#ruby.·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.writes

[yjw1a1]

Paper Hearts & Potion Bottles | YJW

PAIRING. Yang Jungwon x female reader GENRE. ravenclaw x ravenclaw, contemporary romance drama, fluff, hogwarts WORD COUNT. 6,337 WARNINGS. fluffy and warm. DISCLAIMER. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING EXCEPT FOR THE WORK I WROTE, SO PLAGIARISM IS NOT ALLOWED HERE. all the credits to the owners of the photos. Please be kind. :) SUMMARY. In the quiet corners of Hogwarts, Y/N L/N has always been content to stay unseen—quiet, clever, and safely tucked behind her books. That is, until Yang Jungwon, the brilliant and untouchable Ravenclaw prefect, begins to pull her into his orbit. As she fights to stay grounded, Jungwon unravels every wall she’s built, not with grand gestures, but with quiet loyalty, soft laughter, and the kind of attention she’s never dared to expect. What starts as a potions partnership slowly turns into something neither of them can ignore.

DATE RELEASED .04.13.2025

CLASPING HER HANDS TOGETHER PLEADINGLY, “Professor, please!”

The word came out louder than Y/N intended—sharp enough to echo slightly off the stone walls of the nearly empty classroom. She froze, immediately regretting it.

Professor Alden blinked, slowly turning from his desk to face her. “Miss L/N,” he said, tone laced with faint amusement, “did you just interrupt me?”

Y/N’s face flushed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, voice quieter now. “I—I’m sorry, sir. I just… I know you haven’t assigned partners yet, but I was wondering if you might consider pairing Riki with Yura?”

Professor Alden looked past her at Riki, who stood casually leaning against the wall, a picture of barely-contained smugness. His brows raised, clearly surprised Y/N was going this far for him.

“Yura,” the professor repeated, his tone flat. “As in, Miss Seo?”

“Yes,” Y/N said quickly. Then, softer: “I just think they’d... complement each other well. For this assignment.”

Riki jumped in, grinning. “I’ll clean cauldrons for the rest of the year.”

Professor Alden gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “That would be a start.”

“Please?” Y/N added, more earnestly now, twisting her fingers together behind her back. “You said last semester I could ask for a favor because I helped you tutor the third-years…”

“I did say that,” the professor sighed. “But I meant a favor for you, Miss L/N. Not for your—how shall I put this—morally flexible friend.”

“Hey!” Riki said, indignant. “Flexible, sure. Morally flexible? Debatable.”

Y/N bit her lip, clearly trying not to smile.

Professor Alden ran a hand down his face. “Perhaps I’ll consider it. Only because your academic assistance has been... invaluable. And because I suspect you’ll keep pestering me otherwise.”

He waved them toward the door. “You’re both dismissed.”

As they exited, Y/N exhaled slowly, as if she’d just finished running uphill. She didn’t even glance at Riki as she muttered, “Nishimura Riki, you seriously owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “But just for the record—I never asked for your matchmaking services.”

She finally looked up at him, lips twitching. “No. But you’ll thank me for them.”

Riki narrowed his eyes. “You’re terrifying when you get like this.”

“I barely said anything,” Y/N mumbled, already embarrassed again.

“Exactly.”

They parted at the dungeon staircase, and Y/N climbed the winding corridor toward her next class, still feeling warm from the unexpected confrontation. Speaking up like that wasn’t really her thing—she preferred to stay unnoticed, fading into the background.

But she supposed Riki brought that part out of her sometimes.

The next morning she reached the Potions corridor, the parchment list was already pinned just outside the classroom door, fluttering slightly with the draft of passing footsteps. Y/N stood in front of it, hugging her books tightly against her chest, and scanned the rows of names, finger trailing hesitantly down the column.

Then she stopped.

Partner Assignments:

Seo, Yura — Nishimura, Riki L/N, Y/N — Yang, Jungwon

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Yang Jungwon?

Her heart stuttered.

He was a year above her—technically a sixth year, but always present in their class as Professor Alden’s TA. Brilliant. Untouchable. Beautiful in that cold, pristine way that made people speak more quietly when he entered a room. His uniform was always perfect. His handwriting was annoyingly elegant. His potion work was flawless.

He wasn't supposed to be her partner.

Y/N stepped back from the list, as if physical distance might change what she’d just read. It didn’t. There his name remained, taunting her like a dare.

This day was spiraling.

Yang Jungwon. How should she put it?

The star of the show. The eye-catcher of the fifth years. People didn’t just notice him—they watched him. Every answer he gave in class was the right one. Every interaction with a professor was respectful but confident. Everyone knew he was a guaranteed Head Boy next year.

And Y/N?

She had been in love with him since her first year. Quietly, hopelessly. The kind of love that sat in her chest like a warm secret she never planned to speak out loud.

Unfortunately, her feelings had always been thoroughly one-sided. Jungwon barely knew she existed—at least, not in the way she wished he would. He never looked twice. Never even—

“Y/N, right?”

His voice cut through her thoughts, smooth and low and just a little amused.

She turned too quickly, nearly knocking her books against the wall. There he was, standing just a few feet away, his expression polite, unreadable—except for the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. A smile. Small, but devastating.

“I’m Jungwon,” he said, like she didn’t already know.

Y/N swallowed, willing her voice not to betray her. “I—I know. I mean, yes. You’re—” She forced herself to stop talking before she started listing off everything she knew about him, including his preferred wand grip and favorite seat in the library.

Jungwon tilted his head, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Right. Makes sense. I’ve seen you in Alden’s class.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said quickly, adjusting the books in her arms so she had something to fidget with. “I, um... I guess we’re partners now.”

“Looks like it.” He glanced at the parchment list behind her, then back down at her with an easy shrug. “Not a bad outcome, honestly.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh.”

Jungwon smirked slightly, but it wasn’t unkind. “I’ve read your essay on potion-sigil layering. Alden used it as a sample last term for the six years.”

That stopped her completely.

“You… read my essay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was good. Better than some of the ones written by people in my year, to be honest.” He said it casually, as if complimenting her work was a normal thing. As if it didn’t just send her brain into a slow spiral.

Y/N looked away, trying to hide the very real possibility that she might self-combust. “Thank you. That’s… really kind.”

Jungwon’s gaze lingered on her for a second too long, but she was too busy staring at the floor to notice.

“I’ll be around after dinner tonight,” he said after a moment. “Library, east wing. If you want to start planning the project.”

She nodded without thinking. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Cool,” he said, and then turned to go—but paused. “By the way…”

Y/N glanced up.

“You surprised me,” Jungwon said, offering another of those quiet, knowing smiles. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to stare down Alden for a partner request.”

“Oh. That wasn’t—that wasn’t about you.” Y/N flushed immediately. “I swear I didn’t know I would end up being paired with you,”

“I know,” he said, turning away again, voice drifting behind him. “That’s what makes it more interesting.”

And just like that, he was gone—leaving Y/N standing there, heart rattling, thoughts scattered, and books slowly slipping from her grip.

They worked until the library bells chimed for curfew.

And by the end of the evening, Y/N realized something:

Yang Jungwon was far more dangerous to her heart when he wasn’t being perfect—when he was being kind.

Just as she began gathering her notes, sliding books into her bag with careful precision, Jungwon spoke again, voice quiet but clear in the stillness between them.

“So,” he said, “why’d you do it?”

Y/N blinked. “Do what?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed loosely. “Talk Alden into pairing Riki with Yura. That wasn’t exactly a subtle move.”

A pause. Then she tilted her head, considering him. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

Jungwon’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Only because you asked me to.”

Y/N laughed softly, and the sound was warm, a little fragile. “Riki—although he’s a pain in the butt—I grew up with him. He’s practically a second brother. And I’ve never seen him so... down bad. Like, head-over-heels, running in blind, falling-head-first.”

She shook her head fondly, her voice softening.

“So I thought... why not? He’s my best friend, after all.”

Jungwon didn’t interrupt. He just watched her, something unreadable in his expression.

