#he just wants trust and he wants security. and whenever he finds that he wants that with someone who is a lady

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Was thinking again about Montceratops earlier and how fucking Normal it would be for Roxy to have found another fucking missing animatronic by that point. Like okay cool. Another one. This one is how old??? Aight... okay then. That's a new record I think...

Roxy and Cassie's dad asking for help for Montceratops at this point is like "let me guess. Roxy found a new friend." and it's not even a question. They don't have any idea what the fuck she's found this time but they see Cassie's dad walk in like "hey so uh. You wanna maybe prep the cylinder?" for the very first time asking the other techs for help and they just fucking know Roxy's found some old fucked up lil guy in the god knows where lmao

They learned from the dinosaurs, the chicken, the duck, the Eclipse and the fucking herd of horses that Roxy wasn't gonna get in real trouble for any of this shit. At this point? Yeah they might as well-WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S A FUCKING DINOMONTY?! WHAT THE FUCK????

[quietwingsinthesky]

something very tragic about looking at dean's relationships with most of the women he knows especially through an aro!dean lens because he so clearly wants deeper relationships with them but because he's dean and has Problems and A Role To Perform, he can only allow himself to have it through romantic attachments that he isn't even comfortable with.

[heartyluv]

Note: Sylus is just the fluffiest man ever. He deserves all the love in the world and I shall be first in line to give it. ♡︎

Creds to @/strangergraphics & @/omi-resources for the banners.

No warmings ◡̈

Word Count: 1,040

Protective!Sylus/Reader Headcanons

♱ Sylus is so protective over you in a way that you thought only existed in all the movies you’ve watched and books you’ve read.

♱ It’s not overwhelming in the sense that it’s too much or suffocating. It’s overwhelming because you never thought someone could ever love you so much that your entire existence is what completes theirs.

♱ Sylus hesitated to tell you how important you were to him. He had difficulty accepting it himself when he came to the realization that you were his endgame, because loving someone meant vulnerability—even weakness.

♱ I feel like the moment he realized you meant the world to him was when he saw how seamlessly you mended into his life and daily routine without judgment. I’m still imagining him as the leader of Onychinus, so he’s still that feared arms dealer that everyone whispers about.

♱ I don’t believe he hid anything from you. He laid everything out on the table. For one, it’s because he doesn’t lie to people and two, putting everything out there left no room for you to find something to leave him for later. Sylus doesn’t necessarily have a fear of being abandoned, but he views it as an expectation. If you knew what and who he was from the beginning, he knew it wouldn’t be long for you to be solidified in whatever decision you choose.

♱ But when you stayed, when you held him and told him that there was nothing unlovable or unworthy about him, you were stuck with the man for life.

♱ “I’ll never disappoint you. Everything I do from this point forward will always and only be done with your wellbeing at the forefront of importance. Thank you for choosing me.”

♱ He definitely has a tracker on you, at least two. One in your phone and another in a necklace he gave you (you still don’t know about that one).

♱ He proposed the idea of you moving in with him a few weeks after you officially became a couple. While every part of you wanted to say yes, you had to be realistic. The relationship was just starting to get serious, but Sylus had already started moving you in without you being aware.

♱ I’m talking he buys an exact replica of your wardrobe, shoes, jewelry and extras. He’s got at least double of your favorite body wash, perfume, lotion, and hair products. Basically, all the things that make your house a home, he brought it to his place. All your books, records, and movie collections are in his home and if they’re classics, he tries to find original copies just because he loves to make you happy.

♱ “When you tell me that you are ready, there’s no need to wait so that you can gather your things. I have everything you need and more, ready for you to come home. Just like me, it’ll be waiting.”

♱ Sylus became so protective of you because you were the only thing in his life that seemed real. He did nothing, as he says, “to earn you love”, but Sylus being who he is, is what won you over completely. You didn’t question him when things felt a little concerning or judge him when it got scary. You stuck by his side, praised him, believed in him, trusted him. You loved him, something he thought he’d never experience.

♱ He appointed a personal driver and bodyguard(s) to you whenever he’s unable to be around you and they’re what he deems the best available. But if he finds better, he’ll replace them without any issue.

♱ He threatens them for sure LOL. I don’t think he’s light about it either. Like he’s gruesome and detailed about what he’ll do to them should they fail in keeping a smile on your face and your safety secured.

♱ And he goes to you for daily reports. You think it’s the cutest thing despite him being so serious.

♱ “Should you have any concerns or complaints about who I’ve assigned to you, bring it to me directly, sweetie. I’ll handle it.”

♱ He buys you everything. He wants you to feel secure in every aspect within his control. Keeping you happy is what keeps him happy because for him, you’re all that matters. So emotionally, physically, mentally, financially and whatever other -lly there is, he’s going to make sure you have the best because it’s what you deserve.

♱ You bring up a gaming system? He’ll buy it. You bring up a hobby you’re thinking about getting into? He’ll have nothing but the best supplies delivered to you. You want a baby? He’s more than willing to start the family he’s been ready to give you since you first time you told him you loved him.

♱ He has hurt people when it came to you. You don’t know this, but times when someone has called you out of your name or disrespected you and you told him about it, he didn’t go as far as to off them, but he made them feel what will happen should they or anyone else dares to ever try it again.

♱ “Your first mistake was believing you had the privilege to be in her presence. Your second and final one was disrespecting her and thinking there’d be no consequence.”

♱ Sylus loves your skin. HEAR ME OUT!!

♱ You’re just so soft, you always smell so good, and he lovessss to feel you. The man is addicted to rubbing you, licking you, touching you, anything he can do to be close to you because unfortunately, living in your skin just isn’t gonna happen. Like he’s addicted to you and only you get to see how serious he is about it.

♱ He hates seeing you cry, especially if it’s about something he can’t directly handle.

♱ “Tell me how to make it better, kitten. Nothing is unreachable when I’m here to correct it. Talk to me.”

♱ Basically, you’re like porcelain to him. By no means does he think you’re weak or that you need saving. But because you let him be your shield, because you allow him to be the one to protect you from all the dangers and the harshness of the world, he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly.

♱ You are his happiness. You are his reason.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Slasher!König and his oblivious wife? 🎀

Konig loves his wife. She is a pretty smart thing - always knows when the food had run out and he needs to drive to the nearest grocery shop, and always knows where did he put his combat gear when he returns from a hunt and forgets where he dropped it. She is a pretty and clever little thing who knows how to kiss him exactly right when he is too fucking angry at some dumb survivors after an unsuccessful hunt, and you know when to leave him alone so he can spend some quality time with his hauntingly good taxidermy. Konig has a smart wife - but it doesn't mean you're smart enough to pick up at signs. Like when you kiss him and he smells of blood - not some occasional splotches that you can get from skinning a deer. You don't ask because you don't want him getting nervous - you know how anxious he can get whenever you ask him some uneasy questions, and you don't want to make him feel bad. You don't have a reason not to trust him, so you just press your face in his chest and let him lull you into a sense of security. Konig loves you like this - cute, obedient, as pliant as a pretty wife can be. You stopped worrying about living in a cozy house closer to the forest, which he adores - and you stopped trying to get out of the house on your own, too scared after the news of some psycho wolf tearing through the poor victims just around. Konig would always assure you that there is nothing to be afraid of - and you let him kiss away your fear, treating you as gently as he can. Sometimes Konig slips - some dumb tourist running away, almost in your hands, finding a way around the house and trying to break to safety. Konig knows better than to stash victims in a basement of his own house, but sometimes he almost wishes you weren't as oblivious so he could just reveal his true side to you and break you into a fully obedient little thing. Oh, but he can't - he actually likes you, and he likes those stupid little decorations you put on the porch, and he likes having your warm body next to his in bed, and he likes to listen to your rambling about the weather and the show you watched. He has to actually hide his tracks, stop coming home drenched in blood, and with the newest trophy strapped to his hip. It's all worth it when he returns from having to hunt a bunch of dumb college students, and he is met with the sight of his precious wife bending over a stove to get the cookies out of the oven. It's even more worth it when he can come and startle you with a few kisses on your neck - he lifts the mask around you, always wanting to press his face against your body - and then lift your skirt to bury his tongue in your pussy, too distracted to actually use his fingers. He just wishes you'll never stop being his adorable and oblivious wife while he is too busy hunting the dumb tourist in his forest.

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Advice: How To Trauma

In seeing the recent explosion of my "How To Write Trauma With Humanity" post, I have decided to jump back into this topic!

This cute post will be covering how to write complicated individuals with Trauma. From the good, the bad, and especially the ugly since people tend to assume that victimhood is inherently seperated from assholehood

A) Being A Person And Afraid

In my experience, the majority of people with trauma have simultaneously existing fears and desires that often contradict, complicate, or outright hurt themselves.

I call them "fear combinations"

It's these fear combinations that cause people with trauma to often act in ways that seem confusing to outsiders.

For example, the person that's always on the hunt for a relationship but whenever an opportunity for romance strikes, they create relationship havok so the relationship can end

Or a person tries to always sincerely bring attention to themselves but whenver the attention is on them, they just shrug it off as not being worthy of it

This behavior seems kinda weird until you stop to take a closer look at their psyche.

Example 1 is based off of my character, Monday Vũ who has a tendency of jumping into relationships with a sincere desire to find romance until the honeymoon period ends as Monday realizes that if the relationship continues they might have to settle down, forgo their entire identity, and all of their freedom. Then they sabotage the relationship under the guise that it's a selfless endeavour.

Example 2 is based off my character, Niko Preyr who uses grand public gestures and his friendships to prop himself up as a person to be known but if you ever spoke to him then you would quickly see one of the most insecure yet attention-hungry individuals you have ever seen.

"Fear Combinations" are an excellent device in making your characters complex. In my opinion, the trauma-writing scene is just a little bit too neat in it's displays of trauma. It's too logical. It doesn't feel real to my personal experiences.

"he has trust issues because of trauma" What if he also had issues with being clingy to people he sees as trust-worthy?

What if your characters weren't so easy to understand? But I hear you wondering.

How? How do these people manifest such confusing behavior? Why should I add this into my characters?

I'll tell you

B) Instinct Vs Terror, Fighting Against Yourself

In my opinion, "fear combinations" are either caused by the distortion of a human fear or the event in which an intrinsic desire is contrasted against a "survival method".

Humans are born with certain "intrinsic" fears and desires. Humans are born with a desire for belonging, a desire for vulnerability, a desire for self-fulfillment, a desire for independence, a desire for security in themselves.

And with desire comes the fear of "missing out". The fear that you want something that everyone wants but for some reason you won't be able to get it. The fear that you'll loose it. And the fear that your desire might put you into danger. What if you get rejected? What if you never find that group? What if you never find freedom?

In not-traumatized individuals, while it may take some introspection, people can and often do reconcile their fears and desires in a movie-montage when they're children with the help of a strong support system.

In traumtized individuals, what tends to happen is that either the fear of lose and the fear of gain tend to be increased to unpredencented levels

Either that, or a lack of a strong support system doesn't allow the child to safely confront their fears in order to get what they want.

This causes "fear combination"

Niko Preyr has the natural desire to be validated as "good", as "special", as "worthy". A desire we are all born with. However, his upbringing convinced him that he is underserving of what we all need. This causes Niko Preyr to use attention as validation. However whenever he receives this attention, his gifted fear that he is undeserving causes him to reject the attention. But he continues searching for attention to serve that need for validation. A hellish cycle.

Monday Vũ has two understandable fears that we all have. The fear of losing two necessary things: indepedence and security. Monday fears being abandoned, fears being engulfed into relationships. While children and adults can often reconcile those fears in their childhood through a strong support system, Monday never had that. Instead she had her father who emotionally left her and her mother who literally left her. Monday only had herself to rely on, at least thats how she felt. And now, as an adult, Monday wants to fulfill that desire we all have. To be loved. To be connected. But she's afraid. Afraid of being blindsided. Afraid of not having the last laugh. Afraid of being apart of something.

What if that loner wolf found someone who they think is perfect. Someone worthy of their trust. Do you really think that all those years of yearning for love, for connection, are just going to be smothered when they have the perfect person to unleash their childish, half-developed, horrifying emotions onto?

But what next? After we have our character's contradictory fears and desires, after we have the justification for why they feel like this, what's next?

It's this:

C) Self-Destructive Habits: Why We Understand And Can't Change

Let me tell you, unless in very specific conditions such as certain personality disorders and so on, people tend to understand that their behavior is foolish, illogical, and hurting other people.

Monday knows that betraying other people, hurting their trust and faith in their relationships, and entering relationships when she understands her history is bad. It makes her a bad person.

Niko knows that their habits are actively hurting their chances at finding worth.

That "Lone Wolf" understands, deep down, that no single person can handle the high expectations and emotions.

They know it because they can see it. Many times. Monday can see that characters in movies who have their relationship history tend to be casted as the antagonist. Niko can hear the gossip. That "Lone Wolf" can see the way that their loved ones cracked under the pressure and guilt.

So why do they do it? It feeds into their idea of the world. It feeds into what they want to be perceived as. It feeds into their stagnancy.

If Monday can ignore how they hurt others, then they can live under the Martyr label for the rest of their life without having to come to term with the fact that this isn't selflessness, it's called being pathetic.

If Niko can ignore how deep that hurt goes, then they never have to actually make the effort to change. To take that potential and make themselves into something. To be responsible.

If "Lone Wolf" can ignore how nobody can meet their expectations without crumbling down, then they use everyone's failure to feed into their cynical, self-hating notion of how nobody's trustworthy. How they don't have the responsibility of being considerate.

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: I Choose You

Request: Anonymous said: "jealous tyler or jealous reader would be interesting to read 👀"

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none!

A/N: not sure how i feel about this one but I gave it a go and wanted to make sure I posted!

Tyler tells himself that he’s over thinking… maybe even reading too much into things. 

But God, he swears he isn’t imagining the way that you and the reporter he’d agreed to let tag along for the next week naturally interact with one another with such ease. 

Tyler is not a jealous person– he’s confident and secure and he trusts you. Jealousy is petty and it’s stupid. And Tyler’s been trying his whole life to prove to himself and everyone around him that he’s not stupid.

Tyler has a loose shock to repair before the storm they’ve been tracking rolls in later that day. He’s currently laying on the dirt at the rest stop they’ve pulled in, with a wrench in his hand. Dani’s shining their flashlight for him, and it’s important he stays focused. And he tries… really, he does. 

But Tyler looks up just as the reporter laughs at a joke you’ve made. And then, he reaches out to touch your arm for the added effect. Tyler nearly drops the wrench he’s holding on his face at the sight. 

“Easy, T,” Dani says, studying him closely. 

He takes a deep breath before looking back towards the truck. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dani asks, kicking his shoulder gently with their boot. 

“Nothing,” Tyler grumbles in a tone that screams there is absolutely something wrong. Thankfully Dani doesn’t push. 

…

Throughout the rest of the week, Tyler tries to talk himself down whenever jealousy rears its ugly head. He keeps telling himself that he’s being irrational– you’re not flirting with the reporter everytime you walk with him into the gas stations they stop at, or offer to ride with him in the van instead of Tyler’s truck, where you normally sit. You’re just trying to be friendly… make him feel at ease. 

But did he really have to look at you that way while you studied the GPS monitoring system? Or share his fucking cookies with you when everyone ate lunch in the field? And did you have to laugh so loudly at every single joke he made?

Tyler finds out on the second night he’s tagging along that Henry’s a fucking Columbia grad on top of a stupid self-proclaimed comedian. The two of you are sitting around the fire talking about graduate degrees when Henry turns towards him. 

“Did you two meet at school then?” Henry asks.  

Tyler smiles, but instead of warmth it’s laced with sarcasm. “Nope, I don’t have one of those fancy degrees, Henry. In fact, none of us but her do.” 

Henry turns back towards you and proceeds to ask more questions about your time studying meteorology at the U of A. Meanwhile, Tyler is left to simmer in his own self pity, wondering if it bothered you that he isn’t educated like Henry. 

Tyler has to spend the rest of the week fighting the urge to make it known you’re his– he’s had thoughts of keeping a permanent hand planted on your waist right in front of Henry. Maybe if he pulled you in for a kiss a little more often, and really claimed you as his, this guy would back the hell off. 

But Tyler quickly shakes away the thought. 

Because claiming you like an object is stupid, and Tyler is not stupid. 

…

Tyler grabs you a coffee from the nearest gas station and brings it back to the motel because he’s really trying to move past all this shit. You’re sitting with Lilly and fiddling with the drone when he tries to hand it to you. 

You offer him an appreciative smile that warms his entire chest. Tyler’s definitely been overreacting, because you’re looking at him with such love and admiration in your eyes. 

“Thanks, but I’ve already had some today,” you say, crushing every hope inside of him in an instant. “Why don’t you give it to Dani?  They take their coffee the same as I do.”

“When did you have time to get coffee?” he asks, trying to play it cool. 

You reply so simply, like the words don’t slice right through his heart. “I didn’t, Henry brought me one.”

Tyler’s jaw tightens. It’s a gesture you don’t notice, because you’re too busy focusing on the drone half in your lap. 

What you do seem to notice, is the way he scoffs. It makes yours and Lilly’s heads both turn. 

But before you can reply, Tyler’s already walking away. He clutches the coffee firmly in his hand and without a word, drops the full cup in the trash can outside the motel. 

…

Tyler has to remind himself that he’s not angry.

At least not at you.  

You and him have a great relationship. He trusts you and that’s all there is to it. Whether it’s Henry or whoever else–  you never gave Tyler a reason to be worried. 

But Tyler doesn’t like the way seeing you with the reporter makes him feel. Because at any moment, you could leave him for someone with a more respectable career– someone with fair skin and button up polos who just looked like they had their shit together. Someone with a college degree… someone a hell of a lot smarter than him. 

Seeing you with him made Tyler feel vulnerable, like he had something to lose– because he had everything to lose. 

…

The crew spends another week chasing in Oklahoma. The season’s winding down, but they still managed to catch two EF0s and an EF1. 

Tyler’s been avoiding you for most of the week. He’d offer the truck space to Boone and Lilly, he’d sit next to Dexter around the fire at night… hell, he would hardly even look at you. 

You turned down his coffee earlier in the week. Only after the fact did you realize that you should have just taken the damn thing. You understand that rejecting him after he went out of his way to do something nice for you hurt his feelings… But you can’t understand how that turned into an entire week of the silent treatment. 

On numerous instances, you try to approach him. But he always has somewhere to run off to. 

“I gotta help Dani with the van’s oil change.”

“I gotta see if Boone got the footage we need.”

“I gotta give Dexter a hand with the radar.”

You’re getting sick of it. 

You try to distract yourself for the rest of the week– you ask Lilly to explain more about how to work her drone, you keep on top of the radar– looking for forming storm cells, and you try to make the reporter Tyler had invited along for the week feel welcome. 

Henry’s nice– he’s completely new to storm chasing and has loads of questions all the time. You find it slightly annoying that he’s so interested in Tyler… but you get it. And even though you’re a little irritated with Tyler for your week-long silent-treatment sentence, you still want him to sound as good as possible in the article, so you talk him up every chance you can. 

You know that this lack of communication can’t last. And the second Henry goes back to Boston to write his piece, you plan to corner Tyler and force him into telling you what the hell you’d done wrong. But until then, you don’t want to cause a scene. So, you sit back, spend more time talking with Henry about Tyler, and try like hell not to lose your mind.

…

It’s more for his own sanity than anything. It’s like seeing you with Henry has caused this sudden realization to pop into his head… You can do better– and honestly you deserve better than him. The thought is all consuming. It makes focusing on anything else incredibly difficult. 

“You gonna tell us what the hell is up?” Lilly asks one day. 

Tyler’s currently standing in the bed of his truck, tinkering things that didn’t really need to be fixed just to stay busy. 

“What do you mean?” he replies without looking up.

“I mean are you going to tell us why you two love birds haven’t spoken in like three days?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler notices Boone glancing his way with an expression on his face that says he was wondering the same thing. 

“We’ve spoken,” Tyler says dismissively. 

“Telling her you don’t have room for her in the truck doesn’t count,” Lilly retorts. “C’mon, seriously, Ty. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sets his tool down and looks down at Lilly. “Nothing is wrong.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Okay, well are you sure she knows that? Cause Dani and I saw her crying in the bathroom.” 

Tyler lets out a long exhale– the thought of you upset instantly filling his insides with sorrow. But the thought that he was the one to make you upset is even worse. 

“I know it’s not my business,” Lilly adds. “But I’ve been watching you give her the silent treatment all week, and that’s not going to fix anything. I know Henry’s still here and it’s been a crazy week–”

Tyler can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips at the mention of Henry’s name.

Lilly pauses before a look of understanding washes over her. “You’re pissed that she’s been hanging with Henry.” She says it as a statement instead of a question. 

“I’m not–”

“I’ve known you for six years, don’t even try to deny it. You are– you’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

With his lips pursed in a thin line, Tyler raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I am. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to scoff. “Of course it doesn’t make me happy. You’re being an idiot.”

“What?” 

“I said that you’re being an idiot,” Lilly says, annunciating each word insultingly. 

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “I’m well aware that I’m an idiot, but thanks for reminding me.”

“I said you’re being an idiot, Tyler. Not that you are one. Now stop sulking and fucking listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s so out of the ordinary for Lilly to snap that Tyler actually does shut his mouth. 

“You invite a reporter on the road with us and then you don’t give him the time of day to answer any of the questions he has. You’re short and curt and to be honest, kind of fucking rude anytime he asks you anything. Y/N is being polite– and she’s hosting the guest you invited along. So don’t fucking blame her just because you’re insecure.” 

