#fluff and fun

[chiqelatasblog]

When a Sorcerer Turns Into a Cat…

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Catsung art.

-> Another art for the last scene.

-> Lovely art by @inienil

Pairing : Shang Tsung x Reader

Tropes : Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Confessions, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Kind of Secret Identity?

Summary : When Shang Tsung crafted a potion for invisibility, he was unprepared for the peculiar result—he unexpectedly transformed into a cat. Struggling to navigate the world on four paws, he sought refuge, and that’s precisely when you entered the scene.

As the only person Shang Tsung trusted, he reached out to you, desperately in need of help. Oblivious to his true identity, you unwittingly revealed some truths about your feelings as you welcomed the unexpected guest into your home.

Author’s Note: I had so much fun when I was writing this. I always thought Shang Tsung behave like a sassy cat and seeing memes about it, this fic came to life. Hope you guys like it too, happy reading! .

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He should never have made that potion.

About a day ago, he received the recipe for the invisibility potion from a small, dimly lit shop nestled in a mysterious corner of the city. The shop, selling peculiar items of unknown origin, offered him the recipe at an unbelievably low price, almost as if fate had handed him a golden ticket.

Despite a nagging suspicion that something wasn’t quite right, he was low on funds and had little else to trade Invisibility, a coveted skill he had long yearned to master, promised an escape from the ongoing misery of his life.

Eagerly, he returned to his humble trailer, carefully following the recipe’s instructions. The resulting potion, a dark purple concoction with a nauseating odor, made him gag even before it touched his lips. Disregarding the unpleasantness, he gulped it down in one go. Initially, only the repulsive taste assaulted his senses, but as seconds morphed into minutes, and his body stubbornly remained visible, frustration and realization set in – he had been duped.

Uttering a string of curses, he nervously set the bottle on the table, and then, suddenly, the world around him seemed to expand. No, he corrected himself; it was he who was shrinking. Panic seized him as his body crumbled at an alarming rate. Clothes, once fitting, now engulfed him like a collapsing tent. His limbs betrayed him, refusing to respond as he grappled with the unfolding chaos.

When he finally managed to disentangle himself from the heap of clothes, he was sent tumbling down the steps of his trailer, only to land unceremoniously in a puddle a short distance away.

Drenched from head to toe, he couldn’t hold back a frustrated ‘‘Fuck!’’ as he flung his wet hair away. However, amidst his exclamation, an unexpected sound reached his ears – a distinct ‘’Meow!’’

Shang Tsung’s world ground to a halt. ‘’Meow?’’ he echoed, utterly perplexed.

Gazing at his reflection in the puddle, he hoped desperately that it was all a dream. The creature staring back at him couldn’t be real. Two pairs of pointed ears, long black whiskers, a tiny triangular black nose, and again two large black eyes confronted him. He blinked, as if trying to verify his vision, and recoiled when his reflection blinked back in perfect synchronization.

The cat-like scream that followed, much higher-pitched than any human scream, nearly caused him to faint. He had transformed into a cat!

Fluffy paws had replaced his hands and feet, and whiskers, resembling delicate antennas, twitched involuntarily. The wet black fur failed to offer warmth, and a tail resembling a cleaning brush remained the only dry spot on his body.

Surveying his surroundings helplessly, Shang Tsung grappled with the overwhelming sensations. Colors, scents, and sounds bombarded his heightened senses. The moist and soft ground beneath his paws carried distinct smells – from the lush grass and flower pollen to the foul odor of nearby mice – making him nauseous and dizzy in this new feline reality.

He resolved to hide in his trailer until the effects of the potion had hopefully worn off. Perhaps time was the only remedy to this bizarre transformation.

With this decision, as he tried to maneuver his entirely alien limbs, he stumbled back into the puddle. Emitting a frustrated meow, he lifted his now even wetter body on trembling legs and took a determined step forward.

Coordinating his brain to move all four legs proved to be the most challenging task he had ever faced. Despite managing a few steps, it wasn’t long before he found himself face down on the ground. Climbing the stairs was out of the question when he could barely walk.

Yet, the thought of enduring the night defenseless in the open urged him to explore other options. Despite the presence of sharp claws at his disposal, he remained clueless about how to wield them effectively.

Suddenly, thunder rumbled ominously from the gathering dark clouds, intensifying his struggle. The loud noise sent shivers through his wet fur, and he fluffed up instinctively. What was he going to do now?

Abandoning the idea of entering his trailer due to his incapacitated state, and unable to climb the steps, he considered hiding beneath it. However, this provided little protection against larger predators.

As he weighed his limited options, another thunderclap sounded nearby, and rain approached faster than expected. Then, a solution flashed in his mind.

You.

In his present state of misery, pride might have prevented him from seeking you out, but the importance of trust is a precious rarity that outweighed his ego. The silver lining lay in the fact that, cloaked in this form, his identity would remain undetected by you.

He knew the way to your house by heart. If he could only manage to use his damn paws correctly, he estimated reaching your house in half an hour, perhaps even before the rain caught up with him.

With this determination, Shang wasted no time in taking action. His steps were still uneven and shaky, but time wasn’t a luxury he could afford to care about that.

The noise of the crowd from the market ahead throbbed in his ears, and an onslaught of diverse smells reached his nose, aggravating the nausea in his stomach. Being a cat was proving to be a challenging experience, perhaps explaining why they were often grumpy.

Navigating through the people, Shang tried his best not to entangle himself in anyone’s feet. However, his coordination mishaps led to a loss of balance, and a boy stepping on his tail resulted in a piercing yowl. Turning towards the offender, Shang unleashed a tirade of furious growls, attempting to express his outrage in the only way available.

‘’Are you blind, you damned brat! You almost trampled me!’’

Every word translated to meows, yet the intensity of his anger was universally understood. The woman, presumably the child’s mother, shielded her son from Shang and attempted to shoo him away with her hand, further bruising his wounded dignity.

Frustrated, Shang roared, ‘‘Who do you think you’re shooing, woman? Mother and son, I will kill you both and take your souls as a souvenir!’’—all conveyed in blood-curling meows.

Amidst the chaotic market, a male voice behind him suggested, ‘‘Ma’am, stand back; I think it has rabies.’’

Shang glared at the new person who had insulted him.

‘’Who do you think you’re calling rabid, you fucker—Oh, shit.’’

When he saw the bucket in the man’s hand that he was about to pour on him, he instantly put an end to his words-meows and hurried away from there as far as his legs would allow. He did not know how long he had been wandering around the market; the interior of the place he had always been wandering around had suddenly turned into a maze.

Everything was too loud, causing him to be constantly startled and feel the need to crawl into a corner with fear. The noise was overwhelming, and he had never felt so nervous; it was challenging not to be crushed underfoot when people, oblivious to his tiny presence, walked past him like giants. Additionally, the smells were more than mere scents—they were a symphony of overpowering fragrances that constantly distracted his attention.

After enduring a relentless pursuit by several dogs, their barks resonating through the narrow alleys, two people attempted to offer Shang affection. Amidst the chaos, he responded by scratching one person’s face, biting the other’s hand, and clumsily falling to the ground for the thirtieth time. Eventually, he managed to navigate the maze-like streets and arrive in front of your house.

Standing at the door of your one-story, quite small, stone house, he didn’t bother to stand up. Instead, he lay down on the ground for a prolonged moment.

Tired, hungry, and thirsty, he also felt the grime on his fur from the rain that continued to pour. It was already dark, and despite all his efforts, he hadn’t managed to escape the relentless downpour. While waiting in front of the door, drenched and shivering, he started screaming at the top of his lungs when he couldn’t hear a sound indicating that you were inside.

Just as people didn’t trust him easily, he himself never trusted others easily. In fact, he never trusted. You were the only one who had an exception in this matter. He had a bond with you that he didn’t share with anyone; it was so special and precious to him that Shang was afraid of doing something wrong and pushing you away.

You possessed a kind and empathetic nature, extending compassion even to someone like him who made money by deceiving people. This filled him with the need to protect, as well as a genuine concern for your selflessness.

While you were certainly not naive, your kind heart and tolerant attitude toward everyone could one day lead you to unexpected hurt. People often saw kindness as weakness, and Shang knew it well. Kindness was nothing more than a tool for many to gain the upper hand and exploit others.

Shang, despite his deceptive nature, taught you how to draw boundaries with small word games, preserving your gentle nature without resorting to brute force. Although he was aware that this approach contradicted his general nature, he found himself irresistibly drawn to you, seizing every opportunity to be near you.

He had no idea when he fell in love with you; perhaps it was the first time he saw you, or maybe it was when a few of the customers he tricked later came to kick his ass, and you helped him take care of his wounds after they hurt him badly. Or maybe it was that sexy look on your face when you didn’t refrain from answering back to him about something for the first time.

The options were endless, but one thing he knew was that he had never felt such intense attraction and closeness to anyone before. He was almost sure that you felt the same way, but he hesitated to take a step further, not wanting to risk this relationship he couldn’t name between you.

Finally, Shang stopped shouting when footsteps, making it clear that you had heard his screams, were heard from behind the door.

‘‘What’s going on?’’

When you opened the door and looked with curious eyes to see the source of the sound, Shang instantly tried to get your attention, mustering a heart-wrenching meow to pull at your heartstrings.

