#like. if I fuck something up you're gonna be the one to call me on it over anyone else

[littlelamy]

𑄽𑄺 some aftercare headcanons: rafe taking care of your swollen parts

he always checks on you after "fuck—look at you, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with pride and concern. his fingers spread you open, and his brows furrow when he sees the way you're trembling, swollen, and a mix of his cum and your arousal still clinging to your thighs. "too much?" you shake your head, still breathless.

he doesn't believe you. he never does when you try to play it off. his hands are already moving, one soothing down your hip, the other reaching for a warm cloth he prepared beforehand because he knew he'd fuck you up like this. "baby," he murmurs, warm breath against your raw, overstimulated cunt. he presses the gentlest kiss to your clit, just enough to soothe,and not tease. "gonna clean you up, alright? don’t want you sore in the morning." he always does this. always.

his mouth soothes what his cock ruins he calls it an apology. a silent one, because there's no way in hell he's actually sorry—he likes seeing you like this, wrecked, thighs twitching, pussy swollen from how deep andhard he went, how rough he was. still he cares about how you feel. so he goes down, pressing kisses along your inner thighs, worshipful, whispering nonsense between each one. "good girl" kiss. "took me so fucking well" another kiss. "always do" and then his tongue finds your clit to soothe and leave a cooling relief against the ache he left behind.

"shh, i know, i know" his hands press down on your hips when you jolt, when you whimper from the sensitivity. he doesn't stop. he won't. not until he feels the tension drain from your muscles or until your breath evens out. he made you like this so he needs take care of it.

he massages you after, even if you're half-asleep "poor thing," he mutters, all low and soft, rolling his thumbs into your inner thighs, kneading the stiffness from them. "all shaky ‘cause of me, huh?" you hum something incoherent, barely awake, and he chuckles. but his hands don’t stop.

they move slow, deliberate, pressing into every sore spot, making sure you're loose and won’t be sore tomorrow—or at least less sore. you’ll still feel him. he likes that part. but he doesn’t want you hurting. eventually, he works his way up, rubbing soothing circles over your swollen clit, pressing featherlight kisses against your overstimulated cunt. "rest, baby" he whispers, tucking the blanket over you. "i got you."

he kisses your cunt like he kisses your lips no rush. no urgency. just pure affection. some nights, when he's not looking to fuck you into the mattress, he wants is to show you a little attention. he presses kisses along your mound, over your folds, unhurried. his lips find your clit, but not to make you moan—just to remind you that he cherishes every inch of you. "so pretty," he murmurs, between kisses. "so fucking perfect."

and when you're sore or aching or even when you're too sensitive to even think about more—he doesn’t ask for it. he just takes care of you. warms a cloth, wipes you down, presses the softest kisses between your legs before pulling you close.

tags (lmk if you want to be removed; using the list from my recent series): @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows @emluvsuxo @rafestoothbrush @cadhlabear

[alchemistc]

my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

Tommy blinks awake and immediately wishes he hadn't. This is his third time waking up, and apparently they listened to him when he asked them to slow down his morphine drip because everything hurts.

The busted leg he remembers - they'd kept him awake long enough to explain that they'd do everything they could to keep it but... Well. No buts, in the end, just titanium and enough pins to make sure he'll never get through TSA quickly ever again. Thank fuck most of his flying he does on his own.

Christ, if he has to get recertified...

Fractured ribs, a punctured lung, three broken fingers but thank god his arms had survived relatively intact.

The bruising on his face screams before the rest of it does, which is just - it's silly, actually, that somewhere in his head he's thinking about how awful he must look. Of course he looks fucking awful, he survived a helicopter crash. Why would he look great? He should look as bad as he feels.

On a scale from 1 to Fuck Off he's very firmly toeing the line into Go Screw Yourself.

The knock startles him.

The startle wrenches something in his neck area, and Tommy groans through the pain. Shit. Screw his dad just that little bit more for providing the perfect genetics for a proclivity for addiction.

Evan.

He's standing at the door, looking apologetic, head ducked a little like he does when he either wants something, or thinks he's done something wrong. Puppy eyes, he'd heard Hen call it once, while she mimed barfing, because Tommy thought it was adorable.

He still thinks it's adorable.

Fuck.

"Hey," he says, in his Hospital Voice. (Tommy is new to this voice, but he's growing more used to it, now: third time awake and it's the third time Evan's been there. In a chair at his side, flirting with a nurse while he wrote on Tommy's chart, now perched in the doorframe looking... a bit grungy if Tommy's being honest. Like he hasn't slept in days. Like those are the same clothes Tommy first saw him in.

Evan dances in the door and it's the first time he's noticed that one of his arms is tucked behind his back. "If that's a bouquet you should know I'm allergic," Tommy says, and doesn't hate the way his voice sounds quite as much as he has in recent memory. He's almost managed to get back the ironic lilt.

Evan's smile widens. "You're lying, and besides, you can't be allergic to every flower. Are you allergic to the corpse flower?" He pauses. Narrows his eyes like he's heading Tommy off at the pass. "You can't say the smell is as bad as the allergies would be."

"I feel like a corpse flower," Tommy intones, and he wonders - is that - is this what - they're just not gonna talk about it? What he'd said, in the air, with half the public servants of the city listening in? Or the fact that Evan hasn't left this hospital in two days? Or whatever he's still hiding behind his back?

Evan steps into the room. Rolls his shoulders with a shit-eating grin. Brandishes the item he's been hiding - a stuffed chicken. There's something sticking to the end of one leg, and Tommy squints to try to make it out. Looks like -

"Bobby got it for you! He said you'd know what the knife was for."

Tommy groans, tips his chin against his pillow, groans again because the pain is radiating throughout his body. Evan steps closer.

"I really wish you'd at least let them give you the muscle relaxants," Evan murmurs, closer, so much closer. Hand on the bed, fingers lifted like he's thinking about squeezing Tommy's thigh, and god - god, he wants that. But they can't just - they're in this whole mess because they talk around shit instead of about it.

Evan sets the chicken on the table next to the bed. His smile is loose and light, but his eyes are worried.

"I'm still pissed they put me on a morphine drip that first day, Evan, it's in my chart not to -." Evan bridges the gap, distracting Tommy thoroughly - fingers soft and light, careful, sliding across his thigh and dangerously close to the crease of his groin. Even if he weren't in a hospital bed he's in way too much pain to even think of getting it up but it's compelling. It's distracting. Tommy never wants him to move his hand.

"Hey," he says, and Tommy blinks. Frowns. Drinks in the sight of Evan's plaintive head tilt and tries to breathe. He hasn't really been this lucid, before. "I have one more thing for you."

Tommy raises a brow. Clenches his jaw. Tries not to freak the fuck out when Evan reaches for the pocket of his likely rank flannel and pulls out a suspiciously small box. No. No, absolutely not, has he learned nothing from Tommy's multiple attempts to get him to slow down.

Evan pops the lid.

Tommy feels the hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest and tries to push it down because laughing right now would jostle so many fucking things and he can't -

"So. Um. I know we - I know we still need to - to sit down and, like. Talk. About things," Evan says, while Tommy stares at the metal-on-velvet. "A-and this isn't me asking for anything. I'm just..." He presses a fist to his eyes, rubs, fingers opening to rub at the scruff on his jaw. "So. I have a spare room. And you won't be able to manage stairs for a minute, and - and I have, like, so much PTO, Tommy, an insane amount of it, and I just thought. While you get your bearings..." Tommy watches him, still quiet. "It really sucked being on my own dealing with a bum leg. And - maybe - maybe we take some time to talk. Crack open that champagne once your doctor clears it."

Tommy stares. Tommy contemplates. Tommy sucks in a deep breath and swallows hard.

"You want me to sleep in the spare room?"

One of Evan's hands is still on his thigh. The other is still palming a house key. His grin is wry. "I would like nothing less, but I thought I'd offer."

Tommy's hand has been creeping steadily towards the one on his leg for a minute now. He makes the final effort, curls fingers around Evans wrist. "Please tell me your mattress is off the floor."

"There's even a top sheet."

Tommy feels his lip quirking. It had been an almost-argument, a generational gap they couldn't bridge, something so small and silly it hadn't seemed worth the time to fight about it when there were better things they could be doing with the bed. He wishes they'd fought about it. He hopes they have a thousand fights ahead of them.

Tommy releases the hand circling Evans wrist, palms the key. Evan beams.

"It's not exactly traditional, but, uh - you have the one watch you refuse to take off for anything, and I wasn't gonna make you like, a paper crane, so..."

"Traditi - Evan, what?"

His smile goes a little coy. "I know there's like, a break in there, or whatever, but - uh - happy anniversary."

