#ruby's writing

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Earthly Encounter

Pairing: Q x Counselor Ruby (s/i)

Word Count: 2,797

Warnings: Very light spoilers for Star Trek: TNG S4 E20, none otherwise

AO3 Link

Author's Notes: Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? It feels very nice to be posting a fic again, to be honest. This is just a cute fluffy story that I started like 3 years ago and abandoned because I didn't like the way it came out. I came back to it recently and kinda wondered what the heck I was thinking. Maybe my self esteem is just better! Either way, this was very fun and very cute to write and to perfect, and I hope you guys enjoy it.

Tag list below the cut. Click here or DM me to be added or removed. Reblogs are all seen and very appreciated!! ❤️

@ava-ships, @bee-ships, @beetleboyfriend, @canongf, @clawfull, @cloudyvoid, @discountwives, @dissonantyote, @edencantstopfallininlove, @final-catboy, @gible-love-nibles, @halsdaisy, @hoppinkiss, @hotrodharts, @hyperionshipping, @iyamifucker, @lex-n-weegie, @little-miss-selfships, @little-shiny-sharpies, @loogi-selfships, @lovebugexe, @mintpecks, @mrs-kelly, @nameless-self-ships, @nerdstreak, @paper-carnation, @patches-and-her-selfships, @reds-self-ships, @rexscanonwife, @ship-trek, @spacestationstorybook, @squips-ship, @tiny-cloud-of-flowers, @toogayforthistoday, @p-i-t-s, @winterworlds, @scroldie

Speckles of dust danced in the beams of light shining through the window of the bookstore that Counselor Ruby Ramirez had found herself in on that peaceful afternoon. She fondly ran her fingers across the spines of the books atop the store’s shelf, remembering all of the journeys she’d been on with those stories as a child. It was no wonder this section was labeled as “classics;” even though the shelf stretched to the ceiling and was filled to the brim with books, she hadn’t seen a single title that she didn’t recognize. She spotted a favorite novel of hers, and she was quick to pull it off the shelf and flip to the first chapter. She remembered it all so fondly: the prison and the rose bush, the first piece of literary symbolism that had truly taught her to analyze…

“Oh, what have you got there? Something actually worthwhile, I hope.” The sudden voice in her ear made Ruby snap out of focus with a startled jolt, but even as she whipped her head around to look behind her, she already knew exactly whose smug face she was going to see staring down at her.

“Q! I’ve told you a hundred times not to sneak up on me like that,” Ruby exclaimed as she playfully tapped his chest with the book.

“Hmph, you've hardly said that more than fifty times, actually," Q said with an exasperated eye-roll. "Besides, you can't really call it 'sneaking up' if I’ve been standing right beside you this entire time, my dear.”

Ruby let out a sigh and turned her back to her partner, putting her attention on the book she'd picked out as she leaned her weight back against him. “Well, then, that’s a problem, isn't it? The point of coming here was so you could explore some of the culture that humanity has to offer,” she explained, gesturing to the shelves of books surrounding them. “That meant exploring the selection here by yourself, sweetheart, not just staying glued to me the whole time.”

Q knew this already, of course; this was the second of a four-day vacation that the couple had agreed on taking together, albeit one more reluctantly than the other. He still remembered when Ruby excitedly came up with the idea months ago, the way she had been beaming about how much she could show Q about what it's like to be human. Although he had protested to the trip's merit, the reality was that Q would have taken any excuse to be with his beloved in a way that wasn't disturbing her duties, so he hadn't needed too much persuading.

When Ruby had brought the request for shore leave to Captain Picard, she had described it as "less of a vacation, and more of an experiment.” She had explained, “We've seen already that Q has a sliver of humanity, a seed of compassion nestled deep within him. Perhaps all that it needs to blossom is the right kind of earth?"

While the captain didn't quite agree with the scientific basis of the proposal - or appreciate the wordplay - the Enterprise would already be making a rare orbit of Earth for a routine crew exchange. Many aboard the Enterprise would be taking a few days to visit their families, so there was no reason to deny the counselor the same privilege.

Back in the bookstore, Q was still doing his best to convince Ruby that their time would be better spent, well, anywhere. He placed both his hands on her shoulders to hold her steady against him as he dramatically nuzzled his face into her hair. “But darling, you’re the only thing worth any of my attention on this entire dreadful planet,” he whined.

He suddenly dipped her backwards, making Ruby balance on her heels as he leaned down a great deal to place his face right next to her own and speak in a provocative whisper, “What do you say we just forget about all this and head back home now instead? I'll even indulge you with that ‘cuddling’ nonsense that you enjoy so very much.”

Ruby could already feel her cheeks getting warmer as she failed to fight back a flustered grin; even after all the time she’d been with Q, she had to admit that she was far from being immune to his charms. It wasn’t only what he was saying, but also the eloquent cadences of his voice and the way he was able to stare her down with that alluring gaze that made her fall so hard for him in the first place. Luckily, by now she was at least able to save his suggestion for later rather than give in right away, and she leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before replying with a simple, “Very tempting, but no.”

She chose to ignore the way Q rolled his eyes in annoyance for a second time as he pushed her forward again to stand up straight, and instead she showed him the cover of the book in her hands in an attempt to catch his interest. He glanced over the title: The Scarlet Letter. "Look at this, hunny," Ruby said with fondness in her tone, "this was one of the first books I read as a child that sparked my analytical side. I remember the way it made me think about why the author chose to include certain details that might seem pointless, and why the characters would make the choices that they do." She turned her head back up to him and nudged her shoulder against his chest. "It was also the first book that really invested me in romance," she purred with a wink.

Q was not impressed. "It really does sound like a joy, starlight," he huffed sarcastically, "but you have no idea how difficult it is for an omnipotent being like myself to force his imagination to be confined to words on a page."

Ruby had already turned her attention back to the novel at hand. She knew that Q was fond of the sound of his own voice, so allowing him to rant on about the pettiest of inconveniences was the only way he ever felt better about the situation he was in.

Unaware - or just uncaring - that Ruby had turned her attention away, he continued, "Truly, think about it from my perspective. Why would I bother to 'visualize' the events of a novel in my mind, like you lesser beings have to do, when I could simply rewrite reality to bring these events to life? Or better yet, I could probably imagine my own story with a more gripping narrative and satisfying conclusion. In fact, if I may speak honestly, it seems to me that-"

Q's holier-than-thou speech was cut short as he felt a gentle tug on the leg of his trousers, just below the knee. He looked down to see a small child, a boy likely no older than five, staring back up at him with wide hazel eyes. Q grimaced and immediately recoiled his leg, the sudden shift in weight catching Ruby's attention as well. For a moment, there was an intense staredown between the disgusted immortal and the innocent toddler, until at last Q broke the silence and sneered, "Can I help you?"

The child pointed to the top shelf high above his own head. "Can yew get the Robin Hood book for me, mister?" he said politely, a slight lisp to his words as he spoke.

"If I do, will you leave?" Q asked bitterly. The boy's only reply was a thoughtful stare to the side, followed by a smile and enthusiastic nod of his head.

Q hastily located the book on the shelf of the bookcase in front of him, and he didn't hesitate to yank it from the shelving, pinching the very corner of the book between two fingers as he dangled it over the child's head with an outstretched arm, trying to distance himself from the boy as much as possible. "There you are, now please, begone with you."

The boy reached up and took the book into his small hands with a quiet "thank you" as he marveled at the green hardcover and golden cursive lettering. He then looked back up at Q, who had already turned his attention away, hoping for the interaction to be over.

Despite those hopes, the boy suddenly spoke up again. "I like Robin Hood," he lisped.

Q glanced back down with an eyebrow quirked, not even bothering to turn his head as he dryly replied, "Yes, I'm sure you do. Now don't you have somewhere to be?"

The boy shook his head with the same earnest smile on his face, clearly not taking the hint. Before the conversation could continue, though, Ruby - who had been watching this interaction unfold and barely stifling a laugh - stepped forward in front of Q and kneeled down to meet the child's eye level. "You're a fan of Robin Hood, you said?" She asked him with a gentle smile.

The boy gave her another enthusiastic nod and said, “Yeah, my dad tells me the story a lot for bedtime, but he has to go away on a starship, so my mommy said I should read the or… the orange-inal book while he's gone.”

Ruby smiled at his story and adorable mispronunciation. “That's a very good choice. You know, young man,” she said as she reached up behind her to hold onto Q's hand, “my partner Q here is a big fan of Robin Hood too. One time not too long ago, he even made all his friends dress up to act out the story!"

The boy's eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked back up at Q. "Wow, really? Did yew get to be Robin Hood, mister?"

Ruby smiled widely, both because of the boy's reaction and because behind her, she could hear Q faintly saying, "Starlight, what do you think you're doing?" as he recoiled his hand from hers.

But his Starlight wasn't listening; her mischievous side had quickly taken over, and she placed both hands back on her knees as she said with her bottom lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout, "Actually, Q decided to be the big bad Sheriff of Nottingham that taxes all the poor people and makes everyone sad.

"But… that's the guy who Robin Hood fights with," the boy said, staring up at Q curiously. "Why did you wanna be the bad guy, mister Q?"

Ruby turned her head around to meet her partner's eyes. "Yes, why did you want to be the bad guy, Mr. Q?" she parroted the question to him with a cheeky smile.

If all-powerful beings could blush, Q would have been bright red. "Very amusing, Counselor," he huffed, crossing his arms, "but I'm above engaging with this little mindgame of yours. Especially not with this," he gave the small boy a stern glare, "… creature involved."

The boy let out a giggle, making Q arch his eyebrows in shock. It has the audacity to laugh at me?, the immortal brooded in his expansive mind. What could it possibly find so amusing?

"Yew talk funny, mister Q," the child laughed. "I think yew'd be a really funny bad guy."

Ruby chuckled along with him. "Oh, you have no idea, young man."

From around the corner, a soft voice was heard calling out. "Lance? Did you find the book you wanted?" A woman not much older than Ruby stepped forward from behind another aisle of books, and the boy ran to her with his selection brandished above his head.

"Yes, momma! I picked out this Robin Hood book! Mister Q here got it off the shelf for me."

The mother reached down to pick up her child. "Not even gone five minutes and you're already making new friends?"

Q sneered under his breath, "Not quite the word I would use, but-" "That's right!" Ruby addressed the mother, thankful that she hadn't overheard Q's snide remarks. "He's a very sweet boy, he told us all about how he's a big fan of Robin Hood."

"Yep!" The boy beamed proudly. "And, and she said that her partner mister Q played Robin Hood with his friends and, uh, he got to be the Sheriff of Naughty-ham."

"That's Notting-ham," Q enunciated spitefully as he gleaned down at the child. Even if he desperately wanted the interaction to be over, he still would never miss an opportunity to be right about something.

Ruby paid him no mind, in the hopes that the woman would do the same, as she gave both the mother and child a kind grin. "Well, it was lovely to meet you, Lance. I hope you enjoy your book." She took on a tone akin to an ancient English knight as she thumped her a closed hand to her chest theatrically. "Never stop protecting those who can't protect themselves, and fight for justice and truth, just like your Robin Hood."

And unlike Q, she had wanted to say, but she decided that Q had had enough teasing for one day.

Little Lance beamed proudly and copied her motion as he put his own small fist over his chest, clearly taking the words to heart. His mom wore a similar warm grin as she and her son bade the couple farewell and headed toward the checkout counter.

Ruby turned back around to face Q, grinning cheekily up at him as he firmly kept his arms crossed and refused to meet her eye. "That was absolute torture," he groaned, "you know that, right? I'm not sure why I ever agreed to this trip." His partner let out a small laugh at how easy his disposition was to sour, and upon hearing that delightful little giggle of hers that he so dearly adored, he couldn't stop a smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked back down at her.

She chirped, "I'm sorry, my darling, but you know I can't resist teasing you.” A smirk overtook her face. “Besides, I believe I remember someone very intelligent once saying that one creature's torment is another's delight."

Q's eyebrows shot up in surprise before lowering in satisfaction, a grin snaking its way across his face as he pulled Ruby in close by her hips. If he had to make a list of all of his favorite things about her, the way that she was able to match his wit so effortlessly would easily clear the top three. Q was more than used to looking down on mortals, feeling superior to them, and he was somewhat justified in feeling so; even when encountering creatures cognitive enough to communicate, it was hardly ever that he came across one that didn't immediately bore him. Even with humans, as fascinating as the species itself was, the individuals were hardly worth stopping for. But there were always exceptions, and no exception has seized his attention, gained his respect, and retained his adoration more wholly than his Ruby.

Indifferent to who around may be watching, Q leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ruby's, allowing her to reach up and hold his face as he kissed her slowly and deliberately.

He just barely pulled away to groan against her lips, "I hope you appreciate my generous patience with you in situations like this." Ruby felt a shudder go through her body; as much as she saw and treated Q as an equal, she couldn't deny that, on occasion, she was exhilarated by the power he always had the capability of holding over her. She brushed any growing stimulation aside as she slyly retorted, "Only if you can appreciate me holding back in situations like this."

