying to look normal and comically failing at it.
"Come on, don't act like you weren't down each others throats! We're glad you finally got your act together."
"Robin?" Steve asked with a tight voice.
"Yes, dingus?"
"Go back. Or go home. I don't care. Leave us alone."
"Ooooh, the lovebirds want some alone time?" James asked on a lady-like voice and it was your turn to glare at him.
"James?"
"Yes, hun?"
"I'm dumping you."
"Given that you were basically dry humping Steve, I gathered that."
"Okay, if you don't leave than we will." Steve said and looked at you for permission before taking your hand and pulling you away.
You glanced back and saw Robin and James wave and laugh at the two of you. You turned back to Steve and squeezed his hand once, still not completely believing what happened.
Steve loves you. Steve kissed you. Steve is in love with you.
It wasn't until you were sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car that you didn't know where Steve was taking you.
"Where are we going Steve?" You asked as he started the car.
"Mine. Or yours. Whatever you want," he said and looked at you for further instructions.
"Well, if you ask me, I wouldn't mind continuing what we were doing before," you told him with a small smile and Steve smiled back at you. "Yeah, you want that?"
"Yes, I want to do that. Very much so, but...no funny business, Harrington," you whispered, leaning closer to him and he mirrors your actions.
"We could watch paint dry for all I care, if it means I get to hold you all night," he whispers and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sincerety in his voice.
"Making up for lost time already?" You ask him playfully and he pecks your lips before shifting the car into gear.
"Never too soon to start earning my boyfriend status, right?"
The road is dark, the only thing shining is the headlights of the car. It's quiet between you for a minute before you turn in your seat to face Steve.
Reader all nauseous and throwing up and langdon is just there rubbing your back and holding your hair <3
decided to write a little drabble for your cute idea, hope that's okay lovely <3 cw: throwing up, mention of food poisoning
Yup. Whatever you had ordered at the restaurant was most definitely bad. Like, bad bad.
Bad enough for you to be sitting over the toilet right now, stomach churning. Your skin felt hot and cold at once. Every nerve in your body seemed to be focused entirely on the contents of your stomach and how urgently they wanted to leave.
You heard Frank somewhere in the kitchen, opening drawers and closing them.
"Frank," your voice sounded pathetic even to your own ears.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here, baby."
His voice came from somewhere behind you, followed immediately by his footsteps. He immediately knelt down next to you with a wet cloth in his hand and you could hear the small grunt he made as his knees hit the tile. "Thrown up yet?" he asked gently.
You shook your head. "No," you mumbled.
Frank shifted beside you. You heard him set the cloth down on the edge of the bathtub and then you felt his fingers in your hair. He gathered it back from your face, careful not to pull hard as he secured the ponytail.
"Sorry," you whispered, when you heard another small grunt of pain.
"Not your fault," he mumbled.
You just stared into the toilet. You regretted every single moment that had led you here. The decision to eat the whole thing even though it had tasted just slightly off and you'd told yourself you were imagining it.
Frank finally had your hair in a ponytail. You felt him sit back slightly, surveying his work, making sure it would hold.
"Feels like you're preparing me for my execution," you managed out.
A small attempt at humor to distract from the fact that you were about to vomit your guts out in front of the person you loved most in the world.
Frank laughed. "I mean," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, "throwing up sure can feel like an execution." His hand found your back, rubbing gently between your shoulder blades.
"Very much so," you whispered.
"You'll feel much better once it's all out. I promise."
You finally turned your head and met his gentle blue eyes. "And you're here," you mumbled.
He couldn't help the smile that formed on his face, despite the situation you were in. "And I'm here," he replied softly.
It didn't take long for your body to decide it was done waiting.
And god, Frank was so gentle.
You were sure that you'd be miserable and crying right now if he hadn't been there. But Frank just kept pulling your hair strands back as they escaped the ponytail and his hand never stopped moving on your back.
When it was finally over, you fell back against the bathtub. You let your head fall forward, chin nearly touching your chest.
You heard the water run. Then Frank was kneeling in front of you, one hand cupping your chin to tilt your face up. The cloth was cool against your overheated skin as he wiped the sweat from your forehead, your cheeks and the corners of your mouth.
When he was done, he set the cloth aside and you felt his warmth as he settled beside you.
"Stop looking at me. I look awful," you mumbled into your knees.
Frank's arm came around your shoulders. He pulled you into his side and you went without resistance.
"You look pretty," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
Summary: As the poets say, the best way to get over someone is by getting under someone new. Unfortunately, Shane Hollander isn't built for causal.
Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader
CW/TW: Sexual content, brief implied internalized homophobia
Did you guys want to be tagged for oneshots too... I can't remember...
~~~
It'd been approximately half a year since Shane had last seen or properly interacted with Ilya Rozanov after suffering from his harrowing accident on the ice that'd led to him gleefully (or rather, borderline begging) Ilya to join him at his cottage for two weeks of fun under the influence of pain medication, only for Ilya to never take him up on the offer.
It'd stung, vaguely, especially considering the progress they'd made in finally putting a name to... whatever their relationship was.
He'd wallowed in self-pity during his time at the cottage (alone), reading every article and watching every video that talked about Scott Hunter and his mystery boyfriend, who'd been swiftly identified as a smoothie maker from NYC named Christopher Grady.
He'd lasted three months of little communication with Ilya before lamenting his woes to Rose, and with the movie she'd been working on having wrapped up, she agreed to fly over to Montreal and spend a few days with him.
Of course, because Rose was Rose, she greeted him with a list of guys that she was absolutely certain were right up his alley.
A handful were costars or fellow actors based in Los Angeles, which Shane shot down, conflicted over having to deal with yet another long-distance... 'thing', so Rose shortened her list to those she knew in Canada from the times she filmed in places like Vancouver or Toronto.
It'd taken her ten seconds of scrolling through her phone before she'd gasped and slapped his arm.
"I know just the guy, Shane!" She had exclaimed, her vibrant eyes gleaming with excitement, but it only fueled his jittery nerves. "Have you ever heard of the band Rings of Saturn?"
He'd nodded, since the name sounded like something he'd heard the guys in the locker room mention once or twice.
"Well, I know their bassist, (Y/N), and you're exactly his type."
Shane's brows had scrunched in a mixture of confusion and amusement. "And what's his type?"
"Oh, you know, cute, a little awkward... nerds, really."