‘‘Oh, were you the cause of all this screaming?’’

By opening the door a little further, as if to show that there was no threat, you got down on your knees and stretched out your hand to him, inviting him closer.

“Hello, little one, come closer.’’

Shang came straight to you without a second thought, rubbing his head on your hands. He began to purr, a sound that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. You put on a sweet smile at the sounds he made, Shang’s eyes closing with happiness as your gentle hands massaged behind his ears.

‘‘You poor thing, you’re soaked through.’’ After stroking his head a little more, you carefully grasped him on both sides with your hands. ‘’I’m going to hold you in my arms, please don’t attack me, okay?’’

Shang responded with louder purrs, trying to make himself appear as harmless and innocent as possible. You were the only person in this world he would not harm, a fact that could not change now or later. The warmth of your embrace provided solace to Shang, now a rain-soaked cat, as you lifted him into your arms. His damp fur clung to your clothes, but you didn’t seem to mind.

As you cradled him in your lap, Shang tried not to be too impressed by the softness of your breasts. But right now, even if he was a cat, he was a man, and being closer to the woman he loved than ever before might have affected him more than he thought.

‘‘That’s it, come here, my little friend. Let’s wash you first; you smell terrible. We’ll have dinner together later, what do you think? Is that okay?’’

While holding him with one hand and stroking him under the chin with the other hand, Shang’s eyes closed with happiness once again. He felt safe, comfortable, and peaceful. All that dizzying confusion of sounds, smells, and images had finally calmed down a little.

Your scent was playing a big role in him calming down. It was sweet, reminiscent of vanilla and a hint of lavender, a fragrance that wrapped around him like a comforting embrace.

When he caught your scent once more, just to be certain, his mouth watered. It was delicious, with an undercurrent of delightful notes—raisins and chocolate dough, the unmistakable aroma of his all-time favorite dessert: moon cakes, a treat you had lovingly prepared to smell just like this.

When his stomach rumbled loudly enough to embarrass him, you giggled.

“Oh my, I will put an end to your hunger at once, little one. Don’t worry; you’re in good hands.’’

When you arrived at the bathroom, after placing him in a basin and approaching to pour hot water on him, Shang’s whole body reflexively tensed up, and his coat puffed out.

If I get wet one more fucking time I-

‘‘I’ll keep this as quick as possible.’’ You said, in your usual kind voice, and put a little kiss on his head. The words that were waiting on the tip of Shang’s tongue to be said evaporated and disappeared into the air. Before he had a chance to shake off his astonishment, you began to wash his body with hot water.

Although he didn’t want to admit it, he liked the bath. The warm water cascading over him felt like a gentle rain, washing away the grime and tension from his fur. His body, stiff from the nightmare-filled moments he spent outside, had almost reached the consistency of falling asleep as it slowly relaxed between your fingers, which felt like magic.

‘‘Good boy, look how well behaved you are. You must be someone’s cat; you don’t look feral at all.’’ You said, mumbling to yourself. Your compliment had caused another unexpected reaction in Shang. While his heart began to beat faster than before, he had no doubt that his cheeks would have flushed noticeably if he had been human.

When you started delicately drying his body with a towel, Shang seized the opportunity to shake off the water, and in a playful display, a small scream escaped your lips as you attempted to shield yourself from the scattered water drops.

With your face and hair now adorned with droplets, Shang, taking full advantage of his feline guise, delicately licked the drops on your cheek. Unbeknownst to you, he reveled in this mischievous act.

Against his movement, you let out a giggle that made his heart jump. After drying his semi-damp body, you picked him up again and headed into the kitchen. Shang took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smells wafting around, trying to ignore the rumbling of his stomach.

You had just made the moon cakes he had predicted, and with the smoke rising from them, it was obvious they had just come out of the stone oven. Shang couldn’t decide whether your lap or the buns lined up like treasure on the counter were more attractive.

‘‘Stop right here, and I’ll see what I can give you.’’

As you put him down and started preparing food by wandering around the kitchen, Shang looked at the counter with longing eyes. How he would have liked to jump in there and grab one of the cakes. Deciding to try his luck, he leaned his paws on the counter, attempting to keep his balance on both legs. Although he couldn’t see the counter, he could have reached out and grabbed one of the cakes with his paw. He just needed to reach a little more—

‘‘Oh, hold on there, you naughty kitty.’’

You grabbed him by the waist, pulled him away from the counter, and placed him on the table.

‘’There’s nothing there for you.”

“Don’t think so; you can’t protect those buns from me.”

Interpreting his mewing as a sign of hunger, you once again stroked the top of his head with understanding eyes.

“Here you go buddy, enjoy your meal.”

Leaving the food you had prepared for him in front of him, you sat down with your own dinner. Shang inspected the food, smelling the bowl. When he caught a whiff of chicken broth and stale bread crumbs, he looked up, giving you side eyes.

He couldn’t believe you were offering him stale bread.

“What?” As you carefully chewed a morsel, your eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Are you giving me the side eye?”

Shang pushed the food with one paw, turning his head to the side.

“What’s with that attitude?” you said with a laugh. “Aren’t you hungry? You should be able to smell the chicken inside.”

“And the stale bread you put in,” Shang hissed. Approaching you confidently, he eyed the food on your plate. With beautifully baked chicken pieces, sautéed vegetables, and rice, your plate looked quite delicious. Shang swallowed, feeling his mouth water. You didn’t stop him when he buried his head in your plate, about to devour one of the chickens.

“Alright, eat up. It’s obvious you need it more than me.”

As you gently stroked his head, Shang couldn’t determine if he was truly starving, attributing the chicken’s apparent deliciousness to his intense hunger. With purrs that exceeded his small body, he devoured the meal, finding it to be the most delicious chicken he had ever eaten.

When you prepared a new plate for yourself and sat down, a peaceful silence descended between the two of you. After a while, while taking a small sip from your wine glass, you continued to gently stroke the top of Shang’s head with one hand.

This, he thought to himself, must be heaven.

‘’You’re tame enough to make me think you’re somebody’s pet. If you haven’t run away from home and you’ve been dumped, I have two words to say to that person.’’ You said in a harsh voice.

As Shang licked the leftover pieces of chicken smeared on the side of his mouth, he started purring louder when he heard the protective timbre in your voice. Giggling at his reaction, you stroked his cheek with your dainty fingers.

‘’We need to give you a name, hmm.’’ After taking another sip of your wine, you patted your chin with one hand and looked at him with thoughtful eyes. Shang thought about how breathtaking you looked at that moment.

Most of the lights in your house were turned off, it was dim except for a few candles that you placed around and the heat and light emitted by a small fireplace burning a little further away.

The places where the soft yellow light touched your skin painted you a sweet golden color, while your cheeks were slightly pinkened because of the wine you were drinking, and your lips were tinged with a dark color of red. As the thin tufts of hair that had escaped from the bun that you had scattered from the top covered your face, he felt an intense desire to kiss you at that moment, it suddenly became even more important for him than breathing.

You looked so sweet, vulnerable, and beautiful that he cursed himself once again for turning into a cat. But on the other hand, if he hadn’t turned, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to see you like this.

“Actually, I know someone who loves cats, I have no doubt that he will adore you.” You said and put another smile on your face from behind the glass touched your lips. His heart warmed at the sight of you. “He tries not to show it, but I know how much he loves animals. It’s easier for him to make friends compared to people; I can’t blame him for thinking like that. Everyone has their reasons.’’

When your fingers moved again to stroke the soft fur, Shang brought his head closer to you. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help wondering, were you talking about him?

‘‘I can tell that his hair is the same color as your coat, and even your eyes are exactly the same color. Should I also call you Shang? Or Shang the Junior?‘’ You continued laughing at your own words, while Shang responded by looking at you with side eyes. His gaze must be amusing to you, making you burst into a louder laugh.

‘‘I’ve no doubt he’ll look just as sassy as you are looking at me right now! By the elder gods, that was good. But I think it would be more appropriate if I thought of another name… how about Night? It’s a name that suits you quite well.’’

After stroking his head for the last time, you collected the plates on the table in one hand and stood up with the wine glass you were about to finish. You put the plates in the tap, cut one of the moon cakes left on the counter across from you in half, and put it in your mouth.

“Better than I thought, Shang will love these.” You said it in a hushed voice, difficult to be heard. The expression on your face was much more peaceful and gentle now. Knowing that he was the reason behind it, filled Shang with pride. When he tried to attract attention to himself by meowing across the table, you approached him with half a moon cake.

“I know it’s usually harmful for you to eat this, but I guess a little bite once is fine, right? Here you go.” When you divided the one in your hand once more, reduced it even more, and handed it to him, Shang happily bit the piece you handed him into his mouth. The taste was absolutely exquisite—a feast of flavors that melted in his mouth before he even chewed.

‘‘You seem to like it too.’’

‘‘I love it!’’ Shang said, meowing loudly. When he held on to your arm with his front paws to ask for more, you had no choice but to give him the other piece as well. After Shang filled the last place left in his small stomach with cake, you took him on your lap and went into the living room.

You lay down on the peltries and furs that were laid out a little distance from the fireplace and pulled one of the cushions on the floor to have a pillow under your head. Shang instantly took advantage of the opportunity, curled up on your arm and rested his head on your neck.

