#I love him that's most of what I have to say about him

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Some may be apprehensive that Severance won’t portray Mark’s interaction with Helena in the tent as the sexual assault it was. But not only will they — they already are.

Mark’s behavior toward Helly has completely changed. He doesn’t sit next to her at Irving’s funeral. He shuts down attempts at conversation with offhand, vague snarky comments and a defiantly blank facial expression. When Helly knocks on the door to the bathroom, his eyes dart around like an animal cornered. Where he once would have slowed down for her in the hallway so they could talk, he walks much faster ahead. He’s trying as hard as possible to avoid her. To ignore her. To run away.

Now contrast this with his treatment of “Helly” when she first walked out of the elevator in season two. He waited for her to arrive! He was so relieved she’d come back! And when they were walking down that hallway and he was explaining the situation with Ms. Casey, he stopped mid-stride, turned to her with a smile on his face, and said “Look, Helly—“

He never got to finish that sentence. But some say he was going to confess that though his outie had a wife, his affections lay with her. And I think they’re right.

So why is he acting so differently now? The answer is obvious: “Because they are smarter than us, okay? They know everything.”

After the assault, Mark likely feels like a complete idiot. He spent so much of season one deconstructing his beliefs and breaking free from Lumon’s propaganda. And the minute he believes he’s immune to their lies and no longer a corporate slave, he is taken advantage of and hoodwinked by the very figurehead of said company, masking as someone he loves.

A symbol of Lumon convinced him he was safe. Tricked him. Invaded him in the most intimate way possible, with him completely oblivious, “like an idiot.” Right when he thought everything might be okay.

So maybe Lumon’s right. Maybe there’s no point in fighting. Because if he was stupid enough to not realize his own friend was being possessed by her billionaire doppelgänger, then maybe Lumon is correct about innies being nothing more than pawns. Maybe they are people, and he really is… not. (That’s how Helena treated him, anyway.)

And if that’s the case, of course he wants to give up looking for Ms. Casey and lose himself in work! For a moment he thought he was a human being, deserving of autonomy over his own body and capable of something more than sitting behind a desk — but his assault sends that all crashing down. He is an extension of his outie, made for work and nothing more. Going beyond that gets dangerous. That’s what got Irving killed… and him in Helena’s tent. And Helly? He cannot trust Helly. As far as he knows, his only confirmed moment with Helly since the OTC was when he was holding her in his arms, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Why should it be Helly coming back to the severed floor? If Helena could trick him before, who says she can’t learn from her past mistakes and trick him again over and over? Mark refuses to be humiliated and hurt after last time, so he avoids her (and Dylan!) and puts up a barrier of cool, snarky indifference — just like how he deals with grief.

But we know that indifference is a mask. When Milchick walked out of the elevator after revealing he knew about him and Helena Eagan, Mark had no one to pretend for — and he went completely stiff, blankly wide-eyed in an expression extremely reminiscent of his usual innie self. Whatever the reasons for this, one thing’s for sure: Mark does deeply care about what happened in the tent. And at least for now, he will lose himself in Cold Harbor to cope with it.

Lumon certainly got their productive worker back. But good Lord… at what cost?

[luvvictoria]

I've been thinking abt a poly!tf141 with a fem!reader who like is from the country side AND I'M CRACKING, OH LAWD!!!

Task Force 141 had seen you kill a man from 700 meters away. They had seen you tear through enemy lines with the precision of a seasoned warrior, your movements deadly and efficient. But what they hadn't seen—what they couldn’t wrap their heads around—was the life you returned to after every mission.

Because while Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz spent their leave in safe houses, military bases, or the occasional urban apartment, you?

You went home.

To the countryside.

To your massive, luxurious farmhouse nestled in the hills of a quiet village, where the air smelled of fresh hay, wildflowers, and the occasional whiff of cow.

And when TF141 finally visited, they were not prepared.

The First Time They Saw the Farm : "What the fuck—" Ghost had been the first to say it when you pulled up to your estate in an old pickup truck, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you parked in front of a sprawling wooden house with a red-tiled roof.

There were animals everywhere.

A massive black and white cow lazily chewed its cud near the wooden fence. Chickens and roosters strutted about like they owned the place. A gray donkey stared at them with judgmental eyes. Two ducks waddled past as if they were on a mission. Dogs barked excitedly at the sight of you, tails wagging. A cat lounged on the porch, stretching in the warm sun.

And then—a fucking horse trotted up to you, nuzzling into your palm like a puppy.

"Price," Gaz whispered. "She has a fucking farm."

"A fancy one at that," Soap muttered, still stunned.

"You lot gonna stand there all day?" You grinned, tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder. "Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready."

They were bewildered. They had spent years with you, fighting side by side, seeing you covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder—and now you were leading them up the front porch of your cozy countryside mansion like a perfect little housewife.

And the worst part? They liked it.

You, The Deadly Soldier and The Perfect Housewife

Soap had expected you to relax on your leave. Maybe sleep in, drink some tea, read a book.

But no.

You were up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of bed before any of them could pull you back in, dressed in overalls and a white tank top, heading out to feed the animals like it was just another mission.

"Morning, sweetheart," Price murmured, leaning against the doorway as he watched you toss hay to the horses.

"Morning, Captain," you teased, kissing his scruffy cheek before moving on to collect eggs from the hens.

Ghost watched in silence, arms crossed, as you scolded a particularly feisty rooster. "You peck me one more time, and I swear to God, I’m making soup outta you."

Gaz almost choked on his coffee when you turned around and gave them the sweetest, most innocent smile.

"You boys want breakfast?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a massive wooden table in your warm, sunlit kitchen, eating fresh farm eggs, homemade bread, and smoked bacon.

And Soap was ready to propose.

Domesticity With a Side of Chaos

Price: Loves sitting on the porch with a cigar, watching you work. He helps with repairs, fixes fences, and absolutely adores the peacefulness of your home.

Ghost: The animals are terrified of him at first (except the donkey—the donkey hates him). But the barn cats adopt him, curling up in his lap whenever he sits down.

Soap: Thinks farm life is the best thing ever. He learns how to milk a cow, names every single chicken, and gets way too attached to a piglet.

Gaz: "Babe, I love you, but this rooster is evil." (He got chased one too many times.)

And at night?

After a long day of farm work, you slip into something soft and lacy, curl up in their arms, and remind them that you’re not just a soldier, not just a farmer—you’re theirs.

They Never Want to Leave

By the end of their stay, not a single one of them wants to go back.

"You sure we have to leave?" Soap pouts, feeding the ducks.

"Darlin’," Price murmurs against your neck one night, arms wrapped around you in bed, "Ever thought about retirin’ here? With us?"

Ghost doesn’t say it out loud, but when he watches you laugh, your hands covered in flour as you bake bread, he knows he never wants to be anywhere else.

And Gaz?

He just sighs, watching the sunset over the hills. "I never thought I’d say this, but…I think I’m in love with farm life."

They were all in love. With you. With this. With the life they could have, if only they stayed.

Maybe one day.

For now, they’d enjoy every stolen moment in their countsyde paradise. But what if we make thing spicy ? A little bit, at least.

Ghost Was The First To Break

Ghost had held strong. Longer than the others.

While Soap got weak-kneed watching you bend over to pick up hay, and while Gaz couldn’t stop staring at your thighs in those tiny denim shorts, Ghost had kept his cool.

Until that damn sundress.

White. Light. Flowy. Just enough fabric to tempt, but never satisfy—clinging to your curves, slipping off your shoulders as you carried a bucket of water to the horses.

He had been cleaning his rifle on the porch, but his grip tightened the moment he saw the fabric sway with your every step.

And then?

You had the audacity to look over your shoulder and wink at him.

He dropped the rifle.

Soap Lost It In The Barn

Soap had always been shameless about his attraction to you.

But you?

You were even worse.

It was an accident—(was it?)—when you walked into the barn one night, looking for something. The others were inside, drinking whiskey in the house, but Soap had been alone, brushing down one of your horses.

And then he saw you.

Wet.

Covered in rain.

Your thin white blouse clung to you, completely see-through, nipples pebbled against the fabric.

"Lass," he had rasped, watching as you closed the barn door behind you, stepping forward, voice all honeyed and sweet.

"Johnny," you had purred, voice dripping with something that wasn’t innocence, "I’m cold."

He snapped.

The horse had seen things that night.

Price Was The Most Dangerous

Price was a man of control.

A man of restraint.

A man who knew how to bide his time.

But you?

You tested him.

You liked to push. You liked to see how far you could go before he gave in.

And God help you—you found his limit.

It was late. The others were asleep. You were making tea in the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach a mug from the top shelf.

Price had walked in just as your nightgown slipped up your thighs.

It wasn’t fair.

The soft, white cotton. The little lace trim. The way your bare legs looked so smooth, so inviting—and the sleepy way you turned, so unaware of what you were doing to him.

You looked up at him, mug in hand, and smiled. "You want some tea, Cap?"

And then—his hands were on your hips.

Voice rough.

"You know damn well what I want, sweetheart."

Gaz Had It The Worst

Gaz?

Gaz was a goner the first time he saw you in nothing but boots and his shirt.

You had come in from the field soaked in sweat, hair messy, thighs speckled with dirt. You had tossed your muddy clothes into the laundry room, grabbed his green tactical shirt, and walked around the house like it wasn’t driving him insane.

"Babe," he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, watching you stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up to dangerous levels.

You blinked. All innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Gaz was a patient man. A respectful man. A man who was about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Come here."

You smirked, walking over slowly, pressing your hands to his chest.

"You’re so easy to rile up," you giggled.

His hand wrapped around your throat.

"And you’re about to learn what happens when you push too far."

[wriokitty]

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

And you? You’re not good at letting go of grudges. The end result is a pretty nasty predicament—you’re mad at him, he’s mad that you’re mad at him, and you’re mad that he’s mad that you’re mad at him. It’s a full circle. The start point and the end point meet and you just don’t know where to begin.

He could always apologize, of course—that would be a lovely start. But he won’t. (He really should, though, you think. It’s his fault).

“Hey,” he says gruffly, “scoot over. ‘S my side.”

You’re taking up the entire bed. A petty, childish, and last resort sort of method to keep him away from you for the night because you don’t think you can handle dealing with him in such close proximity. And of course, you certainly won’t be taking the couch, so that naturally leaves only one option: him.

“Hey. Did’ya hear me?” He scowls, looking at you with deeply creased, deeply furrowed brows and an intense glare that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face. You refrain, however—but only because someone has to be the emotionally intelligent one of the two of you, and it certainly won’t be him. “I said move over—I’m tired as fuck and I wanna sleep.”

“Then sleep,” comes your unhelpful reply.

“They teach you this in the first grade,” he smiles thinly, eyes narrowed into slits as he gives you a sarcastic look, “but you actually have to lay down to sleep. Can’t do that if you hog the entire damn bed.”

“I’m sure they taught you what a couch was in first grade, too,” you counter—and as if to double down on your juvenile, stubborn display of spitefulness, you angle your body to take up more of his side of the bed. “Go ahead and use that if you wanna lay down so bad.”

“And they also teach you in first grade that the couch is bad for your damn fucking back, so move the fuck—”

You cut him off sharply with a rather snobby tone. “That’s not in the first grade curriculum. I don’t know what first grade you went to, but maybe that would explain some of the loose screws in your head.”

He’s had enough. Sukuna is not good at apologizing. And on most days, he’s not that good at being a boyfriend, either. Not by the general standards, anyway. He doesn’t say sweet words or coddle you very much. Sometimes, he’s awkward about affection and doesn’t quite know how to initiate physical touch. And, on most days, he can’t communicate his feelings properly, so they tend to come out wrong. Typically, that manifests in rough, unintentionally harsh words.

He’s not proud of it, but it’s not a switch he can exactly flip off in one day.

But one thing he is good at, however, is worming his way into your soft spot, anyway. It’s a very peculiar, very distinct part of you that for some unknown reason, opens up for him and puts up with his bullshit regardless of what that bullshit is. Fifty percent soft, sweet affection, and one hundred percent stupid, foolish devotion.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He debates it for a moment—because sometimes even Sukuna doesn’t dare test your limits—before he ultimately decides to go for whatever plan he’s scheming. It turns out his plan involves all two-hundred-something pounds of his bulky, muscled figure draping itself over your body with an exaggerated sigh from him. You flinch, gasping in shock, and he simply gets himself comfortable.

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

Yet, somehow, he’s even worse at reading the room, evidently. You clearly don’t want him near you, but here he is, arguably closer to you now than he is on the average night.

“Sukuna!” You hiss, trying to push him off as you grumble under his weight, “get off! You asshole, you’re too heavy for—”

“Heavy?” He gasps, “this is considered body negativity.”

“Oh fuck off,” you scowl, “you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what, exactly?” He asks smugly.

Despite it all, there’s something surprisingly gentle about the way he lays on you. His head is perfectly situated to rest against your collarbone, his hands delicately have your hips in their hold, and half of his body is slotted between your legs to keep a good brunt of his weight off of you.

More than anything, he’s a weighted blanket than he is an aggravating boyfriend that you’re trying to avoid.

“Is everything a joke to you?” You glare.

He glares back. Equally as hard, equally as intense, but infinitely more infatuated underneath it all. “No,” he grumbles, “just don’t like goin’ to bed mad. So ‘m here whether you like it or not.”

Some part of you can’t help but soften at that. A small, fractional, tiny amount of you thinks…oh. Oh.

(And yes, there are certainly better ways to express: I would like to go to bed without being mad at each other because I love you too much, but he’s not perfect. Nowhere near it. That much is a known fact quite abundantly by now. But you know what he means, and in you’re being honest with yourself…well, it’s enough.

He’s always enough, even when he seems like he shouldn’t be.)

“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble stubbornly.

Your arms wrap around him tightly.

“And I’m still fuckin’ tired and sleepy. What’s your point?”

He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and inhales your scent.

