#Honestly I liked it more than I thought I would

[missdynamighttt]

↳ ❝ FAT ASS LIKE HERS NEEDS A REAL MAN TO FUCK IT. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you get tangled up with your boyfriend's arrogant, infuriating, and devastatingly hot rival, katsuki bakugou and ended up fucking... one too many times.

starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x enemy's girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: cheating on yo shindo, cheating with katsuki bakugo, body worship, implied mentions of anal sex, oral sex (f! receiving, face riding), manhandling, penetrative / p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

note: usage of "sweetheart", "pretty", "pretty girl", "sweets", fem reader, implied plus size! reader, mean! katsuki, katsuki calls reader fat but not really (specifically, reader's ass), (hopefully) promoting body positivity. really thought this song gave katsuki vibes and havent seen a fic based off of it yet. reminds me of that montoya guy watching his girl fuck someone on camera lmao😭. time to give back to my community, hope you guys enjoy💜

╰┈➤ [katsuki bakugo was an asshole.] everyone knew that. and when it came to shindo yo, he was even worse. the two had never gotten along—never would. 

which was exactly why, when katsuki walked into the bar and spotted you, nursing a drink, frustration etched across your face, he couldn’t help but smirk.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. probably your boyfriend getting a little too damn close to another "friend" again. just like always. this wasn’t the first time, and knowing him, it wouldn’t be the last.

this was the kind of moment he lived for, a rare opportunity to get under shindo’s skin. sure, maybe katsuki didn’t hate shindo that much, but you? you were a different story.

he sauntered over, leaning an arm against the counter, eyes never leaving you. "rough night?"

you glanced up, instantly recognizing the pro hero standing beside you. with a sigh, you swirled your drink in its glass. “you could say that.”

“lemme guess... your idiot boyfriend givin’ you trouble again?”

“…something like that.”

“don’t know why you put up with him, honestly," he chuckled, the sound low and knowing. he tipped his drink toward you, watching your reaction carefully. "you deserve better than some asshole who doesn’t know how to appreciate you.”

your lips quirked, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “and you think you can appreciate me?”

katsuki had no shame, never did. so he grinned, a flicker of something dangerous in his crimson gaze.

"want me to show you, sweetheart?"

one thing led to another and soon enough— you were in his bed, limbs tangled, gasping his name, making sure you see the stars in the sky as he fucked the frustration right out of you.

and after that night, fucking you became katsuki's favorite way to piss shindo off.

you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly what this was. but did you care? not one damn bit. he had you in his bed more than your shitty boyfriend ever did. and yeah, maybe it started as a way to get under shindo’s skin, but somewhere along the way, it became something neither of you wanted to stop.

because katsuki? he was fucking obsessed with you.  

some nights, he’d pull you into his lap, hands splayed over your hips as he buried his face in your neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

“fuck, i missed you,” he groaned, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. his grip tighten, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs. “shouldn’t let you leave my bed, y’know that?”

you chuckled, tilting your head back as his lips trailed lower. “you’re never satisfied, huh?”

“so what?” he nipped at your skin, making you squeak. “i like my woman soft. more of you for me to grab.”

and grab he did. he was clingy in the worst way—always needing to have a hand on you, whether it was squeezing your ass, gripping your waist, or just absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh while you laid in bed together.

katsuki just loved how you felt in his hands.

then there are the nights when he'd lie with his head on your lap, letting you comb your fingers through his hair, one arm thrown lazily over his chest.

his eyes were shut, his expression relaxed, but every so often, his brows furrowed as he grumbled about his day.

like now.

“dumbass intern nearly blew up my whole damn office,” he muttered, eyes closed. “and kirishima kept laughin’ like it was the funniest shit he’d ever seen.”

you hummed, dragging your nails lightly over his scalp. “i mean… you do blow things up all the time. bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

his eyes cracked open, leveling you with a glare. “tch. ain’t funny.”

you bit back a smile. “a little funny.”

he exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. he never really did when you played with his hair. it was his weakness, and he hated that you knew it.

your fingers trailed down to his jaw, tracing the sharp edge. he leaned into your touch instinctively, like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

“you’re really pretty, you know that?” you murmured.

his eyes flickered open again, red irises locking onto yours. there was something unreadable in his gaze—something so raw and vulnerable.

“oi,” he muttered, shifting slightly, ears turning pink. “quit it.”

you grinned. “quit what?”

“saying dumb shit like that.”

“but it’s true.”

katsuki scowled, but the way he pressed his cheek into your palm gave him away. he huffed, eyes slipping shut again.

“…whatever.”

and he loved it. the times he's spent with you, whether he was fucking you or just talking about each other's day, he loved all of it. not just because it was a middle finger to shindo, but because katsuki got to have you all to himself. 

honestly? it stopped being about shindo a long time ago. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rub it in the bastard’s face.

"she was beggin’ me to keep goin’ last night," katsuki bragged, arm slung lazily around your waist, knowing full well that shindō was fuming. his hand drifted lower, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass. “bet you don’t even know how to handle all this ass, huh? shame. guess that’s why she keeps crawlin’ back to me.”

shindo clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what katsuki was implying. he knew. knew there was truth in katsuki’s words. knew that every time he and you argued, you’d disappear for a while, only to return looking a little too satisfied. "you really think you're some upgrade?"  

"she does. especially when she’s whining my name into the sheets.”  

"shut the fuck up, bakugo."  

katsuki barked a laugh, shameless and sharp. he was pissed, good. that was the reaction he wanted. but he wasn’t done yet.

“she’s a greedy lil’ thing, too. always wantin’ more," he grinned, eyes flicking over to him before locking back at yours. "but look at her. how could i say no? she looks so fuckin’ perfect under me."

your face burns, heat creeping up your neck before he scoffs and turns back to grilling your ex, like you weren’t just standing there, completely flustered.

"did she ever tell you how much she loves it when i grab these—" his fingers trailed down your side, giving a firm squeeze and earning a small yelp from you. "—and i slam my dick into her? fuck her real nice and deep? moans so pretty for me, too. you ever heard it?"

and if shindo so much as opened his mouth, katsuki would throw in another dig.

"nah. probably not. bet she asked you if it was in yet.”  

"well, she's all yours," shindo said, fists clenching, clearly seconds away from punching him. and katsuki lived for it.  

"yeah, figured you’d say that," katsuki taunted. "she’s been stress eatin’ too much to deal with a weak-ass like you."  

and then, just because he was an absolute bastard, he'd go in for the kill.

"fat ass like hers needs a real man to fuck it."  

shindo looked about ready to swing, but you pulled katsuki away before things got too messy.  you could still feel the heat of shindo’s rage burning through the air. it thrilled you more than it should have. 

but behind closed doors? the same man who ran his mouth would spend hours pressed against you, whispering things he’d never admit to anyone else.

"c’mere," katsuki grumbled, tugging you onto the bed after another long day of antagonizing your ex. his arms wrapped around your waist, face immediately pressing into your soft stomach.

he worshipped you—every inch, every soft curve, but nothing captivated him more than your stomach.

he was obsessed, utterly entranced. he’d bury his face against it, his hands kneaded your sides, gripping, squeezing—memorizing, pressing lazy kisses to every dip and curve. he held your body with a reverence that bordered on possessive, like he was terrified you’d slip away.

"fuck, baby," he groaned, nuzzling into you like he wanted to disappear into your skin. “love your body so goddamn much. s’perfect.”

you chuckled, threading your fingers through his hair. "thought you said i was stress-eating."  

"yeah, stress-eatin’ on my dick," he muttered, pressing kisses against your tummy. "he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you."

“then why do you still do it, hmm?”

he looked up at you, red eyes dark with something almost desperate as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

"tch, you know why i do that. pisses him off. makes him realize he ain't shit. ‘cause he ain't."  

you shivered at the heat of his lips against your skin, biting back a smile as you run your fingers through his hair. so that’s what this was about. "you sure you’re not just obsessed with him at this point?”

he scoffed against your stomach, his grip on your waist tightening. “the hell i am. only thing i’m obsessed with is you.”

it was the side of him no one else got to see— the way he nuzzled into you, the way he pressed his lips to your skin over and over, like he couldn’t get enough. he'd grumble if you tried to move, holding you tighter to keep you in bed, murmuring "stay here. wanna hold ya."  

he loved how soft you were, how warm—how no matter how much he grabbed, squeezed, or traced his fingers over you, it was never enough. he needed you. it was like he was drunk on the feel of you, the scent of you. and truthfully, he was.

"love this shit,” he admitted lowly, voice thick with something almost vulnerable. he nuzzled into your tummy again, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. "could live here."

you raised a brow, fighting back a grin as you looked down at him. “oh? you wanna live on my stomach now?”

“yes, baby,” he muttered almost desperately, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction while pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “soft. warm. smells like you.”

you laughed, dragging your fingers through his hair. “so what, you’re gonna quit being a hero and move in here?”

he let out a gruff chuckle, turning his head to rest his cheek against you. “tch. would if i could. wouldn’t need a bed, a couch, nothin’. just this perfect spot.”

“oh yeah?” you hummed, tilting your head. “should i start charging you rent?”

he huffed against your skin. “tch. smartass.”

you giggled, brushing a thumb over the shell of his ear. “i mean, if you’re gonna move in, might as well contribute. utilities, groceries… maybe even a tummy tax.”

his red eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. “the fuck is a tummy tax?”

you grinned. “unlimited kisses. daily.”

he snorts, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “already payin’ for that, pretty."

and you laughed, because for all his big talk, katsuki bakugo adored you. as long as he had you, nothing else mattered.

and despite the way he ran his mouth, he never let you feel insecure. if he ever caught you looking at yourself too long in the mirror, he’d grab you and pull you onto the bed, hovering over you with that intense, fiery gaze.  

"the fuck are you thinkin’ about?" he’d demand, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing, leaving marks. "you’re mine. this body? all mine. and i fuckin’ love every inch of you. don’t ever fuckin’ doubt how much i want you."

and god, did he prove it.

he didn't just tolerate your body—he adored it. and thats why you found yourself looking down at him lying comfortably on his back, eyes dark with anticipation. he was waiting—no, expecting—you to sit on his face.

you shake your head, heat creeping up your neck. "i can just lay down, 'suki..."

katsuki scoffs, sitting up slightly, his hands already reaching for your thighs, clearly impatient. "tch. and deny me a great view? cut the crap and get up here, sweets."

you shake your head again. "i just- what if i’m too heavy?"

he lets out a sharp, exasperated scoff. "for who? me? well that’s rude."

"it’s not..." you hesitate for half a second, but that’s all the time he gives you. 

he yanks you down onto his face with a low growl, his mouth immediately sealing over your cunt. "stop stallin’ and just give me what i want..."

you hesitate, subtly hovering just above him instead of lowering yourself onto his face, holding onto the headboard for support. his eyes flick up to yours, and the second he realizes what you're doing, his expression darkens.

"the fuck do you think you’re doin’?" his grip on your thighs tightens, his voice a low, dangerous growl. 

“i don’t want to crush you—”

“are you fuckin’ serious?” his voice drips with pure offense, like you just insulted his entire existence. "you really think i can't handle you? think you're doin’ me a favor by holdin’ back?"

you try to protest, but he’s already yanking you down on his face, forcing you to sit properly. his growl vibrates against you as he buries his face between your thighs. the way he looked up at you—pissed off and starving—sent a shiver down your spine.

your face burned, heart pounding in your chest. "i just— i don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

katsuki let out a sharp laugh, the sound vibrating against your folds, lifting you by your hips to give him room to speak from time to time. 

"uncomfortable? sweetheart, the only thing makin’ me uncomfortable right now is you not sittin’ on my goddamn face like i told you to."

your lips parted in protest, but a startled moan escapes you as his tongue flicks over your clit, sharp and demanding. his grip on your thighs is punishing, locking you in place as he devours you with obscene hunger.

"katsuki—" you try to lift yourself, but his hands hold you firm.

"nah. shut up," he murmurs burying his tongue between your thighs without warning. a moan escapes you as he groans against your heat, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you firmly in place. 

"fuckin’ ridiculous," he mutters between licks, voice muffled. "ain’t takin’ this disrespect. you ain't doin’ me no favors by holdin’ back. told ya before— i want you—every fuckin’ inch of you." 

your breath hitches, and katsuki smirks like he knows he’s got you. his crimson eyes flicked up at you, glinting with mischief as he devoured the fuck out of your pretty little cunt, tongue glazed with his spit and your slick. 

"so don't you ever pull that hoverin’ shit again,” he warns, his tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds "or i swear to god, i'll make you sit here all fuckin' night—"

his words were cut off by the way he devoured you, lips and tongue working so hungrily that your legs nearly gave out then and there. his crimson eyes burned into you, daring you to try that shit again.

you whimper, thighs trembling, and he doubles down, tongue curling inside you before dragging back up to your clit, sucking just to hear you whine.

"fuck, baby," he groans against you, his voice thick with need. "taste so fuckin’ good."

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging on the soft strands, but it only spurs him on. his hands slide to your ass, forcing you to take everything he gave you. he’s lost in it, completely drowning in you, and he likes it. loves it. wants more. 

"you drive me fuckin’ insane," he murmured, sucking your clit into his mouth with a filthy slurp. "you’re too damn perfect, and it pisses me off."  

your fingers tightened around the headboard, thighs trembling around his head. “how is that my fault? you're the one who—"

katsuki let out a frustrated growl against your cunt, cutting you off before you could finish. without warning, he flattened his tongue and dragged a slow, deliberate lick through your folds, making you gasp.

"its your fucking fault," he went on like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to act so damn innocent.

his lips brush against your pussy as your legs threatened to close around his head, but his grip was firm, keeping you spread open for him. "prancin’ around, bein’ so goddamn pretty. takin’ up space in my head. gettin’ under my fuckin' skin and you expect me to act normal?"

you tried to answer, but he didn’t give you the chance. a sharp suck on your clit had your head tipping back, a needy whine escaping before you could stop it. his tongue slid through your folds again, swirling around your clit, and the sudden sensation made you choke on your words.

"katsuki—"

"nah. told you to shut up." he cut you off, voice muffled against your dripping cunt. "if you're gonna talk, you can fuckin’ moan."

your noises only spurred him on. your fingers found their way into his hair, gripping tightly as pleasure pooled in your stomach. his tongue worked you over with precision, switching between sucking and licking until your hips were rolling into his face, chasing more. 

"that's it," he muttered, sucking your clit into his mouth again, hard, and the moan that tore from your throat was anything but coherent, fucking you with his tongue. "you wanna run your mouth? do it like this." 

you could barely form a response, your mind going blank as he sucked hard on your clit, his tongue relentless. the only thing that left your lips was a desperate, broken moan.

"fuckin' knew it," he groaned, his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. "knew you’d sound so fuckin' pretty when you just shut the fuck up while riding my face. could watch you like this all fuckin’ day."

you let out a shaky breath, barely able to focus as his tongue flicked over your clit again. katsuki pulled back just enough to suck in a breath, his lips slick and glistening with your arousal. his crimson eyes burned into you, half-lidded and desperate, but still sharp with command.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice thick with hunger. “touch yourself, pretty girl. play with those pretty tits for me.”

your breath caught in your throat, and you hesitated, already feeling overwhelmed by the way he was devouring you. but his grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh in warning.

“c’mon, sweets,” he rasped, his tongue flicking out to tease your clit before pulling back again. his eyes dragged up your body, the heat in them making you dizzy. “be a good girl and gimme a show, yeah?"

with trembling hands, you reached up, cupping your tits, teasing your own nipples the way you knew he liked. you kneaded them softly at first, rolling your thumbs over your nipples, but the second you pinched them, katsuki groaned, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing in existence.

“fuck yeah,” he muttered, running his tongue through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “just like that, baby. play with those tits— keep puttin’ on a show for me while i eat this pretty little pussy.”

his tongue worked you over with hungry, unrelenting strokes, the obscene slurps and groans vibrating against you as he devoured you like a man starved.

you tugged at your nipples, your head falling back as pleasure rippled through you. your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around your nipples as the combination of your own hands on your body and his mouth wrecking you from below had your head spinning.

“katsuki—” you gasped, thighs trembling around his head. “i’m— i’m close.”

that was all it took. katsuki groaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your cunt as his grip on your thighs tightened. his tongue worked even faster, flicking and circling your clit with devastating precision, like he needed you to fall apart for him or he'd die.

"yeah?" he rasped between licks, his voice thick and wrecked. "then fuckin’ give it to me, sweets. wanna feel you cum on my face."

he didn’t slow down, didn’t let up for even a second. his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to really sit on his face, and the pressure—his tongue, his mouth, the way he sucked on your clit—sent you careening straight into your orgasm.

your back arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming. katsuki groaned against you like he felt it, like he was the one cumming, and he didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop devouring you, even as you trembled above him.

he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your slick as he sucked in a breath, eyes dark with hunger. he gave your thighs one last squeeze before gripping your waist.

“get up."

you blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “what?”

“i said, get up,” he growled. "need to be inside you. now.”

you whined, shaking your head weakly. “katsuki, i just— i just came…”

“and?” he scoffed, sitting up slightly. “the fuck that got to do with me?”

before you could protest again, his strong arms moved, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. a surprised yelp left your lips, but katsuki was already on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, his body burning hot against yours with his lips on yours.

"don't care if you just came," he muttered against your lips, biting down on your bottom one before sucking it into his mouth. "wanna feel you squeeze the cum outta me this time."

your head spun as he hovered over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. his hands were everywhere—gripping, kneading—like he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

"katsuki—"

"shut up," he growled, shoving your legs open with his knee. "you think i’m lettin’ you off that easy? nah. you got one, and now i’m gettin’ mine.”

you gasped as his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them, his cock already hard and leaking against your folds. he positioned himself at your pussy, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against you.

"look at you," he murmured, rubbing his throbbing tip through your slick folds. "all fuckin’ messy for me already."

you gasped, legs twitching from overstimulation. “i— i need a second—”

“the fuck you do,” he muttered, lining himself up with your entrance. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. you’re fine.”

and before you could say another word, he thrusted into you, stretching you open in one slow, deep stroke.

"don't care what the fuck you say," he rasps. "bein’ so fuckin’ sweet, it makes me wanna ruin you."

your hands scrambled against his shoulders, nails digging in as you let out a choked sob, overwhelmed, tears pricking at your eyes as he kept moving, his cock dragging against your already-sensitive walls. “k-katsuki—'s too much—”

he didn't stop. didn't even hesitate. he knew better. knew you. if it was really too much, if you truly couldn’t take it, you would’ve said the safe word. and since you hadn’t? that meant you loved this—loved how he was using you, pushing you past your limits, making you take every inch of him.

“yeah? then why’s this pussy still fuckin’ suckin’ me in, huh?” he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “you know what to say if you really wanted me to stop, sweets.”

you whimpered, blinking up at him, your face hot and damp with tears. your breath hitched when he rolled his hips deeper, making your back arch off the bed.

“you like it, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your cheek, tasting the tears running down your face. his hands pinned your wrists down beside your head, locking you in place beneath him. “fuckin’ cryin’ and takin’ my dick so good anyway. knew you’d let me use this sweet little pussy however the fuck i wanted.”

your body shook with every thrust, overstimulated and overwhelmed, but the pleasure was so sharp and dizzying, that all you could do was moan through the tears. you sobbed, back arching, hands clutching at the sheets. it was too much, but it felt too good. 

 his thumb swiped at your tear-streaked cheek, his other hand pressing down on your lower stomach, feeling the way he stretched you open. 

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice husky as he fucked into you harder, deeper, making sure you felt every inch. “be good for me. just take it. let me use you, yeah?”

you could barely think, barely breathe, and yet you nodded. and that was all he needed before his grip on your hips tightened, his cock stretching you wide, and he really started fucking you.

his hips snapped forward, burying himself deeper inside you, groaning as your walls clenched around him, still fluttering. his hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head to make you look at him.

“look at you,” he murmured, taking in the sight of you, tears spilling down your cheeks, the way your lips trembled. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. cryin’ for me. takin’ me like a good fuckin’ girl, squeezin’ me so tight, shit—”

your body trembled beneath him, your sobs mixing with broken moans as he fucked into you relentlessly. your arms struggled against his grip, desperate to reach for him, but he only pressed you deeper into the mattress, keeping you pinned.

“k-katsuki—” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks. “please—kiss me—”

he should’ve been satisfied with how wrecked you already were, with the way your body clenched around him so tight—but fuck, hearing you beg for his kisses?

that only made him worse.