Tommy wants to cry. He wants to grin until his lips hurt as much as the rest of him. He wants -

"Come down here and kiss me, you lunatic," Tommy says, and Evan grins as he obliges.

[satorus-princess]

she loves me not, she loves me

synopsis: gojo satoru - the oh-so-confident, strongest sorcerer - becoming a nervous wreck on his wedding day? no way. (one suggestive joke, but otherwise sfw)

fem!reader x gojo satoru, canon au but geto never defected 🥰

gojo thinks he's successful in being able to conceal the effect of his doubts and worries on his demeanour. but, obviously, his best man picks up on the way that he constantly fixes his pushed-back hair, straightens his tuxedo for the umpteenth time, and redoes his tie for a third time. well, honestly, anyone would be able to infer his fears from his behaviour, no matter how forced his smile is.

“are you nervous, satoru? you have no reason to be, you know,” geto says, sitting on a chair in his own suit as he observes his best friend standing in front of the mirror who brushes off atoms from the sleeves of his tux.

“hah, why would i be nervous? i'm hard to resist, and she loves me,” the tone and manner in which gojo says that sounds as if he's reassuring himself rather than trying to convince geto he isn't nervous.

“she does. i've seen you get into destructive relationships, but not this one. (y/n)'s perfect for you,”

“she's so perfect... what is she doing marrying me?” gojo groans, stepping backwards and slumping into an armchair behind him.

“she said yes for a reason,” geto reminds gojo.

“you're right, you're right. she said yes to me. she wants to marry me.” gojo's head is tilted back over the edge of the chair, trying to keep his thoughts under control. that lasts a minute before he's grumbling under his breath, “shit, i'm a mess.”

while gojo is consumed in his whirlwind of thoughts, he doesn't even hear geto calling someone on the phone and talking to them. that's until he scoots closer to the groom, holding out the phone to him with a short “here”.

“what are you doing?” he asks, lifting his head up, confused as to why his rambling is cut off and what could possibly be more important.

“‘toru?” your sweet voice chimes through the speaker, and suddenly, gojo feels as if his heart has stopped. he takes the phone from geto, who steps out of the room to let you two have your moment, knowing that the only person who can ease gojo's nerves is his future wife herself.

his fingers slightly tremble around the phone as he presses it against his ear. he swallows thickly before speaking, “(y/n)?”

“yeah, it's me, my love. are you okay?”

a gentle smile paints over his lips, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he lets out a sigh - subconsciously relieved. he nods, despite you not being able to see him. “yeah... yeah, i'm okay now that i've heard your voice. fuck, you sound so pretty through the phone, i might cry,” he jokes, but the choked-up laugh that tumbles out suggests that he might not be completely joking.

he hears you laugh on the other side of the phone and his heart signs up for a marathon. “hey, save the tears for when you see me.”

“oh, those aren't gonna be tears. that's gonna be full-on sobbing and snot everywhere,” his tone is light and playful, feeling much calmer now.

you laugh again, this time louder. “you're ridiculous. although i'm not sure i doubt you.”

“i'm definitely not joking. just thinking about you in your dress is bringing me to tears.”

“you love me,” you state simply in a quieter tone, but it's such a powerful affirmation.

“i do, with every fibre of my being. i can't wait to marry you and spend forever together.”

“me too. you know what else i can't wait for?” you ask playfully in an attempt to lift his mood, waiting for gojo to respond before continuing. he gives you a soft hum in question. “the honeymoon. spending lots of quality time together. in bed, especially.”

he lets out a surprised laugh, though his deep, ocean eyes soften into something more tranquil, like a fresh stream shimmering in the sun. “god, i love you. this is why you're my wife-to-be.”

“but seriously, you have nothing to be nervous about, you know? we're getting married because we love each other, there's no doubt about that.”

gojo releases a heavy, shaky sigh. “i know... you're not gonna leave me waiting at the altar, are you?” he jokes, but there's an underlying concern that's more serious than he lets on. but, of course, you sense it.

“that's the most ridiculous thing you've said in your life, my love. i wouldn't be here, dressed up to marry you if i was going to leave you. i'm not going anywhere or leaving you behind, no matter what, okay?”

he hums in understanding, and you assume he's chewing on the inside of his cheek to hold back his emotions.

you continue, “satoru, my heart belongs with you. if, in the craziest scenario you can think of, i leave you, my heart will still be with you. it'll always love you, and it'll never forget about you. i hope you know i love you more than anything.”

he swallows again before speaking, “i do know. that's why i can't believe you only want me; do i even deserve you?” he whispers, and the broken crack in his voice makes your heart crack along with it.

“hey, none of that. i don't think i can stress how much you deserve everything good in the world. and you were the one that taught me that i deserve only the best, that i should never settle for anything else. so, here i am, only marrying the best,” you say softly with a smile that you hope he can hear in your voice.

and you assume he can when you just about hear the hitch in his breath. “... thank you, (y/n),” he murmurs. it's a simple utterance, but it means everything to you, knowing you were able to reassure him in such a vulnerable moment. he didn't think his words could be used against him in the best possible way - if he believes that you deserve the best, then it must be true that you believe he deserves the best too. “who knew the strongest would be so nervous on his wedding day, huh?” he attempts to lighten the mood again, but this time, he isn't burying his emotions - he's overcome them thanks to you.

“ah, but you're the weakest when it comes to me, aren't you?” you tease. “i love this side of you, you know. the human side, the one that you only show to me.”

“alright, i get it, i get it. you don't need to make me cry again yet. we haven't even gotten to the vows yet,” he chuckles lightly, revealing the fact that he may have shed some tears while you were reassuring him.

“my sweet boy, you really are gonna be sobbing, huh?”

“without a doubt. continuously from the moment i see you.” his heart flutters when he hears your laugh ring through the phone, half filled with amusement and half with love.

“well, now that you aren't doubting anything, why don't you go out there and wait for me, hm?”

“mhm, yeah... i love you, sweet girl.”

“i love you, too, ‘toru. i'll see you out there, okay?” you confirm in a tender tone that is unreplicable, tugging at his heart strings that form a beautiful melody that only you manage to orchestrate.

“okay, mrs gojo.”

[pretentious-blonde]

realisation

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: it’s a feeling he hasn’t touched in years—something selfish and dangerous and impossible to let go of

warnings: therapy, big big feelings from steve, migraines, anxiety

a/n: soft steve always has my heart <3

series masterlist

Steve never liked the quiet, that’s part of the reason he loved his job. The noise in his classroom was gentle, filled with curiosity—excitement. It was an odd definition of peace, but he never questioned it. Kids brought out something within him he thought was lost, he liked that about them.

That’s also why he never enjoyed going back to his own place. It was the kind of quiet that felt too suffocating. When he first signed the lease after leaving his parents' house, he thought the isolation would be a blessing—a sanctuary where it was just him, no drama, no outsiders.

No threats.

But as time went on and memories resurfaced, that same quiet began to feel heavy.

He found himself remembering what it was like when he first moved here, when progress was just beginning—because in a way, it was again.

Slashed, back to fucking zero.

He could no longer move forward. Couldn’t talk about it anymore—not in the way he needed to.

He couldn’t safely open up in his therapist’s office, couldn’t make you understand now, not really.

All he had left was Robin—the same Robin who had nearly fallen apart trying to hold him together at the start of all this—and he couldn’t do that to her again. Wouldn’t.

That is why he has to do this. 

It’s late afternoon, and he’s got one sock on, one sock half-off, pacing across the tiny stretch of kitchen linoleum with the phone pressed to his ear. His free hand scraped through his hair, again, again—like maybe if he does it hard enough, he’ll comb away all the thoughts circling in his head.

He hasn’t slept. The therapist’s words from yesterday rattle in his mind, reverberating through every breath. 

Intervene. 

He’s replayed the warning all night, half expecting someone to burst through the door and threaten him again. It churns in his stomach. All the guilt and fear—he can’t figure out which is louder. 

He just knows he’s been lying in bed, eyes wide at the ceiling, again. 

The excuse he comes up with is a simple one, not really a lie. Because in a way, his head does ache. It’s not the blinding kind of pain that used to knock him off his feet after a particularly bad episode, but the pressure’s there, right behind his eyes, throbbing in time with his pulse. 

He might as well call it a migraine if it keeps you at arm’s length—keeps you safe from whatever might be going on inside his mind. But that’s not really true anymore.

The threat is, once again, in the real world.

He closes his eyes the moment he hears your voice on the other end of the line. He tries to answer in a steady tone.

“Hey,” he begins. “I—hey. Um. I don’t think I can make it tonight.”

It’s quiet as he waits for your answer, like you're feeling out the tone of his voice. 

“Why?”

Didn't take much to sense something was wrong. You were observant. 