You’re mad at Sukuna. And he’s tired of it. Sometimes, he’s not good at apologizing, and sometimes you’re stubborn about accepting it. In the end, your limbs tangle in bed like this, anyway. You think that’s the only part that really matters.

You sigh, pulling up the blanket to cover yourselves. (Mainly you. He just happens to be there, too, of course. But this isn’t for his warmth, too—it’s just for yours. How cold he is or isn’t through the night is of no concern to you.)

“Night,” he mumbles quietly after some time, “and…and sorry, or whatever. I…well, I just…you know?”

You snort softly at his attempt, giving in and letting your fingers weave into his soft, familiar strands of hair while he relaxes at the feeling.

“We’ll talk in the morning. I love you.”

He smiles a little into your neck. It’s barely-there, but it undoubtedly exists.

“Love you too.”

“A lot, right?” You ask cheekily.

It’s quiet for a moment. You think he’s going to tell you to shut up, or just go to sleep, already. Instead, there’s a hushed mumble of, “yeah. A lot. Now goodnight.”

(You fall asleep rather quickly after that—and admittedly, much easier than you would have if his body was on the couch and not with you.)

Cliche fights before bed that end with a begrudging petty cuddle sesh are my guilty pleasure. My crack if you will

[misctf]

The Cure for a Break-Up

“I still can’t believe it.” Josh mumbles, flipping through old pictures on his phone, “I really didn’t see it coming.”

Tanner looked up from his videogame and shrugged, “Dude, it’s a break up. Shit happens.” He scratches his wiry pit hairs, scrunching his nose at the smell of his own BO, “How long are you gonna go on about it?” Josh glares at his roommate, “Just sayin’ dude, gotta bang and go. Keep it simple.”

“Yeah, but Haley...” Josh sighs, “You wouldn’t get it. She wasn’t like one of your random hookups. I met her in high school... We’ve been dating for years... I was gonna propose when we graduated... I...” Tears threatened to fall.

“Fuck dude!” Tanner slams his controlled down, “I fuckin’ lost.” He glares up at his roommate, “You’re killin’ my vibe dude.”

He walks over to Josh, “Wipe those tears and man the fuck up.” He digs his finger into Josh’s chest, “I could handle a few days of this. Shit, we didn’t say anything when you fucked up on the field last week. But now? It’s gettin’ old roomie.”

“Fuck off Tanner, I...”

“Live a little bro. You’ve been banging the same chick for the last 7 years.” Tanner smirks, “You have a chance to really enjoy yourself now. Be free, bro.”

Josh let out a grunt as Tanner grabs a fistful of his lean pecs and gives them a firm squeeze.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Josh recoils and moves away from his roommate, “I’m not into that... Huh?”

Josh can’t help be feel an inexplainable warmth radiating out from his pecs. He brings a hand to them, the feeling of the fabric against his sensitive nipples causing him to moan. He looks up towards Tanner, who is sporting a smug smirk.

“What did you.... oooooohhhhhhh...” Josh moans as his lean pecs start to swell.

He can feel them press against the fabric of his shirt, straining against it. The two mounds of flesh continue to grow, forming into a pair of squeezable muscle tits. And as Josh lifts his shirt to inspect them, another moan escapes his mouth. Just the feeling of the cool air against his nips and bounceable pecs was enough to cause his dick to stir.

“Oh fuck...” He plays with his pec, biting his lip, “Dude... what...”

But there’s more to it. Josh looks as his hand seems to thicken and become meatier. Muscle packs on to his forearms and travels up to his shoulders, giving his arms an impressive glow-up. The firm muscles of his bis and tris jutting out, putting even more strain on his tightening shirt. Even his shoulders start to widen, causing his shirt to ride up and expose his stomach, which is contorting and shifting.

“This isn’t possible... Tanner...” Josh grabs his head and closes his eyes, “Tanner I can’t...”

“J-man, ya gotta shut up for once.” Tanner mutters, “Most men would fuckin’ kill for a pair of tits like that.” He walks over and grabs a fistful, “And my man, this is just the start.”

Josh lets out another grunt as his torso expands and widens. Each pulsation sending a wave of pain and pleasure through Josh’s expanding body. Through half-lidded eyes, he looks down and grunts as his shirt finally rips away. His eyes widen in surprise. A red tank-top covers his torso, although truthfully it did little to hide what was underneath. His fat pecs jutted out around it- unable to be contained. And he could appreciate the itching as tiny hairs emerged from his once clean-shaven skin.

“Give ‘em a squeeze, you know you want to.” Tanner chuckles.

“Fuck yeah...” Josh mutters, realizing he sounds drunk. He brings his meaty hand to his pecs, giving them a tender, loving squeeze, “Oh shit...” He scrunches his nose as the musky smell from his pits tickles his nose, “I smell...”

“Fuckin’ great man.” Tanner interjects, “C’mon, give it a whiff.”

And Josh raises his increasingly muscular arm and does just that. The smell of his own musk sets off something primal in his shrinking brain and he grabs his cock with his meaty hand. Memories and images of himself shift within his mind, where an increasing acceptance of these changes blossoms. Memories of date nights turn into one-night fuck sessions. His dreams of a family shift into a series of kinks and ways to get off.

“Tanner...Please...Don’t....” Josh grunts, a swelling sense of pride in his muscles emerging. A total disregard for anyone else burning away his capacity for deep emotional connections.

"Bro, I told ya." Tanner replies, "Its a lot better this way. Trust me."

Josh wants to argue. To tell him he's wrong. But he realizes with a sense of increasing dread he doesn't recall anything different. No memory of his committed relationship. No desire for anything different. He bites his lip- savoring the feel of his body. His masculinity. His ability to get what he wanted, when he wanted.

“Fuck... why didn’t you do this to me earlier?” He breaths out, continuing to pump his engorged member- its girth and length growing in his calloused hand, “You fuckin’ held out on me, bro.”

“Nah man, I don’t think you wanted this.” Tanner shrugs, “After all you and Haley...”

“Who?” Josh’s voice ragged.

Tanner smirks, “Exactly, broski.”

Josh grunts and pulls the tank-top off- his musk filling the room. He grunts at the site of his meaty pecs, firm abdominal muscles, and the blanket of hair covering his growing body.

“I’m a stud.” He mutters, “A beast.”

“Yeah, yeah Josh.” Tanner replies.

“No for real, dude. Take a fuckin’ look.”

Josh moans as a tattoo becomes engraved in his meaty pec and arm. He looks at it, a grin spreading across his face. He firmly grabs his cock and falls to the couch, pumping relentlessly. He was made for this. A bull with a massive cock. Anyone... everyone would be lucky to pleasure it. He throws his head back, not even registering as his jaw squared out, his eyes dull, and light stubble emerges on his cheeks.

“Oh god yes.” His voice is deeper, carrying an arrogant air to it, “I’m gonna... I’m....”

He sees his body. The muscle, the hair. The smell of his ripe pits. His massive dick. It felt so right... so good... A deep love for himself bathed his neurons. No one was as good as him.

"Ahhhhhh fuck yes...."

Ropes of sticky cum shoot from his monster of a cock, coating his hairy chest and abdomen. After a few ragged breaths, his dull eyes open and he grins.

“Feel better?” Tanner asks, throwing Josh his tank-top.

“The fuck you talkin’ about?” Josh catches it and wipes away his seed before wearing the tank-top, “Never felt anything but great.”

“Sure stud.” Tanner sits on the couch, getting back into his videogame.

The two sit in silence, while Josh scrolls through his phone with one hand and paws at his cock with the other.  

“Fuck yeah.” Josh smirks and stands up, “That fairy from econ wants to worship these.” He gives his pec a bounce, “Always knew he wanted to. He’s lucky I’m feeling generous.” Another ding on his phone and his smirk widens, “And that slut from the cheer team wants to meet up later.”

“Look at you go.” Tanner remains focused on his game.

“Pfft have fun with your game, bro.” Josh mumbles, “Wastin’ your time if you ask me.”

Tanner watches as Josh leaves, “Fuckin’ finally. Just need to rank up...” He continues to play his game, no longer bothered by any distractions.

Meanwhile, Josh sat in his car. He always liked to send his next fuck-toy a preview of what was to come. With a satisfied smirk, and a new lease on life, Josh revved his engine and headed off.

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Heartslabyul

Go here for other dorms

Riddle Rosehearts

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you approach Riddle. He’s seated in the Heartslabyul garden, engrossed in a book, completely unaware that his life is about to change forever.

Your hands are sweating. Fantastic. Nothing says “I love you” like handing someone a heart-shaped box drenched in pure nervousness.

“Riddle,” you say, voice admirably steady despite the chaos in your soul.

He looks up, eyes widening slightly at your presence. “Good afternoon. What brings you here?”

You very calmly thrust the box toward him like a knight presenting a sacred relic. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I made this for you.”

The change is immediate.

Riddle freezes, his entire face flaring up like a traffic light on its final warning. His fingers twitch as he hesitantly accepts the box, staring at it as if you’d just handed him the crown of a foreign kingdom.

“You… made this? For me?” His voice is slightly higher than usual. The poor guy is barely holding it together.

You nod, feeling your heart slam against your ribs. “Yeah. And, um… I like you. A lot.”

For a second, you’re terrified he might actually faint. His ears are burning, his posture unnaturally stiff as he processes your words in real time. You can practically see the gears in his head jamming.

Then, slowly, carefully, he sets the box on the table beside him, takes a breath, and stands.

And before you can react, he takes your hand in his, bows slightly, and presses the lightest, most delicate kiss against your knuckles.

It’s so soft. So warm. So utterly, devastatingly polite—yet scandalously romantic—that your brain completely short-circuits.

He lifts his gaze to yours, still impossibly red but full of something achingly genuine. “I… accept your feelings,” he murmurs, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “And I—I… I like you as well."

You’re gone. This is too much. His flustered sincerity should not be this cute.

Riddle clears his throat, attempting to compose himself—but he absolutely fails because his blush is creeping down his neck now. “A-Anyway. Shall we have tea together? I’d… like to enjoy this properly.”

You nod, still speechless.

Somehow, this went even better than expected.

Trey Clover

You’re standing in an empty classroom, clutching your carefully wrapped box of chocolates like it’s a lifeline. The room is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock and the absolute hurricane of nerves raging inside you.

Trey stands across from you, looking as effortlessly cool and put-together as ever, the picture of someone who probably never panics over something as simple as chocolate. Which is unfair, actually, because you’ve been agonizing over this moment.

“I, uh…” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I made these for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Trey blinks in surprise before his expression softens into something warm. “Oh?” He takes the box with careful hands, like it’s something precious. “You made these yourself?”

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to watch him open it, your stomach twisting into a knot. “Yeah. I know they’re probably not as good as what you make, but—”

“You’re nervous.”

You flinch when you feel the lightest touch under your chin, his fingers tilting your face up. You hadn’t even noticed him stepping closer.

Your breath catches when you meet his eyes. They’re so gentle, full of something soft and unreadable, and suddenly, this moment feels a lot bigger than just some chocolates.

“You really think I’d compare this to something I bake?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing just below your eyes before dropping away. “You made this for me. That alone makes it special.”

Your heart is going through it.

“I—” You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts before you combust. “Trey, I like you. That’s… that’s why I wanted to do this.”

There’s a small pause. And then—his smile.

It’s real, not his usual easygoing grin but something genuine, touched, and just a little bit shy.

“I like you too,” he says, his voice warm as honey.

Oh. Oh.

You barely have time to process it before he straightens up, still holding the chocolates in one hand while the other slides into his pocket. “Come on,” he says, nodding toward the door. “Let me walk you back.”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His smile quirks at the edges, teasing now. “Gotta make sure you don’t run off before I can ask you out properly, right?”

Your heart is doomed.

Cater Diamond

You find Cater in a quiet hallway between classes, leaning against the wall and idly scrolling through his phone. The second he notices you approaching, he perks up, flashing you an easy grin.

"Hey, hey! Fancy seeing you here." His eyes flicker down to the heart-shaped box in your hands, and his grin turns teasing. "Ooooh, what’s this? Someone’s got a Valentine?”

Your stomach is doing backflips. But you force yourself to hold out the box, pretending you’re not dying inside.

“For you,” you manage, voice steady despite the heat creeping up your neck.

Cater blinks. Once. Twice. His usual playful energy pauses, just for a second.

“For me?” His voice is light, but there’s something in it—something careful. “Like… me, me?”

You nod, heart hammering. “Yeah. I like you, Cater. That’s… why I made them.”

And for the first time ever, you see Cater Diamond speechless.

He just stands there, staring at you like you’ve just told him the greatest plot twist of the century. Then, all at once, his grin returns—brighter, realer, and just a little bit unsteady.

“You’re serious?” He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “Like, you—out of everyone—actually like me?”

“Obviously?” You shift the box toward him, raising a brow. “You gonna take these or what?”

The teasing snaps him out of it, and he laughs, reaching forward to grab the chocolates and, in the same movement, presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

Your brain blue-screens.

“There,” he says, still grinning as he pulls back. “A little thank-you for totally making my day.”

You open your mouth—whether to yell, combust, or actually form words, you’re not sure—but he’s already linking his arm with yours, spinning you both toward the exit.

“Sooo, where do you wanna go for our first date?”

“What—wait, first date?”

“Duh!” He holds up the chocolates with a wink. “You confess, I accept, we date—it’s the natural order of things.”

An absolute success.

Ace Trappola

You don’t even get the chance to find Ace before Ace finds you.

"Whoa, what’s this?" His voice is all mock innocence as he suddenly appears at your side, eyes locked onto the box of chocolates in your hands. He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s just witnessed a scandal unfold. "No way. You? Giving out chocolates? Some poor soul's gonna get victimized today."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Victimized?"

"Yeah, y'know—" He gestures vaguely, rocking back on his heels. "Swept up, led on, utterly ruined for anyone else. Tragic, really."

He’s dying of jealousy. You can see it. Feel it. Smell it in the air like cheap cologne.