“tch. still so fuckin’ needy, even when i’m ruining you.” 

his grip on your wrists loosens just enough for you to reach up. the second your hands touched him, you yanked him down, crashing your lips against his, desperate for the closeness, for the warmth of his mouth against yours.

katsuki groaned into the kiss, deep and hungry, swallowing your cries as he kissed you hard. his tongue pushes past your lips, claiming you just as much as his cock did. his thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t soften—if anything, he fucked you harder, like he wanted to ruin you completely.

“that what you needed, pretty girl?” he murmured against your lips, his breath heavy, your sobs melting into whimpers. “that why you’re cryin’? ‘cause you needed me to kiss you while i fuck you?”

you nodded frantically, another broken whimper slipping past your lips. “y-yeah—needed you—”

“yeah?” he smirked against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip before kissing you again—sloppier, deeper, making sure you’d never forget exactly who you belonged to.

his rhythm starts to stutter, hips snapping into you harder, sloppier, and you felt the way his body tensed, the way his grip on your hips turned bruising. he forced another helpless cry from you, and he groaned against your lips, drinking in every sound.

"fuck—fuck," katsuki whined, voice raw and desperate as he buried himself deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing against your own as he lost himself in you. "you feel so goddamn good—s'fuckin’ tight, baby—"

you knew that tone—knew the way his voice cracked when he felt needy, when he was so fucking close to cumming. you loved when he got like this, when all his control slipped away and he was nothing but whiny, desperate need.

"katsuki—" you gasped, nails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "i'm—i'm close, i'm so close, wanna cum together—"

his grip tightened, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he snapped his hips into you, his pace turning desperate chasing both of your highs. "fuck, yeah? c'mon, baby— wanna feel you cum, wanna fuckin' feel you all over my cock—"

his next thrust sent you over, body locking up as the heat coiled tight in your belly and snapped all at once. your moan shattered into a cry as your whole body trembled, clenching around him so hard its about to break him.

“oh, fuck—” katsuki choked, eyes rolling back as he lost it completely, slamming into you one last time before burying himself into your warm, wet pussy. his whole body shook, breath stuttering as he spilled inside you, groaning out your name like a prayer.

he kept thrusting—shallow, drawn-out rolls of his hips, like he never wanted to stop feeling you, even as he came down from his high. his forehead pressed against yours again, his breath heavy, his body spent.

for a moment, the only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths, your bodies still tangled, clinging to each other as you both came down from your highs. katsuki was still holding you, his grip tight but no longer desperate—just grounding. 

then, with a deep exhale, katsuki finally pulled out, rolling onto his side and gathering you against his chest. his arms wrapped around you securely, his large hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back. you felt his eyes scan over you with something softer than before—something almost tender.

“you alright, sweets?”

you nodded, still catching your breath, but the way your body trembled slightly didn’t escape him. he scoffs, sitting up just enough to lean over and press soft kisses to your damp forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“liar,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. only warmth. “you cried, y’know.”

you let out a breathy laugh, snuggling closer. “you were relentless.”

he clicked his tongue, one of his hands finding the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, the other resting on the small of your back, holding you close.

you melted into his chest, sighing against his skin. “you’re so warm…”

he smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “duh. i’m literally made of explosions, dumbass.”

you lightly smacked his chest, making him chuckle. but his teasing quickly faded as he tilted your chin up, crimson eyes searching yours. his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of your overstimulated tears.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, quieter now. “you okay?”

your heart squeezed at how gentle he was being. how, despite how rough he could be, how demanding, he never once forgot to take care of you afterward. you leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

“i’m perfect,” you smiled sleepily. “because of you.”

“tch. sappy little shit," katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. his ears definitely got redder.  “you sure, though? i didn’t—y’know… go too hard?”

you hummed, tilting your head to press a lazy kiss to his jaw. “i'm fine, katsuki. i promise." 

he just huffed, shifting to grab a towel from the nightstand. “yeah, well, you better be. was holdin’ back just for you.”

you snorted. “that was you holding back?”

katsuki shot you a look but didn’t argue. instead, he started cleaning you up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. he was quiet as he worked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“…was it really okay?” his voice was quieter now, hesitant in a way he rarely was.

you cupped his cheek, running your thumb over the sharp line of his jaw. “yes. i’d tell you if it wasn’t, katsuki.”

his crimson eyes searched yours for a long moment before he finally exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders. “good.”

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips, lingering there as if he never wanted to pull away.

“cause next time, i’m makin’ you cry even harder.”

you groaned, shoving his face away as he laughed, the sound deep and full of warmth. 

katsuki didn’t say anything for a moment after—just stared at you, his expression completely unguarded. no sharp smirks, no cocky grins—just raw, unfiltered devotion.

he stared at you like you’d just hung the damn moon. like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.  

you reached up to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead, and he caught your wrist midair, holding it for just a second before bringing it to his lips. the kiss he pressed against your palm was barely there, but it sent warmth blooming in your chest.

“you’re lookin’ at me funny,” you murmured, voice drowsy.

katsuki huffed a quiet laugh, but he didn’t look away. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled lazily back at him. “like i just saved a bunch of kids from a burning building or something."

his smirk was faint, more of a ghost of amusement than anything. he pressing lazy kisses along your wrist, trailing them down to the inside of your palm. “you didn’t save a bunch of kids. you’re just—you. and i dunno what the hell i’d do without that."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice, but before you could say anything, katsuki pulled you in even closer, pressing his face against your shoulder, like he was trying to hide.

“go to sleep,” he grumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “say any dumb shit about it, and i’ll smother you.”

you couldn’t help but smile as you curled against him, feeling the way his arms locked around you just a little tighter. “mhm. goodnight, katsuki.”

and then you smiled—sleepy, content, completely at ease in his arms.

katsuki stiffened. just for a second. just enough for you to feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hold on you tightened like he was trying to keep himself together.

fuck.

that damn smile. that look on your face. like he was your whole world. like you trusted him. like you loved him.

he clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose, like that would do anything to calm the way his heart was fucking pounding.

"goodnight." 

he was fucked. absolutely, completely, and hopelessly fucked.

because thats when katsuki bakugo realized he was in love with you. and he couldn't do anything about it.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ tags: ˚⋆ @kalulakunundrum @ch3rryjampi3 @lotusstarr @aranikai @emmab3mma @yannvi @gabby-ha @twoplayergaymers @xanneeeyyyy @akiii143 @ceeriusly-dumb @beabamboo @butlereyepatchbunny @qyuin @ocharavitys @dragonscribble @jimabbenamara @g0dawnlita @sourgrapesthings @seraphiicallyy @aawwq @kaybug88

[tjelestial]

Pick A Lana:

Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

PAC: Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

☆ How to choose your pile: Take a deep breath, hold it for a sec - exhale slowly through your mouth. Close your eyes and focus on the question. Once you're ready, take a look at the number and choose the pile you feel drawn to.

If you feel called by more than one pile, there might be more messages for you.

Remember: This is a general reading, therefore I'd be picking up messages for collective audience. Take only what resonates and leave what doesn’t. May you find your message!

PILE 1

Hi Pile 1, welcome to your reading! Okay, right of the bat Pile 1, your person is giving ✨possessive✨ I just heard “You’re mine.” Damn. It’s the ultimate "I own you, and you own me" energy. There’s no in-between, just a raw, unshakable pull between you two. It’s almost obsessive, the way their body craves yours, the way their mind keeps coming back to thoughts of you, even when they try to focus on work and other things.

They fantasize about taking their time with you, making you beg before they finally give you what you want. I heard “arguing is foreplay”. It’s the kind of connection where even your arguments hold heat—one second you’re challenging them, the next, they’ve got you against the wall, their mouth on yours, hands gripping tight because they can’t keep their hands off you. Your body is like a prize they’ve won, and they’re going to worship every inch of it. For some of you, your person don’t shy from PDA and they like to show you off.

You’re someone who set high standards for yourself and actually put in the work to meet them. Whether it’s in your career, social circle, or relationships, you exude the energy of someone who knows their worth. For some of you, I’m getting IxTP/xxFJ vibes.

Your person is a provider. I almost thought it’s giving sugar daddy vibes, with how much they spoil you materialistically. But there’s this insecurity within them. Maybe they think you’re too good to be true? Maybe it’s fear of losing you? Maybe you shine so bright? But they don’t want to let you go. And in the heat of it all? They can’t resist you. They want to fuck the insecurity out of their system, to make you scream their name until they know you’re theirs in every way possible.

They love taking you from behind too, it’s one of their fantasies, gripping your waist, pulling your hair against them because they need to feel all of you. They’re possessive with their hands, their touches—palm against your throat, choking (consensually), fingers tangled in your hair, nails digging into your hips. They don’t just want to make love to you; they want to mark you with hickies, claim you, make sure you remember exactly who’s fucking you so good.

They love the way you let them take control, but they also love it when you push back—when you straddle them, pin them down, show them that you know exactly what you’re doing, it drives them crazy. They want to own you, but at the same time, you own them just as much. And they’ll make damn sure you never forget that.

For some of you, there’s also cuddle/spooning fantasy going on. They want to hold you tight after, in that sweet afterglow. But even while they’re holding you, their hands are gonna wander, teasing, exploring. Honestly they just can’t help it 🤷‍♀️

PILE 2

Oh, now this is the seductress irresistible pile. Your person? They don’t just want you—they ache for you, in a way that borders on desperation. What did you do to them Pile 2 🥵Your person hates how much control you have over them, but at the same time, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

They can’t stand it when you play with them, when you act all innocent, when you act like you don’t know exactly what you do to them. But you do know. You’re giving that "Who, me? I would never officer..." energy while knowing damn well you’re driving them insane. It’s not outright teasing, it’s subtle. You don’t have to try to be alluring; it’s just who you are. You don’t deny anything outright, but you never fully give in right away either. It’s that delicate push-and-pull that drives your person up the wall.

And you love it. You love making them work for it, love seeing them lose their composure, love the way their hands shake slightly when they finally get to touch you after being deprived.

It’s no brainer that they fantasize about you driving them insane—about you dragging things out, taking your time, leaving them with pent up frustration. But once they snap? Once they’ve had enough? That’s when they lose control, that’s when they take you the way they’ve been day dreaming about. Bending you against the nearest surface, with their hands gripping your waist. Spanking you, punishing you. They love to see you squirm, love to see you struggling to keep up with them, love the way your body arches against theirs, silently pleading for more.

Before I continue, if you feel drawn to Pile 1, that’s because there might be a message for you there.

For some of you, your person is obsessed with your mouth—there’s something unique about it. Could be your lips is pouty, or it’s unusually red, could be it has hyperpigmentation on the outer lips so it looks like you have lip liner on, could be the shape is plump and full, or it’s just that you have a smart mouth. Whatever it is, they just can’t get enough. The way your lips part, the way they run their fingers around it—it’s intoxicating. They’ll kiss you like they’re starved.

They like to see you. Mirror sex might be present. So they can take in every shift of your expression, every little gasp and whimper that escapes your lips. They want you to see exactly what they do to you, want you to watch the way your body moves against theirs, want you to witness the complete mess they turn you into.

PILE 3

Ah, Pile 3, your person is craving that deep emotional and physical connection—this isn’t just about lust, your person wants to make love to you. This pile got me listening to Make Love to You by Boys II Men and All My Life by Kci and Jojo. Your person is very passionate, loving and tender.

You are the indulgence they can never resist. You feel like a luxury, like a hidden treasure or something rare. They fantasize about giving you everything, pampering you with the finest things, worshipping you with their hands and touches. They want to be the only one who gets to see you like this—laid out for them, body relaxed, eyes hazy with pleasure as they take their time with you. The way you respond to them, the way your body shivers under their touch, the way you take all that they give you—it’s maddening for them.

They also fantasize about being taken care of and indulging in pure sensuality—slow, lingering touches, bodies tangled in sheets. There’s whispered praises, there’s physical craving—running hands over warm skin, feeling soft lips, savoring the connection fully. They also dream of devotion, they want you to crave them, to cherish them, to treat them like something precious and irreplaceable. Your person might have Leo/Aries in their big 3.

They fantasize about being wanted and wanting you so badly that restraint is impossible for both of you. The moment when all that confidence, all that dominance, turns into need. Because as much as they want to own you, as much as they want to be the one in charge, you have a way of turning the tables. They think they’re the one running the show, but then you touch them just right, whisper something sinful in their ear, look at them with those eyes, and suddenly, they’re the one falling apart.

They don’t even realize how much power you have over them until it’s too late. Until they’re groaning your name, gripping you tight like you’re the only thing keeping them grounded. Until they’re letting you do whatever you want to them because, fuck, they need it. They need you. It’s rare for them to lose control like this, but with you? You pull it out of them effortlessly. They fantasize about you taking from them—taking your pleasure, pushing them to the edge over and over until they’re left breathless and completely wrecked.

It’s not just the sex, though. It’s the connection. They want all of you, body and soul. That’s why they never stop at just one round. Even after the fire dies down, they’ll hold you close, fingers trailing lazily over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your temple. Because for them, this isn’t just lust. This is everything. And Pile 3 they’ll never get enough of you.

PILE 4

Welcome to your reading Pile 4! Your person fantasy carries a heavy emotional undercurrent, it’s not just about physical desire but something deeper, unspoken, and possibly even unresolved. There’s a sense of longing, nostalgia, and emotional intensity, as if their thoughts about you are tangled between wanting, missing, and aching for something far away or unattainable. This is more than just fantasy; there’s something real and deep about the way they think you. For some of you, this person could be an ex.

Your person’s fantasies might be tinged with frustration or a sense of emotional distance. They want you, but something always feels just out of reach. They imagine scenarios where they try to get your attention, but you’re so detached—which only makes them crave you more. There could also be a desire for an unexpected, intense moment that breaks through the emotional barriers.

Now if this is an ex, for them, you’re the one that got away. The one they can’t forget, the one they can’t let go of, no matter how much time passes. Their fantasy isn’t just about having you—it’s about getting you back. About fixing what was broken, about proving to you that no one else will ever know your body the way they do. Because no matter how much they try to move on, no one feels like you. No one haunts them the way you do.

For the action, they fantasized about a night where the past no longer matters, where it’s just you and them, tangled together in sheets that smells like longing. No more distance, no more hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered need. Their feelings go beyond just sex —they want to reclaim you. To remind you, through every slow drag of their fingers, every deep, desperate thrust, exactly who they are to you. They want to see it in your eyes—the way your walls crumble, the way you give in to what’s always been there between you.

You could undo them with just a single touch. And they know it. That’s why, when they have you under them, all soft gasps and breathy moans, they take their time. This isn’t just about pleasure—it’s about proving a point. That no one else will ever make you feel like this. That no one else will ever know you the way they do.

They love how your body trembles when they push—push you to the edge, push you to need them just as much as they need you. You’re so familiar, yet somehow, every touch feels brand new. And it has them consumed, you have them mad.

There’s a strong nostalgic, bittersweet and sentimental quality to their thoughts. They might fantasize about reuniting, rekindling an old spark, or returning to a time when things felt easier. There’s also a sweet yet intense craving for deep emotional intimacy, wanting to feel truly connected, known, and seen by you.

[the-sad-oracle]

It is extra funny since in The Unfinished Tales, we find that one reason that Saruman is so mean to Gandalf for smoking so much pipeweed is to hide his own addiction to it. Namely he wanted to try it to see why Gandalf was always smoking it, found he loved it, but refused to tell Gandalf because it would mean admitting he was wrong about something and Gandalf was right (and Saruman has always been jealous of Gandalf even before he became evil) so he doubled down on criticizing Gandalf for smoking. Also he used to sneak into the Shire to buy pipeweed until Gandalf casually mentioned that the hobbits were talking about seeing Gandalf in the Shire during times he was away travelling and asked Saruman if he knew anything. Saruman then decided to start outsourcing buying huge amounts of pipeweed to his goons and became more paranoid about people finding out about his fascination with pipeweed and Hobbit culture as a whole. Reading the Unfinished Tales really reframes Saruman from into a much more comedic and pathetic figure and honestly I love that. Later after Saruman's death in the Scouring of the Shire, Aragorn and Gimli were investigating Isengard and accidentally discovered Saruman's secret stash of hidden treasures (including a super important Gondorian heirloom long thought lost) and joked that the randomness of the whole thing made Saruman seem "more like a magpie than a dragon".

never forget when saruman literally told gandalf "you've been smoking too much weed bro"

[thehighladywrites]

— “Bless me.”

☀︎ — pairing: nerd azriel x bimbo reader

☀︎ — summary: this is a little flashforward of what life looks like for you and azriel at different milestones!

☀︎ — warnings: sexual themes, fluff, pregnancy, smut

☀︎ — amara’s note: guys this is it💔 it’s been so fucking fun snd i’ve loved writing for them!!

series masterlist

The proposal

After four grueling years of college, you were about to walk the stage, hand in hand with Azriel. Both of you were dressed in matching black gowns and caps. You’d begged for a pink gown, but had to settle for pink heels, nails, and gorgeous Alaïa dress.

Azriel looked sinful in the suit you picked out while you were out shopping together. It was honestly dangerous to shop for him, that changing room was practically begging you to drag Azriel in it.

He also thought about ditching his glasses and that made you kinda sad because you loved seeing him in his glasses, he was so painfully cute in them.

“Not the glasses, baby. Please—you gotta leave ‘em on.” Honestly, you would beg if you had to. But Azriel didn’t let you beg he just nodded and kept them on.

He didn’t have time to think too much of it.

Because he was busy sweating bullets, not just from the ceremony’s heat but because of the diamond ring hidden in his pocket. The ring he had been saving 2 years for. It was for sure the most expensive thing he had ever purchased but the exclusive internship had paid well and you were going to get a good fucking ring.

As you waited to walk across the stage, Professor Lawder, looking fabulous in her academically decorated scholar gown, approached you and Azriel with a warm smile. “So, what are your plans after college?”

Azriel shyly smiled before letting her know what he’d been up to. “I’ve been offered a position at a company, Professor.”

Professor Lawder’s eyes widened with admiration. “That’s fantastic, Azriel! I always knew you’d achieve great things.”

You’re heart was overflowing with pride and joy for him as you chimed in with your signature bubbly enthusiasm, “He’s being super modest! He’s going to Synergy Tech! Dunno what they do there, but Azriel loves it there and they’re lucky to have him.”

Professor Lawder’s jaw dropped in amazement, clearly impressed. Synergy Tech was one of the worlds most leading companies in technological innovation and getting offered a job was no easy task. Azriel’s cheeks flushed a cute shade of red as he shifted nervously, his hand discreetly brushing against the hidden ring box. You gave him a reassuring squeeze, your happiness bubbling over.

“That’s very, very impressive and I wish you nothing but luck! And what about you, Ms. L/N?” Professor Lawder asked with a gentle smile.

You shrugged and gave a dazzling, slightly clueless grin. “Oh, um, well, I haven’t really thought that far ahead. College was, like, super tough, and I’m just ready to, you know, have fun and see what happens! Maybe travel with my man a bit, find some cute hobby or, like, just live in the moment. Who knows?”

Professor Lawder’s smile grew more amused and approving. “Well, it sounds like you’re ready to enjoy whatever comes your way.” Professer Lawder hugged you both before wishing you good luck one last time before you walked the stage. It was a wonderful feeling and you were so glad it was finally over. You cheered loud as fuck when Azriel was awarded with several honors diplomas and got a medal for his stellar grades.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you come with me for a moment?” Azriel asked after taking pictures with your friends and family.

“Okay! Where are we going, baby?” asked with a bright smile, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you held your diploma in one hand.

Azriel’s smile grew more tender as he led you away from the crowd and into the quiet math building, the very first place you two met. The empty hallway seemed much smaller and more insignificant than it used to be.

He gently took your hand in his, guiding you to the old seats where you first bonded. As you both settled into the familiar space, Azriel took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.

Okay, this was it. He was totally going to do it.

Azriel looked at you with an intense, tender gaze. “I’m insanely in love with you,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion.

You put a hand on his chest, your sparkly eyes lighting up with joy. “Awww, I love you too,” you smiled, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Azriel took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nerves and adoration.

“You’ve completely changed my life,” he began, his voice wavering with emotion. “From the moment we met, I knew you were someone extraordinary. You’ve brought so much joy, love and laughter into my world, more than I ever thought possible for someone like me.”