Too observant. 

That’s why he had to create this distance. 

“I’ve got a migraine coming on,” he manages, voice unsteady. “Just… sort of crept up on me. Thought it was gonna pass but… doesn’t feel like it.”

He can picture the worried fold between your eyebrows, the way you’d tilt your head if you were standing in front of him. 

“Is it bad? Y’know… like last time?” 

You ask it so gently, and he bites the inside of his cheek. 

Last time.

The last time—when he nearly lost everything you had built together.

The last time he left you scared.

The last time he really fucked up.

“No,” he speaks quickly. “Not that bad. Just a bit of pressure. Thought I should stay home—sleep it off.”

He hears you exhale, a soft sigh that says you’re not convinced. 

“Steve…”

“Sweetheart,” he counters, trying to keep his voice light, “I’m alright. I just… need a quiet night.” He punctuates it with a half-hearted laugh, like it might sell the story better.

“Okay.” There’s a pause on your side. “Well—I’m coming over.”

His chest constricts. 

Of course you are. 

He knew you would. It’s one of the things that scares him most about letting you in: you show up. 

Always. 

“No—no, you don’t have to,” he blurts. “Really. I’ll just be in bed. It’s not exactly good company.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for thrills,” you tease, voice warmer. “Let me take care of you a little.”

He almost loses it right there. The phone cord wraps around his wrist as he paces in a tight circle, sock skidding on the tile. 

He thinks you’re too good for him. So he says it out loud, in a voice that cracks just a bit. Hopefully he can blame it on the “pain.”

“Maybe,” you answer, and he can practically see your small smile, the tilt of your lips. “But I like you. So that’s kind of your problem now.”

He can’t fight it anymore. He'll say it's his lack of energy.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Door’s unlocked.”

He hangs up too fast, like if he stays on the line a second longer, he’ll give up the entire game. The phone slips from his hand onto the receiver with a dull clack.

He just stands there in the fading sunlight, staring at the pattern of the kitchen countertop. He can’t figure out if he’s more relieved that you’re coming, or more terrified that you’ll see the cracks he knows will soon show. 

He moves into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. The cushions sink under his weight like they’re trying to swallow him whole. He feels like an idiot as he scrubs his hand over his face. He should’ve just faked the entire day, come up with an ironclad excuse—maybe said he had to run errands or something. 

But then you’d ask questions, you’d want to help him, and he’d buckle anyway because he can’t say no to you. Not when you sound like that. 

Not when your first instinct is to care.

He glances at the stack of second-grade spelling tests on the table and pushes them aside, annoyed at the very sight of them. He was trying to keep busy, to put a pen in his hand and shut off his brain. But the weight in his chest is too big, too heavy to ignore, and nothing about marking a dozen attempts at the word “elephant” is going to clear the images swirling in his mind.

Last night was bad. 

Worse than usual. 

He’d tossed and turned for hours, drifting into shallow snatches of sleep that delivered him into the Upside Down, or a half-memory of it. The vines. The pulsing lights. And you, off in the distance, looking at him like he was a stranger. 

He’d woken with a jolt, drenched in sweat, heart hammering. Spent the morning sipping lukewarm coffee with no music, no TV, no noise at all—just the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.

He knew this would happen, especially after his last appointment, but it still hurt all the same. He hadn’t had a dream like that in weeks, proof that all of his progress feels like it’s been ripped from under him. 

Everything about this is too much and not enough. He’s tiptoeing on a razor’s edge of fear and yearning, wanting to protect you but also wanting to crash into your arms. He doesn’t deserve how you look at him, the way you always ask if he’s okay. 

And now you’re on your way over, and he can’t stop you. 

Doesn’t truly want to stop you.

Because in the back of his mind, he knows this feeling. He knows it all too well.

Knows what it does to a person.

It always starts slow—just a ripple, a toe in the water—until suddenly the tide’s pulling you under and there’s no surface left to reach for.

He knows what it means to drown—in both senses of the word. But this time, it’s worse. This time, it’s not his choice whether he comes back up.

This time, it’s yours.

And all he can do is hope that if it comes down to it, he’ll be the one sinking. 

Not you.

The front door swings open quietly, you don’t bother waiting for an invitation. By the time Steve looks up, you’re already stepping inside with that urgency in your eyes—like you’ve come prepared to handle any crisis he’s trying to hide. 

He hates that he can read your body language. Hates that he can see how cautious you are, bracing yourself for whatever version of him you’ll find.

And he hates even more that you’d still come anyway.

For a moment, he just stands there in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do with his hands. He was halfway through tidying up, something to move his stiff body. Make you think that your boyfriend can at least seem to hold his life together. 

He’s in his usual knit jumper and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms, hair a little mussed from the nervous nap he never took. The lighting softens him, makes him look more fragile than he feels, it traces the curve of his jaw and the soft downturn of his mouth. 

He’s tired. You can see it instantly—the weighted slump of his shoulders, the slight effort in his exhale. Maybe there’s a pang of guilt in his chest at being so transparent, but he can’t quite fix his expression into something more reassuring. 

Not tonight.

“You look rough,” you say, raising your eyebrows in that gentle, teasing way.

He can tell you’re worried. It’s there in the careful tone of your voice, the way your gaze flicks over him like you’re scanning for damage.

“Yeah…” His lips twitch in what might be an attempt at a smile. “I know.”

Before he can stumble out a courtesy greeting, you close the distance, slipping your arms around him and drawing him into a hug. The warmth of your body presses flush against his chest, and he stiffens for half a heartbeat—like he’s not quite sure he has the right to accept this comfort. Then instinct kicks in, and he melts. The tension drains from his shoulders, and he drops his head to the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent. The one he never knew he would crave so deeply. 

His arms rise to wrap around your waist, palms splayed against your back as if to steady himself.

“Hi,” you murmur into his hair, voice muffled against his temple.

He breathes you in, a tired sigh slipping out. 

“Hey,” he answers, almost inaudible.

The quiet in the room no longer feels suffocating—it feels like a shared breath, something that belongs to both of you. Your fingers slide into his hair, combing it back gently, and his eyes flutter shut. 

He thinks about how a hug like this might’ve been a luxury in another life—before nightmares and secrets twisted everything into shadows. 

But with your arms around him, he lets himself believe it could be simple. 

Just for a moment. 

He’ll give himself a moment. 

When you finally pull back to look at him, there’s a softness in your expression he’s not sure he deserves. Your attention drifts over his shoulder, landing on the small table behind him. Paper after paper is scattered there—spelling tests, wobbly handwriting, even a few crayon doodles. You tilt your head, curiosity nudging your brow. 

“What’s all that?”

He steps out of your hold, just enough to glance at the mess over his shoulder. Reluctance flickers across his face. 

“Just… some papers I needed to get through,” he says, swallowing. “It’s nothing. Spelling stuff.”

“You can’t possibly do that when your head’s hurting.” 

He’s dealt with worse. 

He shrugs one shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. 

“It’s not so bad,” he tries, though the hesitation in his voice betrays him.

You don’t buy it. He can see the resolve in your stance, the way your chin sets. 

“Trying to concentrate on eight-year-old handwriting is not how to cure a migraine,” you say flatly, giving him a look that shows your playful exacerbation.

“Honestly, it’s fine,” he insists. But even as the words leave his mouth, they sound weak. 

He’s still holding onto that white lie, and guilt gnaws at him from the inside. You’ve already started marching past him toward the table, your gaze determined. 

“Why don’t you sit down and relax?” you say, lifting one stack of papers. “I’ll do it.”

He follows, hand raised in a weak protest. 

“No—hey, that’s my job,” he says, trying for a laugh that doesn’t quite land. “Like, my real actual job.”

The one he needs to keep. 

Your grin appears, brightening the mood without effort. 

“I think I can handle some spelling tests,” you retort, eyeing the pages in your hands. “Pretty sure the complexities of second-grade grammar won’t defeat me.”

He sighs, a smile finally curving his lips for real. It’s small, but it’s genuine. 

“Am I gonna convince you otherwise?” he asks, half-rhetorical.

“Nope,” you say simply, lips shifting smugly as you slide into one of the dining chairs. It’s a look that tells him you won’t budge on this. 

Stubborn as always. 

He stands there for a second, torn between wanting to help and wanting to give in. There’s this warmth building under his ribs, relief and something else—something so dangerously close that he daren’t name. 

“Okay,” he finally murmurs, stepping back. The tension in his spine eases a fraction, and he can almost feel the exhaustion settling in now that he isn’t forcing himself to keep going.

“You gonna stand there or go lie down properly?” you ask, not looking up from the first spelling sheet you’re scanning.

He runs a hand over the back of his neck and drags his feet over to the couch, sinking down into the cushions with an exhale that betrays how tired he truly is. 