You roll your eyes, already fed up. "Well, if you’re so concerned, maybe I should just eat them myself."

Ace laughs. "What, you’d steal your own chocolates? That’s cold."

"Not really, considering they were meant for you."

Silence.

Ace stares at you, frozen mid-smirk. His brain just blue-screened. You can see the processing bar loading at 2% completion.

"...Huh?"

You sigh, shifting the box in your hands. "I made them for you, dumbass. But if you don’t want them, I guess—"

You don’t get to finish that sentence because suddenly, Ace is clutching the box to his chest like it’s the last treasure on earth.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up—who said I didn’t want them? I want them!" He’s grinning now, the brightest, cockiest, happiest grin you’ve ever seen on him. "You serious? You really made these for me?"

You cross your arms. "Yeah. But you’re being a brat, so I kinda regret it now."

"Nah, too late! No take-backs!" He laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. Then—softer, realer, a little bit breathless— "You really like me, huh?"

You hesitate, suddenly flustered under the weight of his gaze. "...Yeah."

His fingers tighten around the box. "Good. 'Cause I like you too."

Your breath catches.

Ace tilts his head, there’s a warmth in his eyes now—something soft, relieved, like he’s been waiting for this. "Thought you’d never notice, y’know? Been here the whole time, just waiting."

You scoff, rolling your eyes to cover how fast your heart is beating. "And yet you were so ready to tease me about it."

"Of course!" He throws an arm around your shoulders, grinning like he’s just won the lottery. "What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t mess with you at least a little?"

"Boyfriend?!"

"Uh, yeah? You confessed, I accepted, now you’re stuck with me forever. Basic math."

Mission accomplished (You think?)

Deuce Spade

It’s just another casual hangout, nothing out of the ordinary—except for the heart-shaped box of chocolates you’ve been hiding behind your back like it’s a live explosive.

Deuce is sitting on your couch, totally unaware of the internal chaos happening mere feet away. He’s relaxed, chatting about his day, but the second you clear your throat and step forward, he pauses mid-sentence, sensing danger.

"Uh… you good?" he asks, blinking up at you.

"Yeah. Fine. Totally normal." You inhale, ignore the full-body cringe threatening to consume you, and hold out the box. "This is for you. Happy Valentine’s Day."

Deuce freezes. Like, actually freezes.

His eyes dart between you and the chocolates like he’s trying to make sure this isn’t some cruel prank. His hands are shaking just a little when he reaches out, carefully accepting the box like it might disappear if he blinks too fast.

"You—" His voice cracks, and he immediately clears his throat, ears burning red. "You made these? For me?"

You nod, trying so hard to play it cool. "Yeah. I like you, so… yeah."

For a second, nothing happens. Then—his grin.

It’s shy, just a little wobbly, but so ridiculously bright that your stomach does a full gymnastics routine.

"You… like me," he repeats, as if he needs to say it out loud to believe it.

"Unless you don’t want them, in which case, I can just—"

"No!" He clutches the box to his chest like it’s his most prized possession. "No way, I—I want them. I just—" He exhales, a little breathless, still grinning like an idiot. "I can’t believe this is happening."

You barely have time to process that before he straightens up, determination flickering in his eyes.

"Can I—" He swallows. "Can I take you on a date? I mean, since you—since we—" He gestures vaguely at the chocolates, too flustered to form a proper sentence.

You laugh, heart so stupidly full. "Yeah, Deuce. I’d love that."

His breath catches. Then he nods—fast, like he’s locking it in before reality can take it away. "O-Okay. Cool. Great. I’ll—I'll plan something good, I promise."

You grin. "I’d expect nothing less."

Deuce beams.

He looks down at the chocolates again, still holding them like the most precious thing in the world.

And honestly? You think this might be the best decision you’ve ever made.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[theemporium]

lukey getting his girlfriend a promise ring but most definitely forgets to tell his brothers so when she pulls up to the lake house with a ring on her ring finger they’re jumping to conclusions?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Did you know?” 

Quinn blinked, frowning at the way Jack pushed into his room and quickly shut the door behind him before spinning back around to glare at him. He was almost tempted to tease him over his odd behaviour before he noticed the genuine hurt and panic in his brother’s gaze.

“Know what?” Quinn asked. 

“That Luke is fucking engaged,” Jack hissed out, muscles in his jaw twitching at the pressure of his teeth gritting together. “Why the fuck did he not say anything? Why the fuck did you not say anything? I literally live with him, how the hell did he not tell me anything?” 

Quinn blinked. “What the hell are you talking about? Luke is not engaged.” 

“My mistake, the huge fucking ring on his girlfriend’s left ring finger gave me the wrong impression,” Jack snapped back, pissed off and upset and feeling a little overwhelmed at the thought of his younger brother—his baby brother—being engaged when he barely knows how to work a damn washing machine.

Quinn choked out a surprised noise. “The what?”

“The fucker got engaged and didn’t even tell us,” Jack hissed, beginning to pace around the room. “Oh god, Mom is gonna kill him. Mom is gonna kill us.”

Quinn frowned. “Why did he not tell us he was even thinking about proposing?” 

Jack huffed. “When the fuck did he even get engaged?” 

Quinn shot his brother a blank look. “They just came back from a weekend away. Take a fucking guess.” 

Jack’s nose scrunched up. “In Ohio. Who the fuck gets engaged in Ohio?”

Quinn let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he quickly stood up from his spot on the bed. “We need to talk to him.”

“What the fuck do we say?” Jack questioned, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. "Congratulations?"

“What else can we say?” Quinn retorted, shaking his head. “That we love and support him but what the fuck is he thinking getting engaged and not telling anybody?” 

Jack shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” 

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Jack, you can’t say shit like that.”

“Can’t say shit like what?” 

Both boys snapped their heads around to find Luke standing in the doorway, a stick of beef jerky in his hand that he was currently munching on as he looked between the two of them with an odd expression. 

“What? What did I miss?” Luke frowned. 

Despite the initial hurt and anger he felt minutes ago, Jack couldn’t stop himself from darting forward and dragging his little brother into a hug. “You’re a dick for not saying anything to us but I am happy for you, even if I think you’re a little young. We love and support you no matter what, bud.”

Luke’s arms awkwardly hung by his side before he slowly patted Jack’s back. “Thanks?” 

Quinn looked a little more pensive, a softer expression on his face. “You could have told us, you know? We would have helped you pick out a ring or whatever else you needed.” 

“Oh,” Luke’s eyes widened a little before he shrugged. “It was no biggie, Bratter knew a few good places around Jersey so I was able to get it before we left after playoffs. I didn’t think either of you would really care.” 

Jack quickly stepped back, the anger suddenly back and rearing. “Woah, hold the fuck up, Bratter knew you were getting engaged before me? Your brother? What the fuck?” 

“Engaged?” Luke repeated with a look of confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You’re engaged!” Jack insisted, his eyes narrowed in a glare. “I saw the ring!”

Luke blinked before snorting. “It’s a promise ring, dumbass.”

Quinn sighed.

“Oh,” was all Jack managed to get out. 

“I mean, I love her but like,” Luke shrugged, suddenly looking young and sheepish. “That is a big step, you know? But I’m serious about her. I wanted her to know that too.” 

“Right,” Quinn sighed again, pressing his fingertips to his temples before smiling a little. “We are happy for you. Both of you. She’s good for you.”

Luke smiled a little.

Jack nodded. “And that is one hell of a promise ring, bud.”

Luke groaned, rolling his eyes as he already began to turn to leave the room.

But Jack continued. “I mean, not that it would hurt your bank account since I buy you everything—”

“That’s what big brothers are for!”

.

[katsu28]

love you always

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: lando plans a series of surprises for you on valentine's day. (2.4k)

a/n: happy valentine's day my loves!! here's something sweet <3 believe it or not it's 3AM and i wrote this all in one go so if you see any errors no you don't ;)

The surprises start first thing in the morning. 

Lando is up and out of the house for training long before you even stir, but made sure you woke up to something nice. When you shuffle out to the kitchen in much need of coffee to get your day going, you’re pleasantly surprised by a full pot of the good coffee made with beans you’ve always saved for special occasions, and pastries from your favorite bakery. 

A little note beside the box of mouthwatering baked goods reads a message from your boyfriend. 

happy valentine’s day, my love. sorry i couldn’t be there when you woke up, but i hope these make you smile. be on the lookout for more surprises today <3 love you always - LN 

The second surprise is waiting for you when you make your way to work. You’ve barely just walked into the office when you’re approached by Cass, one of your closest work friends. 

“Girl, you are one lucky bitch. I’d die if my man got me something like that,” She gushes, eyes gleaming. You squint at her in confusion.

“Sorry, what?” You say, unsure. She just smiles knowingly, tilting her head towards your cubicle. It isn’t until you lay eyes on your desk that you see what she’s talking about. 

A giant bouquet of red roses with baby’s breath scattered amongst the bunch sits on your chair, wrapped in colorful paper and tied together with a string. Nestled in it is another note from Lando, this one with the message embossed on crisp cardstock—

told you i’d have more surprises :) if i know you (and i’m pretty sure i do), you’re too caught up with the roses to notice the other thing, so look on your desk. maybe wear it tonight? love you always - LN

Lando is right, you hadn’t noticed the small box sitting right in the middle of your desk, seemingly nothing until you open it carefully.

A necklace sparkles out at you—a pendant of your birthstone, hanging on a delicate chain. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and another beautiful necklace to add to the ever growing collection of jewelry Lando’s gifted you in your time together. 

Wear it tonight. 

There was no doubt that Lando had planned a date for tonight, but you’d been unsuccessful in weaseling any details out of him these past few days leading up to today. 

“Can you just tell me what you’ve got planned?” You whine, pouting over at Lando where he’s putting away his shirts in the wardrobe. “Like, what restaurant are we going to?”

“Um, no.” He shoots you a look that screams judgement, but you know it’s all in good nature. “That would completely ruin the surprise.” 

“But I need to figure out what I’m going to wear,” You reason, sitting up quickly. Lando pins you to the spot with another disapproving look that you ignore, digging in your metaphorical heels. “What if I show up looking like an absolute slob because you didn’t tell me it was somewhere fancy? That would be your fault, not mine.” 

Lando finishes his task, coming over to the bed where you’re sat cross-legged, and props himself up on his elbows right in front of you. “First of all, you never look like a slob. Even when you’re on the last day of your hair wash cycle and you’ve just come back from a run, you’re still the most beautiful girl in the world.” 

“That’s disgusting, but…oddly sweet of you.” 

“Second of all,” He says pointedly, poking you in the leg for interrupting him, “If I tell you where I’ve made reservations, you’ll spend all day thinking about it and you’ll freak yourself out like you tend to do. So no, I’m not telling you what I’ve got planned.” 

Well, no one can ever say Lando doesn’t know you. He knows you too well, really. Knows your tendencies, exactly what’ll be running through your mind.  

“I hate how perfect you are,” You sniff, wrinkling your nose at him. 

“Yeah, I love you too, baby.” 

You know Lando is probably busy with training so you don’t call him, but you do shoot him a thank you text, to which he returns with a whole slew of love related emojis. 

You’re not usually one to enjoy being showered with gifts, but the fact that he’s planned all these surprises to make sure you know he’s thinking of you has butterflies fluttering in your chest. 

Lando never ceases to make you feel so loved, all the time, even when he’s not physically there with you. 

You’re hard at work when your Cass calls your name around noon, drawing you out of your focus. 

“Hey, there’s a food delivery person asking for you at the front desk.” 

“Are you sure? I didn’t order anything,” You reply, brows creased in curiosity. 

You hadn’t ordered anything, but thinking about food makes you realize you’d completely forgotten to pack your lunch before you’d left the house this morning. Oddly enough, you don’t even remember seeing it in the fridge on the shelf where it usually is. 

She shrugs. “They’re asking for you.”

You thank Cass quickly, making your way to the lobby to meet the delivery person. 

“Hi!” You say politely. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I didn’t order anything. Maybe you’ve got the wrong address?”

One look at the restaurant name on the bag almost has you taking back your words, because it’s from your favorite little cafe in the city, and if you take a deep enough breath, you can almost smell the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the paper bag. 

The poor delivery driver looks as puzzled as you feel. She blinks, looking at something on her phone before tilting her head. “Uh, I don’t think so? The system said the order was placed by a Bob N? Do you know a Bob that would order takeaway to this address?” 

You have to fight the urge to laugh. Of course it was Lando who’d ordered takeaway. Another Valentine’s Day surprise for you, it seems. 

“Wow, I’m so sorry for the confusion. My boyfriend, he must’ve had it sent here without letting me know,” You explain, feeling your cheeks blaze warm. “Yes, it’s for me.” 

“Oh my god, that’s so cute! Your boyfriend is so sweet!” She gushes, passing over the bag.

“Yeah, he is,” You chuckle. “Thank you so much, have a great day! Sorry again for the mix up.” 

“You too, happy Valentine’s Day!” 

Upon opening the bag when you get back to your desk, you see something tucked in beside the takeaway container. Yet another note, not printed nor in his handwriting, so he’d probably made a special request for the restaurant to write it. 

hope you’re hungry! enjoy your lunch, baby. day’s halfway over, see you soon <3 love you always - Bob

This time, you do call Lando as you munch on your food. 

“Hi, baby!” You chirp happily. 

“Hey, you,” He greets back, sounding glad to hear your voice. He always does whenever you give him a ring. “What’s up?” 

“How’d you know I’d forgotten my lunch?” 

“What? You did? No way!” Lando sounds a little too smug to be innocent, and it isn’t hard to connect the dots now. 

You chuckle, a little disbelieved. “Did you seriously hide my lunch just so you could have takeaway delivered to my office?” 

“I did no such thing. Did I accidentally toss it out whilst I was taking out the rubbish last night? Maybe. But we’ll never know, will we?” 

“Sure we won’t. Thank you, by the way. I’ve been craving this all week.” 