Rose flashed her teeth at him in a teasing grin, her eyes locking on her phone to tap on her phone screen frantically. Shane's mouth parted to protest that he was not a nerd, but then she turned the phone over to show him a picture of the bassist, and Shane's gut fluttered with interest.
It'd been a photo of a young man around his age standing on a stage, caught mid-song with his ringed fingers strumming a crimson red bass guitar.
His face was neutral, his eyes half-lidded with faint boredom, his nonchalant expression oozing of mystery and intrigue. He'd been wearing a sleeveless Queen t-shirt and a pair of baggy black pants, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin that caught in the dim stage lights.
He reeked of a hypnotic kind of trouble, the type of trouble that'd slither into your life and never fully leave you, because you'd spend the rest of your life yearning for it again and again like an addict trying to relive their best high.
He looked like the kind of guy girls in movies swooned over and parents prayed never showed up on their doorstep.
Despite his caution of getting with someone who looked like he'd join Ilya Rozanov in trampling over his already cracked heart, he agreed to join Rose at a bar to properly meet him, assuring himself that they'd likely only flirt and nothing more.
But when they'd arrived at the bar a few weeks later, and Shane found his face warming beneath (Y/N)'s curious gaze, he knew it was over for him.
Shane had realized a while ago, thanks to Ilya, that he liked trouble.
And that was how Shane Hollander found a distraction from the beautiful Russian man who'd steamrolled into his life and taken his heart with him.
It was an addictive distraction, considering Shane would take time out of his busy schedule to visit (Y/N)'s hometown of Saint-Sauveur nearly every other week, despite the one-hour drive.
Shane couldn't help it, especially when he found himself face down with his ass up in the air, a hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades to keep his chest pinned to the soft navy blue bedsheets and a cock spearing into him with a vengeance.
His vision had grown blurred a couple mintues prior, his eyes fluttering while he battled between focusing his vision and letting his eyes roll back from the overstimulation.
(Y/N) had a bruising grip on his hip, a hold that'd leave a mark Shane would poke at until it faded, which would lead him to message (Y/N) so he could create a new one.
His ass cheeks ached, sore from the constant snap of (Y/N)'s hips against them, the subtle stinging pain mixing with the pleasure of (Y/N) perfectly hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves inside him, which made each thought incoherent and nonsensical.
He'd already reached his peak thrice, and (Y/N) seemed like he wanted to get a fourth orgasm out of him before he finally took mercy.
The first time had been somewhat embarrassing, considering they'd only been making out and dry humping on the couch, but (Y/N) had cooed over his flushed face and stammered attempts at gaining back some of his lost dignity, leaving him even more flustered and a little meek.
The second and third had been in the bedroom, thankfully, sparing whatever of his pride he had left.
"Come on, Captain." (Y/N) huffed out above him, his hand sliding down Shane's sweat-slicked skin to hold the back of his neck.
Shane shuddered, his body putty in (Y/N)'s hands. His arms and legs had long given out on him, leaving him to weakly hold onto the bedsheets drenched in sweat, fluids, and Shane's drool.
"Jus' one more."
"Mmm."
(Y/N) laughed breathlessly, using a mixture of lube and his first release to make the glide easier. They'd foregone condoms after realizing the other wasn't seeing anyone else (a reminder that always made Shane preen), and going in bare had changed Shane's worldview. The ability to feel everything, to fully feel every twitch and throb, sent his brain reeling.
"Shaaanee," (Y/N) drawled teasingly, his fingers dipping to grab Shane's throat and pull him upward, not quite choking but simply using enough strength to hold him up.
It made Shane shiver nonetheless. He brought Shane back until their bodies were pressed together, slowly his pace into grinds. Bastard.
"I know you've got one left in you. Give it to me," (Y/N) cooed into his ear, nipping his earlobe afterward.
Shane's head dropped back onto (Y/N)'s shoulder, his hand lifting to paw at (Y/N)'s wrist in a vain attempt at holding onto it. He barely mustered a moan when (Y/N) began jerking him off, thumbing at his sticky, wet tip and toying with his balls until Shane's body jerked with his last, weak orgasm, the pathetic spurts barely covering (Y/N)'s palm.
A satisfied chuckle vibrated in (Y/N)'s chest. "Attaboy."
(Y/N)'s fingers grabbed his jawline, turning Shane's head toward him to kiss him. Shane's lips parted, and he groaned when (Y/N) latched onto his tongue, the cool metal of his piercing prompting another shiver.
(Y/N) mouthed at Shane's jawline next, nipping his skin and dragging his cheek along it. Shane's eyes slid shut, his mind broken and blank, silent and devoid of his usual worries or stresses, only focused on (Y/N).
(Y/N) nosed at the back of Shane's throat, his release coming in the form of a low groan and an overwhelming warmth in Shane's spent hole.
(Y/N) lowered Shane back down on the bed carefully, dragging himself out and letting himself finish over Shane's cheeks and back dimples. He smeared the fluids with his fingertips, giggling mischievously at the weak huff he received.
Shane remained in bed, content despite the irritating feeling of fluids smeared over his tingling skin, but (Y/N) remedied it by cleaning him with a damp washcloth.
He sighed blissfully and rolled himself onto his back, his nose crinkling with a wince at the throbbing ache his body protested with. He paid (Y/N)'s smug gaze little mind.
"I'll draw a bath," (Y/N) told him, his fingers dancing over the faint bruise on Shane's hip.
Shane smiled thankfully at him, his eyes ghosting over the hickies he'd left behind. Unlike with Ilya, he felt more comfortable doing that with (Y/N), to leave his mark in the form of hickies, love bites, and nail scratches, to observe the way fans reacted to it on social media whenever (Y/N) posted a selfie without a care in the world about the marks showing.
He'd allowed marks on himself during the off-season, but with the 2017-2018 season having begun a few weeks prior, Shane only wanted marks he could easily explain away as hits from other players.
However, with his recent coming out to his parents and Hayden (after some encouragement from Rose and Scott Hunter's coming out), he considered letting (Y/N) suckle a visible hickey or two on his neck.
Partly because he wanted to casually tell people he was seeing a guy without making a big fuss, and partly to show Ilya Rozanov that Shane Hollander was over him and his mind games.
Somewhat. It was debatable, really.
Once the bubble bath that pleasantly smelled of vanilla and honey was drawn, (Y/N) helped Shane into it and followed, his face slack with neutrality as he scrubbed Shane's skin clean and washed his hair with shampoo.
