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yunhoszn · 4 months

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motive

PAIRING choi san x f!reader

WORD COUNT 3.37k

GENRES kinda fluff ig﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, friends to lovers, reader is lowkey down horrendous, but san is too i guess, um tbh this is just porn with minimal plot… 😭, reader gets jealous, Tension, i can’t think of anything else for the tame aspect so, making out, exhibitionism, soft dom!san, marking-ish, scratching, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, they’re like kinda clumsy in the way that everything is a fucking joke to them, actually a lot of kissing, san’s a sweet talker, public sex, shower sex, unprotected sex (pls be safe), creampie, cutesy ending

SUMMARY it’s annoying that your gym partner constantly gets flirted with right in front of you, especially when you have a crush on said gym partner. good thing your gym partner has a crush on you, too.

MORE HELLO oh my god okay, this is my first written fic on this blog and im actually so nervous posting it… but fuck it! we ball! this wasn’t originally the first fic i was gonna post but,,, the other one is still marinating in the drafts so you get mr. choi san instead <3 ALSO THANK U SM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS HELLO. my blog is 2 weeks old that’s insanity 🤕 big thank u to the loml @kimsohn for betaing for me ilysm maya <<3 pls reblog if u enjoyed and pls moot me :( i need more atiny friends 💔

“Wow, San, you’re so strong,”

You scoff to yourself as you watch the trio of girls surround him, dainty fingers touching anywhere they can. He laughs sheepishly, shifting his seat on the weight bench. You think it’s funny, really, the fact that he was eating up their attention and acting like he was so shy about it. He was supposed to be your gym partner.

With a small grunt, you take the dumbbells in front of you and focus on your form in the mirror. You make attempt after attempt to ignore the commotion behind you, but ultimately fail. How could you not stare with all the obnoxious giggling? Even as you lunge, eyes zeroed in on the perfect 90° angle your legs make, you can still make out the group’s reflection in the mirror.

Every drag of a manicured nail along his bicep, each twirl of hair, it was pissing you off. You had no real right to be mad, though. It’s not like San was your boyfriend or anything. You were just friends, and he’d volunteered to help you out when you mentioned struggling at the gym. What started as him spotting you when needed and giving tips to help improve your workouts, turned into waiting around for him to stop flirting with the girls who flocked over to him.

Maybe you were being a bit dramatic. It’s not like this happened every time you came to the gym, but it was enough to be irritating. There was also a very high probability that it ticked you off so much because you had a crush on San yourself. Your infatuation was less superficial, however. Yes, he was an attractive man, that was one fact that couldn’t be refuted, but there was more to him than his big muscles and handsome face.

You’d known San since you met in your first year Anthropology course. This was way before he started hitting the gym and building his physique. He used to be this thin, pretty boy. Girls thought he was cute, but that was about it. No one was jumping at the chance to ask him out, or giggling at his every word. No one except for you.

He was not only cute, but he was sweet and funny and just about every good quality you could think of. You didn’t want to be one of those people who thought you were special because you knew him before his insane bodily transformation, though in a way you were. San was your good friend above anything else, and you had a fear instilled in you that that’s all he would ever be. The idea made your stomach churn.

”Do you think you could bench me?”

A sigh pushes past your lips when you see one of the girls get a little closer to him. You’re over working out at this point, ready to just call it a day and go home. What were you doing here if your partner was going to ignore you the entire time? You set the dumbbells back on their respective rack, grabbing your phone and water bottle while simultaneously turning up the volume on your headphones to drown out everything around you.

You don’t bother telling San that you’re leaving, making your way into the changing rooms to grab the rest of your things from your locker. The frown etched onto your face as you do so serves as a reminder that he would never see you in that way. Perhaps you were perpetually stuck as the girl space friend. With a giant emphasis on the space.

There’s a gentle grasp around your wrist, making you jump in surprise. You turn around with wide eyes, pushing your headphones off your ears. San stares back at you with an unreadable expression, lips slightly pursed.

”God, San, you almost gave me a heart attack,” you hold a hand to your chest, heaving up and down a little.

”I tried calling your name, but you didn’t hear me,” he shrugs, releasing your arm and shoving his hands into the pockets of his athletic shorts. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ready to leave?”

”You looked busy.” Really, you wanted to hide the jealousy and bitterness from your tone, but ultimately failed, even throwing in an unintentional scrunch of your nose. It feels like your heart dropped to your stomach, resembling a prey caught by its predator when you realize the connotation behind your words.

San smiles at you, a smug grin that’s so out of character for him, you’re a little nervous now. He takes a step forward and you back up until you reach the lockers, one of his hands coming up to rest on the surface near your head. A small chuckle breaches the sound barrier, his eyes drinking in your figure like he might never get the opportunity to do it again. “Y/N… are you jealous?”

Instinctively, you shake your head. What he doesn’t know can’t kill him. But then he’s raising an eyebrow in question and you feel like a puppy with its tail between its legs. You blink up at him, nails digging into your palms to keep your composure. “Should I be?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, that same cocky smirk on his features. He knows what he’s doing, you think to yourself. He has you cornered and he’s using it to his advantage. The hand that isn’t holding his weight comes up to your face, fingers gliding along your jaw with a feather light touch. “No, I don’t think so. The only girl who’s attention I really care about is right where I want her.”

Your breathing stutters, halting in your throat and momentarily winding you. Choi San might very well be the death of you. Especially with that darkened look in his eyes, the chocolate brown color now resembling the night sky. His thumb swipes across your lower lip, letting it resume its original place. “What do— what do you mean by that?”

He was giving you a bone, a hint that he could potentially feel the same as you, but you wanted to hear him say it. You wanted the words to leave his mouth and verbally confirm that for you. Want wasn’t even good enough. You needed it.

“There’s no way you don’t know,” San says, voice hushed. “No way that you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted you since first year.”

Something similar to a choked groan departs from you, your pulse racing in your ears, thumping beneath your chest. You’re too stunned to move, frozen in your spot in case this is all some fucked up dream. It doesn’t even occur to you that someone could walk in, doesn’t even cross your mind that you’re in too public of a setting for this conversation or where it could go.

“I don’t— I didn’t…” Your eyes attempt to stay on his, but keep flickering down to his mouth.

“It was so hard for me to play nice guy for so long,” he whispers, a pout adorning his expression. “And today? I couldn’t even stare at you shamelessly because of those damn girls. It’s so fucking annoying when they bother me while I’m trying to flirt with you. But since I’m Nice Guy San, I can’t be rude.”

