CONGRATULATIONS RUBY!!! You're one of my favorite authors so I trust that you'll make something amazing out of this request (if you like it and feel like writing it, no pressure)
❤️🔥 with “Nobody in the world has hands this soft.”
just a little steve hand appreciation blurb (bonus points if you include comparing hands with him!!!)
M!!!! AHHH THANK U ANGEL!! im literally so :')) rn u are so very talented so it really means the world for me to hear u like what i write!! your bonus point suggestion like shaped this whole blurb im so glad u included it & omg its the first to break 1k+ words. i went for mutual pining besties bcos i've only written established relationship so far ! enjoy my dear!!! <3
You can’t believe you’re listening to advice from a 14-year old.
It feels like a new low. The idea that you can’t figure out the flirting thing on your own combined with the fact it’s your kid friend Dustin who seems to have a mountain-load of advice makes you feel— well, less than stellar.
But times are tough. And shit, it’s not actually bad advice.
Besides, despite Steve being your best friend, you’ll admit Dustin and him are close as well. Close enough that you made Dustin swear not to rat out your feelings to Steve at the first opportune moment.
He’d scoffed, then very reluctantly agreed. Seemed miffed you wouldn’t let him play matchmaker. Then set to work formulating a perfect plan on how you were to woo Steve — though he insisted you really didn’t need to because Steve was already well and truly obsessed with you.
“Honest!” He had said, eyes bright, and with that familiar cocky smile like he knew more than you. Which, in this case, might be true.
“Steve’s crazy for you, I can tell. He once gave this whole talk about,” Dustin waved his hands around. “Electricity. It’s a whole thing with him. Just trust me, you guys have it.”
Which leads to the here and now. You’re in the passenger seat of Steve’s beemer, the drive-in screen glowing ahead of you, just out the windshield. It’s night time, the dark lit up by dozens of shiny neon signs dotted about around the drive-in keeping you cozy in the car.
There’s an advertisement for Scoops Ahoy! ice-cream, all red, white, and blue, nautical symbols in every corner on a board to your right; a crimson and mustard coloured hot-dog stand with bright lit bulbs around it and a comically large weiner atop it. Beside it is a less glammed up, but nevertheless, trusty popcorn stand.
One of the buckets from there sits between you two, balanced between the seats. Steve seems to be unaware of your inner turmoil, his interest in the film properly piqued as you debate internally on Dustin’s advice. The film is miles away to you, worrying your bottom lip as you reconsider Dustin’s words.
“Just, like... find a way to touch his hand. No, wait- compare hand sizes! That’s like the oldest flirt in the book.” He’d nodded with enough fervor you nearly didn’t question him. Nearly.
Narrowing your eyes at him, you’d asked. “And where did you hear that?”
“Suze.” He’d said plainly. “And Suzie said she heard it from the girls at one of her camps. And it worked on me, so it’ll work on Steve. He’s simple!”
So, how do you go about this? You’re not sure there’s a natural way to ask to compare hand sizes. This feels like a flirt you’d do if he was just a handsome stranger at a party and you had a couple tequila shots on your side for encouragement. Leaned against a wall, sultry giggles and seductive touches; that seems more fitted for the flirt you’re about to try.
But you’re Steve’s best friend, not a stranger, and there’s certainly no liquid courage in your veins. No party. Just you, armed with more butterflies in your stomach than you can count and the advice of a 14-year old. God, you’re screwed.
You steel yourself and steal a glance at Steve. He’s in that grey shirt you like, long sleeved with just two buttons up the top. Both of them are undone.
You feel a bit peaky at how it makes you flush, seeing a flash of his chest. Briefly, you wonder if he’s worn the shirt because he knows it’s one of your favourites. The thought provides no relief to your nerves.
You fix your eyes forward and miss the way Steve glances to check on you, a smile toying at his lips.
Coincidentally, when he reaches for the popcorn, so are you — and your hands brush in the middle, burning hot, and you startle at the touch. Steve’s already apologising, pulling his hand but in a moment, you see it clearly there; your segue.
“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” You comment, with a quiet chuckle to seem casual, shifting yourself to face him better. Your stomach turns over with nerves and you have to force yourself to meet his eye.