Shane closed his eyes and let it happen, unable to find much strength to return the favor. Plus, (Y/N) enjoyed his aftercare rituals. It was a routine he preferred to remain undisturbed.
After they were both clean, (Y/N) left Shane in the bathtub so he could change the bedsheets and returned to the bathroom with fresh clothes for him. He helped Shane dry, rubbing the towel over his torso and legs, letting him lean on him while he slid the underwear up his thighs and tossed the shirt over his head for Shane to put on.
Shane settled into bed on his side, his body warm and fuzzy and buzzing with the pampering. Ilya took good care of him as well, ensured he was alright and clean and ready to leave, but (Y/N) took it a step further.
He had the advantage of their hookups occurring at his house, rather than a hotel room, so he had everything he needed at his disposal.
He brought back a wrapped ice pack for Shane's ass, a cold can of ginger ale to soothe his throat, and a small bag of roasted seaweed sheets for him to snack on.
He patted Shane's head and crawled into bed with his notebook, flipping through the pages and settling against the headboard. Shane made use of the ice pack and munched on the salty seaweed sheets, watching (Y/N) write.
A self-proclaimed night owl, it always took (Y/N) an hour or two to fall asleep after sex. Shane always made attempts to stay up with him, to try to get to know him better, even when his head drooped and his eyes slid shut against his will.
Licking his lips, Shane straightened up, his nose crinkling briefly at the light prickling sensation. He readjusted the ice pack, mindful to ensure the waistband of his underwear held it in place. "Do you think you'll ever write about me?"
"You want me to make you a love song?" (Y/N) shot him a lazy smirk, his brow slightly arching. "I'm not Ed Sheeran or Charlie Puth, Shane, but maybe I'll write about your freckles dancing when you smile-" He reached out with his pencil, dragging the eraser over Shane's cheek. "-or how your face scrunches up when you're close-"
Shane swatted at the pencil with a roll of his eyes. "You think Kamar would ask too many questions?"
"Kamar has written about countless boyfriends, Shane. Hell, we've written about Nia and Henry's stupid relationship. It's a miracle they don't hate each other enough to leave the band." (Y/N) shook his head and returned his attention to the notebook resting over his thighs, his eyes following the words on the page. "We told those idiots not to get involved."
Rings of Saturn consisted of Kamar Daveport, the lead singer, Nia Penry, the keyboardist, and Henry Foster, the drummer. Shane had met them the same night he'd met (Y/N), and he'd been immediately struck by the music when they played at the bar.
Their music was sultry and genre-blending, a mixture of indie and 'darkwave' as Rose had ecstatically put it. It was the kind of songs sirens sang to attract sailors to their watery graves.
If (Y/N) hadn't been his type, he might've gone for Kamar, although he'd shamefully felt uncertain about the shimmery emerald green eyeshadow Kamar enjoyed painting over his eyelids that popped beautifully against his dark skin.
He managed to blend masculinity and femininity wonderfully enough to captivate Miles, one of Rose's closest friends. Shane wished he had his confidence in being entirely and uniquely himself.
"Have you written a song about anyone?" Shane asked, mindful of getting any crumbs or bits on the bed while he ate. Envy prickled his ribcage at the thought.
"You're not a musician until you've written a song about someone, Shane. It's a rite of passage to make a whole song poetically telling your ex to go fuck themselves."
(Y/N) barked out a small laugh, rubbing the eraser into the paper and replacing the verse with something new. Shane craned his head in an attempt to read the lyrics.
"You remember that song we sang, uh, two weeks back? Heaven or Hell?"
Shane shifted slightly, a tad uncomfortable, but not because of the pain. It was because the song had sounded like someone knew every intricate detail of his turbulent relationship with Ilya Rozanov and had written a song about it.
The lyrics about sneaking around late at night, about the anxiety in feeling like the rug would be tugged out from under your feet, about hate and love blending and blurring.
Will you be heaven or hell tonight? That lyric stuck with Shane. He tried tuning out the song whenever he heard it. It made his stomach hurt.
"Yeah," Shane nodded, shoving another seaweed sheet in his mouth and turning the bag around to distract himself from his thoughts by reading the information on it. "It's... a sad song."
"I wrote it... about an ex I'd been seeing on and off. Fucking asshole thought it'd be a good idea to send me an invitation to his wedding."
Shane's eyes darted up, and (Y/N) gave a shrug, attempting to come off as casual and unbothered, but Shane spotted the tightness in his jaw. His chest ached for him. He'd nearly lost his mind with Ilya a few times; a wedding invitation would've sent him spiraling.
"Moral of that story was not to fall in love with closeted guys. Not worth it." (Y/N) glanced at him. "No offense."
"I'm not- I'm not closeted. I, uhm, I'm out to my parents and- and some friends. Been considering coming out to the team, too." Shane revealed, propping up some pillows and leaning against them. His heart stuttered, a familiar feeling he would've previously ignored, but it filled him with hope now.
"Yeah?" (Y/N)'s faint frown morphed into a small smirk, and he reached out to boop Shane's nose with the eraser. "Good for you, sweetheart. I'm sure there'll be a long line of men waiting at the arena door when you come out to everyone."
Shane's face warmed, and for a split second, he wondered if Ilya would be among them. "You think so?"
(Y/N) flipped his notebook closed and set it aside on the nightstand, rolling over onto his side to be face-to-face with him. He propped his head up on his hand and nodded.
"You give good head." He said, and Shane gave an amused huff. "And you've got a nice body, and a cute personality. Didn't you get named as the number one hottest guy in the NHL back in 2016?"
"Yeah," Shane grinned. Things like that usually never phased him, but being named number one had done wonders for his ego. "I did."
"See? You're a catch," (Y/N) cooed, his fingers brushing over the apple of Shane's cheek, but he crinkled his nose when Shane leaned in for a kiss and tilted his head back. "I'm not kissing you unless you brush your teeth. I hate seaweed. I only bought that shit 'cause I knew you'd like it."
Shane blinked, startled. "Really? You.. bought these for me?"
"Mhm, and the ginger ale, too. I think it tastes like piss, but-" (Y/N) shrugged again, his lips twitching into a playful grin at the scowl that morphed on Shane's face. "-to each their own, I guess."
"It does not."
"Yes, it does."
"No, it doesn't. It's good. I bet you haven't even properly tried it yet, (Y/N)."
To further set his stance, Shane took the cold can from the nightstand, cracked it open, and took a long sip of it. His tongue tingled, the sweet taste and subtle ginger delighting his taste buds.