“You flirt with me?” You snort, your shell shock wearing off and a goofy smile worming its way onto your face. He laughs along with you, tilting away to hide the warmth blooming on his cheeks. The tension is still present, but it’s a lot more bearable.

”I guess I’m not very good at it if you couldn’t even tell,” he glances down at his feet, the confident San from before long gone and now replaced by a bashful version. “Am I going crazy, or is this gonna go somewhere? I don’t want to misread anything and ruin what we already have. The ball is entirely in your court.”

It’s your turn to be shy, shrinking in on yourself slightly. Acknowledging that you had feelings for San was a separate can of worms. There was a big difference between him confessing to you and vice versa. You know if given the stage, you’d just start blabbering on and on about how you feel for him, and that would just be embarrassing for both of you. So instead you say, “Can I show you?”

When he nods, your fingers raise to his jaw, cupping it gently as you lean up. Your lips brush his softly, barely grazing them. His eyes flutter shut, a shiver running down his spine simply from your kiss. A pleasant buzz courses through your veins from your lips to the tips of your fingers. You’ve wanted this forever, you don’t think you could ever go back.

You pull back and San fists the fabric of your t-shirt on your waist, eyes still closed as he chases your mouth. “Fuck, Y/N, can I kiss you again?”

“Please,” you whine, enveloping your lips with his as soon as you get the green light. This time is desperate, noses bumping each other. You’re going lightheaded and dizzy, already intoxicated by him. Your back presses into the lockers behind you, arching into his chest for more.

He deepens the kiss and it’s almost too much. You’re overwhelmed by the emotions taking control of you, not at all prepared for what would come with actually being with San. It had always been a distant fantasy, something that felt so completely out of reach that you didn’t dare let yourself indulge in the notion for too long. The way his lips lock with yours, fluidly and synchronously like missing pieces of a puzzle, you think you can die happily.

“As hot as it would be to fuck you right here, I’d rather not get kicked out of this gym,” he chuckles breathlessly. “And since we’re both sweaty from working out, I think we could use a shower. Don’t you?”

You leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth, nodding frantically at his suggestion. Though you imagined your first time with San being in a bed, slow and sensual, you’d be so stupid to complain about this. Fucking in one of the gym showers, where anyone could hear you? Go big or go home.

He scopes the area to ensure the coast is clear before hauling you into one of the stalls, dragging the curtain shut. You kiss roughly between removing articles of clothing, San turning on the water while his lips make quick work of your neck. Goosebumps form on your skin when the cool water hits it, your fingers combing through his wet hair as he sucks harsh marks into your collarbone and sternum.

“You’re so gorgeous, babe,” he mutters into your skin, nipping lightly at the tops of your tits. One of his hands travels south, sliding through your folds with ease. He rubs tight circles into your clit, prodding at your entrance with his ring finger. “I need you to cum for me once before I fuck you for real, okay?”

“Mhm,” you moan quietly, hiking one of your legs around his waist. His finger pushes inside you to the knuckle and then curls. Your eyes all but roll to the back of your head, back arching off of the tiled wall. “Feels so good, San…”

“Yeah?” He smiles against your skin, trailing pecks up your neck and along your jawline. You whimper in his ear, cunt sucking in his finger greedily. He adds a second, the middle one, and applies pressure to your clit with the heel of his palm. The sight of you falling apart by his hand alone is sending blood rushing to his brain.

Your body feels hot to the touch, risking a downwards glance at where his fingers disappear into your pussy. It forces another whine out of you, your head tossing back. You tug at the strands of hair that stick to the nape of his neck, steeling yourself the only way you can in this position. San just seemed to know you, to know exactly what you needed without you having to tell him. Either he was really good at guessing, or everything he did seemed to be perfect, because you’ve never climbed to the summit this quickly before.

There’s a knot in the pit of your stomach that weaves itself tighter and tighter with each curl of his digits and each swirl of his thumb on your clit. You think you could cry from how attentive he was, from how determined he was to provide you pleasure. Your cunt contracts around his fingers, and he can sense the precipice of your orgasm, speeding up his pace.

You squirm around in his hold, allowing him to spread apart your thighs so he can brush the pads of the digits buried inside of you up against that spongy sweet spot. You’re trembling now, nearing the edge of that familiar cliff. “San, baby, I’m— god— I’m so close,”

“Let go for me, my love.” He coos into the corner of your mouth, hushing your moans. He doesn’t slow his assault, inching you further and further towards your release like it was his own personal mission. That knot in your belly begins to unravel until it slips through your grasp completely, your orgasm rocking into you like a tidal wave.

San aids you as you ride out your high, already spent before he’s even gotten the chance to be inside of you. He kisses you tenderly, pulling out his fingers with caution since you were still so sensitive. Your nails claw down his front, scratching his abdomen with a purpose. He shudders beneath you, lips curling up into another soft smile.

“What?” You ask with a giggle, mirroring his expression when he wipes water from your face.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, grin unwavering. “You just look really pretty like this.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants, Choi San.” You tease, yanking him down for a saccharine kiss. He reciprocates without hesitation, drawing his palm on your thigh so he can wrap it around his waist again.

“Me? Never…” He laughs along your mouth. “Is it working, though?”

You roll your eyes playfully, reconnecting your lips. “Are you gonna fuck me for real now?”

“What kinda question is that?” He glides the tip of his cock between your folds, shutting you up instantaneously. He’s heavy where he sits, slipping the shaft through your lower lips. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget where you are, baby.”

Before you can even let out another sound of appreciation, he’s stretching you out, cock thrusting up into your pussy without warning. You jump up a bit to hook your other leg around his hips so he’s supporting your whole weight. The new angle makes it easier for him to delve deeper in your cunt, his dick accessing places you’d never knew existed.

After he’s sure you’ve adjusted to his length, he starts to move, pistoning in and out of you much more forcefully than he did with his fingers. Your lips part for a voluminous moan, but then you hear a group of loud girls entering the shower area and San slaps a hand over your mouth. He makes no effort to stop, fucking into you without a single care for the people on the other side of the shower curtain.

“Did any of you see where San went? He disappeared so fast.”

You recognize the voice as belonging to one of the girls who was openly flirting with San while you were working out. Not even needing to see her, you can picture the exaggerated pout on her face based on her tone alone.