“Here’s fine,” he says quietly. 

The idea of vanishing into his bedroom feels unbearable right now. 

Too far. 

Too alone.

It’s selfish—how much he needs to stay near. Near enough to hear your voice, the soft scratch of your pen, proof that you’re there.

He rests his head against the arm of the couch, turning just enough to watch you from across the room. You spare him a glance, understanding flashing in your eyes. 

“Okay,” you accept. .

You stand abruptly and move to the lamp in the corner. A soft click and golden light spills into the room, bathing the scuffed hardwood floors in a gentle sheen. The overhead light blinks off with a flip of the switch, and suddenly everything feels softer, quieter—like you're tucked away in a little sanctuary, a space carved out of the world, just for two.

He shifts, propping one arm under his head, blinking against the change in light. 

“Hey now,” he jokes, words a bit slurred with fatigue, “it’s bad for your eyes.”

“Maybe,” from over by the lamp, you look at him and shrug. “But your head.”

His mouth twitches—he can’t help it. The weight in his chest lifts, just a little. 

“Right,” he mutters in agreement, the fight slipping out of him. 

He’s not sure if he wants to keep up the migraine ruse anymore, but it’s too tangled in everything else. Better to just let you have this small comfort. 

You deserve it.

You’ve been way too good to him—and because of that, he’s dragged you into this mess.

And the worst part? 

He knows he won’t be able to let you go, half-truths are going to have to be enough to compensate for his carelessness. 

You go back to the table, pulling out a chair and settling in with the stack of papers. Your face furrows in concentration as you pick up a pen—his red marking pen, the one he’s been avoiding all day. The faint sound of your writing tip against paper is a soothing background lull.

He watches you, eyelids heavy. He just lets his gaze linger on the shape of your face in the lamplight, the slope of your shoulder as you lean over a misspelled word. He breathes, in and out, feeling a tug in his chest every time you shake your head in mild amusement or scribble a little note in the margin. He closes his eyes, so filled with longing he cannot figure out where to put it all. 

Just let him have tonight.

Let this be all he feels tonight. 

Seconds bleed into minutes, and he’s not sure when his breathing slows, or how his tense muscles start to loosen. Eventually, he feels the calm settle over him, the quiet that used to feel like a noose around his neck. Now it’s more like a blanket—soft, encompassing, safe. He exhales as his eyelids droop.

His mind drifts in a liminal space between wakefulness and the pull of sleep, cocooned by the low lamplight. 

You clear your throat and tap the tip of a red pen against a test paper, amusement lacing your words. 

“One of your kids spelled kitchen like kitchin. I kinda like it,” you say, a small laugh escaping. “It feels… softer.”

He murmurs a response, voice thick from exhaustion. 

“Yeah,” he manages, eyes fluttering open just enough to find your silhouette at the table. “Bet that’s Jackson. He says breakfirst too. I never wanna correct that one.”

His words slur slightly, and he barely registers that he’s smiling. You lift your attention from the paper, your own playing at the corner of your mouth.

“Breakfirst makes sense,” you tease, the pen still in your hand. “It’s the first thing I think of when I wake up.”

He chuckles softly, shifting against the pillow. The motion tugs at his shoulders, reminding him how tight his muscles are. 

“Mhm,” he drawls, eyes sliding shut again. “He told me last week he wakes up thinking about pancakes. Said it just… appears in his brain.”

You snort a laugh, then set the test paper aside, leaning back in your chair. 

“I think I’d like him,” you remark, mock-serious. “He’s got the right idea.”

It’s so easy for him to picture Jackson—a scrawny seven-year-old with an overbite and an endless supply of energy. The image floats into his mind and settles there, a soft spot in the midst of his own troubles. 

He can almost see the bright classroom, the crayons and the whiteboard, the echo of little voices calling him. It feels like a life unshadowed by therapy sessions and the secrets choking him from within.

He lets the moment linger, a comfort in the back of his mind. Then a memory surfaces—one he rarely shares: his mom, the aroma of melted butter, the slowness of an early morning without his dad. It nudges at him, stirs something bittersweet in his chest.

“My mom used to make pancakes when my dad was out of town,” he hears himself say, the words spilling out so softly he almost isn’t sure he’s speaking aloud. He feels you pause. You don’t respond right away, giving him space to unravel the memory if he wants to.

Like you always do.

He swallows, blinking slowly at the ceiling. 

This is a safe one to share.  

“He traveled a lot,” he continues, voice quieter now, each syllable steeped in nostalgia. “Work stuff. Sales, I think—always sounded vague. But when he was gone, it was like… things relaxed a little. She’d let me sleep on the couch, and we’d have pancakes in the morning. Not the box kind, either. She did the whole thing—batter from scratch, butter in the pan, bubbles on top when they were ready to flip. Real old-school.”

Your pen lands gently on the table. He can feel your eyes on him across the distance. He knew you’d appreciate another piece of his past, no matter how small.

What scared him was how much more he wanted to give you.

How easily he’d hand it all over—just from the look on your face.

“That sounds nice,” you say, your voice subdued, maybe to match the mood he’s set. He wonders if you can tell how vulnerable he feels, laying this out for you. 

“She’d put bananas in them sometimes,” he murmurs. “I hated it—but I never told her. Didn’t wanna mess it up. It felt like… I don’t know.” His voice wavers, and he breathes out carefully, as if exhaling might scatter the memory. “A good thing.”

For a moment, all he hears is sound of his own breath. Your voice comes softly across the room. 

“You didn’t want to change it.”

“Yeah.” He nods, eyelids heavy, almost speaking more to himself than to you. “Exactly.”

He slips deeper into the cushions, a sort of melancholy peace settling in his bones. Remembering those mornings—milk and flour and eggs whisked in a bowl, the hiss of the stove, his mom’s rare, relaxed laugh—feels comforting and too big to hold onto. 

It reminds him of being a kid, back before entire worlds twisted into nightmares and scars. Before he had to figure out how to keep people safe by keeping them in the dark.

Outside, the sky is darkening, casting shapeless shadows across the walls. You rustle the papers again, returning to your marking with diligence. That rhythmic scritch, pulls him back from the edges of old memories.

There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again, barely conscious, his words filled with drowsiness. A little piece of anxiety wells in him suddenly—intrusive. 

It’s about the kids—about whether they notice the days he can’t quite summon his usual energy. The way he knows he’ll be tomorrow, when the smile won’t come as easily, no matter how hard he tries.

He hates asking you this. It’s the kind of thing he’d usually save for Dr Avery, but that isn’t an option now. It feels cruel—testing the waters just for his own peace of mind, leaning on you to give him the direction he can’t find on his own.

His voice is small when he finally asks. His eyes half-lidded, drifting toward you, too tired to stay open all the way.

“D’you think the kids…"

Fuck, this is hard.

"D'you think... they know when I’m having a bad day?”

You pause for a moment, shaking your head as your eyes meet his, looking at him like he just hung the moon. It undoes him utterly, the way you let out a gentle sigh,

“I think…” you speak slow, perhaps to allow his exhausted mind to keep up, but the words end up hitting him twice as hard. 

“I think they know you’d still show up for them anyway. It’s… just who you are, Steve.”

It's just who he is...

Is that how you see him?

He absorbs the statement slowly, like it needs time to settle in his bones. There’s a kind of weight to it—the raw honesty behind every word you offered, like you handpicked them with care, laid them down gently just for him.

It loosens something deep in his chest. A knot he didn’t even know he was carrying starts to unspool.

He doesn’t feel like he’s a failure.

Maybe he is a mess. Maybe he’s always been a little broken, stitched together with stubbornness and guilt and whatever scraps of hope he can still find—but he’s here. 

He’s trying. 

He’s still showing up.

That has to count for something.

His eyes drift shut at last, sleep too heavy to fight. Maybe he can let himself rest a little. Just for now, with you close by. He breathes out, chin dipping into the pillow, and finally gives himself permission to fall.

As his consciousness fades, he holds onto one stubborn wish: later that evening, when he opens his eyes, you’ll still be there, still close enough to chase the doubt out of his mind—at least for a little while longer.

When Steve’s eyelids flutter open, it takes him a second to remember where he is—or why everything suddenly feels this peaceful. 

The living room is draped in darkness, the overhead lamp turned off in favour of a single warm light coming from the kitchen. For a disoriented moment, he hears nothing. Then a soft clink of metal on ceramic reaches his ears, followed by a faint hiss and the gentle scrape of something in a pan.

He pushes himself upright, blinking the last traces of sleep from his eyes. The couch creaks and the fabric of his jumper feels slightly rumpled from dozing. He rubs the back of his neck, rolls his shoulders, wincing at the dull ache there. 