"It doesn't taste like piss."
"How would you know?"
"I-"
Shane clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes, shaking his head and muttering under his breath while (Y/N) cracked up with laughter. Shane rolled completely onto his back, raising his hips to adjust the ice pack, and he drank some more of the ginger ale before setting it back down.
"If you're going to insult my tastes, I'm leaving." He grumbled, rolling the seaweed bag and placing it beside the can.
"Oh, you big baby."
(Y/N) laughed, reaching for him as he went to climb out of bed. Shane made a feigned attempt at resisting, his hands barely trying to pry (Y/N)'s arms off from around him.
"I'm sorry I said your piss in a can tastes like piss in a can," (Y/N) cooed, dragging him further into bed and keeping him pressed against his side.
"Fuck you."
"Maybe later."
(Y/N)'s breath felt warm against his ear. Shane suppressed a chill and pressed his face into the crook of (Y/N)'s neck, his nose running over the skin in the juncture of his neck and collarbone. Goosebumps crept along his arms regardless, and he sighed softly, pushing himself against (Y/N).
"Already? Aren't you sore?" (Y/N) snickered.
"Shut up."
The little hum vibrated in (Y/N)'s throat, his fingers gripping Shane's chin to tilt his head up. Immediately, Shane parted his lips and pleasantly accepted (Y/N)'s tongue in his mouth, his eyes sliding shut in bliss.
He terribly missed being in someone's arms, to be kissed and touched, both firmly and delicately. His lips wrapped around (Y/N)'s tongue, his circular, steel piercing grazing the roof of his mouth.
"You're obsessed with it." (Y/N) chuckled, carefully rolling them over so he could pin Shane down to the mattress. Shane slid his hand down into his boxers to tug the ice pack out and set it aside for later. "Maybe I should get one down south and see if you'd like it."
Shane's neck warmed. He imagined the feeling would be odd, new. Defintely cold, but maybe the contrast would be pleasant. "I..." He started, the rest of his sentence dying on his tongue. No way he'd say that out loud.
(Y/N)'s brows lifted curiously, his teeth nipping at Shane's jawline as the heels of his palm pushed the plain shirt up until it was bunched up above Shane's pecs.
"Tell me." He demanded breathily, lowering his head to latch onto one of Shane's erect nipples, the feeling of the piercing pressing to his skin making Shane flinch gently.
"No." Shane exhaled, his hand resting over the back of (Y/N)'s head. (Y/N)'s teeth caught his nipple, and Shane shuddered, but he refused to give in. He liked giving (Y/N) a bit of a challenge, liked giving him a reason to pull him apart. "No."
(Y/N) kissed down his stomach, lingering and pressing his mouth hard into the spots that occasionally made Shane ticklish. Shane held firm, though, his mouth tugged up into a grin.
He knew he'd lose the second (Y/N) took him in his mouth, but it was the effort that counted. His heart picked up in pace, and despite the tiredness clinging to the corners of his body and brain, his cock easily stirred with interest.
(Y/N) tugged the underwear down his thighs and flung it aside carelessly, because putting them on in the first place had been a useless idea when they were always going to end up somewhere in the bed or floor come morning.
Shane parted his legs as far as the soreness allowed him, digging his teeth into his bottom lip while (Y/N) kissed along his inner thighs.
"Tell me." (Y/N)'s mouth hovered over where Shane wanted him most. "Or I'll leave you like this and go to sleep."
"You wouldn't."
He would.
"You wanna bet, Mr. Big Bucks?" (Y/N) puckered his lips to blow some air and snickered when Shane's hips twitched in a restrained buck. "Tell me, Shane."
Shane's face burned hotter than ten suns combined, his head dropping back onto the pillows to stare up at the ceiling. "I... I like your dick the way it is." He muttered, his eyes squeezing shut.
(Y/N) laughed again, endeared. "That's what you didn't want to say? Baby, I figured you did after the third time you came by for a booty call." (Y/N) told him, but all Shane focused on was the pet name, the very one he sometimes wondered how it would sound like under less erotic circumstances. "Well, since you answered-"
Shane's head shot up from the pillows, his hands dropping to grip (Y/N) at the shoulders. "I, uhm..."
God, he picked the worst possible time to bring up the subject, but hearing (Y/N) refer to their situation as a booty call soured his arousal. (Y/N) stared at him, his brows tightly knitting with a hint of concern.
"I... I don't want this to be... just a booty call." He admitted, his voice losing its strength with each word.
(Y/N)'s hands peeled themselves away from his thighs, pressing into the mattress so (Y/N) could hold himself up. "What're you talking about? You don't want to call these meetings booty calls? It sounds juvenile, I guess." He shrugged, though Shane could spot the confusion in his gaze. "Shane Hollander doesn't have booty calls, he has friends with benefits, is that it?"
"I- Shit."
Shane sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position, grunting softly at the mild soreness in his hips. It was now or never.
"I should've said this earlier or- or waited until tomorrow, but... I've done this before, (Y/N). I've fooled around with a guy before, and- and I fell in love with him... and it was.. confusing. Not knowing where we stood, how he felt... it sucked. I.. I think I'm falling for you, and I don't want to get in too deep without knowing how you feel."
(Y/N) straightened up, sitting back on his calves and brushing his hands over Shane's knees to keep himself balanced. His eyes drifted away from Shane's face to stare at the headboard instead, his brows pulling together again in what Shane assumed was consideration.
"I think you're really smart and kind. I think you're a hard-worker and very deserving of all your awards..."
(Y/N) pressed his mouth into a line, his chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh full of unspoken things.
"But... I've done this before, too, Shane. I've been the dirty little secret, and it hurt. A lot. It fucked with my head and- and my confidence. I thought there was something wrong with me, something not worth being proud of. I can't do that again. You're beginning to find your footing, and that's fine, but... I don't want to be a crutch."
"You won't be." Shane assured him quickly, reaching out to take (Y/N)'s wrists into his hands.
He knew heartache. He'd dealt with how earth-shattering it felt, with how disorienting and nauseating it was. He wouldn't inflict that type of pain on his worst enemy. Well, he would, but he'd think twice about it.
"I swear, you won't be. I-I know what I want now. I want to be in love, in a relationship with someone I can be myself with. I can talk to you about more than just hockey; I can be more than just Hollander with you. And, yeah, I'm- I'm not really into making out in front of a crowd of people, but I want to hold your hand or see you at my games."
(Y/N)'s eyes flickered between his, his mouth curving upward after a moment. "You'd have me betray the Guardians?"