He smiled at you, his cheeks flushed with a mix of boyish excitement and nervousness. “I want to make you as happy, forever. You deserve every bit of happiness, love and devotion in the world, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”

Azriel took a deep breath, his eyes full of tender love as he knelt down on one knee as best as he could while being stuck in the back of the classroom. With a trembling hand, he opened a black velvet box to reveal a stunning ring that sparkled with every color of his affection for you.

“Please, bless me by becoming my wife,” he asked softly, his voice filled with heartfelt sincerity. “I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and making you as happy as you’ve made me. I want to be your husband and the father of our kids, your rock, your trusted. Please, allow me be yours. Marry me, my love.”

You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as your eyes filled with tears. In no time you started sobbing. You didn’t glance at the ring, just Azriel’s eyes that were so filled with love.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes! I’ll marry you!” you squealed, your voice high-pitched with excitement. Tears streamed down your face as you flung yourself into Azriel’s arms, knocking him back. He held firm, never letting you go.

You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Az,” you hiccupped between breaths, “I love you so much. Like, I can’t even—oh my god!”

Azriel’s chest vibrated with a quiet laugh, his dimples deepening as he pressed his cheek against your hair. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotion tightening his throat. “I love you too.”

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your mascara smudged and your eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna be, like, the cutest married couple. We’ll have an amazing life and there’s so much we’ll do! We’re so perfect and hot and we can literally do whatever because we’re married.”

His lips curved into that rare, quiet smile reserved only for you. “Whatever you want,” he assured softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m all in.”

You beamed through your tears, your voice bright despite the emotion clinging to it. “Duh, you kinda have to be now. I’m gonna be your wife. And I’m just gonna let you know now—I’m very high maintenance.”

Azriel’s heart flipped at the way you so confidently called yourself his wife already, and then he laughed, low and warm, because of course you were high maintenance. “So, no big changes there, huh?”

“Nope!” you said proudly, popping the p. “But I know you’ll take such good care of me and it means the world to me.” Your hand lifted, thumb gently brushing across his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. “God, Azzie, I couldn’t love someone more than I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. ”You’re totally the love of my life.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gently took your hand. Slowly, he lifted the stunning light pink diamond ring from its velvet box and, with steady hands, slid it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, sparkling as though it had been made just for you.

You leaned in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, your eyes drifted down to the ring resting perfectly on your finger. It sparkled brilliantly—a huge pink diamond that practically glowed in the light. Your eyes widened in awe, lips parting in delight.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, voice trembling with excitement. “It’s so perfect. I’m gonna cry, Azzie.” You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Are ya sure you want me as your wife? Like, forever?” you added softly, the last part coming out almost shy.

Azriel’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. The mere thought of not wanting you made his chest ache. He would’ve married you right after your first tutoring session if you’d let him.

“Of course I do. Do you have any doubts, my love?” the thought made his stomach hurt. “Do you not want to do it?”

You shook your head vehemently. “No! I mean, yes, I wanna do it. But—what if you get bored of me?” You bit your lip nervously. “I mean, I can’t exactly have intellectual conversations with you or whatever. Ya know I’m not that smart, right?”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile. This was all coming from the girl who had trouble pronouncing colonel.

“You’re very smart, first of all. And I’m not marrying you for debates, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m marrying you because you’re my love and I don’t need anything else. Just you.”

Your heart melted as you softly kisses your future husband. “Okay, then. I wanna be your wife.”

—��——————————————————————

The wedding

Did anyone think your wedding would be small? Absolutely not. You hadn’t shut up about wanting a huge, fat Plaza wedding where everyone you knew would be invited, and you’d party all night with your insanely handsome husband while wearing a stunning Ellie Saab gown and sky-high Jimmy Choos. It had been your dream since you were a little girl.

You had all these plans, all these meticulously crafted visions for your perfect day, the flowers, the venue, the glitz, and glam but nothing, nothing, could have ever compared to the reality.

Nothing could have compared to Azriel.

Not the faceless groom who had always existed in your girlish dreams. Not the exclusivity of the prestigious venue or the shimmering of the evening.

Because it was him.

His steady hand holding yours as if he never intended to let go. The way his eyes never left you, not when you walked down the aisle, not when you exchanged vows, and certainly not as you danced in his arms under the soft glow of chandeliers.

Azriel made your dream wedding look trivial in comparison. He was the only part of the fantasy you’d never dared to dream up, and yet, he was better than anything you could’ve imagined.

At one point, you had actually wanted to elope. You literally couldn’t wait to marry him, pestering and prodding him every chance you got.

“Ya sure we shouldn’t just run away and get married? Wouldn’t it be sooo much fun, Azzie?” you’d asked, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

And yeah, Azriel totally wanted to marry you as soon as possible. The idea of waking up next to you as his wife was all he ever wanted. But he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about the wedding, how you dreamed of wearing a baby pink dress that wouldn’t be done justice in a courthouse was the only thing stopping him from saying yes.

“I would love to, sweetheart,” he had said, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “But I know you want a beautiful wedding, and that’s exactly what we’ll have.”

And he’d made good on that promise. Because here you were, twirling on the dance floor in a stunning soft pink Ellie Saab gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, the air filled with laughter and love, all while Azriel’s gaze never left you, utterly captivated by the woman he was lucky enough to call his wife.

It was a small wedding, just your closest friends and family gathered intimately but it was still at the Plaza, still the fairytale wedding you had always dreamed of.

You beamed up at him, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you believe we’re actually married? Like, you’re my husband. I can call you my husband now. That’s so hot, like, ‘Oh yeah, let me get my husband,’ or ‘My husband knows what to do.’”

Azriel’s lips quirked into that quiet smile reserved just for you. “I think you’ve said ‘husband’ more times in the past minute than most people do in a week.”

“And it’s only the beginning,” you giggled, leaning closer. “I’m never getting over this, husband.”

His hand found the small of your back, grounding you in that gentle, steady way only he could. “Good. Because neither am I, wife.”

Then he gave you the softest, most loving kiss ever. It was a kiss filled with the promise of your future, the one you’d spend together.

—

Sand. Palms. Warm weathers and the ocean.

You had been surrounded by your favorite things with your favorite person. It had been a few days since your wedding and you were now on your honeymoon.

The private island your father had gifted you as a married couple was absolutely perfect. It was completely magical and completely hidden away.

A single sprawling villa stood at the heart of it, with panoramic views of the turquoise ocean. Vibrant flowers bloomed in every imaginable color, their fragrance mingling with the salty breeze. Fruit trees, heavy with sweet, ripe fruit, dotted the landscape. And you were sharing it all with your husband.

That’s right, Azriel was officially your husband now, and you were his freaking wife. Sometimes it didn’t feel real, and other times it felt very real.

Like those times when Azriel made you ride him, begging you to call him nothing but husband. And he called you nothing but wife. His sweet wife, his beautiful wife, his sexy wife.

Azriel was unbelievably romantic, spoiling you left and right with thoughtful little gifts. Yesterday it was a jaw-dropping pair of diamond earrings; the day before that, a golden anklet etched with your initials intertwined. Every step you took made that anklet jingle softly, a reminder of how deeply he loved you.

It was also a cute reminder when he folded you in half, ankles in the air as the jewelry jingled. You had fucked just about everywhere. Outside, inside, on tables, in the hammock, on the beach chairs, and even right on the beach itself. That was the privilege of being utterly alone. You could do whatever the hell you wanted, scream and moan as loud as you pleased, without a single soul hearing or seeing Azriel slut you out.

That’s why you’d packed the sluttiest outfits imaginable — stringy bikinis, barely-there skirts, and see-through dresses. All scraps of fabric that Azriel would be tearing off anyway.

Your favorite ensemble was the white silk nightgown from Agent Provocateur that you’d worn on the first night. It was bridal, beautiful, and the match that lit this trip. The second Azriel saw it, he’d lost control and sanity. You’d ended up in so many positions that you couldn't walk without help the next day. He’d truly worn you out.

You still remembered the way his eyes had darkened when you stepped out of the bathroom and spun for him, showing off that sinful gown.

That was probably why you were now slipping into a baby pink lace bra and panties set — delicate and stunning. You tied it all together with a silk robe that wasn’t hiding anything, only highlighting everything. An open invitation, really.

“How’s dinner going, husband?” you asked, your freshly manicured hand grazing down his shirtless back.

“It’s coming along nicely, actually. Are you hungry, sweetheart?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and scrunching it adorably as he stirred the sauce.

You smiled at the little quirk you loved so much. His glasses made your heart race every time. “Uh-huh, sure. I’m hungry. Actually, I’m reeeeally hungry.”

“Yeah? It’ll be done soon, and—”

His words faltered when he glanced down at you.

There was so much love and lust swirling in your gaze, your pupils dilated and locked on him. His throat went dry, forcing him to swallow once—then again.

“Everything okay, husband?” you asked innocently, voice soft and sweet, knowing damn well you were driving him crazy. There was nothing innocent or sweet about the way your hand dragged down his chest, all the way to his built abs and v-like that disappeared down his pants.

Azriel’s voice came out rough. “Oh, you’re not being fair, sweetheart.”

A slow, playful smile curled your lips. “Azzie, c’mon let’s fuck. Right here, right now.” you grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the kitchen island. There you looked up at him with those doe eyes, all innocent and sweet before you carefully let your robe drop.

“So, you gonna make me beg? i’ll totally do it,” you suggest with a little smile.

“Alright then, beg.”

—

“Wait—don’t hide your pretty face from me—fuck,” azriel reaches over and grabs both your hands in one of his.

God, you were being slutted out, whimpering mindlessly as you bounced in his lap. his ridiculously big dick was fittin’ just right, so snugly deep in your cunt.

“I want to see my wife’s face, so fucking pretty, might just cum from looking at it,” azriel was also a mumbling mess, groans and noises of pleasure escaping him whenever you lifted yourself and sat back down, your cunt sucking him in greedily.

The house was filled with so sinful noises, the noises were just sloppy, nasty, each ‘plop!’ and ‘pap!’ that echoed from both bodies was sending a wave of chills down azriel’s spine. The loud sounds echoing through the room only spurred him on more, making him fuck you harder, deeper, wanting to hear you cry louder.

“mm- az, there baby. righttttt there, fuck me good,” you’d weep out in a sweet whimper. he was in so fucking deep. A ring of cum had started to form around the base of his dick and dripped down his balls from how wet you were. you felt every delicious stroke, felt the way his tip kissed your cervix. fuck- you rolled your hips in circles, making his already fuzzy brain go more empty.

the combo of your sinful hips and the way your wet cunt was vacuuming each and every inch was just pushing him closer to the edge, turning him into a fucking mess. “o- oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep ridin’ me, ride me good—shit, I-I think i’m gonna cum.” Azriel’s brows furrow in pleasure as he pushes the hair that fallen over his eyes back.

“ ‘s okay, azzie. you can c- cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly against the crook of his neck. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your hips rut into him quicker.

“god- ‘m cummin’ fuck- ‘m cumming,” he moans, and his entire body erupts. his hand snakes down between your perspiring bodies just as he rubs tight circles on your clit, the small move pushing you over the edge as your walls spasm around his leaking tip, still spurting out rope after rope as your fell against his chest.

Your eyes are glossed over in pleasure and you felt like bawling your eyes out. There was nothing more beautiful than post sex with Azriel. It was all so emotional and sweet and you didn’t miss the way he held you closer.

Your pulled away from him, just enough to see his face. Azriel was already staring at you with no less lust or love than before. You pouted a bit before kissing his swollen lips. He’s so pretty, god.

Azriel’s inside were swirling around and it didn’t help that you were looking up at him, freshly fucked with so much love and submission in your eyes. It was like your eyes were saying the words you couldn’t. Azriel’s hand carefully stroked your bottom lip from your between your teeth.

“These eyes, man. You keep looking at me like that and I might get you pregnant, sweetheart.”

Azriel as a dad? A DILF? Fuck yeah.

“Do it then, knock me up, Azzie.”

————————————————————————

The pregnancy

You stood in front of the mirror, frowning as you tried to zip up your cute, frilly mini skirt. It wasn’t fitting quite like it used to. “Hm, there must be something wrong with this skirt. It’s not fitting me anymore,” you muttered, tugging at it a little. You huffed in frustration but quickly brightened. “Oh well, I guess that means it’s time to go shopping!”

You slipped on your favorite pair of black Manolos, but as you tried to squeeze your feet into them, they didn’t quite cooperate. You wiggled your toes and huffed again, forcing them in. “No way are my Manolos not fitting. They have to. These are my favorite!” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you took a few shaky steps, struggling to balance.

Azriel walked in, his brow furrowing in concern when he saw you wobbling. “Everything okay, love?” His gaze drifted down to your feet, then to your stomach. He couldn’t help but notice how your clothes didn’t seem to fit as they usually did.

You stumbled a little, catching yourself on the vanity. “I don’t get it, Azzie. This skirt and my shoes… why aren’t they fitting? I haven’t changed that much have I ?!” Your confusion was evident as you looked at him, a little panicked.

Honestly, it had been three years since you graduated college and two since getting married. Did you just put on some weight?

You turned your head to Azriel, hands clamped infront of you in all seriousness. God you were totally gonna die if he said yes. “Azzie, am i getting fat?”

“No, no, sweetheart,” Azriel said quickly, his hands gently brushing over your arms, his touch soothing as if to reassure you that everything was okay. “You look healthy. I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “But… Azzie,” you gestured at your shoes, “these are my Manolos, they should always fit!”

Azriel chuckled softly, his smile warm and affectionate. “Do you want to get new ones?” he asked, his voice light as he gently helped you out of your clothes, clearly more focused on making you comfortable than anything else.

You let out a sigh, the panic easing just a bit. “That sounds nice, Azzie. Thanks,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude, feeling the love in every small thing he did for you.

Not just the small things—but the big things too. Azriel’s job was stupidly well-paying, and he was loaded. It was a reward for all his hard work in school, and it made you so proud. He was the main provider and never expected a penny from you, spoiling you rotten and taking the promise of taking care of you very seriously.

He knew you’d lived a life of glamour and glitz, and lord knows he wasn’t about to mess that up. Azriel had even told your father that he’d step up and take care of you the second he landed his job as a very important something at a tech company…thingy. You never really knew what he did, but he was so hardworking and cool that it didn’t really matter.

—

Azriel noticed the changes in you immediately. You were moodier than usual, avoiding your favorite foods—especially your beloved strawberry sweets—and, to top it all off, you’d missed your period. He knew your cycle well and tracked it enough to know that a missed period was a rare occurrence. And you? Avoiding your favorite sour strawberry candy? That was unheard of.

Azriel couldn’t help but also notice how extra clingy you’d become, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. He loved you dearly, after all. You wrestled normally very clingy but not like this. For the past two weeks, you had been practically glued to his side.

You napped on top of him like you couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. You wrapped yourself around him as if you were a koala bear, holding on tight while he read or worked. And when he left the house—even for just a few minutes, you’d become teary-eyed, giving him a sad pout as if he were leaving for an eternity.

It was both endearing and a bit concerning for him. Azriel couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the sudden shift in your behavior made him wonder. Was something off? Was this just a phase? Or, as he suspected, was it something more?

Either way, he couldn’t deny that he secretly loved the extra closeness. He’d never seen you so needy, and God you were needy at times, but it made him feel needed in a way that was deeply comforting. He would brush your hair from your face and kiss your forehead, trying his best to reassure you when you would cry about the most random things—like when he’d gone to grab groceries for ten minutes, or when he had to step out to take a call.

“You okay, love?” he asked softly, brushing a few stray hairs behind your ear as you curled up next to him once again.

“I just missed you, Azzie,” you replied, your voice small but full of affection as you nuzzled into his side before you sobbed again.

Azriel chuckled lightly, his fingers tracing comforting patterns on your back. “I’m right here, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

It was a little intense, but it also made his heart swell to know just how much you needed him.

He had a strong hunch that you might be pregnant, but he couldn’t say for sure yet. So, being the overprepared and cautious person he was, he did what any sane person would do: he bought eight different pregnancy tests.

“Juuuust to be sure,” he muttered to himself as he set the tests down on the bathroom counter, glancing over at you. You were sitting on the bed, still unaware of his little purchase.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he was seeing the changes in you. And it really didn’t help that you were fucking like bunnies everywhere, everyday for so long without any protection.

Azriel cleared his throat, looking far too calm for someone who had just bought eight pregnancy tests. “So, sweetheart, I think I know what’s going on with you. You might be pregnant. And I’ve bought you the market’s top-rated tests.” He said it with a certain air of professionalism, like he was pitching an idea, and it left you utterly confused.

You stared at him, blinking. “Huh? Eight tests? Ain’t that kind of… a bit much?”

Azriel, however, was completely unfazed. “You see, my love, you can never be too careful. And I also suggest we visit a doctor’s office.” He handed you a massive glass of water, like it was a peace offering. “Just to help smooth things over,” he added, his eyes darting away, a faint blush creeping across his face when you arched an eyebrow at the absurdly large glass of water.

You stared at the massive glass of water, then back at Azriel. “Azzie, this is, like, a lotta water. You trying to drown me or something?” you giggled, swirling the glass dramatically before gulping it down with determination.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a smile, but he stayed close, clearly taking this whole situation very seriously. His gentle instincts wouldn’t allow for anything less.

With all eight pregnancy tests clutched in your hands, you made your way to the bathroom. “You’re staying right outside, right?” you asked, pointing a manicured finger at him. “I need you with me, Azzie baby.”

Azriel nodded, leaning against the wall like the dutiful husband he was. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be just outside.”

After a few tense minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom, wide-eyed, holding up the tests like some dramatic reveal on a reality show.

Each one displayed a positive result—two lines, a digital readout, even one that estimated how far along you were in weeks. No doubt about it. You were pregnant.

You blinked down at the assortment of tests, then back at Azriel, your voice trembling. “Azzie,” you whispered, tears welling up. “We’re having a baby.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, wonder filling his expression as he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. “My love,” he said, voice low and filled with awe. “We’re having a baby.”

You sniffled, overwhelmed, then suddenly let out a laugh through your tears. “Oh my god, I’m actually going to freak out! I already love her so much—I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Azriel’s lips curved into a soft laugh, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “Her? You think it’s a girl?”

You nodded lovingly. “Totally. I just know it, Azzie. You’re so a girl dad. And she’s gonna be adorable and for sure super smart, just like you.”

Azriel’s laugh deepened, warm and genuine. “Then she’ll be perfect, just like her mom,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

—

Pregnancy was unique, and Azriel found it endlessly charming. The way you waddled around in your third trimester never failed to make his heart swell. You didn’t think it was cute, but to Azriel, it was nothing short of endearing. And he made sure to let you know it every chance he got.

It hadn’t started out easy, though. Morning sickness had you in its grasp for weeks, and you couldn’t help but blame Azriel for it every time it hit. One day, after a particularly rough attempt at cooking chicken, you were hunched over the toilet, and when Azriel walked by, you just couldn’t help yourself.

“You did this to me!” you yelled, your voice a mix of frustration and nausea. “I’m sick, and it’s all your fault, Azriel. God, I can’t even eat chicken anymore and—”

But your rant was cut short when the reminder of the chicken hit you again, and you immediately had to empty your guts once more.

Azriel stood there, helpless but always ready to support you. He nodded in agreement, his face a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “It’s all my fault,” he agreed quickly, his voice full of mock guilt. “I’m so sorry for getting you pregnant. How irresponsable of me.”

You shot him a look, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, it’s totally your fault,” you said dramatically, sinking down onto the cool bathroom floor and leaning your head on his shoulder as he crouched next to you.

Azriel didn’t mind; he just wrapped an arm around you, offering comfort. Even as you faced the discomforts of pregnancy, you refused to wear anything you didn’t like. You weren’t about to settle for ugly maternity clothes, not when you could still squeeze into your regular outfits. And so what if your t-shirt was riding up your stomach? it was still cute and you’d wear just that. It was just you plus a bump.

Even with you sick and throwing up left and right, Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen you so beautiful. You were glowing and had this ethereal beauty surrounding you at all times. It made no sense at times that someone as beautiful as you existed.

—

In these final weeks, the fear of giving birth and the reality of taking care of the baby were your biggest worries. Azriel, always attentive, made sure to check on you daily, asking if you had any pain, discomfort, or thoughts you needed to share.

You sighed deeply, looking over at him. “Well, I’m kinda scared, baby.”