The smell of you, the heat from the fireplace, and the crackling rising from the burning wood… all filled him with peace, as well as his relaxing body literally turned to jelly.

As the rain outside continued its symphony, Shang, now affectionately named Night, nestled comfortably in your gentle embrace. The soft illumination of candles played with the shadows, creating a tranquil ambiance that matched the warmth spreading within him.

Your musings about other potential names—Whiskers or Shadow—accompanied by the calming melody of the rain, painted an intimate scene. The soothing patter of raindrops on the window seemed to harmonize with the contented purrs emanating from Shang, reinforcing the newfound sense of belonging.

‘‘It’s a very different feeling to want to see someone all the time, not to want to leave their side,’’ You said some time later. Your tone was quiet and somehow fragile. While one hand stroked the soft, black fur, Shang stubbornly tried to resist sleeping, despite his tired body. He wanted to hear the words that would come out of your mouth.

‘‘I feel that I really know him, I accepted him into my heart a long time ago with all his wrongs and truths.’’

Even though there was technically no one else in the house but you, your voice was getting quiet, as if you were afraid someone would hear it. When the other hand covered your eyes, the smile that left your lips this time had nothing to do with the previous ones. It was bitter and insecure.

‘’I like him. Oh gods, I like him more than I thought.’’

A tear trickled down your cheek from the eyes you had hidden from him. Shang instantly rose up and licked the tear that was trickling down your cheek, as if to calm you down. How he would like to be a human being right now and reciprocate you. While his heart was pounding with happiness and excitement because of your confession, at the same time, your lack of self-confidence and the anxiety that you were feeding from the inside made him feel bad.

You finally kissed the top of his head, rewarding him for trying to comfort you as much as he could with a little chuckle.

‘’Thank you, Night. Your presence was unexpected, but thank you for choosing my door.’’ You said, in a voice as soft and sincere as honey. ‘‘I wish there was some way I could know what was going through Shang’s mind; it would be nice to know if he feels the same way towards me, wouldn’t it?’’

Shang just rubbed his head against yours, trying to give you a positive answer. He wanted this damn situation to end as soon as possible; he was about to go insane.

After a while, you declared, ‘’It’s been a long day,’ concluding the topic. The flickering flames in the fireplace cast a warm glow, highlighting the subtle lines of exhaustion on your face. Shifting towards the fireplace, you enveloped him in your arms, pulling Shang close as if he was a cherished plush toy. Shang nestled into the warmth, leaning against you with no space between.

He seemed content in this embrace, willing to endure it a while longer.

BONUS:

As birds chirped outside and sunlight gradually invaded the room, you slowly awoke. The wooden floor beneath you creaked as you shifted, a small moan escaping your lips along with the lingering ache in your hips.

Every inch of you seemed to protest the unconventional night’s rest. Yet, when a hand, still warm from sleep, squeezed your waist, all discomfort faded. Turning, a gasp caught in your throat.

There lay Shang Tsung, peacefully asleep, a sight you hadn’t anticipated. Surprised, you didn’t scream, perhaps even forgetting to breathe. Studying his features, you reached out, brushing your fingers through his tousled black hair. The once-cynical expression softened in slumber, and his pale pink lips were slightly parted, giving him a tranquil and almost boyish appearance, adorned with freckles on cheeks and nose.

Time seemed to halt, your heart reacting as it always did in his presence. To affirm it wasn’t a dream, your fingers grazed the soft strands of his hair, gently pulling them away from his face.

“This is real,” you uttered in a single breath. When Shang heard your voice, he parted his long, black eyelashes. His sleepy gaze found you directly, and a small smile settled on his face, leaving your heart in disarray.

“Of course, it’s real,” said Shang, his voice thicker than usual due to sleep. “It’s too early to wake up yet, so close your eyes. Let’s get some more sleep.”

Your brain was preoccupied with grasping the truth of how he got into your house and why he was sprawled over you with his arms wrapped around you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked with surprise.

“You let me in,” he replied simply.

“Me?” As you tried to figure out how, your eyebrows furrowed. The pieces snapped together in your mind as if lightning had flashed inside your head. “Was it you last night?!” you exclaimed, the half-scream in your voice. Shang’s eyes had already closed, but the wicked smile that revealed he hadn’t fallen asleep yet lingered on his face.

“How did you manage to turn into a cat?”

“Dear, it’s a pretty long story. Let me get some sleep first.”

As Shang snuggled closer, placing his chin on the top of your head, your eyes trailed down to his bare, muscular chest, and a shrill scream escaped your lips.

“You’re naked!”

“I guess so, I was a cat.”

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping next to me like this and still doing it,” you stammered, your face almost on fire.

“Well, I am quite comfortable,” Shang quipped without opening his eyes. He groped and took one of the pelts behind him, using it to cover himself.

“There, is that all right now?’’ A mischievous glint appeared in Shang’s eyes as he teased, “Well, if you’re done interrogating me, maybe I can finally enjoy some beauty sleep.”

You were so confused that you couldn’t answer him. Your poor brain, still struggling to comprehend what had just happened, was about to reach its breaking point. When you remembered the conversation you had with yourself last night, your face got so hot that you thought you were going to pass out and faint on the spot.

‘’When you were a cat… Do you remember what I said?”

Shang realized what you were talking about and chuckled in a deep voice.

“Everything.”

“Everything?” you said, squealing. Attempting to wriggle free from his grasp, you tried to hide from him, but Shang’s strong hands didn’t release their grip on your waist for a moment. On the contrary, a shaky breath escaped you when he pulled you closer, his hand gently stroking your hair.

“I like you too, (y/n),” Shang said, then kissed your forehead as if sealing his words. “I’ve been waiting for this moment so long,” he took a deep breath, burying his face into your hair. “While I’m holding you in my arms like this now, I don’t want to let go. Let’s stay like this a little longer.”

Since you couldn’t trust your voice, you contented yourself with nodding in approval. Although you couldn’t see Shang’s expression, there was no doubt he wasn’t smiling.

Your heart filled with warmth and happiness, sensations you’d never experienced before. You had a premonition that Shang had feelings for you, but you chose silence, fearing your confession might affect the bond between you.

This mutual confession made you feel light as a bird, filling you with pure happiness that made you wiggle like a little girl.

Before you could help yourself, now allowed to do something you’d wanted for a very long time, you straightened up on your elbows and planted a little kiss on one of Shang’s round cheeks.

Shang slightly opened his eyes, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth. Then, as his hand found its place in the back of your neck, guiding you closer, you willingly followed. When your lips met, it was like two magnets drawn together, stealing every ounce of breath from your lungs

Shang’s kiss was as soft as the morning itself, an impetuosity showing that all the time belonged to them. While responding to his kiss, a detail caught your attention, and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Shang… You’re purring.”

Shang’s closed eyes widened.

“Fuck. There must be some side effects left from the damn potion.”

“I’ve always wanted to have a big cat,” you teased. Shang’s eyes narrowed playfully.

“I’m not like the cats you know, sweetie,” he said, brushing your hair with the back of his hand. Another smile left your lips, and you reached out to kiss him again.

“I have no doubt of it. Just don’t scratch the furniture, okay?”

Shang mockingly gasped, placing a hand over his chest.

“I’m offended. My claws are reserved for far more exciting endeavors, darling.”

[wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart]

A game of giving Obi-Wan flowers

This is me having fun writing micro fics giving lots of flowers to Obi-Wan and playing around with flower language.

(disclosure: I have no/little idea what I'm doing, so don't judge me too harshly if I make mistakes)

1.

Anakin looked around the vast and luscious room, his eyes wide with wonder as the sound of trickling and rushing water permeated everything. Astonishment and awe was evident in his gaze as it sought Obi-Wan's.

“It's okay, dear one,” Obi-Wan assured, the endearment escaping him unexpectedly, “go on, explore, I'll wait for you here.” He pointed towards a clearing where a small pond formed the center.

After a last hesitant glance and an assuring nod, Anakin set off, his entire existence glowing with eager curiosity.

Chuckling to himself, Obi-Wan sat down, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes expecting that it would be quite some time before his Padawan returned to him, and he intended to use the time to meditate and collect his thoughts, Force knew he needed it. He allowed the peace and everlasting sound of water to wash over him as he slowed the rhythm of his breathing. Opening himself to the Force, he was mindful of the still tenuous thread that bound him to Anakin, not that the boy was difficult to sense, his presence like a beacon even here.

Obi-Wan released a deep breath, sinking effortlessly into the flow of the Force.

Some time later, he returned to the present, sensing Anakin's close proximity.

He blinked his eyes open, a smile spreading across his lips when he saw Anakin holding a large flower towards him, the blue-purple color of the hydrangea stunning.

“I asked if it was okay,” were the first words out of his slightly blushing Padawan's mouth. “I didn't know if it was okay to pick the flowers, but Master Thana said it was okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled and nodded.

“Thank you. I appreciate this.”

Obi-Wan gazed at the flower still smiling. Anakin couldn't know it but he had unknowingly continued the somewhat unusual tradition of Obi-Wan receiving flowers from his closest friends. It was something that had started as a joke when he was a youngling and his fellow younglings had discovered his interest in flowers. Over the years, others had participated in what had evolved into a sort of game where he had to guess who sent him the flowers based on their different meanings or other hints.