A quick glance at the window tells him night has fully settled over Hawkins—streetlights glow faintly outside, their beams catching on the air.

The heaviness he’s carried around for days has receded, at least for the moment. His head doesn’t throb. His chest feels looser, the anxiety dulled. 

That sure as hell isn’t just from the nap. 

Slowly, he stands, letting the blanket slide off his hips, and runs a hand down the front of his jumper. His bare feet touch the floor with soft thumps as he pads toward the kitchen, one sleeve pulled over his hand like a restless kid, not even realising he’s doing it.

The closer he gets, the more the smell of butter wraps around him. He’s struck by how surreal it all seems—like stepping into a memory. Except it’s not some dusty recollection from his childhood. 

He stops in the doorway, half-hidden by the frame, and sees you standing at the stove. You’ve rolled your sleeves past your elbows. There’s a mixing bowl on the counter, a spatula in your hand, and the sizzle of batter hitting hot butter is the only real noise besides his own breath. 

Plates are stacked on a small portion of the counter you’ve managed to clear. A current of tenderness runs through the space—through him—that has little to do with the heat of the stove.

“Hey,” he says softly, still a little groggy. His voice is low, reverent, like he’s afraid speaking too loudly will shatter the spell.

You glance over your shoulder, a quick smile flicking across your face as you meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” you answer, tone hushed not to hurt his head. “How’re you feeling?”

He swallows, stepping into the kitchen a bit more, hand trailing against the wall. 

“Much better,” he admits. 

And he realises, in that moment, it’s true. 

The tension in his spine has eased. When he looks at you, all sweet in his space, the last of his fears feel like they’re retreating into the corners of his mind. 

“What’re you doing?” he adds, voice soft, curious.

“Making dinner,” you reply with a casual shrug, turning back to the stove.

You slide the spatula and lift it, revealing a perfect golden underside. As you flip, the batter sizzles, sending up a little puff of fragrant steam. You nod toward the mixing bowl. 

“Figured something simple might do the trick,” you say quietly. “And, y’know, you mentioned them.”

He lingers a step longer, breath catching in his chest as he’s catapulted back into the memory he shared with you earlier. The smell of a hot pan threads nostalgia through his core, tangling with the gratitude he feels in this moment, watching you do something so unexpectedly thoughtful. It renders him speechless.

“Pancakes,” he manages finally, the word falling from his lips, soaked in wonder.

You glance back, giving him a small smile. 

“Don’t worry,” you say, catching the weight of that memory in his eyes. “You don’t have any bananas.”

You really were something else. 

He exhales a shaky laugh through his nose. It’s almost real—almost. It slips out unsteady, because there’s something about the simplicity of it all. The way you act like the world could be set right with just this—this one small, human thing.

And what floors him, is that for a second—God, maybe longer—he believes you.

Believes it could be that simple. 

You gesture with the spatula toward the small dining table. 

“Go on,” you suggest, “sit.” 

There’s a gentle command in your tone, like you’re used to looking after him—even if, not so long ago, he would’ve insisted he didn’t need it.

He obeys, walking over on slightly unsteady legs. 

Obeys.

The word sounds strange, but it’s accurate: you speak, and he follows. Not because he’s weak, but because you make him feel safe. You make him feel seen. And in that safety, he allows himself to lean on you more than he’d ever planned.

Drawing a chair out, he settles into it with an exhale, placing his elbows on the tabletop. The wood is cool through the knit material, and he can feel the faint vibration of your movements through the floor. Figures form in gentle arcs along the cabinets, as if the night outside has pressed its nose to the windows but hasn’t dared to intrude.

He’s spent a lot of time alone here, pacing the small perimeter while his mind churned with old memories. 

He wonders if this is what normal looks like. If other people get moments like these all the time—moments where the person they trust wanders into their space, rummages in their cupboards, whips up something simple that tastes like childhood. 

If so, he thinks he’s missed out for too long. 

Please let him keep this.

Just for a little while.

He’s not sure how long he watches you. He’s content to let the seconds stretch, your quiet movements hypnotising him. The whisk tapping the side of the bowl, your gentle footstep shifting weight. 

When you finally switch off the burner and turn to face him, plate in hand, he’s still staring. You serve the pancakes on the two most similar plates you can find—he doesn’t exactly have a matching set. You slide one in front of him, the other in front of you, the only sounds are the dull scrape of forks cutting through soft batter, the occasional drip of syrup pooling on porcelain.

He lifts a bite to his mouth, nodding in faint approval as he chews. His jaw still feels tense, like it’s absorbing some leftover stress. Beneath the table, his leg bounces with restless energy, but outwardly, he tries to keep calm. You watch him, noticing the slight furrow in his brow. Neither of you speak until you finish the first few bites; the tension in the air is subtle, but it lingers.

“You going into work tomorrow?” you ask, casual enough that someone who didn’t know him might think it an idle question. But he senses the concern under your tone. 

You’re not prying, exactly—just checking in.

“Yeah.” He nods, quickly swallowing. “I’ll drop you back home after this, don’t worry.” 

The words come out automatically, as if he’s already set a plan for the day: take you home, show up, teach the kids. Everyone safe and accounted for.

You carefully set your fork down, the faint clink slicing through the atmosphere. Your gaze holds him a second longer than normal. 

“I’m not leaving,” you say softly.

“What?”

“What if…” Your voice takes on a cautious edge.  “What happened last time… happens again?”

Last time?

Oh.

Angel, don’t do this to me. 

He goes rigid. The memory knifes through his mind like a jolt of cold water: the flash of your startled eyes when he’d woken gasping, his fingers clamped around your arm before he even registered he was awake. The shame of your worried face as he stammered an apology, trembling with leftover panic from the dark corners of his sleep. A strangled feeling clutches his chest, and he drops his gaze to the plate. 

“It’s not gonna be like that,” he murmurs, his voice guilty.

“I already packed my pyjamas.”

He sits back in the chair. 

The effect you have on his is downright dangerous. 

A part of him wants to argue—he doesn’t deserve this level of care, not when his baggage bleeds into reality and threatens to drag you with them. 

“No, seriously,” he presses, voice quieter now. “I’m gonna be just fine.” 

There’s a self-loathing edge to the words because he knows it’s not true. You sense it in an instant.

“I’ll take the couch, alright?” you say. That softer note creeps into your voice, the one that tells him you’re not afraid of him—you’re just concerned. 

“Won’t be able to sleep if I’m worried about you.”

Something clenches in his throat, and he drops his head into his hands. His fingers thread through his hair, gripping it lightly as if that might keep his thoughts from spiraling. Another ragged breath escapes him. 

“You’re not taking the couch,” he mutters, muffled behind his palms. The image of you spending the night curled in discomfort while he’s holed up in his bed feels all wrong.

“If you’re feeling rough,” you insist, “you need your own bed. Please just… let me stay.”

He can’t look at you right away, eyes still trained on the dark space between his knees. The weight of everything squeezes his stomach. He drags his eyes up. And there you are, watching him with genuine concern—no pity, no judgment. 

He sees it in your eyes—there is no budging on this.

“Okay,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

A small smile crosses your features, one he has no right to feel pride at. You pick up your fork again, like this decision was the easiest thing in the world. 

He glances at the swirl of syrup pooling around the edges of the plate, but he can’t bring himself to take another bite. 

All along, he thought he was the selfless one.

He lies in bed, sheets tangled around his hips, trying to convince himself that stillness might bring sleep. 

One arm is flung over his eyes, pressing down as if he can block out the cacophony of thoughts that refuse to be quiet. The dark presses in, broken only by the light of the clock—each minute passes in silence, ratcheting up his restlessness. 

He rolls onto his left side, then back onto his right, shutting his eyes as hard as he can. 

Come on, breathe in, breathe out… 

His therapist’s voice echoes in his memory, urging him to focus on his heartbeat, to ground himself. But his brain crackles with tension, refusing to comply.

The advice feels fake now, anyway.

He flips again, this time onto his stomach. It doesn’t help. His jaw is clenched so hard he can practically feel the ache up into his temples.

When the sheets start to feel suffocating, he snaps upright and shoves them away. His legs swing over the edge of the mattress, feet meeting the cool floor. A hiss of breath leaves him—everything feels too loud despite the silence. 

He drags a hand over his face, scrubbing at his chin like he’s trying to scrape away the anxiety. He stands, letting the duvet pool behind him as he pads barefoot out into the hallway.

The living room is dim. He notices the lamp's still on, a small puddle of light that silhouettes your form on the couch. You’re curled up, fast asleep under an old throw blanket, one arm tucked beneath your cheek. Your breathing is gentle, the rise and fall of your shoulders almost imperceptible. 

You looked so soft.