Tyler can feel the anger rising in his own chest, he wants to get defensive– to snap back at Lilly. But deep down, he knows she’s right, so he stifles any comebacks and instead hangs his head. 

Lilly sighs. “You’re not an idiot, Tyler. So stop acting like one.”

…

After letting Lilly’s words really sink in, Tyler decides that she’s right. For the first time all week, he’s motivated to actually talk with you and make things right. 

Or at least he is right until he sees Henry approaching you in the parking lot. He’s too far away to hear what Henry has to say. But he’s not so far away that he doesn't see the folded up piece of paper that he passes you. 

In an instant, everything Lilly had said– along with all the things he’s said to convince himself he’s been overreacting flies away with the wind. Because Henry just gave you his fucking phone number. 

Tyler turns– needing to get as much space from whatever exchange he just witnessed as he possibly can. In a few, long, angry strides, Tyler reaches his truck and climbs inside. In the distance, he hears Lilly call after him. But he pretends he doesn’t hear. Instead, he slams the door shut, starts the ignition and drives away. 

…

“Where’s he goin’?” Boone says just as you approach him and the rest of the crew. 

“Dunno. He didn’t say anything to you?” Dani asks, turning towards Lilly. 

She shakes her head, eyes squinting against the bright sun. 

“What the hell is his problem?” you say frustratedly, biting back tears. 

Stupidly, you’d let yourself get your hopes up earlier in the day when Tyler had offered you a small smile over breakfast. You had thought that maybe things were alright, and that he was finally over whatever had been bothering him so badly. 

But now you’re standing in the cloud of dust he just left behind after taking off in his truck without a word to anyone and you know that isn’t the case. 

“Here I was thinking I helped last night,” Lilly says under her breath. 

You snap your head in her direction. “You talked to him?”

She shrugs. “I tried to.” 

“Did he say why he’s been so upset?”

Lilly hesitates. And truthfully, you understand why. Everyone here was Tyler’s friend first. You were the last to join the crew– inducted into the group just by being Tyler’s girlfriend. They have no obligation to be loyal to you over Tyler. 

“Forget it,” you say defeatedly, turning away as soon as you feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “It doesn’t even matter.” With that, you make your way towards the RV, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes trained on you the entire way. 

…

Tyler drives to the nearest gas station, desperate for space to clear his head. 

He knows he’s being dramatic and irrational at this point, but if he stayed at that rest stop another second, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth. He really really had to get it together. But he can’t escape the fear inside of him– the one saying that meeting Henry helped you recognize that you could do so much better than him.

And now you had his phone number, to reach out whenever that realization hit. 

Why wouldn’t you be interested in Henry? He’s got a goddamn master’s degree from Columbia, he writes articles for the Globe, works out every morning before they go chasing–  apparently makes hilarious jokes… 

Tyler rests his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

…

Tyler’s gone for an hour. But when he finally parks the truck back at the rest stop, he hasn’t shaken the sinking feeling inside of him. 

In a preemptive attempt to avoid questions he had snagged a bunch of snacks from the nearest gas station. If you ask where he’s been, he can just say he had a hankering for potato chips and call it good. 

Except, you don’t even look at him when he gets out of the truck. Boone’s got corn hole set up in the dirt. It looks like Boone and Henry versus Dani and Dexter while you watch. He only watches for a moment before bringing the bag of snacks into the RV. 

Secretly, Tyler’s been simultaneously excited for and dreading the end of the week. He’s excited for Henry to leave and excited to sleep in his own bed. But he’s dreading being back in your shared house. It’ll be the first time the two of you are forced to be alone, and he knows he’ll have to find the words to describe what he’s been feeling. 

But apparently Tyler’s stupid, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose you. And seeing you with Henry makes him feel like he’s about to lose you. Tyler doesn’t know how to say that to you without coming across as a total lunatic.  

…

You don’t want to cause a scene at the rest stop. But the minute you see Tyler head for the RV, you’re out of your seat and beelining it towards him while the rest of the team is distracted.

As soon as you hoist open the door, you find him hunched over the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. 

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to blurt out. You’re fuming and on the verge of tears. But you can’t help it– Tyler’s silent treatment has just about pushed you to the edge. 

Tyler whips around at the sound of your entrance… and maybe it was a little dramatic– but you need to get your point across. 

There’s a long pause while Tyler’s eyes study you. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

You’re met by more silence.  

“This is ridiculous, Tyler. Will you just talk to me?”

Finally, Tyler scoffs, “The reporter gave you his number, right?  Why don’t you talk to him?  I’m sure he’d love to talk.”

In an instant, a wave of understanding washes over you. But it isn’t overshadowed by the anger you feel. 

“Are you serious right now? You’re jealous of Henry?”

He shuts the fridge before cracking open his water bottle dismissively, ignoring your questions. 

“Tyler, are you forgetting that you’re the one who invited him with us this week? I mean, did you think he was just supposed to sit back and observe? He’s a reporter, of course he’s going to have questions… Questions that you were way more qualified to answer, but you were too busy being a jerk all week to answer any of them. So I did it for you–”

“I never asked for you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to– I did it for you!” you cry. “I did it so that he’d write you a good story– because you deserve that.” 

“Oh, how convenient. So you two just get along so well for my sake then?” he says. 

You exhale sharply. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve spent the last week talking about you! I’ve been talking you up– telling him stories about what you do– how good you are at what you do– all the people you’ve helped–”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah right,” he scoffs. 

You pause, anger slowly melting away at the realization that he genuinely didn’t believe anything you were saying. 

“Tyler,” you say seriously. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Henry. I’ve been answering his questions and telling him how fucking brave and generous and smart you are–”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, voice cracking just slightly. “Just forget it, it doesn’t matter.” He sets his water bottle on the counter before moving to step by you. 

“Tyler stop–” you say, reaching for him. But he’s too quick. He reaches the door before you’re able to stop him. 

“Will you please stop walking away from me!” you blurt out frustratedly, tears forming in your eyes. “You’ve been running from me all week– I just… I just want to talk about this. Please–”

Tyler doesn’t turn to face you, but to your relief, he stops before opening the door. 

“There is nothing happening between me and Henry, Tyler. I mean, I promise you, absolutely nothing– I… I don’t know how else to convince you. But there’s nothing going on. I’m not into Henry–”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes squeezing shut. 

You let your mouth fall open, confusion washing over you. “What?” 

“I know there’s nothing happening between you and Henry– I trust you and I believe you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “So why are you so mad at me?”

Tyler pauses and bites his lip before saying, “I’m not mad at you–” he tries to explain. “I just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I don’t understand why–”

You sigh. “Tyler, you’re not making any sense–”

Tyler’s face twists in anguish. “Why aren’t you into him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s everything I’m not. And I mean– Seeing you with him– it just made me realize that you can do so much better than me,”  Tyler says desperately, the pain almost palpable in his voice. “He’s got the fancy degree– he’s obviously smart–”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, because the idea of anyone ever being better than Tyler was even more ludicrous than him being jealous in the first place. “Tyler, you’re smart–”

“I didn’t go to Columbia. I didn’t even finish my first year of undergrad.”

“I don’t care about any of that– you know I don’t–”

“Why?” he blurts out harshly, finally turning to look at you. “Why do you even want me when you can have someone like him?”

Tyler didn’t think he was good enough for you– and that admission broke your fucking heart. In an instant, all the reasons you loved Tyler flow through your head. There’s so many, you can’t even keep up. 

So instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out the note Henry had given you just hours earlier– the one Tyler apparently saw him give you. He watches as you unfold the piece of paper, quickly revealing that it’s not a phone number. 

“It’s his mom’s cookie recipe,” you explain. “The ones you refused to try. I talked to him about how you have a sweet tooth, and I said how much you love chocolate chip cookies, so he wrote it down for me. I thought I might be able to make them for you when we got home. Because I love you– and I love doing things that will make you happy. Because that’s what you do for me– you make me happy. All the time, just by existing.”

You watch as the realization washes over him.  

You sigh. “Did you ever stop and think about how I feel the same about you?”

He pauses before looking at you questioningly. 

“I mean, you’re you,” you say, gesturing towards him. “People adore you, Tyler. And rightfully so– but I’m always worried you’ll find someone better. But I don’t get hung up on it, because I trust you. I trust that you mean it when you tell me you love me and you choose me. And I need you to do the same for me, Tyler. I need you to trust me. Because I love you– and I always will.”

Tyler exhales, his eyes watery. 

“Can you do that?” you plead. 

To your relief, after a moment, he nods. 

You don’t hesitate before closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his middle. You lay your head on his chest just as his arms wind around your shoulders in an attempt to make up for all the hugs you’ve missed out on this week. Because as much as you love chasing in Oklahoma or Texas, your absolute favorite place to be is at home in his arms. 

“Cookie recipe, huh?” he muses above you, chin resting on top of your heads. 

You nod. “I’m a horrible baker, but I was going to give it a shot.”

Tyler tightens his grip around you. “Well horrible baker or not, I love you and I choose you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” you say honestly. 

[pretentious-blonde]

confidence

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a few cocktails and an evening with Robin reveal a new side to your boyfriend, one you really didn't see coming

warnings: 18+ this contains smut, scars, alcohol consumption (reader does not partake), graphic descriptions of sex, oral f receiving, p in v, cocky steve, condescending steve (ikr!! just trust me), all around filth here, steve has one too many cocktails and runs with it

a/n: this was so fun and is my treat for putting you through all the angst (and there will be more trust me) but hey, consider this part a catharsis. we also needed to get robin involved for what comes next so this is what you get. tipsy steve is WILD you have all been warned.

series masterlist

You scramble around your flat, tossing items from one surface to the next, desperate to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything crucial. Keys, check. Purse, check. Chapstick, check. 

Whatever you have on your vanity table feels like it’s winking at you, reminding you that, no, you’re still not quite ready. But you can’t let yourself fuss any longer because outside, through your window, you catch the glare of headlights and hear the impatient beep of a horn. 

Steve’s here—and he’s been here, and you should have been ready ten minutes ago, at least.

You’re still excited, even though you’re late, because tonight is special. Tonight’s the night you finally get to meet the Robin Buckley, the person who’s been such a staple in your boyfriend’s new stories. 

He was determined to pick the “nice bar” in the next town over, the one that apparently “played the good music.” 

You had to bite your tongue. His idea of “good music” usually lines right up with the biggest chart hits, but you figure hey, if he’s excited, you’ll go along for the ride. What matters is that this night is one of his design, and you find it completely endearing that he’s gone out of his way to make it special for you and Robin both. 

He can listen to Ace of Base as much as he wants... even if you have to stifle a fond snort whenever he’s not looking. 

He’s told you so many wonderful (and ridiculous) stories about her that you practically badgered him into setting this up. Tales you hadn’t been privy to before—now slowly unravelling as he let slip new, juicy details bit by bit.

Your big chance to meet the girl who’s shared so much of your boyfriend’s humour and history. And if tonight ends up being half as fun as the pictures you’ve conjured in your head, you’re in for a wild ride.

You snatch your bag and do one last mirror check—just a fleeting glance, making sure your dress is sitting just right and your hair hasn’t decided to rebel. This time, you went for something a little more daring: a flirty dress that shows off your figure in a way you know Steve won’t be able to ignore. 

On a good day, he could barely keep his hands to himself—let alone after last weekend. Taking things all the way had only cemented his need to be close to you, and now, whether in public or private, he always had to have some part of him touching you.

And in this dress? You knew his hands wouldn’t just wander—they’d roam.

Maybe, by the end of the night, you’d let them.

Finally, you rush out, keys jingling in your hand, and clatter down the stairs leading to your shop door. You lock up carefully, tugging the handle to ensure it’s secure—no matter how excited you are, you still need to be responsible—and you pivot on your heel and walk out onto the pavement.

Your steps falter as your eyes land on your boyfriend, casually leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking completely at ease—like this wasn’t a big deal at all, just another night to unwind. But even in that brief glance, you could tell he’d put in just as much effort as you had. 

He’d told you to dress up a little and clearly, he’d taken his own advice. The oversized jumpers and worn jeans were nowhere to be seen. 

This Steve was something else entirely. 

And Jesus, he knew how to clean up well.

He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt, the kind that clings just enough to hint at every plane and angle of his torso. Over it, a sleek black suit jacket, open in front, sleeves rolled just enough to conceal the marks, but also revealing his toned forearms.

It’s like some casual afterthought, but you know him better than that. Every detail is deliberate. The jacket’s tailoring is perfect, nipping in at the waist and broad across his shoulders. It gives him a certain sharpness, a polished edge that you’re not used to seeing in his typical laidback outfits. 

And by God, does it work—too damn well, if the heat creeping up your neck is anything to go by.

His sunglasses perch on the bridge of his nose, not because of one of his migraines—you’d recognise that look a mile away—but purely to complete the aesthetic. They’re modern, minimalist, and do nothing to hide the playful smirk curling at the corner of his lips

The glint of something metal at his wrist (a simple watch) catches your eye, and then your focus is back on his face, following the neat slope of his hair. It’s perfectly styled, golden-brown waves shaped in that signature swoop, but smoother, sleeker—like he spent real time in front of the mirror, carefully combing each strand into place until it sat just right. 

By the look on his face, he knows you’re staring—knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

He watches you approach, eyes dragging over you slowly, drinking in the sight of you just as shamelessly as you’re doing with him.

You step toward his car, face warming at the sight of your date. He lowers his sunglasses in one exaggerated motion, revealing the hint of mischief in his eyes. A slow whistle slips from his lips, just as corny as you might have expected—and somehow twice as charming.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs, letting his gaze travel over you from head to toe, “you walk up to me looking like that, we might not make it to the bar.”

Heat seeps into your cheeks, and you roll your eyes in a halfhearted attempt at nonchalance. It’s near impossible to pretend you aren’t melting under the weight of that gaze. 

“I could say the same,” you counter. “What happened to Mr. Harrington, huh? Thought you were all about faded jeans and paint covered nikes.”

He throws back his head with a laugh, then glances at his watch, pretending to read the small face. 

“We might still have time for me to swing home and change if it's—”

You bat his wrist down before he can so much as move. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. Because right now, he looks so sinfully delicious you can hardly keep your focus.

“Really—it’s no problem,” he jokes, though the playful glint in his eyes betrays him. His hand slides behind your neck, warm and sure, and your breath hitches at the teasing sensation of his touch.

“It’s gonna be hard to concentrate on anything coming out of your mouth tonight,” you admit, pulse jumping when his thumb brushes a circle over your skin. Pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head, nudging some stray hair off his forehead. 

“Good,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “I’m alright with being your eye candy.” 

He leans down, kissing you in a way that makes your toes curl and your mind fog over. On instinct, you try to deepen it, hands sliding to his lapels, but he draws back with a soft chuckle.

“Whoa there, angel,” he murmurs, his voice playful. “We’ll get to that soon enough.”

You pout, bottom lip pushing out a fraction. Instantly, he shakes his head, one brow lifting. 

“Hey, don’t go getting all pouty on me.” He brushes your lower lip lightly. “You’re the one who’s been on my ass about this whole thing.”

He had a point there. 

Damn him. 

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent. “But you’ve got to make it up to me when we get home.”

The shift in his expression is downright wicked as he leans in. 

“Honey, with that dress?” He tongues the inside of his cheek in a way that sets fire to your nerves. “I’ll be more than making up for it.”

The bar is chic in that slightly pretentious way—low lights, plush seating, a neon sign glowing over shelves stacked with rainbow-coloured bottles. The bass of some popular track flows through the speakers. 

You can’t help but grin when Steve, ever the gentleman, strides ahead to pull open the heavy door for you. He gives you a playful nod as you step inside, his hand warm against your back. It’s reassuring, filling you with the same confidence he seems to be sporting tonight.

“After you,” he teases, voice low, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you pass him. Even though it’s cheesy, there’s an endearing sincerity beneath his grin.

Once you’re both settled at the bar, he presses a kiss to your temple before glancing at the bartender. 

“What’ll it be?” he asks, tipping his head toward you.

“Just a tonic water,” you say as he frowns.

“You sure?” he drawls, leaning in. There’s an irresistible tilt to his lips, a look that says he’s perfectly fine with either choice as long as you’re happy.

“Yup.” You nod. “You go crazy, though—it’s your night out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your night out too,” he points out, turning his body to face you more fully.

“Ah, yes, but I have to make a good first impression,” you shoot him a knowing smile.  “Remember?”

He slides a hand around your waist, squeezing you into his side. There he goes with the full on physical affection. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he shrugs as his fingers trace your shoulder. “If I’m anything to go by, Rob’s got questionable taste in friends already.”

Your laugh escapes in a soft huff, and you lean your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, savouring his comforting heat. 

“We’ve gotta work on your self-deprecating humour,” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket.

He snorts, pressing another quick kiss to your temple. 

“I told you, angel, I am working on it.”

When he lifts his arm to catch the bartender’s attention, you let your gaze trail over him: the lean lines of his shoulders, the way his hair curls just so. You feel a stir of something low in your stomach at how ridiculously good he looks in the dim, moody lighting. 

Watching him come out of his shell was absolutely delectable—seeing him navigate a crowded room with such ease felt like witnessing a victory in real time, a step forward that was physical proof of progress.

He places the order—your tonic, his own cocktail—and is about to make another witty remark when there’s a gentle tap on his arm.

You glance over to see a brunette woman with an explosive grin, practically vibrating with excitement. She’s dressed up just enough for the night—high-waisted black trousers that elongate her frame, paired with a silky button-up in a deep, jewel-toned shade, the sleeves casually rolled to her elbows.

Her face is alight as she meets Steve’s eyes, and she looks moments away from flinging her arms around him—though she’s clearly checking herself, as if aware of exactly how he handles the unexpected. When he spins, and his entire face brightens in recognition.

“Hey, you made it!” he exclaims, wrapping her in a hug that’s enthusiastic. She squeaks as he squeezes a bit too tight.

“Oof—yeah, I did,” she laughs, patting his shoulder. “Yep—alright—good to see you too, maybe let’s not crush me to death?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says sheepishly, releasing her. Straightening up, he glances back at you, a hint of a blush crawling across his cheeks. 

This is it—the moment he’s been waiting for. He’s known you for a few months, but somehow, it feels like so much more. This is the event he’s imagined over and over, finally introducing you to his closest friend. 

The idea of bringing a romantic partner into this part of his life had once felt so far out of reach, but now that he can? 

That’s exactly what’s fueling his confidence tonight.

“Uh, so… this is—this is who I’ve been telling you about. This is my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

He pauses, savouring the word like it’s something that delights him every time he says it—because it does. 

His eyes flick to Robin, and he can tell there’s something on the tip of her tongue as she takes in his expression. He knows how proud he must look, how transparent his feelings are, but for once, he can’t bring himself to care.

He steps aside for you two to be introduced properly. Her eyes are bright as she takes you in, a wide smile stretching across her face.

“So, you finally asked her?” she asks him, but she’s already beaming at you like an old friend. The excitement in her voice makes your own heart feel more at ease.

Steve’s flush deepens. “Yeah—yeah, I did.”

The girl doesn’t hesitate. She engulfs you in a hug, and the warmth of her personality radiates through every second of contact. 

“Oh my god, I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushes, pulling back just enough to look at you but still keeping her hands on your arms.

You can’t resist flicking your gaze at Steve over her shoulder, your lips curving into a playful smile. 

“Really?”

You didn’t expect any less. 

“Oh absolutely, who do you think he called after every date you guys had?” She steps back to give you a little breathing room. “You should’ve heard him. He was like—”

“Hey, hey—no,” Steve interrupts, pressing one hand to his friend's shoulder. “Can we not share all the embarrassing details of my life right now?”

“Get a few more drinks in him, and you can ask him yourself.” She snorts, rolling her eyes at you. 

Steve laughs, feeling your eyes flick up to him. He doesn’t need the drinks to loosen his tongue—he’s already so hopelessly smitten with you. That much was obvious.

Still, he’s eager to get the night started, to show you off the way he’s been dying to.

“Alright,” he says, finally breaking that little reverie, “I got the drinks, you two go find a seat.” He turns to Robin. “Rum and Coke?”

As always.

“Ugh, yes,” she says, linking her arm with yours. It’s easy, natural—there’s an immediate sense that you’ll get along just fine. As the two of you meander toward a free table, she leans in conspiratorially. 

“So… did he tell you about the ice cream uniform?”

“Oh my god, yes.” A flash of amusement dances across your face. “Please tell me there’s more?”

Her chuckle is mischievous. 

“Oh yeah, there’s a lot more where that came from.”

Time feels fluid as the three of you settle into conversation, the low thrumming pulse of the bar’s music weaving around your table, though not too loud to drown out your voices. 

It’s been a while since you first claimed your seats, and yet you barely notice the hours slipping by. Every story Steve and Robin launch into starts with them tossing playful jabs back and forth, only to pause mid-sentence and glance at you, beckoning you to weigh in. 

You find yourself giggling along, giving opinions on whether a certain scheme was more ridiculous than some ill-fated date night, or whether one of them was actually to blame for a mishap they still remember. They trade banter like it’s second nature, and you feel like you’ve been part of their duo from the very start.

At some point, the discussion circles back to their high school days—a topic they both seem to have endless material for. You’re practically on the edge of your seat, soaking in every detail they’re willing to spill. Robin leans forward, clutching her glass as she narrows her eyes at Steve with playful accusation.

“Well, this guy could have been hanging out with me a lot sooner,” she says, wagging a finger in his direction, “if he’d actually paid attention in class, that is. Did you know I sat behind him in history for a whole year? Yeah—a year.” She stretches out the word for emphasis. “Didn’t even remember it.”