That comment earned her another kiss, this one much more brief but still holding just as much admiration, before Q stood up fully again. “Well then,” he sighed, “are we done here?”

Ruby chuckled. “Okay, you’ve been very good today. I’ll check out this book, and we can head back home.”

Q watched his partner as she headed toward the counter, an odd - but not unfamiliar - feeling washing over him as he replayed her words in his mind. He’d been very good today. It was still strange to him that such words of affirmation had any effect on him, even if. He’d never needed anyone else’s approval, or encouragement, or affection before meeting Ruby. He still didn’t need it, he supposed; he already knew that he was the most intelligent and powerful being in the universe. But something about hearing those things from her, the confirmation that there was one person who genuinely thought good of him, cared for him, loved him…

It was quite a wonderful feeling.

[drumlincountry]

If your life is horrible and you need a new source of meaning and direction.... Do NOT find religion. Learn to identify plants.

[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

[dreadfuldevotee]

Ruby: Yeaaaah, The Doctor just constantly trauma dumped on me starting from the day we met

Yasmin Khan, who has finally been convinced to come back to companion support group after finding out that The Doctor settled down with a family 48 hours after leaving her: I have to leave

[quantumshade]

the first time the word "lesbian" was said out loud in doctor who was in reference to a trans girl. peace and love on planet earth

[bonnibelleangelica]

Me core

[captainswan618]

there is a person standing 73 yards some distance away, watching you. they look like they’re trying to tell you something. you can’t get away from them, nor can you get close to them. they’re just...standing there.

so your friends and loved ones try to help you by talking to them, and the person must be saying something to them, because they look at you differently now. but you have no idea what it was, all you hear is static.

you try to tell them not to listen to the person, but no matter what you do, no matter how much you plead with them, they look up at you with suspicion-hatred-fear and just run. they don’t care where they’re going, just that you’re not there. and you can’t do anything to stop it.

the more that the people in your life care about you, the worse it is, because anyone who tries to help is turned against you. so you are just gradually shut out of your own life by the people you love the most, until eventually you no longer recognize your surroundings.

there is a person standing 73 yards some distance away, watching you.

[according2thelore]

okay but…ruby who just actually uses dean’s dead body as a host.

sam yells at her to get an ethically sourced glove, kicks her out. one not in use. fine. ruby knows she shouldn't, but after a long night of shopping through a few comatose bodies, then a pit stop in the morgue, trying to find the perfect face that'll make sam trust her. the perfect voice. it clicks.

no one's using the body lying in a pine box deep in illinois woods. ruby hops a truck driver and has dean winchester hauled out of his grave, out of his lovingly constructed coffin, before the sun rises.

we've seen multiple times that demons CAN use dead bodies as hosts, and can possess them both right before and after they've died.

dean’s not alive for his wounds to heal, and the patch job sam managed before he buried him isn’t enough to keep his organs in. demons have been shown to have healing abilities (e.g., meg heals the broken bones of her host, bullet holes disappear, etc.) and ruby takes a few days to sew all of dean’s skin back together, tucks his liver back in brand-new. it takes a lot out of her, but ruby's been waiting a long time for this, so she can take the few days it takes to coordinate dean's limbs into movement.

she shows up at sam’s door, when he's staying at that shack in the middle of nowhere. sam is on the hours-deep wrong side of stolen opioids and shitty whiskey, and blinks dumbly at her in the doorway for a long, long time. he either thinks he's dreaming or dead--eyes half-lidded and mouth open loosely--because his knees just buckle, and he sobs.

she puts a hand on his forehead and seeps some of it out so they can have this conversation like grown-ups--a hit straight to her brain, and it's a miracle sam's alive, because holy shit, her vision goes a little sideways as the combined depressors hit her nervous system.

he's pissed, of course. he screams and tries to hit her and demands that she leave dean's body. he looks at her--for the first time--like she's an actual, eldritch beast. horrified. furious. disgusted.

but ruby's planned for this. she calls him sammy. she tells him that she can protect dean's body perfectly, like this. she can keep it ready for him to come back. she can keep it warm. feel how warm, sammy.

later, sam sprawls against the dusty chair, slams their mouths together furiously, begs ruby to fuck him between furious bites of her neck; she does so, and sam sobs through the whole thing, hands buried in dean’s short hair but eyes slammed closed tight.

they get to work.

sam blossoms under her tutelage. he wants to impress her, and ruby doesn't know how much of that is response to dean's voice telling sammy he's doing a good job, and how much of that is sam's thirst to have control over an impossible, unwinnable situation.

they share motel rooms as they crisscross across state lines. sam always gets two beds, but turns away from her when he goes to sleep. ruby doesn't need to sleep, and dean's body certainly doesn't, so she lets him be. he's more cooperative if she messes up the other bed's sheets, though, so she tries to do it when she can remember to. he likes the illusion that nothing’s changed. clings to it.

it's not as hard as she thought it would be to get sam to drink her blood. it's practically sam's own blood, she reasons. same DNA. sam's so desperate for any part of dean he can take that he just looks up into her--dean's--eyes, and when ruby tells sam that it'll help take lilith's head off her shoulders, sammy tucks in.

sam only cuts ruby on dean’s existing scars, as if to hide new injuries from a dean that’ll never come back. as if ruby couldn’t just rub a thumb over his surgical-precision cuts and seal them up brand-new.

he worshipfully nicks dean’s body along silvery lines, barely deep enough to draw any blood. when he’s a couple of mouthfuls in, sometimes he’ll tell her where dean got the scar. a poltergiest in milwaukee. saving sam from a werewolf in tallahassee. falling off a tower of rusty cars at bobby’s.

some of them he doesn’t know how dean got—probably amassed in those four years they were apart. sam drinks from those the deepest, like he can suck dean’s history through his cold skin.

he drinks more when she pets through his hair with one of dean’s hands, when she mutters “there ya’ go, sammy,” so she does. he goes frantic for it, lips hungry and teeth gentle and tongue needy. if he's real-strung out--missed a few doses, just like ruby likes him--he makes overwrought little whimpers as he sucks dean's blood and keeps pockets of it in his cheeks, too desperate to even swallow, yet.

then a big swallow, thick and deep, rabbit-quick breaths and sighing out of his nose at having his first hit as he goes back for more.

they fuck whenever they can.

more often than not, it's when sam's high on blood, pupils blown wide and brow sweating and breaths deep and shaking.

he fucks her like an animal. begs to be fucked like one, too. he pins her down underneath big, hungry hands. he fucks her like he hates her. he might.

he doesn’t kiss her, even when she tries. he jerks his head away from dean's spit-slick lips, every time, eyes closed tight and teeth bared like he’s barely resisting tearing her throat out. she wonders if she had gotten some pretty little thing to wear around--something with tits and a pussy that doesn't wear dean's face--if he would kiss her.

she longs for it, in the way that something like her can even long for something.

she’s sick of his little morality act in month four, and drags a knife lengthwise down dean’s tongue. it’s angrier than she’s ever seen him; more inhuman than she’s ever seen him. sam takes her to the ground, slams a hand against her mouth like a muzzle, and gets a few words into an exorcism that makes her blood boil under her skin.

but he feels the wetness of dean’s blood—ruby’s blood, mother’s milk—under his palm. his hand slowly comes away, shaking, the exorcism dying on hypocrite lips.

she’s only seen hunger like that in one being’s eyes before: alastair, when he’s forcing someone’s own femur down their throat.

ruby grins, blood no doubt making a massacre of dean’s perfect little teeth.

sam kisses her then. of course he does. he’s ruby’s perfect little boy.

dean’s perfect little boy.

he sucks her tongue into his mouth, and barely even cries or whimpers or apologizes.

she even cuts dean on his pec once, right above his nipple, and sam lets pretty little tears sit on his lashes the whole time, grabbing handfuls of dean's body and telling ruby not to speak. ruby pets dean's hands through sam's hair, coos at him, calls him my good boy, and sam ignores her calls for a week afterward.

ruby finds out dean’s back when she’s got her knees up near her ears, sam folding her in half, his thick delicious cock heavy in her guts and tearing dean's rim a little (ruby's never been careful about prep, and sam never asks because then he'll have to acknowledge that he's fucking his brother's body while he's not in it out loud; pussies are so much easier), and nursing at her shoulder, and then she’s…not.

she’s a loose canon, untethered, unformed. she slips into a hooker a few motel doors down, still dizzy. ruby tries to get her feet underneath her, wondering where the fuck she is, and what happened, when she hears a muffled shattering, sam screaming her name, dean's voice screaming sam's.

dean’s back.

ruby heads towards the door, when her knees buckle, and something oil-slick and nauseating shivers up her spine. energy crackles in the air, and ruby freezes, because she's only felt this zing in the air once before.

an angel is here.

she barely manages to duck before the windows explode inwards. a shard lands right in her thigh--the vessel's blood oozing thick and heavy over bare skin. sam can probably smell it, if whatever dropped dean off let him live.

something brought dean back, alright. a new player just entered the field.

[saltcxrcle]

ménage à trois ── . ✶ sam. w & ruby

summary: ruby learns her lesson about popping into motel rooms uninvited

pairings: sam winchester x gn afab!reader x ruby, samruby, bi!reader, bi!rubyノwc: 6.2K warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', fem pronouns are used, SMUT, porn with a smidge of plot, set in late szn 4, threesome f/f/m, oral both fem & male! receiving, fingering, slight sub/dom dynamics (slightly mean dom!reader and sam, sub!bratty!ruby), some degradation, name calling (ruby -> whore, slut), reader is referred to as a 'pretty girl' once, face sitting, manhandling, orgasm denial, rough sex, unprotected p in v (please use protection), kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: here it is, the long awaited and final installment to motel chats! god i need them so bad and idk why i waited for so long to write this but i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did while writing this! heres the samruby smut freaks <33 sam. w masterlist | ruby masterlist | motel chats verse! masterlist

YOU NEEDED QUIET NIGHTS LIKE THIS. 

You were lounging on the slightly lumpy mattress in the motel room you were staying in, and the sounds of Sam typing away at his laptop would occasionally break the calm silence that the two of you were sharing. 

You and the Winchesters had been stuck in this town for a couple of days after the three of you wrapped up a simple salt and burn. Sam hadn’t been able to find a case for you guys to go on, so Dean decided to plant his feet here since it was a coastal town and it had the best pie in the diner across the street from where the three of you were staying. 

You could tell Sam was getting a little stir-crazy and was dying to leave—wanting to find another hunt or figure out which seal was going to be broken next. Hence, he was tapping away at the laptop, straining his eyes with the blue light emitting from the screen. 

You were reading a random Agatha Christie novel that was buried at the bottom of your bag, and you managed to find it after being bored with helping Sam research. But, you had been rereading the same page for the past ten minutes since your eyes always strayed away from the book and to Sam sitting at the table across the room from where you were. 

You couldn’t help it. Sam's presence was distracting. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands, dragging along the mouse pad of the laptop. Long and dexterous fingers tapped at the keyboard, and you couldn’t help the way that your mouth watered at the thought of his hands grabbing at you and bringing you to your own pleasurable demise. 

You’ve witnessed Sam’s hands being capable of bloodshed and violence, wielding knives and guns as he hunts—but you’ve seen them being in tender ways, a guiding hand on your lower back as you navigate through a sheriff’s office, or when his touch was feather-light on your broken skin as he patched you up from hunts that weren’t kind to you. 

You swallowed thickly as your eyes strayed from Sam’s hands to his forearms, which were exposed. The brown button-up with studs for buttons that decorated his shirt was rolled up to his elbows, and you almost audibly groaned at the sight his forearms. You had to advert your eyes away from them—the prominent veins and rippling muscles in his forearms awoke something primal in you and all you wanted to do was bite them. 

Christ, I’m acting like a Victorian man seeing a bare ankle for the first time. Get a grip! 

You shook your head to try and rid yourself of the lustful yearning that you had for Sam. You could admit that it was a little pathetic that you’d been lusting after him for so long—but it was hard not to when he was built like a god reincarnated into a mortal’s body. God, it was unfair how effortlessly he looked good. Yeah, you were kidding yourself when you told yourself that there were only platonic feelings for Sam.  

You bookmarked the page you were on before tossing the closed book on the bed beside you. You slid off the bed and made your way to the table that Sam was sitting on. You stood behind him as you draped yourself over his back, your arms wrapping around him in a loose hug, and your head was right beside his, looking at the random article Sam had found on his laptop. 

You felt Sam huff a little laugh through his nose, clearly amused at you. You tried not to let the scent of mahogany, amber, citrus, and something that was clearly just Sam distract you. 

“Found anything?” You murmured as you nudged his head with yours like a cat would against your leg. 

“No.” Sam sighed out, leaning back and sinking into your embrace. The hand that was resting in his lap moved to rest on one of your forearms that was wrapped around him, his thumb slowly caressing the skin.  

You hummed as you thought about it. You ignored the sparks zipping through you at the feeling of Sam’s warm hand on you. 

“That’s probably a sign to take a break.” You pointed the obvious out to Sam. 