Anakin sent him a bright smile, and Obi-Wan felt the new bond between them expand. The former slave possessed an unexpectedly generous nature Obi-Wan hoped he would be able to maintain.

“Come, Padawan, let us meditate together.”

He motioned for Anakin to join him in the lush grass, pleased when he obediently followed his instructions, sensing that it probably wouldn't always be this easy.

*

You can also find it here

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 3 - Confessions

Synopsis: Azriel is nervous about something important that he has to tell Gwyn.

Word Count: 1.4k

Read on Ao3

This is it. This is the day. Azriel is going to confess. Finally!

He has gone through a hundred different scenarios in his head and rehearsed a thousand different speeches. All of this in the hope for the best possible ending to this conversation. He isn’t even sure whether he is prepared enough for it. Anything can go wrong. But he can do it. Right?

Some may well think that it is no big deal. But for Azriel, and since it is Gwyn, it is the biggest of deals. He has felt the blood draining from his face the moment the realisation has hit him. Since then, a sense of dread has filled him every time he has thought of telling her. They have spent a lot of time together in the past week but the fear of her reaction has taken over every single time he had thought about admitting it to her.

Even now, he is still nervous despite being, as Gwyn likes to say, older than some of the rocks that have been used to build Velaris, and having been through much worse experiences in his life. But this is Gwyn. And he won’t be able to take it if he somehow ruins the precious thing that is their relationship. A few months aren’t nearly enough. He wants to spend years with his Gwyn. Centuries during which he intends to cherish her like she deserves and build a life with her.

“You know I care about you, right?” he mumbles to himself while pacing the length of his room. “No. You know that I care a lot about you, right?”

And on and on he goes until three knocks sound at the door of his bedroom and it opens without waiting for his response.

“Hi,” Gwyn’s sweet greeting soothes him as she walks in.

Azriel prays that her good mood will not be completely ruined by the upcoming conversation. He waits until she kisses his cheek – something that she always does when they meet, even if they are simply crossing paths and going about their business two seconds later – before he takes her hands and guides her to the bed. She sits down on the edge of the mattress with no question except for the silent one visible in her eyes and furrowed brows.

“I have something important to tell you,” he starts, squeezing her hand and kneeling down in front of her.

This is it. There is no going back now that he has her full attention. He has been holding onto this for long enough anyway. She deserves to know the truth.

“Is something wrong, Az?”

Azriel brings her hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles before placing their joined hands back on her lap.

“Gwyn.”

He takes a deep breath in. And on his exhale, he looks at her in the eyes and finally lets the truth come out.

“I lost your favourite book.”

Silence follows. Azriel’s eyes scan her face in search of a reaction so that he can know whether he should start running now or if he will have the time to give her an explanation and an apology. Gwyn’s face remains blank though her body has gone quite rigid since he uttered his last word. These could truly be his last words if she suddenly pulls out a dagger.

“Which one?”

A little relief washes over him at the calmness in her tone. It is short-lived however and disappears as soon as he notices her reaction at his following response.

“The one you lent me last week.”

Her eyes widen. Azriel feels her grip tightening on his hands.

“The first edition one?”

Azriel nods while internally debating if he should launch into the explanation and apology part now or if interrupting her interrogation will upset her more. So many questions and none leaving him feeling less guilty and nervous.

“The one that I tracked across Prythian for weeks?”

He nods again.

“And that by some miracle I managed to get the author to sign?”

He gulps. And nods again.

“HOW COULD YOU?” she shouts and harshly pulls her hands away as she stands up.

“I’m sorry, Gwyn,” he pleads. “I took it with me on my last mission so I could read it. It’s only when I got back home and looked for it that I realised my mistake.”

Gwyn crosses her arms and looks down at him with all the anger a female who has lost her most treasured possession can possess. It probably won’t take long before the dagger comes out.

“How could you be so careless? This isn’t meant to go promenading with. You know how much this means to me.”

Azriel abandons all the pretty speeches and decides to just go for the truth. He grabs Gwyn’s hand again and looks up at her from where he still kneels at her feet.

“It was extremely stupid of me. I’m so sorry. I’m already doing everything I can to find you another one.”

Gwyn stomps her foot down like a petulant child. “Yes. It was stupid of you,” she grits out.

She tries to withdraw her hand again but this time he holds on. She tugs harder, trying to turn away from him. Azriel holds onto her hand firmly even as she turns her back to him.

“Please don’t stay mad at me. I will make it up to you. I love you so much and I can’t stand when you’re cross with me.”

Gwyn suddenly stops trying to free her hand from his and slowly turns towards him.

“You... What?”

“I will make it up to you,” he promises.

He will do anything to avoid that Gwyn keeps her distance from him. He knows that she will be even more stubborn about it when he is the one at fault. The last time they had an argument, Gwyn, the petty minx, has done everything she could to be in his vicinity but not actually interact with him. It has been torture watching her act as though he wasn’t there at all.

“No. Not that. You said...”

“What? Don’t stay mad at me?”

“No, you idiot,” she says with an exasperated eye roll. “You...love me?”

Azriel frowns at her in confusion. “Of course I love you,” he answers matter-of-factly.

He watches as her expression morphs from shock after the anger to what he can only describes as wonder. A smile starts to brighten her face again and Azriel swears that tears start to line her ocean eyes. It only causes his confusion to grow.

“Wha- why are you smiling? Are you not mad anymore? Is it because I lo–”

He stops. And realises that it is the very first time that this confession has come out of his mouth.

“Oh!”

“Oh?”

Gwyn’s smile turns into a smirk while Azriel tries to process what he had just said. And why he didn’t say it sooner. Hasn’t he known for a while that he loves her? Hasn’t he been thinking earlier about how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her? Of course he loves her. And it has taken a stupid mistake for his mind to come to terms with what his heart already knows.

“I love you,” he whispers more to himself, as though testing the words on his tongue.

“I love you,” he says, louder, when he looks up at her.

Gwyn’s laughter prompts his own. At the first tear that rolls down her blushing cheek, Azriel stands on his feet, cups her face and kisses her as though he has been deprived of her lips for a long time. He pulls away after a while and lifts her up to twirl her around, barely avoiding that they crash into any furniture around the room.

“I love you too,” she says in between laughs after he finally allows her feet to touch the ground again. “And I forgive you for now.”

Azriel looks down at the one he is certain is the love of his life. She is it. Though right now he has no idea what he is being forgiven for.

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 2/14 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clone Force 99 | Bad Batch & Other Star Wars Characters (Star Wars) Characters: CT-9904 | Crosshair, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, CT-9901 | Hunter, CT-9902 | Tech, CT-9903 | Wrecker, Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Batcher the Lurca Hound (Star Wars), Pabu Island Residents (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Clone Trooper Characters (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Summer of Bad Batch 2024, summerofbadbatch2024, Fan Events and Prompts, Pabu Island (Star Wars), family and friends, Fun under the Sun, Snippets and Scenes, Ficlets, family time and bonding, Fun and Fluff, Humour Series: Part 1 of A Summer of Bad Batch 2024 Summary:

One story, many parts: Each chapter containing individual ficlets in the life and times of the Bad Batch and their friends and one warm summer spent on the peaceful island of Pabu.

Tales as per inspired by the corresponding weekly prompts (see below).

Part of Summer of Bad Batch 2024 collection and series

@summer-of-bad-batch​

[dettygirl]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64981570

Happy birthday, Betty Suarez!

Check out my new Ugly Betty fanfiction story - "Happily Ever After, Redefined."

With some extra love from her closest friends on her birthday, Betty finds her own version of 'happily ever after', and it's much better than in the fairy-tales.

[annaofthenorthernlights]

Leaf angel

for @flufftober 2024 - day 27 - afternoon stroll

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast (Disney animation 1991) Pairing: Beast & Belle Words: 664 Rated: G

"Come on, Beast. Let's go outside!" Belle cheered over their breakfast. "Hm, it's all so wet." He grumbled as he lifted his bowl of porridge to his snout. "But the sun is out, and everything is shimmering in a golden light. I love it so much." She loved that. If Belle loved it, he would too. Probably. Her eyes danced with excitement. It was infectious. Why was that?

Read on AO3

[thevikingwoman]

Inspired by this wolquestion and discord discussion thx friends for rotting my brain

Fandom: FFXIV | Words: 431 | Read on Ao3

Emmanellain de Fortemps & Meryta Khatin | Somewhere between 3.3 and 4.0 | friendship, fluff Rating: G. bad romance writing, hint at fantasy racism, friends being silly, maybe the WoL has time to relax once, past Emmanellain/Meryta

The Perils of Ishgard Publishing Houses

Emmanellain de Fortemps is sprawled on the couch, feet dangling over the armrest, empty wine bottle at the floor beside him, full glass beside it. His attention is focused on the book in his hands, the cover boldly reading Taming the Warrior - a High House Novel.

Across from him, Meryta leans back among the pillows on the oversized armchair. A half empty wine glass sits on the table in front of her.

"Delightful," Emmanellain grins, and continues to read aloud: "Meryta sighs, her leaf-green skin a contrast against Atoriel’s red doublet, and looks up at him, her orbs brimming with unshed tears. Her sweet pillowy bosoms heave... "

Emmanellain looks up at her, waggling his eyebrows. "Pillowy indeed. How fondly I remember —"

Meryta groans, and tosses a pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the face.