Steve huffs in protest. 

“Hey now, that’s not entirely true—”

“Yes, it is,” she cuts in, her grin bright with triumph. “When we both started working together, he introduced himself to me. Honestly, like I didn’t already know who he was.”

“In my defense,” he insists, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I was trying to focus.”

“You were so not.” Robin snorts. “How many tardies did you get that year?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. 

“I passed, didn’t I?”

“Barely.” She arches an eyebrow, and you laugh at the indignation blossoming on your boyfriend’s face.

“Yeah, well,” he shoots back, folding his arms across his chest, “how many times did you have to take your driving test, huh? What was it—three? And who was stuck chauffeuring you to band practice before class even started?”

Robin’s jaw drops in mock outrage. 

“That’s not fair, driving is hard!” She punctuates her point by thumping Steve’s shoulder, though there’s no real force behind it.

“Yeah, sure it is,” he snickers. “Especially when you shut your eyes at a junction because you’re scared to get on the freeway.”

She shoves him more firmly this time, but her eyes sparkle with affection. You can practically feel the fondness thrumming between them. Every playful jab is undercut with closeness, revealing just how much they trust one another. 

Steve is so at ease—practically glowing. There isn’t a hint of the anxiety you sometimes catch in his eyes, no shadow of the stresses he’s hinted at before. He’s all laughter and bright colours here, the multiple cocktails probably loosening him up even more.

Watching them, it dawns on you just how special his friend is. She’s watched him become the man he is, seen him through phases you’ve only heard vague references to. There’s a sweet, sibling-like bond between them that would have made you insecure if not for how purely platonic they obviously are. 

They’re too busy ribbing each other and finishing one another’s sentences to harbour any romantic tension. And the sincerity in their smiles, the way they drift into each other’s personal space—this is the foundation that’s helped him grow. As you observe the two of them, you feel nothing but gratitude towards her.  

Does he feel this way around you too? 

Or is this kind of bond reserved for someone who’s known him since high school, who’s seen him through everything.

You lean in closer, meeting his gaze as his expression softens. As you sip your drink, you catch the way his playfully annoyed look melts into something fonder—a small, boyish smile taking its place. 

He nudges your foot under the table, a quiet little gesture just for you, as Robin continues listing her many reasons for despising driving. When he shoots you a wink, you can’t help but hope that one day, you’ll share that same camaraderie—the kind that comes with knowing someone inside and out.

The conversation drifts into a lull before Robin suddenly pipes up again, leaning toward you with a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes. 

“Has he cooked for you yet?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows as if preparing you for some shocking revelation. “He better have with all the work I put in teaching him.”

“Oh, he has!” You nod eagerly, sipping your tonic. “I guess I have you to thank, huh?”

“You sure do.” She leans back with a self-satisfied grin, crossing her arms. “Should’ve seen him the first time I tried to get him into the kitchen—boiling an egg was apparently a herculean task.”

The boy groans in protest, shooting her a halfhearted glare.

“They cracked! That’s not my fault.”

Robin laughs, drink nearly sloshing over the rim. 

“Yeah, because you turned the heat too high.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he defends himself. “They get hot and break.”

Bless him.

“Uh, no, Steve.” You try to stifle your own laugh, but fail completely. “It’s because the water was boiling too hard, they bang around in the pot.”

His brow furrows in puzzlement. 

“That’s what that is?”

Robin's expression matches your own, and both of you fall into giggles again at his earnest confusion. 

God, he’s sweet. 

“Seems like I have more work to do,” she sighs, taking another sip of her drink.

“Clearly,” you agree, throwing Steve a playful side-eye. He raises his hands in protest.

“Wow, okay—” he says, rolling his eyes, “so you’re both ganging up on me now?”

He sees how it is.

Typical. 

Robin props her elbow on the table, her head tilting back with a grin that’s gone a little hazy from too many drinks. 

“Yeah, well,” she begins, voice lilting with mischief, “you have gotten better. Remember when you basically refused to go into the meat aisle? You said it smelled like the tunnels, but I asked Dustin about it and he said that—”

She’s halfway through the sentence when Steve stiffens, his foot giving her a not-so-subtle nudge under the table. At once, the mirth drains a bit from her face, and she glances over at him, clearly realising she’s stepped onto sensitive ground. 

You perk up—another piece of information. But instead of clarifying anything, it only adds to the puzzle. 

A tunnel? 

Steve had never mentioned that before, but your brain immediately tries to slot it into the story you already know. Was there a tunnel at the old mall? 

It's possible.

But that wouldn’t make much sense in the context of meat. He worked at an ice cream shop, not a damn butcher’s.

“Sorry.” Robin whispers, looking apologetic. You know you were not meant to hear that apology and you couldn’t help your curiosity. 

“What?” Your eyebrows draw together. “What is it?”

Tell me. 

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.” He forces a tight-lipped smile, shrugging a little too casually. “Don’t worry about it.”

You want to be sad, but you can’t. And you certainly can’t press him on it, not here. Not when he was so excited about tonight, so eager to show you off.

You feel his hand resting on your thigh, but now there’s a tension in it that wasn’t there before. That shift, that change from the easy one he had just moments ago, is what makes the decision for you. There will be other times for this, other moments to piece things together. But not now.

You exchange a lingering look between them—Robin mouths out another apology, and he gives her a small, forgiving nod. 

You don’t dwell on the moment. Besides, you still have a new piece of the puzzle. 

That was better than nothing.

By the time you step out of the bar, it’s just past midnight, and the cool air rushes to greet you. Steve is practically attached to your side, his arm draped over your shoulder as though he might topple over without your support. There’s a flush on his cheeks, and you can’t help but find it adorable—his usual guarded composure replaced with an open, slightly wonky, grin.

And it's hilarious to witness.

“C’mon, Steve,” you coax, wrapping an arm around his waist for balance. “We gotta get back.”

He’s clearly not ready for the night to end as he opens his mouth to protest. 

“Nooo, we can stay,” he pleads, turning big eyes on Robin, who stands nearby with her own contented smile. “Rob, tell her we can stay. She got all dolled up for this, wouldn't be fair—”

You exchange a conspiratorial smile with her. Leaning in close so Steve can’t quite hear.

“Does he always get like this?” You whisper.

"When he drinks?" Robin stifles a laugh. "Oh yeah, big time—gets super sappy."

Then, turning toward the pouting grown man beside you, she huffs. 

"I told you to take it easy with the mojitos."

Steve was clearly not listening. 

“Pssh, whatever,” he interjects, only half hearing her. “I don’t have to be up tomorrow, and neither do you,” he says, pointing somewhat dramatically at Robin.

She lifts a hand, palm out to stop his rambling. 

“Yeah, well, if I go home to Vickie like that, she’ll have more than a few choice words for me.”

He tips forward in a woozy attempt at reassurance. 

“You can… you can blame it on me?” He offers, voice trailing off into a sweet but slurred laugh, like he can't even take himself seriously.

His friend just shakes her head, clearly endeared. 

“Nice try—but no.” She says before turning to you. “You alright getting him home?”

Glancing up at your boyfriend—his eyes half-lidded, a sleepy smile hinting on his lips—you nod, your own fondness tugging at your heart. 

“I’m sure I can handle him,” you confirm with a tiny smirk. 

You’ve guided him through worse nights than this.

“Alright, Steve, let go of your girlfriend for a sec so I can say goodbye,” Robin says, trying her best to be stern. He frowns but reluctantly loosens his hold on you.

You slip away long enough for her to wrap you in a quick hug. Her voice is brimming with excitement as she pulls back. 

“We have to do this again. I haven’t even told you about working at the video store and his terrible sorting system—”

"Hey!" A spark of protest ignites in Steve's gaze. "I don’t wanna hear it, alright? It was superior to whatever—" he waves his hands in front of him, searching for the right word, "carnage you had going on."

“Alphabetical is far from carnage.”

He huffs, nose wrinkling in mock indignation, but even through his tipsy state, he can’t hide the affection in his eyes. He tugs Robin into a hug goodbye and you can feel the tenderness between them. 

And just like that, you’re left with a very happy, very tipsy Steve Harrington—who has promptly glued himself right back to your side.

You guide him, swaying on his feet, into the passenger side of his car. He flops in with a soft grunt, blinking as though everything around him is subtly moving. You close the door gently, careful all of his limbs are inside, before walking around the front of the car to slide into the driver’s seat. The interior still carries the faint trace of his cologne, a small reminder that—despite how he looks right now—he is, in fact, a put-together adult. 

Well, mostly.

“All right, Mr Harrington,” you say, scanning the dashboard. “Where’re your keys?”

He puts on an exaggerated, perplexed expression, patting his chest and shaking his head. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about…”

Rolling your eyes, you lean over, determined. 

“We are not going back in there,” you tell him, stern enough to make him give you a dramatic pout when he realises you won’t budge.

“Fine,” he mumbles, fishing around in the inner pocket of his blazer before finally producing the car key. He hands them over, and you give him a grateful smile, slipping them into the ignition.

“Seat belt?” you prompt.

“Yes, ma’am.” He sighs as though you’re asking the world of him. His voice is playful, edged with that mellow tone people get after a few too many drinks.

“You’re so bossy,” he continues in a tone that cannot be taken seriously. “Are you usually this bossy?”

“Well, sorry for caring about your physical safety,” you fire back, carefully easing out of the parking space.

“Always looking after me, aren’t you?”

He releases a soft laugh, leaning against the passenger door, his eyes remained fixed on you. 

“Someone’s gotta,” you reply, face softening as you glance over at him. “You feeling okay, or are things spinning?”

“What? I’m fine.” His eyes widen in mock indignation. “Do I not look like fine?”

You flick a wry smile his way. 

“You look drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he objects, though his lopsided grin and rosy cheeks tell a different story.

You look at him now—not as perfectly put together as when he picked you up, but somehow, he looks even better. 

His hair is no longer an art form, tousled and a little wild, and his posture has lost all its careful composure, slumped and comfortable. His eyes, softer now, lock onto yours, completely unguarded. 

He looks utterly relaxed—and for him, that’s something big.

It seems like the perfect time to test just how far gone he is, just a little fun—tease him while he’s in this gullible, blissed-out state.

"Good," you start, the drawl in your tone unmistakable, eyes flicking over him knowingly. "Because if you were, I would’ve stayed the night. Helped you through the hangover tomorrow."

“What?” His reaction is immediate. “You’re not staying?” He sits up straighter as if you’ve just admitted to murder.

You shrug with as much nonchalance as you can manage. 

“Not sure. I have a few things I need to get done tomorrow…”

"No—baby," he blurts out, sounding more pitiful than you’ve ever heard. "I’m so drunk, practically wasted here—can’t even see straight."

“Oh yeah? That bad, huh?"

"So bad," he nods vigorously, eyes wide with dramatics. "You gotta stay."

He tilts his head just enough to sell it. 

"C’mon, what if I wake up miserable and there’s, like, no one there to feel sorry for me?"

A laugh bursts out of you. His soulful, puppy-eyed expression tugs on your heart. For a moment, you feel a tiny pang of guilt for teasing him—but it was just so goddamn easy.

“All right, then,” you relent. “I guess I’ll have to stay—” you shoot him a sly smile, “just in case.”

His relief is obvious. A broad, boyish smile breaks across his face, and he exhales a dramatic sigh as he melts back into the passenger seat. 

By the time you park outside his place, he’s steadier on his feet—though still leaning on you for support, but you suspect it’s not from the drinks. His fingers trail along your waist and up your spine, as if he can’t bear to stop touching you for even a second. 

Once inside, you gently push the door shut behind you and help him shrug out of his blazer. He doesn’t flinch or resist—not a single indication of the usual tension that sometimes appears when his arms are exposed. 

Whatever self-consciousness he carries about his scars is nowhere to be found right now. As soon as the it’s off, his hands return to your waist, pulling you flush against him so he can bury his face in your hair.

“Steve,” you murmur, pressing a hand to his chest. “Let me get you some water.”

“In a second,” he groans, leaning down to brush his lips against your jaw. “I haven’t given you nearly enough attention tonight.”

“You’ve given me more than enough, trust me.” You laugh softly, sliding a hand up to his cheek to coax him back. “C’mon, water first, then bed.”

He lets you guide him into the kitchen, though he still can’t resist peppering little kisses along your shoulder whenever he can sneak them in.

At the sink, you fill two cups of water—familiar with where everything is kept by now—but the moment you straighten, he is behind you, his chin hooked over your shoulder, lips lightly grazing the side of your neck.

“Hey—nuh-uh," you chide, reluctantly. “We can’t right now. You’ve had a drink.”

No matter how much you want to.

“No—can’t do that to me.” He groans dramatically, pressing himself against your back. “Y'knew what you were doing with that dress. Been thinkin' about it all night…”

A flush warms your cheeks at his plea, you turn in his arms and hold out the glass. 

“Drink this, please?”

His frown is exaggerated, but he dutifully tips back the glass. Downing the water in a few large gulps, then setting it aside, blinking down at you with heavy-lidded adoration. You stifle a laugh and take a sip from your own cup while he keeps his gaze locked on you.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, voice thick with sincerity.

“Steve…” Your cheeks heat even more.

It's the drink talking.

“No, I’m serious—” He shakes his head, eyes soft. “Couldn’t believe it when I saw you tonight—was just… so excited to have you on my arm, for everyone to see.”

See how far he'd come.

The statement makes your heart thump, and when he lifts a hand to brush some hair off your forehead, you lean into his touch.

“You think she liked me?” you ask quietly,. A half smile curves on your lips as you probably know the answer, but you need the reassurance that you made him proud.

“Don’t think it’s possible for someone not to like you.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and your heart melts a little further.

“You’re real sweet when you’re drunk,” you tease.

“I’m sweet all the time.” His hands trail languidly down your arms, leaving your skin tingling in their wake. You nod, breath catching slightly. 

“Yeah, you are,” you admit, cheeks still flushed. His lips graze your neck again, sending a pleasant shiver through you.

“You gonna let me be real sweet to you?” he whispers, his breath tickling your skin.

You hum, gently pushing him back just enough to meet his eyes. He’s gazing at you so intently, smitten and serious all at once. The haze of alcohol may linger in his system, but the affection shining in his expression is crystal clear.

He looks down at you, catching the hesitation in your eyes. He knows exactly what it means—you won’t do anything unless he’s fully there, fully present in the moment. And that only makes him want you more. 

The fact that you’d wait for him, that you care enough to make sure he’s in the right headspace, has him feeling completely enamored.

But he’s right—he has been patient. And the cocktails? They aren’t clouding his judgment in any way that concerns him. He’s a little fuzzy, sure, but not intoxicated. Well—maybe by you. And if he’s being honest, he’s been itching to get his hands on you all night.

He drops a soft kiss to your lips, then pulls back. 

“I’m not drunk, angel,” he insists quietly. “Just a little tipsy.”

You still look unsure, and he sees it instantly. But Steve knows exactly how to sweet-talk you into trusting him—how to make you see that this isn’t the alcohol talking, that you're gonna be safe with him.

He's choosing this. 

"I want this, angel," he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. "Not because I’ve been drinking—because it’s you. I've got you."

His fingers trace gently along your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. You're nearly there.

The final blow.

"So if you’ll let me… I’d really, really like to show you just how much."

You cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his warm skin. 

How on earth can you say no to that? 

“Alright, we can—”

You’re cut off by him letting out a triumphant breath and scooping you right up, hands slipping under your thighs to support you as he strides toward the bedroom. You squeal, clinging to him in surprise as you try to talk through the stream of nervous giggles.

“Steve!” you exclaim, your laughter echoing off the walls.

He just laughs in return, the sound rich and throaty, carrying you through the doorway as though you weigh nothing at all.

He practically tosses you onto the bed in his haste, eliciting a squeak of laughter from you as your back hits the soft covers. It’s immediately clear there’s something different in him tonight—he’s excited, charged, and looking at you with eyes that burn like embers. 

Before you can fully process his transformation, his mouth slants over yours in a desperate kiss that has you gasping into him. His palms roam over your body, broad and possessive, like he can’t decide which part of you he wants to touch first.

A startled giggle leaves your lips when he breaks away to mouth along your jaw. You tip your head back, giving him room, unable to stifle a grin at how single-minded he is.

“Eager, huh?” you tease, voice breathless.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, pupils blown wide with desire. His hair’s slightly mussed from your fingers, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. 

“Honey—if you knew half the shit I was thinking about at the bar,” he says in a low rasp, “you wouldn’t be teasing me right now.”

A shiver courses through you—filled with pure want. There’s a spark of mischief in your veins. Something about seeing him like this, so unguarded, emboldens you. 

“Big words,” you reply, cocking a brow, “for someone who still hasn’t touched me properly yet.”

He barks out a laugh—almost incredulous, the corners of his mouth quirking like he’s delighted you’d dare to challenge him. 

“Is that how you wanna play tonight?”

He doesn’t know what’s come over him. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t drunk, but there’s a desperation bleeding out of every part of him, something hungry and entirely focused on you.

He feels confident—only spurred on by the way you’re pawing at him, the way you were looking at him all night.

Like you belonged to him.

For once, there’s no hesitation, no fear of disappointment when he will rid himself of his clothes. He knows you’ll like what you see, and that sends a realisation through his mind, tipping him straight back into King Steve territory—sure of himself and completely in his element with something he is verifiably good at.  

Judging by the way you arch up into him, the way your fingers grip at his skin like you need him closer.

You can feel it, too.

He gently gathers both your wrists, guiding them above your head, pressing them into the bed which sends a slow, delicious shiver down your spine.

He’s testing now, feeling out this new territory between the two of you. He feels you hold your breath and his grip stays firm—but never forceful. His strength is potent, but he wields it gently, a reassurance that you could break free at any moment if you wanted to.

He glances down at you, breath still heavy, eyes searching. His fingers squeeze yours once.

Are you okay with this? 

He waits, unmoving. 

And when your hands squeeze back, the answer is clear.

You’re allowing him to do this to you.

And fuck, that sends something primal through him.

He leans down, teeth grazing the juncture of your neck and shoulder in a teasing nip that has you keening.

“Careful what you wish for, baby,” he murmurs, moving his kisses along the curve of your throat. “I don’t do halfway.”

A thrill of anticipation flares in your belly at his words. This new side of him—so sure, so hungry—has you spinning. Each nip draws a gasp, your entire body stirring under the onslaught of sensation.

After one last kiss pressed into your collarbone, he releases your wrists and skims his palms down your torso, pausing at your hips. The shift of power jolts your heart when he slides off the bed, kneeling at the edge.

He wears a crooked grin as he grabs your thighs and unceremoniously yanks you closer, your lower half practically dangling off the mattress. Then he hooks a finger under the waistband of your underwear, his gaze dropping like he’s savouring every detail of you.

He runs the pad of his thumb over the thin fabric, right at the wet patch where you’re most sensitive, and your breath seizes.

He’s gonna have some fun with you. 

“You know,” he murmurs, rubbing slow, tantalising circles, “I could be mean… take my time, really make you work for it.”

You swallow.

Hard.

Where the hell did that come from?

Steve has flirted with dirty talk before, tossing out teasing remarks that left you flustered, but he’s never drawn it out like this—never tested your patience with such slow, deliberate cruelty.

It’s so different from the way he usually is, and his look tonight only amplifies it. His all-black outfit is still visible through the planes of your thighs, a monumental contrast to the flustered, second-grade teacher you stumbled upon all those months ago—the one who could barely string together a sentence to ask you out outside his classroom.

Now he’s like this—in control, commanding, completely reveling in the role he’s taken tonight.

It hits you all at once: how much he’s changed.

How much he’s grown.

You can hardly imagine that past version of Steve taking charge the way he is now, and fuck.

It’s beautiful.

It makes you want to give in completely, to relinquish yourself to him, to let him feel what it’s like to lead again—to call the shots, to take what he wants, to be the old him once more.

“You wouldn’t,” you manage to retort, but your bravado falters the moment you see his face.

He arches a brow, amused by your statement.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chides as he runs a hand down your leg, “you know I would." He pulls himself closer to your core, never breaking eye contact. "Not just gonna hand it to you, not tonight—you’re gonna ask for it, real sweet for me, okay?”

You’re about to fire off another witty remark when he slips your underwear down your legs, the fabric disappearing in one swift motion. Goosebumps race over your skin at the cool air against your heated flesh. 

His eyes darken at the sight of how wet you are, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he fights to stay in control. You see his throat bob when he swallows, like he’s genuinely trying not to devour you on the spot.

A surge of embarrassment rises in your chest at how the exposure, but it’s overshadowed by the torrent of desire swirling inside you.

He settles in, nudging your knees apart, and plants soft, teasing bites along your inner thighs. The gentle scrape of his teeth makes you shudder. It’s maddening that he’s so close yet deliberately avoiding the place you need him most.

“Steve… please—”

You stop, voice cracking on the final syllable, unable to fully spit out what he wants. The vulnerability of wanting something so fiercely—of needing him so shamelessly—clutches at your chest. But he only smiles against your skin, smug and satisfied.

He's enjoying this.

“Mmm,” he hums “that’s a start, baby." His large hand presses lightly on your hip, keeping you still. "But you can do better than that, c’mon.”

Christ—he’s really doing it.

Making you earn it tonight.

His words shoot molten heat straight to your core, and your cheeks burn at how easily he’s backed you into this corner. You’re used to him being sweet, doting, bending to please you. Now he’s making you work for it.

A new wave of arousal slides through you, and your pride cracks under the tension. 

“Steve, fuck—” you grit out, “I need… I need your mouth on me.”