“He probably followed after that stupid bitch he’s always with.”

Your half lidded eyes meet San’s but he still pays no mind to them, digging his nails into your plush thighs. He pulls all the way out, just to slam his cock all the way back in. His pace leisures, but his power doesn’t, abusing your cunt with every snap of his hips.

“I think I’m gonna ask him out next time I see him. I have to stake my claim before someone else does.”

He holds back a laugh, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You drown out their conversation after that, too focused on the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls so deliciously to even worry about those idiot girls. Little did they know he was closer than they thought…

Thankfully, they leave not much longer after that, and he uncovers your mouth. You gasp for air, panting feverishly when he picks up his speed again. Your bottom lip quivers with a whine, too fucked out to conjugate words that make sense.

“You’re taking me so well, baby. Taking me like a fucking princess,” San praises. He groans, water droplets slipping along the valleys of his sculpted chest and abdomen. It drips with every roll of his hips and every thrust of his cock into your pussy. This was what he had been building up to, what he’d been dreaming of for years. “Who’s fucking you like this?”

“Mmm,” you moan, supping him in deeper, further, as cavernous as humanly possible. “You, San— fuck— y-you are.”

You arch your back, sneaking a hand in the middle of the two of you and pressing the pads of your fingers harshly on your clit when you do so. San holds you closer to him so your pelvic bones nearly clash each time he punches into you. The change in depth that he fucks you has your cunt squelching, any semblance of coherent thought escaping you.

Your vision goes blank, stars decorating the backs of your eyelids as your second orgasm blindsides you. Not a sound leaves you after it knocks into you, cumming with so much force you think you might pass out in San’s arms. When you’ve finished, you let out a guttural groan, walls fluttering around his cock.

“Gonna cum— shit— where do—“ you interrupt him with a whimper.

“Cum inside of me,” your begging tone has him spilling into you practically on command. He fills you up perfectly, a moan from deep within him reaching your ears. You both stay like that for a moment, skin sticking to the other’s due to the thin sheen of sweat coupled with the steam of the shower coating your bodies.

You can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes, one of your hands coming up to caress his back gently. He pulls out with a wince, palms resting on either side of you as he recuperates. He breathes through his nostrils, forehead glued to your shoulder. His hands rub up and down your sides soothingly.

“It’s safe to assume you’re gonna turn that girl down when she asks you out, right?” You ask suddenly, attempting to diffuse whatever’s in the air between you now. San laughs into your shoulder.

“Y/N, I’m turning down any girl who asks me out from now on,” he stands upright, biting his lip before kissing you gently. “I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate that very much.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Girlfriend?”

“Am I being too overzealous?” His nose scrunches up.

“You’re being the right amount of zealous, I think,” you brush away a strand of wet hair that falls into his eyes. “But I think your ‘girlfriend’ would like it if you actually asked her to be your girlfriend.”

Choi San is the prettiest man you’ve ever set your sights on, but somehow, he looks even prettier smiling down at you after having sex with you in a gym shower. It’s a feat that should be considered illegal, and you should receive restitution for the distress it’s caused on your heart.

“Will you be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

And well, maybe you’d deal with that later. It was kind of difficult to ignore that sparkle in his eyes, especially when it was directed at you. You nod without a second thought.

“I would love nothing more.”

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez san #ateez choi san #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san smut #san x reader #san smut #yunhoszn

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eilorow · 3 years

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Family Bond - Part 1

Tyler was a 19 year-old teenager who lived alone with his dad in their small home. His mother had passed away in an accident a few years ago, so he and his father stuck close together. They would usually play board games or look at science magazines, spending entire weekend afternoons with quality family time.

However, Tyler was not a happy boy. Standing at 5’7, and very skinny, he attracted the attention of his school’s football team, who enjoyed making his life a living nightmare. As a puny sophomore, there is nothing much he could do to prevent them. What added insult to the injury is the fact that, deep down, Tyler had always wished he could be one of them. He was longing for popularity and friendship, two things he was never able to obtain.

One day, Tyler was walking home after a rough session of bullying. The football team had pushed him inside his locker and locked him in, meaning he had to bang on the door until the janitor went and fetched a metal cutter to set him free from the lock. He was feeling even more down than usual, so when he passed by the local sports supplies store, he couldn’t help but feel sour. He kept thinking “why couldn’t that be me?” As he was about to go past it, he got an idea. He went inside and bought a football; he had never tried before, so how else would he know if he had some kind of potential? Feeling a little ashamed of his spontaneous purchase, he continued walking towards his home.

“Dad, I’m home!” Tyler yelled, while stepping through the front door. No answer; his dad must be out getting errands done. He slumped his way to his room and dumped his bag and football on the floor. He then sat on his bed and held his head in his hands. Still thinking about his day at school, he pouted at the ball next to him; it was a stupid idea to even buy it in the first place, but he might as well do something with it. He decided to take it outside and try it out; he put on a red t-shirt, black sweatpants and his white and red running shoes.

As he was walking towards the back door, his attention was suddenly driven towards the garage. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but he had a sudden urge to go there instead. In the back of the room, he saw his dad’s old workout furniture. There was a stationary bike and a bench with some free weights. Tyler had never wanted to use the weights, but felt like trying something new.

The teenager moved over to the bench, apprehensively, and dropped his football next to it. He then grabbed a couple of weights, got on his back, and started lifting. That was when he started growing. As he was bringing his arms up and down, they were getting slightly bigger, his biceps inflating until he had an easier time keeping the weights up, and his hands enlarging until he could comfortably wrap them around the dumbbells. His chest and pecs puffed up slightly as his shoulders started broadening, filling his once loose t-shirt until it fit him snugly. His back also broadened and stretched, making him grow from 5’7 to 5’9. Then, his legs bulked up slightly, tightening his sweatpants who lightened to a dark grey color.

After dropping the weights next to him, Tyler got up from the bench, not noticing his tighter clothes or increased height. As he headed towards the stationary bike, he grabbed his football from the floor. Once on the bike, he cranked the knob to make it a bit harder for himself. When he started pedaling, he went much faster than he normally would’ve. Then, as his legs were gaining speed, they started growing as well. His thighs and calves swelled bigger and bigger, until his sweatpants were tight enough to ride above his ankles, as they turned a medium shade of grey. His ass started plumping up, slightly raising his vantage point. His feet were twisting in his shoes, lengthening until they took up the whole space, hurting slightly from being constricted. His legs also stretched until he grew two extra inches, bringing him up to 5’11. Then, as if an old habit was coming back, he started throwing the ball up and catching it, while pedaling on the bike.