Sam sighed again. “We have to figure out what–”

“What the next seals are. I know Sam.” You finished his sentence for him as you let go of Sam and moved out from behind him. 

Sam looked unamused by the fact you cut him off, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. He moved to type on the laptop, but you closed it before he could even touch it. 

“Nope,” You shook your head at Sam. “No more researching, you’ve been doing it since we finished the hunt here, and I want to hang out with my best friend without any interruptions or talk of the potential apocalypse, okay?” 

Sam’s jaw clenched. You could see the struggle in his eyes, but you stared down at him with your best puppy dog eyes, and your mouth formed into a slight pout. Sam’s eyes flickered quickly to your lips before meeting your pleading gaze. 

“Fine.” Sam conceded after he blinked and broke the staring contest between the two of you.

Your mouth pulled into a wide smile. “Great! I’m going to go shower and when I come out, you better not be on this laptop and have found a movie for the two of us to shit on okay?” 

Sam couldn’t help but smile at your infectious energy. “Sounds good.” 

You nodded at Sam before heading to your duffle at the foot of your bed, quickly grabbing your pajamas and going into the bathroom. The shower started, and you began to hum to yourself as you waited for the water to warm up.  

Sam kept his eyes trained on you until the bathroom door closed with a click. He glanced at his laptop before he shook his head. You always seemed to pull Sam out of his own head, which he was grateful for since this past year.

It weighed on him like a two-ton car on his shoulders. But you were like a soothing balm over the rough days that he dealt with when grappling with the blood addiction. Guilt brewed in his stomach, wanting to admit to you that he needed the stuff to feel stronger, but he wasn’t sure about how you would react, so he kept it to himself—letting the feeling slowly consume him. 

Sam got up from his seat and stretched out his stiff muscles. He didn’t know how long he was sitting there but could feel the ache in his shoulders and back from sitting on the uncomfortable chair. 

Sam sat at the foot of the bed you were lying on earlier and grabbed the remote, clicking through the channels on the shitty TV that the motel provided. 

You were out of the shower in no time, but as you strolled out of the bathroom, a scowl made its way onto your face. You hated that you recognized the back of the brunette’s head, and you could see the annoyed look that Sam etched into his face as he stared her down. 

“For fucks sake, is there not a day where we aren’t free from your bullshit?” You groaned as Ruby turned around at the sound of your exasperated tone. 

“Well, don’t you sound so happy to see me.” Ruby quipped with a mocking smirk on her face. 

You rolled your eyes at her as you crossed your arms over your clothed chest. Both Sam and Ruby’s eyes followed the movement, the action pulling the shirt taut over your chest and revealing that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“What do you want, Ruby?” Sam asked, his voice carrying a roughness to it. 

“Can’t a girl drop by and say hi?” Ruby shrugged. Her question was innocent, but both you and Sam knew better. 

“Not when it’s you. Now what do you want?” 

Ruby put her hands up at your irritated tone. “Jeez, here I thought we were getting along.” 

You looked at her incredulously. “When have we ever gotten along?” 

Ruby had a dangerous gleam in her brown eyes—but before she could say anything, Sam moved in between the two of you, going behind you, grabbing your shoulders, and pulling you backward. You didn’t realize that you had been inching closer to her. Feeling Sam’s hands on your shoulders made you relax slightly, grounding you in the moment. 

Ruby looked on the scene with a smirk dancing on her lips. Oh, she was going to have some fun with this. 

“Okay, let’s just cool it for a second.” Sam saw the tension beginning to brew, and he really didn’t want to break up a fight between the two of you. “Ruby, if you don’t want or need anything, then leave.” 

Ruby pouted at Sam. “Awe, you want me to leave so soon?” 

“Yes!” You exclaimed, answering before Sam could. 

Sam squeezed your shoulders, signaling that you needed to calm down. 

“Ruby, Leave.” Sam’s tone was serious as he stared at her. He could feel his skin starting to crawl the longer she stayed, itching for a fix. Sam’s supply was running low, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it while you were in the room. 

“Ugh, the two of you are no fun.” She looked around the room, not making any moves to leave. “Where’s the third musketeer?” 

“He’s at the bar.” You spat out through gritted teeth. “Is that all you wanted to ask or are you just trying to waste our time?” 

“And what time am I wasting? It doesn’t look like you guys were doing anything important. Or did I interrupt something again like I did last time?” Ruby’s smile was coy and knowing as a mischievous glint passed through her eyes. 

“What-

“You didn’t. Now get out.” You quickly interrupted Sam, sending Ruby a glare that had the heat of a thousand suns. 

The smirk never slipped from Ruby’s lips. “Hmm. That’s not what you said when you were moaning like a whore while our pussies were grinding against each other.” 

The reaction from you and Sam was immediate. Your face flushed with heat while Sam’s hands slipped from your shoulders; shock rendered him speechless as his brain was trying to comprehend Ruby’s words. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You ground your teeth together and had to resist the urge to strangle Ruby and cover your flaming cheeks. Embarrassment flooded your veins, and you were grateful that Sam was standing behind you so you didn't see his reaction. 

Sam blinked in surprise and shock. His own mind betrayed him and conjured up an image of the two of you naked in bed and having sex. Sam had to clear his throat, looking away from the demon smirking in front of him, attempting to tamp down the growing arousal brewing in him at the thought. 

“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed, Sammy here is into the idea of it isn’t he?” Ruby asked as she moved closer to you, like a snake inching toward her prey, getting ready to strike. 

“Ruby.” Sam’s voice was stern, agitated by her words. He moved out from behind you and stood right next to you.  

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Sam.” Ruby met your eyes, an almost malicious smile on her lips at the sight of the frown on your face. “I’ve never seen the two of you come harder to the idea of fucking each other while you fuck me," Ruby said casually like you guys were having a casual chat at the coffee shop. 

Ruby was having fun. That much was sure as she saw the two of you shift uncomfortably right next to each other, refusing to look at the other. It was easy to rile you up, and if she played her cards right, the three of you were going to be in for a fun night. She just needed to push the right buttons.

Sam always took a little convincing, but with her blood on the table, he always cracked and fell to his knees before her. But with you here, Ruby had a feeling you didn’t approve or know about the blood addiction, so she was relying on you. She just had to push a little harder to get you to snap. 

Once you broke, Ruby was sure that Sam would follow in your footsteps. A shiver of anticipation went down her spine as she inched closer to the two of you, only a foot away from either of you. 

Ruby let out a little laugh. “Come on guys, there’s no need to be embarrassed, we’re all adults here, we can talk about sex and having it with each other.” 

“Christ, do you ever stop talking or do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice?” You snapped. You were beyond done with Ruby. 

You were mortified that Ruby just carelessly revealed that the two of you had slept with each other to Sam. You were planning on taking that secret to the grave. You didn’t care about the fact that Sam was sleeping with her; it was a well-known fact between everyone and their mother at this point. But you can’t deny how your stomach fluttered at the mention of Ruby mentioning you while she fucked Sam. 

“You know what exactly you can do to shut me up.” Ruby taunted, wanting you to take the bait.

You stared at her, your fists bawled at your side. You took a glance at Sam. Fuck it. You thought before lunging at her, pulling her into a biting kiss filled with teeth and tongue. Ruby couldn’t help but smirk against your lips and had to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape her at the stunned expression that appeared on Sam’s face. 

What the hell? Sam thought as he saw you lunge at Ruby—he was going to reach for you, thinking you were going to attack her, but faltered when he saw you planted your lips on hers, pulling her into a rough kiss.

Sam thought of himself as a respectful man—but he was a man at the end of the day, and seeing two beautiful people kiss in front of him sent a bolt of arousal down his spine as he felt his cock hardening in his jeans. 

It ended all too soon for Ruby. Her mouth opened to say something, but your hand covered it—smothering any words that threatened to spill from her lips. A fire glinted in your eyes as you shook your head at her before looking at Sam with a smirk.

“Want to help me out here? Since she wants us to shut her up so badly.” 

If you want out, you can leave. I’ll deal with her. You conveyed to Sam in a silent conversation when your eyes met his increasingly darkening gaze, the hazel of his eyes being swallowed up by his pupil. Sam sent you an almost imperceptible nod, making your smirk widen. 

Ruby saw the exchange between the two of you, and she smirked underneath your hand. This was easier than she expected. 

You moved your hand from her mouth, turning her around so her back was facing you. Your hand quickly grabbed the hair near the nape of her neck and pulled her head back roughly, exposing her neck to you and making her stare up at Sam, who was looking down at her with a filthy smirk. Ruby had to muffle the low groan that escaped her lips at the sudden manhandling coming from you and the scrape of your nails against her scalp. 

“You wanna show me how you shut her up? She talked a big game about how you fuck her face.” Your filter was thrown out of the window. Lust had taken the driver's seat of your mind and your words. 

Sam chuckled darkly in a tone you’d never heard before, and you could feel your underwear dampening at the sound. “Yeah, I can show you. She sucks cock like a slut.” 

You hummed. “I figured. That’s the only thing that mouth is good for right, Sammy? It's better used for sucking cock and eating pussy.” You leaned down and nipped at her neck.

Ruby let out a soft moan at the feeling of your lips on her neck before a louder moan at the sting of the pain of your teeth sinking into her neck. 

“Yeah it is.” He agreed, looking at the scene in front of him hungrily. “The only time she’s quiet is when she’s choking on my cock.” 

Ruby’s underwear was ruined. She could feel it as arousal flooded her veins as you and Sam talked about her as if she wasn’t in the room with the two of you. 

“Are you guys going to keep talking about shutting me up or actually do it?”  Ruby had to swallow a moan at the feeling of a harsh tug of her hair before she lurched forward and felt the rough carpet against her jean-covered knees. She had to brace herself, Ruby's hands fell to Sam's thighs—her face now being eye-level with Sam’s prominent bulge. 

Your eyes were trained on Ruby’s hands as they unbuckled Sam’s belt and flicked open the button on his jeans. Sam kicked them off as soon as they fell off of his hips, leaving him in shirts and his boxers. 

Ruby looked at him with wide eyes as she leaned in and kissed his cock through the thin fabric. She started to plant kisses along his bulge, licking at the damp spot at the front of his boxers.

His hand landed in her hair, grasping at the strands. “Don’t tease.” Sam growled out as he shoved her closer to his covered crotch. 

Ruby huffed but obeyed him anyway. Her hands grabbed the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down, his cock springing out once they were off. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. It was long and thick, the tip ruddy and leaking, and it was begging to be sucked. 

Ruby licked her lips at the sight of it. It had been a while since she had sucked Sam off, and she couldn’t help but press a soft kiss to the sensitive tip, precum smearing on her bottom lip. 

Sam let a low groan escape his chest at the feeling and let out a soft sigh at the feeling of her warm mouth wrapping around his tip and slowly enveloping the rest of his shaft. 

You let out a low whistle at the sight of Ruby swallowing down Sam’s cock, her nose nestled at the trimmed patch of hair at the base of his dick, reminding Sam that you were still in the room with them. 

His eyes snapped open, not realizing that they had closed and met your blown-out eyes. 

“Come here.” Sam gestured for you to come closer to him, his voice thick with lust. 

Ruby’s mouth started to move on Sam’s dick, her tongue tracing the veins that were on his thick shaft as you moved closer to Sam. He grabbed you by the waist as soon as you were close to him and kissed you hard. It wasn’t as hard as you kissed Ruby, but it was still filled with tongue and passion. Sam moaned against your lips as Ruby started to suck his cock with fervor, eventually making him part from your lips to look down at her—making you follow his gaze. 

“Wow, she really is a cocksucking slut.” You saw how eager she was on his dick, moving her head rapidly, spit pooling at the corner of her mouth as her mouth hollowed around him. 

You saw her hand reach for the rest of him that couldn’t fit in her mouth, but you acted fast, grabbing her hands and pinning them to the small of her back, going on your knees behind her. 

You clicked your tongue at her. “You’re gonna let him fuck your face like the good demon whore that you are.” You murmured into her ear as you squeezed her wrists. 

Ruby let out a low moan around Sam at your words, a groan escaping his mouth at the feeling of the vibrations around his dick, increasing the pleasure he was indulging in. Sam gathered her hair in one of his hands and started to thrust his hips, shoving his cock further down her throat. 

You kept her hands pinned to her back as you shuffled to the side of the both of them, the room filled with the sound of Sam’s pleasured grunts and groans alongside the occasional gag and shlick noises coming from Ruby’s mouth. 

It was pure debauchery as you watched Sam fuck Ruby’s face. Your underwear was ruined at this point—your pussy practically pulsating with need, but you could care less. You wanted to see Ruby get a taste of her own medicine for once. 

Ruby was in pure bliss right now. She didn’t feel the need to use her abnormal strength at all. Ruby was right where she wanted as she savored the taste of Sam on her taste buds. All she wanted next was to taste you. 

You used your free hand to shove your hand in her jeans, feeling her wetness through her underwear. “Shit, she’s soaked. Should have known you’d like being used like this.” You jeered at her as you pressed at her clit through her soaked panties. 