Y/N glanced at him, then looked away quickly, her cheeks pink. “And I think she’s really good for him. He started trying harder in school. He doesn’t skip breakfast anymore. And he just seems... brighter. With her around.”

The library seemed quieter all of a sudden, like the candles themselves were listening.

Jungwon’s voice broke the stillness, low and thoughtful. “You pay attention.”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “Someone has to.”

Jungwon looked at her for a long moment, like he was seeing something different now—something quieter and deeper than he’d expected.

“That’s rare,” he said finally.

Y/N looked back up, surprised by the softness in his tone.

“What is?”

“Someone who does things for other people… without needing recognition. Without expecting anything back.”

She blinked, caught off guard by how gently he said it.

“I didn’t expect that from you,” Jungwon added, lips twitching into the hint of a smile. “You hide a lot behind all that quiet.”

Y/N ducked her head, trying—and failing—not to smile too much.

“I’m not hiding,” she murmured.

He leaned forward just slightly. “No?”

“I’m just... careful with where I place things. That’s different.” she said as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

Jungwon didn’t reply. He just looked at her for a heartbeat longer than was necessary—long enough that her chest started to ache with the weight of it—before he finally stood, gathering his things.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked casually.

Y/N nodded, her voice almost caught in her throat. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He gave her one last look, then disappeared down the row of shelves, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows behind him. Y/N sat still for a moment, hand resting over her notes, heart quietly racing.

“Y/N!”

The sound of her name rang across the courtyard, startling her so much she fumbled the stack of books and parchment in her arms. Everything went tumbling to the ground with a muted thud, scattering across the cobblestones.

She hadn’t even seen him coming.

She’d been too lost in thought, moving quickly through the crowd of students rushing between classes—her mind already halfway to Defense Against the Dark Arts, rehearsing incantations in her head. But now, standing amid her mess of fallen belongings, heat prickled at the back of her neck.

Of course it had to be him.

Yang Jungwon jogged the last few steps toward her, breaking away from a nearby bench where a cluster of sixth-years—his usual group—watched with open curiosity. One of them raised a brow. Another elbowed the girl beside him.

Y/N pretended not to notice.

“Sorry,” Jungwon said, crouching down to help her gather her things. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right,” Y/N said quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she reached for her potions book. “You caught me in deep thought.”

Jungwon let out a quiet laugh, the kind that made her insides flip for absolutely no reason. “Dangerous place to be.”

She tried to smile back without looking like she was dying inside. “Some days more than others.”

He handed her a neatly stacked pile—two of her books and the packet of homework she’d nearly lost to the wind. She noticed he didn’t give her the potions book she’d just reached for, instead tucking it under his arm.

They both stood.

“Jungwon,” Y/N said awkwardly, adjusting the pile of books in her arms. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” he echoed back, with the faintest teasing lilt to his voice. His eyes were sharp, observant, but kind. “Where are you off to?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” she murmured, keeping her voice low.

Jungwon started walking beside her before she could object, her potions book still firmly in his grasp.

“I’d appreciate it if you handed me that,” she said softly, gesturing toward the book he’d taken.

Instead of responding, he looked over his shoulder at her and smiled—that same irritating, charming grin that made her forget whatever coherent thought she’d been forming. “I’ll walk you.”

“Oh—no, please,” Y/N stammered, quickening her pace half a step. “I don’t want to interrupt your hangout with your friends…”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Jungwon replied, effortlessly matching her stride. “Besides, it seems like you’ve got a lot to carry.”

She stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t making fun of her. He didn’t look like he pitied her either. Just... calm. Steady.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, not quite sure what else to say.

They wove through the crowd together, a few glances trailing behind them—none of which Jungwon seemed to notice, or at least acknowledge. Y/N, on the other hand, noticed everything: how people looked at him, and then her. How they whispered. How it felt like walking beside him drew a circle around her she hadn’t been expecting to step into.

As they reached the entrance of the staircase leading down to the DADA corridor, Y/N slowed her steps. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. Then offered the potions book with a small, mock-bow. “But I wanted to.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took it. Just barely. Still enough.

“See you after class?” he added, like it was obvious. Like they did this every day. “In potions, of course,”

Y/N nodded, her voice nearly caught in her throat. “Yeah. See you.”

He turned and walked off, hands in his pockets, back straight—unbothered. Confident.

Y/N stood at the top of the stairs for a second too long, heart tapping at her ribs like a nervous bird.

She hated how easy he made it feel. And how badly she wanted it to be real.

The dungeon air was cool, damp, and laced with the earthy scent of mugwort and dried kelpie root. Y/N adjusted the sleeves of her robes as she slipped into her seat, her notes already spread in a neat arc in front of her.

She didn’t need to glance at the seat beside her to know he was already there. She could feel him.

Jungwon.

His posture was relaxed, but Y/N had started to notice the small things—how his eyes flicked toward her when she arrived, how he shifted his seat slightly closer each time, how his voice dropped to a softer tone when he spoke just to her. Even though she noticed these things, she’d deny it meaning anything more than just an observation. 

"Today," Professor Alden began from the front of the room, "you'll be working in pairs to brew a base for restorative elixirs. It's simple, if you're not distracted."

There was a pause as the professor cast a quick look at Riki, who—of course—grinned like he'd been waiting to be called out.

Y/N bit back a smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Riki already nudging Yura, who, surprisingly, didn't shove him off but simply rolled her eyes with something dangerously close to fondness. Y/N didn't say anything, but her heart swelled a little at the sight.

She didn’t get to linger on it.

Because the next moment, Jungwon had already moved—reaching for the cauldron setup, his hands deft and sure as he started sorting ingredients into tidy piles on the worktable.

“You don’t have to do that,” Y/N said quickly, almost fumbling to reach for the chopped lavender. “You’re the TA, not a student. I can—”

“Y/N,” he said with a quiet laugh, “I don’t mind. Really.”

“But—”

“I like doing this with you.”

Her heart stopped.

He didn’t say it dramatically. It wasn’t loud. It was just... honest. Matter-of-fact. Like he hadn’t just knocked all the breath out of her with six words.

“Oh,” she said. Brilliantly.

He handed her the jar of ground moonstone, and their fingers brushed—again. He didn’t pull away.

“You always do everything alone if no one stopped you,” Jungwon added casually, sprinkling the powder with a precision that was almost unfair. “So consider this... me stopping you.”

Y/N blinked at him.

“Politely,” he amended with a grin.

She huffed out a soft laugh despite herself. “You’re too smooth.”

“And you’re too easy to fluster,” he shot back, eyes twinkling.

“I am not—”

“You’re turning pink right now.”

Y/N groaned, half-burying her face in the crook of her elbow. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am,” he said, leaning just a little too close, voice dropping just enough to make her nerves buzz. “Voluntarily partnered with you. Willingly suffering.”

She peeked at him from behind her sleeve.

He winked.

Merlin.

They worked in a rhythm after that, easy and natural. Y/N measured the ingredients, Jungwon stirred. He reached for her notes without asking, and she let him. He double-checked the flame beneath the cauldron, adjusted it slightly, and she didn’t mind—not like she usually would.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Riki bumping his elbow lightly against Yura’s. She didn’t look annoyed. She was smiling. And then, very quietly, she handed him the correct flask before he even asked for it.

Y/N felt a smile creep across her face.

By the end of the period, their potion was the most vibrant shade of aquamarine in the room—textbook perfect.

“Brilliant work, you two,” Professor Alden said, peering into their cauldron. “Unsurprising, considering.”

Jungwon accepted the compliment with a small nod, while Y/N ducked her head, heat rising to her cheeks again. As the rest of the class packed up, Jungwon remained seated, leisurely tidying their notes.

“You know,” he said without looking up, “I’ve never seen you smile as much as you have this week.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’re always quiet. Sharp, observant. But lately...” He finally looked up. “You seem lighter.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Not without sounding foolish. Not without giving something away.

So instead, she offered him the faintest smile. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

Jungwon’s eyes lingered on hers, thoughtful. “I don’t think I am.”

the courtyard buzzed with warm sunlight and lazy conversation, the spring air scented faintly with lilac from the enchanted hedges lining the quad. 