After stopping the bike and stepping off, the now fit young man went towards the bench again, still not noticing his changes, in spite of the fact he was slightly unbalanced due to his 4 new inches of height. However, after dropping his football next to it, he decided to do some push-ups instead. He walked a few steps over and positioned himself on the hard ground. He did one, two, three in a row, not even stopping to catch his breath in between each one, going up and down easier than ever before in his life. Suddenly, after a few more push-ups, he got a searing pain in his stomach, as if all his abs had cramped at once. He immediately dropped on the ground, writhing in pain all over, and started growing again. He felt as if he was being stretched from all over, groaning as all his muscles grew at the same time.

As the pain started to fade, Tyler felt his cock getting erect, pointing up its fully hard 4 inches. He propped his arms forwards, trying to stabilize himself into getting back up, but was distracted by the feeling of his neck thickening. He pushed out a deeper groan as his face started changing slowly, his nose and chin pushing forwards as his jaw hardened. His hair also lightened from dark brown to a lighter brown as his meager body hair receded back into his skin. He tried to get up again, only to watch his hands grow, his fingers stretching and thickening against the ground, his palms and knuckles broadening. The growth moved up to his forearms, biceps and shoulders, bulking and bulging until both sleeves ripped off of his t-shirt, leaving him in some kind of tank top exposing his muscly arms.

The exhausted and groaning Tyler finally managed to prop himself into a sitting position, only to feel a sharp pain mixed with pleasure coming from his crotch area. He looked down in bewilderment to see his dick poking out further, as it grew from 4 to 5 inches. He then felt a heaving at his chest as his shirt ripped to bloating pecs, broadening shoulders and an expanding torso. He looked down to see his abs chiseling, forming a bulky 6-pack above a muscly pelvis. He then put his buffed arms forwards again, using them to prop his legs up into a kind of push-up position, trying to stand up again. He was interrupted by the feeling of his legs growing again, looking between his arms to watch his thighs and calves bulking up into meaty legs while his ass was puffing out again, causing his pants to ride up to just under his knees, as they turned an even lighter shade of grey. He suddenly let out a moan, as he watched his dick start to grow again in girth and in length, reaching 6 inches, the pleasure causing him to buckle and fall on his knees. Feeling a sharp pain at his feet, he looked back to see them push out from the front of his shoes, until the soles eventually gave out. The destroyed shoes falling on the ground, he could see his white socks tightly stretched across his huge feet. He then felt another wave of pleasure, arching his back and moaning deeply as his dick grew girthier and longer, reaching 7 inches.

Out of breath, and finally feeling the transformation subside, he propped a leg up and stood up. He felt unsteady at first, thrown off due to him reaching 6’1 during his last growth spurt. Pre was leaking from his dick as he made his way back to the bench, wobbling slightly, only to fall forwards onto it, grabbing both sides to steady himself. As he was wincing in apprehension of the coming growth, a rich tan started spreading on his skin as his face changed again, his brows furrowing, forehead pushing forwards with his widening nose and hardening chin, his cheeks and jaw muscling up, his lips plumping up as his now blonde hair receded into his head, giving him a short buzz cut. As his neck started thickening, he pushed out a deepening groan as he started contorting. His hands grew and strengthened his grip on the bench, his arms bulked up, his torso stretched up and expanded, his back pumped up, his pecs and ass blew up, his thighs and calves bulged and stretched out, and his elongating feet arched upwards to support his new height. His pants rode up to his knees, became white and turned into some kind of stretchy material. Ultimately, he cried out a deep moan as his dick girthed up and stretched to an impressive 8 inches, making him cum on the spot.

Tyler remained there for a few seconds, his head down, a dumb, sweaty, panting, 6’3 buffed up jock in white stretchy pants that showed his muscly ass and thighs. After catching his breath for a bit and letting his dick soften up, the athlete lifted his head up, looking down below the bench, not noticing the new white and red wristbands he was wearing, and saw his football and a cap he recognized as his. He picked up the first and put the second on backwards, then leaned on the bench to cool down further. When he was done fully catching his breath, he got up and went into the bathroom to take a shower.

-----

Tyler is now a senior in college. At 21 years old, 6’3 and 240 pounds, the star player of the football team feared no intimidation or bullying. As for friends, he was the one choosing who to decline, as he was one of the most popular guys in school.

#male muscle growth #jock tf #nerd to jock

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abibliophobiaa · 11 months

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Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?

special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!

warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)

masterlist

——

What’s that saying?

Woman down.

Abort mission.

Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one.

The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times.

No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it.

Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal.

Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter.

The reason why?

Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.

The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal.

The deal. The arrangement. The rules.

But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now.

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny.

He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight.

Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be.

“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”

“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?”

Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.

“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is.

The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room.

The plan works.

For all of five minutes.

Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses.

And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does.

From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench.

Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill.

Except yours do.

And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe.

A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality.

Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee.

It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.

“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”

“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.

“Why?”

His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.”

“Steve.”

“Honey.”

“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting.

He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.

There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls.

This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway.

The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.

“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there.

“Just…tripped.”

“Just a little spill?”

At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours.

Only you don’t.

Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now.

Right…?

“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh.

Dangerous.

He’s verging on dangerous territory.

“My music was pretty loud.”

He barks out a laugh. “Was it?”

“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”

“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.

A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. ��The knee?”

Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen.

And then he’s flexing.

Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low.

Woman down.

Dead on arrival.

The jig is up.

I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”

Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips.

“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”

“You mean wonderful form.”

Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat.

Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”

“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.”

Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking.

“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.

He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man.

But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep).

Changing.

Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet.

Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart.

You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late.

He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.”

His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island.

“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”

“Like…workout together?”

His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit.

“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek.

And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city.

Steve’s foregone his shirt again.

A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating.

Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband.

Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening.

“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”

“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”

“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.”

He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him.

“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.”

He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym.

“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.”

He lowers until he’s in the proper position.

Pauses.

“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.”

He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack.

Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you.

You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks.

“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout.

I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace.

“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?”

“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”

You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck.

And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders.

Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.

“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise.

You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror.

And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar.

“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do.

The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings.

Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging.

It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging.

His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight.

It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air.

Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains.

It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom.

And you…well, you want to explore it.