Ruby whined at the feeling of her clit being stimulated and ground her hips into your hand, wanting more friction. You let her, pressing harder against her as you rubbed her through her wet underwear.  

Sam started to fuck her face harder, pushing her face down his cock until he was fully sheathed into her mouth and holding her there. You could see her throat bulging with his length. 

You couldn’t help but groan at the sight and rubbed at Ruby harder. “Fuck, that’s hot.” You muttered as you heard Ruby gag around his dick. 

Sam was breathing harshly at the feeling of Ruby swallowing around his cock. “Such a good mouth, fuck!” He noticed how her hips were moving as your hand was shoved down her pants. “You liked being used by us don’t you?” 

Sam let go of her completely, letting her take a breath, a cough escaping her before it turned into a high-pitched moan. Your hand made its way underneath her panties and shoved two fingers into her sopping cunt—you were met with no resistance since she was leaking profusely. 

Ruby nodded in response, but Sam gripped her chin with his free hand. “Words.” He demanded. 

“Y-yes,” Ruby said through a broken moan. You had brushed against her g-spot and began to attack her neck with your lips. 

Sam used the opportunity of her open mouth and guided her back onto his cock, pistoning his hips at a slower pace than before but hitting the back of her throat with every thrust. 

You could feel her start to clench around your fingers as she moved her hips in tandem with your fingers. Before her orgasm could crest and overtake her, you signaled to Sam, and the both of you pulled away from her completely.

Ruby let out a pitiful whine as she stared up at the two of you through wet eyes. She looked fucked out with her pink lip gloss smeared all over her face, her mascara beginning to smudge and smear down her cheeks as Ruby glared up at the two of you. 

You couldn’t help but smirk at how wrecked she looked. You locked eyes with and sucked her slick from your fingers before turning to Sam and kissing him. He quickly reciprocated the kiss, his tongue diving into your mouth and groaning at the mixed taste of just purely you and Ruby’s arousal on your tongue. 

You quickly broke the kiss—a string of saliva connected the two of you before it broke. You both turned back to Ruby, matching predatory looks in either of your eyes. Ruby felt her stomach fall as you gestured for her to stand up. She stood on shaky legs before you pulled her into you, grabbing another fistful of hair and making her look up at you. 

A smirk that could rival her own black soul pulled at your lips. “Time to learn your lesson about showing up without any warning.” You let go of her and pushed her towards the bed. “Strip.” Your tone left no room for an argument.

“Are you going to let her boss you around too?” Ruby couldn’t help but take a jab at Sam. 

You raised your eyebrow at her, sharing a quick look with Sam. Then, with an unexpected speed for a man his size, Sam lunged at Ruby— pinning her to the bed with a hand around her throat. 

Sam glared down at Ruby. “You know I was going to let you come around my cock. But you had to be a brat.” Sam shook his head, acting disappointed. “We both call the shots tonight, you don’t, so strip.”

Sam looked back at you. “You too.” He ordered before letting go of Ruby and began to shed his shirt, shucking off the brown button-up before taking off the grey v-neck he had—leaving him standing naked in the warm lighting that the lamps of the motel room provided. 

You couldn’t help but stare at the expanse of his tanned skin as you took off the shirt and pajama shorts you changed into after you had showered, leaving you as bare as the day you were born.

Both of you approached the bed from opposite sides. The roles had reversed. Ruby was the prey now, left naked in the middle of the bed, her chest heaving with anticipation as you and Sam had become the predators and waiting for the right time to strike. You and Sam started to plant kisses on her bare skin. Your lips trailed across her chest as Sam’s lips moved down her stomach, moving in between her legs. 

Your hands went to her breasts, squeezing at the soft flesh as your mouth covered hers, kissing her sloppily as Sam began to kiss at her clit softly before swiping his tongue through her slit and spearing her on his stiffened tongue. 

Ruby broke the kiss, letting a moan erupt from deep in her chest as the heat in her lower stomach started to brew again. You began to pinch and twist at her nipples, biting and nipping at the soft skin of her neck and chest, letting her whines and moans fill your ears. 

Sweat began to coat her skin as pleasure overwhelmed her senses. She felt like there were hands all over her body, gripping her thighs, her boobs, and her hips. Ruby could feel herself getting closer. She could almost taste her climax, but so could Sam. 

He pulled away from Ruby’s cunt. It was glistening from the mix of his spit and her slick, flushed, and her clit swollen from how Sam wrapped his lips around it and sucked at it. Ruby let out a frustrated cry, making you chuckle into her neck.

You pulled away from her, and one of your hands left her chest to caress her wet cheek, wiping at the stray tear. “You’ll come. Just until we think you deserve it, okay?” You cooed at her sweetly, but your words carried an undertone of authority. 

“Sam’s going to fuck you and I’m going to sit on your face.” You explained to Ruby with a gentle smile on your face, patting her flushed cheek before you and Sam moved. 

You hovered over her face, your back to the headboard as Sam wrenched her legs apart and teased her with his cock swiping through her slit, tapping his head on her clit teasingly—a low whine escaping her as her cunt clenched around nothing. 

“Use your words. What do you want?” Sam taunted, hearing her whine as his cock prodded at her entrance, the tip threatening to slip inside. 

Ruby ground her teeth together. She slowly regretted letting the two of you hold the power in this situation. Your wet cunt was hovering over her face, and Ruby’s mouth watered, remembering the unique taste of your arousal from the last time you sat on her face and rode it. 

She was aching to be filled by Sam’s cock. “Put your cock in me and sit on my face.” Ruby huffed, her voice strained with want. 

“What’s the magic word?” You couldn’t help but tease Ruby. She was being a brat, so this was warranted in your mind. 

“Please, please fill me up and ride my face.” Ruby broke, and she really didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to come. 

You looked at Sam. “If that’s what she wants.” You had a smirk as you shrugged, lowering yourself on her face. 

The soft sigh that you let out turned into a low moan as the vibrations of Ruby’s moan echoed through you and into your cunt as she started to eat you out, her hands finding purchase on your hips. You stared at how Ruby’s pussy stretched around Sam’s cock, and he let out the sexiest groan once he was fully seated inside of her. 

Sam started to move at a fast pace, giving Ruby no time to adjust to his size as he shoved his dick deeper and harder into her. You let yourself go as you rode her face, eyes fell shut at the feeling of her sucking at your clit—you were pinching at your nipples, sending more sparks of pleasure to your lower belly, letting the warmth bloom throughout your body. 

Your eyes snapped open at the feeling of Sam caressing your sides, moving your hands away from your breasts to knead and holding them in his big hands. You couldn’t help but lean forward, trying to keep your cunt connected with Ruby’s mouth and kissing Sam. 

You were obsessed with the taste of Ruby lingering in his mouth as your tongues danced with each other. Your hand fell and started to rub at Ruby’s swollen clit, making her squeal into your pussy. 

“Maybe we should have done this sooner. Her mouth feels so against me.” You panted into Sam’s mouth. 

Sam let out a breathless chuckle. “She liked that, clenched around me so tight when you said that. You like that? Us using you like our little fucktoy?” 

A muffled moan left her, and you smiled wickedly at Sam as your hips rutted harder down on her face. “Yeah, she does. The best part about this is that we can do as much as we want to her, and she won’t break.” 

Sam’s hips stuttered slightly. “Fuck, she’s clenching around me so tight. She’s close.” 

“Sam, stop.” 

He obeyed, stilling inside of her, and she whined against your pussy, stopping her ministrations. You slapped at her tit when you felt her tongue stop moving against you. 

“I didn’t say you could stop.” 

Ruby internally rolled her eyes at you but continued to eat you out, shoving her tongue in you and fucking you with it. You let out a moan but tried to compose yourself as you gestured for Sam to pull out of Ruby. He looked at you confused but pulled out of her anyway. 

You quickly leaned down, resting your hands against Ruby’s thighs before taking Sam in your mouth, and your eyes rolled back at the mixed taste of Sam and Ruby. 

“Fuck me. Shit, your mouth is so good, taking me in your mouth so well f’me pretty girl.” 

You preened at the praise from Sam, spending some time sucking his cock while letting the coil get tighter and tighter in you as Ruby used her mouth on you.  

As much as you didn’t want to, you lifted off of her face and pulled your mouth away from Sam. You were getting close as well, but you wanted to come around Sam’s cock. You moved your way down Ruby’s body, settling in between her legs and face-to-face with her pussy. 

“Doing so well for us Ruby, such a good little whore. You can come whenever Sam says you can?” You said as you started to softly rub at her clit with your thumb. 

Ruby didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to come already. Ruby was so close to an orgasm that time, but she was at the mercy of you and Sam. This may have backfired on her, but maybe it was for the better. 

You threw a coy smile over your shoulder at Sam, your hips swaying as an invitation as you spread your knees apart, revealing your pussy to him. Sam swiped his fingers through your wet slit before bringing his slick-coated fingers to his mouth and tasting you. 

“You taste good.” He said once his fingers were cleaned. Sam moved to eat you out, but you stopped him. 

“Next time, I want to feel you fill me up.” You promised as you sent him a slightly pleading look. 

You really wanted to be filled—you had been clenching around nothing all night, and you wanted to feel him for days after tonight. Sam nodded and gripped your hips while your face dipped down, and you licked a broad stripe up Ruby’s slit, your fingers entering her as your mouth wrapped around the bundle of nerves. 

You moaned into Ruby’s cunt as Sam stretched you out with his cock—the satisfying pinch of pain bled into pleasure as he filled you up. You swore you could feel him in your stomach, and the feeling intensified as he started to move. 

You tried to finger and eat out Ruby to the best of your ability as Sam fucked you, and sparks of pleasure zipped up your spine. 

Sam wouldn’t have imagined this happening in a million years. This was something that only played out in his fantasies, but fuck was he going to enjoy and wring out every drop of pleasure he could. His hands gripped your hips hard as he pistoned into you. 

“So tight around me, fuck, you feel so good.” Sam praised as he leaned over and planted kisses on your spine. 

You barely heard Sam’s praises over Ruby’s constant babbling and whining, filled with yeses and pleases and a mix of your names blending together in her garbled speech. 

“Can I come? Please!” Ruby begged, feeling her eyes well up in frustrated tears. She was so close but held back, not wanting to disobey either of you and have her orgasm ruined for the fourth time. 

Sam could feel you were getting close too—hell, he was on the verge of it as well. Your pussy was practically choking his cock as he brushed against the spongy spot that only Ruby and yourself could find. 

“Yeah, shit, you can come,” Sam ordered Ruby, and she all but broke apart on your fingers and mouth. You tried to work her through her orgasm, but you were distracted by Sam now rubbing at your sensitive clit while thrusting harder into you. Your forehead came to rest on her still convulsing pussy as you fell apart Sam’s cock. 

“Where?” He managed to say through gritted teeth, having held back his orgasm to let you get through yours, but with how you were pulsing around him, Sam was close to releasing you. 

“A-all over us.” You managed to say before Sam pulled out.

You lay beside Ruby as Sam got on his knees with you guys on the bed and started to stroke his cock rapidly with your lingering arousal as lube. He came with a long groan, spurts of his cum landing on both your and Ruby’s tits and chests as you both looked up at him. 

Sam’s breathing was harsh as he let go of his spent cock. He cursed underneath his breath when he saw you collect some of his cum and tasted it for yourself. You hummed at the taste. He was a little salty, but nothing too bad. You turned to the demon next to you and kissed her, your tongue coated in Sam’s essence. 

Sam’s cock twitched at the sight. It was really hot, but he knew he had to wait until he could get going. 

You pulled away from Ruby. “Learned your lesson yet?” You asked with a smirk on your lips, caressing her cheek with your free hand. 

A mischievous glint passed through her brown eyes. “I might need another lesson to ram it home.” 

You tore your eyes away from Ruby to look at Sam. Your gazes met, and a silent conversation passed between the two of you. 

“Round two it is.” You said, still looking at Sam before turning back to Ruby and straddling her. 

Ruby saw the dangerous look flash in your eye and saw the matching look in Sam’s eyes. She knew she was in for a very long night. 

[ladylightning]

i am obsessed with ruby supernatural as being one of the most unwaveringly devout characters on the show. so many angels and demons act in their own self-interest, disillusioned by god or lucifer or archangels or the entire structure of the afterlife. fine. but RUBY?!? a human. a witch. sells her soul. dedicates her life to lucifer. in death she is tortured and molded and shaped into a demon. and yet she still worships. she is recruited into the ultimate satanic plan, cast as the delilah of the apocalypse. she spends multiple years publicly siding with the beloathed winchesters, being seen as a traitor to her kind. being hunted. being tortured repeatedly at the hands of her brethren for treason. painstakingly slowly seducing sam, convincing sam. luring sam to enact the plan. she lets sam drink her blood. so much blood. she is the sacrificial lamb. she is the best of those sons of bitches. all to be killed. and she knows this. she has to have known this. and she doesn't care. she's done it, the holy work. incredible character.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

sweet thing

part I

Pairing: Sam x Ruby x Innocent!Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam and Ruby have played the long game. And you're innocence is about to be lost.