Y/N didn’t mean to pass by where Jungwon and his friends were sprawled across a low stone wall near the fountain—she just happened to be walking through.

Head down. Books tucked close. Trying not to exist too loudly.

“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice rang out across the lawn like it was nothing—like he hadn’t just made her heart plummet to her knees.

She froze mid-step, then slowly turned to see him grinning at her, waving her over like they always did this.

“I was just telling them about our assignment,” he said, scooting over and patting the empty space beside him.

Y/N hesitated.

His friends—all glossy hair, perfect posture, and lazy charm—turned to look at her like she was a riddle they didn’t really want to solve. She recognized most of them by name, reputation, or whispers in the common room. They were the type of people who walked through the castle like they owned it.

People who looked like they belonged next to him.

Still, she walked over, hugging her books tightly, and perched carefully on the very edge of the stone wall—barely sitting at all.

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual.

One of Jungwon’s friends, a tall Slytherin boy with windswept dark hair and too-sharp eyes, raised a brow. “You’re the Ravenclaw, right? The one who practically lives in the library?”

“She’s partnered with Jungwon in Potions,” another chimed in—a girl with glossy nails and a voice like honey laced with something sour. “The quiet one who never talks.”

“She talks,” Jungwon said lightly, though there was a slight edge to his voice now.

Y/N tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Only when I have something to say.”

“She probably writes full essays just to say hello,” the dark-haired boy snorted. “Bet she keeps a checklist for conversations.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned. She curled in on herself just slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her grip on her books tightened.

“Come on, leave her alone,” Jungwon said, voice firmer now, shoulders shifting subtly as he looked at them.

But the girl wasn’t done.

“Honestly, Jungwon,” she said with a half-smile, “I didn’t know you lead on the bookish and invisible type.”

That one landed.

Y/N’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. The laugh she’d been biting back turned to dust.

Jungwon sat up straighter, his expression sharpening. “That’s enough.”

But Y/N was already sliding off the wall, brushing invisible dust from her robes with trembling fingers.

“I should get going,” Y/N said quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. “I have to help Riki before dinner.”

Jungwon stood like he might follow her, but she shook her head before he could speak, gaze fixed on the cobblestones.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added softly, already turning away.

She didn’t let herself look back.

She didn’t want to see the way his friends still watched her like she didn’t belong. She didn’t want to see if Jungwon stayed silent—if he let them. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, her steps fast and clipped as she moved across the quad, willing herself not to crumble until she was alone.

Her cheeks burned, her throat tight with humiliation.

And that’s when she slammed into someone’s chest.

“Sorry,” she murmured instinctively, already ducking her head, about to move around them—until a hand gently grabbed her wrist.

“Woah there, you,” came a voice, light and familiar. “You’re walking like you’re trying to charge through a wall.”

Riki.

Her steps halted, but she didn’t meet his eyes. He was still smiling—until he really looked at her.

His expression shifted instantly. Gone was the teasing glint in his eyes, replaced with something softer. More serious.

“Y/N?” he said, quieter now.

She didn’t respond, just kept her head down, her silence loud enough to raise every alarm in him.

He turned toward his group of friends, gave a quick wave that said I’ll be back, and without waiting for her permission, gently tugged her by the wrist, leading her away from the main path and behind one of the stone pillars cloaked in creeping ivy.

“Y/N,” he said again, more firmly now. “What happened?”

She slouched forward slightly, shoulders folding in like she could make herself smaller, invisible. It was in moments like this—only moments like this—when Riki dropped the sarcasm and got serious. Because he knew her. He always had. Since childhood.

And she trusted him with the parts of herself she wouldn’t let anyone else see.

“I feel stupid,” she muttered, voice cracking.

“Come on,” Riki said with a half-smile, trying to nudge the mood lighter, “you’ve got top marks in nearly every class—”

“Not that kind of stupid,” she interrupted, voice raw. “Stupid for entertaining this stupid crush I’ve had for years.”

His brows pulled together. “On Jungwon?”

She flinched—just slightly. When she looked up, wide-eyed, he scoffed gently, folding his arms.

“Y/N, I know you just as well as you know me. Might I remind you.”

Her throat tightened.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “On him.”

Riki nodded, like he’d known all along. He probably had.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the sleeves of her robes. “And the worst part is… even if—if—he maybe feels the same way, it doesn’t matter.”

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Because I don’t fit. Not into that world. Not with them.”

Riki looked at her, really looked—at the girl standing in front of him who had always stayed quiet, always stayed good, and still somehow felt like she wasn’t enough.

“You fit where you decide to stand,” he said gently. “And if he doesn’t make room for you in his world? That’s not a world worth stepping into.”

Y/N blinked hard.

“I just...” she exhaled. “It hurts. How easy it is for everyone else. How I thought—maybe—this time it’d be different.”

Riki placed a hand on the top of her head, ruffling her hair just slightly—just like he used to when they were kids.

“It is different,” he said. “Because now, if he’s too blind to see it? You’ve got me, and I’ve got hexes I’ve been meaning to try.”

Y/N laughed—wet and shaky, but real.

“Come on now,” he added, smiling and offering her his arm. “Let’s get dinner and eat that negativity out of you.”

Dinner passed in a blur of comfort food and quiet conversation. Y/N smiled and nodded in all the right places, but her mind was elsewhere—already building a plan, already working through what she could do about the weight in her chest that hadn’t quite lifted.

Later that evening, when the Great Hall had mostly emptied, she spotted Sunghoon—a fellow Ravenclaw seventh-year—gathering his books near the entrance.

Perfect.

“Sunghoon,” she called gently, slipping toward him. “Could I ask you for a favor?”

He raised an eyebrow.

Y/N held up two sherbert lemon drops in her palm like she was making a serious deal. “I need you to pass a note to Leehan. Quietly. He sits next to Yang Jungwon in the Ravenclaw common room, right?”

Sunghoon blinked, then grinned. “You’re bribing me with sweets.”

“Two lemon drops and a chocolate frog if you don’t read it,” she bargained, shoving the parchment into his hand.

He accepted, chuckling. “You Ravenclaws are dangerous.”

“Efficient,” she corrected, smiling tightly.

The note was simple:

“Bad stomachache – (probably the mashed potatoes) raincheck on the potions project tonight sorry!”

That was the lie.

The truth?

She needed space. Silence. Something steady beneath her hands. So instead of heading to the common room, she made her way up the winding stairs of the Astronomy Tower, lantern in one hand, parchment and books in the other.

The wind at this height was sharp, but Y/N didn’t mind. The open sky had always calmed her. There was comfort in the stars—they never asked questions. They never looked at her like she didn’t belong.

She settled on the cold stone floor, tucked into the alcove near the edge of the observatory. Her lantern cast a warm glow across her parchment as she scribbled notes, diagrams, measurements. Everything for the potions project. Her quill scratched quickly, fueled by quiet determination.

She was halfway through re-calibrating an unstable ingredient ratio when she leaned back and sighed, rubbing at her temples. Her thoughts were knotted. Not just with potion theory, but with Jungwon’s laugh, his eyes, the echo of you seem lighter lately still clinging to her ribs.

And then—

“I didn’t take you to be a liar and a rule breaker now, did I, Miss L/N?”

Her eyes shot open.

Jungwon stood in the entryway, arms crossed, brow slightly raised. He was still in his uniform—tie loosened, hair wind-tousled, prefect badge gleaming beneath the moonlight.

Y/N’s heart lodged itself somewhere in her throat.

“How—how did you know I’d be here?”

He stepped inside, letting the door creak closed behind him. “I’m a prefect,” he said, a smile ghosting across his lips. “I’ve known for years you sneak up here after curfew.”

She blinked. “But—”

“I never reported you,” he added, eyes warm. “Made sure no one else did either. I figured… if anyone deserved a quiet place to be left alone, it was you.”

Y/N stared at him, caught completely off guard. “Why?”