Your voice is so pitiful, so wrecked, that it makes him pause. Just for a second. Letting your request hang in the air between you. He tips his head back, eyes shutting as the pretty words sink in, echoing in his mind, wrapping around his ego like silk.

You always ask so nicely—so sweet, like you know he’s the only one who can give you what you need.

When his gaze drifts back down to you, his lips curl into a slow, wolfish grin, full of intent and promise.

You got it, angel.

“See?” he murmurs, voice buzzing with triumph. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His fingers grip the underside of your thighs, the press of his thumbs guiding you to spread open for him. He’s so sure in his movements—like he’s found a new rhythm to the confidence that’s always been under the surface.

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, silently asking for every ounce of trust.

“Now,” he purrs, “be good for me and hold still.”

Your half-formed reply dies on your lips the moment his tongue flicks out in a slow, deliberate stroke, and every one of your senses sparks with raw heat as you gasp.

The slick sound of him feasting on you, the wet slide of his mouth and the soft, desperate little hums in his throat—it’s a rush of sensation you can’t possibly process all at once. Your breath hitches, eyes rolling back, and you grasp at the sheets for any sort of grounding.

He’s relentless, and your responses only spur him in more, bracing his arms under your thighs and pulling you closer as he licks you in languid, thorough passes that have you panting. 

You’ve felt his enthusiasm before, but never quite like this—he’s devouring you, every flick of his tongue precise, and he's barely even started. His nose nudges in precisely the right spot against your clit, sending another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

You can feel his smile against you as you writhe beneath him, he knows exactly how good he is, and he’s revelling in it. And he doesn’t waste a second��doesn’t tease, doesn’t draw it out—just gives you exactly what you need, slipping a finger inside your walls slowly. 

He’s reading you like a damn book, tracking every little reaction, every shaky breath, every twitch of your body. And when he feels you clench down around his digit, a quiet, broken sound slipping from your lips, he looks up—just to see the glazed-over look in your eyes, the telltale sign that your mind has emptied of anything but him.

Perfect. 

Exactly where he wants you.

A strangled moan bubbles up in your chest, almost slipping free, but your reflex is to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the embarrassing sound. 

Immediately, he notices your movements. He stills, bites down on your thigh—not too hard, but with enough force to jolt you out of your pleasured haze—and you gasp, eyes snapping down to meet his.

“Oh no, baby,” he admonishes, voice reverberating against your skin, “none of that. If I’m makin' you feel good, I wanna hear it.”

Flustered heat floods your cheeks. 

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, sweetheart, you were,” he cuts in with a smile that’s maddeningly confident. “But that’s alright.”

He reaches for your wrist, prying your arm away from your face. The gentle kiss he presses into your palm is so achingly tender it makes your breath stutter. Then, he guides your hand to the top of his head, tangling your fingers into his hair.

“Go on,” he murmurs, sighing when your fingers scrape against his scalp. “Keep me here. Let me finish what I started.”

You don’t need to be asked twice. Your grip tightens in his hair, trying to ground yourself against the swirling sensation of his mouth and hands. He groans in approval at the tug, the vibration sending fresh sparks of pleasure dancing along your spine. 

It’s overwhelming—the sloppy sound of him working, the heady smell of desire in the air, the blazing heat coiling in your stomach that’s already coiled too tight.

The pressure builds fast, almost too much. A litany of moans and half-formed pleas stutter from your lips, and your thighs clamp around his head, unconsciously trying to pull him closer. He doesn’t let up, his mouth so perfectly focused that you feel yourself hurtling toward the brink.

“Steve,” you gasp, voice cracking as you arch your back. “Please—I need you inside—”

He pulls back just far enough to meet your wild, pleading gaze. A cocky smirk paints his face, and you’re distantly aware of how your own arousal slicks the lower half of his jaw. 

He looks downright smug.

“So bossy,” he drawls, drunk on lust and repeating the earlier sentiment. He slips his fingers out, ignoring the needy tremor that wracks your body. “But you knew how this was gonna go—first you come on my tongue. Then you get my cock.”

Jesus.

Did he really just say that?

He dives back in without waiting for your reply. Shock ripples through you at the brazen filth coming out of his mouth, but it’s drowned by the delirious pleasure of his tongue lapping at you again. A strangled moan escapes you, and you tighten your hold in his hair.

The pleasure whips through you in dizzying waves, and you can’t hold on any longer—your voice cracks on a broken cry as you cum, your muscles seizing, back arching off the bed as he drinks in your release. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure blooming hot beneath your skin. 

He groans, feeling your thighs quake around him, but he only slows when you start to whimper that it’s too sensitive. Gently, he eases the pressure, placing a series of soft, almost apologetic kisses against your shaking inner thigh.

He could get used to this new confidence.

Especially when you reacted like that.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still hooded and dark, chest heaving as he looks at you sprawled on the bed. A deep flush staining his cheeks, seeming almost in awe of you—of what he’s just done.

Of what he was capable of. 

“Fuck—” he breathes, voice ragged. “That was so fucking beautiful.”

And he’s gonna make you do it again. 

He leans back on his heels, gaze tracking over your trembling form. For a moment, all he does is toy with the hem of your dress, the fabric rumpled from all his manhandling.

“Dressed so pretty for me,” he murmurs, dragging his fingertips along the edge of the material. “Should’ve been patient, taken my time peeling it off first.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to punch a hole through your chest. The desire in his eyes is thick—tangible enough that it makes every nerve in your body light up. You lift your shoulder slightly, desperate to be rid of the clingy fabric.

 “T-take it off—”

He huffs a low laugh and shakes his head, catching both of your wrists gently and pressing them back onto the bed. His grip is firm but never harsh, the contrast makes your pulse jump even higher.

“Ah-ah, sweetheart,” he chides. “Lemme enjoy it a little longer.”

You wore it for him, after all. 

Still fully clothed himself—his slacks pressing against your hypersensitive core—he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, open-mouthed kiss that has your head spinning. You can feel the rough fabric nudge between your thighs, stoking the heat that hasn’t subsided one bit since he first put his mouth on you.

His breath warms your neck as he breaks the kiss. 

“Begged so pretty for my mouth—how 'bout you tell me how bad you want my cock?”

His voice is all tease, dripping with amusement as he watches the effect his words have on you. He holds back a chuckle when you tug at his shirt. His impatient girl.

He knows what you want.

He’s not dumb.

He just likes watching how precious you are when you're needy.

“I swear—if you don’t—”

He grins, cutting you off.

“If I don’t what?” The low rasp in his voice vibrates through you as he finally lets go of your wrists to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, taking pity on you at last.

He doesn’t even register the scars covering his torso—you’ve already seen them, already traced them with careful fingers, already accepted them. Right now, that’s not what matters.

The only thing on his mind is you—how far he can take you, how much he can push with this new trust you’ve given him. He’s going to drag this out, drink up every second.

And later, when the night is over, he’ll revisit this moment again and again, replaying it until it’s burned into him,

Until it’s engraved into his eyelids. 

“You want me to take these off?” he drawls, glancing at your still mostly clothed figure, “What d'you think?” He pauses and pretends to contemplate his question. “Should I make you beg for that too?”

God no, you plead looking up at him. 

Your expression must be downright pitiful—eyes big, mouth parted—because after a few agonising seconds of letting you squirm, he exhales a soft chuckle. 

He’s not gonna be that mean. 

At least not tonight.

“Alright,” he says, voice warming, “waited long enough. Let’s get you out of this—before you tear it off yourself.”

Finally.

His hands move with purpose, helping you out of the dress in record time. The bra follows in one swift motion, baring your skin to the chilled air. The hunger in his gaze intensifies, and you instinctively cross your arms over yourself, but he gently pulls them apart with a soft, adoring look.

He might be all sharp tongues and teasing words, but he’s still your Steve—and it slips through the second he sees you like this, sees the softness in your naked body.

Every time, it wrecks him. Leaves him in awe, staring like he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He has to school himself, to remind himself why he’s here.

Not just to have you.

To make love to you.

Fuck you so good you forget your own name.

He stands to rid himself of his jeans and underwear, fumbling briefly with the button in his haste. The condom he grabs from the top drawer is on in a flash, and you can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes your lips.

“Were you planning this?” you quip, arching a brow.

He smirks, bracing a hand on the mattress as he crawls over you. 

“Wouldn’t call it planning,” he admits, “more like wishful thinking.”

He looks down at you, gauging every little reaction as he settles between your thighs, his mind spinning from the way you’ve handed yourself over to him tonight.

Every teasing thought that crosses his mind? 

He says it. 

Every slow, deliberate movement? 

He makes it. 

He’s always had a quick mouth, always had a knack for getting the last word, and it turns out that skill translates pretty well in the bedroom. 

From the way you’re responding—whimpering, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, he understands it's effect.

He drags his cock through your slick, soaking in the way you shudder, still sensitive from your last release. The broken little sound you let out nearly ends him right there. 

He almost slows down, almost stops to check in, almost asks if you need a second—

But then he sees it. 

That look in your eyes.

Like you’re seconds away from combusting. Like if he doesn’t fill you up right now, you might actually fall apart. That puts his mind at ease real quick.

You can take it. You can take him.

You always have, every curveball his fucked up life has thrown at you and now, this is your reward. 

His tough girl—so pretty, so pliant, and all his.

“You’re so worked up, baby,” he murmurs, rolling his hips just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. "Fuck—bet I could make you cum again before I’m even all the way in—"

Your body clenches at the idea, but a flicker of alarm crosses your features. He notices and offers a crooked grin, leaning down to press a comforting kiss to your cheek.

You can have him now. 

"Shhh—I'll be nice, promise.” He assures, sliding his hand to the back of your neck. "I know—let me give it to you, yeah? Just how you like."

He pushes inside with deliberate slowness, guiding himself until he’s fully sheathed, and the stretch is a sharp, blissful edge that has your toes curling into the sheets. Heat flares bright as you take him in, your breath catching in your throat at the way he fills you.

"Shit," he breathes, voice wrecked, eyes fluttering shut. "You—fuck, you have any idea what you did tonight?"

His mind flashes to the bar—how pretty you looked, how fucking dangerous you stared at him, all soft-spoken and sweet while chatting with Robin, while his brain was miles deep in the gutter.

"Had me losing my fucking mind, baby—kept looking at me like you wanted me to bend you over the damn table—"

Your cheeks burn, fresh embarrassment creeping up your neck. Sure, you were flirting with him—but not to that extent, right?

The way his eyes darkened whenever you brushed against him, the way his jaw tensed, like he was barely keeping himself in check. And now, hearing him say it out loud, knowing just how much it got to him.

Yeah. 

You don’t regret it one bit.

“I-I didn’t mean to—”

His hips flex, drawing a startled cry from you. 

“No?” he challenges, leaning down so his breath skates across your lips. “Then why're you squeezing me like this, huh? Feels like you wanted it real bad.”

A strangled moan rips from your chest when he adjusts his angle, the friction almost too exquisite to bear. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moon imprints on his skin, and he seems to relish it. It only spurs him to thrust deeper, rolling his body in a fluid, deliberate motion that has you arching up into him.

“Can you feel how deep I am?” he rasps, pressing a broad palm over your lower stomach.

You nearly wail at the added pressure, your body tightening involuntarily. Every nerve feels overexposed, and the sweet ache is already coiling again, dangerously close to snapping.

"Yes—yes," you pant, voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut like it’s too much. "Fuck—fuck, I can feel it—"

His own breathing is ragged, that confident smirk never fully leaving his face. 

"Yeah—you do," he groans, voice cracking. "Fuck—stretching around me so fucking perfect—"

He pounds you into the mattress, each thrust driving sparks of ecstasy through your veins. The headboard knocks against the wall, but all you can do is cling to him, trying to keep your mind from fracturing under the overwhelming pleasure.

“Steve—Steve, I—,” you gasp, the tension in your core reaching a fever pitch, “I’m gonna—”

“Shhh, baby,” he croons, sliding a hand under your back to pull you closer, forehead pressed to yours. “It’s okay—I got you. Been so good for me tonight—go on, let go.”

Your body locks up, the orgasm tearing through you with near-blinding intensity, muscles clamping around him in a cascade of pleasure that leaves you sobbing out broken moans. His rhythm stutters, his eyes squeezing shut as he chases his own release.

“That’s it—” he mutters, voice cracking with urgency. “Fuck, I can’t—I—”

One more thrust and he’s lost, groaning low in his chest as he spills into the condom. The two of you ride out the final tremors together, foreheads pressed, breath mingling in the heavy air.

It takes a moment for you both to resurface after his release, his chest still heaving against yours. The pleasure in his eyes slowly gives way to something gentler.

He leans down, pressing a series of lazy, heartfelt kisses to your forehead, your cheekbones, the corners of your mouth—wherever his lips can reach. Each touch is imbued with care.

“Did so good,” he murmurs between kisses, voice affectionate. “So good for me, angel.”

You melt under the praise, letting your eyes drift shut as you soak in his breathless devotion. It contrasts how wild he’d been just moments ago—downright relentless—makes his current tenderness all the sweeter.

With a gentle grunt, he pushes himself onto his elbows, brushing back the stray hair that clings to your damp forehead. 

“I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move.”

In your blissed-out state, all you can manage is a drowsy hum of assent. He slips off the bed, and you watch through lidded eyes as he pads across the room, disappearing into the bathroom. 

You hear the tap running, the faint rustle of him disposing of the condom, then the soft swish of water in a washcloth. Your body feels utterly spent, a pleasant tingle still humming along your skin.

There’s a quiet care in the way he cleans you up. The washcloth is warm and soothing against your overly sensitive skin, and you shiver at the sensation. 

His gaze follows your every little twitch, making sure he hasn’t hurt you. You can feel his hand trembling ever so slightly—not from uncertainty, but from the flood of emotions surging through him.

“Hey,” he says, voice subdued, “that was okay?” His eyes lift to yours, a glint of worry in them. “I mean… you’re good, right?”

You let out a lazy, content laugh. 

Yeah, you're pretty fucking good.

“Think I’m gonna need a week to recover.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows shoot up. 

“Definitely.” A mischievous curl graces your lips. “Now, come here and let me fall asleep on you.”

You really are bossy tonight. 

“Alright. Gimme a second.” He stands up, rummaging through a drawer for a pair of boxers. When he slips them on, you catch a glimpse of the faint lines of his scars, but he still doesn't seem bothered.

He fishes out a soft, worn T-shirt for you, returning to the bed to help you pull it over your head. The patience contrasts all of his previous actions.

“Better?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

You nod, contentment seeping into your bones. He climbs in beside you, pulling the covers up until you’re both tucked in. He wraps an arm around your waist, drawing you close enough that you can press your face against his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you, punctuating the silence.

You open your mouth to say something—maybe to tease him about how he just passed some imaginary line from shy to sweet to downright insatiable—but before you can form the words, you realise his breathing has already gone soft and rhythmic. 

The drinks and all the exertion apparently caught up to him, and he’s fallen asleep, mouth parted and face slightly smushed into his pillow.

“Good night,” you murmur, a fond smile tugging at your lips, even though you know he can’t hear you. You lean up to plant a delicate kiss on his jaw.

You knew he'd appreciate it if he was awake.

He mumbles something incoherent, shifting only to pull you tighter against him, and you let out a quiet giggle that he sleeps right through. Feeling his warmth, your own exhaustion rushes in, and you finally let your eyes flutter shut.

The hungover teacher stirred with a low groan, rolling onto his side as the dull ache behind his temples made itself known. His mouth felt tacky and dry, and he blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the morning light filtering through the blinds. 

Nine o’clock was the time displayed on his alarm—usually he was up before then, but after the night he’d had, it was hardly surprising.

Last night was fun.

Last night...

Last night.

Oh, God.

The realisation hit him like a jolt of caffeine. He cast a quick glance around the bed. The rumpled sheets on your side were cool to the touch, and his heart gave a lurch. He noticed right away that the clothes the two of you had tossed around last night were no longer strewn across the floor. 

His mind whirred with images of the previous evening: how he’d practically been glued to your side in the car, half-drunk and babbling. How he’d lost every ounce of self-consciousness once you got inside… 

And dear lord, that torrent of absolute filth that had poured out of his mouth.

He didn’t regret the closeness—far from it. But the specifics came rushing back, making him wince. 

He’d definitely gone too far, pushed some kind of boundary here. A flush crept over his cheeks at the recollection of the way he’d practically manhandled you, said things to you he hadn’t allowed himself to say in years. 

And the marks—no, not his—he vividly recalled leaving little reminders of himself on your skin. What if you were hurt or upset? Is that why you weren’t next to him in bed?

Fuck this is bad. 

So very very bad. 

Just as he was about to scramble out from under the covers to search for you, he heard the bedroom door creak open. His stomach flipped—and there you were, peeking in with a bright grin, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand.

“Oh, Casanova has finally risen,” you teased, stepping fully into the room.

Relief flooded him so quickly he almost felt dizzy. You were still here. 

And you looked…

Well, you looked content. 

Happy, even?

You were practically glowing.

He stayed propped on one elbow, eyes roving over the fresh T-shirt you’d thrown on, a new one from the previous night, hair still mussed. He swallowed, trying to find words, but they didn’t come. He settled for a sheepish smile as you rounded the bed and set the cups on the bedside table before perching on the edge of the mattress, near his legs.

“How’s the head this morning?” you asked, tilting your head in concern.

“It’s, uh…” He shrugged a bit stiffly, still grappling with the residual embarrassment. “I’ll live,” he managed, realising only then how dry his throat was.

You leaned back, letting out a laugh, you couldn’t help it. He looked so frazzled in the low light of the morning. Your movement caused your hair to shift, and he finally noticed the marks he’d left on your neck. 

His stomach lurched. Guilt surging through him.

Crap. 

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted, pushing himself upright. His hands slid over your shoulders, fingertips grazing the bruises with excruciating caution. “I swear, I never should’ve done that. Please tell me they don't hurt—are you hurt? I promise—”

You pressed a finger to his lips to stop his apologies spilling. 

“I’m fine,” you soothed.

He shook his head, eyes clouded with worry. He didn’t believe it, you were just being nice—too nice—like you always were. 

“Angel, you don’t have to lie to me,” he insisted, voice hushed. “I got carried away, I know I did. Just—just look at your neck. I—”

He never wanted to leave anything physical on your body. 

You batted his fussing hands away before he could delve into another apology. He felt you shift closer, sliding a leg over his lap and effectively straddling him. The contact made his heart thump in a way that was not filled with desire, but with reluctant relief.

If you were willingly crawling into his space like this, you couldn’t be too upset. 

Right?

“Hey,” you said softly, “look at me.”

He did, brown eyes trained on yours. The moment they did, he felt the tension in his chest loosen just a fraction. 

“Were you ever going to tell me where you learned to talk like that?” You teased, voice playful as you decided to steer the conversation in a new direction. 

You knew he’d be beating himself up—that’s just how he is. So, it was up to you to pull him out of it, to ease his mind from the intensity of the night before and steer him somewhere lighter, something more playful.

Also, you were definitely curious about where he got that mouth from.

A deep crimson spread across his cheeks. He remembered fragments of last night. The shamelessness of it all, the confidence, the raw desire that had him spouting every sinful thought crossing his mind. 

“… I don’t know!” He admitted, eyes shifting away but he knew you would not be satisfied with that answer. “Back in high school, I, uh… picked some stuff up, I guess. Whenever I just said what I wanted, reactions were… enthusiastic.”

“Reactions, huh?” You arched a brow. “Were you some kind of player?” You press further, leaning into him and watching him squirm. “I can imagine you had all the girls wrapped around your finger.”

Steve’s stomach knotted—he hated how this conversation was going, even if you punctuated it with a compliment. 

“I wasn’t, like, a player player,” he defended, lost as to how to word it right, “but I—fuck—I know my way around a woman, okay?”

“Way around a woman? So romantic.”

He groaned, planting his face in his hands in a thoroughly mortified gesture. 

“You know what I mean, God—” he mumbled, voice muffled. “You’re bullying me right now—this? This is bullying. Shouldn’t have introduced you to Rob, she’s rubbing off on you.”

With a grin, you gently peeled his hands away from his face, enjoying every once of embarrassment. 

“Call it payback,” you said, eyes dancing. “Because if this is bullying, I don’t know what to call your behaviour last night.”

He tried to retort, but ended up pressing his lips together. 

You got him there. 

He couldn’t bear it any longer, needed to put an end to this ruthless interrogation and wipe that cruel expression off your features. 

“Come ‘ere,” he said, voice still raw from sleep. Slipping his arms around your waist, he tugged you beneath him, rolling you onto the bed in a playful tumble. Your giggles filled the space, effectively silencing your questions.

When the laughter finally subsided, you stroked his cheek, a question in your eyes. 

“So I take it the hangover isn’t too bad?”

You’re finally done with torturing him.

“No, not too bad,” he shook his head, lips curving. “Told you I wasn’t that drunk.”

You gave him a dramatic eye-roll. 

“Yeah, alright,” you teased, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “Hop in the shower. I’ll make us breakfast.”

His brows rose, something like hope glinting behind his eyes. 

“You’re not gonna have one too?” He tried to sound casual, but truth be told, he was already imagining the possibility of you joining him.

“I already did,” you replied, shrugging. “You were dead to the world. Didn’t wanna to wake you.”

“Well, next time, do.” He huffed in playful protest. “I could’ve helped.”

You shot him a pointed look as you slid out from under him. 

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

He tries to follow, strong arms itching to have you back in them. 

“Depends what you mean,” he countered with a sly half-smile. “I can be very useful when I wanna be.”

You’re sure he could. 