Warnings: 18+!, language, manipulation, demon blood era Sam, Ruby is a warning by herself, corruption, coercion, praise, smut (dirty talk, kissing, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, overstim, p in v, spitting, threesome f/f/m), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 6,245

A/N: OH BOY. Zoe, my sweetpea, I hope you liked this one. I know I REALLY liked it... I'm sorry it's so long, but also... not sorry at all, aha. Anyways... give me some feedback, y'all. Please. I love when I get comments on things that come out of my very pathological brain. This was born because I'm ovulating. Shush. <3 I might write more Ruby stuff in all honestly, because... well, Ruby. RUBY SUPREMACY. All the love.

You didn't mean to stay with them.

At first, it was just a night. One blood-soaked hunt, too many screams, and Sam stepping between you and something you weren't ready for. He didn't say much—just pressed a cloth to your arm, asked your name in that quiet, steady voice, and told you it was going to be okay.

Ruby smiled behind him like she already knew it wouldn't be.

They brought you back to their motel room, patched you up with gentle hands and dark eyes, and you didn't leave the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

Two months later, you still didn't know why.

You told yourself it was safety. That the way Sam looked at you—soft and too-long—was protection, not possession. That Ruby's fingers brushing your thigh were comfort, not calculation. You convinced yourself they needed you.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You were theirs. They had decided that long before you realised you had no choice in the matter.

They met you at your worst—bloody, shaking, stupid with adrenaline. Your first real hunt had gone sideways, and whatever experience you thought you had meant nothing when the claws hit skin. You should've died. You were ready to. But Sam was there, and Ruby moved like smoke, and the thing was gone before you even saw it clearly.

"Poor baby," Ruby had murmured, crouching beside you while Sam checked your wounds. "Too pretty to go out like that."

You'd flinched when she touched you, and she smiled like that was her favourite part.

You never asked why they took you with them. Sam had said something about keeping an eye on you, but his mouth twitched like it wasn't the whole truth. Ruby just grinned and said you were better off not knowing. You nodded. You didn't ask again.

At first, they let you come on hunts. Small ones. Salt-and-burns, poltergeists. Sam showed you how to hold a blade properly. Ruby taught you how to lie. You were good at both.

But over time, they started leaving you behind.

"It's too dangerous," Sam said.

"She's not ready," Ruby added, her hand stroking your back through the thin cotton of your shirt.

You didn't argue. You told yourself it was kindness. That they were protecting you. That it wasn't about keeping you soft.

But then came the looks. The touches. The nights where Sam would come back covered in blood, eyes sharp with something feral, and Ruby would kiss his knuckles while you watched from across the room, trying not to shake.

They never made you watch. But they never really let you look away, either.

They talked about him sometimes.

Dean.

You only ever caught the name in whispers. "He wouldn't understand."  or,"Dean would've stopped this." or, "Dean's gone." Always followed by a pause. Always followed by Ruby looking at Sam like she was daring him to fall apart.

You didn't know who he was. You didn't ask.

Every time you got too close to the door, every time you hovered outside just long enough to hear more, one of them would call out like they felt you there.

Sam's soft: "Baby?"

Or Ruby's syrupy: "Sweet thing, come here."

You always obeyed.

Sometimes, when they thought you were asleep, Sam would sit at the edge of your bed and run his hand down your hair. Just once. Just enough to make your breath catch. Sometimes, Ruby would slip under the covers beside you and whisper nonsense until you drifted off—half-lullaby, half-possession.

You weren't sure when it stopped being strange. You only knew that when they were gone too long, your chest felt empty. And when they came back, you'd breathe again. You weren't stupid. You just didn't know how to leave.

The rain started two hours ago.

It tapped against the window in slow, steady beats, like a clock winding down—like something counting out the seconds until they came back. You sat curled on the end of the bed in your pyjamas, legs pulled up, sleeves hanging past your wrists. The television glowed faintly in the dark, but you weren't watching. You hadn't really watched anything in days.

You just waited. You always waited.

The door creaked open a little after midnight.

Sam came in first, wet to the shoulders, eyes shadowed and far away. Blood soaked one sleeve of his shirt. You didn't ask whose. Ruby followed behind him, skin shining with water, hair stuck to her cheeks like tendrils.

She smiled when she saw you. Not kind. Not cruel. Just... like she already knew.

"Still awake, baby?" Her voice was smoke and candy.

You nodded. Sam didn't say anything. He locked the door behind them, set his knife down on the table like he was placing something sacred. You watched his hands—big, veined, careful. Ruby peeled off her jacket and let it drop to the floor.

"Poor thing," she murmured, walking past him. "All alone in the dark. Bet you were scared."

You opened your mouth to protest, but she was already kneeling in front of you, wet fingers brushing your knee where your pyjama shorts had ridden up. Her touch was cold. You shivered.

"Didn't like being away from us, huh?"

Sam sat down in the chair across from the bed, his legs spread wide, elbows on his knees. His eyes never left you.

"She hates it," he said softly. "I think she's scared we won't come back."

You looked down, cheeks burning.

"I'm not—"

"It's okay," Ruby cooed. "You should be scared. There's bad things out there, sweet girl. Things that want to hurt you. But we'd never let that happen." She leaned closer, nose brushing your jaw. "You know that, right?"

You nodded. Her hand slid higher on your thigh.

"You're a good girl."

There had been... moments.

Once, in another town, Ruby had let you sleep against her in the back of the car, and you'd woken to find her fingers in your hair and Sam's eyes on your legs in the rearview.

Once, when you'd had a nightmare, Sam had pulled you into his lap, shirtless and half-asleep, and you'd felt him hard under you. He didn't move. He didn't stop either.

Once, Ruby had kissed your neck while laughing at something Sam said, and you'd gone stiff all over, heart beating like you were running from something. But she only giggled and said, "So easy to fluster. It's adorable."

You weren't sure when your body had stopped listening to you. Or when the idea of leaving had started to sound like dying.

Ruby climbed up behind you on the bed now, curled against your back, legs bracketing yours.

"You've been so patient with us," she whispered against your neck. "Hasn't she, Sam?"

He hummed low in his throat, eyes raking down your frame.

"She's always good," he murmured. "Even when she doesn't understand."

Your breath caught. Ruby kissed just behind your ear.

"Do you want to understand, baby?"

You nodded before you knew what you were agreeing to.

Ruby smiled against your skin. Sam stood slowly, crossing to the bed, and the air changed—thickened. You watched him the whole way, your lips parting when he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek.

"We'd never lie to you," he said, low and warm. "But there are things you're not ready for. Things that would scare you."

"We keep you soft because we love you," Ruby added, her hand sliding up your arm. "Don't you like being soft for us?"

You swallowed hard. "I... I think so."

Sam's mouth curled at the corner.

"That's our girl."

He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead—so tender it made your eyes sting. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

"You don't have to think so," he whispered. "You just have to be."

They didn't kiss you that night. They didn't touch you like that. But Ruby held you in bed, and Sam sat in the chair until morning, watching. His hands didn't stop shaking. You didn't ask why.

You dreamt of red eyes and whispered names and Sam's voice saying, "She's ours. No one touches her but us."

You woke up aching and didn't know why.

They thought you were asleep. You were supposed to be. The lights were off, your hoodie was still warm from Ruby's perfume, and you'd curled up like always—safe and small beneath too many blankets in too big a bed.

But something about the way they said "we need to talk" had twisted in your chest.

Ruby's hand had been gentle on your back as she whispered to Sam that they'd take the room next door. Just for a bit. Just to "talk business." You'd nodded sleepily, like a good girl. Like someone who didn't immediately sit up the second the door clicked shut.

Now?

Now you were barefoot on the cheap motel carpet, heart fluttering, palm pressed to the adjoining door like it might burn you.

It was cracked open. Just an inch. Just enough.

Their voices leaked through, low and urgent.

"She's not ready," Sam was saying. His voice was strained—tired, fraying at the edges. "She's barely holding on as it is. If we push too hard—"

"She's perfect, Sam." Ruby's voice was velvet and smoke. "She's soft, scared, completely dependent. She'd do anything you asked."

Silence.

Then Ruby again, slower this time. Sharper.

"You think you're protecting her by waiting. But you're just dragging it out. You're making her confused. She doesn't know what you want. And she's starting to wonder."

Something slammed—maybe his hand against the table, maybe his fist against the wall. You pressed your hand tighter to the doorframe, mouth dry.

"She's pure." Sam again. Quieter. Like it hurt to say. "She trusts us. I don't want to ruin that."

"You already have." Ruby's tone turned sweet. "And she loves you for it."

You swallowed hard. And then—just as your breath caught and you started to step back—

"She's here."

Your blood turned to ice.

"She's listening."

Ruby opened the door before you could run.

She stood framed in soft yellow light, one shoulder bare, hair tumbling over her collarbone. Her lips curved when she saw you—like a cat catching something small and trembling.

"Hi, baby."

Your voice caught. "I—I didn't mean to—"

"Of course you didn't," she purred. "Come here."

You hesitated.

Her fingers extended slowly. Her voice softened into something intimate and honey-warm.

"You don't have to listen at the door, sweet thing. If you want to know what we're talking about, you just have to ask."

You stepped forward before you meant to. Her hand curled around yours and tugged you gently into the room.

Sam was standing beside the table, hands braced on the wood like he'd been holding himself up. His eyes met yours—and he looked wrecked. Pupils blown wide. Jaw clenched. Like you'd caught him mid-sin.

"She shouldn't—" he started, but Ruby cut him off.

"She should."

She brought you closer, her body warm behind yours as she pressed you into Sam's line of sight.

"You want to protect her?" She whispered, lips ghosting your ear. "Then stop pretending she doesn't already belong to us."

Sam exhaled hard. His gaze dropped—your bare legs, the hem of your sleep shirt, the way your breathing had turned shallow.

"We're not trying to hurt you," he said hoarsely. "You know that, right?"

You nodded. You meant it. Your voice trembled anyway.

"I trust you."

Ruby made a pleased sound behind you. Her hands skimmed your waist, resting low on your hips.

"Good girl," she murmured.

You felt her smile against your neck.

"That's all we've ever wanted."

They didn't kiss you. Not yet. But Ruby turned you around in her arms, pressed your forehead to hers and said:

"You're already halfway gone, baby. Just let go."

Sam stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides. You didn't see the moment he stepped forward—but you felt it. The heat. The pull. The weight of him.

"We'll take care of you," he whispered. "You don't have to think anymore. You just have to be ours."

You closed your eyes and nodded. You didn't understand what was wrong with Sam—but something was.

His chest was rising too fast. His jaw clenched and unclenched like it was wired too tight, and his eyes... his eyes looked wrong. Black-ringed, glossy, so blown out you could barely see the colour. He looked at you like he was starving.

Like he'd been starving for a while.

Ruby was calm. Radiant. She moved with syrup-slow precision, curling one hand around your wrist and bringing it to her lips as she smiled at Sam.

"She's so good for us," she murmured. Her breath was warm against your skin. "Aren't you, baby?"

You nodded before you even knew what you were agreeing to.

Sam made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. His fists tightened where they hung at his sides.

"Ruby..." he said low, like a warning.

But she just giggled—light, pretty, dangerous.

"She wants this," she said simply. "You think I haven't seen the way she watches you? The way she trembles when you say her name?"

She turned toward you, brushing a finger along your jaw.

"Don't you want to be touched, sweet thing?"

You couldn't speak. You could only nod again, your lips parted, breath shaky. You felt like your whole body was made of heat and nothing.

Ruby kissed you before you could think.

It wasn't soft—not really. It was slow, but insistent, her mouth warm and firm against yours. Her hands gripped your waist like she owned you. Like she had every right. Her tongue slipped past your lips and you gasped into it, your knees going weak, clinging to her shirt like it might save you.

When she pulled back, you were dizzy.

"See?" She said sweetly. "So easy."

She led you backward, fingers laced in yours, and gently sat you down in the worn motel chair by the window. The fabric was cold under your bare thighs.

Sam hadn't moved. He stood like a statue at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, eyes locked on yours like he couldn't look away.

"Sit," Ruby told him, her tone turning just slightly firmer.

And he did.

She guided him down until he sat at the edge of the bed—his legs spread, boots still planted on the carpet. He looked massive, ruined, caught in the middle of something he couldn't name. His hands gripped the edge of the bed like he was afraid to touch anything.

Ruby turned back to you, lips wet, cheeks flushed.

"Watch closely, baby."

She climbed into Sam's lap in one slow, fluid motion, straddling him. His hands hovered at her sides like he was afraid to hold her. But Ruby leaned in, close to his ear, speaking words too soft for you to hear.

Then she turned her head to look at you—smiling. Like this was all a show, and you were the only audience that mattered.

"He's so worked up, poor thing," she purred. "Do you want a turn?"

Your breath caught.

"You wanna be a good girl and help us feel better?"

You nodded, your thighs clenching together on instinct.

Ruby kissed Sam then—messy and deep, her fingers in his hair. He groaned into it, hands finally finding her hips. She rocked against him once and his whole body jerked.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice shredded. "Ruby—"

She pulled back and looked at you again.