Azriel scooted closer, rubbing your feet, and the second his hands made contact, it felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders. His touch was like magic, calming your racing thoughts.

“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I’m scared of giving birth, ya know? I watched some videos, and honestly, I’d rather not do it at all. Like, babies should be born painlessly, right? I know it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, and I’m just… terrified.”

Azriel leaned in, his hand still caressing your foot gently. “I won’t lie to you, honey, it’s gonna be scary,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “But listen to me: you’re not going to be alone. I’m going to be right there with you, every step of the way. I’ll hold your hand, I’ll be the one to remind you how strong you are. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back into him, feeling his warmth and the sincerity of his words. The fear didn’t disappear entirely, but with him beside you, it seemed just a little more manageable. “I jus’ don’t wanna mess it up. I want to be a good mom, ya know?”

“You’ll be an amazing mom. The best,” Azriel said without hesitation, his voice full of certainty. “You’ve already proven that. And we’ll be doing this together, so you’ll never be alone.”

You smiled, feeling a little braver. “Thanks, Azzie. I really needed to hear that.”

“Always, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand still holding yours with a tenderness that made you feel like you could take on anything. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “So, does this officially make you a dilf?”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah, and just like that, you’re a milf,” he teased, his smile growing as he gave your belly a gentle rub.

You liked the sound of that, you and Azriel officially being hot parents.

—

“Okay, I need this baby to get the fuck out.”

Yes, that’s right. You were still very pregnant, and it was starting to drive you mad. Hot one second, cold the next, hungry then nauseous. Everything felt off, and you were so uncomfortable. You were too damn pregnant.

“Oh my god, just get out, get out, get outtttt!”

Azriel stood next to you, trying to be supportive as usual. He was breathing way too loud, and standing just a little too close. “Seriously, breathe louder, Az. That’s just great,” you snapped, throwing your hands up in frustration. Your pink diamond ring caught the light, and your eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Sorry, I’ll just stop,” he said casually, clearly not bothered by your outburst.

Great. Now you felt fucking awful. He wasn’t the one who’d been throwing up for the past few months but he’d been the one holding your hair back, rubbing your feet, and making sure you were comfortable 24/7. You definitely didn’t want to stop breathing because that would cause him to die and you just couldn’t have that.

“‘m sorry,” you said, your voice shaky as you reached for him, burying your face in his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to snap. I don’t want you to stop breathing. You’re not annoying, I’m just—” you sniffled, feeling like a mess. “I love you so much, but gods, I’m so over being pregnant. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please don’t hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as you broke down into his shoulder, his hand instinctively moving to soothe you. He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you closer as he gently rubbed your back, his presence steady and grounding.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “I know you’re done. You’ve been so strong this whole time, and I’m proud of you. But we’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

You sniffled, your face buried in his shirt, feeling the warmth of his embrace despite the chaos swirling in your mind. “I just feel like I’m going to lose it. I’m too hot, then cold. I can’t eat without feeling sick, and everything aches. I just want her here already. I love her so much, but I can’t do this anymore.”

Azriel chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment as he whispered, “How about we get her out by going for a walk and eating something spicy? Heard that works wonders. And if that doesn’t, uh… I heard sex helps.”

The blush creeping up his neck was unmistakable, and your heart squeezed at how he still managed to get shy around you.

You grinned through your tears. “How about we skip all that and head straight to the part where you fuck me real good?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a slow smile, though his face was still red. “Y-Yeah—hell yeah. Let’s do that.”

And he did. One very good fuck fest and 7 hours of labor brought your beautiful baby girl into the world. She was perfect—so tiny, so sweet, and when she opened her eyes, they were unmistakably Azriel’s.

“You did it, sweetheart,” Azriel whispered as he held her close, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s here. Our babygirl is finally here. Thank you, my love. For blessing us. For your hard work. I’m so proud of you.”

Azriel kissed you deeply and as you looked at your baby girl and the love of your life, you knew every ache and tear had been worth it.

—————————————————————————

Life

You kissed the top of her head, her soft black hair looking just like her father’s. You sat on the couch with your 6-month-old baby girl nestled in your arms. When she was born, she looked just like you, but as she grew older, her sneaky little features started looking more and more like Azriel’s.

You loved her so freaking much, and sometimes you’d just start crying out of nowhere. She was a tiny part of you, someone you made with love. It was honestly wild.

“Oh, my sweetest baby angel. You’re all mine, and I love you sooo much, yes I do! Yes I do!” you cooed, nuzzling your nose against her tiny button one, making her giggle wildly. She was seriously a masterpiece. Like, such a cutie.

After feeding and rocking her, her soft snores filled the room, and you found yourself counting each adorable little breath. Pregnancy had been… a lot. You weren’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, and sometimes you worried about whether you’d be a good mom. But Azzie had always been there.

Carefully, you stood up and tiptoed to her bedroom, which was right next to yours and Azriel’s so you could get to her super quickly if she fussed. You gently laid her down and pulled out all the baby monitors you had stocked up on. No way were you taking chances with your baby girl.

And sure, maybe three monitors and an Owlet sock was a tiny bit much, but whatever. And Azriel totally agreed.

You found him standing next to the door, still clad in his handsome dress shirt and slacks. Your walked over to him as you slumped your body against his, melting against his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "Every day I thank the gods we didn't end up with a fussy baby. she goes to sleep so easy." he smiled, placing his chin on the top of your head. 

Here’s a cleaned-up and polished version while keeping her adorable, slightly flustered tone intact:

“Right? She’s totally in sync with me, and I’m so happy she’s so calm.”

“I really missed you today. A lot.”

Your heart started beating faster. Azriel was so casual about stuff like that, and it made you blush every time. He used to be shy and reserved about sharing his feelings, but now he’d just say it right to your face without hesitation.

And, of course, it turned you into a blushing mess over a few simple words.

“Y-you did? I missed you too.”

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. His voice dropped to that low, heart-melting tone he knew drove you wild.

“I missed you very much. Very, very much. And I’m going to show you exactly how much.” You giggle and blush like crazy when be grabs your waist and carefully chucks you over his shoulder, giving your ass a loud smack.

God, you love your life.

🏷️:

[pretentious-blonde]

never second best

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: after a run-in with his ex, steve reassures you that you'll never be second best, proving it in a way he knows will stick

warnings: 18+ this is smut, graphic depictions of sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), tears, insecurity

a/n: part 5 but can be read as a standalone. half of this is super long, pure filth, AND my first time writing smut so pls feedback is welcome. thank you @andvys so so much, hopefully, i didn't let you down <3

series masterlist

Steve perched on the edge of his neatly-made bed, hair painstakingly combed into that signature swoop, the red knit jumper hugging his broad shoulders just so. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal his forearms—a look he recently realised drives you a little wild, and one he now makes an effort to wear often. 

He liked to catch you staring. 

He’s wearing his go-to faded jeans, and every time he glances your way, his eyes take on a softer appearance. You’ve already spent some time in his room before, but every time he sees you there, he still can’t believe you’re in his space.

He’s trying—really trying—not to grin too widely. If he breaks into the excited smile he’s been fighting all morning, he worries he might come off too eager. But truth be told, he is too eager. Hosting Dustin’s birthday party is one thing, but now he has the honour of introducing you to everyone. Officially. 

He’s practically bursting at the chance to show you off, the very thought turned his mind all giddy. Knowing that you would be the one with his arm around your waist for everyone to witness. 

The idea distracted him from the real drama occurring not four feet away from him. 

From your spot by the mirror, you can see him watching you, and it sets your stomach off again. You’re not sure why today feels so monumental. You’ve met Dustin in passing, shared a few laughs with Robin over coffee after she basically saved your relationship a few weeks back.

But tonight is the full show. Everyone. All at once. And for some reason, your carefully chosen outfit no longer feels quite right. You tug the hem of your top self-consciously, tilt your head, and scrunch your nose at your reflection.

“I look awful,” you say, voice laced with the sort of frustration that’s all nerves. “This looked so much better in my head.”

His brow furrows, and he pushes off the bed in a single fluid motion. “That’s nonsense,” he replies, crossing the room to you in three quick strides. He rests his hands lightly on your shoulders, gaze flicking to meet yours in the mirror. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. Always do. You know that."

You huff out a breath, trying not to get lost in the warmth of his praise—easier said than done.

“No, I don’t,” you insist, staring critically at your clothes. “I should’ve brought something else.”

“Well…do you have anything else here?” He asks gently.

There were little traces of you scattered around—a few forgotten items here and there, most notably, the new toothbrush sitting beside his. Still, nine times out of ten, you took your clothes home, leaving behind only your pajamas.

“A set of pajamas.” You sigh dramatically, cursing yourself for not packing more than one option. “That’s about it.”

“Hey, that could work,” he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement. “That’s one of my favourite looks on you.” His hands slide down your arms, his grin growing as he watches your reaction.

Under normal circumstances you would lean into his teasing, but this was not the time. You turn to give him a shove, but he catches your wrist before it can make an impact.

“Steve,” you whine, trying to see the humour in this the way he is.

“What? I’m just being honest,” he says, eyes dancing. “Would you rather I lie?” 

Truth is, he does love you in those pajamas—almost as much as he loves you wearing his old shirts. Honestly, you could throw on a trash bag, and he’d still think you’re stunning.

“Please stop,” you groan.

You’re not smiling the way you usually do at his jokes—no little giggle, no playful roll of the eyes. 

The shift clicks for him: you’re actually stressed. 

Concern crosses his features, and the jovial edge in his voice softens. He lowers his tone, warmth flowing through each word, and slides his hands down to cradle your waist.

“Alright,” he murmurs, thumbs drawing gentle circles against your hips. “Talk to me. What’s not working here?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, exhaling as you sink into him. “I just feel… unprepared. I mean, I’m meeting everyone. Should I have brought something? I should’ve baked. Everyone likes baked goods.”

A breathy chuckle escapes him, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Like you’re not already sweet enough.

“Angel, Robin is bringing the cake. And you”—he squeezes your waist a little firmer—“are a guest here. Your only job is to relax and look pretty. Can you do that for me? Please?”

The earnestness in his voice steals the protest right out of your throat. You look up at him, heart thumping in that heady way it does whenever he turns on the charm full-blast. 

Damn those big, stupid brown eyes. 

You turn back to the mirror, pulling at your shirt once again. There’s a crease here, a wrinkle there—things no one else would ever notice, but to you, it’s just off. You can feel his eyes on you, his concern and affection practically radiating from behind. 

He’s been so excited, so patient, and yet you can’t shake the last bit of anxiety churning in your stomach about today.

In the reflection, you watch him hover, trying to be casual even though you can see every thought flit across his expressive face. He wants you to be happy and comfortable. He wants to show you off and make sure you feel like a million bucks doing it.

“Can I wear something of yours?” you ask softly, turning to meet those wide, hopeful eyes. “I want something more comfortable.”

Comfortable.

His heart practically leaps at your request. He’s not sure why that single sentence sends a jolt of excitement through him, but it does—and it’s powerful. He tries to school his expression into something normal, but the eager beam that spreads across his face betrays him.

“Absolutely,” he says far too quickly, glad to be of use. “Knock yourself out. Have at it—any one you want.”

He opens the wardrobe, stepping aside like he’s unveiling some prized collection. You slip past him, still self-conscious, but the warm brush of his hand on your lower back comforts you. 

Leafing through the soft fabrics, you finally find one that matches the rest of your outfit—a cosy, oversized number that’s equally stylish and undeniably Steve’s. You hold it up, glancing back at him for approval.

He grins—big, unabashed. “Fantastic choice,” he declares, in an exaggeratedly formal tone meant to make you laugh.

It works—you giggle. The sound washes over him like a balm, chasing away the worry in his eyes. 

He lives for that sound.

Then, your focus shifts back to the mirror. You pull off your shirt in one smooth motion, baring your bra and the long, graceful stretch of your spine. 

The air feels cooler against your newly exposed skin, and you instantly sense the spark of awareness coming from the boy behind you.

He goes still. A part of him wants to look away, to be respectful, yet he can’t stop his eyes from drifting along the curve of your waist and the softness just above your navel.

He’s had the privilege of touching your bare skin before—tentative, lingering caresses that never ventured too far. He’s wanted more, of course he has. He’s human—he’s got a pulse. 

But you deserve slow. You deserve a careful pace, no pressure. He’d beat himself up about it for weeks if he even thought he made you uncomfortable.

But that didn’t stop his mind from running. 

He wanted to trail his fingertips down every inch of your body, to feel you melt under his touch. Imagining the way you’d arch into his palms, voice breathless as it tickled his ear, egging him on. Images of pressing you up against the mirror, sliding his hands across your hips, your ribs, your chest, discovering every inch he’s been dying to explore. 

He tears his eyes away, cheeks heating at his own explicit thoughts. 

You slide his jumper over your head, letting the fabric fall into place. Instantly, you’re enveloped in the faint smell of him: cologne, fabric softener, a hint of hairspray. 

You turn, a playful, knowing smirk on your face, you catch the flush on his cheeks—his pupils slightly dilated, his posture taut with the effort of keeping his hands to himself.

“More comfortable?” he asks, managing a wobbly smile.

“Yeah,” you smooth the jumper over your sides, nodding. “Much better.”

A smile spreads slowly across his face, relief flooding his features. He steps closer, gently adjusting the jumper on your shoulders, as if making sure you’re perfectly bundled in his warmth. His knuckles skim your collarbone, the gesture sends a pleasant shiver through you.

“Good,” he murmurs. In the silence that follows, you can almost hear the unspoken thoughts swirling behind his eyes. He drops his hands, brushes a quick kiss to your temple, and lets out a breath. “Come on, let’s get downstairs before the others barge in. The peace isn’t gonna last once the party kicks off.”

The house was buzzing with the kind of kinetic energy that made the walls hum. You can feel it reverberating through the soles of your feet the moment you step back into the living room. The cosy space was adorned with colourful streamers and a Happy Birthday! banner—Dustin’s own insistence, of course.

Steve had nearly suffered a heart attack watching you put it up single-handedly earlier, bursting into the room just in time to steady the wobbling chair beneath you.

I mean, Jesus, were you trying to take years off his life?

You had been blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, balancing precariously as if gravity was a suggestion. 

He had been right there. You could have asked for help. But no—apparently, terrifying him was just part of the fun.

None of that mattered now the party was in full swing, chatter overlapping, laughter weaving in and out of a sweetly melancholic track Max had just dropped onto the record player.

He had introduced you with obvious pride, making sure to state—loud and clear—that you were his girlfriend. Watching you greet everyone with a tender smile. His attention lingered on each reaction, quietly noting how they took in the girl he was lucky enough to call his.

It felt like unveiling a winning hand in a game he never expected to play so well—like holding onto something rare and knowing, deep down, that he’d beaten the odds.

You quickly spot your host—your boyfriend—hovering near the stereo console, running a hand through his hair, trying to appear unruffled while Max and Lucas sift through his precious vinyls. And in typical Steve fashion, failing at appearing calm, because he can’t quite hide his grin when he sees you looking. 

From across the room, he gives you a gentle wave, checking that you’re still alright. His eyes stay on you as you maneuver around the coffee table and dodge a crumb-strewn plate that might have once held cake but now looks suspiciously empty.

“Hey,” he greets, sliding an arm around your waist the second you’re within reach. His hand settles warm and comforting at your side, fingertips lightly pressing into the soft fabric of the borrowed sweater. 

“Hey yourself,” you reply, leaning into the contact without a second thought.

He seems to shine in a way you haven’t seen before. Surrounded by the people he calls family, he’s the best version of himself, brimming with confidence and a natural leadership that emerges when he’s trying to make sure everyone else is okay. 

You see it in the way he’s just handed Max the next record she was eyeing (despite complaining it’s not appropriate music for a birthday party), the way he’s offered Dustin a refill on his drink twice in the last ten minutes, and the way his entire face softens whenever he looks at you.

You hear Will’s loud gasp behind you—apparently, Jonathan just teased him about some underground album you had never heard of. The brown-haired boy claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder, spinning him into an ongoing argument about what to play next. 

Meanwhile, Robin’s perched on the arm of the couch, describing some comedic fiasco at work with her trademark flair for dramatics. You catch only snippets—something about a misfiled horror movie in the kids’ section, a frantic parent demanding a refund, and Steve heroically stepping in to salvage the day.

He rolls his eyes at that particular story, mouth curving in a half-smile. “She’s gonna exaggerate it,” he mutters to you, “just watch.”

You grin, nudging him gently. “Hey, maybe it’ll make you look good.”

“What, me saving the day?” He shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I already look great,” he says in a faux-arrogant tone, then immediately flushes when he realises how that might’ve sounded. But you know him well enough to catch the joking glint in his eye, so you laugh.

“C’mon, Steve,” comes a voice from the left—Nancy, stepping forward with a cautious smile. Her hair is pinned back, a few strands framing her face, and she looks surprisingly at ease despite the chaos around her. “Give yourself some credit. You’re basically running a daycare every shift the amount of times the kids are there,” she teases, though her tone is warm, not biting.

“Yeah, well, if it keeps me from being bored outta my mind, guess it’s worth it.” He snorts.

You shift, letting Nancy into the conversation fully. She meets your gaze with an inviting smile, and it strikes you how nice she is. 

Steve had mentioned her coming, and at first, it rubbed you the wrong way. Not in a dramatic, soap-opera kind of way, but in that small discomfort that settled in your stomach before you could talk yourself out of it.

You didn’t want to be that person—the one who couldn’t handle a little shared history, who needed their partner to rewrite the past just to make the present more comfortable. But still, the thought sat with you longer than you liked.

Steve had noticed, of course. He was too perceptive when it came to you, reading the tension in your jaw before you even had the words to explain it. So he reassured you—gently, patiently, with that soft-eyed sincerity he always had when something really mattered.

Without hesitation, he’d offered to uninvite her. But you shook your head because that wasn’t fair. If they were all part of the same friend group, who were you to come in and break it apart? Nancy was part of his history, but that didn’t mean she had to be an issue in his future.

And if he could move forward without looking over his shoulder, then so could you.

She was not the intimidating figure you’d somewhat imagined— the girl he had cared about so deeply in the past. Instead, she’s approachable, her eyes bright with curiosity as she acknowledges you.

“Hi,” she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think we’ve had a real chance to talk yet. I’m Nancy.” She offers her hand, and you take it, noticing the gentle, firm shake.

“It’s really nice to finally meet you properly.” You tell her, giving your name in return. “Steve’s told me a bit about you.”

She arches a brow at him, a playful glint there. “All good things, I hope?”

“Nothing but the best.” He raises both hands, half-defensive. 

She laughs quietly, then turns that inquisitive gaze back to you.

“So, I heard you’re, um… you work in—”

“Journalism,” you supply with a small nod. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, but I really like it. Kinda took your place at the Hawkins Post.” You joke. “They treat me a lot better now though. It’s not anything huge, but I get to read new articles, help shape them a bit, get the occasional coffee run… it’s fun and sometimes totally insane.”

Steve leans in, beaming with pride. 

It had gotten easier—less and less often did you show up at his house on the verge of tears after a shift. Turns out, grown men get pretty uncomfortable when you call them out on their bullshit directly. And damn, was he proud when they finally started taking you seriously.

He always knew they would. You’re a smart girl, after all.

“She’s underselling it.” He says, without the slightest bit of shame, gently nudging your shoulder. “She’s great at what she does.” 

“That sounds so much better than when I was there.” She shakes her head, reminiscing about her experiences. “I still do a lot of writing myself. I’m working at a local paper in Massachusetts right now.”

Something about her tone clicks into place for you, like a puzzle piece sliding in. 

“Right, Steve mentioned. You like it?”

“Yeah. It’s… challenging, to say the least.” She nods, crossing her arms loosely. “Still a small paper, still small stories. But I’m building my portfolio, hoping to maybe do bigger pieces eventually.” 

A warm sense of camaraderie blooms in your chest. You completely understand that hustle, that feeling of needing to push through the drudge work to get to the fulfilling stuff. 

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “I used to think I’d be working on these huge headlines right off the bat, but it was mostly basic editing work. Still,” you add, “I’m kind of a sucker for persevering.”

Her eyes crinkle with a real smile, and for a moment, it’s just you two, connecting over the rollercoaster that is words. 

“I know exactly what you mean. It’s exciting to be at the start of something, you know?”

“Makes the early mornings and late evenings worth it,” you tease, and she laughs. 

This was easier than you thought.