“Go shower, lover boy.” You roll your eyes and grab a pillow, swatting him lightly. “I’ll get us something to eat.”

He laughs as he stretches up, blanket slipping to expose his torso as he clicks out all the sleep of his spine. He slips off the bed, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before he scurries through the doorway.

You wander into the kitchen, the morning sun giving the space a homey atmosphere despite the sparse contents of the fridge. When you open it, you are met with a mildly irritating discovery.

Three eggs. 

Damn it. 

You decide he’s earned two of them for all his hard work last night. A shopping trip is definitely in order, he’s not going to survive on leftover cereal and a couple of condiments. Setting the eggs aside, you gather bread and butter for toast, determined to whip up a breakfast that’s at least semi-nutritious. 

Grabbing a small notepad from a drawer, you remember that your boyfriend tends to dump half his belongings in the console table by the entrance whenever he can’t find a proper place for them.

So you wander over, opening the drawer and flipping through random scraps of paper in search of a pen. Old receipts, a couple gold star stickers, a manual for an appliance that he apparently never installed—typical Steve Harrington clutter.

Your fingers still on something that immediately stands out. A small stack of official-looking envelopes, bold printed letters across the front. The same sender, repeated name after name on each envelope. 

The stamp—some government seal or maybe an organisation’s letterhead—catches your eye. Your heart gives a peculiar jolt. 

National Laboratory? 

You’re not entirely sure, but it’s definitely not from his school. It looks official, maybe serious. Possibly part of the story he’s only given you glimpses of. You hover there, tempted. 

It’s not your place. 

You know that. 

But curiosity thrums in your veins—if only you knew more about where these came from and how they tie into his past. You catch a snippet of text on the paper, scanning just enough to see some names that mean nothing to you—except that they might mean everything to him.

Before you can open it fully, the shower in the next room clicks off, the pipes clanging in that telltale way. Mild panic surges up your spine, and you hurriedly tuck the envelope away. 

Grabbing the first pen you spot, you practically race back into the kitchen with it clutched in one hand, notepad in the other, as though scribbling down a grocery list had been your sole focus this entire time.

Trying to steady the beat of your heart, you begin jotting random items—milk, bread, eggs, fruit?—each word an effort to keep your thoughts from drifting back to those envelopes and the million questions you suddenly have. 

You care about Steve, more than you can articulate, and you still yearn to know every piece of his history. 

A soft rustle of movement alerts you to his presence before you feel it. He steps up behind you, pressing a warm, damp kiss to your shoulder. The heat of his skin seeps through the thin T-shirt you’re wearing. You notice his hair’s still dripping from the shower, and he smells faintly of soap.

“What are you up to?” 

“What does it look like?” Feigning ease, you hold up the list. “Making sure you don’t starve here. Clearly, you didn’t plan on feeding yourself for more than a day or two.”

He leans in, peering over your shoulder at the small list, then huffs a quiet laugh. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “Wanna go to the store with me later? I’m sure there’s some pizza in the frozen-food section calling my name.”

You turn your head enough to catch his eye, relieved he hasn’t noticed anything amiss. 

“We should probably go soon,” you point out, recalling Sunday hours. “They won’t be open all day.”

Instead of answering right away, he skims his lips up the side of your neck,. The bare expanse of your skin prickles with goosebumps, and you fight the urge to melt against him entirely. He chuckles at your reaction, pressing a little closer so you can feel the solid weight of him.

“I can be quick,” he teases, voice dipping into the same husky register you remember all too vividly from the night before. 

“You’re not tired enough from last night?”

He’s insatiable.

“Sweetheart,” he says, leaning into you, “you’ve got me wide awake this morning.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he turns you around, guiding your hips so you’re facing him, your notepad nearly forgotten in your grip. He kisses you then, slow but with a playful flick of his tongue that reminds you he’s not quite done pushing your buttons. 

“Bet I can have you calling my name again in five minutes, tops,” he whispers, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

You roll your eyes—though your pulse jumps traitorously—and push gently at his chest. 

“We’ve got errands now. If you wanna eat something besides toast for the next few days, you better rein it in.”

You playfully bat his hand away, though you can’t suppress your grin. He leans in for one more quick kiss before he finally heads into the bedroom to put some clothes on.

You watch him go, and he’s still the Steve you know. There’s still a layer of him you’ve only just glimpsed, wrapped up in those official envelopes, as well as Robin's previous slip-up.

That is the real Steve Harrington, the one you intend to fully understand. 

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni @everythinghasafacee @irrelevantbutembarrassing @almostfullstarfish

[demonic0angel]

Ma'am, I need more of Dan/Wraith in Arkham 😭 and maybe him managing to get out and meeting Dick again. Pretty please with strawberry cream on top 🥹🥹

(I’m lowkey surprised by how many people like this AU XD It got rather long lmao)

Part 1, part 2, part 4

Selina stared at the man that was sitting in her living room alongside her best friends. Harley was happily chattering his ear off, with Ivy interjecting now and then. The man, Wraith, patiently listened to Harley’s ranting, with only a little objecting whenever she went off-topic too much. He did not breathe and he rarely blinked, similar to a statue.

Or she supposed he was more like a phantom, with his abilities that he had used to help them all escape Arkham when they had attracted too many guards’ attentions.

Although he was creepy and he made the temperature of her living room drop several times, he had helped them all and he was very polite. She couldn’t find any real fault in him except the way her instincts wanted her to not look at him directly, like a haunted painting.

“So now that we’re free, what do you wanna do?” Harley asked. Selina focused back on the conversation, as Wraith hummed and Ivy and Harley turned to look at her with various levels of eagerness.

“There’s a new jewelry exhibit opening up tomorrow. Want to take some diamonds?” Selina asked, speaking up as she glanced at Wraith.

Wraith hummed. “Thank you, but I think I’ll decline. If any of you need help, I am willing to offer my services, but—”

“Is Nightwing still in Gotham?” Harley asked, interrupting Wraith, who glared at her.

Selina raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. He’s still visiting.”

“Actually, I would love to assist you three in any way. My powers are at your service. What time are we going to the exhibit tomorrow?” Wraith suddenly said, looking very eager. Selina blinked at the whiplash before looking at Harley and Ivy, who both looked amused.

It was Ivy who mouthed the words, ‘He likes Nightwing,’ to her, which made her hold back a laugh.

She could remember that little Robin that used to cheerfully break someone’s face with a flying somersault, and that same little boy had grown up into a vigilante with almost flying abilities with the way he moved and fought. Wraith was a criminal, since he was in Arkham, but he didn’t seem too bad. In a way, it reminded her of her and Bruce.

“Well. I think Ivy and Harley can take the other vigilantes, right? I can take Batman and you’ll take Nightwing?” Selina said. Wraith perked up and nodded happily.

How cute. She was so not telling Bruce about this beforehand, so she could laugh about his expression later.

A day passed, and the four of them traveled to the museum when it was night. By now, news of Harley and Ivy being broken out was already known, so security had gotten a little more strict. Still, it was nothing with all of their expertise and Wraith’s unexplained meta abilities. They snuck in easily and looted all of the gold, gems, jewelry, and antiques they saw.

“Where’s your bag?” Selina asked, as she eyed Wraith holding some pearls and gems without a bag to contain it. He was dressed in a dark leather suit that had been originally Bruce’s cat suit— it was nice to hope that he would join her one day— but was now repurposed for Wraith. Her question was answered with a small smile from Wraith as he shoved his hand into his chest, making the gems disappear. Her eyebrows rose but she just gave a nod and moved on.

After that, the bigger and heavier items were given to Wraith to keep. Selina was almost a little worried by how much they trusted him, but Harley didn’t seem to notice and only she and Ivy had some anxiety about it. However, Wraith didn’t seem to care either, and listened to their expertise without any hesitation. It was probably because he was younger than them by at least a decade, she realized.

He was extremely fascinating, and Selina suddenly understood why Harley was so interested in him like a scientist towards a petri dish.

The Gotham heroes finally arrived, just as they loaded up everything in the car. Wraith perked up when he saw Nightwing amongst the vigilantes coming towards them.

Selina couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden cheer on his usually bored or blank expression.

“Okay, Harley, Ivy, you two go back to the hideout. Wraith, you can take me away if we need to, right?” Selina asked, smiling as she recalled Wraith’s intangibility and invisibility abilities yesterday.

Wraith nodded and the other two drove off without hesitation, leaving Selina and Wraith facing the Gotham vigilantes. Wraith wagged his clawed fingers in a greeting at Nightwing, smirking broadly.

“Hello, Nightwing. It’s good to see you again,” he purred. Selina was watching the spectacle gleefully, occasionally glancing at Batman’s covered expression, wondering if she was going to see a good show today.

Nightwing faltered in his steps before he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. However, he answered pleasantly, “Hello, Wraith. I see you’ve befriended the Sirens.”

“Mhm. They helped me a lot so I could see you again.”

Nightwing’s cheeks darkened but through the shadows, Selina felt like she could see a bit of red on his face. “I see. Well, I’ll have to ask you guys to give up the jewelry you stole. We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

“Please do the hard way,” Wraith purred again, even throatier than before. Selina had to choke on her giggles as Batman stiffened in horror, staring between his oldest son and the criminal.

Nightwing coughed and took out his escrima sticks. “Well, you’re under arrest, Wraith. Surrender and we won’t have to—”

“Oh my god, just fight him! Stop flirting!” Spoiler screamed and then they all flew into action. Selina took out her whip, but before she could make a move, Wraith darted at her, wrapped his arms around her, and then turned invisible before they flew off through the walls.

Selina blinked rapidly as she watched the museum grow smaller and smaller into the distance. “… you could fly the entire time?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, I’m very strong.” There was a touch of deep arrogance in Wraith’s voice. Then he sighed, “But I was told not to make too much trouble. So it’s better to make an early escape than stick around.”

“I would’ve thought that you would’ve stayed to flirt with Nightwing some more,” Selina teased.

“It’s weird to flirt in front of his siblings,” Wraith said in distaste as they flew over the building roofs and past the clouds to Selina’s hideout. “I’ll find another day to fight him without voyeurs around.”

Selina burst into laughter. Yeah, she could completely understand why Ivy and Harley wanted to take him in now. He really was quite interesting.

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | 14

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

Rafe's gonna handle it.

But it isn't easy. His head is volatile and loud, screaming for him to choose a direction that seems intangible and difficult to comprehend. It also doesn't help that his anger simmers beneath his skin at the idea of meeting the person who terrified and threatened you. He doesn't know what he will do, but he promised you he won't take it too far.

All Rafe knows is that he can't do it alone.

"I need your help," Rafe announces with great unwillingness, just as JJ's about to turn his back to him. It wasn't a stroke of luck that Rafe happened to be at the Island Club, at the right time, sitting in JJ's section. But, JJ, despite his obligation to serve as a paying member of the exclusive club, wanted nothing more than to evade his duties to the Kook.

Until he spoke, of course.

It takes a second, then another, before the admission registers and JJ turns around. "What?"

Rafe stands from his table, and curious patrons at nearby tables watch the exchange between them. It isn't a secret that JJ and Rafe have a bitter rivalry, elevated by differing social classes and longstanding resentment that transcends their own lifetimes. It also isn't a secret that whenever these two are in close quarters, more often than not, their conversations end in fists.

But, as much as Rafe has adrenaline coursing through his veins and tension stiffening his shoulders that he would love to find an outlet for release, he didn't come here for a fight. Not with JJ, at least.

"You know where Aaron lives, don't you?"

JJ blinks at the Kook, suspicion shadowing his features as he takes his time before answering. "What about it?"

"I—" Rafe clenches his jaw, trying to soothe out his ego. "I need a favor."

"For what?"

"Are you fucking dense, Maybank?" Rafe snaps, his capacity for meandering questions reaching its all-time limit. It doesn't help that, typically, in these situations, Rafe tries to calm his nerves with his vices beforehand. But he can't. He has to do it unbearably sober. Gritting out, "What do you think?"

JJ narrows his eyes at Rafe, his own hands clenched by his side. Despite what the rest of Kildare believes, JJ isn't as stupid as people make him out to be. He simply didn't trust Rafe. Didn't understand his intent. Half of him is convinced that Rafe is in cahoots with Aaron because he knows this circles back to you and your bar.

It had to be about the note JJ collected that warned about Aaron's threat. JJ's concern with it was because of Sailor's ancestry. It's an institution for the Pogues; decades of families and tourists visiting the place to landmark what a great treasure it is to Outer Banks. It means absolutely nothing to Rafe.

Except for you.

Slowly, but surely, the corner of JJ's mouth curves into a knowing smirk, and Rafe catches the arrogant expression. Before JJ can open his mouth and instigate an actual fight, Rafe cuts him off. "Can you help me out or not?"

Normally, under any other circumstances, JJ would laugh in Rafe's face and walk away. It would serve as great ammunition against the Kook prince and his divine reign. But this concerns you. The person who took care of him growing up, who patched him up, who served as a beacon of safety for his troubles. If that means working with Rafe, JJ can do it.

"I can," JJ nods, before glancing at the clock hung over the oceanfront exit of the restaurant. "After my shift. I'll show you."

—

Truth be told, Rafe could've gone alone.

It wasn't improbable for him to discover the address of Aaron without JJ's help. He's resourceful, and with enough time, he would find it. But it was the fact that he didn't trust himself to go. He didn't know what he was going to do, what he was going to say, or how he was going to react. All he knows is his mind feels linear, sharp, and honed down to one single mission: pay your debts and be done with it.

It didn't matter the steps he'd take to get there.

"Are we going or what?"

JJ sits in the passenger seat of Rafe's parked car, the headlights turned off while they sit hidden from view. For the duration of the ride, Rafe had calmed down enough to steady his movements, take the wheel, and follow JJ's directions.

But, if Rafe lets himself think, and be reminded of how Aaron hurt you, frightened you, and nearly destroyed you, a cloud of red distorts his vision and guides his hand.

He doesn't answer JJ, staring out the dark window to discern the dark silhouette of Aaron sitting out in his yard, smoking a cigarette. His hands clenched in his lap, and when JJ repeats his previous question, this time, Rafe answers by going to the waistband of his pants and pulling out his gun.

"Woah, Rafe—" JJ holds both hands in the air, eyeing the lethal weapon as Rafe sets it on the dashboard.

"You take it."

JJ says nothing, studying Rafe's expression before cautiously picking up the gun and securing it. It goes unspoken, of course, but JJ understands what Rafe asks of him.

He turns back to Rafe. "How are we gonna confront him?"

"Follow my lead."

With a click of the car's door, Rafe steps out with JJ. He inhales a sharp breath before approaching the idle figure sitting on a lawn chair in front of his trailer, a bored-yet-curious look stretches across his face.

"Who are you?" Aaron asks, snuffing his cigarette on the ground before glancing behind Rafe to find JJ. "Hey, JJ. Here to bail out your old man again?"

JJ scoffs but says nothing. Aaron's gaze returns to Rafe. "I asked you a question. Who are you?"

Rafe doesn't want to answer, to give Aaron any sense of satisfaction of knowing his name. He doesn't know what he had expected—perhaps someone who used their fists more than their words and looked like they could follow through with their threats—but Aaron doesn't meet those expectations. All he sees is someone sleazy lowlife who deserves nothing of his time and efforts.

Going to the back of his pockets, Rafe pulls out a wad of cash and throws it to Aaron's feet.

"What's this?" Aaron bends down to pick up the money, leafing through the paper to determine its legitimacy. And he chuckles. "Okay, Moneybags, what is this?"

"To pay back a debt," Rafe answers. He can't believe how steady his voice sounds. He goes on to explain it's for you—to cover the cost of your remaining loans, and for Aaron to finally leave you alone.

When Rafe finishes his declaration, the loan shark takes a moment to process the information before a derisive smile spreads across his face. "She's got a Kook paying for her shit? Gotta say that's impressive, even for her."

"Shut up," Rafe warns, but Aaron appears unfazed by the threat. He merely stands from his chair, meeting Rafe's stare head-on, deciding to provoke further.

"To be honest, I didn't think she would be able to do it," Aaron clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval. "Thought I had to burn down her bar to teach her a lesson."

Red-hot anger pulses through Rafe's veins, and his hands ache for a brawl. But he doesn't give in. Clarity still resides in his mind, telling him that he doesn't need to resort to violence. All he needs is to be done with this scumbag.

"That's all she owed you," Rafe spat. "And that means you'll leave her alone. Now and forever."

"Aw," Aaron mocks, playing a hand over his chest. "Her big bad protector comes in the form of Rafe Cameron," he raises a brow at the subtle shock on Rafe's face. "Thought I didn't recognize you, Moneybags? Your daddy must be proud you're funding a charity case from the Cut."

"Shut the fuck up," Rafe growls, stepping forward, but JJ's quick. He grabs a hold of Rafe's elbow, reminding him that it's not worth it. Clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring, Rafe reluctantly admits JJ is right.

He holds out one of his hands. "Give me back her necklace."

Aaron rolls his eyes, going into his pocket to pull out the chain and drop it into Rafe's palm.

"It's pathetic, you know," Aaron says as the pendant lands on Rafe's hand. "You going around and doing her bidding like a little bitch. Is fucking her that good that she has you in a chokehold?"

Grinding his teeth, Rafe meets his stare head-on. "It's better than being a little pussy who hides behind threats to feel important."

Rafe offers nothing more than a mocking grin in return, twisting around to head back to his car. JJ has his hand on Rafe's shoulder, guiding him, and Rafe is surprised at how he managed to leave the interaction unscathed.

Until Aaron decides to open his mouth one last time.

"Tell your little girlfriend that if she needs another loan, I'll be here, and next time, I'll even let her pay with her cunt," he laughs, and that's the final straw that made Rafe snap.

Before JJ can stop him, Rafe suddenly turns and swings at Aaron's jaw. The scumbag stumbles back, catching his face but, before he can recover, Rafe tackles him into the ground, delivering punch after punch until Aaron is nothing but a bloody pulp.

His rage is burning, his fury bleeding into each strike, and Rafe no longer cares. He's gone off the deep end, delivering violent justice to make up for the fact that Aaron has done nothing but terrorize you. Red glazes his vision until it starts to stain his knuckles and shirt too.

But Aaron is strong too. He manages to throw a hit of his own, splitting Rafe's bottom lip. They're wrestling on the filthy earth until somehow Aaron manages to produce a knife and puts it against Rafe's throat.

Harsh breaths turn to swallow as Rafe feels the cool blade digging into his skin.

"You think you're hot shit, Moneybags?" Aaron spats, his eyes wild. "You think you scare me?"

Rafe says nothing. He doesn't know what to do next. It's a dangerous situation he's in, the knife buried into the knot of his throat. But before he can formulate a plan, the familiar click of a gun sounds.

"Get the fuck off of him."

Aaron stills, the barrel of the weapon pressed against the back of his skull immobilizing every muscle. JJ roughly grabs his shoulder, hauling him off Rafe, and allowing the Kook to get on his feet.

"We're done," JJ declares firmly, the gun remains against the back of Aaron's head. "Do you hear me?"

Aaron nods, and slowly, JJ lowers the weapon. But that wasn't enough for Rafe. Snatching the gun out of JJ's hand, without a second thought, he fires—the sharp bullet piercing into Aaron's left arm, sending him tumbling back.

JJ shouts something indistinguishable at Rafe but he hears nothing but the harsh thumps of his own breaths. He steps forward, while Aaron grimaces in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder, and points the gun right at the center of his chest—where he had mocked Rafe moments ago.

"You won't do it," Aaron grunts tauntily, still trying to cling to any last ounce of power he has left. "You're not that crazy."

"You wanna bet?" Rafe warns in a deadly calm. "Don't talk about her, don't contact her, and don't even think about her, because if I ever hear you causing her any more problems, I'll fucking kill you."

Lowering the gun, Rafe marches over to his car with nothing but the buzzing of his skin. He can't think of anything else; residual adrenaline courses through his veins like an electric current, sending his emotions haywire. And when JJ asks for the car keys—seeing Rafe unfit to drive—he hands them off without hesitation.

Inside the passenger seat, Rafe's hands are trembling. JJ glances from the corner of his peripheral but doesn't say anything. Instead, he pulls out in reverse before shifting the gears into drive.

Rafe doesn't ask where they're going, concentrating on recounting the details of his memories. The blood, the bullet, and how the act he committed feels completely out of his realm—out of his head. He doesn't know what to feel.

The ride is eerily silent. JJ keeps sparing glances over to Rafe, but he's too numbed out to acknowledge any of them. When Rafe finally gains the ability to speak, he asks JJ where he's driving them. JJ answers vaguely, "You'll see."

By the time the car rolls to a slow stop, the familiar bar comes into view. The flickering neon lights welcome with an OPEN sign, and JJ kills the engine. He turns to Rafe, cautiously taking the gun back, and dropping it into the center console with the safety on.

They say nothing as they step into the bar. You're standing behind the counter, lifting your head when the little bell alerts new customers, only to discover the duo standing in the middle of the walkway. One of your brows raises at the odd pairing.

"Fuck. I need a drink," JJ announces, dropping the car keys on the table before steering behind the counter to grab a bottle. Your eyes follow JJ's movements with amusement until they return to Rafe.

He takes a seat at one of your bar stools, remaining quiet. Nothing in his head feels right, like he's in a dream state he doesn't know how to wake up from. You eye the fresh cut on Rafe's bottom lip and, unable to gauge what type of consolation you should give, decide to comfort him with one of his vices.

Pouring out a glass, you hand it over the counter. "Need a drink?"

He shakes his head.