"Come here, sweet thing."

You stood on shaky legs.

"Take my place," she whispered, climbing off him slowly, deliberately, dragging her fingers down his chest. "Be good."

You moved without thinking.

Sam's eyes were wild when you stepped between his knees—dark and blown, lips parted. His hands hovered, not quite touching.

Ruby slid behind you, her arms around your waist as she guided you down—down into his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, your breath coming short and fast.

"That's it," she whispered, lips against your ear. "Feel how hard he is for you? How much he wants you?"

You whimpered, your thighs tightening as she rocked your hips forward once—slow, grinding you down against him.

Sam's head dropped back with a groan.

"Ruby—fuck, she doesn't—"

"She wants to," Ruby said. "Don't you, baby?"

You nodded helplessly.

"Say it," Ruby coaxed. "Tell him you want to make him feel good."

Your voice was barely a breath.

"I want to make you feel good..."

Sam's hands finally touched you. Gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. His voice cracked when he said your name.

Ruby purred.

"Good girl."

You didn't mean to moan—but it slipped out anyway.

Just a soft, broken sound in the back of your throat as Ruby rocked your hips forward again, grinding you down into the thick, aching heat of Sam's cock through his jeans.

His head dropped forward, mouth brushing your collarbone. He made a noise like he was choking on the feel of you.

"Fuck, she's—Ruby, I can't—"

"You can," she whispered, wrapping her arms around you from behind. "You will. Look at her, Sammy. Look how sweet she is. So wet for you already and you haven't even touched her yet."

Your sleep shirt had ridden up to your waist, bunched just under your ribs. Sam's hands were under it now—hot and wide and shaking, gripping your hips like he was holding back an earthquake. You could feel every twitch of him beneath you, trapped behind the denim, burning through it.

You couldn't stop shaking.

"You wanna help him, don't you?" Ruby's voice was syrup in your ear. "He's been so good. He's been waiting for you. Doesn't he deserve to feel good?"

You nodded, eyes fluttering.

"Yes..."

"Say it, baby. Say I want to make Sam feel good."

Your breath hitched.

"I... I want to make Sam feel good."

Sam groaned like it hurt. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted and flushed.

"Jesus Christ..."

Ruby's hands slid down your belly, fingertips just brushing the waistband of your panties. You gasped.

"That's our good girl," she whispered. "So responsive. So needy. Tell me, baby—have you ever been touched like this before?"

You whimpered. "No..."

"Mm." She kissed just behind your ear. "Even better."

Her fingers slid lower.

Sam's hands were everywhere now—your thighs, your waist, your lower back. His grip was rough, frantic, like he didn't know where to start. Like he wanted all of you at once.

"Ruby, I need—"

"I know," she said sweetly, pulling your panties to the side and slipping two fingers through the soaked heat between your thighs. "Look at her, Sam. She's dripping."

Your whole body jolted. You tried to twist away from the sensation, but Ruby only giggled and held you still.

"Shh, baby. Let us take care of you. You're doing so well."

She pulled her hand away slowly, teasing, and brought her fingers to Sam's mouth.

"Open."

He obeyed without thinking—lips parting as Ruby slid her fingers past them. He moaned low, guttural, eyes dark with something feral as he tasted you for the first time.

You made a wounded little sound, thighs trembling, head falling forward.

"Fuck—" he breathed. "She's... Ruby, she's perfect."

"I told you," she said, brushing your hair back, tucking it behind your ear like you were porcelain. "Didn't I say she'd be perfect?"

Then she leaned in again, voice like sin wrapped in silk.

"You ready for more, sweet thing?"

You couldn't speak. You just nodded. And it seemed that was all the encouragement Sam needed to shift the two of you further back onto the bed, keeping you pressed to him the entire time.

Ruby moved to sit behind you on the bed, one leg tucked under her, the other bracketing your thigh. Her hands slid up your sides, slow and soothing.

"Ride him just like that, baby," she whispered. "You're making him feel so good."

You whimpered, your hands resting on Sam's shoulders, your hips rocking in slow, helpless circles as heat curled tighter in your belly.

"You wanna keep going?" She asked, her voice dipped in honey. "Wanna make him feel even better?"

You nodded, dizzy and breathless.

"Then be a good girl and let me help you."

Her fingers slipped between your thighs again—this time not teasing. She manoeuvred you up off Sam's lap for a second, hooked her thumbs in your panties and dragged them down slowly, peeling them off and dropping them to the floor like they meant nothing.

Sam groaned beneath you, head tipping forward to rest against your chest.

"Jesus fucking Christ..."

Ruby smiled against your shoulder and whispered like a secret:

"Now ride him for real, sweet thing."

You were shaking.

Not from fear. Not exactly. But from something hot and thick curling in your belly, something too big to name. Your panties were gone, discarded on the floor like they'd never mattered. Sam was still hard beneath you, denim rough against your bare heat, and your hips were moving because Ruby told you to.

You were soaked.

You knew it. You felt it. The fabric of his jeans was sticky between your thighs and Sam was groaning, his head bowed low, sweat dampening the ends of his hair as he clutched at your waist like he might lose control.

It was too much.

"I... I don't know what to do," you whispered, voice trembling. "What do I... do?"

Ruby leaned in behind you again, her hands smoothing over your thighs, her lips brushing your ear.

"Aw, baby," she crooned. "You've really never done this before, have you?"

You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

"No..."

"Anything?" She asked softly, deceptively gentle. "Have you ever touched yourself? Let anyone else touch you?"

You flushed so hard your skin burned.

"N-no. I—I mean, not... not really..."

Ruby made a pleased little sound, like you'd just handed her the key to a locked room she'd been dying to enter.

"God, you really are perfect."

Her hands squeezed your thighs gently, her mouth warm at your jaw.

"Do you want to learn, sweet thing? Want to let us show you what feels good?"

You nodded, dazed.

"Say it."

"I... I want you to show me."

"Good girl."

Ruby kissed your shoulder, then gently—almost reverently—lifted you off of Sam's lap. He let out a breathless, broken sound, like even losing your weight made him ache. Ruby turned to him, tone shifting just enough to make it clear who was in charge here.

"Back," she said. "Now."

Sam didn't argue.

He moved further onto the bed in a slow, stiff blur, eyes glued to you like he couldn't believe this was real. His chest was rising fast, pupils blown to hell, lips parted like he might start begging. He looked like he was in pain.

You stood there, half-naked and trembling, your oversized sleep shirt hitched up high, bare legs shaking.

"Lie down, baby," Ruby said, turning her attention back to you. Her hands cupped your cheeks, her eyes glowing with soft, wicked promise. "Let us take care of you."

You obeyed.

She helped you down onto the bed, gently easing you onto your back, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips. You clung to her without meaning to, your fingers curling in her shirt, your legs twitching nervously.

"You're doing so good," she whispered. "You're being so brave. You'll love it, I promise. It's gonna feel so good..."

Her lips trailed lower—down your throat, between your collarbones, soft and slow. Her hands pushed your shirt up higher and higher, until your stomach was bare, your chest rising and falling like you'd run a mile.

She kissed every inch of exposed skin.

"Such soft skin... so untouched..."

Her hands slid down your thighs again—comforting, coaxing. Sam let out another choked sound, and when you looked over at him, his eyes were fixed between your legs, his hand gripping the bed like he might break it.

Ruby kissed the inside of your knee. Then your thigh. Then lower.

"Let me show you what it's supposed to feel like, sweet thing," she murmured, her breath ghosting over your heat. "You'll never want anything else after this."

You gasped when her mouth finally touched you—slow, teasing, masterful. You jolted, your hips bucking up in shock, but her hands held you down, firm but still gentle, like she'd done this before. Like she knew exactly how to unravel a girl like you.

You reached for something—anything—and Sam was there in an instant.

He crawled up beside you, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as you moaned helplessly beneath Ruby's mouth.

"You're okay," he whispered. "You're doing so good. God, you are so good..."

You turned your face into his neck, panting, whining, your thighs trembling as Ruby sucked softly on your clit, her tongue drawing slow, filthy circles that made your whole body clench.

"Let go, baby," she whispered between licks. "Be our good girl and come for us."

Your first orgasm broke over you like something sacred.

One second you were gasping into Sam's neck, Ruby's mouth still moving between your thighs, and the next—your back arched, a sob tore from your throat, and your whole body shuddered like you'd been struck by lightning.

It wasn't sharp—it was overwhelming. Full-body. Wringing you out like wet cloth. Sam held your hand tighter, whispering praise that barely landed, and Ruby moaned against your cunt like she felt it, like your release was something for her.

"God, baby," she breathed, and then—she slipped a finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

You jolted, a strangled cry slipping out as aftershocks tore through you. Sam's grip on your hand went white-knuckled.

Ruby moaned.

"She's so warm, Sam," she said, voice thick, dreamy. "So wet. You have no idea."

You whined, writhing, but Ruby only kissed your thigh like a reward and pulled her finger out—slick, shining.

"You're such a good girl for us," she whispered. "That was so beautiful."

She crawled back up your body, her skin hot against yours, and kissed your lips again. Deep, slow, tasting like you.

"Sam," she purred between kisses, her voice dipped in smoke. "You have to try this."

Sam didn't speak.

He just grabbed her—hard. One hand in her hair, the other on her hip, yanking her off you with a roughness that made your breath catch. He crushed his mouth to hers in a brutal kiss—desperate, consuming—and then shoved her aside like she was nothing more than a gatekeeper to his altar.

His altar being you.

He dropped between your legs without a word, spreading you open with shaking hands, and dove in like a man starved.

You screamed.

It was too much. Still trembling from your first orgasm, your body overloaded, you cried out as his tongue dragged through your folds, moaning against you like he was fucking possessed. And maybe he was. His grip on your thighs was bruising, his mouth unrelenting.

"Oh my god—S-Sam—!"

You tried to close your legs on instinct, but he just growled—growled—and shoved them wider, burying his face deeper.

"That's it," Ruby whispered, curling up beside you again. Her fingers found your hair, stroking it gently, brushing it behind your ears with all the tenderness of a mother tucking in her child. "Let him ruin you, baby. You're being so perfect."

You whimpered, face twisting into something close to pain.

"It's too much..."

"Shhh." Her hand cupped your cheek. "That's what makes it good."

Sam groaned between your thighs, low and wrecked. His tongue moved faster, deeper, insistent, like he couldn't get enough. Like he wanted to crawl inside you and stay.

"You feel that, sweet thing?" Ruby murmured, her mouth close to yours. "That's what happens when you give yourself over."

She kissed you again—languid, possessive, one hand still petting you like you were something to soothe and subdue.

"Open your mouth for me," she whispered. "You're drooling. It's cute."

You blinked, dazed, lips parting as her thumb pressed to your jaw.

"Let me feel it."

You obeyed.

She kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue slick against yours, swallowing your moans and the helpless sounds you made as Sam devoured you like he'd die if he stopped.

"That's it," she said softly. "Drool in my mouth, baby. You're doing so good."

She turned her head slightly, speaking to Sam like you weren't even there.

"She's so sensitive. Barely came once and look at her—already shaking for you."

Sam just groaned in response, too lost to speak. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his tongue relentless, and you broke again with a sharp cry into Ruby's mouth.

You couldn't stop crying. Your legs wouldn't stop trembling, your voice had gone hoarse from moaning, and Sam was still between your thighs, tongue moving like he didn't hear you—like he didn't care.

"S-Sam—p-please—" Your fingers twisted in the sheets, your hips jerking, but his arms locked you down. "I—I c-can't—!"

Ruby was still beside you, still stroking your hair like nothing was wrong.

"Sam," she said softly. "Baby, she's crying."

He didn't stop.

He growled against you—low and guttural—and sucked harder, dragging his tongue with filthy, practiced strokes that had your spine arching, tears streaking your cheeks.

"Do you need him to stop, sweet thing?" Ruby whispered, brushing her thumb over your wet lashes.

You sobbed. Nodded.

"Y-yes—please—I c-can't take anymore—"

"Aww," she cooed, her voice like poisoned honey. "My poor baby. You're so sensitive. So perfect for him."

You gasped when Sam gripped your thighs tighter—his fingertips digging in, holding you wide open as his mouth moved faster, chasing another orgasm like he was possessed.

Ruby leaned in closer, her voice dipped in false sympathy.

"If he stops now..." she said sweetly, "...he's going to be so unsatisfied. That wouldn't be fair to him, would it?"

You blinked, dazed and wrecked, chest heaving.

"W-what...?"

"He's been waiting for you for so long, baby," she continued, stroking your cheek. "He's so hard it hurts. If you really want him to stop, you're gonna have to give him something."

You whimpered, nodding blindly.

"Anything, please—j-just make him stop—"

Ruby smiled like the devil in silk.

"Then you'll let him fuck you, sweet thing?" She kissed your temple. "You'll let him put his cock in that sweet little pussy and use you the way he needs to?"

Your lips trembled. You were crying so hard now it didn't feel real. But you nodded again. You couldn't think past the overstimulation—just needed him out from between your legs, needed something to change.