"Anyway.  She leans against Atoriel’s broad and solid chest and says: Oh Atoriel, I love you so much. We must be together. I will give up adventuring for you and only fight for the glory of house Fortemps! Atoriel kisses her brow, and looks at the horizon with his cruel blue eyes – cruel alright got that right – his chiseled jaw is as sharp as his words.”

"I am afraid it would not work my darling. My Father would not allow it, someone so foreign as the wife of his heir. I love you darling, but it cannot be."

Emmanellain scoffs and stops reading.

“Ha! At this point I'm sure Father will be happy if my dear brother married a nice boy and adopted some brume rats as heirs. Not that it will ever happen; who’d want to spend that much time with him.”

“Someone likes him, Emmanellain. At least the person who wrote the book seems to think him very handsome.” Meryta grins and amends, “And I think you’re doing your brother a disservice. He’s trying to help your father the best he can.”

Emmanellain sits up and grabs his wine glass. He sticks out his chin, pouting.

“Meryta, pretty girl. Do you think my jaw is chiseled?”

“Emmanellain. You're handsome enough on your own. Stop it.”

He drinks down half his wine, and flops back into the couch.

“Alright - let me skip to the good part. There should be a chapter where the Lord Speaker and my dear brother spars half naked. It's very dramatic, according to the reviewers.”

“Reviewers? How many people are reading this? Spare me! Tell me of you latest Ul’dah ball instead.”

Meryta throws a pillow over her face, and Emmanellain laughs and starts flipping the pages.

[humanjarvis]

tantrum

synopsis: what makes sylus snap?

tags: fluff, sylus is tired and grumpy bc he misses you, he obliterates his phone with his evol, sunshine reader probably, cartoonish luke and kieran appearance (sorry boys) word count: 842

a/n: after that magnum opus line i really wanted to see sylus throw a tantrum and i kept mulling over what would actually make him do that because i can’t see him doing anything much worse than this. i think he’d find Actual grown man tantrums lame. anyway i don’t like this and will maybe delete? nvm but i had the writing urge so i sacrificed this concept from my wips. 

When you arrived at the base after your three-week business trip, your long-awaited homecoming was…tame, to say the least. You’d been expecting a teasing “How nice of you to join us, sweetie,” or a cocky yet vulnerable “I was beginning to think you’d run away.” But once you’d stepped through the front door, Sylus had barely said a word. A soft “Welcome home” and a kiss on the forehead, and before you knew it, you were cradled in his arms as he carried you to his office.

He’d sat you both down in his leather armchair, making you face him in a straddle. His tired eyes had searched yours, and a moment later, he’d buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I missed you,” you’d murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. With a quiet groan, he’d tightened his grip on your hips and nuzzled into you even deeper.

That’d been 15 minutes ago. Basking in the comfortable silence, you’d traded kisses all the while—yours on his hair, his on your neck. 

But suddenly, a low buzzing noise cuts your reunion short: his phone is ringing.

When he makes no effort to answer, still breathing heavily in your embrace, you twist in his arms and accept the call before he can protest. 

A familiar voice crackles over the line. “Boss?” Kieran asks. “Next meeting’s in 10. The one about those stolen shipments from Linkon—we’ve been waiting to hear back for months. You coming?”

Sylus doesn’t answer.

“…Boss?” Kieran repeats. “Boss, you there? You oka—”

Red and black mist shreds the phone into pieces. 

“Sylus!” you yelp, jumping in his lap. “What’d you do that for? He’ll probably be worried. And how will I text you now?”

You pout up at him, and as you study his chronically calm expression, you see something unusual: Sylus’s eye twitches. Just for a millisecond, only moving a millimeter, but you catch it.

“I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow. As for the meeting, I’ll stay here,” he says lightly, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face.

“But Kieran said it was important,” you reply in confusion. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you feeling sick?” you frown, starting to lift off of him.

“No,” comes his too-quick reply. “It’s just…the twins can go in my stead,” he decides simply, moving to lean into you again.

But before he can move an inch, a rhythmic sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

“Come in!” you chirp happily, too excited to see the faces you’d missed the last few weeks to notice Sylus stiffening under you.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing two masked figures. 

“Hi Luke, hi Kieran!” you beam, and they wave back at you eagerly.

“Long time no see,” Kieran begins. “Boss, did you lose signal or something? I tried calling you about the meeting, but I think it disconnected. Anyway, we’re about to head down and—”

“Cancel it,” a frustrated growl rings out.

You all freeze.

Somehow, you’d been too wrapped up in your excitement to feel Sylus's body shaking—no, quaking—beneath you.

“W-what? But they’re already here!” Luke sputters.

“Cancel. It.” Sylus grits out the words as if holding back a snarl, and the power in his voice leaves no room for argument. 

“O…kay,” the boys say in unison, and as they back away slowly, you shoot them a sympathetic look.

Red tendrils wrench the door shut behind them, and when you’re alone once more, it’s like the man under you deflates.

His head returns to the crevice of your neck with a soft but unceremonious thud, and his deep exhales and burning hot skin tell you he’s trying to calm himself down. 

Uncertain and a little amazed—you’d never seen him lose his composure—you give his cheek a gentle poke. “Sylus,” you whisper. Nothing. 

“Psst. Sylus,” you try again, and there’s some force behind your poke this time. With bated breath, you watch as your finger sinks into the space under his cheekbone, sighing in relief when the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

Lifting his head up to make eye contact, you smile at him softly. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” he rumbles, and as his crimson gaze softens, the remaining annoyance dissolves from his face.

“Are you upset?” you prod gently. 

A brazen scoff precedes the dry chuckles that fall from his lips. “And what makes you say that, kitten?”

A squint and a slight tilt of your head is all it takes. 

“I haven’t had you to myself in a while,” he begins cautiously. “Three weeks is…a long time. The longest we’ve been apart. And then the moment I have you in my arms, well…” he trails off, gesturing to the shards of phone on the table. “I just want to enjoy you right now. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, I see,” you coo, cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your way of saying you missed me too?” you quirk a brow.

“Yes,” he responds through squished cheeks, honest and unabashed. “Now, won’t you stay with me like this for a little longer?”

[questions-about-blorbos]

This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo or fandom related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote!

[wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart]

A game of giving Obi-Wan flowers

12.

As he had come to anticipate, he found a small bouquet of white tulips placed in a simple vase next to the chest where he kept his master's lightsaber and the long auburn braid that he himself had had to cut off. The memory of it still sends a wave of painful longing through him even now so many years later.

Over the years the sight of these flowers had become expected on this day and for a long time they had been an enigma to him, because, although many mourned the loss with him, he was puzzled by their symbolism of regret and a desire for forgiveness. Who could want forgiveness from him?

But it wasn't just the flowers he received.

Every year he found other gifts that over time had led him to a conclusion about who the sender could possibly be.

Small artifacts linked to the Force or pieces of ancient writings about the early Order were among them. Codes to the archive that had led him to writings and reflections on teaching of the Force leaning towards the gray Jedi, and even forgotten Sith texts that he had read with trepidation but which had given him some surprising insights.

Other gifts had been more luxurious, such as rare costly teas, exotic fruit or food items. Once it had been a chain of precious metal that later had allowed him and Anakin to escape a group of smugglers when they had used it as payment.

Several times he had received priceless flimsi books, on history or diplomacy, all with notes written in a stylish and elegant handwriting that he was convinced he had seen before.

After the war had broken out, he had received a com unit so encrypted that not even Anakin had managed to break it, nor had Ahsoka with her exceptional slicing skills been able to find its origin. But the messages he received had always led them safely out of what would otherwise have been fatal traps set by the Separatists.

It was an ongoing mystery that he believed he had a possible answer to, and if he was right, he had a highly unexpected ally.

*

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[stevebabey]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

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

How hard could it be?

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

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

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

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

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

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

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

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

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

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

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

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

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

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You've got a deal, mister."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

It would take an hour, tops.

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

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

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

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

"And just what are you trying to say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Different?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could do that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Think this'll do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Brandon."

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

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

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

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

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

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," You say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

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

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

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

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

STEP TWO: THE ACT

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We got together the 20th—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks." He murmurs.

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

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

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

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

"They definitely did."

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

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

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

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

"Steve."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A new voice interrupts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he does the same to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

"Touchy?" He provides.

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

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

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

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

How different would it really be?

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

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

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

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

Just more. More of this.

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

"Hm?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

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

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

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

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

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

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve met him thrice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he really think all those things about you?

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

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

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

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

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s like- wait, no—”

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

“Is he paying you?”

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

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

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

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

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

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

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

And… oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

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

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

“I'm sorry, okay?"

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

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

"You sound mad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's desperation in his final plea.

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

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

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

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

"And... now?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you... want that?"

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

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

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

And there it is; the true revelation.

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

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

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

How the hell did you miss it?

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

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

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

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

But you want to try.

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

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

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

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

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

You're excited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

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

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Osha Aniseya/Jecki Lon Characters: Osha Aniseya, Jecki Lon Additional Tags: osheckiweek2024, osheckiweek, The Date, Fluff and Fun, Kisses and Cuddles, Padawans, AU Series: Part 4 of Osha/Jecki (osheckiweek 2024), Part 9 of Tales of the Acolyte Summary:

They were finally going out on a long awaited date. 
A day long happening with activities scheduled from dawn till dusk and beyond.