He shrugged, walking closer, careful not to startle her. “I don’t know. Maybe I liked knowing something about you no one else did.”

Her stomach fluttered. He glanced down at the parchment scattered around her and lowered himself beside her without hesitation.

“You were working on the project?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I thought… if I finished most of it tonight, we could get it out of the way. You’ve got a lot on your plate already.”

Jungwon looked at her for a long moment, then pulled something from his pocket—a small bar of chocolate—and gently set it beside her parchment.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Y/N looked up, startled. “You don’t have to apologize for your friends—”

“I’m not,” he interrupted. “This isn’t about them.”

Her breath hitched. “Then what for?”

He shifted closer, tone quiet but full of something heavy and sincere. “For letting you believe—even for a second—that you didn’t belong.”

Her heart cracked.

“I should’ve said something,” he went on. “When they made you feel small. I should’ve stopped it. But I didn’t. And that’s on me.”

“Jungwon,” she said softly, unsure what to do with the ache in her chest.

“I let you think you had to prove yourself,” he added, voice tight now, eyes fixed on hers. “Like you had to work twice as hard just to meet me halfway. I never wanted that. I see you, Y/N. And you’ve always belonged—even before you knew it.”

Silence settled between them. Warm. Real. The kind that said more than words ever could.

“I always knew you came up here,” he said again, softer now. “And I never once thought to stop you. Maybe… because part of me hoped that one day, I’d find a reason to come up here too.”

She looked down at the chocolate. “You know, you’re forgiven,” she murmured. “But only because of the bribe.”

Jungwon laughed—a soft, warm sound—and bumped his shoulder gently against hers.

“I’m glad I came with a bribe then,” he said softly. 

It had been a strange few days.

Since the Astronomy Tower, Y/N hadn’t quite known how to act around Jungwon. He hadn’t done anything different—still smiled when he passed her in the corridor, still greeted her with that half-tilt of the head and soft “Hi, L/N”—but something had shifted.

She could feel it. And it terrified her.

It was a quiet afternoon in the courtyard when it happened.

She hadn’t planned to be there long—just long enough to finish annotating her Ancient Runes essay. The benches under the eastern ivy arch were rarely occupied this time of day, and the warm breeze made the castle’s stone chill a little easier to bear.

But of course, they were there.

Jungwon and his friends—Stephan, Penelope, that whole Raveclaw group who always looked like they belonged on the front of the Daily Prophet’s “Most Promising” edition. They were laughing about something, carefree and sunlit, and Y/N had considered turning around right then.

Except Jungwon saw her.

“Y/N!” he called out. His voice was easy, warm. Too natural. “Come sit.”

She froze. His friends looked up—some polite, some clearly surprised.

She hesitated. Then nodded once, carefully. “Just for a bit.”

She tucked herself into the end of the bench, clutching her notes like they were armor. She could feel their eyes on her—the way Jungwon whispered something to Minji, who tried to hide a laugh.

“Y/N,” Jungwon said, ignoring them entirely. “Did you finish the translation on the Veela rune sequence?”

She blinked. “Um. I… yeah?”

“Let me see it later?” he asked, smiling. “I trust yours more than mine.”

Someone snorted—Penelope, probably. “Wow, Yang asking for help. Miraculous.”

Jungwon didn’t even look at her. “She’s brilliant. I’d be stupid not to.”

Y/N’s cheeks flamed. She stared at her parchment, unsure if she was allowed to smile at that.

“Didn’t know you were tutoring now,” someone else muttered under their breath. “She your new charity case, Jungwon?”

Y/N’s breath caught.

It was barely audible, but it landed sharp in her chest. She immediately began gathering her things, panic rising in her throat.

“I should—”

“Y/N,” Jungwon said quietly.

She paused. Didn’t look up.

“Y/N,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Can you stay a second?”

Something in his voice made her still.

He stood.

Just like that—right in front of everyone—Yang Jungwon stood up from the golden pedestal of his usual people and turned to face her like there was no one else worth talking to.

“I like you,” he said, plainly.

Y/N blinked.

“What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, softer this time, but no less certain. “I think I have for longer than I really understood.”

A silence fell over the courtyard.

Penelope’s whisper cut the air. “Wait—what?”

“I know this probably isn’t the right way to say it,” Jungwon went on, eyes only on Y/N now, “but I don’t want you thinking I care what anyone else in this courtyard thinks. Or what they say.”

She stared up at him, heart beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

“I like that you carry two quills in case one breaks. I like that you make tea the exact same way every time, like it’s a ritual. I like that you’re quiet—but when you do talk, you mean every word.”

She laughed, breathless and pink covering her face. “You notice all that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, smiling a little. “You’ve been elbowing your way into my brain since second year. I just didn’t have the guts to do anything about it until now.”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes shining. “You’re serious?”

He stepped a little closer, careful, like he didn’t want to scare her off.

“I’m not trying to make a scene,” he murmured. “But I want you to know I’m not going to hide it either.”

Her voice was small. “You’re not embarrassed?”

“Of you?” He gave a soft laugh. “Y/N, I’ve been trying to impress you for weeks. You just didn’t notice.”

Her cheeks burned.

His fingers brushed hers.

“Let me walk you back after this?” he asked, gently. “Just you and me.”

She hesitated. And then—finally—she nodded.

“Okay.”

His smile could’ve lit up the Great Hall.

“Brilliant.”

Behind them, the courtyard was stunned into a quiet kind of disbelief. But Y/N didn’t care. Not when Jungwon reached out and took her notes from her hands like they mattered to him too.

Not when he sat beside her again, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and didn’t look away once.

it had been a week since the courtyard.

A week since Jungwon, in front of his friends and half the student body, told Y/N he liked her. He was even gentler now. He walked her to classes when he could. Passed her quietly folded notes during lectures that just said things like hi, you look really pretty today or how are you feeling? 

He asked, he listened, he gave her space—and then filled it, just enough, when she needed him to.

Which is how they ended up in the library on a rainy Sunday afternoon, curled into one of the hidden alcoves behind the stacks of old Astronomy texts.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the window ledge, parchment in her lap, while Jungwon sat backwards in the chair across from her, chin propped on his arms, watching her like she was far more interesting than the essay they were supposed to be working on.

“You’re not writing anything,” she said without looking up, quill moving across the page.

“I am. I’m writing mental poetry about the way your nose crinkles when you’re trying to sound annoyed but actually love the attention.”

Y/N looked up sharply, a laugh caught in her throat. “That is not what I look like.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Jungwon said with a grin. “It’s tragic, really. I’ve been hit with at least six Cupid-level curses since breakfast.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled, cheeks pink, going back to her parchment.

There was a pause. “Y/N?”

She hummed in acknowledgment.

“Can I tell you something without you thinking it’s too much?”

She glanced at him over her paper, expression softening. “Okay.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “I think about you. A lot. Like, in the middle of class, or when I’m supposed to be answering Prefect reports, or—”

“Jungwon—”

“Wait, I’m not done,” he said quickly. “I think about the way you talk with your hands when you’re explaining something you care about. The way you look when you're really focused. The little hum you do when you're reading and forget where you are.”

Y/N blinked, her heart doing an alarming somersault.

“And I know it’s only been a week since I said it out loud,” he added, “but I think I’ve liked you for ages, and I just… didn’t know how to tell you without sounding like a walking disaster.”

She set her quill down slowly.

“You don’t sound like a disaster,” she said softly. “You sound like someone who… maybe likes me the way I used to wish you would.”

Jungwon stared at her. “Used to?”

Her lips quirked up. “I’m trying to play hard to get. Don’t ruin it.”

He laughed — actually laughed, bright and crooked and real — then got up from the chair and walked the few feet to where she sat, leaning one hand against the stone wall beside her.

“You’re terrible at playing hard to get, by the way.”

“I’m shy,” she said, a little breathless with how close he was now. “Sue me.”

He looked down at her, eyes soft. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“You’re not going to ask first?”

“I just did.”

She tilted her chin up. “Then I guess you should.”

So he did.