"You hate Kent." Shane's laugh came out breathy, hopeful.
"Yeah, he's a piece of shit, but the team's pretty good."
"You think they're better than the Metros?"
(Y/N) thought about it. "Mm, maybe not... the Metros have you." He said, dipping his head to press a ginger kiss to Shane's lips. Shane sighed into it. "I guess I do like you, considering what you taste like right now."
He blew a little raspberry of feigned disgust, and Shane lightly shoved his shoulder. He fell back onto the bed and brought (Y/N) down with him, relieved to get pressure off his aching lower half.
They kissed again, sweet and tender, and pulled apart with their own little smiles. Shane ran his hands over (Y/N)'s arms, taking a breath to calm his heart.
"Do.. do you want to give this a try?" Shane asked tentatively, searching (Y/N)'s face for hesitation or rejection. "You want to... go on dates and be my boyfriend?"
Anticipation and fear muddled together in the pit of his stomach. He knew Hayden and J.J. would accept him, and by extension, welcome any boyfriend he introduced them to, but he had little clue how the rest of the team would react.
He'd take things slowly and start with Hayden first, then J.J., and then he'd ask them for advice on how to continue.
The tip of (Y/N)'s tongue swiped over his lips. "As long as you fund my career, sure. What else is a rich boyfriend good for?"
(Y/N) grinned, and Shane let out a short-lived groan, the eruption of excitement in his chest disallowing him from pretending to be annoyed.
Boyfriend.
That was a word he'd never thought he'd hear directed at him from another man's mouth. A giggle bubbled up in his throat. He wondered how his parents would react to him turning up with a musician.
"I'll be back in Montreal at the start of next week," Shane mentioned, his voice faintly trembling. "We could go on our first official date then. If things go well, maybe we could tell Rose? She'll be proud of herself for introducing us."
(Y/N) grunted, but his smile was affectionate. "We'd never hear the end of it. She'll demand to be the officiator, planner, and groomsmaid at our wedding."
Shane's brows shot up, his head tilting. "Wedding?" He repeated with a quiet chuckle, unable to resist leaning in and kissing his cheek. "You're getting ahead of yourself."
"Oh, please," (Y/N) face warmed regardless, his eyes flickering away sheepishly. "As if you didn't look at rings the moment we met. I bet you know the exact time of flowers you'll want. You probably planned this whole thing from the very beginning."
Shane nipped at his earlobe. "I did not." But he'd certainly consider planning some things ahead of time now. Just to be prepared.
"Uh-huh, anyway, where was I?"
(Y/N) hooked his hand beneath Shane's knee and hiked it up, kissing the side of his neck before he lowered himself back down in between Shane's thighs.
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word count: 3336 / masterlist | inbox (please request ! ) | WIP list
summary: max starts breaking out and needs to develop a skincare routine. billy's girlfriend y/n steps up to the role of older sister and walks her through each step. billy lingers by the bathroom doorway, putting himself in the position of the perfect model.
Contents/Warnings: afab!fem!reader
A/N:...sorry i haven't posted in like. years. i lowkey kinda fell off of stranger things!! i still liked it but I wasn't watching it and I found it hard to write without the inspiration. but I'm back! I can't guarantee it'll be for forever but I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth right now. And I can finally cross something off of my wip list YAYYYY :D send me some requests to kickstart my writing again!
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
Billy’s surprised, pleasantly so, when you show up at his door with a… big metal box? He’s not sure what’s in it, but it looks important, there’s a lock on it and you’re holding the key. The situation gets less pleasant when you remain stony faced, unreactive to his grin at your presence, and shoulder past him.
“Sorry Billy,” You march through the house, down the hallway and to the bathroom, “Urgent matters to attend to.”
He doesn’t even get to finish latching the door shut when the bathroom door starts to close, and he rushes after you to catch it.
“Hey!” He reaches you just in time, stopping it from slamming with a large, rough hand that thumps against the wood, “What the hell? Why are you holing up in my bathroom with a safe?”
“My bathroom, dickhead.” Max sneers, seated on the lid of the toilet, “You like to use the empty beer cans under your bed.”
“Someone’s bitchy today,” He gripes, leaning against the frame, “Period?”
“Billy,” You scold, unlocking the latch on the box and flipping it open, “Be nice! This is girl time, you’re intruding.”
His eyes widen, and he scoffs, “Unbelievable! So they put me in charge, then my girlfriend comes over into the house that I’m responsible for, storms off without even a hello, and tries locking herself away in the bathroom with the middle schooler, yet I’m the problem here!”
“Yes,” Max insists, eyes icy as she shoves down the lid of the box so that Billy can’t see the contents, “Just get out!”
“No.” He crosses his arms, glaring her down, “I wanna know what you’re doing.”
“I told you,” You try placating him, voice smooth and sweet, “Girl talk. It’s private.”
“What, is it about periods? I already know all that shit,” He scoffs, and you and Max share an amused, side-eyed grin, “I took health in freshman year. My girlfriend is here and I’m going to spend time with her while she is.”
His chest heaves slightly with the force of his insistence, and you sigh, glancing over at Max. You communicate silently, your eyes holding the words you can’t say in front of him, then you turn back to flash him a single pointer finger.
“One minute,” You promise, “C’mere, Max.”
She huddles closer to you, and you cup your hand over her ear, whispering into it. Billy doesn’t appreciate even more secrets, huffing and puffing at your display of dramatics. After a few nods, a smirk, and a giggle are released, you separate, and turn back to him with an eager smile.
“Okay, Billy,” You start, grin wicked, “We’re creating a skincare routine for Max. If you want to stay and be part of the fun, be my guest. But you’ll have to be our model.”
“Skincare?” He narrows his eyes, “Just wash your fucking face, Max.”
“That’s not how it works,” You groan, “She needs a multi-step routine, and that’s what we’re going to work out today, with this.” You pull up on the case’s latch, and Max doesn’t stop you this time. Inside are individual packages, what Billy identifies as face masks, bottles, tubes, wipes, cotton pads; he’s honestly surprised there’s not a beauty technician stored in there, too.
“If you’re so insistent on spending time with me,” You bargain, and there’s a sweet smile on your face as you say it that lets him know you’re not really as annoyed with him as you tease, “Then you’ll let me demonstrate on you.”
“No way.” He stands tall, shoulders stiff, “I’m not letting you put that shit on my face.”