“I know. Heard you muttering about it in your sleep the other night. Fuckin’ weirdo.” You can almost imagine him grinning that big toothy smile of his that you love, shaking his head at you. “Anyways, good news. I managed to convince Jon to let me off early today, so I can pick you up from work.” 

“Really? How’d you swing that?” 

“Might’ve let it slip I’ve got something special planned for us tonight and he caved. That man is such a sucker for love, it’s crazy.” 

“So you’ll tell your trainer what we’re doing tonight, but you won’t tell me? That’s messed up, Norris,” You say teasingly. He laughs. 

“Well, he’s not the one I’m trying to surprise, you muppet. You’ll find out soon enough, don’t you worry,” Lando tuts. You hear someone say something on his end of the line that Lando gives a muffled reply to, but he’s back before you know it. “M’sorry, I gotta get back to it. I’ll see you at five?” 

“I’ll be waiting. Tell Jon I say hi and thanks for giving you some freedom today. Love you always!” 

“Love you always.” 

-------

The rest of the workday goes by without any more Lando surprises, but you’re still nearly buzzing with energy because of the fact you get to see him earlier than you’d expected. After a long day of work, your wonderful boyfriend is just what you need. 

You see him through the doors before he sees you. He’s leaning against the side of his sleek Porsche, cap backwards on his head as he squints through the waning sunlight in search of you and looking unfairly handsome while doing so. You even pause to snap a sneaky photo of him because he just looks so good. 

When you finally exit the building, Lando beams, holding a hand up in greeting. 

“Hi, gorgeous.” He smiles, leaning in for a kiss as soon as you get within arms’ length of him. “Missed you.” 

“Missed you too, Lan.” You mean it. Even though you’ve only been apart for a workday, he’s been on your mind throughout it. You don’t know how you survive race weeks without being with him all the time. 

“Ready to go home?” 

“Never been more ready. Maybe I’ll worm some information about tonight out of you on the way.” 

“Sneaky girl. Right, I’ll tell you this, it’s a nice restaurant. Somewhere we’ve been before.” 

“But not my favorite restaurant, because you already got me food from there today.” 

“Observant, aren’t you? No, not that one.” He opens the passenger side door for you to get in and you do, wracking your brain for any idea of where Lando would be taking you in a few hours. “Alright, don’t think too hard about it. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself now.” 

“Rude.” 

“Look, is it alright for me to lightly suggest what I think you could wear?” He asks, pulling out of the car park and onto the road. You shoot him a look that tells him to be careful, but still nod slowly. “That dress that I like. The swishy one with the thin straps that make your boobs look—” 

“Lando.” 

“Sorry, sorry, got a little carried away,” He says sheepishly. “But yeah, that one would be perfect.” 

“That’s a nice one,” You hum, tilting your head in thought. “You’ve got good taste after all.” 

“Um, yeah, I know. I bought it.” 

-------

You’ve got on the dress that Lando suggested, but there’s one thing you always forget about this specific one. The zipper on the back is near impossible for you to get all the way up on your own. No matter how hard you try, you’ve always had to get Lando to help you that last bit. 

“Lan, could you c’mere a second?” You call down the corridor. Footsteps echo right away, and then he’s in the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt with intense focus. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Could you zip me?” 

“Could I—oh, fuck.” 

You make eye contact in the mirror in front of you and Lando freezes right where he is, mouth ajar, blinking at you like he can’t believe you’re real and in front of him. 

“Help?” You urge, fighting an amused smile at how absolutely floored he looks. 

He gives his head a shake, rushing over to help you. Shaky fingers slide the delicate zipper up until it’s good. “Sorry, I just—every time you wear that dress I think I forget how to breathe a little bit.” 

“I’m flattered.” 

“You should be. Baby, you look absolutely beautiful.” His gaze flits to your necklace, the new one you’d gotten today, and his mouth curves into a smile. “That’s a nice one. Wonder who got it for you?” 

“My boyfriend, actually. Dunno if you know him, but he’s kinda the best. Massive forehead though.” 

“Oh, you’re funny,” He huffs, nose wrinkling in overdramatic offense that makes you giggle. “Kiss?” 

“You’d have my lipstick all over your mouth.” 

“Does it look like I care? I wanna kiss you.” 

Rolling your eyes playfully, you let him kiss you. While you’re expecting a short kiss, Lando takes it a step further, two hands sliding behind you to dip you backwards a little bit to deepen it. To say you’re taken by surprise is a slight understatement, but you go with what he’s doing. 

You kiss him until you’re breathless, pulling back with a hand splayed over his chest. 

Lando grins goofily with lipstick smudges all over his mouth. “Totally worth it,” He says, looking absolutely giddy.

Once you’ve reapplied what had rubbed off on Lando, you’re off through the city in Lando’s favorite car. The more familiar your surroundings get, the more you realize where he’s taking you, and your suspicions are concerned when he pulls up to the valet. 

The restaurant where you’d had your first date. 

Lando always tells you how he’d known he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with you on that first date, even before your entrees came. You always tell him you’d known it then too. 

“Did I do good?” He asks hopefully, holding out his elbow for you to loop your arm through as soon as he’s helped you out of the car.

“You did perfect, Lan. I might cry, actually.” 

“No, don’t do that! You’ll mess up your mascara and then you’ll look like a raccoon for the rest of the night.” 

You scoff lightly, successfully blinking back tears. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

“We would not. Though I’d still think you were the cutest raccoon out of all the raccoons.” 

“You’re so dumb. I love you.” 

“Love you, babe. Always.” 

A nice dinner at a restaurant dear to your heart with the love of your life. It’s all you could’ve asked for, and Lando has gone beyond that to show you how much he loves you. 

On a Valentine’s Day full of wonderful surprises, this is the best one of all.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[ssahotchnerr]

Valentines Day request you say? 😏

What about hotch x bau!reader’s first Valentine’s Day together but they’re away on a case and Hotch still desperately tries to make it special for his honey 😞😞😞😞

redefining romance

happy valentine's day! 🥰 cw; bau!reader, established relationship, bau family banter, brief food mentions, aaron being the sweetest, fluff <3 wc; 1.2k

You couldn't deny feeling a bit disappointed. You weren't surprised, but disappointed.

The last place you were hoping to spend your very first Valentine's Day with Aaron was on a case. Instead of sharing a quiet, intimate evening together, you were spending it in a precinct, miles away from home and far from anything that resembled love. In it's place, a sterile environment - fluorescent lights rather than candles, takeout consumed over case files instead of a fancy dinner.

It especially didn't help that you had brief knowledge of his would-have-been plans too. He had playfully asked if you had made prior plans, because he intended on taking you out. The only hint he gave was that your first stop would be a fancy restaurant - disclosed only so you were aware to dress accordingly - but the rest of the night would remain unbeknownst to you.

And now it was merely a reservation you wouldn't make.

You accepted this was something you would have to get used to. With such a demanding and unpredictable job, it came as no shock. In addition, you were positive this wouldn't be the last Valentine's day you spent in the field. Or holiday, at that.

But it still sucked regardless.

Instead than sulking entirely, you had to make the most of it: Aaron wore a red tie in the day's honor, chosen by you. The police department was scarcely decorated - some of the officers had felt festive enough. JJ even stopped to get pink and red donuts for breakfast on the way in. You also managed to be in a SUV with Aaron at one point, just the two of you, allowing him to comfortably hold your hand on the road.

The day had flown by before you even realized it. Before long, you found yourself back at the hotel with the others, parting ways for the night.

"We'll see you all in the morning," Aaron told the group, not-so-discreetly placing a hand on your back, the usual comments following.

"Goodnight," Derek offered the two of you a wink, the words leaving him in a sing-song tone.

"Remember, I'm an old man who needs his sleep." Dave also gave both of you a pointed look, causing Aaron to roll his eyes.

"Goodnight Dave."

"They're crazy," you laughed once the two of you reached your respective door, grabbing the keycard from your wallet. You faintly heard Emily tossing back the words to enjoy what you could of the rest of the day.

"They're jealous," Aaron humorously commented, causing you to laugh again as you pushed open the door, flicking the light on.

Much to your surprise, the light revealed a bouquet of flowers on the table, joined by chocolate covered strawberries. Not only that, flower petals were scattered amongst the duvet. You blinked, as if the display would somehow disappear.

Aaron trailed in behind you, a small smile on his face.

You turned to him, surprise blatant on your face. "You...?"

"Yeah," he confirmed casually, a warmth in his eyes that enveloped you from the inside out.

"When did you manage to do this?" Quickly, you replayed the day in your mind, searching for a moment when he could have slipped away, but came up with nothing. You admired the flowers, in stunned awe.

"I can't reveal all my secrets, can I?" He grinned. There was a quiet satisfaction in his expression, knowing he had successfully pulled it off, but mainly because you were so overjoyed.

"Aaron..." A million words were in your mind, but vocally, you couldn't help but be speechless. So you did the only thing that could get your message across - you grabbed the lapels of his jacket, fiercely pulling him close and kissing him.

Aaron reciprocated, holding you close.

"It's our first Valentine's Day. You didn't think I wouldn't try to make it special somehow, did you?" He teased once the two of you parted, arching an eyebrow.

"But I didn't-"

While you did have a heartfelt card for him, it wasn't a gesture as grand as this, his 'little something' waiting at home.

He waved off your comment. "Don't worry about it, please. Besides, this is the first Valentine's Day I've had in a while." His smile was effortlessly endearing. "I had to go all out one way or another. Not that I need an excuse to spoil you, you already know I don't need that. But our Valentine's Day looks different compared to others, given our job demands. So it may have to look like, this, here and there. If that's okay."

"Of course it is," you answered quickly, your gaze softening.

"And this," he briefly held up a finger, handing you a red, folded piece of paper. "Is from your other valentine."

"My other valentine?" You laughed softly in confusion, opening it up and your heart melting.

It was a handmade card, complete with messily-cut hearts. You recognized the writing immediately. Happy Valentine's Day! was in Jack's slightly messy third grade penmanship. He even included a small drawn portrait of the three of you.

You'll keep it forever.

Aaron sat on the bed, pulling you onto his lap. You lifted your eyes from the card, finding his serious yet sweet expression on his face. "I know it's not what we had originally planned. And we're still celebrating fully once we're home. I've already talked to Jess, she's more than willing to take Jack for one more night."

"Truthfully, I was kinda down about it all day," you admitted as your gaze dropped again, feeling silly.

"I know." His lips drew in a pensive line, his hand rubbing your hip comfortably.

"But you're right. They will look different, and we're lucky too. We still get to spend the day together, a lot of agents can't say the same for their significant other. And spur of the moment things like this, are so romantic and spontaneous and it..." Again, you were lost for words and overwhelmed by love. "This is perfect."

You felt deeply cherished, truly adored. That despite working, Aaron had gone out of his way to ensure your first Valentines would be special and memorable. It was a reminder that, no matter the circumstances, he would always find a way to make you feel loved. In a way, the two of you didn't quite need to celebrate further. This was more than enough.

"Hey, that's the word I would use to describe you."

"Really?" You leaned back slightly to get a better look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Smooth talking me, Hotchner?" You teased. But all jokes aside, you leaned back in, giving him a kiss. "Thank you, you're amazing. I love you so much."

"I love you. So much." He couldn't help himself, pressing his lips to yours and his chest filling up with love, as if every beat of his heart was made just for you (which, it was).

Eventually Aaron got up, removing his suit jacket.

"I still can't believe you," you said with a laugh, shaking your head and letting your fingers sift through the scattered petals. "I swear, I didn't see you leave once. And wait- did you pack these?"

"Don't get any ideas," he teased, undoing the cuffs on his sleeves as he stood above you. "As romantic as I am, we are on the job."

"Oh?" You grabbed his tie, firmly pulling him near. "I think we're not until the morning."

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Yandere platonic Batfam x

Child Girl scout reader!

Notes: reader is a child in this.

Warnings ⚠️: mentions of kidnap and reader is low class. Not proofread. Please do not judge my girl scout logic I am not a girl scout and have never been one!

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

The manor was as dull as ever lately. The big fancy walls of the place only felt colder as time went on.

Dick had broken up with Kori for the umpteenth time that month and was living at the manor ,or more like mopping at the manor..

On rare occasions Cass would stop by. And if they were very lucky jason would stop by and say hi every now and then.

Bruce was as cold as ever not being able to catch the joker and being behind in alot of meetings.

Duke was frustrated with his over all high-school experiences.

And Cass was pretty sure she was going through a mid life crisis despite her still being young.

Pretty soon Tim would graduate high-school and Bruce new he'd be off to living his own life.

Now damian was still pretty young but he didn't really count for a kid. Atleast not in Bruce's eyes. Damian lacked that child imagination. That childish spark. And bruce will admit he is partially to blame....

But on a particular lucky day they had met you!

Or more like Alfred had met you first. And that began the overly possessive vigilanty family to fall absolutely in love with your cute self!

You were about seven never having been blessed with a high class life but your mama sure did try and give you her best!

You oh! so desperately wanted to be a girl scout!

And who was mother to break your heart and tell you she didn't have the money?

So she worked extra shifts at the hospital. Her being a nurse meant that most of her time she was at the hospital working.

But that never stopped her from dropping you off in some of the richest and hopefully safest neighborhoods in gotham so you could sell your cookies for the girl scouts.

She hated leaving you alone but she just couldn't resist your cute puppy dog eyes as you promised you'd be safe....and she really didn't have time to argue or should she'd be late to work, agian!

So with a kiss on the cheek from you and a smile she left. Leaving you on the richest street in gotham.

Sure being low class in gotham was hard but you never saw it that way. You always tried to be kind.

Because in your mother's words, 'in a world where you can be anything, be kind.'

So kind you were. Even to the stuck up little girl scouts who didn't like you because you were poor.

But you didn't pay them any mind! You loved being a girl scout! The other girls were probably just jealous you sold more cookies then them!

Atleast that's what your mama told you.