"Yes—yes, please—please—just make him stop—"

Ruby sat up, her voice turning firm.

"Sam. Stop."

He didn't move.

"Sam."

He growled—growled, full-bodied, vibrating the bed. His eyes were black, mouth wet, breath ragged.

"Don't—don't fucking tell me to stop—"

Ruby laughed.

"You'll thank me in thirty seconds, big boy."

She shoved him back by the shoulder, and this time—barely—he let her. He knelt between your legs, panting, pupils swallowing the green of his eyes.

Ruby leaned over you again, her hands spreading your legs wider.

"You're gonna take him now," she whispered. "You're gonna let him fuck you like he's been dreaming about for weeks. And you're gonna thank him for it."

You sobbed. Nodded.

Sam's hands fumbled with his jeans, dragging them down far enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, angry red with need. He didn't say a word. He just looked at you, hair in his face, jaw clenched, chest heaving.

"She said yes, Sammy," Ruby whispered. "She wants it. She wants you."

Sam moved fast.

He grabbed your hips, yanked you down the bed, and pressed the blunt head of his cock to your slick entrance. You gasped, eyes wide, every nerve ending screaming.

"You ready, sweet thing?" Ruby murmured, mouth at your ear. "You ready to be his?"

You whispered it, broken.

"Yes..."

Then Sam sank into you in one brutal thrust, and the sound you made wasn't human.

Your back arched, your breath vanished, and your body clenched around him like it didn't know how to take it. He was thick, hot, impossibly deep—and still moving, dragging out slowly, then slamming back in so hard the headboard rattled against the wall.

"Fuck—fuck— you feel unreal," he groaned, eyes squeezed shut, his voice wrecked. "So fucking tight—shit, baby, you were made for me—"

You cried out, hands grasping at the sheets, your body already fried and raw from overstimulation. Every thrust felt like lightning—too much, too deep, too good.

"You okay, baby?" Ruby murmured beside you, her voice sweet and syrupy. "You still with us?"

You nodded through the sob that escaped you, and she smiled like you'd just done something precious.

"That's my girl."

Sam fucked into you harder—hard enough to make the bed creak, his grip bruising on your hips. He looked elated, lost in it, mouth open as he moaned through gritted teeth.

"So fucking pretty when you cry," he panted. "Look at you—look what you're giving me—fuck—"

Ruby slid closer, still fully clothed, lips ghosting your temple.

"She's drooling again," she said with a laugh, her tone sing-song and amused. "You love this too much, sweet thing. Can't even keep your mouth closed."

You whimpered, your thighs shaking, and she kissed your cheek sweetly.

"That's okay," she whispered. "We love how messy you are."

Her hand slipped beneath her waistband, fingers curling—and then she took your trembling wrist and guided it down with her.

"Here," she murmured. "You wanna be good for me? Touch me."

Your fingers slipped beneath the lace, and you gasped when you felt how wet she was—soaked, hot, throbbing against your hand. She moaned low in your ear.

"That's it," she breathed. "Let me show you..."

Her hand wrapped around yours, using you, grinding down onto your fingers as Sam fucked you open in deep, brutal strokes that made your stomach tighten and your vision blur.

"Move in little circles," Ruby whispered, guiding your fingers. "Mmm—just like that, baby. You're such a fast learner."

Sam was losing it.

"She's touching you?" He groaned, looking down at you both, sweat dripping from his hairline. "Fuck, Ruby, fuck— she's so perfect—"

"She's everything," Ruby said with a soft moan, pressing your fingers harder. "She's ours now. Look at her. Look at what she's letting us do."

You choked on a sob, your hand trapped between Ruby's thighs, your body jerking with every thrust of Sam's cock. He was panting now, animalistic, his hands sliding up under your shirt to grope at your breasts, dragging his thumbs over your nipples.

"You hear that, baby?" Ruby crooned. "Hear how wet you are? How wet I am? It's all for you."

"You feel so good—so fucking good—" Sam growled, his thrusts speeding up, sloppy and deep. "I'm never gonna stop—never—never letting you go—"

Ruby grabbed your jaw, turned your face toward her, and kissed you like she owned you—tongue pushing into your mouth, swallowing your sobs and your moans, your drool and desperation.

"Open for me, sweet thing," she whispered against your lips. "Let me taste how wrecked you are."

You obeyed. You always obeyed. And as she kissed you, she didn't hold back, drool leaking into your mouth, sliding down your throat like a living thing. Warm. Sweet.

And Sam? Sam was losing it.

Sweat dripped from his chest, his arms were trembling from how hard he held himself above you, and his thrusts—fuck—they were frantic now, so deep and fast it felt like your body couldn't keep up. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He was babbling between moans, his voice cracked open, wrecked.

"Can't believe this is real—fuck, you feel like heaven—so tight, so fucking warm—squeezing me, baby, you're fucking—you were made for this—"

Your legs were jelly around his hips. Your voice was gone, reduced to broken gasps and whines as his cock hit that deep spot again and again, the bed groaning under every thrust. Your hand was still between Ruby's thighs, her slick soaking your fingers, and she was rolling her hips against them slowly, deliberately.

"That's it, sweet thing," Ruby purred, her voice so gentle it made your eyes sting. "Let me use that precious little hand. You're such a good girl for us, letting us fuck you just right."

She leaned over you again, brushing your sweaty hair behind your ears, thumbing your jaw open.

"You want something in that mouth, baby?" She whispered sweetly. "You want me to spit in it again?"

You nodded—desperate, dazed, ruined.

She smiled.

"Open up."

She let it hang between her lips for just a second before letting it fall—hot, thick, landing on your tongue like sin. You moaned, tongue twitching, and she cooed.

"Swallow it like a good girl."

You did.

Sam groaned like he might fucking die.

"She's letting you spit in her mouth?" He gasped. "Jesus— fuck, I'm not gonna last—she's so—"

"She wants it, baby," Ruby crooned. "Don't you, sweet thing? You love how good you make him feel?"

You nodded, sobbing.

"Mhmm—yes—yes please—feels so good—!"

Ruby's hand slid between your legs again—while Sam was still fucking you—and her thumb found your clit with perfect, devastating pressure. You screamed, body jerking violently as she circled it with soft, expert cruelty.

"That's it," she whispered. "Let me help you break."

Sam was gone. Gone.

"Gonna fill you up, baby," he grunted, thrusts getting rougher, more erratic. "You're gonna take it, right? Let me come inside that pretty little cunt?"

"She wants it," Ruby said, matter-of-fact. "She's mine now. She'll take anything I give her. Won't you, baby?"

You cried out, stars bursting behind your eyes, your fingers slipping deeper into Ruby as her hand guided you.

"Fuck me with them," she murmured, voice like velvet-dipped knives. "Make me come while Sammy fucks you full."

You whimpered, your fingers pumping helplessly into her dripping heat as her thumb rubbed cruel circles into your clit, Sam's cock still slamming deep inside, faster, harder—

"You're mine—ours—fuck, I'm gonna—baby—take it—"

You shattered.

Your body convulsed, the scream caught in your throat, legs kicking uselessly as the orgasm ripped through you like nothing had ever existed before it. Sam groaned so loud it echoed off the walls—and then spilled inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as he filled you up, panting, gasping, babbling your name and Ruby's in a filthy prayer.

Ruby came on your fingers a moment later, moaning low, hand never stopping on your clit as you sobbed through the comedown—wrecked, full, ruined.

"There you go," she whispered. "That's it, baby. That's my perfect little thing."

She kissed you once, slow and sweet.

"You're never leaving this bed again."

You didn't remember when you stopped crying. Somewhere between Sam's moans and Ruby's mouth, your tears had dried—leaving only heat, and ache, and the tremble in your thighs as you lay between them.

You were sore. Sticky. Wrecked in a way that felt permanent.

But you didn't want to move.

You could still feel Sam's spend leaking out of you, warm and slow. Ruby's breath was soft against your cheek, her fingers still tangled with yours like they had every right to be. Sam's hand rested over your belly—heavy, protective, possessive.

You felt claimed. Worshipped. Ruined.

You stared up at the ceiling, breath ragged, thoughts flickering like static, and it settled in your chest like truth:

You weren't yours anymore.

You didn't know when it had happened—when your body stopped being yours, when your heart shifted, when your innocence dissolved between their hands.

You just knew that it had.

And maybe that should have scared you. Maybe, once, it would have.

But lying there, between them—used, owned, kept—all you felt was peace. Because here, in this bed, you belonged to them. And you weren't sure you ever wanted to leave.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @tinas111 @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l <3

[thoughtkick]

Sometimes it seemed to me like everyone I knew was wearing a mask, trying to hide who they really were.

Josephine Ruby, from Daphne and Velma: The Vanishing Girl

[c-r-ash-crash]

I love learning new skills

It's hard, obviously, but I love that my brain has to pause, has to consider and think and breath for a minute as it tries to figure out something new.

It's hard when something isn't as intuitive as breathing, like it's become with my other skills, but that one moment where my brain pauses, where I can feel it restructuring itself, is one of the most wonderful feelings in the world. Anyways, I love learning new skills.

[stevebabey]

pre-steddie (its rly scratching the itch atm), steve harrington being a sad drunk :(, angst with a happy ending, 1.4k

If you asked him how it transpired, Eddie couldn’t tell you — but somehow, there’s a drunk Steve Harrington on the Munson’s couch.

Physically, he’d hazard a guess Steve walked all the way from whatever party he’d been at. Which is a concern in itself—either Steve wandered through the woods or he wandered quite some way, but that’s a whole other can of worms.

The why of why Steve’s here—why he chose to sought out Eddie in particular—is another mystery altogether.

If Eddie had to guess, he’d say somewhere between the commonality of crashing at each other’s place to keep the nightmares at bay and a night of drinking is how Steve ended up here.

It’s nearing midnight the clock tells him, blinking red from the microwave. Steve’s holding a glass of water that he’s sipped from only once.

And he’s sad.

Considering it, Eddie hadn’t thought Steve would be a sad drunk. Especially if you consider the sheer amount of parties he threw as a teenager.

It just doesn’t quite fit into his ever changing picture of Steve Harrington. Like a puzzle piece the wrong shape that doesn’t fit with the rest. Happy drunk? Horny drunk? Those made better sense than this.

But then again, Eddie stopped trying to make sense of Steve a couple months after the Vecna-episode of their lives.

(It’s sort of something he really likes about Steve, that he can’t ever really pin him down — that he’s always surprising Eddie.)

Either way, the fact remains that Steve is drunk and Steve is sad.

Eddie just doesn’t know about what.

“C’mon,” Eddie nudges the glass in Steve’s hand gently, the second time tonight. “Gotta drink up, Stevie, lest you risk the wrath of tomorrow’s hangover.”

Steve’s slumped sideways on the couch, not too drunk to be out of it, but evidently rather physically beat. He’s leaning his head up against the ratty leather of the couch, his eyes closed.

Eddie sits opposite him, enough distance to keep it friendly, but close enough to catch the glass if Steve suddenly decides he doesn’t feel like holding it anymore.

He wants to sit closer, wants to maybe even hold Steve’s hand. Cup his face and murmur sweet nothings until sad drunk Steve is replaced by someone happier.

Eddie swallows the desire down, away.

By all accounts, there’s nothing Steve’s said or done to give away his sadness. Eddie only knows he’s sad from that slight downturn of his mouth — the slight jut of his lip. The world’s most adorable pout if it wasn’t being caused for bad reasons, Eddie thinks.

He knows what it looks like because it’s what Steve looks like when he wakes from a nightmare. When he’s properly distressed, thrust to the verge of tears. Eddie knows the sight well. (And Steve knows his.)

On the couch beside him, Steve makes a little noise in response to the nudge. His eyes crease open.

He looks tired. It’s not the exhaustion that comes with terror, with having sleep chased from you, but… bone-deep tiredness.

Eddie’s lip part, unsure if it’s to urge Steve to drink some water again or just to ask what’s wrong when—

“No one wants it.” Steve says, in the smallest voice. It’s barely a whisper.

Eddie’s brows draw together. The sadness in Steve’s words travel out, pushing an ache into his chest.

“Wants what?”

Steve is silent. He’s not looking at Eddie — he wasn’t before, but now his gaze is downcast, studying the glass in his hands. His finger traces the rim.

“Wants what, Steve?” Eddie tries again.

This time, Steve sighs and it looks like it takes the wind out of him completely. “My…”

There’s a crack in his voice. Steve clears his throat and closes his eyes again, this time scrunched up as if he’s resisting the emotion that tries to take over.

“My stupid love. Keep… keep tryna give it, but no one wants to take it.” He inhales jaggedly, turning an inch and pressing further into the couch, like he’s hiding. His voice is muffled and wrecked. “No one wants it.”

Something splinters in Eddie’s chest, slivers of agony burying beneath his skin. He’s speechless.

How can Steve think that? How can he believe that?

“I do,” Eddie says, before realising what’s he’s saying.

Steve stiffens on the couch, tentatively digging his face out from hiding. His downturned eyes still have that warbling sadness and Eddie just needs to make it better — even if it means throwing his pathetic crush under the bus.