And it was slow, and careful, and warm. She clutched his sleeve, and he steadied a hand at her jaw, and neither of them moved for a long, quiet moment.

When they pulled apart, she kept her eyes closed for just a second longer.

Then, with a smile, she whispered, “Are you always going to look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I hung the stars.”

Jungwon’s reply came instantly, like he’d been holding it in, “You are the stars.”

Y/N dropped her forehead to his chest, laughing into his robes. “You are so down bad.”

“And you love it,” he said proudly, wrapping his arms around her.

She sighed, content. “Unfortunately, I really do.”

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, they stayed right there — wrapped in a bubble of parchment, old books, and something that felt a lot like falling in love.

NOTE: SURPRISE SHAWTYYY!! I posted. Cheers to the fourth write on this acc! And also please look up for my upcoming story, ANGOSTURA, based off of the one and only amazing Keshi, and this story was also hinting at another hogwarts au to come! let me know if you caught it!!

~xoxo ruby

© yjw1a1

[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

[matt0044]

Frankly, RWBY is my go-to example of men who write female characters with little to none of the usual pitfalls. Even when they may, there's one element that keeps its head well over water:

The female cast being so extensive as it is.

DireGentleman put it well here but a too common element of certain stories has been that they'll have a few or one female character amongst their sausage fest of a cast. Few of these cases are active intent on the author's part but it does speak to a "male as default" pitfall that is very much rendered invisible by a sphere of normality.

As such, you'll get female commanders in armies where the troops are all shown as male (@swan2swan made a few posts on the "female Stormtrooper" problem) for one and, for a classic example, one female character amongst an ensemble of boys.

Sometimes she's one of them and other times she's an April O'Neil to their Ninja Turtles, a normie to their extraordinary lives. Either way, there won't be much in the way of gender diversity. Especially if it's based on a toy line that subscribes to the "boys or bust" mentality that would rather kill off a profit that pivot.

But that's been dissected better in other posts...

Thankfully, RWBY was created first and foremost as an animated story project before the thought of merchendising was considered since RT wasn't super-duper confident it'd stick. Now it has firmly supplanted Red Vs. Blue as Rooster Teeth's flagship animation (the latter gearing up for its final season even).

This frees it from the shackles of heavily corporatized media that would prefer a toyetic show have a male prescense in the story or one where the female prescense is... palatable.

No character has to be the token girl who's either super bubbly and awkward or super stand-offish before the right guy comes along or rather reserve until the right guy comes along or one of the boys until the right- okay, I've made my point.

And it goes beyond the main cast as there's a smattering of girls and boys among the ensemble so it never feels like they were tacked on when the writers realizes, "Oh sh*t, forgot the estrogen," by Season Four or something.

If anything, Jaune is the token girl but genderflipped. He has healing powers. He has an arc but it all ultimately comes back to the main girls for the bigger plotlines. He's often the normal one that balks at the eccentricities of the girls and their shenanegins.

I mean... HE GREW UP WITH MANY SISTERS AND NO BROTHERS. Does that cliche not ring a bell.

Basically... Jaune is what I feel is the Sakura Haruno of RWBY if I may be so bold.

[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.

[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

[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. 

[yjw1a1]

Quiet Admiration

PAIRING. Park Jongseong (actor) x female reader (singer) GENRE. celebrity romance, contemporary romance drama and angst WORD COUNT. 3879 WARNINGS. Jay and Y/N both were stuck in toxic relationships. DISCLAIMER. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING EXCEPT FOR THE WORK I WROTE, SO PLAGIARISM IS NOT ALLOWED HERE. all the credits to the owners of the photos. Please be kind. :) SUMMARY. Y/N, a global pop star, and Park Jay, a rising actor, cross paths over the years—first as strangers, then as fleeting acquaintances. Life pulls them in different directions, with failed relationships and personal growth shaping them into who they are. Many years later, they meet again in a London bookstore—both changed, both ready. What starts as quiet friendship turns into something real, something the world dubs an it couple. But behind the headlines, their love story isn’t about fame—it’s about timing, growth, and finally finding each other when it matters most.

DATE RELEASED . 03.02.2025

THE IT COUPLE. Not the kind splashed across tabloids for messy drama or performative affection. Not the kind that makes grand, over-the-top gestures just for the cameras.

They’re something quieter.

They don’t post about each other much. No long captions or gushy declarations online. No interviews where they spill their entire relationship for the world to consume.

But every once in a while—when a blurry fan photo surfaces of them holding hands in the streets of Paris, or when they’re spotted at a small café in New York, laughing over coffee, or when Jay is seen in the crowd at Y/N's concerts, singing along to her lyrics—

People know.

And the thing about them?

Seeing them together just makes sense.

The air crackles with excitement outside the grand theater, the red carpet stretching like a river of velvet under Y/N's heels. Flashing lights from cameras flicker like stars against the night, and the buzz of reporters, screaming fans, and flashing photographers fills the space.

Y/N adjusts her lustrous periwinkle gown, the custom design hugging her frame perfectly, her signature dark eyeliner sharp and precise. Her heart pounds beneath the layers of satin and nerves. Multiple nominations. Multiple chances to win. The feeling is surrealistic.

“Y/N! Over here! Turn this way!” photographers yell, their voices overlapping.

She pauses, giving them a quick smile, her lips painted in a soft berry shade. She tilts her chin, shifts her posture—years in the industry have taught her how to pose effortlessly—but the cameras demand more.

“Y/N! Just one more shot—” “Y/N, hold that pose!” “Y/N, look to the right!”

She exhales through her nose. The pressure to be perfect lingers in the air as thick as the perfume she sprayed on before leaving the hotel. She takes a step forward, ignoring the calls for more photos, when—

Clink.

Something small and metallic slips from her ear.

She freezes.

Her earring.

A delicate silver piece, barely the size of a coin, now lying on the carpet. Before she can crouch down to retrieve it, a hand reaches out, long fingers picking it up.

“Hey, I think this belongs to you.”

Y/N looks up, her breath catching.

The guy holding her earring is… pretty. Tousled dark hair that falls just above his sharp brows, warm brown eyes that hold a hint of amusement. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, exuding effortless charm, like he walked straight out of an old Hollywood movie.

“I never expected the Great Y/N to call me pretty, but I am honored,” His eyes seemed to soften at her gaze, contrasting from the teasing grin on his face.   

“Oh—” Y/N starts, but before she can say anything, he steps closer, holding the earring up with a small, knowing smile.

“May I?” he asks. His voice is smooth, the kind that lingers in the air like the last note of a song.

Y/N hesitates, then nods, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that they’re standing in front of hundreds of cameras. He gently tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before fastening the earring back in place, his fingers brushing against her skin for the briefest moment.

“There,” he says, stepping back. “Good as new.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “That was—very smooth of you.”

His lips twitch into a grin. “I try.”

Just then, a voice calls his name—“Jay! Over here!”—and she realizes who he is. Park Jay. The rising actor everyone’s been talking about. The one starring in the new indie film already generating Oscar buzz. 

He’s here for the same reason she is, but instead of performing, he is one of the hosts. 

Before either of them can say more, the red carpet pulls them in separate directions. But as Y/N walks toward the venue, she catches herself glancing back.

Jay is still standing there, looking at her.

And when their eyes met again, she knew it wouldn't be their last encounter.

Two years pass, and Y/N found herself on the rooftop. The music and the warm city lights make everything feel alive, laughter mixing with the steady beat of bass thumping through the speakers. Jungwon’s parties always had that effortless magic—exclusive but casual, filled with people who were too cool to admit they cared about being there.

Y/N stands near the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of something fruity, the condensation cool against her fingers. Two years in the industry had changed her—she’s bolder now, more experienced, about the way she carries herself. The shy girl on the red carpet? Long gone.

She barely remembers the last time she was at one of Jungwon’s parties. Or, more accurately, she barely remembers him.

But Jay?

Jay remembers her.

Across the rooftop, he spots her instantly. It’s hard not to. She looks different now—more confident. But there’s still something familiar about the way she tilts her head when she listens, the way her fingers tap lightly against the rim of her glass.