You smile and skip your way down the street pulling your wagon full of boxes of cookies behind you.

Walking up to each house with a smile on your face most bought some because how could they deny such a cute thing with chubby cheeks?

Sure they'd probably never eat the cookies from a low class kid but they couldn't find it in their cold, spoiled, hearts to say no to you! (They saw it as charity.)

Finally with your last boxes of cookies you pull your wagon with you as you walk up the long drive way and surprisingly the gate was open!

Stepping up to the big door you knock exactly three times.

Alfred being as confused as ever stops cleaning and checks the cameras only to not spot anyone on the footage.

Hesitatently he begins cleaning playing it off as his ears playing tricks on him. But he hears the knock agian. So he doesn't even bother with the camera.

Opening the front door his harsh gaze immediately softens at the sight of you!

Ofc the cameras wouldn't see you! You were to small to be seen on the ring camera!

Your just so cute with your little sash and badges! And your smiles so bright something that the old butler hasn't seen in a while...a genuine smile.

You have that child like wonder that's still in your eyes and by your little dirty shoes the butler knows you traveled a long way to get here.

"Hello sir. I'm here to offer you some of the best cookies in gotham. Girl scout cookies!" You say with one of the biggest smiles and happiest eyes!

"It's five dollars for a box or two boxes for nine! I only have chocolate chip and blueberry left." You say giving your speech like you've done a million other of times.

But this time it would change your life completely.....

To your complete surprise he hands you a hundred dollar bill and you hesitatently take it giving him your last two boxes.

"I don't have change sir....." You say trying to give him back the money to which he just shakes his head.

"Keep it...as a tip." He says his voice holding no pity like the others.

"Really?" You say your eyes shinning with excitement.

And by seeing your happiness Alfred knows you deserve it. So he nods and you take the old spy by surprise by hugging him.

"Thank you so much!" You say as you pull away jumping on the balls of your feet.

"I'll be back every Saturday to give you a box of cookies until I repay you!" You say skipping off with your wagon in tow.

Alfred looks at you with puzzled look did you not know what recieving a tip meant?

Well he wasn't going to stop you from coming back. Especially as you shoot him your absolutely adorable smile as you walk down the driveway and wave goodbye shouting a cute and kind.

"Have a blessed day!" As you leave.

Have a blessed day....Alfred definitely hasn't heard that in a long time..especially in gotham.

You were definitely diffrent...

But you had kept your word coming back every Saturday at 1pm sharp never missing a Saturday!

And each time Alfred would give you a hundred dollar bill saying it was your tip. And you'd give him a hug and tell him you'll be back every Saturday until you repay him!

Alfred doesn't exactly know what about you made him become so attached to you. Maybe it was your hugs? Or your sweet smile?

Either way he didn't mind because he'd wait by the door at 1pm sharp every Saturday waiting to see you walk down the driveway with your little red wagon and big toothy smile.

Eventually he did learn your name and how old you were and you learned quite a bit about him too.

Until one day the he had gotten so caught up in cleaning the manor he didn't even realize that he was about to miss his favorite part of the week!

There was a knock on the door exactly three times just like there always was on Saturday at 1pm for the past few months.

But this time it wasn't the sweet butler you had come accustomed too. No, now it was a big fancy looking man with blue eyes.

"Hello?" He says his voice much softer then it would look like he'd sound like.

Your puzzled eyes search his looking for your dear friend.

"Hi?" You say as tilt your head still searching for your favorite costumer.

Bruce's eyes take you in... your far to young to be out here alone. Where are your parents? He wants to ask but more importantly who are you looking for?

"I usually come by here at this time....do you know where Mr. pennyworth is?" You say your eyes still searching around for the older man.

Bruce looks at you confused how did you know Alfred? Bruce eyes scan you seeing if your a threat but by the way you nervous fiddle around with it your sash as he continues to look at you he deems that your just a harmless child.

"He's inside...do you want to come see him?" He says his voice now much softer and his eyes aren't as cold as they once were. But you take a step back.

You might have been a kid but you aren't that stupid.

"My mama says I can't go in strangers houses.." You say as you look at him clearly looking for a place to hide.

Bruce nods as he sees your nervous deamor.

"Well I suppose I could bring him out to you." Bruce says and your eyes light up with excitement at the thought of seeing your dear friend agian.

And oh.... how bruce envies the old butler by how just the mention of him makes you smile.

Why was Alfred so important to you?

Bruce goes back in but Alfred is already on his way to the door finally remembering his favorite part of the week.

Bruce watches the interaction closely as you smile when Alfred gives you the money. And how sweetly you hug Alfred.

Bruce had initially thought you only came for the good money Alfred was giving you but the way you smiled was kind...and very adorable.

The whole interaction was definitely wholesome and bruce couldn't help but want to be apart of it...he so desperately wished someone would hug him as happily you hug Alfred...

Bruce being the jealous man he is started to be the one opening the door every Saturday at 1pm enjoying your happy smiles and childish jokes you would tell him as you waited for Alfred to come to the door.

And just like Alfred Bruce always made sure he'd never be busy on Saturday at 1pm because rain or sunshine you'd be at their door.

Eventually it was raining very hard and your mother not checking the weather app before you left had left you alone in the rain with no way to contact your mother.

You do your usual houses ending up at the manor at 1pm and despite the hash rain you still had that cute toothy smile on your face that they loved seeing.

"Hi Mr, Wayne!" You happily say...always so happy.

Bruce smiles you always call him Mr. Wayne even when he tells you not to. You must have very good manners or are just very forget he thinks to himself.

"Hello sweetheart." He says. He's called you sweetheart since the second time he had met you.

Now bruce wasn't that into nicknames but for you the nickname really matched. You were just too sweet.

After you do your usual talking with Alfred and bruce you turn to walk back in the rain.

"You can't possibly walk back in that rain, sweetheart." Bruce says his voice edged with worry and concern.

But you dismiss his concern with a shrug and a smile.

"I've walked in worse.. plus my mama is gonna pick me up soon!" You say happily giving them their two boxes of cookies and walking a way.

But they don't smile back this time when you yell. "Have a blessed day!" Like you always do.

No, their eyes circle around everything about you. About the rain. How harshly it's hitting your skin. How wet your hair is getting. How heavy your little red wagon must be for you as it continues filling up with water.

They watch as you slowly disappear down the long driveway their hearts still longing to help.

But altimately they decide that they can't do anything. Your not their kid. They can't offer you a ride because they know you'd never accept.

They don't even know the name of your mother let alone her number. How were they supposed to verify if your mother was really going to pick you up?

Or were you just going to walk home in the rain?

You'd surely get sick... and after after about five more minutes the two men come to the conclusion that.....fuck the rules you were definitely not going to be walking alone in the rain.

So with Alfred handing bruce the keys bruce quickly took off in his black Mercedes.

You continue walking down the street trying not to feel scared as the lightning strikes agian. And when a black and very nice car pulls up beside you you walk faster.

You knew how much your mother worried...the last thing she needed was for you to get kidnapped!

But the car kept up with your pace and the window rolled down and as much as you tried not to you couldn't help but turn your head to see who was driving the car.

You immediately stop walking as you see the driver.

"Hi Mr. Wayne!" You say smiling and bruce can't even register a real smile as he takes in how your soaking wet from head to toe. And he just knows that those old shoes are probably hurting your feet.

"Hey sweetheart......how about I give you a ride?" He says his voice pleading as he pulls the car to a complete stop.

You look at him and tilt your head and bruce has to stop himself from just getting out the car and picking you up and putting you in himself.

Your adorable confused motions give away your response. So bruce speaks up agian.

"Just one ride to your house." He says still pleading but in his mind you don't really have a choice you are going to let him give you a ride.

"You won't kidnap me right?" You question and instead of bruce feeling offend or angry at that he smiles and shakes his head. You were trying to be safe. But that wasn't exactly a good question to ask.

Atleast not to the richest man in gotham who didn't have to necessarily kidnap you to keep you.

Reaching over and open the passengers seat for you Bruce shows you a award winning smile; a smile that not even the paparazzi has caught him with in years.

"Of course not sweetheart....come on get in."

And plus it's not considered kidnapping when you legally adopt someone right?

Thanks for reading!

Likes Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[macleod]

so, funny thing, I rarely ever mention it, but Al Capone is my great-great uncle, and according to my great-grandmother he was "the nicest, funniest, and most loving of anyone in the entire f/Family". Everyone loved him if you were decent. He just really hated cops, the government, politicians, and racists.

He had a spectacular original spaghetti recipe that I need to dig out, because he was supposedly an excellent cook, and she would fight to mention that he didn't start the soup kitchens, or the literacy clubs, as a way of only commiting tax evasion (as most documentaries and historians love to say, but likely didn't hurt his financial endeavors), but that he got into the whole mob thing only because he wanted to protect the community, get them some good food, and ensure they were literate and able to hold themselves higher against a system that worked against the people.

He was anti-prohibition, pro-sex work, pro-womens rights, and assumed to be anti-racist (for the time, he was ralso ather notable for hiring and including other minorities, including african-americans in family gatherings, at his clubs, in his security, and working at his home, and both his cook and butler spoke at length how well he treated them and paid far higher than expected – keep in mind, he was an Italian in Chicago, they considered Italians on the same level in some regards, so he would be possibly understanding of the plight).

While he was openly 'anti-communist' and pro-capitalist, I believe he would be considered the opposite today, considering that if you read most of what he's said, he would be more akin to a modern socialist and would likely be staunchly anticapitalist, but it was the 20s and the confusion is understandable.

Was he a murderer? Not sure, on a personal level, he certainly had others to commit atrocities, but according to my great grandmother "he couldn't hurt a fly".

Now, keep in mind he made nearly all of his revenue from bootlegging hospitality, during prohibition to the tune of hundreds of millions a year, an industry that was highly illegal and targeted by the government, I call it hospitality as he was quoted as saying: "When I sell liquor, they call it bootlegging. When my patrons serve it on silver trays on Lake Shore Drive, they call it hospitality".

Some additional quotes:

"I have always been opposed to violence, to shootings. I have fought, yes, but fought for peace. And I believe I can take credit for the peace that now exists in the racket game in Chicago. I believe that the people can thank me for the fact that gang killings here are probably a thing of the past."

"I'm tired of gang murders and gang shootings. It's a tough life to lead. You fear death at every moment, and worse than death, you fear the rats of the game who'd run around and tell the police if you don't constantly satisfy them with money and favors."

"I want peace, and I will live and let live. I'm like any other man. I've been in this racket long enough to realize that a man in my game must take the breaks, the fortunes of war. I haven't had any peace of mind in years. Every minute I'm in danger of death."

"Why not treat our business like any other man treats his, as something to work at in the daytime and forget when he goes home at night? There's plenty of business for everybody. Why kill each other over it?"

A fairly decent article from 2016 that I just found has the title of "Al Capone caused less death and destruction than today’s capitalists" and within that he let this piece of information out, which I feel is entirely authentic from everything I've ever read, and heard, on him:

In my youth, I met several men who had once worked for Al Capone, and every one of them liked him. They talked about Capone offering them jobs during the Great Depression, when it was difficult for most workers to find employment. All of them had driven trucks into Canada, loaded up with booze, and brought it back to warehouses in the USA.

And, since its Valentines Day, the anniversary of the "St. Valentines Day Massacre" that shook the country, and took the lives of seven people (if only they knew what happens every day in America, 96 years later...), there is very little evidence that he was the orchestrator, and in fact, several biographers now believe it was someone hellbent on revenge against him.

Now, I am not going to deny that he likely did some incredibly wrong things, he absolutely did, but given everyone I know, have read, and have seen from him, he seems decent enough given the circumstances.

It's hilarious to me that Al Capone was an amazing tipper. I get why it took so long to catch him.

[ariestrxsh]

sub!chris x dom!reader

ᯓ★ content warning: smut, mommy kink, teasing, humiliation, use of vibrator (on chris), strap sucking, gagging, pegging, making a sex tape

ᯓ★ summary: chris begs you to make him go dumb on your strap while on camera

If you don't like the content, don't read !!! I know pegging isn't for everyone, and that's totally fine.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

Sextape

"C'mon, Chris. Hold the camera still. Or else I won't let you cum," you sweetly cooed to the blue-eyed boy sitting in front of you. A series of soft whines cascaded from his pouty lips as you drew circles on his swollen, pink tip that you were relentlessly teasing with your vibrator.

His sweaty palms gripped the camera a bit more tightly as he directed the lens at his lap and what you were doing to him, but he couldn't keep it from shaking. You reduced the intensity of the vibrations as Chris struggled to listen to your directions. "Chris," you said more sternly this time, raising your eyebrows.

"I'm trying, mommy. It just feel so good," he purred. "Please. Turn it back up. I'll be a good boy. I'll hold it steady," Chris begged, peering down at the way you expertly stimulated his cock through the view finder.

You loved how pathetic he sounded when he pleaded with you. How could you say no? You gave in, giving him what he wanted and switching it back to a more intense setting as you watched him squirm around.

One of the things you loved most about Chris was how confident and assertive he was in his every day life, but the second it was just the two of you behind closed doors, his submissive side would come out to play. All of a sudden, his cool, calm, and collected facade would crumble, and he'd turn in a whiny, needy, and desperate little thing.

He'd never admit to his brothers or his friends the activities the two of you did in secret, but he loved them. He adored the way you'd take your bullet vibrator and gently run it up and down his length. He couldn't get enough of the way you tugged on his pretty, brown hair or the things you'd whisper into his ear. He loved when you'd get out the strap and have your way with him.

He savored it all so much, in fact, that he'd asked you if the two of you could film it. He'd practically begged for it. Of course, you obliged, unable to say no to him anytime he turned on his submissive charm. You loved the idea of making a video with him, one he'd watch back during his solo activities when you were unavailable.

You were surprised, though. "Aren't you worried Matt or Nick might find it? Or one of your friends?" You'd asked, wrinkling your brow with a puzzled expression on your face. "I'll keep it somewhere safe. No one will ever know," he'd responded, more focused on the reward of filming it and less focused on the possible consequences.