"Need you," Rafe sets the drink down and grabs your hand, leading you out from behind the bar before stealing a kiss. He pulls you onto his lap, needing to close the distance, while roughened scraps of his callouses skim across your cheeks.

Rafe's kiss is depraved, clinging to you like you're the last breath of air. Like you're the only thing that grounds him. It's tangy and metallic, tasting his cut, which only adds to the delirium of his state and how desperate he is for you. One of his hands falls to your hips, while the other clings to your face.

He needs this. Needs you. Rafe's restraining himself from taking more than you can handle, and when you pull away, breathless, you press your forehead against his.

"Are you okay?" You whisper.

No, but he doesn't want to tell you that. With the brush of his knuckles across your cheek, feeling the warm heat of your flushed skin, he rasps. "Now I am."

"What happened?" You ask, capturing his hand into yours, grazing the blood that stained his knuckles. Some of his skin is split, but most of them seem to be from somewhere else. "Did you kill someone?"

Rafe's jaw tightens. He doesn't want to scare you with what he's done. He doesn't want you to look at him differently. When he pulls his hand away from your grip, afraid of tainting you, it takes a moment before he speaks. "I went to see Aaron."

Your easygoing smile drops and your shoulders stiffen. Withdrawing slightly, you examine Rafe from the waist up, picking up the specks of dark red covering his shirt, the trail of dried blood down his arms, and the nasty yellowing bruise that lines his jaw. "Holy fuck," you breathe, roaming your hands over his body, checking for damages. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine,"

"You're bleeding," you repeat, tipping Rafe's head back to examine a small puncture wound at the column of his throat, running your fingers over the nick to discover the scab. You attempt to get off his lap, "Rafe—"

He catches your elbow, stilling your movements and your gaze rises to meet his. His eyes are dark, like a storm over an ocean, but there's tenderness when he looks at you. "It's not all my blood."

A beat passes before you ask. "What did you do?"

At first, Rafe detects disapproval, making him want to recoil and shut down. But, upon closer inspection of your features—the way your brows pull together and your eyes soften with indescribable warmth—he recognizes it to be concern. For him.

With that revelation, he squeezes your hips comfortingly. "Nothing I didn't promise."

You don't know what to make with that. Hesitatingly, you hold your breath before deciding to ask the next question. "Did you kill him?"

"I should've,"

"But you didn't," you say, recognizing the extent of what Rafe will do for you. It's terrifying to wield such a power. "...Right?"

"Right." He nods, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn't want him to get in trouble because of you, potentially going to prison. You need him too much.

JJ, witnessing the intimate interaction, decides it's time for him to go. Carrying a bottle in his arms, he's about to silently slip out of the bar when Rafe catches the blurring movements and calls after him.

JJ freezes.

Rafe didn't forget about how JJ had his back at Aaron's. How everything could've ended a lot differently had the Pogue not been there. But, he didn't know what to say. There's still a bitter rivalry between them, and he doesn't necessarily enjoy JJ's close relationship with you. But there's an understanding. With begrudging respect, "Thanks."

It surprises both you and JJ and he doesn't know how to take it. But JJ isn't dumb. With one parting glance in your direction, seeing you in capable and powerful hands that'll do anything to protect you, he nods once. "Anytime."

When JJ slips out, you stare at Rafe in disbelief. His eyes return to your face, as you raise a confused brow. "What's that for?"

"Nothing," Rafe shakes his head, pulling you in for another kiss when you slip off his lap. He grabs your arm. "Where are you going?"

"I need to clean you up."

He doesn't want you to go. "I don't need that."

"Rafe, you're bleeding," you declare, gesturing to his face, "I'll be right back."

With great reluctance, he lets you go. Moments later, you return with a box of first aid and set it on the counter before returning to his lap. Disinfecting the cut on his throat, you patch up the wound before moving to his jaw and lips.

Rafe watches you as you work. Your touch is gentle, and your eyes are concentrated. When you catch him staring, you lift your gaze to his, a shy smile spreading over your lips. "What?"

"Just waiting for you to finish so I can kiss you," he confesses, his hands roaming up and down your waist in impatient strokes. He needs to feel you again to ground him.

You tilt your head teasingly. "Is kissing me more important than taking care of yourself?"

"Clearly." He declares as if the answer is obvious. It makes your stomach flutter, cheeks warming with heat.

You return to tending his jaw, but Rafe can't wait any longer. Roughly, he pushes your hands away and pulls you in for another desperate kiss, capturing the nape of your neck as he practically devours you.

"Rafe—" You part to breathe.

"Need you," he repeats, just as anguished and desperate as before. "Stop taking care of me and let me have you."

You don't have a second say before he recaptures your lips, sliding his tongue into your open mouth. His touch is hungry, exploring every inch of bare skin until he goes under your shirt to pull down your bra and find the sensitive flesh of your breasts.

Raw, and full of passion, you're reminded of the times when Rafe needed to fuck you to channel his aggression into something productive. You don't know exactly what happened with Aaron, only that it's over and you want to offer him refuge in any way possible.

But Rafe is much tamer than before. He's careful not to hurt you, not to play too rough. When he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, his breathing is heavy but his words are firm.

"I'm not fucking you in a bar."

This surprises you.

"You weren't complaining when you fucked me in a dressing room," you whisper sultrily, planting kisses along the curve of his neck. "Or in the bathroom."

His jaw tightens with declining restraint. "That was different."

"How different?"

"I'm... I'm trying to treat you better."

You don't want him to. At least, not during sex. You want it rough, dirty, and filthy. This side of Rafe cosplaying as a saint feels wrong—especially when you know he's nothing but the devil. But you're fine with it. You need it.

"Maybe you shouldn't," you say, moving to the shell of his ear. "Maybe I want you to treat me like your own personal slut."

Rafe groans, his resolve cracking, and he stands from the stool. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to his car, throwing the door wide open to throw you inside the backseat.

He slams you against the back of the driver's seat, your legs straddling Rafe while he kisses you urgently. His hands grab at your body, unhooking your bra with a soft click and breaking the kiss only for you to shed your clothes.

Your core pulses with need; the open spread of your legs allows you to feel his hard erection, separated by a thin pair of panties and his jeans. You need it off.

Rafe trails his kisses down the curve of your neck, and you tip your head back with a soft moan, his hands fall under your skirt and between your legs. Long fingers brush against your panties, discovering the wet patch.

"Are you this wet for me?" He murmurs against the heat of your shoulders, his fingers teasing your core with your slick but refusing to slip in.

You let out a little whimper. "Hm,"

"You want me to do something about it?"

You nod desperately, a hand falling between your legs to guide him closer to your cunt, but Rafe pulls back. In one swipe, he snatches your wrist in one hand and pins them above your head, against the headrest of the driver's seat.

"Don't touch," he warns thickly, his dark eyes meeting yours and heat exploding in your stomach, your pussy aching to wrap around something.

"Please," you beg, and Rafe grins wickedly. Pushing your panties to the side, he thrusts two fingers in. Slowly, at first, to test your walls, until his penetration comes with a steady—but increasing—rhythm.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, just as Rafe captures you in another lustful kiss. Your wrists strain from the bound, but you love how you're held captive—physically and emotionally—to be controlled by his will. His fingers go faster, adding his thumb to rub your swollen clit as he swallows all the noises.

Rafe separates, kissing an arrow straight down your breasts before covering a pierced nipple. His teeth tugs the barbell, causing a whimper to add to your moans, elevated by the high you feel approaching with the slight twinge of pain.

"Come for me, baby," Rafe rasps, his voice vibrating off your skin, as he feels you fluttering around his fingers. His teeth pulls on your nipple, heightening your sensitivity and pushing you over the edge. You reach your orgasm on his hands, and Rafe guides you through the process by fucking you harder—through the tightening of your walls—making you mewl with pleasure.

Pulling out his slick-covered fingers, he pushes them between your teeth, hard eyes demanding you to lick them clean.

You do, not breaking a second of eye contact, and when Rafe retracts his fingers from your mouth, using the same hand, he cups your cheeks roughly.

You drive him wild, with the way you're so obedient, but with his face right in front of yours, just a breath away, he doesn't kiss you for reward. Instead, his words come low, in a warning and promise, "Fucking mine."

"Yours," you admit, and Rafe swallows hard.

His hands clench and unclench by his side, but he doesn't make a move to take off his pants, his bulge prominent as an outline under his jeans. Your eyes drop to it, licking your lips, and teasingly ask, "Are you going to do something about that?"

Rafe locks his jaw, teeth grinding against one another, before he follows your line of vision. Conflicted, Rafe doesn't know if he can be inside you, to fuck you, and you come to the dawning realization that Rafe's holding back.

"I'll help." You add in a whisper. "Let me feel you."

He doesn't know if he can handle it, but with the pleading look in your eyes, and the way your lips part, he breaks another one of his constraints and releases your wrists.

"Turn around."

You quickly listen, and Rafe unbuckles his belt to remove his pants and boxer-briefs, throwing them to the floor of his car. With all barriers removed, he hauls you back onto his lap, his hard cock pressed against the small of your back.

You feel a bit of his pre-cum leaking onto your backside, but Rafe makes no urgent moves to be inside you. You squirm, needing contact, but Rafe grabs your hips to still your movements.

"I don't want you touching yourself," Rafe murmurs against the shell of your ear, the lack of eye contact heightens your nerves to feel every sharp motion, every breath of air, as some form of action. "Do you hear me?"

"I won't," you promise, your cunt clenching around nothing with the idea of Rafe entering you soon. You shift closer to his cock, feeling the thick girth on you.

Rafe tsks. "I don't know if I believe you,"

"Believe me," you beg.

"Put your hands above your head," Rafe commands, and you obey. You reach towards the roof of the car as Rafe's strong arms—still stained with traces of blood—cages you in. He adjusts the headrest of the seat before you, widening the gap. Grabbing your wrists, he slotting them inside and slams the headrest down, locking you in place. "Now, you can't."

You wiggle your hands, but it's completely trapped. It makes your heart hammers with exhilaration, knowing you're at Rafe's disposal.

His hands wander over your backside, fingers tracing patterns over your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine at his feather-light touches. It's teasing, drawing out the seconds, and you sit in the weight of your exposure until you're left with nothing but burning desire.

Anticipation climbs up your chest as Rafe withdraws his hands, his warmth, and before you can utter a whine, something cold covers your collarbone. You look down to discover the necklace—the one Aaron took away from you—back around your throat, the R glistening with possession.

"You got it back," you say quietly, your stomach fluttering with pride.

"I got it back," he confirms, rescinding his hands. Again.

It's such a push and pull. You almost groan out of despair, needing him to do something, but he remains distant. Despite the absolute control, having everything he's ever wanted from you—your submission, you being completely his—Rafe is still holding back. His touch second-guessed, his conflict evident.

He doesn't trust himself.

It twists and buries you with need.

"Rafe," you breathe, but he doesn't do anything. "Rafe."

"All this fucking begging," Rafe grabs your chin, forcing your head to the side to meet his hardened gaze. "What?"

Your eyes scan over his features, the hard lines of his face, the discipline he carries behind his gaze. Everything is still within bounds. "Let go." You whisper. His jaw ticks. "Use me."

"You don't understand what you're asking for."

"I trust you," you murmur, closing the distance until his shallow breaths fan against your cheeks. "Let go for me."

Finally, his last chain of restraint snaps, and primal instinct takes over. Rafe tightens his hand around your jaw, pulling you into a rough kiss, only for you to reciprocate with the same ferocity, the same burning needs.

When he pulls away, you bite down on his bottom lip, tugging out the flesh until you taste a tangy metallic on your tongue.

"Use you?" He repeats, as a last line of defense. He's giving you one last chance to back down.

"Use me."

"All mine?"

"All yours."

Rafe releases your face and grabs your hips, lifting them in the air before dropping you on his cock, buried to the hilt. A guttural groan escapes his lips, and his hands remain securely around the fat of your hips, bouncing you up and down his lap.

Sensitivity courses through your veins, as Rafe uses you for his own pleasure. His aggression channels into how fast and vigorously he forces you to bounce, making the backside of your thighs burn.

He watches, as his cock slips in and out of your cunt, each time like the first. "Fuck, sweetheart," Rafe moans with pleasure, your walls fluttering around him. "You're so fucking tight for me."

"I'm so sensitive," you mumble, balling your hands into tight fists as you're trying hard to control yourself. You can't move, only up and down, and the lack of mobility makes you feel everything more. "Rafe."

"Keep saying my name, baby," Rafe demands, one of his hands coming up to grab a handful of your breast. "Remind yourself who's dick you're riding."

Rafe fucks you hard, allowing you to feel everything single twitch of his cock until the familiar heat blooms in your stomach and tightens. Your orgasm is on the horizon, you're certain Rafe is closely behind as your walls grip him in a tight vice.

"Fuck," he swears, making you go faster, the sounds of your cunt squelching with wetness. "Come on, come with me, baby."

You do, moaning wildly as you come for a second time, feeling Rafe's hot ropes of cum fills you. Your breathing is hard, coming down from this high, but Rafe doesn't let you take a second to break.

He unlatches the headrest, freeing your hands, but within seconds, he flips you over, forcing your face into the leather seats as your ass is positioned in the air.

Rafe positions himself behind you, grabbing a handful of your ass as the other strokes his hardening cock, readying for a second round. You're breathing heavily, trying to gather enough strength to pull yourself by your arms, but as you attempt, Rafe had other plans.

The crown of his cock lines against your entrance, his fingers stroking through your wet folds and, with little warning, slams into you. It makes you fall back onto your face, digging into the leather as Rafe roughly thrusts inside of you.

"Ohmygod," you murmur, delirious with overstimulated pleasure, needing a second to breathe, but Rafe allows none. You granted him permission to use you, to fuck you, and he's using it to his fullest power.

Everything is sensitive. All the nerves inside you are heightened to a frayed state, needing time to recover, but Rafe goes at a relentless pace. His rhythm is reinvigorated, going harder, faster, and more brutal than before.

"Rafe, Rafe," you moan, writhing with pleasure that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and Rafe's hand falls between the space of your legs, massaging the swollen nub. "I'm going to come again."

"Already?" He laughs tauntingly, "You truly are my little slut, aren't you?"

"Rafe," you whine.

"Say it,"

"Rafe, please,"

He abandons your clit to grab your throat, hauling you upwards by the limbs. Your breathing is constricted by the hard grip, shallowly taking in air, as Rafe murmurs hotly into your ear. "Fucking say it."

"I'm your slut," you concede, and you can feel the mischievous grin spreading across his face as he goes faster. "God, fuck, I'm your anything."

Rafe kisses behind your ear, mumbling, "Good girl," before thrusting deeper. He's hitting everything, bullying your cervix until you're seeing stars, and a third orgasm tips out of your body with a scream.

Yet he still doesn't stop.

He fucks you through this orgasm, with your legs shaking and your body trembling from overpowering until he comes inside you again. He fills you completely, not letting a single drop go to waste, and when he finally pulls out, his cum drips down your thighs.

You slump against the seat, needing space, but Rafe still has yet to let you go. He hauls you back to your knees and slots you between his legs, your back leaning against his chest.

Both of you catch your breaths, harsh breathing fills the air alongside the smell of sex. No one moves, exhaustion fills both your bones, until Rafe drapes one of his arms across your stomach, pulling you in protectively.

You, with your last bit of energy left, lift your head to meet Rafe's gaze. He's calmer, more at peace than before, and all the weight on his shoulders completely dissolves. With a small, tiresome smile, you ask, "I have one more thing to ask you."

He lifts a brow.

"Can you take us home?"

A small smile rises at the corner of his lips. Us, he hears. He likes the sound of that.

He nods, and with one last parting kiss on your forehead, Rafe gets dressed and takes you home.

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Navigation — Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

[sectumsempraaa]

Taking a flight with the Slytherin boys (headcanons)

i wrote these while delayed for several hours at the airport yesterday 🫶🏼 a lil something for y’all while i work on requests!

feat. Draco, Mattheo, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo x reader

Draco:

- is extremely confused why he has to take off his shoes at security

- threatens the TSA agent during a pat down

- refuses to eat airport food

- pays his way into one of the airline lounges to get away from the public

- doesn’t “trust” the muggle pilot- asks if he can fly the plane instead

- “Draco this is a Boeing 747 not a Nimbus 2000”

- upgrades you both to first class and orders you expensive drinks

- aisle seat kinda guy

- booked a car service for y’all to be ready immediately upon landing

- asks his dad if they have a private jet bc he literally never wants to do that again

Mattheo:

- oh no

- where is he

- you’re not even there for 10 minutes before you lose him

- you find him signing up for Clear bc he hates waiting in lines

- sets the metal detector off bc he “didn’t know” that knives are prohibited on planes

- buys way too much stuff at the grab and go store bc he doesn’t want y’all to be hungry

- teasing you with his hands between your thighs before takeoff

- falls asleep on your shoulder for the entire flight

- big time nuzzling his face in your neck

Blaise:

- airport dad energy

- gets y’all to the airport 3 hours before takeoff

- has everyones documents photo copied in a physical folder

- if the whole group is there he is doing a headcount every 15 minutes

- puts airtags in everyones backpacks in case someone wanders off

- orders you a fancy meal on the plane. this man won’t let you settle for snacks

- makes sure you’re extremely comfortable (seat all the way back, borrowing his pillow, adjusting the air temp bc he knows you get cold)

- not a fan of heights!! plays with your hair to distract himself

Theo:

- showing up to the airport with minutes to spare

- checks all your bags bc he won’t let y’all carry that crap around

- knows your coffee order and is also a caffeinated king

- downloaded a carefully selected line up of his and your favorite films on his ipad

- buys you both painfully cheesey matching airport merch (ie: I ♡ NY shirts)

- if your flight gets delayed he is buying y’all mimosas at the airport bar

- buys the third seat so it’s just you guys in your row (so he can makeout with you whenever he wants)

Lorenzo:

- mans is dressing SO comfy

- hand on your lower back at all times

- staring at your ass all day, he lovesss when you wear those yoga pants

- gets yelled at for trying to go through the metal detector with you

- striking up conversation with strangers who have service dogs

- taking pictures of EVERYTHING

- mega turbulence anxiety but tries so hard to keep his composure for you

- definitely curated a soothing playlist for the flight

- “Y/N, you’re missing the safety demonstration”

- asks for a blanket and drapes it over both of you bc this man wants to cuddle until the wheels hit the ground

- 100% tries to sit on the actively moving baggage claim carousel

—

ALL of them refer to you as their “wife” for fun whenever talking to strangers or employees. “my wife would like a glass of champagne.” “a blanket for my wife and i, please.” “me and my wife are headed back home for the holidays.”

[zeroseuniverse]

Intimate Moments

Word Count: 1K Summary: "What did I tell you about getting involved?" Jaehyun’s voice was low. She blinked up at him. "I was just helping—" Pairing: Jaehyun X Female Reader

Navigation

She had a problem. A very grumpy, very intimidating, very Jaehyun-shaped problem.

When she accepted the job as a personal assistant to a high-profile client, she expected the usual challenges—long hours, tight schedules, maybe some dramatic celebrity meltdowns. What she didn’t expect was having to deal with his bodyguard.

Jaehyun was a professional. A former military-trained, no-nonsense security expert. He was sharp, efficient, and made sure no one got within ten feet of his client without approval. He was also—without a doubt—the grumpiest human she had ever met.

And unfortunately for him?

She was the nicest.

The first encounter set the tone for everything. "Good morning, Jaehyun!" she had chirped on her first day, holding out a cup of coffee. He barely spared her a glance. "Don’t need it." She blinked, momentarily thrown off. "But I got it just for—" "Didn’t ask." …Wow. Okay. Rude. But did that stop her? Absolutely not. Every morning, without fail, she greeted him with the same sunny enthusiasm.

"How are you today, Jaehyun?" "Alive." "I made extra sandwiches, want one?" "No." "It’s raining—don’t forget your umbrella!" Silence. The more he brushed her off, the more determined she became. And somewhere along the way, she noticed little cracks forming in his cold exterior.

Like how he never actually walked away when she talked to him. Or how, despite rejecting her offers, the coffee cups mysteriously disappeared when she left them on his desk.

Or how—whenever she smiled at him—he always looked away just a little too quickly, ears turning the slightest shade of red.

One night, while escorting her client to an event, Jaehyun had his usual steely focus. She , however, was busy doing what she did best—helping. "Hey! That guy just tripped—should we help him?" "No."

"But—"

"You’re not here to help strangers."

Well, that was kind of fair. But then, halfway through the event, she spotted a lost little girl near the entrance, tears welling in her big brown eyes.

Her heart melted.

Before Jaehyun could stop her, she was already kneeling beside her. "Hey, sweetheart, are you lost?" she asked gently. She sniffled. "I c-can’t find my mommy." Jaehyun groaned behind her. "This isn’t our responsibility." She ignored him, holding out her hand. "Let’s go find her together, okay?" Jaehyun muttered something under his breath but followed anyway, arms crossed as she reunited the girl with her mother. And then— She felt a firm grip on her wrist. "What did I tell you about getting involved?" Jaehyun’s voice was low. She blinked up at him. "I was just helping—" "Helping gets you hurt," he snapped, eyes dark. "You’re too nice, too trusting. One day, that’s going to be a problem." For the first time, his coldness stung. She pulled her hand away. "And you’re too closed off, Jaehyun. One day, that’s going to be a problem too." She walked away before she could see his expression. If she had looked back, she might have noticed the way his jaw clenched, like he was fighting an internal battle he wasn’t ready to lose.