Part of Osha/Jecki osheckiweek 2024 // Tales of the Acolyte series

@oshecki-week​

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

@mousedetective

For the Stephen Strange x Female Reader prompt: how about a cute fluffy little thingie where the question comes up whether Cloakie ever needs to get into the washing machine?

I hope you find this cute & fluffy, Nonny. Thank you for the prompt, it feels good to stretch my writing muscles, and I'm hoping it helps get me in the writing groove again!

pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader, established relationship

characters: Stephen Strange, Reader/Y/N (also a practitioner of the Mystic Arts), Cloak of Levitation

rating: general audience, fluff with undertones of mutual longing

word count: 1.5K

You had left Stephen to sleep in this morning. As happy as you were to have him safely home at last (and having proved both your relief and delight to him three times in all, throughout the very delicious, velvet dark of night) you had awakened to watch him sleeping peacefully (his battle wounds already on the mend from the healing spells you’d cast when he finally stumbled through the portal from Crete), and had resolved to make him take some much deserved downtime for at least a day or two.

And so, you had silently slipped from his bed, loathe to leave his warmth behind, but fully intent upon spoiling him rotten in even the most mundane ways. Sorcerer Supreme he may be and a heroic, selfless servant to humanity, but he was still a flesh and blood man, and he deserved every ounce of the love and attention you planned to lavish upon him. You soon had his favorite, non-magical, breakfast foods prepared and left warming in the oven for once he was awake.

Next, you had gathered his discarded, slightly bloodied but heavily battle-singed tunic and leggings from the bathroom floor (where they’d fallen when you’d peeled them off of him the night before) for a thorough laundering, and once they were clean and dry, you worked the restoration spell yourself, instilling each magical stitch with protective charms and all the love that bloomed anew within your heart each day you were blessed enough to call yourself his woman. Though Cloak was in obvious need of a good washing too, it had flitted off the very moment that Stephen had let himself sag into your arms, and you hadn’t seen a flash of it since. You decided to track it down later, determined to relieve its Master of that chore as well.

Tiptoeing into his bed chamber, you found that Stephen had flipped onto his stomach, his arms tucked beneath his pillow and the sheet nestled around his waist—so that you went all soft inside, biting your lip against a longing sigh at the sight of his warm, inviting flesh. His broad shoulders that carried so many thankless responsibilities. His perfectly toned expanse of back, marked here and there with battle scars, which ever drew your loving attention, as though you would give him the sweetest, most gentle gratitude, which an unknowing world owed him for the protection he provided it. Aye me, you thought; the lover’s sigh of Juliet often came to mind when you looked upon his beautiful form, amazed in knowing that his heart belonged to you as much as yours did to him.

“I can feel you watching me,” he mumbled into his pillow, his sleepy voice so rich and deep that a thrill ran through you and settled in your solar plexus. You had to tighten your grip on the laundry basket, defying the sudden urge to jump his bones.

“I wasn’t sure if you were awake yet,” you tried to reason, blushing as much from the fib as from the spark of desire he had conjured without even trying. “I didn’t want to disturb you, darling…”

Stephen gave a sinful sounding groan, and with some effort and a wince or two, turned onto his back. Obviously, he was still feeling the effects of his struggle to cast a trio of immature Lamias back into the Shadow dimension from whence they had escaped; likely he needed another rubdown with the charmed salve you had treated his muscles with last night. “I was hoping you had every intention of disturbing me, honey,” he replied, smirking wickedly and patting the mattress beside him.

“Stephen,” you tutted, setting the basket with his clean robes on the foot of the bed. “You needed your rest, and…well…” you shrugged, looking away from the warmth of his gaze, trying to maintain a semblance of decorum, “…so I decided to…putter…”

His smirk grew into his trademark, shit-eating grin. “Putter?” he chuckled, “Pray tell, my saucy sorceress, how exactly did you putter?”

When he looked at you this way, it got harder and harder to concentrate on whatever task was at hand, let alone expressing yourself cogently. You knew for a fact that Stephen enjoyed how flustered you got when he turned on the charm, and how easily you turned to putty in his hands. You squared your shoulders, trying your best to keep your cool. “I’ve got breakfast keeping warm in the oven, and…I took care of your laundry…”

“You didn’t need to do that, honey,” he replied softly, sitting up and patting the bed again, looking touched by that modest tender of your affection. “I don’t expect you to take care of me that way, sweetheart.” Stephen reached his hand out to you, the heat of the moment quietly banking, as a sort of wonder filled his gentle blue eyes.

Of course, that was enough for you to take a seat and slip your hand into his. “I know you don’t, but…but I like taking care of you, darling. It makes me happy. And since I can’t be with you when you go into those…dangerous situations…” Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them back, remaining as resolute as ever to keep him from seeing how much you worried about him when you couldn’t be there to protect him even a little. “Since I can’t help you fight your battles, the least I can do is make your life…comfortable, and…well, worry free.”

He raised your hand to kiss your knuckles. “You already make coming home the best part of any day, honey. Which is the surest motivation for me to give whatever enemy I’ve gotta face, a swift and mighty kick in the ass.”

Though you rolled your eyes, you allowed yourself to take his loving assertion to heart, then leaned in to brush your lips to his, lingering as you asked, “So, um…you ready for some brunch?”

“Not until you’ve given me a proper good morning kiss,” he husked, and cupped your jawline in his free hand. At his prompting, you parted your lips, allowing Stephen to deepen your connection, well beyond what anyone would consider ‘proper’. You hummed contently when he finally released you, and then opened your eyes to catch him grinning as he teased you, “Yup- I’m definitely…famished…now.”

You gave a little shiver at the innuendo, considering it a promise of later satisfactions, and stood up to hang his sorcerer’s kit in the closet and put away the rest of his clean clothing. Stephen slid out of bed, clad in his comfiest pajama bottoms, and pulled a well-worn, gray cotton tee over his head. You caught a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, as Cloak ducked its collar just inside the doorway. Noting your attention, it zipped away, leaving only a swirl of air in it’s wake, while you called after it, “Hey! I was looking for you this morning. You’re due for a good wash up before you leave the Sanctum again.”

Stephen came up behind you and planted a kiss just beneath your ear, while sliding both arms around you. “Yeah, not a good idea, sweetheart,” rocking you gently, “Unless you’ve got a degree in cat-herding I don’t know about…”

“I’m sorry- what?”

His breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck as he chuckled, and you felt his amusement in the soothing vibrations of his chest against your back. “I discovered early on that Cloak prefers to see to its own…maintenance. Except when it’s experienced some kind of physical damage that requires magic—or a tailor—to repair…”

“Seriously?” You wondered for a moment if your boyfriend was teasing you again.

“Absolutely,” he assured you, “For some reason I haven’t been able to decipher—since it’s an open book about everything else—Cloak is a creature of privacy when it comes to…bathing.”

You had to giggle at that. “And I suppose it prefers to shower when you’re not around?”

“God, no,” he laughed, urging you into the hallway and on the way to the third-floor kitchen, where brunch awaited, “Once we’re out of the way, Cloak is gonna indulge in a good, long soak in my bathtub. So, we need to steer clear of my chambers for, um…about an hour…”

You smacked his shoulder lightly, “Now you are teasing me!”

“I most certainly am not.” Stephen crossed in front of you, backpedaling on his bare feet, “You didn’t really think those lavender and sage bath salts were mine, did you?” His eyes glittered with good humor. “Now c’mon—I’ll race you to the kitchen. Loser does the dishes.” With that he was off, his long legs taking two stairs down at a time, while you didn’t even try to catch up—your mind pleasantly occupied with wondering what cozy nook the two of you might find to while away the time in, until Cloak’s ablutions were through.

My Doctor Strange Master List

Thank you to @englishable, who suggested that trying to wash the Cloak of Levitation might be very like trying to give a cat a bath.

[alaia777]

pre-relationship! sae who saw you sitting on the curb, looking exhausted with your bag open. thinking you were asking for money, he dropped some bills in. you gave him a confused look, but he just shrugged and walked off.

pre-relationship! rin who always trailed two steps behind you at school, looking like he was on a secret mission to protect you from absolutely nothing. one time, someone tried to ask you a question, and rin stepped forward, cleared his throat, and said, “she’s busy.” you weren’t even talking to anyone.

pre-relationship! bachira who kept seeing you on his couch, thinking you were just another one of his imagination’s weird visitors. he’d wave at you, go about his day—until you started stealing his snacks. that’s when he realized you were real, and his mom was tutoring you in art.

pre-relationship! barou had this odd habit of pulling out a handkerchief whenever you sniffled from the cold, pressing it to your nose and saying, “blow.” the first time you were weirded out, but after a while, you just gave up and let him do it.

pre-relationship! nagi who would always destroy you in games, not knowing it was you he was playing against. the next day, he’d sit next to you in class, completely unaware that a few hours ago he was trash-talking you, and you were doing the same back. you’d share a look, but neither of you would say a word.

pre-relationship! isagi who tried so hard to act cool around you, but his ears always betrayed him, going red every time you acknowledged him. one day, in a nervous attempt to be smooth, he accidentally called you “your majesty.” after a beat of awkward silence, he just casually walked away like nothing happened—pretending he didn’t just say that.