You raise your hand a bit, palm facing him. “See?”
Steve’s pauses, only for a moment, but it’s enough to send your heart rocketing. Just as you’re about to retract your hand and hope to hide your crumpled pride, embarrassment stinging at your chest, Steve grins.
He chuckles and twists in his seat to face you, unfurling his hand and extending it out towards your own.
He wavers, hesitating just short of pressing his hand against yours and when your eyes dart up to his face, your stomach tightens up a bit more at what you find. Nervous, you think giddily, he’s nervous.
In another second the expression is gone and he presses his hand flush against yours.
“I think you might have the world’s smallest hands,” He jokes, curling his fingers over the top of yours just to prove the point. He’s wrong but compared to his large hands, you can see why it certainly might seem that way.
“I think you just have huge hands, Harrington,” You remark, enjoying the feeling of his hand against yours far too much.
The butterflies in your stomach have evolved into something bigger — some sort of lovebird that pecks at your heart and leaves it bleeding in your chest. The beat of its wings gets louder every second Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he leans in closer.
“Nope, it’s your hands, 100 percent.” He nods along, lips quirked into an amused smile. The film continues unnoticed, just flashes of light that illuminate the side of his face. Subconsciously, you lean closer into his space, nearly close enough that you could lean over and lay one of him. If you wanted.
Steve continues with a tease, “I’m serious! Nobody in the world has hands this small.”
“Nobody in the world has hands this soft.” You counter with a grin. It’s true, Steve’s hands aren’t at all like how you’d expected; instead of calloused and rough, they’re supple and soft. Like a lover, not a fighter.
It takes a moment to realise your slip. Your heart stutters and Steve’s eyes turn a little wide. His cheeks flush and the only comfort is the obvious delight on his features, even as he blushes pink. His eyes dart to your lips. You hold your breath.
“Yeah?” He asks and licks his lips. “I- I’ve, uh, heard— well, some would say the same about my lips.”
It’s not nearly as smooth as you’ve seen him be, words a bit fumbled. He screws his eyes shut for a moment, gathers his courage, then keeps going. His voice is quiet, eyes watching you closely. “Softest... yeah, softest in the world s’what they’ve said...”
If by some terrible tragedy you’ve misread this and he’s not asking for a kiss, you’ll happily let the ground swallow you up after this. But with the nervous gleam in his eye, his pink lips, and hand against yours, you think you like your odds.
You close your eyes, lean in, and think of luck.
And even if it was just a line, you have to agree; these are the softest lips you’ve ever kissed, and maybe in the entire world.
join the celebration <3!
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This is so fucking stupid.
"Small dick energy" and "big dick energy" come directly from the idea that having a big dick means you are strong, powerful, and cool, and having a small dick means you are weak, pathetic, and lame. The body part is right there in the goddamn name. It's not some hyper-conceptual meta insult. It has literally always been about bodyshaming. It has never not been about making fun of the idea of a small penis.
Here's an idea: if a woman politician was being a total asshole, and acting like she was the Best Most Pure Woman Ever, would it be justified to joke about how she is unfuckable and can't cook and no man would ever want to marry her? Because she clearly would care a lot about those qualities and think that those qualities define a woman. This is a woman who puffs herself up by placing a ton of value on traditional, patriarchal qualities of a woman, so it makes sense to insult her by using those qualities, right?
Yet, we know that saying that implicitly agrees with the patriarchal idea that a woman needs to be attractive and good at cooking and desired by men for marriage in order to be worthwhile. "Husbandless energy" as an insult would imply that to have a husband is to be a worthwhile woman, and to not have one is to be a lame failure. It directly contributes to suffering of women by placing their value on their attractiveness.
In the same sense, "small dick energy" implies that to have a small dick is to be a failure, to not be a real man. It directly contributes, not just to the suffering of cis men, but to the suffering of trans men&mascs and intersex people.
You are agreeing with the patriarchy. You are saying, "you are right! Having a small dick does make you less of a man, which is why I'm using that to insult you! You are right to find it insulting!"
Grow the fuck up and find better insults. The man is a human trafficker who doxxed himself with a pizza box to get back at a teen activist who has done more for society than he ever will. Are you seriously so incapable of creative thinking that you can't find a better insult?
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