Heart be damned.

——

Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements.

It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky.

However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder.

For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly.

“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”

The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day.

Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place.

It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you.

“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”

“T-thank you.”

You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own.

“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”

“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”

“Part of the agreement, right?”

It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”

“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.”

“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”

After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell.

“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down.

And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike.

But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.

The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like.

“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”

——

Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.

The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.

Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.

A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.

“Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”

“How what goes?”

“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”

“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”

Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”

“Eddie…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.”

You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world.

To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party.

And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.

He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over.

The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now.

But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings.

Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”

“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?”

Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”

You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”

“The snack pantry.” He nods.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.”

At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala.

“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same.

“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”

Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”

“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale.

The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass.

Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”

“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause.

Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back.

Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand.

Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom.

“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly.

“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”

“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”

There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.”

Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy.

——

The gala passes in a blur.

Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity.

All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it.

The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations.

Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty.

Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender.

All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives.

Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments.

Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”

“My husband watches your team.”

Simple.

Curt.

He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.

Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent.

With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight.

“And your name?”

You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl.

“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.”

The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.

Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”

And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.

Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin.

“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis.

“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head.

“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”

Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there.

“For the record—”

“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?”

You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.”

But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.

Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away.

“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve.

“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.”

There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds.

“What are you—”

“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”

Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background.

But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it.

Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what?

“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head.

“Always.”

“I hate all of this, too.”

“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”

“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”

It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here.

You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same.

“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”

And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…

“I want to,” you tell him softly.

It touches my foolish heart…

“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now.

Lovely…don’t you ever change…

There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”

Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?

He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again.

His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now.

“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you.

They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart.

Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…

But he doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.

I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it.

You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.

Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.

His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.

A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.

Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”

He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him.

And that’s more than enough.

——

if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #modern!steve harrington #fake husband!steve harrington

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sweetsbfreex · 2 years

Text

toot.

Summary: your three=year-old joins Chris in his workout

Warnings: none!

Pairings: husband/dad!chris evans x reader

The pitter-patter of tiny feet against the extortionate floor hits your ears before the sound of a soft, cherub voice.

“Mommy?” Evelyn calls out.

“I’m in here, honey.” You answer from the living-room, placing your book on your lap.

She walks through, clad in a boxy patriot baby tee, her pampers, and pink socks. Evidently, it’s a very chill day in the Evans household. Beside her, her Mickey Mouse stuffie drags along the floor.

“Hi mommy,” she waves her little hand as she comes closer.

“Hi sweet pea. Is your cartoon all finished?”

She nods a yes.

You go to respond, but she speaks first. You can tell a thought has popped into her mind with the way her eyes widen.

“Where daddy?” She looks around the room as she asks. His snuggly, strong figure is nowhere in sight, only his mug from earlier.

“He’s working out in the gym downstairs.”

“Okay!” She turns swiftly, making her way to the basement.

Evelyn makes her way to the basement, down the steps carefully, with one hand clasped around the railing at all times. She walks into the expansive room filled with everything you need to exercise. It always makes it easier for days like this, where you or Chris can workout at home. Or have his personal trainer meet him there.

“Daddy?” Evelyn calls out.

Chris is in a prone position, his body supported on his palms and toes of his shoes. His chain clinks against the mat. With his biceps bulging and face glossed with sweat; Chris doesn’t hear the sound of his name until two pink socks stand in his view.

Chris sits up and pulls his earbuds out.

“You alright, honey?”

“Hi daddy,” she waves.

“Hi honey” he smiles and chuckles.

“What are you doing?” She asks and slightly tilts her head to the side.

Chris tilts his head too, as a quip. “Working out, so I'm all healthy, and can fight all the bad guys.”

“Me too!”

“You want to be healthy too?”

“No, fight bad guys.”

Of course, Chris thinks to himself.

“C’mere my brave girl.” Chris grasps her by her sides, tickling her protruding tummy as she squirms in his hold. “We’re gonna start with pushups. So you gotta get on the floor like this..”

She listens intently, but struggles, of course. But that was what her father’s support was for. In the end, she ends up with her butt in the air, unable to get her body flat like her father. But she pushes up and down on her arm, smiling up at Chris.

“I do it!” She laughs.

“Look at you, you’re gonna beat all the bad guys’ butts.”

He pats her diaper bottom before getting into position so he can continue. They workout side-by-side. A toddler and her father, the imagery almost ridiculous in the juxtaposition between the two.

It only takes one set of ten push-ups, before he feels small hands on his back and a little grunt of her trying to lift her body onto him. So he drops his body into a plank, on his knuckles. And she plops herself on her father’s back, gleefully and giggly.

“Ready?”

“Ready!” But it’s all muddled since her filled cheek is flat against his back. Her arms hanging against the side of his body, feet laid out straight, and her Mickey Mouse stuffy is left behind on the floor.

He pushes up and down, slowly, cautious as not to disrupt her too much. But she could care less as she laughs, at some point wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Daddy strong!”

“He has to be,” he answers with a laugh. “How else am I gonna protect you and mom, hm?”

“Dodger.” She answers seriously.

“That’s true,” he rasps, his breath picking up as he continues to chat and workout.

Some time passes before he gets close to the ground again. “Ride over.” He jokes.

His toddler slides off his back to stand next to him

“Are you ready for the next part?” He asks.

“Yeah!” She claps her hands together and jumps in excitement.

Chris walks over to the rack of dumbbells. He picks up the set of fifty and one five pound dumbbells. He sets the smallest in front of her and holds his in each hand.

“We’re just gonna lift some weights.”

Chris knows there’s no way his three-year-old would be able to lift the dumbbell, but she’s as stubborn as a mule and wants to be involved in every shape and form of her parents’ lives. While Chris does his bicep curls, he cherishes the way his little one stares at the dumbbell for a little too long, then peeks up at him in question.

“You got it,” he encourages, a lopsided smile on his lips.

So she goes for it.

She uses both her small hands to grasp the handle. She tries with all her little might, a small squeak past her lips represents her efforts…

Toot.

“Oops.” She stands to her full height, an innocent look masking her face accompanied by an embarrassed grin.

“You toot?” Chris asks in hysterics.

“Wasn’t me,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “Dodger!”

Chris can’t help but lean back as laughter takes over his body. She’s precious, he thinks to himself. Taking in her distraught face, puffed out cheeks, and furrowed eyebrows.

“Not me, daddy!”