[obsesssedblerd]

Smau: "I want you back." ☹️❤️‍🩹

The guys getting you back after a breakup. ♥️

(nanami, geto, choso, toji, sukuna, and gojo)

contains: angst w/ happy ending, fluff, a bit of crack

a/n: thank you all so much for 100 followers! here's a little treat. 🥰

[odoraful]

𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒

even in their relationship with you, they still have their moments of jealousy every now and again

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; established relationship; luke & kieran appearance in sylus’ scene; new receptionist in zayne's scene; andrew appearance in xavier's scene; a little silly and a lot fluffy; 0.8–1k words per scene

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ZAYNE ⟡

Every situation requires an assessment to determine the most logical course of action. Zayne embodied this statement in his work, and even in parts of his relationship with you. One such part was when it came to jealousy. In all his assessments, 99% of the time, there was no threat, and, therefore, no intervention required. In any case, if a guy were to approach you in such a way, he trusted you entirely as well to not entertain him. However, as he opened his office door to call you from the waiting room, he was confronted by that 1%.

The new receptionist hired to work alongside Yvonne was young, charming, and far too friendly. Especially towards you. You stopped by quite regularly. Sometimes for your scheduled check-in appointments, and oftentimes to simply visit Zayne during his downtime. That was enough for the young man to recognise you, his energy ignited by your presence.

Zayne could only see your side profile as you stood by the receptionist desk, engaged in a conversation with the young man. You appeared to be all smiles with him today. Whatever story he was telling seemed to be so thrilling. Zayne’s face remained calm, aside from the twitch of his jaw when he clenched his teeth. If anybody had been watching, they would have likely jumped at such a sign of vexation by the cardiac surgeon.

Until that point, he thought he had known what jealousy was. He had read it in books and seen it in TV shows, all of which portrayed jealousy leading to several outbursts and stand-offs. However, as he felt something rising from the pit of his stomach and burning in his chest, he understood that the purest kind of it now flared inside him. It was a dangerous emotion that clouded his mind and, before he knew it, his feet had carried him right to your side.

Mr. Chatterbox regarded Zayne with disbelief at his approach, standing up to properly greet him.

“Doc! What a rare sight seeing you personally greet a patient at the desk.”

Zayne paid only a cursory glance and the slightest nod of acknowledgement to him before his attention was narrowed on you.

“If you’d like to come in now, Y/N,” Zayne said, his voice smooth and warm.

You nodded. “Of course.”

As you walked, he placed his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him by just a fraction. He turned his head to the side, enough so the young man could see his sharp eyes. Zayne wasn’t one for outbursts, so he hoped this calculated display was enough of a warning.

Watching Dr. Zayne disappear with you into his office, the receptionist muttered to himself, “Why does it feel chillier in here than before?”

Yvonne, a bystander to everything that just occurred, quietly approached her freshly hired colleague from behind. She delt a swift smack on his head with the edge of her palm. He yelped out in exaggerated pain, rubbing at the spot as if she had just given him a bruise.

“Could you be anymore oblivious…” she sighed, shaking her head. Her gaze then turned fiery as she began to scold, “And how many times have I told you to stop yammering around patients!?”

At the sound of Yvonne’s voice, he immediately redirected his efforts. Not even addressing his colleague’s prior criticism, he clasped his hands together.

“Miss Yvonne! How are you doing on this lovely–”

“Fax this, please,” she interrupted, holding a referral letter up directly to his face.

He gave a mock shiver, taking the paper from Yvonne’s hand. “So cold in this division.”

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“It seemed like you were making good conversation with our new hire,” Zayne commented, closing the door behind him.

You breathed a laugh. “He’s quite chatty. I guess it’s good to have someone so energetic working at the desk.”

That sensation within Zayne turned molten, though, you couldn’t have known with the coolness of his palm. What would be his intervention here? Maybe he needed to have a stern conversation with the young man, or perhaps he had to be more obvious in his affections towards you. He could never match the energy the receptionist had, so it would be impossible to achieve such a feat.

In his momentary stewing, you let out an uncertain hum.

“To be honest, he kept talking about himself... it was a little overwhelming,” you confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “I couldn’t be impolite to him, so I just smiled and nodded at whatever he said!”

Instantly, Zayne’s mind cleared. His jealousies dwindled into nothing more than ashes. A part of him even felt silly at how intense he was feeling just a few seconds ago.

Unexpectedly, he rested his head on your shoulder with a sigh. Your eyes widened with confusion before you chuckled.

“Isn’t this a bit unprofessional, doctor?” you teased.

“Feel free to file a complaint to the hospital’s human resource division,” he retorted, not missing a beat.

Your mirth readily turned into concern at the affectionate display.

“But seriously, Zayne, is everything okay?” you asked, poking at his cheek.

Zayne lifted his head. He seemed to be, surprisingly, relieved. Though, you couldn’t figure out what exactly he would be relieved about.

“Yes, everything is perfect now.”

SYLUS ⟡

There was nothing that a deathly glare or a good shove couldn’t do to resolve Sylus’ jealousy. Warding off any unsuspecting parties was his speciality, especially if it involved them getting too close to you. However, the leader of Onychinus was thrown for a loop when his very own henchmen were sparking these feelings.

“You are… going out with Y/N today?” Sylus spoke slowly, as if sounding out syllables to a baby. “Is what I’m hearing correct, Luke?”

Kieran not-so-subtly kicked Luke in the shin. Luke stifled a groan. Rather than be on their way to Linkon (and to you), they were here being confronted by the boss. It was an unfortunate slip-up from Luke as they were about to leave, which caused Sylus to sternly halt their exit.

“Yes, boss.” Luke replied, trying to stand up straighter with only one good shin.

“And for what reason exactly?” Sylus asked.

Luke resignedly sighed.

“They wanted someone to–”

“Help clean their apartment!” Kieran quickly finished.

He turned and gave a pointed glare to his twin brother. You better follow along, it seemed to threaten.

Luke began nodding profusely, “Yep! Gosh, boss, you wouldn’t even believe the mess!”

“This type of menial work was probably too peasantry for you–”

“So, they invited us instead!”

Sylus’ henchmen stood there, looking quite proud of themselves and their innocent display. Sylus rolled his eyes at their dramatics. Luke and Kieran could do any task Sylus asked, no matter how dirty, and yet they were quite terrible at lying. Maybe he needed to teach them some skills in deception later. He dismissed them sharply with a wave of his hand.

“Go. Make sure to return before I leave this evening.”

The henchmen bowed, preparing to scurry away, but before they could, Sylus spoke again,

“Don’t take your eyes off them for even a second, do you understand?”

They turned back to Sylus and nodded, bowing once again.

“And–”

Sylus’ continual interruption of their exit left them in an awkward position right at the threshold of his office.

“–they don’t enjoy mopping, so I trust one of you will play the gentleman and take up that task.”

“You got it, boss.” Luke and Kieran said in unison before finally departing.

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Sylus was planning on sleeping before your date in the evening, but that was completely out of the question now.

Hanging out with Luke and Kieran? To, supposedly, clean? He knew what they had told him was a lie. However, a small, burning part of him was frustrated. If that had been the truth, he naturally would have been the far better partner. With the time you had shared together, surely you had not so quickly found his own company lacklustre in comparison to his henchmen. He could have been in your apartment, with you, cleaning together. Instead, he was in his mansion, alone, and grumpy. Grumpy enough to open his tablet, and switch to his camera feeds connected to Mephisto.

He had asked if his skilled companion could do a bit of reconnaissance at your apartment to confirm what this ragtag trio were doing. As the camera feed loaded, he saw that your home was empty. Internally, he cursed. Mephisto flew down to street level, and, as luck would have it, three familiar people stepped out of the apartment complex. Luke and Kieran were there (wearing face masks and caps that disguised their faces as opposed to their crow masks) along with you.

Sylus sat up in his bed. 

He followed this trio as they walked to a nearby clothing store. Unfortunately, it would be considered odd for a crow to be indoors, so all Mephisto could do was perch atop a bench in front of the establishment and watch the three of you retreat inside behind the automatic glass doors.

Tossing the tablet aside onto the silk sheets, Sylus crossed him arms. If the thought of not being able to clean with you had made him grumpy, then seeing that he was not invited to shop for clothes with you truly made his blood boil with jealousy. As he attempted to get some rest, he thought about casual ways to mention on this evening’s date how he could rent out entire department stores for you if you wanted.

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Sylus tapped his dress shoes rhythmically against the floor, awaiting your door to be opened after he had rung the bell. He had arrived at exactly 5 o’clock to pick you up, and although he was always well put together, he put in a little extra effort on his hair this time.

He heard the door unlock, slowly opening to only reveal your head poking out. He cocked his head to the side.

“Sweetie, are you trying to hide from me?”  

“Mmm, think of it more like I’m building anticipation,” you explained with a grin on your face.

Sylus laughed fondly. He leaned his own head against the wall beside the doorframe, turning to look at you.

“Consider me sufficiently anticipated,” he replied. “Now, may I see you?”

You gestured for him to move back so you could give a grand reveal.

“I just bought this today.”

The door swung open, and you stepped outside.

“How do I look?”