That's how the two of you ended up here - with your favorite toy resting against the sweet boy's tip while he practically dug his fingernails into the sides of the camera as he struggled to keep it stable. You took the vibrating object and started slowly running it up and down a prominent vein on the backside of his shaft.

When you returned to his sensitive head, a sharp whine slipped from his lips as his cock twitched. His big, round eyes flicked up to meet yours, and he gave you the most precious look with tinted pink cheeks, slightly parted lips, and his expression steeped in desire.

"Give me that," you ordered, taking the camcorder from his trembling hands. You pointed it at the blue-eyed boy, not wanting his gorgeous, fucked out features to go undocumented. "Look at you. Such a pretty boy," you cooed, peering down at him through the view finder as he screwed his eyes shut and formed his lips into a perfect o shape. "You look so handsome on camera."

You tilted the lens down at the pearly liquid gathering at his perfect slit. You could tell he was getting close, but you weren't ready to let him cum just yet. You slowed the speed of the vibrations, watching Chris' expression fall as you withdrew the sensation. "Mommy, why are you always so mean to me?" He pouted.

You took the toy and set it off to the side, ignoring his question. "Get on your knees," you directed him as you stood to your feet, pointing the lens of the camera at the blue strap you had harnessed to your body. "Suck it for me, baby," you purred, tilting his chin up with your free hand. He parted his lips to take you in, but he hesitated for a second.

"What's wrong, baby? You love this part," you sweetly asked him, running your manicured nails along his jawline. "Can I please touch myself while I suck on it, mommy?" He wondered. "Sure, you can, but you're not allowed to cum, baby," you replied in a serious voice, and he eagerly nodded. His tongue darted out and he flitted it across the tip.

"Good boy," you murmured, slipping the end of the strap into his mouth as he wrapped his lips around it. His fingers snaked around his shaft, and he started slowly stroking it as he bobbed his head up and down. "Wow. Look at you. You're doing such a good job. You might even suck cock better than I do," you whispered.

He slipped you out of his mouth for a moment and shook his head. "No way, mommy. Not even close," he replied before popping you back into his mouth, knowing that if he had agreed with your original comment, he'd most definitely be punished.

You let out a chuckle, adoring how much control you had over him in these moments. He'd do and say anything to please you. "You take it so well, though, pretty boy," you sweetly answered him, placing your free hand on his head as you drove your hips forward at a rougher pace, eliciting a soft gagging sound from the boy on his knees in front of you.

His hand stroked his cock more fervently as he choked on you, a look of pleasure written on his face as he opened his throat, graciously taking you deeper. You smirked down at him, tightening your grip on his hair and tugging on it as you fucked his pretty mouth, a bit of drool gathering in the corners of his lips.

"Oh, my god, Chris. You were made for this," you commented, looking into his teary bedroom eyes that were fixed on the lens of the camcorder. Your gaze flickering between the real life vision that was playing out in front of you and the perspective through the view finder. "You could be a star."

He sucked on it for a few more minutes, moans escaping him as he tried to keep himself from finishing too early. He switched off between peering up at you and the camera lens as he hollowed out his cheeks, sliding his lips up and down your length.

"Okay, pretty boy. Get on the bed and get on all fours," you demanded, tapping the tip of his nose with your pointer finger in a teasing manner. "Yes, mommy," he replied, his eyes growing wider and his face beaming as he realized you were finally going to give him what he so desperately craved. He turned around and crawled onto the bed.

You opened a bottle of lube with one hand, applied it to your strap, and positioned yourself at his opening. "I made sure I was ready for you, mommy," Chris mumbled, gazing back at the camera. You knew that meant that he must have had some fun with his dildo before he'd come over, and imagining it was enough to have your arousal slowly dripping down the inside of your thigh.

Your lips curled into a smile, and you made sure to capture Chris' reaction as you entered him from the back, his eyes screwing shut and his face contorting in a look of pleasure. His expression softened after the initial stretch and after you'd started gently rocking your hips.

Soft whimpers filled the air as he threw himself back into you, arching his back and tipping back his head at the sensation. His right hand reached up to soothe his aching cock, beginning to move his closed fist up and down his shaft.

You'd bent Chris over many times, but there was something about this particular time that escalated the whole experience. You weren't sure if it was just the way Chris looked on film in the soft lighting, all his features enhanced by the clearness of the image, or if it was the fact that he was really leaning into his desperation, almost putting on a show, and really exaggerating his body movements and the sounds he made.

"You fucking love this, don't you, baby?" You mumbled, admiring the perfect curve of his spine and the way his ass jiggled with every thrust. "I do, mommy. I love being used by you," he whimpered, peering back at you and the technology in your hand.

"I know you love that, sweet boy, but I was talking about being on camera. You just love it, don't you?" He slowly nodded, gripping the sheets beneath him with his free hand. "Good boy. You look so fucking good getting fucked on video," you replied, knowing how much he was getting off on it.

There was something about being recorded - being in the spotlight and being so vulnerable - that drove him wild and made him even more daring. "Give it to me harder, mommy. You know I can take it," he begged in a subservient voice.

You raised your eyebrows at him, knowing this was usually the roughest he could stand, but you couldn't say no to him, looking back at you with his submissive eyes. You nodded as you railed him harder, driving your strap deeper and hitting his pleasure spot over and over. It felt good for you as well, pressure being put on your clit every time you snapped your hips forward.

You could tell Chris was nearing the edge, moans and profanities pouring from him as he went dumb on your silicone cock. "Come on, baby. Smile for Nick and Matt when they find this," you teased him. He snapped his head around, glaring in your direction.

"Hey! That's - that's not - " Chris struggled through his sentence, every thrust of your hips jolting his body forward. "That's not funny," he finally managed to say, making eye contact with the camera before his jaw dropped, and a pretty sound escaped his lips.

You tilted the camcorder back down at Chris' perfectly shaped ass as you delivered a harsh smack, leaving behind a red hand print. He yelped in delight as you slammed into him over and over, his palm brushing against the tip of his dick as his strokes became faster and messier.

"Mommy, I'm gonna cum!" He exclaimed, throwing his head back, arching his spine, and sending his hips back onto you. "Cum for mommy," you softly cooed in response. "Cum for the camera." A smirk tugged at the edge of you lip as Chris came undone for you, his cum spilling from his tip and soaking the sheets beneath the two of you as he finished.

"Good boy. That's it," you gently purred, slowing down your thrusts as Chris slumped over, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as he came down from the whole experience. He rolled over after you'd pulled out of him, a satisfied smile plastered on his face as he tried to look into the camera, fucked out of his mind.

"You did so good, baby," you aimed the camera at his spent cock and the mess he'd made on his abdomen as well as the spot on the bed next to him. He chuckled, covering himself with his hands and becoming a bit embarrassed about how into it he had been, being the star of the video.

"Okay. Kiss the camera, pretty boy," you teased him, shoving the lens into his face, very clearly poking fun at him and his brothers and their early YouTube days when Matt would kiss the camera as their outro. He chuckled and rolled his eyes, still catching his breath. He finally did as you said, raising his head, pressing his lips to the lens, and making a dramatic kissing sound before you ended the scene.

After you and Chris cleaned up and got dressed, the two of you sat at the edge of your bed and played it back. It was a cinematic masterpiece. The lighting was perfect. Chris' moans came through so distinctly, the microphone even picking up his soft pants and subtle tonality changes as he got closer. "Fuck. I know this was your idea, but I kind of want a copy," you smirked, staring down at the video and how pathetic Chris looked and sounded.

"Ah, I think having two of these floating around in existence is a little too risky for my taste," Chris responded, his cheeks turning pink as he grabbed the camera from you. "You can borrow it whenever you want, though," he teased you. "Oh, is that right?" You asked, raising your eyebrows at him before playfully tackling him and taking the camera back.

"Maybe I'll hold onto it, but you can borrow it whenever you want, though," you mocked him, repeating it in the same patronizing voice he'd used when he'd said it to you.

[cloverandstuff]

Allow me to psychoanalyse this drawing-

I think this drawing was made by Luka. Mainly, due to the fact that Hyuna is the one drawn with the most detail. I think it's also fairly obvious with how it's drawn, that it was made by Luka when he became friends with the siblings.

That leads me to my next point; Luka did not dislike Hyunwoo. I'd even go as far as to say he regarded him in a positive manner. He is the only other person here besides Hyuna who is not blonde.

Now, why is everyone else blonde? I think it's because Luka was imagining a life with his clones and the siblings, in Anakt Garden.

He looks horrified in this scene. It doesn't seem like he took joy or even feels numb here. He looks to be in genuine shock over what happened.

The body don't have a single stab wound either. None that we can see. All we see is the cases they're in shattered. Like they were released and they weren't able to survive.

Here, he's just looking at them. No attempt to get closer, nor to destroy them. He just looks on.

The drawing makes me think that Luka was seeking out other people. He was, in every way, a lonely child. He wanted a sense of belonging. He wanted him and his clones, and Hyuna and Hyunwoo to all just...live happily in Anakt Garden.

And with the few frames we get of this incident throughout, it does seem like Hyunwoo was the one to throw the first punch. Luka never initiated a fight, he always just annoyed Hyunwoo who would respind angrily. It didn't make sense why he would just randomly kill Hyunwoo.

With this, it makes more sense. Luka killed Hyunwoo through an accident. It was a fight gone too far. He does not feel remorse, but it doesn't seem like he actively wanted to kill him.

If this is truly the case, then while Hyuna is right to hate him because he does not feel conscious regret over this, her speech at the at also makes sense. Because she knows he truly is just...clueless.

Luka has never truly allowed himself to mourn loss, or regret actions. He was constantly chasing a high, which he got from Hyuna. He loved her, he truly did. But it was initially borne out of her giving him a sense of belonging.

He loved her because she gave him what he was seeking out from his clones; to erase the loneliness he felt.

Luka is clueless about his own emotions. Him and Ivan are alike in that sense. They both are unable to properly understand their feelings. But while Ivan allows his love to be a silent protector, Luka is much more childish and desperate.

Luka, in every way possible, is just a lonely child.

[suugarbabe]

poly!slytherin boys x gn!reader; animagus!slytherin boys; ignoring the canon that once turning back from an animagus form that the person is naked because i want to :)

an: i know it's newer territory for this fandom (at least from what i've seen) so i hope you all love it

this is another addition to the yap sessions with my hubby @musingsofahufflepuff <33

“Merlin’s beard!” you swerved your hips to the side, nearly missing being taken out by a large German Shepherd. You made your way over to the sofa to cuddle up next to Enzo. He happily wrapped an arm around your shoulder and tucked you into his side. You watched as the German Shepherd chased a large grey and fluffy cat around the living room. “How long have they been at this?” You sunk further into the sofa, and thus further into Enzo’s chest as he let out a low laugh, “About twenty five minutes; not even sure what Nott did to make Matty chase him like this, but it’s been entertaining for sure.” 

Theo was always quick witted, and that skill definitely relayed to his animagus form as he quickly dodged Mattheo’s quick snap for his tail, zipping past in a blip of grey fur. “Matty’s getting a little quicker,” you smiled, Enzo nodded in agreement, “but don’t tell him I said that.” Enzo lifted both hands in surrender, “Oh I would never, darling.” 

As if Theo heard exactly what the two of you were saying, he took a different approach to avoiding Mattheo’s grasps. Theo took advantage of his smaller form, jumping from the floor to a chaise and finally up on a floating bookshelf. Poor Matty had too much momentum, not able to stop himself once he was in full motion and thus slamming head first into the wall beneath the shelf. You and Enzo winced in pain for him as Matty’s paws covered his snout while he whined. 

In the next moment Matty was no longer a German Shepherd but fully fledged himself, rolling from his back to his side and groaning, “Fucking hell, Theo. You’re such a fucking asshole.” You pushed up from the couch then, cooing out as you approached the scene, “Oh, my poor sweet boy.” Matty’s lower lip jutted as he sat up and leaned against the wall. You stretched out your arms and Matty mirrored you before his mouth fell open. You bypassed Mattheo completely, reaching up instead to grab Theo from the shelf. 

You wrapped your arms around Theo as he nuzzled further in to your hold, purring softly. Matty looked over toward Enzo, pout growing deeper, “Are you seeing this, babe?” Enzo put on a mock pout, opening his arms for Mattheo. The curly haired boy took the bait, pushing up from the floor and plopping down on the couch to let his boyfriend soothe his mental wounds. “They’re so mean to me, Enzie,” Mattheo mumbled into his chest. Enzo ran his hands through Mattheo’s curls, “I know, baby. So mean.” 

You scoffed, “You two are the most dramatic men I’ve ever met.” You sat down on the arm of the sofa, still holding Theo. Mattheo sat up at the accusation, “How dare you say that when you’re holding him.” He pointed at Theo lounging comfortably in your arms. Theo lazily turned his head towards Mattheo, meowing loudly. Mattheo threw a finger in the air, sticking out his tongue. Theo hissed back at Mattheo before you stood up, mumbling something about going in to the bedroom for a cuddle.

[sukunasweetheart]

hear me out on bully!sukuna okay...

warnings; highschool setting, DUBCON, dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, sex in a confined space, semi-public sex, breeding, sukuna is kinda mean but is a simp at the same time, groping, cum in panties, just lots and lots of cum, "just the tip" he lied, mentions of pregnancy risk, ?cheating, sukuna the toxic tsundere but is horrendously down bad and perverted, eventual or mildly submissive sukuna?, this isn't gonna be the healthiest relationship - but its to be expected tho bc its a bully fic so..