Jay hasn’t seen her since that fleeting moment two years ago, the night of the awards. And judging by the way she’s scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of him, she doesn’t remember any of it.

He grins. This could be interesting.

Y/N turns away from the bar, heading toward the balcony when—

Clink.

Something small and metallic slips from her hair, landing near her feet.

A clip.

She sighs, already reaching for it, when a hand beats her to it. Long fingers pick up the tiny accessory, twirling it between them with casual ease. “Seems like you have a habit of dropping things.”

Y/N blinks up at him. He’s tall, dressed in a simple white button-down and black slacks, the sleeves rolled up effortlessly. His hair is slightly messier than expected, his features sharp but warm under the golden lights.

Something about him feels… familiar. She furrows her brows. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. He twirls the hair clip between his fingers. “Wow. Not even a little recognition? That hurts.”

Y/N stares at him for a second longer, searching her memory. Nothing. “…Should I?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really don’t remember?”

“I mean—” She tilts her head, trying to place him. “Wait. Have we met before?”

Jay smirks. “Red carpet. You dropped an earring and called me pretty.”

It clicks. Y/N’s eyes widen slightly. Oh. Oh.

Now she remembers—the quick exchange, the flash of cameras, the smooth way he had tucked her hair behind her ear.

She lets out a small, breathy laugh. “That was you?”

Jay feigns offense. “You forgot me? I thought I made an impression.”

Y/N crosses her arms, tilting her head playfully. “Well, clearly, it wasn’t that memorable of an impression.”

He grins. “You wound me.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I was nervous that night, okay? I hardly can recall anything from that award show other than the performances.”

Jay leans in slightly, offering her the hair clip. “Then maybe I should make sure this time is more memorable.”

Y/N tucks the hair clip back into place, her fingers lingering for a second as if she’s still processing the moment. Across from her, Jay watches with an easy, knowing grin, like he already knows he’s managed to wedge himself somewhere in her mind.

“So,” he says, leaning slightly against the balcony railing, “since you somehow forgot me for two years, I feel like I should at least secure a way for you to remember me this time.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?”

Jay pulls out his phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe before handing it over. “Instagram.”

She huffs out a small laugh but takes the phone anyway, fingers moving quickly as she types in her username. A moment later, she hands it back.

Jay looks down at the screen, tapping the blue ‘Follow’ button. “Alright. Now there’s no excuse.”

Y/N smirks, pulling out her own phone. “Fair is fair.” She types in his username—he’s already followed her back—before tucking her phone away.

Then, someone calls Y/N’s name from across the rooftop. She glances over her shoulder, then back at Jay.

“Well,” she exhales, offering a small smile, “I guess I’ll see you around, Jay.”

Jay chuckles. “Yeah. See you around, Y/N.”

And just like that, she’s gone, weaving through the party, leaving behind only the faint scent of vanilla and something floral. Jay glances down at his phone one last time before slipping it into his pocket.

The next two years change Y/N in ways she never expected. At first, she falls into the same patterns—quick, dizzying relationships with men who call her beautiful but never brilliant, who hold her hand in public but never truly hold her when it matters.

She learns, too late, that most of them don’t see her.

They see the name, the career, the headlines. They love the way she shines, but the second she turns down the brightness—when she’s exhausted, insecure, human—they lose interest.

After one particularly bad breakup—one where she realizes, sitting in the backseat of a blacked-out SUV, that she was nothing more than a prize to be won—she makes a decision.

She disappears.

Not from music. If anything, she throws herself into it harder than ever.

But from the world.

She stops posting about her personal life. Stops giving pieces of herself away for the internet to pick apart. She starts writing—not just about love, but about loss. About self-worth. About the loneliness that comes with being desired but never truly known.

Her lyrics shift from heartbreak anthems to truths that sting.

She stops trying to be understood by the world and begins understanding herself.

Meanwhile on Jay’s end for the past two years, at first, he thinks he’s found something real.

His girlfriend—Sophie—is everything he thinks he wants. She’s confident, stunning, someone who knows how to handle herself in a world full of flashing cameras and hungry headlines. She understands his career, knows what it’s like to be watched, to be wanted.

For a while, it’s good. But then, slowly, things shift. She starts controlling the little things. What he wears to premieres. Who he follows online.

At first, it’s subtle.

"You should wear the navy suit tonight. The black one makes you look too serious." "Babe, why are you still following your female co stars and celebrities when you no longer work with them?"

Jay doesn’t argue. They’re small things. Nothing worth a fight.

But then, it becomes more. 

She starts monitoring his schedule, questioning why he’s spending so much time on set, making him feel guilty for things that never used to matter.

"You didn’t call me back last night." "I saw you talking to that actress at the afterparty. You looked really into the conversation." "I feel like I’m the only one trying in this relationship, Jay."

He starts feeling trapped. The relationship is no longer about love—it’s about control. 

Jay sits on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He’s exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that sleep won’t fix. Sophie stands in front of him, arms crossed, pacing the floor of their shared apartment. Her voice is sharp, cutting into the thick silence between them.

"You don’t even care anymore, do you?"

Jay lifts his head, eyes heavy. "Sophie, we’ve had this argument a hundred times."

"Because you keep giving me reasons to bring it up!" she snaps. "I don’t ask for much, Jay. I just want to feel like I’m your priority."

He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are my priority. But you want to control me. There’s a difference."

Her eyes flash with something dangerous. "Control you?" She lets out a bitter laugh. "You make me sound insane."

Jay doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t have to. She knows. And it only makes her angrier.

"You used to be different," she mutters, shaking her head. "You used to actually try in this relationship."

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. "I used to be happy in this relationship."

The words hang in the air like smoke—thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore. Sophie freezes. Her jaw clenches, but for a second, she looks… scared. As if she’s just now realizing how far they’ve fallen. But then, instead of softening, she turns cold.

"Wow." Her voice is quieter now, but somehow, it cuts deeper. "So what, Jay? You’re saying I’m the reason you’re miserable?"

He swallows. He doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to be cruel. But he can’t lie anymore.

"I think we’re the reason I’m miserable." A silence stretches between them, too wide to cross.

Sophie stares at him, something unreadable in her expression. Then, slowly, she lets out a humorless laugh."Figures." 

Jay watches as she crosses the room, grabbing her coat from the rack.

"You know what?" she says, voice icy. "Maybe you should be with someone else. Someone who doesn’t care who you talk to, who doesn’t expect anything from you. Maybe that’s what you want, huh? A girlfriend who doesn’t actually love you—just lets you do whatever the hell you want."

Jay flinches at her words. Because for so long, he did think Sophie loved him. But now, standing here, watching the way she weaponizes love like a knife, he realizes—This isn’t love. It’s never been love.

Sophie grabs her bag and storms toward the door. "Don’t bother calling me." She slams the door behind her. And for the first time in two years, Jay felt a weight lifted off of his chest.

On the gloomy streets of London, soft rain drizzles over the pavement, misting the windows of a quiet bookstore tucked away on a cobbled street. Inside, the world feels untouched by the chaos outside. The scent of old books lingers in the air, warm light casts golden hues over wooden shelves, and a soft classical melody hums in the background.

Y/N moves through the aisles at an unhurried pace, fingertips grazing the spines of books. She’s learned how to appreciate moments like this—stillness. There was a time when her life had felt like a constant performance, a cycle of flashing cameras, love that never lasted, and people who only wanted the version of her that fit their needs.

But those days are over.

Now, she chooses who gets to know her. Now, she creates for herself. Her last album had been deeply personal, a reflection of heartbreak and healing, of learning how to be alone without being lonely.

And she doesn’t waste time on things that aren’t real anymore.

She sighs and reaches for a book on the top shelf when a book falls onto the wooden floor beside her. Instinctively, she bends down to pick it up. Just as her fingers close around the edge of the cover, another hand reaches for it at the same time.

Warm. Nostolgic.

Y/N’s breath catches as she looks up.