The conversation flows so smoothly that you almost forget the context—that this is Steve’s ex you’re talking to, that the only reason you even worried about her presence was because of that shared history. But here she is: easy to talk to, friendly, and—if you’re honest—reminding you a bit of yourself in how she lights up when discussing her work. You could understand how Steve fell for her in the first place. 

And that’s when it happens: Dustin bounces by with a half-eaten cake slice, eyes going wide as he sees you and Nancy chatting. He glances between you, leans in—crumbs falling from his mouth as he finishes eavesdropping. 

“Whoa, you guys are so alike.”

“Took you long enough to notice.” Erica chuckles, passing behind him.

Steve nearly chokes on air. “Excuse me?”

“I told you—” Dustin smirks at Steve, “both super nice, pushy in a good way, and way too into all that reportage stuff.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Patterns, man. I see them.”

Nancy, amused, shakes her head but doesn’t deny it. Meanwhile, you feel a curious prickle in your stomach. 

Even though you haven’t felt threatened by Nancy at all, it’s… interesting, hearing Dustin phrase it that way, noting how similar the two of you are.

Before you can dwell on it, Steve is in full damage control mode, waving Dustin away. 

“All right, all right, that’s enough outta you, birthday boy.”

Dustin, unbothered, snickers, then scampers off to deposit his napkin onto Jonathan’s pile of party rubbish. You catch Nancy’s eye, and she looks like she wants to say something, but a flush of colour creeps across her cheeks instead. You wonder if she’s embarrassed at the topic or if she’s also noting how the conversation just positioned you and her in the same category.

“Anyway,” Nancy says softly, clearing her throat, “it was really nice talking to you. And I do want to chat more about writing. Would be great if our paths were to cross again.”

“Sure. ” You nod, smiling. “Anytime.”

She dips her head in a polite goodbye, departing to rescue Mike from an argument with Lucas. That leaves you and Steve standing there in the aftermath of Dustin’s remarks.

“Uh… sorry about that,” he mumbles, glancing down at you. “Dustin’s always been, like, embarrassingly direct.”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. “It’s okay. I’m not offended.”

The evening drifts into its final hours with a soft sun lingering in the corners of Steve’s living room windows. Most of the balloons have deflated a little, and the noise has died down into pockets of lingering conversation. 

Dustin’s boisterous laugh echoes one last time as he heads out the door, hauling an armful of presents. Max trails behind him with the rest of the kids, carrying a few he couldn’t manage. She pauses to give you a small nod and a grin—her quiet way of saying, I like you.

You thought at first she was a tad standoffish, but her actions made you feel accepted into the small group. And if they approve of you, that's a sign that maybe you do belong here, in this makeshift family. 

Not that you’re getting ahead of yourself or anything…

Robin departs next, hooking her arm through Erica’s at the last second to drag her into some half-joking conversation about finally getting a break from babysitting Steve. Which she wholeheartedly agreed with, even if she was multiple years his junior. 

Nancy laughs, glancing your way as if to share the humour, and you wave goodbye with a soft smile. Jonathan, her hand in his, offers you a polite nod. They looked so in sync, bodies unconsciously angled toward each other, moving as a unit. There’s no tension, no leftover drama—just two people who found their other half. 

The thought made you more anxious than relieved. 

When the door finally shuts, the hush that falls over the house is unsettling. You can still hear the faint crackle of the record player, the needle resting in a quiet groove before you switched it off. Now, there’s just the quiet clink of dishes in the kitchen and the soft hum of Steve’s voice—he’s singing along to the old radio as he stacks up the glasses. He told you he had it under control, and knowing you didn’t like the feeling of leftover food in the sink, he took this job for the team.

You’re left gathering discarded wrappers and balled-up napkins, your mind spiraling in circles you really don’t want to follow but couldn’t help yourself.

Nancy is lovely. Infuriatingly so. 

In fact, she was so kind, so pleasant, that it almost stings more than if she’d been cold. Because it means you can’t hate her. Not that it was your goal to do so, but you couldn’t just dismiss her as some memory in Steve’s past. 

She was right for him once, and the knowledge of how closely her life aligns with yours—similar ambitions, the same drive for success, the spark of curiosity—makes your throat feel tight.

What if Steve also sees her in you? What if every moment you thought was unique and special was just him trying to relive something he used to have with her?

You can’t stand the idea, but the rational side of your brain doesn’t seem to be cooperating. 

Steve isn’t cruel. You know that. 

He’s never been anything but considerate, thoughtful, patient with you. Hell, the amount of times he was there for you—without hesitation, without needing to be asked. Holding your hand when you were nervous, pressing a kiss to your temple when you overthought, making you laugh when you wanted to cry.

He had never once made you feel like an afterthought. He was all in. And yet, the thought gnawed at you—was he here because he chose you, or because he was still reaching for a shadow of the past? Was he even aware he was chasing her ghost?

Your fingers tighten around a crumpled paper plate, and you swallow against the lump forming in your throat. You wonder if you really are just a Nancy 2.0 as you step into the kitchen, tossing the rubbish in the bin and retreating back to the now clean living room. Not wanting to talk to him just yet. 

The water stops running, the tap squeaking as Steve turns it off. You hear him dry his hands on a dish towel, then he appears in the doorway, face lighting up for a moment—until he sees your expression.

“Finished in the kitchen,” he starts, voice warm and a little proud, then pauses. “...What’s wrong?”

He settles beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. Your shoulders tense a little—his proximity normally soothes you, but tonight, your mind won’t quiet down, and every small gesture feels magnified. He notices immediately.

“Nothing,” you say, forcing a small, tight smile. “I really liked your friends. They’re all super sweet. I can see why you get along so well.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a warmth in his tone, a hopeful rise.

You nod, dropping your eyes to your hands. He slides closer, until his knee brushes against yours. 

“You even got Erica to like you,” he points out, sounding genuinely impressed. “It took me weeks to win her over, and you waltz in and manage it in a few hours? So not fair.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes. “I’m sure she’s just being polite.”

A quick scoff breaks from Steve’s throat. “Erica doesn’t do polite unless she means it.” He places his hand lightly on your arm, and despite the tension coiled in your chest, you feel a rush of affection at the contact. “No, seriously—I loved having you here, angel. Made the whole day so much better.”

“Really?” you ask, voice wavering just enough that he picks up on your uncertainty.

“Well, yeah,” he answers, brow creasing. “I’m just glad they didn’t scare you off.”

Your lips form a weak smile. “Oh, they didn’t.”

But there’s something about your tone—some waver you can’t quite hide—and his eyes sharpen. 

“Okay, spill,” he says, leaning in. “What’s going on?”

“Huh?” You try to keep your expression neutral, but his gaze pins you.

“I know you,” he insists, a furrow carving between his brows. “You’re stressed about something.”

“I’m so not,” you counter, folding your arms tight against your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” he replies, undeterred. “You have tells.”

“Tells?” you echoed.

“Yes, tells.” He shifts forward, voice low. “So tell me—what’s on your mind? Did someone say something? Because I swear to god—”

“Steve,” you cut him off, irritation sparking. “Nobody said anything.”

“Then what is it? Was I too much? I swear I just wanted people to know how much I—”

“Steve,” you say again, louder this time, frustration rolling through you in a hot wave. “I’m fine. Drop it.”

His expression crumples the instant your sharp tone slices through the air. It’s like someone yanked the rug out from under him, and he sits there, quiet and unsure, those warm eyes losing some of their usual shine. It kills you to see him look so hurt, and you can practically feel the guilt creeping up your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs at last, voice soft and almost hesitant. “You… you don’t have to come to the next one. If it wasn’t fun, or if it was too much—”

“That’s not it,” you say, cutting him off. You watch the confusion linger on his face, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse. 

He just wanted to have a good time, to share his world with you. 

And now here you are, turning what seemed like a perfect day into something heavy and complicated.

“Then—what?” His shoulders sag. “I don’t know what else could’ve gone wrong.” His gaze flits over your features, looking for answers you haven’t yet spoken.

You swallow, steeling yourself. 

“It was just… Nancy.”

“Nancy?” Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. “I thought you two got along really well tonight.”

“Yeah,” you admit, speaking around the lump in your throat. “We did.”

He pushes a breath through his nose, like he’s sifting through every possible explanation and coming up empty.

“I thought you’d, I don’t know, bond over books or something. I mean, I know you were anxious before, but you’re both so… nice. She’s already with Jonathan, you’ve got me—”

“Steve.” You cut him off again, trying not to let your voice waver. “We’re similar. That’s the problem.”

He blinks. “What d’you mean?” His tone is gentle, even though you see the concern in his eyes.

You rake a hand through your hair, fighting for the right words. He shifts forward, bracing himself.

“Steve, we’re really similar,” you say at last, voice low. 

“Okay?” He nods, urging you to continue. “So you have some shared interests. Where are we going with this, sweetheart?”

A shaky breath escapes you, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. 

“Are you sure you’re not still… looking for her?”

He frowns, confused. “Looking for her? I don’t—”

“Yes, Steve. Searching for someone like Nancy because you couldn’t have her. Like I’m just the next best thing. Even the kids picked up on how alike we are.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how vulnerable you sound. “I don’t want to be some bullshit replacement, filling up the space she left behind.”

All it takes is that one word—bullshit—and the floor drops out beneath him. 

You’re looking at him, voice trembling with hurt, and the realisation that you think you’re not enough guts him. Because he knows that feeling too well. He’s been there, on the other end, wondering if he was any good for anyone. But this? This is a thousand times worse. Because it’s you—and if there’s one thing in this world he’s certain of, it’s you.

He can’t stand the heartbreak in your eyes. Can’t stand the idea that he might be the one making you feel that way. His mind scrambles for something, anything, that might put your mind at ease—words to counteract that awful notion of being not enough. 

Then, suddenly, clarity strikes. He can’t think of anything else but to go full-force, stern, direct, because you’re far too precious for soft reassurances that could be mistaken or ignored.

“Hey,” he says, voice firm enough to startle even himself, “listen to me and listen to me good, all right?”

He can see how shocked you are at the tone he’s using; you go still, your gaze locking on him in a way that assures him every word will sink in. It has to.

“Never—and I mean never—are you some kind of half-ass replacement. You hear me? So get that thought out of your head right now.”

He’s never spoken to you quite like this before, but desperation thrums under every syllable. 

I can’t lose you. Please believe me.

“I don’t care how long it takes or how many times I have to say it—you are not second place. You are not a replacement. I didn’t settle for you, I chose you. You think I’d waste my time with someone I didn’t want wholeheartedly?”

He asks the question as though there’s no logical answer except the truth: Of course he wouldn’t. And he can’t stop now; your silence pushes him to continue. He needs you to know.

“God, if you could see yourself the way I do, you’d never think this again. You would never doubt how much I love you. How stupidly lucky I feel every day just to have you. You are not some ghost of my past. You are my future. And nothing—no one—could ever change that.”

There’s a ringing in his ears from the intensity of his own words, and he breathes hard, every muscle coiled with tension. Your eyes are wide, shining with an emotion he can’t decipher—shock, relief, maybe both. He hopes to God his message got through.

And then—amid the silence—your voice comes out soft, almost a whisper. 

“You love me?”

The question slices through him like lightning. He falters, suddenly off-balance. 

Fuck.

Because he’s just laid bare his entire heart, more than he’s ever dared to before. But there’s no taking it back. No gentle way to hedge now.

“Yes.” He swallows. His voice is steadier than he feels inside. “I do... Simple as that.”

That was all it took.

The words barely leave his mouth before you surge forward, meeting him in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, messy and urgent, the taste of each other a heady mix of relief and need. 

He gasps when you grip the collar of his sweater, tugging him closer, refusing to let a single breath of space linger between you. In response, his hands slide down your waist, pulling you tight against him until he can feel every curve, every line of your body against his.

“God,” he rasps against your mouth, already sounding relieved. “You—fuck.”

You hum a soft, breathy laugh escapes as he hauls you closer, helping you out as you sit and straddle his lap. His mouth is trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat as you sink your fingers into his hair, tugging, making him hiss against your lips.

He’s so desperate he doesn’t know where to touch first—fingers skimming over the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, sliding boldly beneath the hem of your—his—jumper to feel the heat of your skin. 

Everything about you feels like an invitation, a promise he’s craved for far too long. And each gasp, each little whimper you give him, only fuels that growing ache inside of him.

“Steve,” you whisper, voice cracking with urgency. He glances up, eyes dark, pupils blown. There’s something unbridled there—devotion, longing, raw determination to make sure you never doubt him again.

He pulls you closer, one hand curling around your waist, the other sliding around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against the growing hardness in his jeans. 

Then, as though a last spark of caution flickers through his brain, he stills, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look, eyes darting between yours. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, lips reddened from your kisses. But behind that is a tenderness, a protective streak that roars beneath his surface need.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, voice so low it practically reverberates through your chest. He needs to hear you say it. Needs to hear you tell him it’s alright. “I want to make sure you’re positive, because I—I want this more than anything—to show you, to make you feel so fucking good, but…”

You let out a noise that’s both a laugh and a moan. 

“Steve,” you repeat, more breathless this time. “I want this. I want you. Please.”

He groans, eyes squeezing shut. Thank God. 

“Shit, you have no idea how long I’ve—” He takes a breath as he shudders against you, every nerve ending on fire. “Angel—fuck—wait, just a sec.”

You blink, momentarily dazed. “What—did I do something?”

He just about melts at the concerned look you’re giving him, hands immediately cupping your face as he presses his mouth against yours as he mutters reassurances. 

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t—you’re perfect.” He wills his brain to formulate a coherent sentence. Easier said than done when he has you sitting on his lap. “But, if I’m going to make love to you, I’m not going to do it on the living room couch.”

A glint sparks in his eyes, but there’s nothing playful about the way he suddenly gathers you up into his arms, hands cupping beneath your thighs, hoisting you effortlessly against his chest as he stands. Your squeal of surprise echoes in the now-quiet house as you cling to his shoulders, heart pounding.

You laugh out his name and his only response is to tighten his hold on you, a grin tugging at his kiss-swollen lips, before he turns and starts up the stairs, carrying you like you weigh nothing. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, your lips brushing the line of his jaw, and his low groan vibrates in your ear, spurring him to climb faster.

He kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, all too eager to finally have you in his arms, in his bed. He sets you down on the edge of the mattress, his hands lingering at your hips as though he can’t bear to lose contact. 

You’re about to tease him for being so careful, but the sight of him—flushed cheeks, hair a disheveled mess from your fingers, lips reddened—steals the quip from your tongue.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. As urgent as he feels, there’s that undercurrent of protectiveness, that need to check you’re here with him for all the right reasons.

Your smile is a little breathless. “I’m more than okay.”

He exhales slowly, like your reassurance is the only permission he needed to keep going. Then he nudges your knees apart so he can step in closer, pressing your bodies flush. The warmth of him is addictive—solid arms, broad chest, that steady heartbeat thrumming beneath your palms.

A shiver runs down your spine when he bends to brush a slow kiss along the side of your throat, teeth just barely grazing your skin. Your head falls back, and he uses the moment to trail more kisses along your jaw, your collarbone, mapping the curve of your shoulder as if memorising every inch.

“Lie down for me,” he whispers, voice trembling with the effort it takes to keep it gentle.

You slide back onto the bed, propping yourself on your elbows, and he kneels near the edge, guiding your legs up so you’re fully on the bed. His hand glides beneath your clothes, pushing it slowly upward, knuckles skimming the bare skin of your waist. His gaze locks with yours as he slips it off over your head, making sure you’re still okay with each inch of exposed skin. You can’t help the small, playful grin that tugs at your lips. 

“Careful, Harrington,” you tease, breath hitching when he plants a soft kiss at the center of your sternum. “At this rate, it’ll be sunrise before you get these clothes off.”

He huffs a little laugh against your skin, the warm puff of air sending a tingle racing across your flesh. 

“You deserve careful,” he says, words muffled by the increasingly desperate kisses he’s leaving along the tops of your breasts, your clavicle. “But don’t think for a second I’m not dying to tear everything off you, angel.”

His fingers drift to the waistband of your jeans, undoing the button and zipper with a focus that makes your stomach flip. He eases them down your hips, helping you lift so he can slide them all the way off. Then, with a featherlight touch, he glides his hands up your thighs, sending sparks of electricity racing through you.

“Steve,” you breathe, voice catching when he leans down to kiss your newly bared skin. He starts at your calf, working his way leisurely up, each press of his lips driving you a little bit more insane. By the time he reaches your inner thigh, you’re trembling—desperate for him.

“Look at you,” he coos, voice shaking with something close to awe. His fingers slide along the band of your underwear, and he gently pulls them down, letting them join your jeans on the floor. With each inch, he leaves more of you uncovered, and the intensity in his gaze leaves you feeling bare in more ways than one.

You try to close your legs, feeling slightly exposed with the way he is gazing at you, but his hand is firm as it grips your thigh, holding you open. You hold your breath as his fingers skim over your folds, head falling back as his thumb circles your clit slowly. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, second hand joining to gather some of your wetness on his fingers. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, angel.”

“Steve,” you murmur, voice quivering with need. Your fingers thread into his hair, urging him closer, your body already winding tight from the warmth of his breath against you.

“God,” he mutters, words muffled by another kiss to your thigh. “I’ve wanted this—wanted to do this—for so damn long.”

He shifts, situating himself more comfortably. Then, with a half-lidded glance in your direction, he leans in and presses his mouth against your clit in a way that shatters every remaining thought in your head. 

A soft cry tumbles from your lips, and he groans at the sound, pulling you in deeper, his grip on your thighs tightening.

He moves carefully, learning your reactions, letting your gasps and moans guide him. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, is a question: Is this good? More? Show me. And every time you arch your back or let out a ragged whisper of his name, he answers with another fervent, deliciously slow pass of his mouth.

"Fuck, angel, I could do this all night.” He dives back in. “Keep you here, keep you shaking over and over on my tongue."

He’s so tender in his insistence, balancing the sharp edge of hunger with a profound concern for your pleasure. One of his hands slides up to lace your fingers together, and he squeezes—almost like he’s grounding himself in the moment, sharing each pulse of sensation so you know he’s right there with you. The other hand strokes up your thigh and curls around your hip, keeping you anchored against him.

“Oh, God,” you gasp, voice pitching higher when he drags his tongue across your pussy with a pointed languidness. Your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and he shudders, his fingers reflexively pressing into your skin.

He pauses just long enough to rest his forehead against your thigh, breathing hard. His voice comes out in a low rasp, intense in its sincerity. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles dazed as he returns to his ministrations. Lapping against you like he couldn’t possibly get enough. 

A wave of warmth crashes over you at his words—any lingering insecurities vanish beneath the heat of his devotion. You tug lightly at his hair, guiding him back, and he happily obliges. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes at first, building you up in a dizzying ascent, then quickens when your moans become urgent.

Your heels dig into his back, and you choke out something unintelligible—his name, a plea, a broken sob of bliss. He groans in response, the sound reverberating through your entire body, heightening the sensation until you think you might shatter from it. 

There’s something almost reverent in how thorough he is, like he wants to memorise every reaction, every hitch of your breath.

“You’re making the sweetest fucking noises, baby.” He murmurs. “Driving me insane.”

Tension coils in your stomach, winding tighter with each measured flick of his tongue. Your grip on his hand is borderline crushing, but he just grins against you, absolutely thrilled by the desperation in your touch. 

That’s all the encouragement he needs to push you closer and closer to the edge. His name tumbles from your lips again, a breathless entreaty, and he groans, the vibration sending sparks skittering across your skin.

He can tell you’re close—he can feel it in the way your hips jerk, the way your pussy clenches, the way your voice climbs. And he wants it for you, wants to be the reason you come apart so completely that you’ll never doubt his devotion again. 

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” before diving back in with a perfect, rhythmic swirl that makes your entire body tense.

The tension snaps. A rush of pleasure bursts inside you, and you let out a cry that would embarrass you if you could think about anything but the ecstasy roaring through your veins. 

Your hands grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and he moans like the taste of your release is exactly what he’s been dying for. He works you through every pulse, every aftershock, with gentle flicks of his tongue until you’re quivering in oversensitivity, pushing lightly at his head to let him know you can’t take another second.

When he finally straightens up to see you—lying back against his pillows, clad in just your bra—you spot a flicker of pure hunger crossing his face. He swallows hard and you see your release glistening against his chin as he does. He’s trying to keep himself tethered to sanity, but it’s a losing battle.

“Not fair that I’m the only one so… exposed,” you breathe out, hooking a finger into the hem of his jumper.