“You could use it,” Max mumbles under her breath, and the only reason Billy doesn’t gripe back is because he thinks you’ll scold him for it. Instead, he watches as you take out a bottle, showcasing the greenish gel inside.
“Soap,” You inform him, “That’s all it is, Billy, is soap. Would you just wash your face for us?”
“Soap..” He narrows his eyes at the suspicious bottle, “That shit’s just soap?”
“Just soap,” You promise again, “Please?”
He doesn’t need to look into your eyes to know they’re shiny, and he won’t admit defeat because of them. So he succumbs on his own terms, sighing heavily and reaching for the bottle, “Gimme the damn soap.”
The tap water is cool, and he relishes the feeling against his burning cheeks. He can feel his hair getting wet, and some of the longer strands threaten to dip into the water and become completely soaked, ruining his curls. He’s not happy to be giving in so easily, but those damn eyes of yours, that sweet ‘please?’, and he’s a sucker. A sucker who smears green gel soap over his face, scrubbing extra hard at his cheeks like it’ll wash away the pink stains there.
“Okay, gentle,” You chide him, pulling at his elbows, “Max, don’t scrub this hard. You want to lather it in but you don’t want to damage your skin in the process.”
“Unbelievable,” Billy blubbers, bubbles encroaching on the gap of his lips, “I’m being your life sized beauty doll and you’re telling me I’m doing everything wrong.”
This time, you don’t hold back the unamused glare that you and Max share.
“No, Billy.” You placate him, smoothing a hand down his back while he rinses his face, biting back a smirk as Max lets one fall over her face, “We’re not telling you you’re doing everything wrong. I just want you to be nicer to your skin.”
“There,” Billy drawls, smoothing over his bubble-free face with a damp washcloth and staring down his nose at you, a few unfortunately drowned strands of hair sticking to his cheeks, “That it?”
“Uh,” You falter, eyeing the kit you brought, “Not quite. Just a few more steps.”
His face falls, “A few? I washed my face with soap, it’s clean. What more do I need?”
“Well, when you wash your hair with shampoo but you don’t condition it, it gets really dry, right?”
“Yeah,” Billy nods cautiously, eyes narrow, “So?”
“So your skin’s the same way,” You reach for a foil-lined packet in the case, hot pink silhouettes of Barbie littering its surface, “And you need to moisturize it.”
When you draw the package from the confines of the box, BIlly’s eyes go empty. It’s like he’s trying to fathom how he’s gotten there, how he’s in a bathroom with a freshly-washed face surrounded by people who want to stick Barbie all over his cheeks.
“It’s just a face mask,” You try calming him before he can even get started, “It helps moisturize your skin so that it’s not so dry after washing. It’s just a little sheet that you lay over your face, you’ve seen me wear them before.”
“Yeah, and you walk around looking like you fell asleep next to a toddler with a marker.”
“If you’re going to be antagonistic, you can leave,” You finally snap, brows lowering in a condemning glare, “This is supposed to be me pampering your sister because she’s struggling with being a teenager, I will not let you ruin this for her with your shitty attitude.”
Billy’s own brows, impeccably groomed and slit on one side, nearly reach his hairline, one now obscured by a damp curl that hangs down over his forehead.
“Okay, okay.” His gruff voice concedes, the wind successfully taken from his sails, “Barbie me, baby.”
The sheet mask leaves a thick, gelatinous layer of product on your fingers as you unfold it, and the chill of it nearly sends a shiver up your spine. Billy shrinks away from you as you hold it up towards his face, but true to his word he lets you stick it to his skin and smooth away the wrinkles.
The sheet mask intrudes on the seam of his lips so he can’t complain- at least not until you readjust it. You consider not doing so at all, and ensuring that you won’t be hearing any bitching and moaning out of him, but you take pity on him and tuck the mask into place around his mouth.
His stunted groans turn into a panted protest, “This shit feels disgusting.”
“Beauty is pain,” You recite, “Or in this case, mild discomfort for ten to fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Fifteen minutes.” You tilt your head downwards, glaring through your eyelashes at him, “Got a problem with that, Barbie?”
“No.” Billy grumbles, “No problems.”
Max snickers, and now Billy has a problem.
“You don’t need to use one of these every day,” You peer at Max, “The more you do it the more you’ll understand your skin. If you need to do one every day, that’s one thing. But most people usually only use them once a week, or a few times a month. And that’s if you have them on hand. If your allowance runs out,” You watch Billy try and fail to itch a patch on his cheek by jabbing his nail into the gooey mask, “You can go without them. It’s an extra moisturizing step, but it’s not essential.”
“Then why the hell is it on my face?” Billy drawls, his voice grating and rough, “I thought you said it was just gonna be a few steps, not the whole tour.”
“This is the only extra step I’m adding,” You turn towards Max to roll your eyes, exaggerating the movement so that she snickers into the palm of her hand, “Just sit down and relax for fifteen minutes! Better yet-” You point towards the open doorway, “Go lay down. Take a little nap,” You suggest, “I can use the time to go over the rest of the process with Max.”
“Don’t get slime on your pillow,” Max grins wickedly at her step-brother, and you honestly think he might have complied were it not for the sibling rivalry. Instead, he plants his ass firmly on the lid of the toilet, resting his ankle on his opposite knee and subsequently kicking Max with the toe of his socked foot.
“Ew!” She jerks away, her back hitting the shower door and rattling it in place, “Y/N, he kicked me with his gross socks.”
“Billy,” You scold, reaching out to tug at a curl that hangs over his shoulder, “Be nice.”
He glares mutinously at you from the eye holes of the pink face mask, but it’s not as lethal as it would be if you weren’t his girlfriend. Although, you suppose, he wouldn’t have put the face mask on if you weren’t his girlfriend, so you drop your hand to his shoulder and rub comfortingly between the blades.
He grunts in response to the impromptu massage, apparently helpless to the comfort despite the mortifying situation he finds himself in. You keep your fingers working diligently against his clenched muscles until he loosens them, “It’ll dry out a bit in the air, but the serum is gonna soak in. After the timer is up, we’ll peel it off, and he’ll rub the rest of it into his skin. Then, toner,” You hold up the bottle, “And moisturizer. Eventually,” You sift through the rest of the bottles in your case, “You may need specific products like undereye serum, or additional creams that do one thing over another. But for right now, I think three steps will be perfect for you. And I’ll leave you with some of these,” You gesture to the numerous packs of face masks you’ve acquired over years of convenience store runs, “So that you don’t have to buy more for a while.”