And her world tilts.

It’s him. Jay.

At first, she isn’t entirely sure it’s really him. He looks different. More serious. More refined. Gone is the boy with the cocky grin and playful arrogance. Instead, the man in front of her is quieter—his presence grounded. His dark hair is slightly tousled, a navy coat draped over his broad shoulders, but it’s his eyes that hold her attention.

They aren’t teasing. They aren’t calculating. They’re soft.

“Y/N.” His voice is steady, but there’s something unreadable behind it, like he’s taking in the fact that she’s actually here.

She swallows. “Jay.”

A pause.

Then, he glances down at the book in her hand. The one he dropped.

"The Little Prince." Y/N raises an eyebrow, turning the book over in her hands. “Didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”

Jay lets out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I guess I’ve changed.”

She studies him for a second. “Yeah. You have.”

And so have I.

The thought lingers in her mind, but she doesn’t say it out loud.

Jay exhales, shifting his weight slightly. “Do you come here often?”

Y/N smirks, tilting her head. “Are you seriously using a ‘do you come here often’ line on me right now?”

His lips twitch, but there’s no cocky retort. Instead, he just huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Oh?”

“I meant,” he says, slipping his hands into his coat pockets, “do you actually live in London now, or is this just a stop on your world tour?”

She hesitates. Not because it’s a hard question, but because she’s surprised that he actually cares about the answer.

“I live here,” she says finally. “At least for now. Needed a break from LA.”

Jay nods, like he understands exactly what she means. And maybe he does.

“And you?” she asks, arching a brow. “Didn’t take you for a London guy.”

He chuckles. “I moved here last year because I got booked for a couple upcoming movies. That and I figured I’d get away for a while.”

Y/N tilts her head. “Get away from what?”

Jay hesitates for a fraction of a second. Then, instead of brushing it off with a joke like he might have in the past, he actually answers.

“A bad relationship,” he admits.

His honesty catches her off guard. She wasn’t expecting him to say it so plainly, so openly.

Something shifts between them.

Y/N exhales, pressing the book against her chest. “Yeah. Been there.”

Jay glances at her, something unreadable in his gaze. “I know.”

She freezes slightly. “You do?”

He nods, his voice quieter. “I saw your interviews. Listened to your last album.” A pause. Then, softer, “It was good. Really good.”

Y/N isn’t sure why that makes her chest feel warm. Maybe because it’s been a long time since someone complimented her music without some hidden agenda attached.

She clears her throat, looking away. “Thanks.”

Jay exhales, shifting on his feet. At first he looks as if he’s contemplating on saying two different things. Then, as if making a decision, he says, “Do you want to get coffee?”

Y/N blinks. Three years ago, she would have laughed, maybe thrown a playful “Still trying, huh?” his way.

But now?

Now, she sees something different. There’s no smirk. No playful charm like before. He’s not asking to impress her. He’s asking because he genuinely wants to know her.

And for the first time, she thinks—maybe I want to know him too.

She exhales, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips as she hands him back his book. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I’d like that.”

The sound of the cheering crowd still lingers in the air as Y/N steps into her dressing room, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline of performing.

Jay is already inside, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. He’s wearing a simple black sweater, the sleeves pushed up slightly, his usual effortless charm now something more established. More hers.

She raises an eyebrow. “How’d you get in here so fast?”

He smirks winking at her. “Perks of being pretty and the Great Y/N L/N’s boyfriend. I have special privileges.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips as she grabs a bottle of water and takes a sip.

Jay watches her for a moment before pushing off the wall and walking toward her. “So… that last song.”

She lowers the bottle, glancing at him. “What about it?”

His expression softens. “It was about me, wasn’t it?”

Y/N doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she sets the bottle down and meets his gaze.

“You tell me.”

Jay tilts his head, reciting the lyrics under his breath.

"I dropped a glance, a moment, a name, you were behind me, steady, the same.”

His voice is quiet, thoughtful.

"Books, hairpins, pieces of me, somehow, you caught them effortlessly…"

He looks at her. “Sounds very familiar.”

Y/N exhales a small laugh, playing with the cap of her water bottle. “Maybe.”

Jay grins, stepping closer. “So, let me get this straight. You wrote a song about me and all our little moments over the years… and you made it the final song of your setlist?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “You could say that.”

Jay hums, pretending to think. “Does this mean I’m officially your muse?”

She gives him a look. “Don’t push it.”

He laughs, but there’s something warm in his expression, something that says he knows exactly how much he means to her.

They walk hand in hand, their fingers loosely intertwined, moving with no real destination in mind on the quiet streets of Paris. It’s one of the few times they can just be—no flashing cameras, no interviews, no expectations. Just them.

Y/N pulls her coat tighter around herself, exhaling into the crisp night air. “I can’t believe I actually have a week off.”

Jay glances at her with a teasing smirk. “What, you’re saying the biggest pop star in the world finally knows how to relax?”

She nudges him playfully. “I’m working on it.”

He chuckles, squeezing her hand. “It’s nice, though. Getting to just… walk around like this. No one is bothering us.”

Y/N hums in agreement. “Yeah. I forget how much I miss this sometimes.”

She used to crave the spotlight, used to need it in some ways. But now? Nights like this—where it’s just her and Jay, no one watching, no one expecting anything—this is what she holds onto.

They stop at a small bridge, overlooking the Seine. The water below shimmers under the moonlight, and Y/N rests her elbows against the railing, taking in the view.

Jay watches her for a moment before speaking. “So…”

Y/N turns to him. “So?”

A playful smirk tugs at his lips. “You never actually answered my question.”

She blinks. “What question?”

He leans in slightly, voice dropping. “Am I officially your muse or not?”

Y/N groans, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god, you’re still on that?”

Jay laughs, gently prying her hands away. “I mean, I am the subject of an award-winning song now. I feel like I deserve an official title.”

Y/N rolls her eyes but can’t help the small smile forming. “You know, this is exactly why I didn’t confirm it.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Because you knew I’d be insufferable about it?”

She sighs dramatically. “Exactly.”

He chuckles, then softens, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “For the record, I think it’s a pretty damn good song.”

Y/N looks up at him, something unreadable in her expression. “Yeah?”

Jay nods. “Yeah.” He pauses before adding, “But I think I like this version of us even more.”

Y/N tilts her head. “What version?”

His fingers gently trace patterns on the back of her hand. “The one where it’s just us. No headlines. No expectations. Just… real.”

Something about the way he says it makes her heart stutter.

She exhales slowly, squeezing his hand. “Me too.”

Jay leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Good.”

They stay there for a while, standing together against the backdrop of Paris, their fingers still intertwined.

And though the world may see them as the it couple—the untouchable duo that everyone admires. At the end of the day, this is what matters. Not the fame. Not the cameras. Just them.

NOTE: HEEHEE SURPRISE!! I posted yet again. This one isn't updated, sorry if there wasnt as much y/n and jay interactions but I hope you enjoy it still. I got this idea from the famous Olivia Rodrigo and Louis Partridge duo because they are so cute and I want and need that in my next life... Anyways cheers for my third write on this acc!

~xoxo ruby

© yjw1a1

[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.

[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.