 “Impatient, huh?” He lets out a shaky chuckle as he licks his lips.

You roll your eyes in faux annoyance, tugging firmly at the fabric. He gets the hint. In one smooth motion, he yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. You catch a glimpse of toned arms and the lean planes of his chest, and it steals your breath all over again.

But he’s not done—he pops open the button of his jeans, sliding them down until they pool at his ankles, stepping out with a sense of urgency that has you biting your lip. For a moment, he just stands there, letting you take in the sight of him, hair messy, eyes blown wide with desire, wearing only his boxers.

“Better?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

You drag your gaze up and down, unrepentant in your ogling. “Much.”

Steve’s eyes glitter with raw need as he hovers over you, his body pressed so tight you can hardly breathe. Every breath you take is steeped in the mix of his cologne and the sweet, desperate scent of your own arousal. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, his gaze roaming over your curves with a barely restrained hunger. One of his hands grips your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist. “Don’t know how the hell I got so lucky.”

You can’t manage a reply—your breath stutters as he runs his other hand up your side, fingers skimming your ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast in a fleeting touch. The contrast between how tender he’s being and the way his voice drips with a filthy promise makes you whimper, arching into his touch.

He leans in, teeth nipping at your lower lip before he kisses you slow and deep. It's messy and you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Fuck,” he whines, “I need you, sweetheart. Need you right now—can I?” His voice cracks with urgency, and you feel every syllable reverberate through your body.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, Steve. I—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, sliding his hand between your thighs, which have only got stickier. He groans at the way you shiver, so worked up that you feel like you might combust if he doesn’t fuck you this instant.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “So wet for me.” Then, in a lower tone. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby—gonna make you forget anything else exists except how good my cock feels inside you.”

His words took you by surprise. Your usual sweet boyfriend was downright obscene with his words.

You knew he had a sharp tongue, but you had no idea how damn filthy he could make it. 

He reaches into the bedside table and tears the condom wrapper off with his teeth, making quick work of sliding it over his length.

The moment he lines his cock up at your entrance, you can feel the tension in his body—like he’s holding back a tidal wave of desire, absolutely determined not to hurt you, to make sure you’re comfortable.

“You good?” he rasps, voice tight.

“Yes,” you pant. “Steve… please.”

He exhales a ragged breath and pushes into you, inch by inch, until the stretch of him draws a moan so raw from your lips that he answers with a guttural “Fuck.” 

Your head falls back, the sensation an exquisite combination of pleasure and the ache of being so completely stuffed. He stays there a moment, trembling arms caging you in, nose brushing yours as you grip him like a vice.

“Angel,” he chokes out, voice thick, “You—you feel so fucking perfect. Look at me.”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the ferocity of his desire sends another wave of arousal flooding through your veins, clenching around his length. 

“You feel that, sweetheart? Feel how deep I am?”

All you can do is nod dumbly as his hand presses on your lower stomach. He knows you can feel him there.

He starts a slow rhythm, hips rolling, each thrust calculated to bring you higher. And for all his filthy talk, there’s a sweetness in the way he cups your cheek, kisses your jaw, your collarbone, like he can’t decide which part of you he loves most.

“God, yes,” he groans, each thrust picking up in intensity. “You like that? Tell me you like it.”

“I love it,” you gasp, fingers clawing at his back. “Steve, you feel—God, you feel amazing.”

He lets out a breathless laugh that ends in another throaty moan as he angles his hips just so, making you keen against his lips. His pace quickens, every stroke hitting deeper, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve.

“Fuck—baby, you’re so tight,” he hisses, his mouth at your ear. “So damn tight for me. Never want this to end—wanna keep you like this, under me, always on my cock—cumming so hard you forget your own name.”

Jesus, if you knew this was how he was going to talk, you would have given him the green light weeks ago.

He punctuates the filthy promise with a particularly deep thrust, and your toes curl, a cry spilling from your throat as you cling to him. You’re quickly losing yourself in the haze of his words, his body, his everything.

You utter his name in a choked sob, and it’s like a starter’s pistol. He shifts his angle just enough that the strokes perfectly grind against that sensitive spot inside your walls. The pleasure mounts in a dizzying spiral, your body tensing as you hover on the brink of release.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice gone ragged, snapping his hips more insistently. “God, cum for me, sweetheart. I need to feel it—want to feel it so bad.”

And with one more roll of his hips, you do—crying out, body arching as the orgasm shatters through you. Every nerve in your body lights up as you clamp down, and his guttural moan tells you he’s right there with you, grinding through your climax until he’s spilling himself into the rubber, breathing your name over and over like a prayer.

For a moment, you’re both lost in the aftershocks, hearts pounding, bodies tangled in the sheets. Then he sags against you, pressing lazy, tender kisses to your shoulder and murmuring small, breathless praises that make your cheeks burn with warmth.

The afterglow is still pulsing between you—soft, warm, and intimate. He leans down to press feathery kisses to your shoulder, your chest, up the side of your neck, murmuring words of reassurance and awe.

“You did so good,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “So perfect.”

Heat flutters in your chest at the praise, and you can’t help but giggle, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair and guide his face to yours. Your lips meet in a searing kiss, slow and sweet. When you finally pull back, you find him watching you with those big, earnest eyes.

“Was I… okay?” he asks, cheeks turning pink in a bashful sort of way. “Like, everything good for you?”

“More than okay.” You let out a satisfied sigh, your body still humming with pleasure. “That was perfect.”

“Yeah?” he echoes, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah.” You brush a thumb across his lower lip, feeling a spark of amusement as you remember the filth he whispered moments ago. “When were you gonna tell me you had such a dirty mouth?”

Instantly, his face flames. He cannot be blamed for what he said in the heat of the moment. It was hard to have a filter when he had you mewling underneath him.

“Hey, well, uh… I don’t… I mean, I—”

“Shh.” You chuckle, placing a finger over his lips “I loved it.”

“Oh yeah?” He exhales, relief and pride mingling. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind—my girl likes it a little dirty.” 

“C’mon, lover boy.” A fresh wave of laughter bubbles out of you. You let him help you up, your legs still a bit shaky. He steadies you with a strong arm around your waist and guides you to the bathroom so you can rinse off the sheen of sweat and bliss.

The shower is warm and comforting, the water sluicing away every last trace of tension as you help each other soap up and rinse off. When you emerge, toweling your hair and feeling the pleasant ache of satisfaction in your muscles, you notice Steve holding out one of his old T-shirts for you to slip on. You beam, tugging it over your head before crawling into bed next to him, the soft cotton drowning you in his familiar scent.

He pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. The hush of the room, the warmth of the covers, and the steady sound of his heartbeat lull you into a sweet, sleepy contentment.

“Hey,” he murmurs, turning so his nose brushes yours.

“Mmm?” you reply, lashes fluttering.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Your heart clenches at the simple sincerity in his tone. “I love you too, Steve.”

And with that, his arms tighten around you, and you drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing that in the morning, you’ll both wake up in the same bed, same sappy looks on your faces, same lovesick smiles as you bask in the golden morning light. Steve will probably be watching you already, grinning like a fool, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back, because he’s just that smitten.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 13

I saw these suits and I had an epiphany while thinking about what the bat sis should wear: one and two

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 13 >>next

It always took a while for you to process something, especially this. You thought you’ll be fine- another shitty dad, nothing new, just keep yourself busy- work, college, train Mark, help around the house, repeat… You never realized how much you actually loved the man, how attached you grew to him despite how hard you tried to brush it off. You never realized until you crashed out after a mission while seeing a kid cry for their parents.

You moved behind some buildings, hiding between some industrial trash bins, curled into a ball, and just broke down. Bruce was whatever, he didn’t choose you like he chose the others, but Nolan did. The fucker went out of his way to take you- and yet… And yet neither Debbie, Mark nor you were enough to make him stay, to make him think of you lot as more than pets he can throw away. Those thoughts clouded your mind, and turned on you quickly, not even the shadows could soothe the pain.

The Immortal found you an hour later and gently picked you up. “It’s not your fault.” Was the only thing he said while he carried you home. After that Cecil insisted you take a break, which you found absurd, you were self-employed, worked under your own company, and the taxes you paid proved that, but you didn’t fight it. So, you’ve been rotting in your bed for a bit, simply not finding the energy to do anything but keep yourself clean and occasionally cook, just to help Debbie a bit.

The funeral of the Guardians went and passed, Mark had taken to moving into your room before he went to University, Eve, Amber, Samson, John, and your college friends occasionally visited. You haven’t seen Immortal since he got in a yelling match with Mark, calling you both as dangerous as Nolan. That had set your mental health back a few days.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

John didn’t go back to the Justice League space station, he hung around for a bit, letting you hang onto him for a while, until you fell asleep. He didn’t go even when you were deep into the dream world. Constantine still stayed around, mostly sitting on the edge of the couch you slept on, only moving when Debbie invited him to some wine. He left the next day after you woke up.

So, when the pull of an emergency teleportation triggered and made him almost kiss the ground he wasn’t surprised to see the mug of an angry Batman with photos of your civilian persona from the fight with your dad and a screenshot of your hero persona wearing the “I killed the joker” T-shirt next to a tourist on the big screens. “Explain.” Was the only thing that came out of Bruce.

Constantine just sighed from the depths of his soul while pulling a chair and lighting a cigarette, ignoring Superman and Wonder Woman. “Could explain a lot of stuff, Batsy, be specific.” John didn’t even flinch as Batman slammed his fist on the table. “She killed the Joker.”

“Doesn’t look like I need to explain anything then, mate.” John blows the smoke away from Batman, he wasn’t that ballsy. ”You already know she killed him, what more would you want?”

“We just want to know how you know her. How you know Omni-Man.” Superman was quick to play the good cop, but John just shrugged. Honestly, he had to deal with way too many shades because of the clown, good riddance. “She’s a friend, none of you could kill her. Slow her down? Mm, maybe. Eliminate her? Never.” He knew killing was never Batman’s plan A, but he wasn’t betting on it.

“As for her daddy…” He sighs again, rubbing his temple. “He’s a Viltrumite, they conquer words and ‘better’ them. Why care now? You never did before.” John was referring to both you and the Viltrumites. “She’s a dangerous unknown.” Ah, and this is why Bobo was named the greatest detective and not the Bat. “And if the Viltrumites are as dangerous as you’ve said-“

“You only want to do something about it now because it may affect you.” John got up slowly not looking away as Batman towered over him. “The Viltrumites don’t have a kryptonite, Bruce.” He growled at the man. “We either get another fifty Supermen to beat their heads in until they stop moving or we change their mind. And look how well that option went for The Sorceress and Invincible.” Batman’s frown only deepened.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Black Samson was beyond worried. The Immortal had been off the hinges for a long while, hot and cold, black and white, exploding at anything and everything, the kids were driving him insane, and you were still missing in action. So, he did what any reasonable man his age would do and snuck into a young woman’s room. Yours specifically.

“Alright, I’ve had enough! You’ve been rotting-“ He stopped as soon as he saw you in your hero gear eating a bowl of sliced fruit. “…I was just eating a snack before going out.” You said while munching away. “Oh… Are you-“

“No… But it’ll be quite hypocritical of me to be mopping around when I nagged you every other week to get back outside.” You shrug. “I’ll get better… eventually. But It’ll take time.” Samson seems to relax at that. “And I had a whole speech-“ You snicker at that. “Yeah- my speech.”

“It was a great speech.” He tried defending himself. “It got me outside and everything.” You smiled, unable to argue with such sound logic. “Thank you for checking up on me, Sam.”

“You’re welcome, kid.” The man smiled at you before turning back to the window. “Now if you excuse me, I’ll leave. I do not want to explain to your mom why I am here-“ The devilish amused cackle that left you only urged the man to hurry.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You did get better… kind of. But it was good enough to make you put up with Lex and his blasted party. Granted, seeing your mom, Mark, and your friends enjoying the party, and destroying the free buffet, made you happy. You were hiding out on the balcony anyway.

“If your mother knew you were drinking alcohol without supervision, she’d have my head. Nice suit.” You snorted at Luthor’s words as he joined you, leaning on the railing with you. “You’d make a nice taxidermy trophy. And thanks, wanted to be different from the other girls.” You joked, nudging the man.

You both took in Metropolis’ night sky, enjoying the silence for a few seconds. “Why is the Immortal looking at you with such sad puppy eyes?” You snort. “Why are Wayne and the Kents here?”  Lex just gave a shrug and a shit-eating smirk. “You like the Kents, Bruce Wayne wants to meet The Sorceress on the bat’s behalf, and I forgot to send my secretary the list of guests that was custom-made for the occasion and didn’t have ninety percent of the people here.”

“I like Lois Lane, both Bruce and the Bat can die, and-“ You sigh, rubbing at your temple. “Somehow, I believe that last part. Why are you so attached to my hip, anyway?” Lex gives a sarcastic laugh. “Nice way to avoid my question, but to answer yours, maybe I just want to enjoy the company of my greatest little helper.”

The look that you gave him was a clear expression of how much you thought the man was high on alien weed. “If by helper you’re referring to me calling you stupid for forgetting to check PFAS and Asbestos levels while snapping pictures for the Pulitzer winner herself, Lois Lane- sure. I believe you.”

This is why Luthor enjoyed your madness. The sarcasm, the banter, the mocking with no hard feelings. It made him feel normal. He almost shivered at the thought, perishing it immediately. “There also, might be a mercenary who paid quite a lot to get a seat and have the chance to meet you.”

“Is he mad? Don’t answer that, I don’t think you’re a good judge of that.” You take a sip from your glass. “He’s quite reputable, Slade Willson. He’s-“ You immediately interrupt him. “I know who that is and what he does. Don’t you find it fishy how an apparent assassin with supposed morals just knew you’d host such a thing?”

“Don’t bother- I won’t believe a word that comes out of your smug ass face. I want half of what he gave you.” Lex Luthor just smiled brighter. “I’ll give you the full amount if you come back and tell me everything.” You laugh and accept the deal. You’d never pass on a good gossiping session.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Damn.” Lois said as Clark finished parroting back what he heard from the other side of the room. “I know that she doesn’t like you because she doesn’t know you-“ She said while looking at her husband before turning to Bruce. “But what did you do?”

Bruce’s scowl seemed permanent these past days, his blank look telling Lois that the man was beyond tired, and his silence told her that he didn’t know. “I don’t like how close she is to Luthor.” Clark whispers. “He’s not a good role model for anyone, let alone a young girl who just lost her father. And Slade…”

“She hangs with a lot of rich people and rogues, even talks to some from Gotham.” Bruce frowned at the information Lois provided. “She texts Red Hood and the Sirens quite a lot when she stays around me as I work.” Bruce stopped listening after as his eyes caught you and the bald eagle coming back inside, and he acted.

He quickly passed past the Kents, putting on his Brucie persona and grabbing a full glass of red wine, acting slightly drunk while walking right to the prize. He greeted business people and heroes, walking in a slight zig-zagged pattern to imitate dizziness and when he was close enough, he stumbled. The wine in his glass flew and hit its target.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry-“ His hand was slapped away as you shook with anger, your suit ruined by the wine, and your skin getting sticky. “Don’t you dare touch me-“ You hiss at the man, making his expression shake. “For fucks sake- you two-faced snake, are you just out to ruin everything I have?”

Something in you just snapped as you saw him act like a fool, knowing better than anyone it was all fake, so your hand just moved, grabbing a plate of mini cakes and smashing the sweets right in his face. “Why can’t you just leave me by, asshole?!” You spread the syrupy sweets on the front of his tux and let the plate fall on his feet, dirtying those too.

Lex wasn’t the only one enjoying the show. Slade immediately took the opportunity to join your other side as you tried to dry your neck and shirt. The mercenary politely greeted Luthor, ignored the still in shock Bruce, and introduced himself to you, offering to pay for the cleanup. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. Wayne he’s quite the imbecile.”

Bruce couldn’t even fight the allegation, it was well played by Willson, and acting like a drunk didn’t help his case. So, he just watched as the older man led her away. “Honestly, Brucie. What did you expect to happen? You’ve become too sloppy.” Lex mocked him, but his prideful smirk went away as soon as Mark and Immortal appeared in front of him, Invincible asked Bruce why he was here while the other man asked who he was.

Those two got distracted by each other, turning their anger on one another as they hissed insult after insult. “Oh, boy.” With Luthor’s mutter of disappointment, Bruce turned back, walking to the Kents. “It could have been worse. If it were me, I would have killed you for that, especially as the birthday girl.” Lois said while looking at Bruce. The man just grunts, neither noticing the way Clark tensed up at the information he heard by eavesdropping on Invincible and Immortal.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Bruce felt beyond exhausted while he dropped in his chair, blankly looking through the Batcomputer, trying to register everything that happened. “Master Bruce!” He didn’t get a moment of peace before Alfred burst through the door, stopping a few feet in front of him while clutching a picture frame.

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I said it once, I'll say it again, I always feel like I'm forgetting something.

[consistently-panicked]

Ok hold on. Now I don’t disagree with your take. Jess is 100% given way more shit than he deserves by people. He’s a heavily traumatized teenager and a lot of his actions stem from that. He reacts based on how he feels in the moment and very little logic (which, again, he’s a teenager. This is very normal).

BUT, he did way more than outlining a body in chalk outside of Doose’s to get the “bad boy” reputation. He stole from Babette (Pierpon, gorgeous), he attempted to steal the beer from Lorelai, he stole Rory’s bracelet (yes he found it after it had fallen off, but he still took it and didn’t return it until much later), he got in fights at school (whether Chuck Presby deserved to be punched is besides the point, to a small town like Stars Hollow fighting would absolutely have people thinking you’re a “problem child”), he skipped school constantly (same situation as the fighting. People should’ve been asking him why he was skipping school and tried to help him feel more engaged and actually care about his education. Whether he would’ve accepted the help is another question, but he was a child and most of the adults in his life fundamentally failed him).

And now, for the biggest example of Jess being the bad boy, and honestly that’s not even the way I’d phrase it because in this moment he’s really just acting like a bad person. Season 3, Episode 19. Oh boy. Consent wise, the scene from the party is extremely dubious. Rory is very clearly uncomfortable and she is verbally expressing this. But Jess continues. In my opinion, the whole scene feels very coercion/ manipulation esque. Him continuing to pursue Rory in this moment doesn’t stop until she physically removes herself from the room. It’s an incredibly uncomfortable scene to watch and it’s because of Jess’ gross actions. Of course, we don’t know how many people in Stars Hollow’s know about what happened, but there were many people who witnessed him and Dean fighting afterwards and considering what a small town it is, I’m sure at least part of the story was known.

So listen. I think the people of Stars Hollow’s judged him way too harshly way too quickly and more often than not, his actions were not those of a bad boy, but those of an angry and traumatized teenager who needed HELP. But there were also quite a few instances where his choices affected others negatively, and whether you’re traumatized or a teenager it’s important to recognize that your choices affect others. And, of course, nothing excuses the way he acted at that party and I hope that at some point he apologized to Rory and really took a step back to evaluate his actions. It’s the least he could do.

(Now, I didn’t bring anything up about the whole car situation and there’s a reason. I think that is a huge example of the town just blaming him because it was easy and convenient to pin it on the kid no one liked, the bad boy. Even though it was Rory’s fault and she tried to tell everyone as much.)

Sorry for the long ramble, this show has been my most prominent hyperfixation for years, so I have a LOT of thoughts about it and the characters.

Jess’s ‘bad boy’ label to me is so, so funny. He is constantly reading, works two jobs, saved enough money to buy a car—but he’s the ultimate bad boy in the town’s eyes. Let’s be clear, the most ‘rebellious’ thing he did was the chalk outline outside Doose’s. Boy did magic tricks for his crush, why is he labeled a bad boy? 😭

[orionhelluvaranting]

Like creator, like character

Isn't that interesting how every bloody time someone tries to call Stolass' out this frigging owl finds a way to justify himself or shift the blame?

"I would feel bad if I hurt you but we both know I didn't do that!"

"Cheating implies there was a betrayal..."

"I don't look down on you!"

"I didn't leave you, I would never, that wasn't my choice!"

And do you know who does the exact same thing?

Vivziepop by herself! 🌟

"You disapprove me for sexualizing the rapist and preferring to sell merch with him rather than with his victim? C'mon, guys, Val isn't real! He's Karen from 'Mean Girls'! Fiction is an escape!.. You're just pissy your faves didn't get merch!"