“Okay, okay,” he drops the dumbbells to pick up her upset figure. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed,” he dotes and kisses her cheek.

It’s three in the afternoon before you know it. Chris always finishes his workout by three, so by this time you go to the gym with a strawberry coconut protein milkshake— and a strawberry shake in your other hand, since presumably Eve had joined her father.

You walk into the sound of a familiar, deep laugh which brings an immediate smile to your face. And heat on your cheeks at the sight of a post-workout Chris.

“Hi,” You greet the two as you walk in.

“Look who’s here,” Chris turns towards you and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Hi,” his eyes brighten at the sight of you and he pulls you in for a chaste kiss.

“Hi, mommy,” Evelyn recovers quickly, a bright smile on her face as she waves.

“Hi, honey.” You kiss her cheek. “Did you have fun working out with dad?”

“Yes.”

You hold up both cups (one smaller and decorated with Bluey). Chris grabs Eve’s cup and hands it to her before grabbing his. He takes a sip, always looking forward to his wife’s smoothies. They’re always the perfect consistency and garnished with whatever fruit she has used.

With your hand free, it naturally falls to the nape of Chris’ neck. Your fingers running through his soft locks.

Eve is quick to take a sip, a milk mustache left behind her in haste.

“What do we say?” Chris reminds her.

“Thanks, mommy!”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Of course. Anything for my babies,” you squish their cheeks in jest.

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans reader insert #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans blurb #chris evans drabble #dad chris evans #chris evans x you #chris evans fic

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octuscle · 25 days

Note

Hey, so I ran into a bit of a problem with my stupid car. I drove a pretty old model since I didn't have the money to afford a new one (I'm still training to be a doctor). But it finally broke down and now I need to get it fixed. The guy at the auto repair place told me I could borrow one of their models for the next few days for an "extra cost". I need a car to get to work so I was happy to accept and they gave me one of their old lifted trucks. But now I'm starting to wonder what exactly this extra cost is and why I'm suddenly so interested in cars and auto repair. I have a few days left with this truck before I need to return it so any advice would help.

Well, the first extra cost is the scorn and ridicule you get in college. This truck is really embarrassing. A gas guzzling behemoth that you need three parking spaces for. And you literally have to climb into the car. For someone for whom the walk from the parking lot to the lecture hall is already sport, this is of course a horror. You park at the end of the parking lot so that nobody can see you. But on the second day, pictures of you getting out of your car go viral on campus. It was a shitty idea to take the car.

Sitting alone in the canteen, you watch the video of yourself again… Yeah, it looks really silly, you'd be making fun of the lanky guy in that huge car yourself. Even though you'll be rid of this beast in a few days, thank God, and when you can finally drive your Prius again, you should do something for your body. It's not by chance that they say "Mens sana in corpore sano"… You're looking for a gym where no one from your faculty is guaranteed to be studying. A little outside. For men only. No courses, only iron. I'm sure none of your Crossfit or Pilates friends go there. All you need is for someone to post pictures of you using dumbbells online. You join online and arrange a trial session for tonight. You don't know yet whether this is a good idea.

You roll into the parking lot. A parking lot full of pickup trucks. A few lifted trucks too. But yours stands out. Yours is really huge. Somehow you're proud of it. You jump out of the cab and grab your gym bag from the passenger footwell. You've never been here before. But somehow you feel at home. The guy at reception greets you with a fist bump. "Hey, welcome to the dudes-only gym! I'm Chuck. You gotta be Lance, right? Sweet wheels you're rockin' there.". You reply that your name is actually "Lanny", but Chuck just grins and says that a guy like you with a car like that is hardly called Lanny.

Chuck shows you the gym, the changing rooms, the showers and, after you have changed into your workout clothes, takes you to the training area. A bunch of musclemen are sweating on the weights, grunting. The air is thick with sweat and testosterone. Chuck scrutinizes you. "Well, you're no newbie to pumping iron, bro. But a few more pounds of mass would really beef you up. Let me walk you through some of my top moves." This is actually the first time you've ever pumped iron… But you don't contradict me. And follow Chuck's instructions. You train together with Chuck for the first hour. After that, he has to go back to reception. It's only 8:00 pm. The gym is just starting to fill up. The guys here are not men of big words. A nod of the head. That's usually the whole conversation. Apart from the grunt you let out when you finish the last repetition of a sentence with your last ounce of strength, you don't say a word for the next few hours.

Chuck comes onto the training area at 00:30. You are about to get your biceps on fire. "Big boy, it's time, I want to call it a day." He stares at the tent in your pants. The thing is, if you give it your all on the dumbbells, you'll get a hard-on. The two of you are alone on the training area. You finish your last set. You check the result with a double bicep pose in front of the mirror. You pull down your pants. And you and Chuck call it a day.

The next day you park your baby right in front of the university entrance. It's still early, but you want to be back at the gym early. The early bird catches the worm, as they say at home with mom and dad on the farm.

Dann all this medicine shit is terribly tiring and boring. You almost fall asleep in the first lecture. In the cafeteria, you try to talk to a sane person about chiseling iron or tuning engines. But all the idiots here can talk about is medicine and patients and stuff like that. By 4 p.m. you can't take it anymore. You need some normal people around you now. You swap your doctor's coat for a sleeveless checked flannel shirt. You meet one of your professors in the hallway. He asks you if you are one of the janitors. He has a problem with his car. Finally, a sensible task. You were hoping he had a problem with his engine. You would have liked to have had a look at it. He drives a BMW 540, a cool car. But unfortunately, he just changed the language in his on-board computer from English to German. A little something for you. He thanks you and slips you five dollars. Pathetic nerds!

Chuck greets you with a fist bump. Rituals are rituals. He thinks his ass is still sore from yesterday. You should take it easy on him today. You grin, inspect his tight ass and say it's a disgrace. But then he’d probably have a sore throat tomorrow. You laugh. And you head off to the training area. Too bad about Chuck. But there'll be another ass to fill today. There are lots of tight asses here. But first you work on your own. Leg day!