Word count; 5.5k

bully!sukuna bothers you because he has a weird complex with you - preferring to be outright hated by you rather than deal with indifference or facing possible rejection.

it's often teetering on the edge of actual bullying; his existence is more of a nuisance than a serious distress to you.

he often loves getting on your nerves by tripping you up with his foot, only to catch you himself, or he purposefully bumps into you in the hallways making you almost topple over - like the fucking asshole he is. and you'll never forget the time you happened to get paired up with him on an assignment and the bastard had the audacity to try and take you both down by not doing his part. in exchange for his participation, he had you carry his bag for him around school for a week...

and he only gets more thrilled the more you fight back or retaliate.

sukuna likes to call you names, often using very condescending and colourful insults against you. and he likes to harass and chase off any potential boyfriends that come your way. that last one pisses you off the most. you want a boyfriend so bad, and that bastard is being such a huge cockblock. god forbid a girl wants to get laid. all your friends have had their first times already - why can't you?!

and he's back at it again too, after finding out that another guy confessed to you at school today. you accepted it. obviously when he wasn't watching. for a damn reason.

he finds out your last class was P.E today and you find yourself cornered in the locker room, empty of girls except for you. you ended up lagging behind as you were texting your new boyfriend over your phone after class. you try to walk past him to go home, but he traps you against your own locker.

you end up snapping back at him, having had enough of it.

"what is wrong with you? you know what? i think you're obsessed with me!" you shout back, shoving at his chest.

"who do you think you are, to stop me from getting a boyfriend... what, do you like me or something?" you speak without thinking, in a fit of anger.

"i bet you do! i bet you go home every night and jerk off to daydreams of me. is that right?" you go off, pushing every button you can.

sukuna falls silent. you expect him to argue back, to deny all your claims fiercely, and then go storming off, having heard enough of your nonsense.

but he's glaring at you, tight lipped, ears and cheeks turning bright red.

"...why're you silent all of a sudden? say something..." you continue awkwardly. "don't tell me... you actually...?"

"shut up," he hisses at you. "just shut up, for a second."

he wears an expression you've never seen on him before, and seems to be thinking about what to say next. he looks as though he wants to say something.

you open your mouth to tell him 'nevermind', but the sound of a small group of girls approaching the locker room is audible, which interrupts the both of you, and you panic. just what kind of rumours would spur on if they caught you and sukuna like this in here? you only just got your first boyfriend, there's no way you're gonna let this bastard ruin that for you!

thinking quickly, you open up your locker and roughly push sukuna inside, and then jump in after him. you shut the locker door quietly and peek outside through the little gaps at the top. the girls come in, having come back to get something that they left behind. what terrible timing.

one of the girls walk up a little close to your liking and you end up moving your body back as far as you can, your back pressing up against sukuna without thinking. and then you're startled by the low and quiet groan you hear behind you.

whipping around, you see sukuna with clouded eyes and a tightened jaw, barely able to fit inside this narrow locker. but he doesn't find it in himself to feel uncomfortable or annoyed at the situation.

after all, your ass is pressed up tightly against his growing bulge right then and there.

you were right about what you'd said earlier. he'd always daydreamed of a moment like this, pumping his cock at the thought of doing lewd things with you...

you turn back to the front, panicked. what the fuck? why does he look... like that?

kinda hot...

shaking your head, you try to ignore your beating heart, praying that the girls exit the locker room soon so that you can quickly escape from this situation.

meanwhile, sukuna's hands struggle to keep away from you as his brain begins to short circuit, dick helplessly twitching in his pants, chest heaving but it being of no help - as the locker fills with the scent of you in it, the sweetness of your shampoo and perfume, making his heart pump harder.

you slowly shuffle forward a little, trying not to lean against him so much. when are these girls leaving... you think to yourself. they've started gossiping amongst themselves, sitting on the bench. goddamn it!

large hands fall onto your hips and pull you back toward him. you feel him grinding his crotch against your ass, and you know that whatever is poking you is definitely his fucking boner.

"what the fuck, sukuna? s-stop," you whisper to him as quietly as you can.

sukuna has stopped his thinking in itself entirely. whatever's making him act right now is nothing but his pure and selfish desires. there's no way he can resist you when you're the one who climbed inside your own locker with him. he needs to relieve his ache somehow.

he gets more and more handsy with you as each minute passes. his large hand snakes up to fondle your clothed tits as he continues to discreetly dry hump your ass.

you should be disgusted. you should jump out right now and snitch on him and call him a molester right in front of these girls.

but good god, this feels like... nothing you've felt before. his wandering hands. his immense horniness. this tight enclosed space. the size of his boner. it's all making you excited in a weird way, and you're starting to feel aroused at your core.

sukuna is doing his best to get some pleasure from this minimal friction he's getting inside his tight space, but it's not enough. the desperation and arousal claws at him, his dick hurting from how tightly it's sitting in his pants. he swallows on nothing.

fuck it. he's already started. why hold back now?

you feel a shift behind you and the sound of fabric and a zipper being undone. is he...?

you gasp softly when something hot and hard gets pushed between your thighs. it's... it's pulsing. you can't believe this is happening. with sukuna, out of all people? should you be mortified or intrigued? you fear that the latter might be truer.

there's ringing in his ears. not a single logical thought is occupying his brain as he thinks purely with his dick at the moment, having waited so long for a moment like this. fuck, he's so hard. and it only excites him more that you haven't leapt out of this locker yet, running away from him. even though you could. his heart is on the verge of beating it's way up to his throat.

small, shallow thrusts. you feel his heavy cock rub up against your inner thighs, and both of his large hands are now groping your clothed breasts lewdly. he unbuttons your blouse, and then messily pulls down your bra, as he's desperate to feel the real thing, and you can't muster the strength to swat him away. when his fingertips tease your nipples, you have to stop yourself from making any noise. you've always wanted someone to touch you there...

never did you know that someone would be sukuna. you grab his wrist in a fit of desperation.

"you're a fucking pervert... what the hell are you doing?" you tell him a tad bit loudly, trying to deny the heat in your cunt.

"... did you guys hear something?" one of the girls suddenly ask outside.

your heart drops to your stomach as this sets off a panic inside you again. a big, warm hand clasps over your mouth, shushing you effectively.

"quiet..." he mumbles into the shell of your ear, and it weakens your knees. it never occurred to you that he's always had an attractive voice. a wave of goosebumps wash over your skin.

you look down. you can get a tiny peek of his tip whenever he thrusts in... it's so fucking big. you can't possibly fit that inside you, could you? when you catch that it's glistening with precum, your pussy squeezes around nothing.

one hand still over your mouth and the other teasing your tits, sukuna is busy slowly chasing an orgasm, regardless of the girls that have gotten a little wary outside. they soon forget about it and continue their pointless chatter.

fuck... his cock is so close to your cunt. the thought of it makes him shudder. he's almost there.

your hands are semi-clawing at his hand that's still against your mouth, when you suddenly feel him cease the incessant groping at your breasts. instead, it goes under your skirt - a finger loosening your panties up to fit his fat cock beneath the flimsy fabric.

there it is. your bareback fuckin' pussy. he has to bite his own lip to hold off groaning out loud. he does his best to slide his dick in and out against your slit - being restricted in movement due to the tight space, but make doing somehow.

you're actually thankful for his hand covering your mouth up, as you would've definitely moaned out loud if it weren't for him. it's unreal how turned on you are right now. does he feel it? all the slick pouring out of you? it's so, so strange. you were so sure that you didn't want this with him before, but not anymore...

it grazes over your clit over and over, painfully teasing, and you need to orgasm so badly.

sukuna jolts his hips against you, giving a final short thrust as his tip catches the fabric of your panties - he presses his own face against your neck to effectively silence himself as he reaches his first high.

you shudder as his dick pulsates between your thighs so strongly, making a hot mess in your underwear, cum spilling out in thick ropes - you feel the heat of it on your poor cunt, and you shiver as sukuna inhales deeply against your neck, his breathing wavering, dick aching for more even as it continues to spill heavily, creaming your panties. his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, causing you to shiver.

it's a pleasure that's greater than he could've ever given himself alone. but he wants more. he needs more.

you're in the middle of trying to gather yourself again, but you again, feel him moving his hips. just what is he up to now...?

your eyes widen when you catch onto how he's trying to thrust himself inside you now. there's no way... you struggle against him but he holds you still - mouth still firmly silenced by his palm.

the best he can do is have the tip inside. but for now, it's enough. he doesn't care - as long as he can get whatever pleasure that's available...

"j-just the tip..." he whispers with the smallest voice he can manage, against your ear again. it turns you on so good.

you can't help but enjoy when he gropes at your chest again, his tip bullying it's way in your desperate and wet hole, popping in and out, in and out, in and out.

even with just the tip, you're about to lose your mind. you want more, but at the same time you're scared what'll happen to your mind if he shoves that whole thing inside you.

sukuna's brain is yet again short circuiting as he dips the tip of his cock into your hot and slippery cunt - making him feral and desperate to get deeper. yet, what's stopping him is this confined space that suffocates him. there isn't enough oxygen for both of you here, and he wonders whether it's you or the lack of oxygen that's making him endlessly breathless.

oh, he's close again.

he's going to cum again, but this time inside. you want to protest, but you've always wondered... does it feel good to have it spill inside? regardless, you still try to struggle against him purely because you don't like the thought of sukuna knowing that you're enjoying this. even though it's already too late.

he holds you so tightly against him - before letting himself loose once again - tip poking into your pussy as he pumps inside, balls clenching. your hole is welcoming, and it puckers around him mind numbingly, milking his heavy cock for everything he has. you feel the warmth of his seed reaching inside you but not very deep - most of it trickles back out onto your panties. he twitches against you harder and more intensely, hips shoving into you messily.

you're both out of breath...

...and that's when both of you hear the girls leaving the locker room with muffled laughter, successfully avoided noticing you and him inside.

they turn the lights off before they leave, and the locker room turns dark and silent. you're now sweating against sukuna - and the moment you feel his hands loosen against you, you push the locker door open and step outside, unsure of what exactly you're trying to run from. sukuna himself? or the fact that you might be forming some kind of attraction to him? to the way he treats you?

but alas, no matter how fast you think you are, you could never beat sukuna's reflexes. in that quick momentum, he's pursued you outside and grabbed your arm - before pulling you back and shoving you against the now closed locker door.

"where do you think you're going?" he asks with a deep and low voice, vein popping on his forehead and looking desperate and an intense blush being permeated on his face. why is it that it's always made you feel so squirmy, whenever he cornered you like this? the size difference, the strength difference... the pervert here is not only him, it seems.

your needy gaze flutters from his eyes down to his exposed cock. it's veiny, throbbing, and leaking messily. it looks heavy and most importantly... it's so fucking big.

in the blink of an eye, sukuna has hiked your legs up, holding you up against the lockers, making it so that you cannot run from him again. it's game over.

"having the nerve to try and run after seducing me with your ass..." sukuna mutters angrily, lining his dick above your cunt and tummy, showing off how deep it'll reach if he slid it inside.

"no- i didn't..." you protest weakly, heart hammering with excitement. "idiot... let me down."

you tell him, despite your arms that loop around his neck.

"your voice is lacking it's usual sharpness," sukuna tells you breathlessly, flipping your skirt up and pushing your panties aside. it's still wet with his previous loads. oh- he can't think straight.

"wait-! something that big won't fucking fit!" you tell him, only now the fear beginning to hit you. moreover, you're afraid he'll end up breaking you and stop all rational thinking - this is dangerous.

"it will. i'll mould the shape of your insides to my fuckin' cock," sukuna insists, eyes focused on your wet glistening pussy. so pretty.

he pushes it in. but he doesn't stop there. he pushes it in all the way. balls fucking deep.

your eyes widen and when he thrusts the whole thing in one go, you well and truly break. legs trembling, pleasure washes over you and you cry out a moan.

"fuck-! did you just cum? are you cumming?" sukuna asks, panting, slowly sliding himself in and out as your cunt spasms around him. soon enough, he speeds it up and makes sure his tip is bullying your cervix with each deep thrust, eyes rolling back as your walls welcome him so warmly and clamp down on him.

"haah- haah- mm, fuck! you're so fuckin' tight! ugh, 'm gonna bust again," he slurs messily, hips moving non-stop. the unkempt bush of his pubic hair gives friction against you adding onto your strange sensations of pleasure. drool begins to roll out from the corner of your mouth.

his balls have never felt heavier as they slap against your wet ass each time he slams his cock inside, slick pooling out of you and creating droplets on the floor. he has a lot to give you... and your cunt is being so agreeable, the way it sucks on him, warm and wet. it's turning him animalistic, no thoughts running inside his brain except to fucking breed this hole. breed you.

not inside... not inside... you think, not realising that you're not saying it out loud.

"i'm gonna do it inside. i'm gonna-!" he hisses, hips stuttering at the last second.

"ugh- shit! 'm c-cumming... fuuck... fuck!" sukuna cusses deeply, thighs trembling as he continues giving tiny, but sharp thrusts even as he's spilling into you while buried to the hilt.

it's hot. you can feel that it's thick. there's so much. even more than his two previous loads. sukuna's face being twisted in pleasure puts you in awe - and you unknowingly tighten your pussy around him as he orgasms inside, joined to you hip-to-hip.

he's never felt such a deep seated pleasure in him before. he continues to gasp and shudder with every stringy spurt that he knows is reaching your womb. what if he actually knocks you up? what if his seed takes? it's a scary but thrilling thought. the thought of you swollen with his baby... all rational thinking has been thrown out the window due to this pleasure.

sounds that you never could've imagined coming out of sukuna continue to spill from his lips... he slides his cock in and out and squeezes every last drop out of himself, and he suddenly brings his lips to yours, kissing you feverishly. both of you pant over each other while making out messily as he slowly begins to thrust into you over and over again. he's going to get addicted to this. he's going to crave your pussy everyday from now on.

sukuna sucks on your tongue like he wants to swallow it. your arms hold onto him for dear life.

all too suddenly, he brings you off the locker, arms hooked under your legs and palms supporting you by holding onto your ass cheeks.

the kiss breaks, and catch sight of sukuna's lust-filled eyes as he moves you up and down his cock using his monster-like strength. and you're held up by him like this, you can't do anything to stop him. just cling onto him and take what he gives you.