"I liked the post calling my haters 'subhumans'? Well, people are just 'exhausted of being attacked for liking a show'. My fans harass critics? It sucks, but my fans are 'scared to talk about liking the show due to the harassment'. So you're no any better!"

"You've found a plothole XYZ, inconsistency in the story, lame jokes or any other flaws of my shows? No, my writing is smart and logical, bc I said so! Learn to read between the lines!"

"You think I have favoritism toward certain characters? No way! Stolass and Blitz are BOTH in the wrong, I'm gonna show this! Millie isn't ignored by the narrative, actually I'm so excited for you to know about her more! Loona doesn't speak a half of the season because... it was easier on the budget. HB has steered more towards a male-led stories. It's intended this way. You're just misunderstand my genius thought process."

"That's not my problem", "I care about SA victims," "Grow up!" etc.

And I'm not even talking about the justifying/problematic tweets she simply liked 💫

This woman always has an excuse. For everything. Just like Stolass does. Honestly I'd rather not speculate about Stolass being Viv's self-insert (as other critics said long before) but that kind of behavior only confirms such statements. It's like they both live by this quote:

Say whatever you want but for me this is the main proof that Stolass will NEVER take responsibility for his own actions. Because it's seems like Vivienne has no clue how to do this either. She doesn't think she could ever be wrong. So she uses the same mentality for Stolass since he's her beloved pet.

And which one of Viv's excuses is your personal favorite? Mine is "We didn't ask anyone to redesign these characters, it's a choice". Sounds like "They should've seen that coming! It's their own fault they're harassed! What did they even expect?" for me. Just fucking brilliant! 😤💢

PS/ I hasn't been monitoring Vivziepop closely enough all the time and maybe I don't see the whole picture, so please correct me if I'm wrong here but... I can't remember a single time this woman admitted her wrongness or apologized sincerely. Ever. I mean, if there's at least one case of Viv making amends or smth it would be nice, even if it prolly won't fix everything.

[sunderwight]

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a rare wife plot.

And it actually is a rare one because Airplane didn't even write this one down! He toyed with the idea before ultimately dismissing it as being too controversial for the tastes of his readers, and adapting only a few of the same elements for a subsequent chapter of PIDW.

But apparently the System can pull inspiration even from the author's thoughts, especially when there's nothing to contradict the concept and even a few threads of it still to be found in the original, and somehow Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of this previously-unwritten plot bunny.

The core concept was a cuck scenario, of all things. One of the Luo Binghe's wives gets afflicted by a poison that can only be cured by dual cultivation, but specifically can't be cured by by dual cultivation with anyone who has mastery over demonic qi. Something something conflicting energies, something bullshit something. Peerless Cucumber would have ripped the chapter to shreds if it had actually made it to publication, not just for the insult of implying that Luo Binghe should let one of his wives sleep with someone else, but also because why would Luo Binghe -- able to use both kinds of cultivation -- somehow not be able to keep his demonic energies from influencing the situation just in this one case?

Well it turns out that in his specific case it's because sex gets him too worked up to keep things strictly separate, and the degree of control required to treat the affliction whilst dual cultivating is extensive enough that even a little slip-up would be fatal.

Of course, in the actual chapter of PIDW, this same plot device was altered and used to create a harem orgy where Luo Binghe oversaw several of his wives "treating" one another's "afflictions", but Shen Qingqiu just had to go and get a fatal of dose of the more severe version (he didn't realize the risk, because again, this version didn't even make it into the novel).

Anyway, of course this ends up with Shen Qingqiu trying to figure out another way to cheat death, while Luo Binghe goes through the five stages of grief before accepting that he's just going to have to let someone else fuck his husband. This leads to an argument because of course Shen Qingqiu's not going to cheat on Luo Binghe, and he's especially not going to force one of his martial siblings to sleep with him, come on now, and Luo Binghe trying not to cry tears of blood while bringing himself to explain that a fair few of Shen Qingqiu's sect siblings would be happy volunteers for this task.

Shen Qingqiu's just like, well of course you think that, for some bizarre reason you think everyone wants to sleep with me. Bias is what it is. Really it's flattering Binghe but obviously every other person we know is straight, that's just statistics, and everyone in the entire cultivation world knows that Qi Qingqi would sooner chew glass than have sex with a man!

Luo Binghe, weeping now: Shizun please. This is serious. I need you speak words that make sense in the order you're saying them.

They argue, they reach an impasse, the clock is ticking. So Luo Binghe reluctantly turns to the most reliable source of information (outside of himself) on Manipulating Shen Qingqiu to Do Things That Are in His Own Best Interests -- Shang Qinghua.

At first Shang Qinghua is like, well I'm flattered Junshang but I don't think I could shoulder the baggage of fucking Cucumber-bro for you. But then Luo Binghe is like no I need someone who is way hotter and more capable than you, if Shizun is going to fuck someone else at my behest they're going to be TOP TIER so that when I fuck him better afterwards he's really impressed with me. Liu Qingge, obviously.

Not Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua asks? (He'd take the insult a little more personally but honestly he's just relieved that he's not being asked to navigate this social minefield.)

No, Luo Binghe says. He's not 100% sure he could beat Yue Qingyuan in a fight even to this day, which in his mind also translates to not being 100% sure he could do sex better than him either, so Yue Qingyuan is an emergency last resort. He's way more likely to cry on Shizun too and Shen Qingqiu is into that shit, it's too risky.

Alright, says Shang Qinghua, and he thinks about it, and then he comes up with the beautifully simple solution:

Luo Binghe has to fuck Liu Qingge first.

Because of course the crux of the issue is that even with permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to cheat on Luo Binghe. But in the twisted annals of his mind, Luo Binghe himself is still entitled to a harem, even if Luo Binghe is also happily monogamous in this life. So if he shacks up with Liu Qingge first then Liu Qingge essentially joins Luo Binghe's harem, at which point if Shen Qingqiu sleeps with him it's not an affair, it's the gay version of those fanservice-y 3P scenes that the wives in PIDW did. Shang Qinghua translates the concept as best as he can to Luo Binghe, who -- though slightly dubious -- must accept that so far Shang Qinghua's wisdom hasn't steered him wrong with regards to his shizun's eccentricities.

Luo Binghe's mission: seduce Liu Qingge, or at least convince him to have sex, or possibly to lie and (convincingly!) tell Shen Qingqiu that they had sex. That last one is the longest shot so he's probably going to have to just fuck him (Luo Binghe still underestimates how willing his husband is to believe that just about anyone would have sex with him).

Shang Qinghua's mission: convince Shen Qingqiu that he owes his husband steamy threeway gay sex or something so that this plan he pulled out of his ass doesn't backfire and get him killed.

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[chiliad-lucerna]

i really shouldn't start shit with someone who's blaming the wrong people, honestly, but i would like to note that i did care about prices and have always cared about prices. it's no more possible for president biden to lower prices than it is for trump or anyone else, because of the way our systems work (ie profits must always rise, which means prices can never come down). and if you think that system's wrong, i agree with you. you think i'm not out there shouting, protesting, trying to make this system better? as if i wasn't protesting in my senate two fucking days ago? you forget that republicans were the people that denied emergency relief in congress to hurricane helene, or whatever other disaster you're referring to that you were personally impacted by. i understand you. i feel for you. i live in a fucking red state, i'm watching my friends all around me terrified, in fear for the future, watching my fucking legal system bow to a fascist oligarchy and pave the way with gold and silver for them. congratulations, you've made vulnerable people just like you just as terrified for their lives. are you proud of yourself? your hatred hasn't made anything better, it just means that the people who've already won, the people that sit with hundreds of billions under their belt while people like you and me starve, while we never get emergency funding and relief, while the applachians are out of power for months after hurricane helene, we've rewarded those people. this is their reward. they get to crush us ALL beneath their boot.

the current system doesn't work. but that doesn't mean we get to burn it all down, and most certainly not at the hand of rich bullies as despicable as trump and elon musk. because all it means is that the rich get richer, and people like us get poorer and poorer, and we lose healthcare and basic human rights and get put in interment camps to die.

i'm not your enemy. i don't want to fight you, not least of which because i fundamentally agree with what you're saying, and i understand the hurt and the loss and the pain you face. i'm from the fucking appalachians, don't speak to me about emergency funding. but you're fighting the wrong people. i am not your enemy. the common american is not your enemy, and none of us deserve to be punished because you thought it was a good idea to target the wrong fucking people for the filthy rich's crimes.

think on that, the next time you cry for the system to burn down. because you're targeting your fellow class with those crimes, not the 1%. they don't give a shit if you burn, and you're well aware of this. trump is a part of the 1%, and so is elon.

this isn't a culture war. this is a class war, and we need to have class solidarity if we're going to hope to do anything for a better future.

I’m not even kidding. I’ve studied democratic trends for over a decade. We are actively witnessing Trump and his cronies do the legwork of setting up a fascist state as we watch. There are tons of Trump supporters in the US government that have been waiting for this. I have colleagues, friends, family members that are federal employees that are telling me about bosses that are happily rolling over and ensuring compliance with the new executive orders even if they’re illegal.

Fascism is real. It is here. We are experiencing it and it is not a smoking gun but a five alarm fucking fire.

[lamb-teaa]

` Doppelgänger Curse

( Experimental Draft Part 1 )

Your life has been fairly normal.

Average parents, average friends, average job - plain yet calm and simple life.

But who would've thought it all came crashing down on you one day when you met her.

A non-Evolver like yourself had always placed your trust and faith in the Hunters of the city, especially during an unexpected Wanderer attack. But the moment your eyes met hers as she pulled you behind her as a shield, the world around you shifted in an instant.

You would've merely chalked it up to coincidence, a similar look-alike, a stranger with an identical face...

.. If it weren't for the fact that the moment she took your hand, rushing both of you out of the building, a strong jolt of electricity shot through your brain, flooding with foreign yet familiar memories in an instant.

Love and Deepspace. Evol. Aether Core.

The sharp pain had you gasping for air as you held your head tightly, you could hear the Hunter's worrying voice as she crouched in front of you, her words faded in the background as you slowly and shakily lifted up your head to look at her.

Then your eyes caught sight of a familiar man behind her.

Love Interest.

Your life has never been the same since then.

She was as stunned as you, but more so she looked quite delighted to see you and began rambling on about how identical you looked to her - whereas you still grappled with the memories of your past life while simultaneously struggling not to go into a panic attack whenever you saw her.

× × × × ×

What would've been thought of as a fateful yet short encounter turned into an unnerving coincidence as you find yourself bumping into Miss Hunter more often than not.

You couldn't really avoid her, didn't have the heart to honestly, given she had quite literally saved your life and unexpectedly she took a fondness for you. A fondness akin to a long lost family - even though you and her both knew that neither of you had any blood relation.

But she was so fond of you, so much so it ended up getting the unwanted attention of a certain man.

Miss Hunter's chosen love interest.

...Or rather, your previous life's chosen love interest.

Although living your new reality up until now, you don't actually know Miss Hunter and her beloved's actual relationship status after meeting her.

Even as she began hanging out in your life more, she never uttered much about him and you weren't the type to pry.

But you weren't blind to the affection he showed around her, from the impromptu gestures to the warmest of smiles he looked at her - you could tell how much he loved her.

If you were back in your previous life, holding onto your phone as you read the sweet interactions between him and her, undoubtedly you'd feel envious and begin punching your pillow and whining along the line of 'why can't it be meeee!'

But now, seeing him real and tangible and terrifyingly surreal, you could only hope he remained his focus on her and not you.

Why?

You liked him in a fictional form rather than in a reality's sense - which is most likely why you had a difficult time liking real men back in your old life.

Because fiction wouldn't harm you.

But this new reality would.

Especially when you knew everything about him.

× × × × ×

Your interactions with him so far are, you'd say, admirably respectable to say the least.

Although you were initially worried in the beginning when Miss Hunter wasn't around or unfortunately had to leave you and him behind when she had to rush for her mission or other matters, you were relieved that he didn't spare much attention on you.

On the contrary, he had expressed his gratitude because Miss Hunter had been livelier since befriending you. You likewise reciprocate the mutual friendship, from both her and him.

However it's still unfortunate when on some accidental occasions, he'd mistake you for her.

"I got you the new plushie you've always wanted."

"...I don't collect plushies."

"That's strange, I thought you'd be out on a mission today."

"...I'm not a Hunter."

"I heard the escape room increased their difficulty levels. Want to try it again?"

"...When have I ever been one?"

"Didn't you have an appointment today? I remember someone keeps forgetting her regular checkups."

"...I don't have Protocore Syndrome."

"Where are you going? That's the wrong direction."

"...This is the direction to my house."

The immediate freeze-up followed by an averting guilt-ridden gaze and a small apology, you couldn't even be mad at him even if you wanted to.

But you can't help but feel annoyed and frustrated.

It's one thing to share an identical face to her, but it's another to have a similar voice and even certain habits and slight mannerisms to her and you can't help but wonder, could it be your fault?

You definitely did customize her, who's supposed to be the player's avatar, to appear identical to you and you wryly thought perhaps it ended up manifesting in this new life of yours. And the only difference you can take a slight solace is that you both didn't have the same name.

… Because you gave your nickname to her in-game instead.

But still, to this extent it is just damn ridiculous

Slowly and surely, you retract yourself from him as much as possible. Even when she asked you out for another hangout together, you'd make sure it's a girl's girls only hangout because you have had enough of being mistaken for her by him.

In your mind, it's for his own sake.

And your sanity's sake as well.

× × × × ×

You remembered playing Love and Deepspace and held deep sympathy towards the MC. To die and reincarnate with no memories and her beloved either died or disappeared because of her.

An endless cycle.

A pitiful ending.

A cruel twist of fate.

Perhaps it was a blessing for her to not remember any of her past lives because you apparently had all the knowledge and memories against your own will, having to carry another person's secret on your own.

A placeholder of her memories.

And for what reason?

You would never know.. But it's cruel, to both her and you.

In your last life you would've joked about Infold being the catalyst of evil to her life and perhaps by some dark magic they possess, to your life too.

But you can't even crack a smile nor laugh anymore. This new life, new reality of yours, is far the cruelest in your entire memory.

A cruel confusing reality that had left you trembling when the dreadful news reached your ears.

'She's gone'

Your Hunter twin, your dear friend, your mirror sister - your doppelgänger other half, had succumbed to a fatal injury during a search and rescue mission.

Leaving the once joyous life she once brought to everyone around her.

Leaving her beloved who ended up spiralling into a heartbreaking rage.

…Leaving you to face the aftermath of her death.

× × × × ×

You remembered how shocked everyone around you was when you brought Miss Hunter into your life all those years ago.

As much as you didn't want to be involved with her, but that one dinner invitation as a token of gratitude for saving you had changed your life forever.

Your parents' astonishment immediately turned heartwarming as even they treated Miss Hunter like their own daughter. You were their only child and given how you knew she was an orphan, you actually didn't mind that your parents treated her as their own - and naturally you did see her as a sister figure. Although the talks about you both being the twins they would've envisioned to have, honestly made you feel torn between wishing she was your real twin sister vs the confusing anxiety rising in the pit of your stomach when you recalled how her life was like.

Your friends and coworkers had their own mixed reactions. Some were appalled and in complete disbelief while some were more dramatic and exaggerating that most of them always commented how they couldn't tell you and her apart. And the fact your parents actually entertained the idea of taking a DNA test between you and her once before only to come back not a match, one of your friends even joked about being doppelgängers and how you two should duke it out according to old folklores. You allowed yourself to indulge in their playful notion with a smack on their heads, despite struggling to push down the uneasiness you felt at being so similar and so identical to her.

And then… then there was him…

You remembered the intense stare and the unsettling silence, like he was analyzing you - reading you. Although it was a mere fleeting gaze before he shifted his attention back to her, you could still feel his eyes boring holes into your back when you weren't looking.

You were relieved, so so relieved when he kept his sole attention on her, even when the three of you hung out together. Even when in the beginning you could tell he felt wary around you as well, but seeing how much Miss Hunter enjoyed your company, he too began easing up a bit.

And that's when the confusion began.

The many times he mistook you for her, the many times he called out her name instead of yours, the many times he unconsciously gravitated closer to you when she wasn't around - it was stressful and aggravating to have to endure.

You thought you could still brush it off, pretend to be oblivious about it and evidently so it wouldn't effect you as long as she was still around to ground him back to reality.

But now she's gone.

And that's.. that's when the nightmare started.

teaa’s end note: this ficlet can be seen as in any of the Love Interest, basically a 5-in-1 scenario between reader and the LIs so hopefully it's not too confusing!

additional note: kinda on the fence on continue writing this but at the same time i needed to let this out so do tell if i should continue with it. thank you for reading and hope you'll have a lovely lovely day!

[covenofagatha]

Hexed Hearts (Part 1)

Pilot

Agatha Harkness is the ruthless executive producer for the reality dating show Hexed Hearts, where you've been a PA for two years, but you want more

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: none yet

“Alright, people, thirty minutes to showtime! Season thirteen! I need our suitress out front, makeup on, and a smile on her face. I need the limos—where the fuck is limo three?—I need Billy out there, and who the fuck changed the lights in the pool to be green? Do we want it to look like an algae breeding ground? Come on, everyone, this isn’t amateur hour!” Agatha Harkness barks at the production team, sending them scrambling in different directions like a flock of chickens. 

“Um, Agatha,” one of the producers says timidly, visibly wincing when Agatha turns to her, annoyance radiating, “Limo three ran out of gas. I just got off the phone with the driver.” 

Agatha scoffs and you see the vein in her forehead bulge. “Why the fuck are you telling me that? Do you want me to fucking walk to them with a can of gas? Figure it out, Carol!” 

Carol just stares blankly at her and you silently will her to do anything but stand there. Even you could tell her that she should take a company van to go get all the contestants from the limo. Problem solved. 

“Look, Carol,” Agatha sighs and moves her black glasses from her face to resting on the top of her head. You want to look away, knowing what’s coming, but you can’t. “This isn’t going to work if I have to hold your hand. You’ve been here for what? Three years now? I need you to be a producer, not a child who needs a babysitter. Get out. You’re fired.” 

Carol splutters out something in disbelief, but Agatha is already walking away and waving her hand to get your attention. As if you aren’t always watching her.

“Get me a coffee,” she says, tone still laced with some exasperation and you purse your lips before running to get her one. 

Agatha Harkness, the executive producer for the reality dating show, Hexed Hearts, is known for her ruthless and no-nonsense style of leadership. She practically wrote the book on manipulation and knows exactly how to get anyone to do whatever she wants. 

You heard that once on the show, seven of the contestants got into a literal fist fight all because Agatha suggested that the suitor liked women who weren’t afraid to go for what they wanted. 

It’s honestly inspiring. 

You’ve been a personal assistant for the show for two years, going into your third now.

The first season you worked here, it was a total bust. Agatha had thought it would be a good idea to do a Winter Wonderland, except have it set in Greenland where it was actually freezing. It was the first time a season had ever taken place not at the mansion in California, where it would’ve been practical and budget-friendly and fake snow definitely would’ve been better than real snow. 

You still have calluses from all the shoveling you had to do and three of the contestants got hypothermia because Agatha insisted that they take off their parkas and film in bikinis in the below zero temperature. 

“It’s just for like two seconds,” she had said. “Think of the ratings for the hard nipples. People will go wild.” 

Luckily she had the foresight to put in their contracts that they couldn’t sue due to weather-sustained injuries, and the girls were completely fine. The network told her that the show could never be filmed anywhere but the mansion ever again. 

So the next season, Agatha had to get creative—and she did. Season Twelve: Double Trouble.

One suitress. Sixteen sets of twins. 

No one could tell anyone apart. The suitress called her date by his brother’s name more often than not. Brothers got into fights with each other. Some of them leaned more into it than others; you remember one of the producers asking you to go get Frank and finding him fucking the suitress, Lilith, while she gave his twin brother a blowjob. 

Twitter had a field day after that was revealed—once again, a well placed tip to the rest of the men courtesy of Agatha led to a huge blow up on set, and even better, on camera. 

As the season went on, it became clear that Lilith had a favorite, Adam. And no one was more upset about this than Adam’s twin brother, who decided that he would lock Adam in the bedroom closet and impersonate him. 

It took about a week before anyone noticed and that week’s episode had the highest rating in seven years. 

Growing up, you never cared for reality television, always finding it trashy and immature, but behind the scenes, there is so much more to what meets the eye. You were never able to tell how much of it was real or scripted. 