The next day, park your baby right outside the entrance. It's still early, but you want to be back at the gym early. The early bird catches the worm, as they say at home with mom and dad on the farm. In the workshop, they call you the truck doc. Because you can fix any problem. And because you once studied medicine. That was a long time ago. It was an idea you had in your youth. But you're not a guy who works with his head. You work with your calloused hands. And with your heart. And your heart beats for mighty engines and mighty wheels!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #ai image #redneck tf

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haetkeeper · 2 years

Text

cardio

lee haechan x female reader < 2.6k

summary — haechan doesn’t really frequent the gym often, but he decides to go with johnny just this once. but because you were there, it’s safe to say that he’ll probably be back again.

tags — fem!reader x haechan / hc is a little bit perverted for this ( but so is reader ) / reader + hc are kind of into each other from the getgo / hc is actually kind of nice in this fic????

smut — unprotected sex ( don’t be stupid ), shower sex, fingering, oral both m!&f! receiving, praising f! receiving , slapping, cream pie

authors note — kinda rushed this one, did it within the span of one day which is so fast for me lol, not proof read sorry for mistakes

haechan had no interest in going to the gym with johnny. every time he does, he finds himself too exhausted to continue, meanwhile johnny isn't even halfway through his workout. he'd much rather stay home and play video games until the sun comes up, but tonight was different.

he and johnny had been playing overwatch for hours, but once it was gym time, he was left all alone. you can only play so many games by yourself, before boredom overcomes you. so what does he do? he lets johnny convince him to tag along.

the streets were quiet, and gym quieter, only the occasional lonely soul to be seen driving by or exiting the building. no wonder johnny enjoys coming at this hour, considering the privacy it welcomes.

they both put their headphones in, johnny immediately making use of a weight machine, and haechan starting on a floor yoga mat in order to stretch.

time passes, half an hour now, and haechan feels that his legs will turn to jelly if he spends one more minute on the treadmill machine.

he wipes at his forehead with a hand towel, and the gym door rattles, gaining his attention into its direction, no one but you entering through it.

he's immediately encapsulated by your appearance, focusing on the ponytail that swings on your neck, and the sports bra that sits over your torso, while athletic shorts hug your thighs.

you have headphones in of your own, and you march right over to a mat to stretch, paying no mind to either of the men who share the space with you.

haechan is curious about you, intrigued even. he quickly puts two and two together, believing that maybe, you're paying no mind to them, because you come here often enough to have seen johnny before.

he walks over to johnny, where he's lifting dumbbells the size of haechans head, and taps on his shoulder to release him from the hold of his music.

johnny raises an eyebrow and removes his airpod.

"hey, do you know her?" haechan immediately asks, discretely referencing to you over his shoulder with his thumb.

peeking around haechans figure, johnny takes you in.

"know her? no, but she's always here when I am, must have the same workout schedule." he states, and haechan responds with nothing but an 'ahh' in understanding.

"why?" johnny smiles, although he already knows the answer.

you've now moved from the yoga mat to the squat bar, loading up the poles with weight.

haechan sighs, watching as you squat with the bar over your shoulders, bending down with your ass out behind you. "she's pretty, that's all." haechan gulps, sitting down into a workout bench next to where johnny is currently stationed.

"go say hi." johnny chuckles, pointing his chin into your direction. and before haechan can detest to the dare, johnny returns his airpod to his ear, once again shutting the boy out.

there's no way haechan could approach you, not at this hour, nor at this location. he's heard the many horror stories of men who won't leave women alone at the gym, and he knows how fearful you may become if he strays too closely.

he decides against it all, pushing you to the back of his mind and returning to the workout he came here for. he stays where he is, pumping his biceps with hand weights, although they're only half the size of johnny's dumbbells.

tuning you out as best as he can, with the burning pain in his arms, and the blasting music in his ears, he desperately ignores the way your body moves. you use a leg machine now, and haechan has to shut his eyes; in order to blind himself to the way your thigh muscles quiver and shake with fatigue.

the current song to blast in his ears comes to an end, and through the silent pause between it and the next one, haechan can hear you— oh my god, grunting through the pain. a simple throaty groan escaping your throat with each thrust of the machine, it sounds so pretty, he thinks.

he can't do this anymore, his arms weak and body hot; he needs a cold shower. so he snatches a towel from his lightly packed gym bag and heads for the washroom.

as you lay back against the leather machine, he walks near you, heavy breaths puffing in his chest, and a drop of sweat coming down his temple; he's the most gorgeous boy you've ever seen.

in the split second that he passes by, you catch his gaze, and before you can muster a friendly smile, he quickly glances away. you frown, your ego slightly injured by the way this cute boy must not be as intrigued by your appearance as you are of his.

but his heart beats so heavily, impossibly more affected by you now, a plethora of butterflies fluttering in his stomach as proof of it.

he strips quickly as soon as his sandals hit the tile floor, letting the freezing cold water wash away his white hot thoughts of you. he thanks god that the throbbing sensations had not yet drifted to his pants, because the tent that could've pitched itself there would have been unmistakable.

it's several minutes later until he finally feels cooled off, and begins to lather away his gym sweat with soap. finally, he's composed, hoping now that you've finished your workout and will be gone when he exits the shower. but as he steps into the unisex sink and water-fountain common area, there you are.

you're refilling a personal water bottle at the fountain, and glance over to him. his hair is damp and cheeks flushed to a rosy pink color, and the friendly smile you suppressed earlier now finds home in your expression.

"evening." you say softly, reverting your eyes back down to the fountain. "evening." he responds with a bow, before turning to look at himself in the mirror next to you.

"do you come to this gym often?" you ask, hoping the cute boy doesn't find you too inquisitive for his taste. "sometimes, yeah." he says, glancing to you in the mirror reflection.

"that's weird, I feel like I'd remember you." you mumble. there's a slight teasing manner in your tone, and he must notice it too, because it has him spinning to face you, taking it as a green light. "i'm haechan."

you smirk widely, continuing the game "and I, have some cardio to get back to." you turn away, but he's quick to jump in front of you.

his face his just inches away from your own, "cardio? I can help with that." and his voice is deeper and huskier now than you'd heard it before.

you back away from him, heart racing from his mere proximity, "you can help?" you ask, stepping backwards toward the female shower room.