He tells himself he should go back to bed, not disturb you, let you have your rest. But there’s a stronger voice in him—the one that urges his forwards. 

It’s a jarring realisation that knocks something loose in him.

You’re becoming the next point of call when things get rough. The person he turns to now, instinctively, without thinking. And what unsettles him most is knowing you’d be glad to hear that. You’d take it as a sign of closeness, of trust.

But it feels cruel.

Cruel that you’d take pride in being his safe place when you still don’t know the full extent of what you’re stepping into. Cruel that he’s letting you play nurse to wounds he hasn’t even shown you yet.

He shouldn’t need you like this.

But he is going to be cruel, just for tonight. 

He brushes a strand of hair off your forehead. The small touch makes you stir, and your eyelids flutter open. Confusion flickers across your features until you register it’s him crouched there, face etched with concern.

“Steve?” You mumble, voice foggy with sleep. “Are—are you alright? Did something happen?”

You’re panicking because of him, and it makes it ache even worse.

“Hey—hey, it’s alright,” he murmurs, voice soft as he tries to soothe you. “Nothing happened. I promise.”

You start to push yourself upright, the blanket sliding off one shoulder to get a better look at him. The shape of your arm emerges, goosebumps prickling from the cool air. He swallows, feeling another wave of guilt that you even have to sleep out here. 

On the couch for God's sake. 

“I just… can’t sleep,” he admits, voice dropping. The confession tastes vulnerable on his tongue. 

It sounds pathetic—like a kid who never figured out how to function.

“Bad night?” you ask, still blinking sleep from your eyes. Your hand finds his forearm, thumb brushing lightly over his skin. Even that tiny touch feels like a lifeline.

“Yeah. I don’t know.” He nods as he lets out a shuddery breath. “Everything feels… loud.”

His request is simple, but the desperation laced in his voice betrays just how badly he needs the answer.

“Will you… come to bed with me?”

You still. The air between you tightens. He can see the caution in your eyes, the trace of a memory of the time before. He hates that he’s the cause of that worry. 

“Steve, I—I don’t know.” Your gaze drops to your lap as you recall his grip on your wrist, the way he shot out the door without so much as an explanation. “Last time, you were so out of it, and I didn’t know what to do, and you—”

“I know,” he interrupts, leaning in just enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him. “I know. And I’m sorry—I really am.” His voice wavers, and he takes a shaky breath. He wants to reach for your hand but forces himself to keep still, give you space. 

“But—but it’s not gonna be like that tonight. I’m okay, I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

You search his face, like you’re checking for any sign of doubt. Your gaze wanders over the weariness lining his eyes, the way his shoulders slump, the vulnerability in his expression. 

“...Are you sure?” You ask softly, a thousand questions and concerns pooling behind the simple words.

He’s sure. 

He wouldn’t put you in that kind of danger. 

“Yeah. I just—please.” 

He doesn’t care that it sounds like begging. Right now, he is begging. 

Your eyes dart between his, and you sigh softly. In the low light, he looks worn down—like that earlier nap had only skimmed the surface of whatever’s been dragging him under. 

It doesn’t take long to decide. The fact that he’s asking at all tells you everything. He wouldn’t, not unless he was sure. This isn’t casual. It’s something close to desperate.

“Okay.” Another short pause, your hand still on his forearm. “Okay. Just give me a sec.”

You shift the blanket aside and stand, the couch springs creaking as you move. He rises too, unfolding himself from his crouch. There’s an awkward silence where neither of you speaks. He feels like he should apologise—but where to start, he isn’t quite sure yet.

He extends his hand, fingers itching to hold your own. He leads you down the hall, every step slow. At the threshold of his bedroom, the air cools, and he can feel your hesitation in the slight drag of your feet. It sparks another pang of guilt. 

He nearly drops your hand, ready to say it’s okay, you don’t have to do this. But you tighten your grip, an assurance that you’re choosing to stay.

The bed is still rumpled, blankets half on the floor from where he stormed out. Silently, you both gather them up. You toss one over the mattress, smoothing it down just enough to make room to lie on.

When you finally slip under the covers, he follows, gingerly settling next to you on the mattress. He keeps to his side at first, giving you space.

The moment stretches—two heartbeats, three. 

The tension is palpable, and he regrets getting up in the first place. You turn onto your side, facing him, catching his eyes with your own. They’re wide, and beautiful. 

So fucking beautiful. 

There you go, looking at him like that again 

You look weary, and he bets he does too, so he can blame the sleep when he reaches out. He slips an arm around your waist and waits—just waits. Allowing you to choose how close to him you will get. 

He doesn’t let out his breath until you nestle closer, allowing him to tuck his chin over your head, the long exhale that seems to pour into the darkness. 

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he answers.

He hopes he will be. 

He senses your small smile, lips curving upward against his jumper, a subtle shift in your posture as you settle down. 

“Get some sleep,” you murmur, reaching curl your arm around his waist, mirroring his position. 

“I will, angel,” he murmurs into your hair. 

He will, but not yet. 

First, he waits for your breathing to slow, for your shoulders to uncoil, for sleep to settle over you. Guilt weighs on him for putting you through this—sleeping beside someone you believe isn’t okay. 

He isn’t, but there’s a sick sixth sense inside him that warns when a night will be rough. Tonight won’t be, though. 

He’s sure of it.

What he’s just done feels like a trial, a test of whether you’d follow him, stay with him. It troubles him the more he thinks about it, but there’s no other way to explain it. 

He needed to know if you would—because if you did, it’d mean you feel for him what he feels for you.

He might be hopeless when it came to saying how he felt—couldn’t talk to his parents, had to be cornered by Robin, nearly let it all slip through his fingers just trying to name what was going on. 

But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.

Steve felt things—deeply, messily, all at once. Always had. He’d felt this particular emotion before, or thought he had, in flashes: in borrowed bedrooms, first relationships, and soft pink roses. Young and dumb, sticky and sweet, like he saw in the movies. 

But it was never like this. This was bigger than him, something that carried a risk—like most things now did. 

Everything in his life felt more intense now. 

This was no exception. 

He felt it in every part of him. For the first time in years, he was glad he could still feel that much. That he hadn’t gone numb to it.

He held you, a secret he needed to keep. Even if he couldn’t give you every word of it, Steve Harrington knew what this was.

He knew what love felt like.

He’d fallen into it.

He knew better, but he chose to anyway—damned the fallout, and damn the cost.

It meant he could keep you to himself, just a little while longer.

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

[jscrawls]

I need the kids to have watched Bruce get his ass kicked by window reader. Like all of them cheering her on because who doesn’t wanna see the Batman lose to this (much smaller of a build) person. He’s 6 foot something and she’s 4 to 5 foot something 😂 anyways I loved the new chapter it was so good. That I’ve decided I don’t wanna throw rocks

LMAO 4 SOMETHING FEET? Widow reader that small would have to get extra nasty in a fight like-it'd be a bloodbath 😅

If you mean the actual accidental fight in the alleyway? Babs 100% got that on camera and watched every bit of it on repeat. Probably did some bat-ai digital enhancing so she could watch it in 4K if it was on some shitty security camera. And yes, she shared it in the non-Batman group chat with the others. Jason rated the gun-slap 8/10, (he thinks they could've hit harder, loosen a tooth at the least!)

Damian and Cass both rate the gas splash and bottle smash 10/10. They can appreciate using what's available to you.

Now I wanna do a normal sparring blurb 😂

Everyone's in the cave for the first official spar with widow, they've seen them train and workout by now, but they all do that, even Alfred does. So it's nothing groundbreaking, what they really wanna see is their fighting style.

Currently Bruce and widow are on the mats, hands wrapped and taped up and they've got compression wear on their elbows and knees for safety of course. The others are all watching very closely as Bruce gestures then towards the center of the mat to explain the rules.

"alright, let's go over the basics. No hitting below the belt, no going for the eyes, and no deadly force." He gives you a pointed look at that one while Jason boos him and gives two thumbs down from where he's leaning against a post, Bruce continues speaking regardless of the interruption. "... This is a serious spar though, and I'd like you to treat it as such. No horsing around, just give me your best shots so I can see what you can do."

You watch him patiently while tightening your wrist wraps one last time, the pressure feels nice after all this time without proper gear, but hitting a person is gonna be even nicer. "It's a serious fight?"

Bruce clears his throat subtly, Cass and Tim exchange glances and out of the corner of your eye, you watch Stephanie and Barbara handing something to each other.

"yes, like I said I wanna see what you can-oof!" Bruce grunts as your shin connects with his side in a sudden crane kick, the strike was so sudden it caught him off guard as you hadn't even wound yourself up first.

Stephanie loudly guffaws and you hear someone slapping something, possibly covering their mouth?