Almost none of it is scripted. But most, if not all, is orchestrated. 

Producers stir the pot, use clips that paint the contestants a certain way, exploit and mold however they want—whatever it takes to get the best ratings for the network. Your end goal is to become one, and you might have the perfect opportunity right now, with Carol fired.

This year, Agatha decided that she wanted to have the first season of reality television that was all queer women. The network had been incredibly reluctant to greenlight the idea, but when Agatha revealed that she had gotten Rio Vidal to sign on to be the suitress, they couldn’t say no. 

Rio Vidal, the heiress to the Vidal Oil Company, is known for her bad-boy reputation and the trail of broken hearts she leaves in her path. She desperately needs to work on her public image before taking over the company, so her parents paid a fortune to get her on the show. Even you had to admit she was easy on the eyes so you figured there would be no problem getting thirty-two women to fall in love with her. 

The problem would be getting her to pick one. You have no doubt that this season is going to be filled with scandal after scandal, which brings in the best ratings. 

Your phone starts to buzz and you swear, setting down the full cup of coffee to pull it out of your pocket. You roll your eyes—it’s your mom. 

“Hey, mom, I can’t really talk right now,” you say, raising it to your ear quickly. “Is something wrong?” 

She sighs heavily. “Just wanted to check in on my only daughter, I didn’t realize that was a crime.” 

Of course she’s pulling that card. “It’s not, mom, it’s just not really a great time, we’re about to start shooting.” 

“Still on that show?” She makes a disapproving sound, even though she knows full-well that you are indeed still working for Hexed Hearts. “When are you going to get a real job? I mean, a personal assistant? Sweetie, you are so much better than that, and so much better than reality TV in general. Why don’t I give my friend at the school a call, see if she can—” 

“Got to go, mom, talk to you later,” you interrupt abruptly before furiously pressing the disconnect button and shoving your phone back into your pocket after putting it on silent. Taking a deep breath, you unclench your fists and pick up the cup of coffee. 

It always goes that way with your mom. It feels like no matter what you do, she’s never satisfied with anything. 

“Has someone rescued limo three yet?” Agatha yells from inside her office and your hand holding her cup jolts, spilling burning liquid on your skin. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing some napkins and wincing. 

One of the producers, Marie, jogs to Agatha's door to open it slightly. “Hey, yeah, Alice went to go get them. They should be here in about ten minutes. We’ve got Rio outside by the gates with Billy, the other vans are outside, we’re thinking we just go in order of one, two, four, and then hopefully three should be here by then.” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine, we just need to get all the introductions done by midnight so we can get about six hours of B-roll and interviews before the sun rises,” Agatha says dismissively and you awkwardly hover behind Marie, who’s still blocking the entrance to her office. “Is there something else?” 

Marie shifts and looks down at her feet. “Um, who do you want to take over Carol’s girls? I’m not sure Alice, Lilia, and I can take anymore. I can call Carol though, I don’t even think she’s left—” 

“Oh, fuck that,” Agatha snaps. Each producer gets eight contestants to handle, but usually by the end of the first night, they only have four to six left, given how well they produce their people. “Do not call Carol. I’ll figure it out. Where is my coffee?”

“I have it,” you say, finally pushing past Marie and walking to set it down on her desk. Agatha is dressed in a maroon pantsuit, her hair in a bun held together by two pens. She’s scribbling on a piece of paper while glancing between her open laptop screen and the television on the wall. You pause to look at what she’s watching. 

Agatha’s own TV inside her office are directly connected to the cameras that show Rio getting some last minute touch ups on hair and makeup. She’s wearing an earthy green dress that pairs nicely with her flawless pale skin and dark hair that falls a little past her shoulders. Her lipstick is a muted pink and she has on minimal eyeliner that accentuates her hazel eyes. 

“What do you think?” Agatha asks, watching you carefully. 

You look at her, surprised. It’s not often she asks you for your opinion. “I think she’s good, yeah. Everyone will be all over her.”

Agatha nods, musing on it. “I think you’re right. I’m going to need you to do a bit more around here tonight, with Carol gone. I’m going to have to step in and take over her eight so I need you near me at all times, ready to do whatever I need.” 

“Well, I mean…” you trail off. Are you really about to do this? Agatha raises an eyebrow at you, urging you on, and you swallow roughly. “I could produce.” 

She laughs like she’s actually taken aback. “Honey, are you asking me for a promotion right now? The body isn’t even cold yet—Carol hasn’t even left the building!” She leans back in her chair and her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek while she regards you with something akin to amusement. “Well, let’s hear your pitch.” 

You take a deep breath. “This is my third year on this show now, and I’ve really learned a lot about what goes on behind the scenes and I have ideas for this season. I’ve watched the way you manipulate and create situations and get results, and I know I can do it too. I’m a hard worker, I’m responsible, I know how to work with these people—I know people. I understand what they want, how they think, how to get them to think that they want something. I really want this job, Agatha, and I know I can do it.” 

“Bravo, honey,” she says with a hint of sarcasm and slowly claps. Your stomach squirms under her scrutinizing gaze. “How long have you been practicing that little speech?” 

You shrug and take a sudden interest in your shoes. 

“How badly do you want this?” 

Brows furrowing, you meet her blue eyes again. Is she asking what you would do for it? “I want it really badly, I mean, I’ll get on my knees and—”

“Sleeping your way to the top?” she coos condescendingly and your cheeks heat up, maybe at the implication that she’d think you would do that, but also at the thought of sleeping with her. “That’s so ten years ago of you.”

“—beg. I’d get on my knees and beg,” you finish and wipe your palms on your jeans. This is not going the way you wanted, and now you’re probably going to be fired. You can only imagine what your mom is going to say. 

But Agatha jerks her head to the bulletin boards with thirty-three headshots on it: Rio and the contestants. There’s a few bullet points written under each picture with the most important information about them. You made flashcards out of them once the roster was released so you could memorize them all. 

“You said you have ideas?” Agatha prompts. 

You could go through this in your sleep so you walk over to the boards and point at Rio. “Our suitress is a player, there’s no way around that. So we get her to play. She keeps five, six people on her line at all times, head over heels, but Rio’s telling them all the same thing: ‘Oh, baby, can’t wait to take you home to share my fortune with; whatever you want? It’s yours. You’re so perfect.’ Audiences can’t decide if they love or hate her, because she’s so charming.” 

Agatha doesn’t look impressed. “That’s the whole point of the show.”

It doesn’t even falter you. “Yes, but while Rio is off doing that, we introduce another lead. Someone much more real, someone who isn’t just looking at everyone as toys. Helen Troywick.” You point at the picture of the blonde with warm brown eyes and a crooked smile. “Pretty in an unsuspecting way, works with animals, donates to charity. Only been in one relationship her whole life.” 

“A foil to our bad boy,” Agatha says, nodding like she sees the vision. “You want Helen to—what? Steal the other contestants?” 

“I think a main part of this season could be the rivalry between Rio and Helen. Rio sees how authentic Helen is, and how easily she can win over everyone, so Rio has to change. Or, they get into a big fight. Either way, it’s a win for America.” 

“And what happens if Rio just eliminates her?” 

You shake your head. “She won’t. Because Helen is the one who’s going to win. Think about it. Helen is the perfect girl to help rehash your image, the perfect girl to bring home to mommy and daddy to get their approval. Rio won’t cut her because she knows that she needs her. And if she doesn’t see that, then we just have to make sure we do.” 

Agatha’s eyes narrow. “You know, I’m almost impressed, honey. And villains?” 

Every good season of reality television needs someone to root against. “I’ve picked out a few, but I think Wanda Maximoff could be a good one, or Cassandra Infidelis. Wanda is the token milf with twins, control freak, perfectionist but I sense some anger under all that. Start to take away her control? I bet she goes crazy. And Cassandra has had a lot of issues in her past so I don’t think it would be too hard to get her to the point where she snaps.” 

She chews on her bottom lip and then stands up out of her chair and walks over until she’s a foot in front of you. You’re completely frozen to the ground and you can feel her hot breath on your lips. 

It takes everything in you not to look at her mouth. 

“I can do it,” you whisper. “I know I don’t have any experience, but I want to learn. I want you to teach me—produce me.”

Agatha smirks knowingly and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Well done, honey. Looks like you just got yourself a promotion. Now get out there and do everything I say, exactly how I say.” 

“I will, I promise.” Tension crackles between you and electricity pulses under your skin. It feels like you just got everything you wanted while simultaneously selling your soul to the devil. 

Her voice lowers and her eyes rake over your body with a heat in them. “I’ll make something out of you, don’t worry.” 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs

[nmakii]

i blinked and suddenly, i had a valentine!

— valentines with nagi and sae

folow @itoshiluvbot …. number one sae lover she on the floor rn while i type this…

nagi never liked valentines days. florists would be more pushy than usual, insisting that he should buy a rose for that someone special, and wouldn’t let him cross to school. so troublesome, honestly. not to mention how a bunch of girls would be slipping treats and love letters into reo’s locker. they’d always try to vy for his attention, specially on valentines, so now he doesn’t have anyone to hang out with!

well, no one else but you. on days such as valentines, you’d complain all day about how you had no one who loved you, it was a bit bothersome hearing the same thing every year. so this year, he decided to fix that.

he went out of his way to buy you a tiny box of chocolate— one of those expensive brands with different flavors that all really just taste the same. nagi knew that it was more or less a scam for boyfriends who want to buy their girlfriend something special, but nagi had a feeling you’d pout if it was one of those cheap brands chocolates from the convenience store.

right. you’d be the one who would be sad. it definitely just wasn’t nagi unable to show you that he does care for you, and him doing it by buying you the more luxurious options.

…anyway, he also bought you those bottled milk teas you love so much. the ones that he also likes to take sips out since it’s so tasty. one taste of it, and he’s always back to your favorite convenience store where the two of you would hang out. he’d play his video games while resting his head on your shoulder, and you’d write your essay while eating your cup noodles. it was all so simple, yet so perfect.

“nagi, pleaseeeee… be my valenhuzz…” you whined, sitting beside him on the staircase as he played his video games. “what does that even mean? the slang lately is so weird.” he sighed. “hmmm… you’re right, i miss skibidi toilet.” you shrugged, all before groaning to yourself. god, valentines was seriously hell on earth for single people.

nagi nodded, knowing the cause of your grief, and— …put his game down?! he lightly dropped his console to the side, letting his character get pummeled with bullets. he dug his hands into the holes of his absurdly large hoodie pocket, and pulled out a box of luxury chocolate and a bottle of milk tea.

“…for you” he mumbled, handing the gifts over to you. your heart swelled like the strings of a quartet at a genuine act of kindness from nagi seishiro, and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him.

“oof!” he grunted, caught more than off-guard by your side hug. “nagi! you’re so freakin’ sweet!” you squealed, your cuteness aggression kicking in. all you want to do is just take a bite out of nagi! “…it wasn’t too bothersome. i didn’t want you to be sad this valentines.” he muttered.

“ahah! so, you are my valenhuzz!” you snickered proudly, pumping your fist. “i— umm, sure... as long as we just spend today in my dorm.” he shrugged, exasperatedly shaking his head. you were awfully pushy when it came to the things you wanted, and it seems that today, that thing was him. it was too bothersome to fight you when you were like this, so it was easier to just agree with you.

“really—?!” you asked, you didn’t really expect him to agree! “…yeah, i’m not busy today, so i’ll be your valentine.” he hummed tiredly.

ah… you never thought this would’ve happened, but at least you aren’t forever alone anymore.

“come over.” was the only thing sae said in his text. as you went up to his apartment door, you felt nervous. this could’ve been a number of things. a booty call? a date? all of this on valentines no less. this was the first year he hadn’t asked you to be his valentine. even after 5– almost 6— years together, you could never read his mind, he just texts too ominously.

you knock on the door. and without a beat skipped, sae opens the door. he’s in an apron, looking like a househusband. hahah, how cute of him!

sae quickly moves to the side, making way for you to enter. “come in.” he hums, leading you in. inside, a display is before you. an actual candlelight dinner. a fried chicken cutlet served on the side of a cheesy pesto pasta. god, just looking at it made your mouth water.

“happy valentines, amorcita.” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear as he rests his jaw on your shoulder. he observes the shocked look on your face and scrunches his eyebrows. “why do you look so surprised? i do something like this every year, don’t i?” his head tilts.

you couldn’t really refute him— maybe your reason for thinking otherwise was a bit silly now. “i mean… yeah..! but, you didn’t ask me to be your valentines this year…” you pout, frowning like a child. sae scoffed, “you’re my valentines every year. why would it change this year?”

he raised an eyebrow, small creases forming at the edge of his lips as he tries to hide the smile on his lips. he uses his thumb to slide along the sharp edge of your jaw, admiring how the flames shone in the reflection of your eyes. “you’re being silly, amorcita. but if it makes you feel better…” he sighs, “will you be my valentine?” he asked.

you laughed at the seriousness of his tone. no matter the situation, he had a voice that made you want to listen attentively as if it’d be the last thing he says to you. you nodded softly,

“yes, i’ll be your valentine, sae.” you breathlessly sighed, humming your words as it reverberates back onto his lips in a soft, meaningful kiss.

[random2908]

My grandfather's grandparents were killed in a pogrom in 1920. The political setup was:

The Austro-Hungarian Empire had collapsed during WWI. So coming out of the war there was no real government of Hungary.

The intelligentsia class (doctors, lawyers, teachers) was somewhat Jewish, and somewhat communist, so a lot of the communist leadership in Budapest was Jewish. That was one of two major factions trying to create a government in Hungary starting from 1919 and over the next few years.

The other major faction was the far-right alliance of monarchists (mostly unpopular and pushed to the fringes of the movement) and proto-fascist nationalists (who would become actual fascists a few years later, once that movement fully congealed in Italy and then spread to surrounding nations).

To win hearts and minds, the proto-fascists claimed that they had the Hungarian people's best interests in mind much more than the communists, because the communists were Jewish.

To counter that propaganda--outside of Budapest itself where a lot of the communists were actually Jewish--the communist movement decided to kill as many Jews as it could find and redistribute all their property, to prove that they were more anti-Jewish than the fascists. The fascists thought this sounded like great fun, and so a contest was born, the two groups roving through the Hungarian countryside and killing as many Jews as they could.

It happened that it was the communists, rather than the fascists, who killed my great-great grandparents (beat them to death). I suppose this was inevitable: they were the head servants at a count's estate, which meant that they were among the least-poor people in a county where everyone was poor, so they were prime targets for wealth redistribution. (The count's property was untouched, because he was a noble, so it was all his by divine right.)

------------------------------

As for Trump, supporting Israel is not the same as supporting Jews. Most pro-Israel voters in the US are Evangelical Christians; there are more than twice as many Zionist Evangelical Christians in the US than there are Jews in the entire world. And the reason they're pro-Israel is because Israel needs to exist as a Jewish country in order for their apocalypse to start, at which point they (the Evangelical Christians) will be raptured safely to heaven and everyone else will die horribly and go to hell. (This sounds completely insane, but it's so central a part of their religion that they're happy to talk about it openly, if you ask them why they support Israel; they won't even bother hiding behind other platitudes or anything.)

But as someone above pointed out, Trump sure did say threatening things about Jews during his election campaign a few months ago. And he redefined Jews as a separate "nationality" during his first presidency--othering us and implying that we aren't fully American. Whatever he thinks of Israel, he is a danger to Jews.

(And honestly, what Trump thinks of Israel is that Bibi is a man very like himself. Someone who would go to jail for fraud and corruption if he lost his political hold, and is willing to do any unethical thing, up to and including dismantling democracy and killing large numbers of people, to evade justice. So Trump is personally friends with Bibi and supports him in every unethical and immoral act. Additionally, as evidenced by Trump's attempt at "Muslim bans" in his first presidency, he thinks dehumanizing Muslims is at the very least politically expedient, and possibly even something he personally believes in although it's always hard to tell what Trump really believes; and so will jump on opportunities to do so. None of this makes Trump any sort of ally to Jews.)

“trump isn’t antisemitic bc he supports israel” he supports whatever israel can do for him and the united states (in that order). “okay but he supports jews in the united states!” he is using us as a political tool as goyim often do. if he actually cared about dismantling antisemitism, he’d realize that superficially uplifting jews while leading a crusade against “dei” will only strengthen the left’s resentment of us. he doesn’t give a fuck about jews i promise lol

[withlove-xixi]

— SPENDING SPREE: sylus x reader

ᥫ cw: sugar daddy sylus .. or at least, he's trying to be ᥫ wc: 817 ★ probably not the first person to have written something like this w sylus but ... but i want him so badly ... cross posted on ao3

— IT ALL STARTED AS A TREAT.

[♡]: “here, sweetie,” he had said as he handed you his credit card, “get yourself something nice.” and you did get yourself something nice, a couple of different pastries that had gone on sale and a cold drink since it had been hot when you went out. though, sylus decides that’s far from enough.

IT STARTED OUT SMALL, REALLY SMALL. Simple things like treating you out to lunch whenever you two went out, always having your favorite snacks and drinks when you’d come over the base. Then things quickly started to escalate.

It went exactly downhill when he had simply handed you his credit card, smirking as he busied himself with paperwork and waved you off, suggesting you treat yourself to something nice when you go out to run some minor errands. And you, somewhat skeptical from his sudden show of trust, hesitantly take the card from between his fingers and tuck it safely into your wallet.

Now, Sylus has fully expected you to go all out, after all, he knew you were well-aware of his wealth and his willingness to do anything for you; no matter what you wanted, Sylus would make sure it was handed to you on a silver platter within the next five minutes. Safe to say he was a little disappointed when you had come back to the base with a bagful of assorted pastries, a half-empty drink in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face.

“Is this… that something sweet I had told you to treat yourself too…?” He asks as you sit yourself on his desk, nodding with a wide grin on your face.

“I got bread!” You announced cheerfully, digging through the plastic bag to show off your spoils.

“You got… bread…” Sylus repeats incredulously. His hands instinctively rest on your thighs as he rolls his chair closer to you.

“They were on sale too since it was midday, so I ended up buying a lot so it’d be worth it!” You say, pulling out one of the pastries packaged in plastic with cute animals on them.

“On… sale…” He repeats again, eye twitching slightly as he stares at the marked down price tag stuck on the packaging.

“Mhm!” You hum, oblivious to your boyfriend’s annoyance. “Look, this one’s shaped like a bear—”

“This is nice and all, sweetie, but was this all you got?” He asks, caressing the skin of your thighs as you blink at him.

“Hm? Oh, no.” And for a split second Sylus is hopeful. “I got this drink too since it was hot outside.” And just like that Sylus is back to being mildly annoyed.

Honestly, some part of him told him he should’ve expected this. You were never one to spend much, be it your money or his. Sylus isn’t all that sure if it’s because there just wasn’t much you desired or if it was simply because you didn’t like spending money, but either way, every instance he’s had the chance to offer to pay for your things, to buy that bag that been sitting in your cart on a tab left open for months now, to get you that book you had been wanting to read, to take you on lavish trips to the places you had only been dreaming of going, but you’ve shut him down every time. It was always a “maybe next time, Sy” or “I’d feel bad though” or “well, yeah, the bag is cute, but I don’t really want it, it was just on sale so I added it to my cart.” Sylus had thought that maybe giving you the liberty to spend his money on your own as you please would finally get you to loosen up a bit when it came to spending, but as you pull out a loaf of milk bread from the plastic bag with a content look on your face makes him think maybe it would take a bit more than that to properly encourage you.

“Sweetie,” he calls gently, pulling your attention away from the bread and pastries you had been pulling out of the plastic and arranging neatly on his desk. “I’m glad you’re happy with what you’ve gotten, but is that really all you want? Did you not want anything else?”

You hum for a bit, thinking back to the shops you had passed by and all the things you had seen, but inevitably you shake your head, pouting slightly. “Hm, no, the bread was it.” You reply softly. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Sylus sighs softly and shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong, kitten. I’m… just curious. If there was anything in the world you could get, what would it be?”

“Anything?” You ask and he nods. “Without any consequences…?” You ask again and he nods a bit more enthusiastically.

Sylus lets you think for a moment, fingers tracing patterns on your thighs as you look around the room, searching for your answer. His lips twitch, ready to smile because he thinks he’s finally cracked the code.

“Well… there was a tiramisu cake at the bakery earlier…”

Maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t like spending or didn’t have much you wanted… maybe… maybe you just liked things like bread.