"f-fuck, sukuna... ooh-! t-too deep," you mumble with tears in your eyes, gasping from the way his tip kisses your womb effortlessly. he's seriously too big for his own good.

"keep saying my name like that- it'll only make my dick harder," he pants, continuing to use your pussy like a fleshlight. his thick load has made it even wetter. he can feel your slick beginning to cream up around the base of his cock now, and it makes his chest well up with something like pride. does he turn you on that good? this hole of yours refuses to run out of lube.

the absurdly obscene plap plap plap sound of flesh against flesh, makes for the lewdest echo in the locker room. that, paired with the mild darkness, and the possibility of being seen by someone coming in during after-school hours, makes for the perfect thrilling atmosphere for such feral sex.

it's driving you mad. the echoing, the subtle anxiety, the smell of his sweat.

it's marvelous...

another orgasm hits you like a bullet train. gasping, you whimper as he continues fucking you through it this time, relentlessly thrusting into you regardless of your pulsing walls.

"shit... your cunt's clinging to me," sukuna groans, feeling blessed to see you get undone by him, by his cock. the fingertips of his large hands against your ass sink deeper, the pleasurable knot in his stomach getting tighter once again.

"you and your uselessly big dick... fuck you," you chide breathlessly, doing your best to keep your sentences clear even as he plunges into you with an unforgiving pace.

"clearly not useless when it's made you cum twice now, right?"

"shut up-"

you get cut off when he begins to thrust faster, as you witness the very moment sukuna's eyes become blank with pleasure, getting ready to empty his balls again.

"slutty fuckin' cunt. latching onto me so greedily... can't stop- thrusting-" he mumbles, gripping onto your ass tighter.

you can't help but sigh with pleasure when he begins to fill you up again, twitching and pulsing like crazy inside you as he spills so much seed like he's peeing.

"ohh, shit... cumming s-so hard..." he breathes out shakily.

you're starting to feel full. but you get the feeling that this still isn't the last one. desperate kisses are pressed against the side of your neck as he takes some time to relax a little again, thoroughly finishing deep into you, hips jolting every now and then.

he carries you over to the bench in the middle of the room, where he lies you down and brings your knees closer to your chest, fully exposing your cunt to him, whole. his dick still squeezed into you.

with a hoarse shaky groan, he slowly drags his thick cock in and out of you in this position, with only the heavens knowing how he is still hard after so many orgasms.

you give a small yelp as he speeds up - your plush walls embracing him warmly and filling up his balls once more. god, he doesn't think he'll ever have enough of this pussy. of you.

"idiot! e-enough.. take it out... i'll get- pregnant-" you warn him not-so-convincingly, with gasping moans between each word.

"c-can't... you're... sucking me in so good... can't stop-" sukuna replies with no thoughts in his brain other than to relieve the throb in his erection again. it's driving him up a wall, too. the flesh of your ass that softens the impact everytime he drives his hips into you. your squeals and whines of euphoria. your exposed breasts and glistening clit. he burns every detail into his brain, to make sure he remembers forever...

he doesn't even know what number round this is, but it amazes even him how he feels like he's already edging close to another climax. it's pathetic and ridiculous of him. but he can't help the fact that you push him over so easily.

the number of tissues he'd run through just from jerking off every time he thought about you all night... you have no clue.

recalling those moments makes him feel even more determined to chase this final orgasm even more rigorously. it won't be difficult, not with how your cunt swallows him up so nice.

"fuck.... i- i like you. i've always liked you..." sukuna mumbles out the sudden confession slowly.

"stupid... bastard... you say this now...?" you say as you sigh in pleasure, almost being close to your own climax as well, this position setting off yet another deep arousal in you. after all that bickering and tormenting - he has the audacity to confess to you? only after cumming inside multiple times?

"can't give any excuses can i?" he voices with a curt laugh - finding himself to be pitiful in this moment as well.

"but it's true... i- fuck- i like you so much..." he groans, hips getting faster.

your eyes begin to blur with tears again... sukuna thumbs your clit gently... and then you arch your back with a gasping squeal. sukuna too, hisses as he pumps you full for a final time, letting his dick drain itself in your fluttering hole, hips and thighs jerking uncontrollably while his tip leaks spurt after spurt through your cervix, overflowing you to the maximum.

after dumping his final load, he slowly drags his large, twitching cock out of you with a pop and lets it rest against your gaping cunt, pulsing weakly against your clit. his thumb pushes your panty lining aside to keep your pussy exposed for him to see. your hole is still gaping and thrumming, as if missing him already and he's watching with awe as big globs of his spend trickle out of you thickly. if he wasn't so exhausted, the sight of this would've made him hard again.

sukuna lets go of you and lets your legs rest on the bench, as you're still panting from the exertion, mind numb from that last orgasm. he seems to loom over you for a second, before leaning down, arms caging you against the bench, knee between your legs, to kiss you on your glossy lips. it feels good, but you wouldn't want to admit that out loud to him.

"i like you." he repeats again, after breaking away from you. he wonders why it had taken him so long to admit this fact. once he got it out, it became an easy thing to say. you look at his face and he looks so pathetic in your eyes, the usual look of cockiness and mischief being wiped away. he says it as if he's pleading you, and you know what he's asking for, what he's unable to say out loud. he probably wants to be your boyfriend.

it's strange to see the puppy eyes of your literal arch nemesis, and it's also strange to hear his voice give you a love confession. it makes you mad. it makes you angry. not because you hate it, but because you don't hate it.

he sees it. he sees the instant your eyes glint with anger, and he very swiftly dodges the head butt you try to give him at the very last second.

"move, idiot," you say sharply, glaring at him.

alright, he probably deserved that one.

you stand up and fix your bra and blouse before gathering your things from the locker before leaving without another word - sukuna follows you outside in a fit of mild anxiousness.

"hey-"

"you. take responsibility and buy me some plan b pills. and a pregnancy test kit," you interrupt, looking back at him.

"...alright," he responds rather obediently, after a nervous swallow.

after you turn back around to continue walking, the tiniest smile grows on your face... sukuna looking nervous is something you never thought you'd see. maybe you can use this to your advantage.

your phone vibrates in your hand. it's from your new 'boyfriend'. a sweet message saying he's excited to see you again tomorrow. you delete the notification with a little bit of guilt on your mind. you'll leave tomorrow's issues for tomorrow.

in front of the chemist, you languidly stand around outside waiting as sukuna does as you'd asked him. truth be told, it was because you didn't want to buy them yourself, out of embarrassment. you know he doesn't care about how people sees him, so no harm done there.

when he comes back out with the bag, he holds it out to hand it over to you. but when you try to grab it, he lifts it away.

"you're gonna break up with him, right?" he suddenly asks, with a rather serious expression on his face.

you ignore the question and try to grab the bag, but he avoids you again.

"...right?" he emphasises. he doesn't intimidate you at all anymore, not after knowing about his feelings for you.

"it's none of your business?" you tell him, finally snatching the bag. he doesn't look too pleased about that answer. you take the pills quietly and shove the rest into your bag.

"okay. now go home," you shoo at him. "i'm tired."

"you haven't answered me yet," he says firmly, holding onto your wrist.

"you'll have your answer tomorrow," you reply in an exasperated tone, shaking off his grip.

"and just letting you know. if it turns out positive, i'm never speaking to you again," you warn him with a deadpan face. in the back of your mind, you're pretty anxious about it, but you know according to your cycle, today wasn't a fertile day. that, and with the pill... it should be alright.

sukuna stiffens up and opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

"and don't follow me. if you do, i'll also never speak to you again."

you're not that serious about not talking to him ever again, but you believe he deserves to feel as anxious as you do.

"... i wasn't planning on stalking you anyway. jesus," sukuna mutters, kicking at the dirt on the ground.

you narrow your eyes at him, and then continue your way home.

he scratches the back of his head in frustration. it's like he's skipped a lot of steps towards you and it's coming back to bite him in the ass. ah, well. nothing he can do about it now.

sukuna starts praying that the test comes out as negative.

-

in the end, you decided to become the asshole and just break up with the guy over text. what was there to even really 'break up' anyway? it was for less than a day...

regardless, the news seems to run across the entire school and your friends begin to pester you about why. you can't tell them the truth. what could you even say? 'oh, i got railed good by the one guy i despised in school and it made me end up changing my mind'? fuck that.

he walks towards you after school with seemingly high spirits.

"so... i heard you broke it off after all," he approaches you after hearing the good news. you'd been ignoring him all day, but he's hoping you'll stop once the day was over and there was no one else around to watch them.

you continue to give him the silent treatment, walking along without sparing him a glance.

"hey," he grabs your forearm to stop you from walking.

"stop ignoring me. please."

you only spare him a glance because he added 'please'.

"...i don't see how that changes anything between us," you finally respond.

"right. surely not," he responds, voice thick with sarcasm.

"is that the correct attitude you should be taking? i broke up with him because i felt bad i fucked someone else while we were together. not because i like you back," you shoot at him, crossing your arms.

"oh, give me a break. you were barely with him for one day-"

"sukuna. do you want me to like you back?"

sukuna falls silent, looking at you with annoyance yet also simultaneous desire.

"if you want me to like you... then you need to work for it. make up for all the mean things you've said and done to me."

"...how? what should i do?" he asks, daringly, stepping forward towards you.

you wordlessly take your bag and shove it against his chest with an aloof expression on your features. it startles him for a moment, but looking at your face, he understands what you're asking of him. he slowly smirks and slings your bag over his shoulder, on top of his own.

"easy. anything else?"

"...i'm kinda hungry. take me somewhere good to eat. you pay."

"so... a date?" sukuna hums teasingly, trying to hold your hand.

"nope. you're gonna act as my lackey for a few weeks. it's payback. after that... well, we'll see," you say as you dodge his hand.

he can't wipe the smile off his face. you're clearly playing around with him, but he doesn't hate it. it's another form of attention, is it not? he'll have plenty of chances to make you his from now.

little does he know... he's the one that will become yours in the end.

you know the drill! dot points bc im lazy as fuck!!

okay well, first off the test does turn out negative, lucky for him... from then on you make him wear condoms whenever you have sex

but before that, he spends a few weeks running around to try and appease you

everybody shocked to see the big bad bully is being so obedient, and little do they know...

mmmaybe you give him little rewards every now and then, some sneaky kisses or so, just to keep him afloat... and then you withhold your body from him again

still carries your bag for you everywhere

has to deal with the frustration of not having boyfriend privileges yet... always itching to touch you but you wont allow it until you think he deserves it

sitting between his legs but not letting him be handsy with you is torture. maybe he'll break the rules a bit and hug your waist anyway

love the thought of him borderline begging for your touch because he's so hard from spending so much time being so close with you and it's been well over three weeks since he's done anything remotely sexual with you

maybe you'll feel a little turned on by his pleading that you cave in a bit, and take him to the public restrooms for a few handjobs

he will take anything he can, the opportunist...

and you'll have plenty of fun edging and toying with sukuna until he's shaped nicely into being a good obedient boyfriend for you

bully sukuna trope was inspired and set alight by @gojos-thot-patrol btw, link to his fic here... mine took a completely different path but it was a similar concept in the end ✨️👌

Masterlist

[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.

[chaosclover1999]

no but like as some1 who is aromantic tho it's so fucked up how uncomfortable ppl even within the queer community r w this sometimes

like the assumption that romantic relationships r somehow more meaningful than platonic relationships and the idea that if people who hav no romantic feelings for each other hav a sexual or otherwise intimate relationship then that must mean they r using each other, it's legit so aro-phobic and assumes that any relationships i hav that r more authentic 2 me and how i love is somehow lesser and me using the other person and it only seeks to guilt me into either pretending to have romantic attraction and force myself into a comp-romo relationship or 4 me 2 not hav any relationships in my life at all and completely self isolate

tbh it also affects how i talk abt the relationship i do hav, im in a qpr w another man and i love him very much, personally i would feel the most comfortable referring 2 him as my friend since the most accurate way i could describe what we hav is a very deep and intimate friendship (that yes is also sexual sometimes) but when referring 2 him in conversation w most ppl i usually refer 2 him as my "boyfriend" instead of my "friend" since the term boyfriend 2 most ppl is what indicates the level of dedication and love i have for this man whereas most people if i called him my friend would simply not understand how deep my feelings for him go and would be thinking of something far more casual than how i actually feel about him (not that there's anything wrong with casual of course that's just not accurate 2 my feelings in this relationship)

i think in some way it's also a way of protecting myself, my partner and dear friend would not be allowed to come into doctors appointments w/ me if i referred 2 him as my friend when explaining 2 the doctor who he is 2 me, so i refer 2 him as my boyfriend, this is necessary 4 my feelings of safety and comfort since i hav a lot of medical trauma and don't feel safe being on my own w a doctor, also it's necessary 4 my safety as a disabled person who's disabilities effect my ability 2 understand things ppl say 2 me, my friend can explain 2 me what the doctors r saying in terms i am able 2 understand but the doctors even if they did try (they don't) wouldn't b able 2 explain things 2 me in a way that made sense 2 my brain and meant that i would hav a full understanding of what they were suggesting being done 2 my body in terms of medical care simply bc of them not knowing me personally and not knowing how my mind works and how my ability 2 understand things works

i think a lot of ppl who r alloromantic don't understand/think abt how truly enforced the idea of romance is and how dystopian it is that that's seen as a requirement, 4 example the fact that a person's legal rights regarding their partner changes if they r married 2 them, my friend likely would not b allowed 2 c me in the hospital if i were unconscious and it would just b me and the doctors all bc of us not being married, it doesn't matter 2 the law how deep our relationship goes and how i am far more comfortable trusting him than a doctor, what matters to the law is our inability 2 perform romance and our lack of interest in performing monogamy, idk it's smth i think abt a lot

having sex with your friends is so very normal please stop poisoning the youths minds with shame surrounding hooking up with your friends. especially if you’re gay