Well the fights on apparently.

Bruce throws his hand up to catch your arm as you swing a left hook at him and moves his foot to sweep your ankles, okay maybe it was just a lucky shot-

Your free arm grabs his wrist while you hop over his leg, pressing your feet against his side and leveraging yourself up to throw a thigh over his arm so you're now upside down, hanging your entire weight off his limb like a fucking spider monkey. You secure one thigh around his bicep, squeezing him hard enough that you won't be shook off easily and start kicking at his head with the other leg.

Holy shit you're brutal, he should've worn a mouth piece or something because wow you don't pull your punches or kicks. Bruce quickly drops his weight to the mat like a ragdoll, using his size to his advantage to land heavily on you and put your damn kicking to a stop.

Jason's calling out random advise to you like this is a televised wrestling match and Duke is filming the whole thing, narrating and giving commentary to his phone like this is a nature documentary.

Even Dick is invested, though he's trying to maintain a calm demeanor since Damian's right beside him, trying to analyze your moves and he's trying not to distract the kid.

As soon as both of you loosen your grip you roll away from each other, Bruce quickly stands but you remain squatting, hunched like a defensive cat in the center of the mat. The kids and Bruce are watching you closely, are you out of surprise attacks? Your whole thing seems to be take them by surprise and end it as quickly as possible so maybe you're running out of ideas?

You tilt your head as you watch Bruce closely, your expression becomes more mocking as you smirk at him.

"well? Do I have to take the lead on everything or are you gonna move."

Bruce knows a goad when he hears one, but obviously you expect him to participate more than just blocking and standing around so he'll oblige you. Cautiously, he steps forward. Leading with his dominant side in defensive posture as he waits for you to do something.

Instead you just stand up and back away like you hadn't taunted him a moment ago, do you expect him to follow you all the way across the mat? You're not exactly indicating anything with your body language so Bruce carefully pauses in the middle of the area to see what you'll do, his stance widens and he keeps his hands up and close to himself.

The cave seems to quiet down as everyone holds their breath in wait, nine pairs of eyes on you as you stretch your arms above your head, then dart towards Bruce.

You throw your elbow up towards his throat and he blocks, he blocks the knee aiming for his gut too. Feeling emboldened he attempts to throw a kick but you hop out of the way like a bunny and then come right back into his personal space, he catches your hand bait you can aim for his nose and starts to twist your arm behind your back to restrain you, but you lean forward and again drop your weight to the mat like a wet bag of laundry and kick at his elbow.

He grunts disapprovingly at that. "What part of fight clean did you not get?"

Alfred speaks up from what he's occupying the bat computer chair. "You did say this was a serious fight, master Bruce."

He crosses his arms over his chest scornfully, one thin brow raising as if judging Bruce.

Stephanie Snickers and lightly elbows Cass. "I'm starting to think all shorties are viscous, I thought you and Tim were examples not the standard."

"hey!" Tim sounds very offended at that, but still doesn't take his eyes off the ring for long.

"well you know what they say, short people are closer to hel-ow!" Damian roughly elbows Dick before he can finish that sentence.

While the crowd of children all bicker, you kick Bruce in the knee in an attempted take down. He grunts in pain but manages to stay upright enough to throw his arms around you in an aggressive bear hug, yanking you close enough to trap you against his body. as soon as his hands move you tense.

Once his arms start to lock around you do you realize he's going for a classic chokehold, so before he can lock his hand in the crook of his elbow you play dirty and reach up to give him a nasty horse bite. Your thumb and forefinger curl and pinch the softest part of his inner underarm, you knowing damn well how many nerves are there as you grab as hard as you can.

The second Bruce hisses you let go and quickly drop your weight and drive your elbow into his liver repeatedly, he seems to be fed up with you and drops his arms from around your neck to grab your waist and body slam you to the floor.

That really winded you, so you're slow to wriggle out from under him. Though you both seem to be done for the moment as he sits down properly, now he's just watching you quietly as he recovers. His dignity

Duke is the first one to break the silence that followed the end of the fight, pausing his video and triumphantly holding his phone in the air. "I got all of it!"

Babs glances over at him in amusement. "You know there are cameras all over in here, right?"

Duke nods even as Jason sidles over to him and gestures for his phone. "Obvs, but those don't capture the best angles on the training mats."

Dick ducks into the little training area and hands both you and Bruce a water bottle and a helping hand up, Bruce declines as he cracks his bottle where he sits but you allow the younger man to pull you to your feet. Smirking to yourself before throwing one final verbal jab at the man before walking off the mats.

"y'know..... Bucky definitely still hits harder."

He scowls at your back so quickly you'd think you'd just poisoned his drink, dropping the water bottle as he pushes himself to his feet. "Okay, who the hell is Bucky!?"

🔹🔹🔹

| m.list |

A/n: thank you for sparing me, I've had threats of dog-stealing and everything 😭😭based some of this off past boxing experience lol 😂 smaller hands might equal less muscle behind it, but the smaller point of impact can make up for the power loss and still mess u up. At least that's what I remember that ish felt like anywho, I've slept since then so eh 🤷‍♀️

@viilan

[arcadia-smith]

MDNI, 18+, smut with no plot really, dinner's served.

Simon Riley Fem!Reader.

Just imagine. Simon did something shitty, probably something reckless during a mission. Price had called you and your heart stopped the minute you saw his name light up your phone.

Simon spent like two days in hospital, before coming back home.

And you're pissed. Like really pissed at him for not thinking about anything else bit the adrenaline rush during the mission.

So now you're in your shared bedroom, staring him down after giving him an hour long lecture.

"You're full of shit. And you're gonna have to get on your knees and beg." You finished of your rumbling.

Simon smirked. "The only time I get on my knees is to shoot or to..."

He leaned in, towering over you, his breath warm against your ear.

"Well, you know."

Oh.

Your mouth had gone dry, and he saw it—he felt it in the way your body tensed, the way your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something, but no words came out.

And then—

He dropped.

Slow. Purposeful. A show of control, not submission, hands settling on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to keep you still.

"Still think I'm full of shit?" he murmured.

Your heart pounded, your pulse a wild, erratic thing.

"Prove me wrong," you whispered.

And oh, he would.

He didn’t waste any more time. His hands gripped the waistband of your underwear and yanked it down, his mouth immediately following the path, dragging heat and sensation along your skin with every move. His fingers dug into the soft skin of your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips trailing scorching kisses down your inner thigh.

“I hope you’re ready for this. I don’t do things halfway.”

Before you could respond, his lips were there, pressing a soft kiss against your clit, the sensation so unexpected it made your body jerk in surprise.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as your legs threatened to give out.

He didn’t stop there. His mouth worked against you with skill and precision, his tongue flicking over you with just the right pressure, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

You moaned, your head tipping back as your grip on his shoulders tightened.

He pulled away just long enough to give you a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took in the way you were reacting to him. “You like that?”

You could barely manage a nod, and just like that, he was back at it, his mouth once again on you, more intense than before. His hands held you steady, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, as he brought you to the edge.

Every flick of his tongue, every deep kiss, every movement felt like fire, like something that couldn’t be stopped, something you couldn’t get enough of. You could feel yourself tightening, your body coiling like a spring, ready to snap at any moment.

He hummed in approval, the sound vibrating through you before his mouth moved with an unrelenting pace, pushing you toward that breaking point. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve alight with sensation as you neared the edge.

And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you shattered, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried out his name, your legs trembling as the world seemed to spin around you.

He didn’t stop, though. He held you through it, his tongue continuing to work you through the aftershocks, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from your body until you were left breathless, shuddering in his arms.

When he finally pulled away, you were barely able to stand, your legs weak beneath you.

All the anger and tention was gone from your body.

"That's my lovely girl." He hummed as he licked your juices off his lips.

Oh, he is a bastard.

[epiphainie]

"tommy doesn't think he's inherently unlovable; tommy just refuses to acknowledge what's in front of him to protect himself" i know you said this in a joke but he's trying to protect himself because of his insecurities that he's unloved/unworthy, isn't it? i don't see how these are two opposing statements

*cracks knuckles*

gonna use this ask as an opportunity to write my tenth tommy meta this week. i feel like i'm saying the same thing with different words at this point but who am i to refuse the one nameless person in my inbox.

maybe this is like trying to call between two shades of the same color but there's a difference to me, personally. i don't think this is the only right interpretation but it's the way all the pieces of tommy fit together in my head to make up something interesting. i don't think the show thinks 1% of this nuance (i'm simply a fic writer who's obsessed with character voice) nor do i expect for the storyline to unravel in a way that fits this. this is just what's logical and interesting to me.