The next few days, things were tense. Jaehyun barely spoke to her. And when he did, it was all clipped responses and gruff commands. So, when another bodyguard, Haechan, started chatting with her during a break, she welcomed the distraction. "How do you deal with him?" Haechan joked, nodding toward Jaehyun. She sighed dramatically. "I don’t know. I think he was raised by wolves." Haechan laughed. "I bet. But, hey, if he’s too mean, you can always talk to me instead." Jaehyun suddenly appeared. And he did not look happy. Haechan took one look at him and backed away slowly. Jaehyun’s glare shifted to her. "We’re leaving. Now." She frowned. "But my break isn’t over—" "I said now." He practically dragged her outside, his grip firm but careful. She yanked her arm free, huffing. "What is your problem?" Jaehyun took a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "Haechan is not the kind of guy you should trust." She crossed her arms. "Oh, really? And who should I trust?" His gaze darkened. "Me." Her breath caught. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt charged, something unspoken hanging in the silence. And then— "You’re impossible," she muttered, pushing past him. But what she didn’t see? The way his hands curled into fists. Or the way he exhaled sharply, like he was trying to control something he didn’t want to feel.She didn’t expect Jaehyun to be the one to break first. It happened when she was almost kidnapped. (Okay, maybe Jaehyun had a point about being too nice.) A shady man had cornered her outside a hotel, trying to lure her into his car. Before she could react, Jaehyun appeared out of nowhere. He had the man on the ground in seconds, his knee pressing hard into his back. And when the man muttered something about her being “easy prey”? Jaehyun punched him. Hard. After security arrived, Jaehyun turned to her , his eyes wild with something she couldn’t name. "Are you insane?" he growled. "Walking off alone? Talking to strangers? Do you know what could’ve happened?" Her lip trembled. "I—I didn’t think—" "Exactly," he snapped. "You never think. You just trust people. You just walk around like the world isn’t full of dangers—like you don’t know how easy it would be for someone to—" He cut himself off, fists clenching. She swallowed, her heart pounding. "Jaehyun…" His chest rose and fell sharply. And then, his voice broke. "I can’t—I can’t lose you." Silence. Jaehyun never looked vulnerable. But right now, standing before her with his guard completely shattered—he looked terrified. Her heart clenched. Without thinking, she took a step closer, placing a hand on his chest. "You won’t," she whispered. "Because I trust you, Jaehyun. I always have." For a second, he didn’t move. Then—slowly—his hand came up to cover hers. And for the first time since she met him, Jaehyun let his walls down. Just enough to let her in.

[impactedfates]

Hi, for your 500 followers event: can I request H with Dan Heng, Ratio and Jiaoqiu?

Sorry this took so long again, I promise I'm working on the others, I've been a bit busy with life </3

I hope it's worth the wait.

H - Hugs (How do you feel about hugs?)

Dan Heng doesn't mind them, at least before the events of the Xianzhou happened. He was perfectly content with how things were before. If you needed a hug because maybe you had a bad day, then he'll be there, arms ready. He cares about you and if it's his warmth that'll make you feel better then he's okay with that. He's more than happy.

He didn't even mind it when you asked if he could hug you with his tail wrapped around you the same. If you claim it makes you calm then that's okay. But he's soon found that whenever he's in his more draconic form, he gets a bit more needy for hugs himself. He'll never say it, nor will he ever realise it maybe. But he finds himself holding you closer, his tail securely around you as if you'll slip away if he loosens up even just a little.

Maybe it's just "draconic" instincts, or the reminder that despite his past and how others view him, you're one of the few to continue seeing him as he is. To see him as Dan Heng, his current reincarnation. No mention of who he used to be in the past. The name Dan Feng isn't even uttered out of your mouth unless someone else brings it up.

But ever since he's gotten his new form, he hasn't exactly been able to let you go at night. Perhaps it's your turn to help soothe him, if you'll be okay with that.

H - Hugs (How do you feel about hugs?)

I feel like Dr Ratio love hugs, like despite his whole demeanour and how his students and other people see him. This man does like hugs. He's more than happy to give you some, just so long you don't interrupt his class. It's not that he'll be embarrassed but well, he is teaching a class.

But outside his work? He's more then happy to give in and give you a warm hug. If he knows it makes you calmer and happier, he'll also try it if he's seen you upset. Raising his arms up in an inviting embrace and quickly holds you once you go into his arms. He cares deeply for you.

In turn, he hopes you'll do the same for him if he needs it, he himself might take awhile to accept hugs and comfort but if you two have been in a relationship for awhile, he'll start to grow more open. To the point where perhaps he'll walk over and drape his arms around you and you'll know quickly he's had a bad day. He doesn't mind too much if you don't hug back, as long as you stay with him.

H - Hugs (How do you feel about hugs?)

Jiaoqiu's tail is the best for hugs trust. Due to being a doctor, and mainly towards a General no less, he doesn't always have time for you (Unless you also work under Feixiao) so when he comes home and you immediately go hug him, maybe feel his tail/use it as a pillow he understands and lets you.

He doesn't tend to let people touch his tail, in my opinion, a foxians tail is like special. To them if you want to touch/cuddle with it you'd need an incredibly close relationship with the other. Assuming the fact you and Jiaoqiu do have that kind of bond/relationship, he's happy to let you cuddle into his tail though he'd much rather you be in his arms rather than his tail.

After a long days of work, just being in your embrace or having your embrace in his arms is enough for him to cool down after a long day. After the events of the 2.5 story quest, he was quick to see you out. Hug and feel your warmth, he's sure he'd be able to tell your embrace apart from others. In your arms he feels safe, loved and cared for in a way no other persons embrace could make him feel.

All in all, he loves hugs, he thinks of them as personal and he's grown to love them more after he lost his sight.

Another ABC Event done :)) I hope this was okay guys

[captain-huggy-bear]

Clayton and his drunk gf

As someone who rarely drinks (like maybe once or twice a year type of rare) I think he'd find it hilarious and maybe slightly concerning just how much of a light weight you could be. Cause 1 unit of alcohol already has me acting silly af. Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

"You sure you want to drink tonight, baby?" He asks not because he doesn't want you to drink, but because he knows it's a rare occurrence and because Clayton knows your definition of drinking is likely to be two fruity drinks before you're smashed. He doesn't mind if you chose to, just wants to make sure you're happy with it, that you don't feel pressured into it because the guys are drinking.

You've never had much of a tolerance for alcohol in all the time he's known you, not really building one because of how rarely you drink and in truth he loves it when you do because you're hilariously funny. Clay also likes how drunk you practically thinks sun shines out his ass with the way you always cling to him and compliment him. You're usually too shy to tell him everything you're thinking, too shy to be quite so openly admiring of him, it makes his ego grow a few sizes whenever you do drink. He gets to be loved on publicly, gets to show you off in a way you'd usually be too shy to attempt.

"Yeah, feel like it tonight,"

"Okay." It's simple really, you trust him enough to drink around him and let go of some of that control. It's a given that since your drinking Clayton won't, he doesn't feel put out by it, it's not like he drinks much anyway during the season. If anything there's a source of pride in knowing you trust him to lose some of that tightly held control you have.

The first drink hits you quick and makes you bubbly, giggly and more outspoken, but the second? The second has you thinking you're whispering when you're shouting, has you singing along to each song that comes on in the bar and more importantly for Clayton has you openly clambering into his lap when normally you'd be too shy and self-conscious to do so in public.

"You okay there, sweet girl?" You've crawled into his lap in the booth, not caring about the amused glances his team mates and their partners send your way as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, legs straddling either side of his hips in a way that really isn't very appropriate for a public setting.

"Mmmhmmm...." You hum happily, fingers fiddling with his cross as he wraps his arm around you to support you and keep you secure on his lap, not wanting you to slip off and backwards.

"You're super pretty..." You sigh it out so heavily as you blink up at him that it's almost like it's a bad thing, like his prettiness is causing you some sort of pain.

"You think I'm pretty, baby?" Clay's smirking down at you, teeth peeking out from beneath his lips, dimples coming out. He doesn't pay much attention to Kess whose already groaning about the two of you being disgusting or that Cools is giving him a look like he's touched a dead bug. Clay's focus is solely on you and the way you gaze up at him like he's the best thing in the world, your eyes a little glassy from the alcohol. Two whole drinks like always doing you in for the count, you won't drink another and will sleep like a baby later.

"You're the prettiest man I've ever seen." You tug at his chains absently enough that he has to lean forward to stop you from choking him slightly, but he doesn't mind. Not as your free hand scratches up the back of his neck and into his hair, new nails still slightly sharp, Utah Hockey Club blue proudly on display.

"You sure? Not one of those Hughes brothers?" Clay thinks back to when you first started seeing each other, you a Vancouver fan first with a fat crush on Quinn Hughes. A crush that had severely diminished since your crush on your boyfriend took root. Clay could joke about it now, but the first Utah vs Vancouver game he'd been slightly grumpier than usual, until he'd realised your eyes had been on him the entire game, not evening sparing the Canucks captain a glance when you walked past him to get to Clay after the game.

"Hughes brothers? Don't know 'em, don't care, cause my boyfriend is the prettiest man on earth." You proudly announce, pressing a kiss to his chin that was intended for his lips, missing by a mile.

"Oh my god, I'm going to be sick." Michael groans, throwing his head back and it has you twisting in Clayton's lap leaning towards Michael so far that you're close to tipping off his lap. You would do if Clayton didn't have a firm grip on your waist, fingers digging in to stop you slipping away.

"You just wish you were as pretty as Clayton is. You're jealous!" It's like watching two children argue. You're drunk and silly, Michael is...well, he's Michael which means he's a goofball who grins at you and the fact he can argue with someone whose the right side of tipsy.

"You saying I'm not pretty? Kells you need to sort your girl out, everyone knows I'm pretty."

"Why? She's right." He grins at Kess as you turn back to Clay, arms wrapping tight around his neck and pulling yourself as close as you can get, nose nuzzling into his neck like you want to burrow under his skin.

"So pretty..." It's mumbled against his skin where you press a kiss into his neck, a kiss that turns to you sucking a hickey there in full public view of all his team mates, the alcohol in your system removing any shame that you might have.

Most of the guys just shake their heads at you, the sort of amused smile reserved just for you because they know you're not normally this obnoxiously into Clay. Because they all love you even if you can't hold your alcohol.

"Baby." He tugs you away from his skin with a light scold, you scowl at him, pout at being pulled away from littering his skin in purple marks.

"Clay..." You whine at him as he tugs you more firmly onto his lap, hands squeezing your hips and running up and down your thighs.

"We're in public, baby." He tries to remind you as the guys start to disperse, some going to play pool, some going up to the bar for another drink. One by one they leave until it's just the two of you sat in the booth, hidden away in a darkish corner of the bar in a way that only seems to embolden you.

"Then lets get out of public."

His laugh is startled, loud, forced out of him because you're so...he loves you all the time. He loves your usual reserved, shy demeanour that has you giggling at him whenever he's particularly flirty, but God, does he love you when you're like this too. When you're so openly into him that you're almost dumb about it, head a little empty.

"Baby, we've been out an hour."

"But, I want to cuddle and Kess keeps making fun of me!" You sit up a little straighter in his lap, your brows furrowing together at the thought of Kess being mean to you.

"Well, Kess is gone now and we can cuddle, but you can't be marking me up, sweet girl, not here." He loves that you want to, always loves wearing your marks, loves the way it shows in post game interviews and how everyone knows he's taken. But, he also knows a bar isn't exactly the appropriate spot for you to give him them and he is sober...trying to limit sober you's future embarrassment.

"But..."

"But?"

"What if other girls get the wrong idea?" Your frown deepens at the hypothetical idea of any girl coming up to him, trying to get his number, a numb sort of jealousy filling you because you're too tipsy to realise that no girl in her right mind would come up to him when you're literally in his lap loving on him.

"Sweetheart, there's not a single girl in this bar that thinks I'm single right now. You're quite literally in my lap. Any girl that walks up to me right now is an idiot." and barking up the wrong tree. Clay's only got eyes for you, he's only had eyes for you since the first day he saw you, like a switch flicked in his head that made every other girl a footnote, an after thought. His world rotating around you.

You're muttering vague threats under your breath about what you'd do if some random girl tried to get his number right now and it makes his heart happy. To have you so in love with him, so dedicated to him. There are guys out there who have to worry when their girl is drunk because maybe she'll find someone else, but you? His biggest worry is that you'll try to drag him into the bathroom for quickie or that you'll trip over your own feet and hurt yourself. Other guys might as well not exist to you, the sort of wholehearted focused attention on him that makes him feel like he's on top of the world.

He soothes you, placates you with sweet words until you're leaning back into him, nuzzling back into his neck and fiddling with his cross again. You cuddle against him, against his warmth until he can feel your eyes starting to blink slower and slower, your breathing evening out as you lull yourself into a state of relaxation. You're not quite asleep, but you're sleepy, nuzzling against him like you would at home, curling closer and closer until there's not a single ounce of space between you.

He lets you grasp at his chains, lets you rest like that even when he needs to pee because quite frankly the warmth of you against him is all he needs. He doesn't need to play pool with the guys or get another drink. He just needs you against him and he's somehow managed to hit the jackpot.

[iam-msbarnes]

Bucky Headcanons : Love Languages (Physical Touch)

Early Hesitation & Slow Trust

At first, Bucky struggles with touch. It’s not that he doesn’t want it—it’s that it’s been used against him for so long that he doesn’t know what safe touch feels like.

The first time you reach for his metal hand, he flinches. Not because he thinks you'll hurt him, but because he doesn’t understand why you aren’t afraid of it.

When you touch him casually—a hand on his shoulder, fingers brushing his—he tenses, but he doesn’t pull away. Not anymore.

He starts initiating small touches without realizing it. Standing a little closer, brushing his fingers over your knuckles, guiding you through a crowd with a hand on your lower back.

The Protective Instincts

If he loves someone, they are his to protect. He walks on the outside of the sidewalk, stands between you and potential threats, and always stays hyper-aware of your surroundings.

He doesn’t hold hands often in public, but if he senses even the slightest danger, his hand is gripping yours firmly.

After nightmares, he doesn’t talk about them—he just needs to feel you there. His arm drapes over you in bed, securing you against his chest as if anchoring himself to the present.

If you're in danger? Expect him to tear through anything and anyone to get to you. And when he finds you? His hands are checking for injuries, holding your face, pressing his forehead against yours like he can breathe again.

Soft Touches That Say "I Love You"

He’s always running his fingers over your skin absentmindedly—tracing circles on your palm, brushing their hair behind your ear, letting his knuckles skim your cheek.

Whenever you guys cuddle, he needs full contact. He pulls you against his chest, buries his face in your neck, and sighs like he’s finally at peace.

The first time you kiss his metal hand, he nearly breaks down. He’s spent so long seeing it as a weapon, but you make him feel human.

He loves it when you touch him first. When you run your fingers through his hair, stroke his back, or lace your fingers with his, he melts.

The "I Can't Keep My Hands Off You" Stage

Once he’s fully comfortable, he’s all in. He touches you constantly—wrapping his arm around your waist, resting a hand on your thigh, holding your wrist as you talk.

He loves back hugs. If you wrap your arms around him from behind, he’ll reach up and rest his hand over yours, giving a small squeeze.

If you’re apart for too long, the first thing he does when he sees you is pull you into a tight hug—silent, but filled with everything he doesn’t say.

When you fall asleep on him, he doesn’t dare move. He just holds you, his fingers trailing up and down your back, memorizing the feel of you in his arms.

[mrmeowski]

can you do a headcanon of the brothers and the side characters with y/n who is pregnant??

˚✧𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐏𝐭. 𝟏/𝟐✧˚

Synopsis: You never imagined that after a year in this place, you'd be carrying the kid of some celestial being. To be honest, you were terrified; you had no idea this would happen, and he had never discussed it. You hesitated initially to tell him, but as things became too difficult to conceal, you gave in and informed him of the news, unsure how he'd take it.

CW: Slight angst, slight swearing, Lesson 16 spoiler [Belphie]

Word Count: 4.0k

Characters: 🧡༻✧ Lucifer [548] 💜༻✧ Mammon [614] 🧡༻✧ Leviathan [587] 💜༻✧ Satan [556] 🧡༻✧ Asmodeus [544] 💜༻✧ Beelzebub [521] 🧡༻✧ Belphegor [666]

⋇⊰LUCIFER⊱⋇

When you initially told Lucifer that you were pregnant, he simply stared at you, in shock for a good 5 minutes. At first, he thought that perhaps it was a twisted joke, but then none came after the confession. You weren't sure if he was mad or what not, he was just staring at you wearing that unreadable expression he had mastered.

Unbeknownst to you, he is internally thinking about his relationship with Satan and how that went sour. Plus, you were a human, carrying his child. He didn't even know such a thing could even occur! Even if he seeks any sort of information he doubts he'll find anything that is of use or trusted. In short, the Avatar of Pride was panicking.

But when you placed a hand on his cheek, he sapped out of it, caressing your hand in return. Whatever the future may hold, he knew it would sail smoothly as long as he had you by his side. That even if he was a horrible father to his 'son' you'd be the one assisting him throughout.

He and his brothers had always been tasked to protect you from the dangers that Devildom offers, but now he demands much stricter security measures for you throughout the entire pregnancy progress and most likely, after his kid is born. He wished he could do it himself, but unfortunately, it simply cannot be since he can't just abandon his duties. When he is around, he always hovers around you and does not let anyone he deems as a threat get close or talk to you.

The man didn't like PDA before, but after learning you carry his child, he especially loved to rub your tummy whenever he could. In private, he's been a lot softer and gentle with you, afraid that he might stress you or cause harm to his child. He wants to be with you at all times mainly during the last couple of months of your pregnancy.

He will do whatever he can to keep you healthy and comfortable throughout and is extra cautious about his own schedule and work habits. He'd dropped everything if you urgently needed something. Fortunately, Diavolo understands why he's been slightly slacking off and lets the man be. Plus, the prince has been worried about the demon's habit of exhausting himself over paperwork that he forgets to take care of himself. You were truly a blessing to him.

The initial fear and panic come back when you go into labor, but he tries to stay calm for your sake. Moments ago, he almost got kicked out of the delivery room because he was ready to pounce on the nurse who wasn't doing enough despite the fact you were in clear distress and pain. The sounds of you wailing and crying in pain bit a large chunk of his mentality and he cannot look at you without immediately looking away. He had witnessed so much pain and blood but this... he simply cannot stomach it.

When he finally sees you, holding his child in your arms, smiling up at him, he feels so relieved. It was the happiest day of his life and that tells a lot for he has been living for centuries, long before humans were even a thing.

⋇⊰MAMMON⊱⋇

When you first told him you're pregnant, he may or may not have shit bricks right there and then. The man needs an ambulance from the initial shock before he quickly recovers, being excited the next before morphing into an absolute picnic in under a minute. It was a flood of emotions but can you blame him?

He is horrified and ecstatic at the same time. He loves you so much and the thought of you creating a family together? His heart is about to burst. But then again... this was the first that ever occurred to the best of his knowledge which, to begin with, is close to none. At the very least, he is smart enough to know it isn't safe for you. So he was weary about it all but you reassured him that it would be all fine, it didn't fully leave him alone although it was enough since it came from you.

Mammon was always protective of you, maybe not on your first day in Devildom but after the pact thing occurred with Levi. So don't even think about bumping into his human, you carried the Great Mammon's child! He barks at anyone and anything that comes even in the vicinity of you. The demon can get very scary if he thinks you're threatened in any way, an unexpected surprise to everyone even his brothers.

Not only is he protective but he is also very devoted. He'd be taking as many jobs as he could finally pay off his debts so he could focus on providing his child with the help of a few people, one of them being Lucifer. Honestly, his brothers are proud to see him actually working his ass off without complaints or questions rather than scamming others—thanks to you. With his hard-earned money, he'd buy so many matching clothing for him, you, and the child. And of course, so many things for his little me in general.

He loves talking to the baby bump about anything. Such as the best ways to win at poker, how to avoid Lucifer, how much he loves you, and simply how good of a person you are and that you'll be a good mother to them. It was adorable and you couldn't help but smile whenever he did it. He also loves feeling his child move around when he rubs the bump, it puts him into tears. He definitely doesn't like other people to touch your people unless those are his brothers. Then perhaps he might consider it, most probably giving in when you scold him for being too overprotective.

If he brags about being your first man, then he won't shut up about you carrying his child. Pretty much everyone knows it and those who don't live in a rock. He's proud of it! So even if someone tells him to shut up, he won't, unless you're that person.

So then the labor comes, the most troubling part that he had nightmares of, literally. He dreamt of things going downhill, that you wouldn't make it, and worse, the kid also not serving throughout the process. He too needs a nurse since the man just passed out and is now lying on the floor unconscious, the screams of pain, the sight of blood, he can't. His mind just went blank and his limbs felt numb. He only woke up when he heard his child's cries, admiring the sight of you embracing his little me.

There's simply one thing you shouldn't do though, that is letting him name the child. He is horrible at it so for your kid's sake and your sanity, don't let the man do it.

⋇⊰LEVIATHAN⊱⋇

He initially thought that you were joking and was expecting Mammon to jump out of somewhere, a phone in his hand screaming at the top of his lungs, "GOTCHA! You should've seen the look on your face!!" but it never happened. No matter how many times you try to convince him, he refuses to believe it until the ultrasound comes in and there it is, a little bean that was his child.

He, the shut-in otaku, will be a dad!? Has a full-on panic attack and almost went into a cardiac arrest. Like first, you a human, pregnant with a demon? He had watched plenty of animes where a demon impregnated a human before but he never believed it was real! That such a thing could occur in real life!? Then came another thought, will he be a good dad to his child? What if he fails immensely and you start to hate him?? Heck, he barely even did all the work in your relationship. You were always the one who pushed him out of his shell, invited him to dates, all things he should've been doing.