Very little could surprise Sylus; however, you had utterly blindsided him in this moment. You were wearing a dress that Sylus didn’t recognise from your current wardrobe. He knew then that the outing with Luke and Kieran had been to surprise him with a new dress for your date.

Flowy, ruby fabric draped against your figure, reaching down to your ankles. His eyes followed the heart-shaped neckline that framed the pearl necklace that rested at your collarbones, matching the accessory in your hair. All this prepared just for him.

“You look absolutely radiant,” he breathed.

Closing the distance, he snaked a hand around you, toying with the smooth material under his warm fingertips. Seeing how gorgeous you were almost alleviated his earlier frustrations, until he came to a sour realisation.

“Though, I can’t help but be… annoyed that Luke and Kieran saw this surprise before me.”

You bit your lip. Of course, Sylus had figured out what his henchmen were doing throughout the day. His voice grew deeper as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Next time, kitten, you should invite me to go with you instead.”

XAVIER ⟡

It took very little to spark Xavier’s jealousy, as much as the man himself would want to deny it. Strangers, colleagues, and acquaintances could cause his unassuming appearance to transform into a hostile front if they got too friendly with you. But today was another ordinary workday, so there would surely be no situation where Xavier should feel such a way.

There had been a string of quiet days at the Hunters Association that meant that Team Alpha could finally make use of their office. Namely you and Xavier, who usually were assigned to field missions. Your neglected chair squeaked under your weight as you stretched your body, lifting your arms high into the air then relaxing. Twirling the pen in your hand, the words on page about recent energy fluctuations seemed to swirl in your vision. Xavier turned from his own desk to observe you.

“I’m going to get a drink from the vending machine.” He stood up, the wheels of his chair clattering against the hard floor. “Do you want one too?”

“Green tea, please,” you replied.

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold,” you decided. You clapped your hands against your face, squishing your cheeks. “I need to shock my system to wake it up.”

Xavier’s face broke into a smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Before he could walk away, a voice called out your name.

“Morning Y/N!”

Xavier narrowed his eyes slightly at the approaching man.

He was tall (though not as tall as himself), with ashy hair precisely tousled to reveal his forehead, and friendly eyes. Xavier’s senses heightened in the same way as they would in a battle with a Wanderer. The unfamiliar man had greeted you with such familiarity. Only two words had been spoken, yet it was enough to irk Xavier. If he had called you less kindly, that would have helped to lower his guard.

To his surprise, the man turned his attention towards him.

“Ah, you must be Xavier! I’ve heard much about you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Andrew, head of the Data Analysis sector.”

Xavier stared at Andrew’s hand for a moment—blinking and discerning. Head of Data Analysis… Is this some kind of power move? He gave the hand a brusque shake.

“Excuse me, I need to get some drinks for the two of us,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away to the office’s break room.

Andrew furrowed his brows as he watched Xavier leave.

“Quite elusive, isn’t he?”

You shook your head.

“Maybe when you first meet him. But once you get to know him, you’ll see just how reliable he is.”

The tenderness in your tone came unconsciously to you, but it always happened when you spoke about Xavier to others. Especially towards those who might misinterpret his neutral disposition.

Small talk continued over the next minute between you and Andrew, until he suddenly looked at you with a slight frown.

“There’s an eyelash on your face,” he said, pointing vaguely to the left side of your face.

You used your fingers to swipe across your skin, yet Andrew still shook his head.

“No, no. It’s right here.”

He brought his finger closer to show you exactly where it was.

The dull thud of plastic bottles falling to the ground could be heard a couple of metres beside you. A blinding light zipped through the air, alongside a gust of air that swept your hair back. Before you could even register what had caused this phenomenon, Xavier appeared between you and Andrew. Your wide eyes stared at his hand gripping Andrew’s wrist.

“Xavier?” you called in surprise.

Xavier seemed equally shocked at how instinctually he acted. One moment he had seen Andrew’s hand move closer to your face, and the next he was face-to-face with him.

“I-I don’t know what came over me.” He released Andrew from his iron hold. “I'm really sorry”.

With a small bow, Xavier braced himself, ready to receive the full brunt of anger from the Head of Data Analysis. He shuddered at the thought that this might be reported to Captain Jenna. Instead, Andrew shook his head calmly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave an understanding smile, observing your worried expression towards Xavier. “In fact, I do believe this was my bad.”

The abandoned green tea bottles rolled lazily beside the desks, and Andrew picked them up. “I’ll be heading off to my office now, I’ll see you two later.”

Handing the drinks to you and Xavier, you both expressed your thanks. As Andrew left, you turned to Xavier.

“Xavier,” you spoke slowly, “what exactly was that?”

He scratched his head and diverted his eyes from you.

“I saw he was getting too close, and my body moved faster than my head…”

It was hard not to react at how adorably guilty he looked.

What am I going to do with you? You thought, sighing in affectionate amusement.

“I know how it must have looked from afar, but there was just an eyelash on my face that Andrew was trying to point out,” you explained.

Again, you swiped a finger across your face. “I still don’t know where it is though.”

Your movements were halted as Xavier gently grasped your wrist. He leaned in close, examining your face. You felt his light touch against your eyelids as he took off the lash.

“You know, there’s a superstition about this,” he began, handing the lash to you.

“They say if you have a stray eyelash, you can use it to make a wish.”

He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning red believing his next words to perhaps sound a little childish. 

“So, I wanted to be the one who would give you that wish.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

Rafayel’s jealousy would make itself known to you the moment he felt it. Though he would hide it between clever, teasing remarks, it was cute to see how clingy he got when it happened. And there was no better situation to provoke such feelings than at a gala hosted by Flux Arts. Admittedly, it was difficult to get the artist himself to attend these gatherings that featured one of his own paintings, so Thomas had to devise a convincing reason for him to go. That reason, naturally, being you. If you were his plus one, Rafayel could certainly face any battle.

You stood in front of Rafayel’s painting now as he had left you for the moment to speak with Thomas. Even after being exposed to his work many times (both mid progress and completed) they still managed to instil awe within you.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The voice pulled you back into the room, and you looked over at the stranger beside you. He appeared to be slightly older and was likely a wealthy, enthusiastic patron of the gala.

“Yes, it is,” you agreed. “It’s one of my favourites.”

In truth, you favoured it because you were there when Rafayel painted it. From start to finish, he had you at his side. Though abstract, upon closer inspection, one could extrapolate details of a city with glorious towers and vibrant, thriving coral. It held a special place in your heart.

The man’s eyes were glued to the painting.

“Rafayel truly is an artist you get once in a lifetime.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in the gentleman’s compliment.

“It’s hypnotising to witness the scenes he creates,” he continued. “He seems to bare his soul in each painting.”

“He is quite an expressive man,” you commented, breathing a small laugh.

From picking out the perfect outfits to the perfect paint materials, passion infused every part of Rafayel’s life, including in his relationship with you. It was one of his greatest traits you adored about him.

The familiarity in your tone was lost on the man, who believed you to only be an admirer of the artist, and not an admirer of a different sort.

The conversation continued, and you discovered the man to be a professor of history. He had discovered Rafayel through his own interest in ancient civilisations such as Lemuria. You couldn’t help but beam with pride listening to the man speak so highly of Rafayel, and the impression his works had left on him. The man soon took his leave, thanking you for entertaining his enthusiastic ramblings.

You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice Rafayel with his arms folding behind you. He graciously gave you a few seconds to detect his presence. Though, his frown grew as you continued to be, supposedly, too starstruck from your earlier conversation with that stranger.

He cleared his throat loudly.

You spun around at the familiar voice.

“Raf! How long have you been standing there for?”

He shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. However, anyone with two eyes could have guessed the annoyance on his face.

“Enough to hear the last bits of your conversation.” He strode to your side, arms still folded tight across his chest. “Found interesting company so soon after I left?”

You closed the gap between the two of you with a step, preparing to explain the true nature of that conversation. Not letting you interrupt his sulking, Rafayel continued,

“I need to be more wary. There are too many people here wanting to whisk you away from me.”

As soon as you walked into the gallery arm-in-arm, people’s eyes were drawn to the two of you. At his mention that you were the centre of attention, you had dismissed it, saying it was him everyone took interest in.

Tilting your head to the side, you placed your hands your hips, almost as if to say: Are you going to let me speak?

Rafayel quickly conceded, spluttering out his next question, “And why were you being so chummy with that stranger, anyway?”

“That stranger said he was a professor of history specialising in ancient cities, and that he’s been an admirer of your works for a long time,” you answered.

Poking at his cheek with your finger, you attempted to remove his pout that remained affixed on his face.

“I was being chummy because he was complimenting your work! It made me happy to hear that people have such high praise for you and your paintings.”

Rafayel’s pout disappeared.

“It just made me think… how proud I am to have you as my partner,” you smiled. “You leave a profound impression on people.”

Your words resonated in his head. He stood motionless, with only the slow blink of his eyes.

His lack of reaction made you flush.

“Ah, that was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry–”

The apology stopped short in your throat as you were scooped into a tight hug. Rafayel’s arms wrapped around your waist. A few gala attendees looked over at the young couple with admiring gazes, wondering what could have happened that would cause such open affection.

Rafayel nuzzled his forehead into the curve of your neck, mumbling right by your ear, “Jeez, here I was trying to be jealous…”

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