“Thanks,” Max breathes, her expression breaking into a grin that bunches her cheeks up. It’s genuine, which is something you don’t always see from the oft-sarcastic girl, but it suits her beautifully, and you use your free hand to tug affectionately at one of her braids.
Fifteen minutes eventually passes, but you damn near have to restrain Billy for the amount of times he tries peeling it off before his timer is up. Once the kitchen clock buzzes on the counter his hands fly to his face, but he’s not accounted for the way that the mask has partially dried against his skin, still sticky and gooey but much less dripping.
“Ew,” He twitches, the pads of his fingers now glistening, “Get it off of me.”
“Say please.” You gripe, and you can hear his teeth clacking together in his mouth.
“Please get this shit off of me.”
You acquiesce instead of further tormenting the man, peeling the sheet mask off of him with practiced ease. He grimaces at the way that it clings to his face, but blinks when it’s off of him, like he hadn’t been able to see properly beneath it despite the eye holes.
“Finally.” He grunts, and you bring your hands to his face, gently smoothing the remaining substance into his skin. His eyes, previously scrunched shut, fly open when your hands meet his face, and he locks his gorgeous blue eyes with yours as you rub your fingers over his cheeks.
You share unashamedly back, briefly lost in the moment. He’s got such pretty eyes, and they’re framed by lashes that might be better than your own, resentfully. It’s easy to find yourself suspended in time, and you stroke along the ridges of his cheekbones with a reverence that your thumbs easily sway with. The solution is long gone, but you continue kneading your hands over his face the way you’d eased the sore muscles of his perpetually-tensed shoulders.
You’re not sure how long you stand there, pinned between his knees where you’re standing at the toilet. He’s completely relaxed despite all of his earlier grumblings, limbs loose and resting in his lap. Your fingers rove easily, adoringly over his features, and you honestly forget there’s anyone else there besides the two of you until Max clears her throat, and you glance backwards over your shoulder to see her leaning against the wall, legs and arms crossed. She’s got a flat, unimpressed expression on her face, and you try stepping out from between Billy’s legs until you realize he’s trapped you there.
“Do I have to stare longingly at myself in the mirror when I do it?” Max asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Or- should I get Lucas in here to do it for me? Do we have to stand like that,” She glances at Billy’s large hands now slung around your waist, “Like we’re trying to fit two people into a dressing room at JC Penny?”
“Okay, okay.” You wrestle your way out of Billy’s hold, fighting against his hands that try desperately to drag you back between his legs, “I get it. Sorry. I got distracted.”
Max’s lip curls into a sneer, clearly disbelieving that her step-brother is anything to be distracted by, “Whatever. So you rub it in, then what?”
“Toner.” You secure a cotton pad, dabbing the liquid onto it with two fingers pressed tight against the back, “Don’t use it if you’ve just popped a pimple. Don’t pop any pimples anyways,” You level a stern glare at her, “But if you do, don’t put this on broken skin. It stings.”
Billy’s eyes darken, and he jerks his head away when you try smearing the pad against his face.
“It’s fine.” You assure him, “It won’t hurt. You don’t have any cuts on your face, right?”
“Baby,” Max snickers, and you have to redirect Billy’s chin towards you when he shoots Max a glare over your shoulder.
“It won’t hurt.” You repeat, taking his face in your hands again to begin smoothing it over his skin. It picks up any excess moisture you’d left behind while staring dreamily into his eyes, but it picks up a layer of dirt that he hadn’t managed to scrub away with the soap, and you show off the stained pad with pride.
“See? That’s why you need toner. It gets rid of everything, and it leaves your skin ready for the moisturizer.”
Max wrinkles her nose again at the sight of the dirtied cotton pad, but Billy doesn’t seem perturbed. He watches carelessly as you toss it into the bin, and pick up your bottle of moisturizer. You pump the nozzle once, twice, thrice until there’s a sizeable amount on your palm, showing Max the size of the portion.
“No more than this,” You tell her, “You’ll go through it too fast and it won’t absorb properly.”
She watches dutifully as you spread the moisturizer over your hands, then rub it into Billy’s face. It’s excessive, because the face mask has already soaked into his skin, but he’ll simply be extra moisturized tonight, and you’re looking forward to cupping his face under cover of darkness in his bedroom tonight. You can be the softest and sweetest when there’s no one else around, and even though Max was understandably uncomfortable witnessing it, you long to continue worshipping your boy.
“There.” You step back, admiring your handiwork, “That’s it. We’re done.”
“Finally,” Billy grumbles, but you know from his recent lack of fidgeting that he’s not as put out by the whole thing as he tries appearing. He stands, looming an impressive distance over you and Max. It’s awkward to edge between the two of you in the small space, but he manages to do so without knocking you over, though he does bump into Max harder than he needs to. He pairs it with a lazy, grating, “Now that you know what you’re doing, I’m gonna go ahead and take back my girlfriend. Enjoy your slime,” Billy grabs your hand, tugging you across the tiled floor so forcefully that your socks slide against it, “Don’t get it in your mouth because I’m not calling poison control.”
“I will!” You yelp, as Billy drags you down the hallway to his room, “But- just don’t eat it anyways!”
When Billy’s door shuts with a whoosh of air you whirl on him, almost getting lost in admiring the way that his skin glistens, “You’re mean to her.”
“She’s my sister,” He looks affronted, “I’m supposed to be.”
“You could be nicer.” You insist, your own face hardened into a frown, “She just wanted girl time.”
“I wanted girlfriend time,” He shrugs, “You came to my house, you really thought I wasn’t gonna steal you?”
“It’s good for her to have girl friends,” You hum, still lost in thoughts of Max who’s insanely deprived of a womanly figure in her life. Billy wastes no time getting you into his bed, his jeans stretching tight over his thighs as he pushes you down, then crawls over you. He flips you when you’re both laying down, settling your body weight over his so that you’re laying against his toned chest. You prop your chin up against his pec, peering down at him as he closes his eyes in bliss as your new napping arrangements, “Promise me you’ll let us have one-on-ones every once in a while?”
“Alright, I promise.” Billy grunts, his eyes still firmly shut, “But don’t act like you guys didn’t enjoy tormenting me in there.”
“Your face is so smooth,” You’re certain he can hear the grin in your voice, and you trace against the contours of his face again with your pointer finger. It’s slightly tacky from the excess moisturizer, but it’s smoother than it’s ever been, and you busy yourself with drawing lines down his nose and curves beneath his chin.