You had to reassure him so many times you had long lost count. You understand him though, he had a history of self-doubts and he was just on the path of finding his worth. Honestly, you kind of felt bad to see him this frantic and unsure, wishing sometimes the both of you should've been a bit careful to not cause him such stress. When he found out about this, he finally got himself together and promised himself to be the best dad in Devildom! ...Or at least the best otaku dad in Devildom.

Your usual TSL marathons with him had been replaced by animes featuring families, one such infamous show was Spy x Family which you and he both fell in love. It kind of helped the inner turmoil that ran in his head. Whatever the future may hold, he knew all things will be well especially with you by his side.

When the baby bump started to become noticeable, he couldn't help but always be in awe and he simply could not keep his hands to himself, always touching it in some form. When Levi found out that despite being in a womb, the fetus could hear things outside of it, he began to read it TSL and talk about his favorite game. He cannot wait to show his child about his interest and would love it if they mimic him.

The serpent buys all sorts of games and cute clothes for children. The other brothers started to constantly complain about how many Akuzon packages were being sent to their doorsteps within days, but when you console them about it and notice the little bump, they drop it. Honestly, they too—mostly Asmo—are buying as much for the little unborn kid.

During labor, he cannot handle it to the point that he feels like throwing up or fainting. So much so that some nurses encouraged him to leave the room until all was done, but he refused. He promised you that you'll do this together and he kept that word. Until all he saw was red...

When he came back, he was an apologetic mess, quickly shutting his mouth when he saw the kid, his child in your arms. He cried when you passed him your baby and though it was a bit awkward, he held them so tenderly than any of his most prized Ruri-chan figurines.

⋇⊰SATAN⊱⋇

He half expected this to happen since he had read some demon mythologies about this happening, but the keyword here is mythologies, he didn't actually think they could be real. Honestly, he hoped for another outcome. Satan has little to no interaction with children and quite frankly, he finds them insufferable. He never thought he wanted kids nor will have them but when he imagines creating a family with you... he couldn't bring himself to continue these thoughts.

Like the firstborn, he handled the situation calmly. Reassuring you that all things would go smoothly despite his lack of knowledge about the entire progress. He promised that together, you'll deal with this situation.

Ends up putting a lot of time and effort into researching demon-human pregnancies, though there isn't a lot of information on it and most aren't confirmed to be true. It is a rare occurrence and the children can range from anywhere between a slightly enhanced human to an almost pure-blooded demon albeit still weaker than the normal ones. All this new knowledge only brought him to worry, most if not all of them ended with a possibility of the human dying. He doesn't tell you the latter since he doesn't want to put more stress on you but then again, he loves you more than this child, and if lost you, he'll lose himself.

To ease his inner turmoil, he instead reads about fatherhood. And he began to see this as a chance to prove that he can be an even better father than Lucifer, that he won't fuck this relationship up like he did. With that in mind, he became more excited and enthusiastic about it, almost forgetting the potential downfall.

All throughout your journey, he was a very thoughtful and considerate man. He'd offer to do anything for you even if sometimes you didn't even ask for it. Buys all sorts of cat-related clothing and toys for children because, of course, he will.

Would pamper you as well as the little baby bump with kisses whenever he feels them kicking. That's when it took a whole new meaning to him, this was life and you're doing better than he expected. Perhaps... it wouldn't be that too bad in the end.

When you go into labor, all the self-control he has been practicing throughout his life is being tested. He tried to stay calm for you, but you could clearly see how his eyes and the corners of his lips twitching from time to time, how his fist had turned white from his tight grip, and his veins about to burst out. It was a mixture of worry and the pain of hearing and seeing you cry out, he knew this was normal but it was so hard not to launch himself at the nurses especially when blood began to show.

As soon as he saw his child and more importantly you, in perfect condition, he instantly calmed down, rushing to your side as he admired his little me wrapped lovingly in your arms. When he gets to hold his child, he is so gentle with them like one wrong move could shatter his little kitten. He kissed their forehead, promising them that he'd be a better father than he wished he had if he could even call the Avatar of Pride as one.

⋇⊰ASMODEUS⊱⋇

Being the Avatar of Lust and not using any sort of protection even before your relationship... he suspected such a thing could occur. It isn't his first time in the rodeo, some would come crawling back to him after their initial deal saying they were pregnant with his child, to which he simply brushed. It is called a one-night stand for a reason, he isn't seeking any type of long-lasting relationship. So he had no idea what happened to them and their supposed child.

When he started dating you though, he let go of his old lifestyle to show how he loves you but what stayed was his carelessness. So when he heard the news, this time he was overjoyed! A little you would be sooo adorable to dress up with may it be a girl or a boy! You and he were overjoyed... that is until some of the brothers expressed their concerns, mainly Lucifer and Satan. Informing him of the potential dire consequences, bursting the bubble.

Asmo then becomes hesitant if you should keep the baby, he loves to have a kid of his own but his admiration for you overshadows that. If it meant losing you... then those dreams of his weren't worth it. You remained positive while he deflated, reassuring him that it would be fine and that you wouldn't leave him. It takes a lot of soothing him before he finally gives in, hoping that Father would still listen to his desperate prayers for your safety.

He drowns his sorrows and worries with trips to shopping trips to the mall. Buying all sorts of cutesy baby clothes and planning for photoshoots. There he also gets the best moisturizers to reduce stretch marks and he personally massages you to relieve any tension because he thinks he's the only deserving man to touch you.

When the baby bumps start to show, he would not stop posting it all over Devilgram, always needs to post at least 5 things per day. He's also quite loud in person, to the point the other brothers have to shut him up only doing so if it was you scolding him. But then he pouts while putting on puppy eyes, saying something along the lines of, "Aw, can I not show the world how much I love you??"

Just like Levi during your labor, he wouldn't be able to withstand watching you in pain and agony, clutching along the railings of the bed as you pushed the kid out. He tried to be strong but he simply could not watch his love in pain, it was too much for his heart to bear.

Outside the room, he thought back when his older brothers told him and he feared it might come true. He wanted to go back because this might be the last time he'd see you, but his body refused to move. No matter how much he tried he felt weak... when a nurse came out, he embraced the worst, however, she bore a smile and immediately went inside, and there you lay, a little kid in your grasp.

Continued to cry as he cradled his kids, showering them with tons of kisses and praises along with whispered promises to give them a beautiful future.

⋇⊰BEELZEBUB⊱⋇

He stopped eating and looked dead straight at you in bewilderment. It took him quite a while before he recovered, feeling a bit stupid and blind since he never saw the signs. He initially thought you gained weight because you were eating with him more often... but not this. He doesn't even think this could occur and he is panicking. He's happy for sure yet he isn't sure if this could go well.

So even after soothing and telling him that it'll be alright, that you'll go through this together, Beel seeks the guidance of his oldest brother. Only for his suspicions to be proven true and his heart cracked in half. He didn't want to lose you but also didn't want to lose the unborn child, he is a big family man after all. He doesn't want to persuade you, this mainly affects you and so if you want to proceed then... he'll accept it even if he doesn't agree with it.

If you think he was already too protective and gentle before, it only doubled and tripled this time. Thankfully nobody is idiotic enough to bump into or hurt you when he's just standing behind you... menacingly. But of course, there's always someone that'll be of threat to you, thankfully though he's always hungry at every time of the day and night.

From offering a hand to not letting you do anything but lay in bed. It came to the point where he'll carry you all around especially when the baby bump starts to show. Speaking about that, he's too scared to touch it, afraid that he might rub too hard or whatnot. But with much reassurance he finally held it, feeling his little kid move and kick around, it always puts a smile on his smile no matter how many times he does it. He was thankful you were strong enough to keep the kid despite knowing that things could go downhill.

One thing that is sure to be checked off in the list is your pregnancy cravings. You name it, he ate it. No, but seriously, he's always down to get them for you, it also gave him a reason to get some for himself. He wants his child to be all healthy and full!

And so, it was the day of your labor. He's probably being stopped by the nurses since he needs to eat something, anything to ease his nerves. He was so afraid you and the child wouldn't make it. That he'll regret not stopping you when you made your decision back then. He was afraid that he might've failed to save someone he loved and it was solely his fault, again.

But as soon as his ears picked up the cries of little one and your bathed breaths, he rushed by your side. He refused to hold them since they were so small! He simply watched and admired you cradling them, pointing at him, telling them his their father and that he'll take good care of them. He will. He will protect you with his life, he will do what he failed to do back then.

⋇⊰BELPHEGOR⊱⋇

He learned of this through his twin, you were horrified at how he'd react and what you'd do that you decided to seek help from Beel. With the older twin by your side, the two of you went upstairs to the attic to confront him about it. He first thought that it was all a bad dream... a nightmare that felt all too real. But when he didn't wake up, still standing there in front of him with a worrisome expression

Just like the fourth born, Belphie despises children, he finds them annoying especially their high-pitched voices, screaming and complaining. The only thing he could consider as experience with handling children was when Satan was a kid and he barely controlled that little shit.

So the fact he didn't like kids and the overall feeling that this is wrong was too overwhelming for the demon. You're pregnant with a demon child. This couldn't... it isn't safe for you! Even if he never thought that something like this would happen, what he's sure of is that it can't be good for you and potentially kill you. He demanded the kid to be... removed from you much to you and his twin's dismay.

You expected such an outcome, that's why you didn't tell him in the first place, so you didn't fight much, but Beel being the family guy he is, fought for the unborn kid. A fight ensued between them with you caught in the middle, trying to calm things down while failing miserably. It reached the point that it garnered Lucifer's attention, stopping the quarrel between the twins. Safe to say they didn't talk to each other for some time and you left him be.

He said a lot of shitty things to you but it's simply because he thought back to when he killed you. If you die because of his kid, that'd mean it would be his and he swore he'd protect you. It hurts him so when you avoid his gaze, the loneliness he felt when you're no longer by his side in his sleep, and though Beel caved in and started to interact with him, it wasn't enough. He needed you to not leave him.

It was sad but if your lover doesn't want it, then you'll accept it. In the safety of your room, you looked down on the little pill in your hand, before someone nearly broke your door. There he was... standing right outside and now begging for forgiveness as well as pleading to keep the kid. Honestly, you don't know what made him change his mind, maybe his twin pulled some strings behind it? You didn't bother to ask, just simply hugging and giving him comfort.

Since he knows nothing about parenting and all that, he seeks out Satan. The older brother was quite surprised he was putting this much effort into something at first, he was against it, love can truly change someone. It was still against his will but eventually, he softened up to his future kid. He loves to lay his head in your stomach and when it grew bigger you had to scold him to which he'd pout and complain about it all day long.

The day he dreaded and hunted his sleep had come. He never was more awake in his life than during your labor. His emotions went haywire he stood behind the nurses, watching them intently in his demon form. Looking for any mistakes they'll make and if either you or his child dies, he isn't afraid to rip them apart. Thankfully, his worst nightmare didn't come true and both of you survived.

He admires his little one, regretting that he even thought of killing them before. But who would blame him? He'd only let his twin hold his child during their few weeks but when they get old, perhaps, just maybe he'll let other brothers hold them... It'll take quite some time to convince him if that other is Lucifer.

Surprise Pregnancy Pt. 2/2» Request» Masterlist»

[darlingchronicles]

JJ AND THE GOLDEN GIRL HEADCANONS III

pairing: jj x fem!goodgirl!reader

word count: 2.4k

based on these concepts and season 4, ep 1. spoilers enjoy!

Poguelandia: how do they start their simple life with the gang?

ఌ so golden girl does join the crew with all the treasure hunting starting season two i believe, (i have a whole universe so there will be more on their adventures and even fics so stay tuned) but let's fast forward to the beginning of season four (no major or relevant spoilers). she is on board with starting a business and was the one to suggest they sell food on top of providing for the fishing folks. she is not happy when jj decides to go on a limb and buy the property for wayyyy too much, but it is what it is. She doesn't help much with the building since she doesn't really like it and she almost hit her finger with a hammer one time, but she is big with decorating. she found the huge shark and helped haul it towards the business. she helped paint and make the entire thing a home. she's never had a true home so when they finish she straight up cries from how happy she is there. she works the counter and restocks the entire store and has her own little side business. again, like said before, she's very crafty so she makes a bunch of bracelets and sells them at poguelandia. they're a huge hit (especially with teen girls and children) so you can often find her at the counter helping customers and making bracelets at the same time. she does take custom orders. she also has a sandwich named. it's called "flounder's revenge" (as in the previous headcanons, she's afraid of sharks) and it's a bacon, avocado sourdough melt with chipotle sauce with a little shark hook toothpick on top. needless to say, she very happy there.

✔︎ jj never had a home to rely on or even call home. of course he had his friends as his home, but actually call something a home is beautiful. when they complete poguelandia, he is estatic. he jumps for golden girl and hug like there was no tomorrow. when they start to get busy, jj always makes time for golden girl when he can. he'll help her with bracelets by grabbing whatever material he sees and he was elated when she gave him the first one she made for the business. if he's in the shop, he'll help her customers and with restocking the higher shelves. he always requests a 'founder's revenge' and chuckles every time she narrows her eyes (he's the one who gave her the nickname). jj and golden girl end their nights on the dock, watching the ocean and sky after their busy day before retiring to the room them both moved into. sarah and john b have theirs. pope and cleo have theirs. and now jj and golden girl are officially moved in together. jj is on cloud nine.

how has their relationship progressed?

ఌ golden girl is more trusting of jj. since starting the business, she learned to trust him even more. she's watched jj grow into a more responsible person, of course he has his moments where shes reminded that he's still a boy at heart, but he's growing and it makes her happy. with more trust, she opens up to him more about her feeling. previously, golden girl was always so reluctant to tell jj her feelings because she was scared he would run or start an argument, but jj doesn't. he listens. maybe he won't always agree or see the "big deal" but he takes into account her feelings and notices her telling him more.

✔︎ jj has become much more softer with his girl after they start up the business. they're family now. they all know it. she's best friends with his best friends and they're totally in love with each other. not only that, but he says "i love you" more often now. previously, it was only for special occasions and the odd moment and whenever golden girl said it outside of those moment, he would only just kiss her in order to convey his feelings. he was never good with words, but now, he wants to say it all the time. there is so much more security since they're not running anymore. so "i love you" is a staple now. it was such a dramatic shift that john b did a double take when jj said it before he left to go get more bait for a second and came back a minute later.

how much do they argue?

ఌ here's the thing with golden girl. she hates arguments. not for the same reason as jj, but because she hates when there's no peace. she despises it. she tends to cry whenever she's frustrated and can't sleep if it's a prolonged one. she has a deep sense of guilt as if everything is her fault. which it isn't but she has that. previously, jj and her got into disagreements and arguments due to their lack of communication. she has a lot of words she afraid to say and jj isn't good with words and tends to keep them to himself. if they do argue, it's because golden girl doesn't want to say what's on her mind and jj's just trying to help. they never go to bed angry though. they never sleep in separate rooms either. neither of them can bare it. sometimes she'd cop up and just let it go but then jj can't let it go and vice versa.

✔︎ jj hates arguments because before, arguments meant violence. it meant breaking things and tear up a storm to be heard. as said, jj isn't good with words and if he can't say them, it becomes an issue. jj hates it when golden girl doesn't say anything when something is clearly bothering her. he hates that he wants to force it out of her. so previously, they did have a lot of icing out periods due to the lack of communication. now, they're more open to each other. jj once said he doesn't call them fights, but instead, disagreements. they disagree. they don't fight. he'd never be able to fight her. sometimes he'll try and let it go, but when he can't, he'll tell her. and she won't be mad. she won't yell. she won't hit. she listens. it's more than enough for him.

how have they had progressed physically? (slightly NSFW)

ఌ it is a fun one. golden girl hadn't let them cross that line for the longest time. the only thing they've really done is make out and dry hump each other. nothing more. it isn't until they have poguelandia and have more stability that she allow them to take it further. she was surprised that jj didn't mind it (we'll get to that in a bit) and that was what made her take that step. it was kind of nerve racking for her because it would be her first time and she knew jj had experience and so did all their friends (john and sarah, specifically) so she was sneaky with her little innuendos because she didn't want to say it out loud. she'd let him put his hand in her back pocket and whenever they hugged, she'd place a kiss on his neck. whenever they laid down, she lay her hand on his lower stomach and trail her finger up and down. she got kind of careless and would even stare at him with her little doe eyes and have that little shimmer in them. she had fuck-me eyes for days. eventually, he got the hint.

✔︎ so jj didn't know for a while. he had been patient with her because he knew he couldn't fuck their relationship up. he understood she had no experience whatsoever with sex or anything of the sorts. he didn't mind because he knew that forcing sex or sex in general ruined a lot of relationships. also at the beginning of their relationship, jj was really uncertain about her really liking him and thought she'd walk away eventually. to ensure the blow was less of an impact if it happened (it didn't, of course) he kept himself from suggesting they sleep together. of course, he did like making out with her and dry humping was really getting to him, but he respected her wishes. honestly, they went so long with doing anything, he was prepared to wait for marriage if she wanted to (marriage was addressed in the previous headcanons). but when golden girl was much more touchy and carefree with her kisses, he got suspicious. the first time she kissed his neck unwarranted during a hug, he froze. he coughed and pressed one to her head before walking away before a boner began to form. there was so other signs, but it was her eyes that gave him the hint. the way she'd look at him with her mouth slightly parted was when he finally gor the hint.

☆ extra! they finally did "it" one night when they we alone at the house. Everyone but them had gone and crashed as Heywards for the night (JJ had to catch bait and Golden Girl was busy making bracelets and doing school work that day). So the house was empty. They didn't expect it at all, but it was when they started kissing in their shared bed when a little spark was lit and the two of them were undressing before they knew it. jj had stopped to ask if everything was okay and she nodded, giving him approval. a very slow and beautiful night for the both of them. it was raining softly outside, the lights were off and only the light was the sparks of lightning outside and the covers were soft and warm from the wash. she definitely had to wash them afterwards though. he was so gentle and caring, truly understanding that this was a passage that she was taking for the first time, and listened and watched her to ensure everything was pleasurable for her. definitely made sure she came multiple times as well. (i could go more into detail ;) but thats for another post) the next morning the glances and wandering hands gave the gang a heads up and they had shit eating smiles and poked fun at them the entire morning.

what are date nights like now?

ఌ it is much more detailed. golden girl decides on the places they go to eat and has jj try new foods he hasn't tried before. they can spurge a little more, but it's not anything huge. they just like trying new things. clearly. and she still likes the simple things. they'll go out on the new boat and swim for an afternoon before retiring to the house and playing a game of cards with their cans of coke next to them. the tradition continues.

✔︎ jj tries to make things slightly more fancy. he'll buy roses for her almost every date night. one time, he bought her a dress to wear for one of their dates because he over heard her saying to the girls that she wanted to buy new clothes with her next month's share of the profit. she was getting tired of wearing the same clothes, especially on her dates with jj. he decided to surprise her and the look on her face made it all the more worth it. he knew she didn't like tight clothes because of the kildare heat and saw it in a shop on the mainland and knew she'd like it. he definitely gets her more gifts now. he always mades "mini" dates where they'd go on break from the shop and lay in the hammock with some music playing. the simple life.

are they open to a future family together?

ఌ golden girl is one hundred percent open to starting a family together. she wants that. not now, obviously. they're too young. he just turned 20 and she was still 19 for a bit. but she knew she wanted it with him. sometimes, she'd imagine him with a baby in his hands - a girl and she'd look just like him. she'd have that little mischievous twinkle in her eyes that said she was gonna cause trouble. just like him. and gosh she wanted it. but until then, she knew she'd just grow more in love with him. and yes, she is open to marrying him. she knew she'd have to wait a bit more until then as they were not together for as long as sarah and john b, but whenever he popped the question, she'd say yes.

✔︎ jj knows he's gonna propose to her. he started saving up for a real ring. he knew sarah and john b had done their own thing, but he was gonna do her right and get a real ring and a real wedding band. he doesn't know when, but he knows that when the time is right, they'll get married. he knows the time is soon. he is kind of anxious to see what she says, but he's hopeful she'll say yes. and kids? oh yeah, he's thought about it. he's seen her with children around the island and he knows she'll be an amazing mom. he's just more anxious about turning out like his dad. he doesn't want that, but he knows he can do better. he has to be better. but sometimes he'll imagine her in a dress with a little baby bump or her carrying a little girl (he wants girls) and showing her how to fish or throw a punch and it makes him hopeful for the future. he has hope for one of the first times of his life.

☆ extra! baby names are definitely in their heads. golden girl likes the princess names or something about light or hopefulness. elena, estelle, aurora, eve, juliette, valentine or persephone. she leaned more towards persephone or juliette cause then they call her percy or jules. those are just some of them. she has a lot more and is open to suggestions. she thought a j name would be nice since she'd match with her father. jj has also thought about it in great detail. he likes lorelai, eloise, victoria, ariel, marlee, or artemis. he wants her to have a nickname like him. he is more leaning towards ariel because of the whole joke about flounder. but if they have a boy, definitely something like rex, james, apollo or atlas. in the future, they have two girls.

thedarlinglore: after the shitshow of the last ep of season 4, i needed some reminder of love and hope from these two. love them dearly. i do want to go more into dept about them so a few more headcanons, blurbs and fics are coming up along with another beautiful new reader! i have mentioned before. stay tuned and rewatch ep. 6 of season 4 because wooo that man is fine as hell. love you, darlings.

➣ my last "jj" work | "oh schroeder" ➣ more concepts | jj maybank