"I promise," he's taking baby steps after you, gaze dark and focused on you, "I'm sure it'll have you sore tomorrow." he smirks, and your panties are surely soaked now.

he's followed you into the room, and you turn the shower knob, slowly steaming up the room—if it wasn't getting there already. "and what if I'm not sore tomorrow?" you ask, kicking off your sneakers and playing with the waistband of your shorts.

he throws his shirt across the room, revealing a toned stomach and happy trail down to his pelvis. "then you can call me, and we'll try something a little more," he pauses for dramatic effect, raising an eyebrow with his words, "high intensity."

you drop to your knees, and haechans head spins when you're grasping at the material of his shorts. "I say no, but let's see if you can change my mind." you say in a tone as sexy and dirty as you can muster, so he pulls his shorts down to kick them off, and your jaw goes slack at the mere size of the bulge in his boxers.

he's teasing you now, letting you rub his thighs and dig your fingernails into the skin as he slowly reveals the tip of his cock. you're drooling as the red tip peeks over the fabric, and it just—keeps—going as he whips it out, so long and thick.

as soon as his boxers are fully removed, you immediately lick a fat stripe up his shaft, following a bulging and meandering vein up to his angry tip. he hisses at the contact, gripping one hand to your jaw, and the other around the base of your ponytail.

you lick his hole, collecting the beads of precum that drip there, before sucking just the tip into your lips. he moans so vocally and prettily, you have to squeeze your thighs together in order to keep yourself sane.

he guides you down his length, your mouth so full of his thick sex, and it's quickly hitting the back of your throat. you bob your head just like that, from tip to base, letting your throat take the assault at his mercy.

you fondle his balls, soft and maintained pubic hair between your fingertips, "fuck you're so good at this." he groans along to the sensation, and you moan in return.

he twitches in your mouth as you vocalize over his cock, and you pull off of him quickly. a long and wet strand of your spit and his precum connects your lip to his tip as you back away from it, so stiff and standing tall.

cursing again, haechan uses the hand that grips your ponytail to drag you to your feet. his lips smash against yours, not a care in the world for the taste of himself on your tongue. he's gripping your left breast over the material of your sports bra, and you pump his hard cock from where you stand.

it's so messy and wet, you're moaning into each other's mouths, and he fumbles with the sports bra over your chest, eager to get you just as unclothed as he is.

you back into the shower stream, now getting soaked with water without priority for your wet clothes. you remove the bra, and haechan admires what's been revealed underneath, immediately attacking your right nipple with kisses. he's sucking and nipping at the bud, kneading so hard at the left breast with fervor, he's surely to bruise it.

you cry out at the pleasure, wrapping both hands into his hair and tugging at the roots. growing impatient now, you remove your shorts and panties in one swift movement, tossing them away, and gripping haechan by the neck.

he peers up at you from your chest, a mischievous glint in his eye before descending lower. he spreads you open, lifting one of your thighs and instructing you to rest it on his shoulder.

with a fat lick, he takes you in from bottom to top, entrance to clit, getting a good first taste of you. his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he basks in the noise of your pornstar-esque moans.

"so fucking sweet." he sucks at your sex, wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub and tonguing at the entrance, shaking his head back and forth for your pleasure. you cry out at the sensation, eyes welling with tears as the warm water washes over your body.

he prods at your hole with a singular middle finger, before sliding it in effortlessly through your slick walls, and it doesn't take long until you're writhing in pleasure and he's pumping his digit in and out of you at high intensity.

it's washing over you all at once, and he's persistent with his licks, flicking his tongue over your clit at high speed, "don't stop!" you're chanting over and over again when you come undone over his chin.

he barely gives you a moment to catch your breath, cornering you against the shower walls, sucking on his own finger once, and sticking it into your mouth a second. your pussy is dripping with slick, all pink and abused, when he's teasing your entrance with his tip.

he pushes in, stretching your walls with a white hot burning sensation, "do you need a drink of water?" he asks sincerely, half of his length prodding into you, yet his round eyes are wide and peering into your own. "I hear you should stay hydrated during cardio." his genuine expression slowly turning devilish as he speaks.

"shut up and fuck me." you choke out, and he chuckles in response, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, and lifting your right leg around his waist.

he swings his hips back and forth, pistoning himself in and out of you at a pleasurable pace. while mouthing at your neck, "god, you feel so good." he's hissing and groaning as you clench your walls around him, and you feel nothing but euphoric when he toys at your clit with his free hand.

you're so close to cumming for a second time, when he pulls out of you suddenly, tugging you off of the wall and spinning your body around in order to hit it from the back. you sob at the loss of his fat member inside of you, whining for him to put it back in, and he's grinning from ear to ear.

he digs his fingernails into your hips, whilst you place both your hands over the shower walls for stability. he lines himself up before slamming back into your gummy walls, the both of you feeling impossibly better to each other than before.

harder and harder, he rocks into you, one hand leaving your hip in pursuit of your breast. he tugs at the nipple from behind, and you’re left defenseless with both hands on the walls.

"i'm so close," haechan notifies you, and you're fucking yourself off of the shower tiles in order to meet his thrusts, "can I fill you up?" he asks, and the question pushes you over the edge.

“god yes, fuck yes please!” you’re nearly screaming in pleasure as your convulsing pussy squeezes him harshly, and he growls at the feeling.

his thrusts are staggering, whole body shaking in ecstasy as he shoots white ropes of cum into you. he’s grasping at both cheeks of your ass, and lands a smack to the right one.

you’re both panting through the shower steam, and he fucks into you so slowly now, still milking his cock of every last drop, his cum still somehow pouring out of his tip and filling you up.

you can barely move when he finally pulls out, so empty and muscles so spent, you fear that you won’t be able to walk. haechans touch feels gentle now, ghosting your hip in order to turn you back towards him. “are you okay?” he asks, his round doe eyes that were once so dark and lustful, now a puppy dog brown.

you smile at him, pressing a kiss to his rosy cheek, “call you tomorrow?” and his expression suddenly mimics yours, a toothy grin playing at his lips.

when haechan enters his shared bedroom with johnny, the man wears nothing but a white bathrobe, and jumps up to greet him. “dude! where have you been?” his tone is half-sarcastic, half-serious.

haechan sets his gym bag onto the wooden floor, and jumps into bed, “nowhere.” he responds, also half-sarcastic, half-serious.

“did you talk to that girl?” johnny asks, and haechan pulls his phone out of his pocket in order to look disinterested. “yeah, she’s a real sweetheart.”

but johnny doesn’t let him get off that easily, “well I peeked into the mens showers to tell you I was leaving, but you weren’t there, so where’d you go?”

haechan turns over in bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin and smirking to himself. “just went out for some extra cardio, don’t worry about it.”

#whew #haechan smut #haechan x reader #haechan au #haechan x you #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck x you #donghyuck au #nct dream smut #nct127 smut #lee donghyuck smut

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