[vmiina]

summary threesome with ruby and dean, that’s it.

warnings 18+ mdni!! unprotected p in v (don’t try) creampie (yikes) mean!ruby porn without plot

your thighs are wrapped around dean’s head as he sucks on your clit, like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. his toned arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to him so he could get more of you. his green irises gleaming as he stares into your eyes through his thick eyelashes, his pupils blown wide. his eyes shift to your side, the soft gleam in them disappearing almost immediately as he sees ruby.

if looks could kill ruby would be dead by now, dean narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to see right past her. but you didn’t notice that. too busy focusing on the feeling of ruby’s lips against your own, the kiss was full of need, pent-up frustration and pure sin. it wasn’t gentle either, it was full of possessive force, all of it coming from ruby. her tongue claims more territory as she deepens the kiss, the heat of everything almost too overwhelming. both dean and ruby devouring you with their tongues.

no matter how many times you three did this together, no matter how many times he was around you and ruby, you were the only one of those two that he softened for. he’s always thought of ruby as nothing but a manipulative demon, always getting in his way. he never liked her, but since you always insisted on having her there too he couldn’t say no, right? and besides he enjoyed the way she always had you like a whimpering mess, wrapped around her finger.

your soft gasps and moans are muffled by ruby’s lips, which is honestly good since noises you’re making would definitely be heard to the room next door. the motel walls aren’t that thick, dean had said many times, from experience. you couldn’t breathe, feeling overstimulated all over, but you couldn’t pull away from either ruby or dean. ruby’s lips too intoxicating on yours, and dean’s grip on your thighs nearly bruising. ruby brushes your hair out of your face softly, her nails tangling with your locs as she caresses your hair.

ruby eventually breaks the kiss, letting out a soft sigh at the loss of your lips. as soon as the kiss broke you let out a soft cry, finally letting dean hear how good he’s making you feel, and if that didn’t make his already high-confidence even higher he doesn’t know what. “baby you gotta be quiet, don’t want the people next door t’hear you.” dean coos against your inner thigh, halting his actions for a moment, making you let out a soft whine. he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh before he gently bites on it, sucking on the bite mark after, creating a faint red bruise there. it has you tugging on his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp.

“you heard him.” ruby coos, as if she’s mocking you for the noises you’re making. it has dean rolling his eyes, he didn’t need her confirming his words. dean removes his other hand from your thigh, bringing it between your legs as he teases your entrance with his fingers. pushing the his ring finger inside your pussy, watching you closely to observe your reaction. your warm gummy walls immediately clench around his finger, sucking it right in. it has dean grinning, like he’s proud of himself for getting you this riled up and needy.

it doesn’t take long for dean to find your g-spot, it’s like he knows your body better than you do. his fingers curl against the spongy spot inside you, it has your back arching off of the dingy motel bed. both dean and ruby seem extremely turned on by your responsiveness, with dean finally taking his other hand off your thigh to palm himself through his boxers. ruby on the other hand just observes mostly, her gaze full of lust, even she couldn’t deny that she really enjoyed the view. she squeezes her thighs together firmly, trying to ease some of the need coiling in her lower abdomen.

“that’s the spot ain’t it?” dean teases, his husky tone accompanied with a grunt. he rolls his hips into his palm, pressing a soft kiss to your aching clit. his hot breath fanning over the sensitive bud as his fingers work on you, adding onto the the pleasure. your hand reach towards ruby, grabbing the bedsheets a couple of times in the process until you actually manage to grip onto her hand, squeezing it in a way that’s almost painful, nails digging into her burning hot skin. “fuck— dean—“ you moan out, all whilst ruby cups your face, rubbing her thumb softly against your cheek, in a way that’s almost domestic.

dean slowly slips his middle finger inside you too, stretching you out. you didn’t even register the pain at first, only paying attention to the delicious feeling of his fingers fucking into you. your brows furrow, mouth agape as soft whimpers pour out in an unbroken rhythm, just a bit too loudly. “shut the fuck up.” ruby commands in a harsh tone, she really doesn’t want anyone to hear what you’re up to. for a moment you’re quiet, not wanting to disobey her, knowing what it could cause. but it doesn’t take long until you’re nothing but a moaning and a whimpering mess.

ruby sticks her fingers in your mouth, deep enough to elicit a gag reflex. she makes you suck on her fingers, in order to keep you quiet. you look at her, seeing smug grin on her lips. “jesus dean, don’t let her come too soon.” ruby orders, making you let out a strangled ‘no’ against her fingers, making her press your tongue down, making it impossible for you to protest. that’s one of the only thing ruby has said that dean can agree on, he shifts his gaze from you to her. “wasn’t plannin’ on it.” he says as he pulls his fingers completely out of your pussy, leaving you feeling empty, clenching around nothing.

dean scoots up, removing himself from between your legs where he had been nestled for what felt like an eternity. now straddling your hips but not daring to put his full weight on you, his boxer-clad hard on against your stomach. he brushes your hair out of your face before he presses a couple of gentle kisses all over your face, his cheek brushing lightly against ruby’s palm. “you think you’re ready to take me?” he purrs against your neck as he shifts down your body slowly, pressing kisses on each part. ruby takes her fingers out of your mouth, finally letting you breathe and speak properly. her fingers coated with your spit. “yes— please dean. i need you—“ you cry out, hips arching off the bed.

dean grabs you by your waist, flipping you around so you’re laying on your stomach. your face hovering inches over ruby’s pussy, covered by her lace panties, you could see a wet patch there and it turned you on even more. you’re too busy focusing on that so you don’t even realize that dean’s gripping you by your hips, lifting them so that your ass is in the air, so he can fuck you properly. ruby’s delicate fingers hover over the hem of her panties, slipping beneath them so she can pull them off.

dean’s boxers are long gone, he had thrown them somewhere across the motel room. he spits on his hand, bringing it down to stroke himself a couple times before he aligns himself with your entrance. the pink tip of his cock nearly red, coated with the precum oozing out. he grips the base of his length firmly, brushing it against your folds a couple times before he slides into you in one smooth move. filling you up in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. ruby cups your cheek, relishing in the way you already look so fucked-out. she slaps your cheek a couple times, not hard enough to hurt but enough to sting in a way that gets you back to your senses.

“get your mouth on me, whore.” ruby demands as she grabs your hair, tugging it so that your mouth is hovering over her glistening cunt. dean pulls out completely, only to thrust all the way back in, throwing his head back. dean’s action made your head bump to ruby’s inner thigh, making you let out a soft whine. “c’mon, be good.” ruby says as she inches closer, making your lips connect with her clit. you wrap your trembling hands around her thighs, overwhelmed with pleasure. ruby’s just trying to get your attention off dean, to get all the attention to herself.

dean finds a steady pace, his hips pistoning against your ass, the filthy sounds of skin slapping filling the small motel room, bouncing off the walls. dean keeps his gaze locked on you between ruby’s legs, that sight could make him cum right there and then. and it nearly does, but only nearly. he has to squeeze his eyes shut, take a deep breath but the sight in front of him is burnt deep into his retinas. “you feel so good— shit baby.” dean practically whimpers out as he grips onto your hips tightly. you let out breathy moans against ruby’s aching pussy, her body trembling with each of your gentle licks.

“good fuckin’ girl.” ruby rasps out, even she lets a soft moan escape through her lips, her hands gripping your locs like a lifeline, pushing your head even closer to her heat. each flick of your tongue sending shock through her. “you like how he’s fuckin’ you huh? you feel good?” ruby taunts you softly, as you lap up at her juices. letting out a incoherent answer, scratching at her thighs, leaving red marks behind. “already fucked dumb, didn’t take much.” dean scoffs as he presses a gentle kiss to your back, lips tracing your spine.

you start to suck on ruby’s clit, even biting down on it a couple times. it has ruby’s hips shuddering as she nears her climax, it doesn’t take much, she’s so goddamn pent up. she grinds her cunt against your face, wanting you to devour every inch of her. “pleaseugh—“ you beg, not even sure for what. dean’s thrusts becoming sloppy, your walls gripping onto him in a way that makes it almost impossible to plunge out of you. “ease up.” dean grunts as he lands a harsh smack on your ass, leaving his handprint on the skin there.

after a while ruby finally comes with a cry, making you devour every single drip of her fluids. as she pulls back, you bury your arousal-coated face in the sheets, gripping them so hard your knuckles turn white. dean keeps going at a bruising pace, but you can tell how close he is by his shaky breath, the movement of his hips faltering for a moment as he releases inside you with a loud whine. coating your insides white, with you leaving a creamy ring around the base of his cock “you’re so goddamn good, a fuckin’ gem.” dean husks as he pulls out, letting you collapse to the bed.

saw a tiktok that said something like “imagine having a boyfriend and a girlfriend who hate each other” and that kinda inspired this. literally my sweet babies ugh i love them so much ☹️☹️.

[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