“Eddie-” Steve says, wary and tired all at once, as if he’s saying don’t do this, don’t lie to me.

“I do. It sounds lovely,” Eddie insists, completely truthful. “If you want someone to give it to, I’ll take it. I want it.”

Steve eyes him. Some of that melancholy in him has turned to apprehension. He sniffles a bit and sighs again.

“Not- not like that.” Steve murmurs, eyes falling back to the glass in his hands. He speaks with a lilt of embarrassment, as though he thinks it’s shameful to care this much. “Not as a friend, Eddie.”

A stone grows in Eddie’s throat. It’ll hurt like hell to swallow it, to speak, but Steve has always been worth it.

“I know,” Eddie breathes. He can’t quite keep all his nerves out of the words and they jam up in his mouth for a moment. “Not like that, Steve.”

He desperately wants to grab his own hair, to fiddle with it, release some tension, but he also doesn’t want to break the quiet softness between them.

The fridge hums in the silence. The clock on the microwave blinks back midnight.

Wishing hour? Maybe in some myths and stories. Eddie clings it anyway.

Steve’s hazel eyes are a little wider now. A little more awake. He’s picked his head up, no longer leaning against the couch cushions.

“You…”

Freak. Fag. Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies every awful way this could roll, entirely too late. He tenses up, shoulders curling in, a minuscule motion.

But Steve doesn’t look disgusted, he looks a little in disbelief.

“You… want it?” He asks, that same quiet whisper.

And that does a number of Eddie’s heart—the enormity of Steve’s disbelief that someone would want his love, that the rest of it—the semantics, the fact that boys can’t kiss boys—doesn’t even matter to him.

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. He nods jerkily, the nerves still there, even with Steve’s easy acceptance. “I do. I’d love to have it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s laid his head back down, his hair scrunched up against the leather, but his eyes are still on Eddie. Not scrutinising, just studying. There’s still that hazy look to them, no doubt the alcohol still in his veins.

“I never… didn’t think…” He’s murmuring more to himself. From the concentration of his gaze, he’s thinking hard. He sniffles again, nose twitching and then frowns, eyes cast to the side, before,

“Okay,” Steve says finally, voice quiet. “If you… if you mean it.”

Then he unfurls his hand, the one that had been tracing the glass, and puts it forward. Between them on the couch.

Eddie eyes it, stomach swooping, pulse thudding, and then does what he does best; throws caution to the wind. Steve might hate him tomorrow but tonight, Eddie won’t hide.

Their fingers slot together easily, two perfect puzzle pieces.

Eddie wonders if him in Steve’s life, him like this with Steve, is one of those things that would work—would make sense. If he wants to make sense with Steve or instead be another surprising thing about him.

(That Steve Harrington might like boys. Might like Eddie.)

Steve is gazing at their joined hands. For the first time since he got to Eddie’s trailer, his lips turn upward, a very small yet happy smile. He gives a very light squeeze with his hand, the lack of strength evidence of his sleepiness. Eddie squeezes back nonetheless.

Then Steve’s eyes are closed and in a few deep breathes, he’s out like a light.

It’s a careful process to extract the glass of water from Steve’s clenched hand, but Eddie manages it. It sits on the edge of the coffee table and when Steve wakes up, mouth dry and in need of water, it will be there.

And so will Eddie.

The burning possibilities of what happens come tomorrow—when Steve’s sober and actually thinking straight (ha)—filter through Eddie’s mind, but he can’t find it in himself.

There’s no regret of he’s done. What he’s said, what’s been revealed.

It’s tomorrow’s problem (or tomorrow’s fantasy come true…?), but til then, Eddie burrows into the couch and readies for a sore neck tomorrow morning.

He should really get up and turn the lamp off, Eddie thinks to himself. Then Steve snuffles in his sleep, uses their intertwined fingers to bring him closer, and he forgets all about it.

[nosnexus]

Sneak peak of my piece for @rubyrockszine which you can now get HERE!

There's so much cool stuff to see!

[h8aaz]

❝ taboo .ᐟ ❞

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — a demon and an angel being together is wrong; so why does it feel right when its just you and ruby alone and she makes you feel so good?

⭒ 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 — angel!reader . kissing . fingering . oral fem! receiving . rubbing/scissoring? . slight dacryphilia . first time . use of (name) . NOT PROOFREAD SO BE NICE!! .

“hey, angel,” ruby mocked as she closed the door to the winchesters’ motel room, being empty of the brothers as they were on a hunt, leaving you in their wake.

“ruby.” you snarled as you turned to face her from your residence on sam’s bed. “what do you want? sam and dean are not here.” you spoke sternly. your structured way of speaking made the demon across from you smirk. she loved hearing you talk; how you didn’t know any slang or casual way of speaking, it made her admire you in a way she shouldn’t—you were an angel, and she hates angels.

ruby sighed, “formal as always, (name),” she rolled her eyes as she made her way towards you. “the guys should really teach you how to talk normally, because this?” she paused to circle her index finger at you, “this is too ‘business meeting’ rather than two friends catching up.”

you squinted your eyes into a strong glare as she shrugged off her jacket, tossing it onto the nearby chair. “we are not friends. and we do not catch up.” your gaze followed her form as she sauntered over to sit next to you on the edge of the bed.

“right. but we could be,” the side of her mouth upturned into a sly smirk, “i mean, a pretty angel being friends with her sworn enemy? quite the story, huh?” the glint in her eyes changed, you couldn’t exactly tell what it was—but it felt dangerous. she skimmed over your figure in a slow glide of her eyes, and it made you shiver.

“what? what are you doing?” you whispered, your shy voice egging her on unintentionally. “just looking,” she responded casually, very blatantly eyeing you up. you cowered slightly as she devoured you in her gaze. what was this feeling? why did you feel scared? you’re an angel, you’re better than this. better than her.

so why were you feeling the most conflicted you’ve ever been since you first arrived in your vessel? there was a hint of something else bubbling inside you. you didn’t know what that was either. but the way ruby was staring and the tone she had when she spoke, it was causing you to feel things you didn’t understand, and you were too afraid to find out.

“whatcha thinkin’ about, (name)?” her voice broke through your thoughts, bringing you back into the moment.

“nothing,” your voice wavered as you hesitantly met her eyes. what was wrong with you? why are you acting this way? did she do something? she smells the same, looks the same, irritates you the same. but what is this feeling in your lower stomach? and why is it somehow reaching further down your body the longer she stares at you?

“really? nothing?” she questioned, dragging out the last word as she got closer to you. you felt a familiar heat rise to your cheeks—something you always felt around the winchesters for some odd reason. you knew dean made certain jokes, and your body reacted accordingly, you assumed. sam would give you longing stares and often tried to protect you from said jokes, awkwardly yet intelligently explaining what was happening to you whenever you asked.

you were flustered. ruby had made you flustered.

and you liked it.

“what’s on your mind, angel?” the brunette asked. you could practically feel the desire dripping from her voice—almost like honey. “you can tell me. i’m here to listen.” her breath fanned over your lips as she got closer. and you didn’t back away. she tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and held back most of her smirk. “tell me what you want, baby, tell me what you want me to do, and i’ll do it.” she nudged your nose with her own.

and you whimpered.

“words, baby,” she cooed. she snuck a hand up to cradle your face, pulling you until your lips brushed. this was wrong. this was blasphemous. but you couldn’t stop the two words that came from you. “kiss me.” you whispered against her mouth, your words being swallowed by her open grin. ruby connected her lips with your own, the sensation filling you with immense warmth. the kiss itself was fairly soft, but lust lingered in every movement.

you didn’t know how to kiss—as this was obviously your first. but you assumed your vessel had kissed before as it seemed to act on muscle memory. but you mostly just followed ruby’s lead, and she was good.

your hands hovered over her waist before landing and finding sanctuary there. her shirt had ridden up slightly, and thanks to her low rise jeans, you felt her skin on your fingertips. she became more eager now that you were touching her. and she showed it. she licked your bottom lip before slipping her tongue past and into your mouth. you gasped at the action but soon melted as your tongues tangled together. moans fell from both of you, crashing as your mouths collided faster.

her hands glided down to your breasts, cupping and groping while her lips found residence on your neck. she nipped, sucked, marked you as hers while pleasured sounds flew freely from you, letting her know her effect on you. your own hands wandered her body in a mix of hesitance and curiosity. you wanted to feel her everywhere. her skin was smooth, perfect. you had yearned for her touch for so long, denying yourself of the thought of merely brushing your pinky against her fingers as you stood next to her. but now she was claiming you, flicking her tongue against the freshly red bites she left—that would soon turn purple and raise multiple questions from the winchesters.

“i wanna taste you,” she whispered into your ear. you shuddered at the thought. “please,” she begged. ruby would never beg. but now she’s begging you to let her taste you? kissing and touching—being in the same damn room as a demon was frowned upon, forbidden on all sides. but to let one ‘go down’ on you? as dean supposedly liked to call the action. that was a new level of rebellion and sin that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. but to lie and say you didn’t want to find out was another point against what you stood for.

“yes,” you breathed. and she was off. she pushed you back against the bed, in too gentle of a manner for a demon. she took her time undressing you. she planted soft kisses along your body, her lips touching every centimeter of your skin. she had saved your underwear for last, slowly taking off the cotton. her pupils dilated, her mouth salivating, all from the sight of your most sacred body part. drenched and sensitive. just for her. because of her.

her tongue slipped up your folds in a long stripe, making you whine and twitch as she circled your clit. she wrapped her arms under and around your thighs, prying you open as she worked you with her tongue, pornagraphic noises spewing from your slacked mouth. your body jolted at the feel of her devouring you—your hands gripping the sheets before moving to her hair. your fingers threaded through her brown strands, getting tangled the more you moved. she grumbled and groaned; the noises she let out vibrating against you, sending you into overdrive. you had never felt this way before. and you weren’t sure if you’d ever want to stop.

she pulled away, your arousal and her saliva mixed on her face. “tell me you want it, angel,” she purred. she brought one of her arms from under you, trailing a finger close to your entrance. “tell me you want me to fill you up.” she placed a kiss on your inner thigh. you propped yourself up on your elbows, meeting her gaze. she looked beautiful in-between your legs. the sight of her would be etched into your mind forever.

“i want it.” you mumbled, chest heaving from the pleasure. “you want it?” she hummed with a smirk. “i want it, ruby.” you whined. you were getting desperate as she waited, the tip of her finger just barely touching you. “you sure, angel?” she asked in mock uncertainty. “i fucking want it!” you cursed, bucking your hips up eagerly.

you let out a sharp gasp that dissolved into a long moan as she practically jammed two fingers into you, setting a brutal pace right off the bat. your moans grew louder and more intense as she pumped her fingers into you, curling them just right while she sucked at your clit. your head fell back against the pillows, your elbows giving out.

she was unruly. she aimed to pleasure you, chasing your high quickly. and when you eventually came, it washed over you like a tidal wave. she held down your legs as you thrashed around, your moans filling the room. she continued to eat you out and finger you through your orgasm—licking up your essence as it leaked. your eyes were shut tight, a film of sweat coating your skin. you opened your eyes at the sound of rustling, seeing ruby was now fully undressed like you. she gave you a sweet smile before getting into a position you had seen on dean’s laptop before. she did a test rub of her slick folds against yours, both of you moaning in response.

you rutted your hips up against hers. and your legs shook as your cunt dragged against her own, the beginning of overstimulation pulsing through you. ruby took it as a sign to move as well. the two of you moaned and mewled. the thought of a dual orgasm filling both of your minds, your movements getting sloppier.

your eyes glossed over, tears prickling and throat tightening. you couldn’t handle it anymore. “ruby, please, stop, ple-ase!” you cried. but the sight of your teary begging only fueled her more. “just a bit longer, angel, you’re okay, you can take it,” she grinded harder against you, purposefully making it worse for you.

she smiled as you squirmed. her name fell from you in whiny sobs, your limbs thrashing around as she used you. you couldn’t help the involuntary buck of your hips. it felt so good, but the pain from your overworked nerves was still present.

ruby leaned down to kiss your tears away before smashing her lips onto yours, making you taste the remnants of yourself. she shoved her tongue into your mouth, muffling your sounds as the mutual coils snapped, the two of you cumming together.

you both pulled back, mouths agape. ruby’s eyes flashed black as yours began to glow a vibrant blue, your grace shining and illuminating her.

when the two of you calmed down, eyes back to normal and breathing both heavy, she smiled and pecked your lips. “i hope sam doesn’t mind the mess we made.”

that’s when you heard it. the familiar yet slightly distant rumble of the impala as it was pulling into the parking lot. “shit.” you mumbled. how were you going to explain this?

⭒ 𝘨𝘢𝘣𝘴 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴 — i love genpad sm and i truly believe there should be more ruby fics on here. i've never written for two women before so i hope this is good, pls be nice 🙏🙏

⭒ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — @starzify @sunsbaby @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bittersweetfig @littlesoulshine @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @legalmente-loca @sacr1ficialang3l @j2archives @mahi-wayy @emeraldcrs @liiiilsss @jdmsslvt

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