“Stop doing that,” He gripes after a few long moments of nothing but your finger against his skin, “I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“We were gonna nap anyways,” You reason, “Just let me admire my handiwork.”
A grunt is your only answer, and Billy’s lips don’t part again as he drops into a hazy, blissful sleep, though they do lazily pinch together to pucker against the pad of your pointer finger when you drag it against them.
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
is this your first time here? — scoops ahoy!steve x flirty!reader
warnings: none. just absolute fluff.
synopsis: steve remembers you. not because you're pretty (which you are— unfairly so) but because you come with a new date every saturday that summer and become an unwitting aid in your plans to date the entire hawkins basketball team.
notes: i've been suffering with writers' block and this is my attempt at breaking out of it lol. it's short but i hope you like it ♡
"welcome to scoops ahoy, is this your first time here?"
it's the customary greeting, drilled into his head from day one of orientation when his manager shoved the butt-ugly sailor uniform in his reluctant hands. despite the woes of capitalism, steve manages to keep his voice chipper and upbeat. some days, it feels like nails grating along his esophagus. other days, it comes easy.
robin says it's because pretty girls are his weakness.
today is an easy day because you've decided to grace their nautical-themed ice cream parlor with your strawberry-tinged presence. he also catches a lingering whiff of sunscreen and his mind begins to wander, wondering if you were at the community pool—
focus, harrington.
"definitely," you giggle and the sound is so enchanting that he nearly forgets that you have a guy in tow. "can i try the u.s.s. butterscotch?"
steve moves in auto-pilot and his eyes never leaves yours as he picks up a tiny plastic spoon to dip in the tub. his easygoing grin comes naturally and he tips his head slightly to the side, ready to run his hand through his hair only to feel the stupid hat on his head bob over. it lays lopsided on his bangs.
"your hat's about to fall, man."
his gaze narrows and he catches the varsity jacket the guy on. it's burning hot outside and the tool has his jacket on. steve fights the urge to scoff at his poor attempt of impressing you. the entire exchange had begun to feel like dragging his feet across coals when your attention is besotted by the numb nuts you've brought into his work place. by the time he's handing over the ice cream cones, he's ready to clock off.
"your total's—"
you cut in before he can finish, a hand on the idiot's arm. tyler something. "you got it, right?"
the idiot blusters through a reply but nods, manages to hand over a ten. he doesn't see the change make its way into the tip jar as your grin as you tug him outside.
—
"welcome to scoops ahoy, is this your first time— hey."
the customary greeting is abandoned when you enter scoops ahoy looking like you've just visited the pool. steve tries not to notice the way your bikini straps is knotted at the nape of your neck, the subtle waft of chlorine that somehow compliments your perfume. you smell like summer and he wants a taste—
"hi." your eyes harden slightly but your smile never shifts. "it's my first time here. can i try the u.s.s. butterscotch?"
your reply feels stilted and the entire situation feels like deja vu. his gaze stays on you for an extra beat before he turns to the guy, ready to ask him if he's been here before only to see it isn't tyler you're with.
it's mike lewinski and the fucker looks so smug, steve's ready to ruin whatever you got concocting.
"ahem—" you cough to get his attention and steve feels the world unravel when you fix him with those puppy dog eyes. "the u.s.s. butterscotch, please? never tried it."
his eyes narrow in suspicion but you get the sample and the cone soon enough, licking away and looking around the place as if it was your first time. mike lewinski pays as planned and the extra change goes straight into the tip jar.
this time, you flash steve a wink as you haul your date out.
—
the third time you've come to scoops ahoy, steve's ready to corner you, maybe shake your true reasoning as to why you're parading all of hawkins high's eligible bachelors. did you know of his lingering crush on you back when he had been a student? is this your revenge for him to never acting on it?
he's about to derail his headspace into more improbable conclusions when you enter and—
his whole brain recircuits.
the first two times he's seen you, you look like you've just come from the pool. this time, you look ready to go on a date and his poor heart can't take it. pretty sundress skimming the mid of your thighs, the sweetheart cutting exposing just enough chest to tease but to highlight your figure. your makeup done with a delicate hand, bringing out your eyes and the gloss making your lips irresistible.
steve wants to dump ice cream all over your date.
speaking of your date, he looks over and he isn't surprised to see a whole new face entirely. michael barnes.
"welcome to scoops ahoy, welcome back."
michael's face falls. "you've been here before?"
to steve's utter surprise, your face never changes and you giggle, shaking your head as you hug michael's arm. "no, silly. i told you, i've never been here before... wanted you to take me for the first time. maybe sailor boy here got me confused with someone else."
the last few words are nearly gritted out, the glare sent his way nearly has him staring in shock before he lets out a fake laugh. "haha, yeah. maybe. i don't know— hey, robin! have we seen this girl before?"
robin gives you a cursory look and steve nearly misses the way her eyes gleam. "never seen her before, popeye. serve them, i'm going on my break."
"wha—" steve's complaint is promptly ignored. a second passes before he gives in and serves the both of you, bypassing the sample entirely. "trust me. something tells me you'll like it," he grumbles as he hands the cones over. like clockwork, michael pays and the change is subtly dropped into the tip jar.
once the two of you leave, steve leans against the counter, forehead against the tiles and fights the urge to scream.
— one hour later.
you come rushing in and this time, you're alone.
"welcome to—"
"save it, shitbird," robin crows as she jumps over the counter, clearing it easily, to greet you with a big grin. she takes your hands and jump up and down. "you did it! you actually did it, you sneaky little tramp!"
"hey, not my fault guys are so easy," you croon before shoving your hand into the tip jar to fan the extra bills. it's been a slow day and yet the jar's been full. steve stares at in shock before he's jumping into action.
"woah, hey! that's for both of us!" he whines but then his eyes are on you again and his initial plan of confronting you kicks in. "can someone tell me what the hell's going on?"
you hand the cash back over to robin and the slow steps you take to steve makes him feel like he's being cornered by a predator. "poor harrington... for a town as small as hawkins, you figure boys would know when they're being played," you coo. "there's a concert robin and i have been saving up for. so i might've been hustling guys for the extra cash."
steve's jaw drops. "you mean— all the extra tips? the guys coming in to pay...? that's all you."
you nod. "don't worry, big boy. you can take me out after robin and i go to our concert. i won't expect you to tip yourself either."
he's still staring in shock when you leave, robin in tow. "so... enzo's? at seven?"
"see you then, harrington."
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