"trying to protect himself because he's insecure" i think we got that part in common! i just don't think that every insecurity boils down to a sense of self-consciousness, lack of worth, not seeing yourself as loveable etc. and to me tommy's someone whose insecurities are fear around letting people in, opening up, and putting himself in a situation where it/he could fail because he's spent so much of his life staying in that safe cocoon. i think tommy's scared of what lies beyond his comfort zone which results in this lack of belief that his relationships could even work in longevity and him latching onto anything he could as confirmation bias for that. now i only have tommy's vague backstory to go with here (other than his actions) so i will start there.

what we know about tommy prior to the begins episodes is that he has a father whom he compares to gerrard. now this is me reading into it too much obviously, he could have just meant they're both bigots, but this tells me that more than neglegtful, growing up he had a father who was oppressive. who was on tommy's case too closely and too threateningly and i think that came with huge expectations put on tommy, especially with him being gay and closeted. tommy imo started performing to meet these obscure standards (of being a man, of being a son, of being a soldier etc.) from such a young age which continued into his time in the military and the 118 and, to a degree, the present.

tommy's just incredibly good at the smoke and mirrors of being the cool friend, the nonchalant dude, the vice president of gerrard's boys club, the easygoing boyfriend, the ex who's down to fuck etc. i know people call this his people-pleasing for some cases but there's nothing pleasing about tommy, tommy's a bitch, he puts a little distance in between regardless of how friendly he is, but this doesn't make the act any less of a mask. a mask he's trying to sell as authentic, especially to himself. i think what people don't consider much here is just how easy it is to buy into your own performance of whatever personality you're putting on even when you're aware you're doing it. why poke the bear when it's safe and cozy where you keep yourself to yourself and not risk any disappointment or failure? we know he does this in his friendships, first with chimney (the puppy he simply can't take the responsibility of) and later chimney, hen, and bobby who are alllowed in close enough to enjoy a pint with but not enough to know about abby (and much later, with eddie but it doesn't fit anywhere here. for more thoughts on eddietommy, here).

now we know that tommy's not entirely living a lie at this point. tommy's out and tommy's made some progress on himself. that comfort zone at one point became so unbearable that he had to burst it, regardless of how hurtful and scary it was. i still maintain that tommy's a man who to a degree has made peace with himself. he recognizes himself as a person with wants that are not shameful and past deeds that are not incriminating. this is partly why i don't think tommy's issue is seeing himself as unworthy of love, a relationship, a future etc. and we see tommy move motivated by this changing belief. when we saw him back on our screens again, it's still hard for him to admit (love how much he squirms and tenses up) to vulnerable stuff but he wants to tell buck that he's always wanted friends like the 118 regardless. he goes along with trying again during the coffee scene despite how quickly he took himself out of the situation after their first date. tommy to me is someone who's healed enough to know he can want and he would be wanted back but then...

it gets too much, it gets too close. i won't get too much into my thoughts about the breakup because i've talked about it for months but i maintain that tommy's acting out of a deeply-etched defense mechanism here than an actual belief that buck can do better, buck deserves someone who's not as fucked up as tommy, tommy who's not worthy of buck's love etc etc. however way you put that sentiment. at hearing how much buck wants, how serious he wants to take this relationship, tommy immediately lays down what he's been cooking in his head as a defense against this moment for months, probably without knowing. the reveal about eddie supports this point imo. i can write another meta about what jealousy is for tommy but here more than anything buck and eddie's relationship serves as confirmation of what he knew all along: this relationship was always going to end. he won't be buck's last and that will break his heart. done, the end, this is the story tommy bought into before it even begun. this is the story once put out there ensures that tommy's left alone, in this familiar place where he doesn't have to put too many chips in, where he doesn't have to reveal too much of himself, where he doesn't have to risk his feelings. buck could say no as many times as he wants; it doesn't matter, this is tommy's narrative.

the next time we see him, he's bought into the performance of being okay with this. honestly, most of what powers my tommy meta is that i truly think he's stubborn as hell. regardless of how keen he is, how aware he's doing this, he goes along with buck's flirting. i think i diverge with many people here because nothing imo, NOTHING, about what tommy's doing here is an act of vulnerability. it's the mask, guys, it's the mask! he gives in as much as buck's willing to give back, they both short change each other without talking about what they really want and what the breakup even meant.

but of course they have a great night, and tommy's feeling more hopeful in the morning. (i know i said we haven't seen him regretting the breakup at all but maybe i was being too harsh on him because i can see the breakfast as a gesture of "making up for it" in the classic tommy way of not actually yet acknowledging that he made a bad decision all those months ago but repenting anyway) this is the tommy who showed up at buck's loft to be vulnerable with him, take inititave, clear the air. but ofc despite all that healing, this again doesn't come easily to him, and this time he's more invested in this, there are bigger risks being known in this way (with his insecurities and jealousy and regret (maybe lol)) to his ex compared to sharing one little vulnerable thing with a virtual stranger. and he botches up the entire thing by trying to deliver it with the unbothered, cool guy mask. a little hand-wavy deflection, a little downplaying of what he actually feels. then buck's in his face and it becomes downplaying of what buck says he's feeling, the survival instinct of burrowing into that narrative that makes him feel safe and in the right again. the narrative that AGAIN ensures he's left alone and he's not poked at anymore where he tried to attempt an opening.

when i say tommy's half lies in his head, this is what i mean. not that his mind is telling him he's unloved when he actually is. i mean that he literally has this idea of himself, this idea of buck, this idea of their relationship that he sticks to because it's easier to understand and it's safer for him. people always talk about buck's passivity but tommy's the same, if not worse, because he's treading so carefully he can't allow himself to take an actual chance with buck. it's such a mirror of tommy going along with gerrard's boy club in my head, such a mirror of tommy not risking to emotionally invest in a relationship with chimney, tommy not being able to put himself in a position where he could be family with the 118. buck's familiar in many ways (i don't think either of them were poking the bear during those six months), i actually think a big deal with buck's relationships is that he CANNOT acknowledge any conflict or conflicting emotions but buck's way of dealing with it is to pour out as much as he can even when it's poorly thought out (like jumping to moving in together to cling to their relationship after the abby reveal) or ignore it completely till it comes out (arguably his hurt feelings over the breakup finally coming out in the kitchen fight scene.)

tommy's is to find a counterargument in his own head, to take the strategic exit, to slide it to a side neatly, decisively, cold turkey. he tries, like i said the let's try thing is him attempting to put his heart on a plate regardless of how badly he does it, but he simply cannot stay in that heartbreak for thirty seconds because of the horrifying ordeal of being known. partly to buck, partly to himself. which of course means tommy never actually lives. i think there's something so delicious about this especially for a character like tommy who on the surface has SO MUCH LIFE. he has flying into hurricanes, he has taking friends to vegas, he has million hobbies and one, sex to have with his boyfriend, basketball games to take him to, try desserts around LA and whatnot. but how much of that's living without getting a little real? how much of that's to balance out all the important things compermantalized away?

anyway do i think all this i said mutually exclusive with tommy thinking he's unlovable? not really. i think a base level insecurity in your worthiness is only normal when you put so much between you and the rest of the world but it changes the way i personally see how tommy sounds in his own head and how tommy perceives things. i actually think there's a level of self-assuredness in his stubbornness, in his way of buying into his own narratives and the image he's putting out. i also think he's partially aware he's doing this. so for example i cannot imagine tommy being upset about eddie cutting him off in a self-victimizing manner because he's aware of his own part in it, the intentionality when he left buck the way he did. the same way i cannot imagine him taking buck's words of "i dont have to have feelings for everyone i sleep with" at face value without being half-aware that buck's reacting to what he's said and doesn't mean it. i can't see tommy, who for all intents and purposes was the one who pushed buck away, genuinely taking it as buck telling the truth. tommy in my head either takes it as confirmation for what he knew* all along (*lied to himself about because it fits his narrative and that's a comfortable form of torture, also leaves him kind of blameless for breaking up with buck in the first place) OR if he's genuinely less resistant to the bitch in his ear now, as "lowkey done with my bullshit, let's have some instrospection about what my role here was and how it came to this point that evan's first instinct is to push me away by refusing his feelings"

i don't think he's at that stage yet so i think number one. explains why he shuts down and leaves again. tried, didn't work, i was right to think it wouldn't work. exit, pursued by tommy kinard.

okay last bit, i couldn't find a place to fit this because it's more buck meta BUT what i also love about this interpretation of tommy is the contrast with buck. overcompensating for an inherent lack of self-worth is so buck. being unlovable and hard to love is so buck. that's buck with his neglegtful parents and his abandonment issues and his coma dream where he's only valuable to the story as long as he's useful to the others. that's buck's story we've been watching for eight years. i see tommy as something else, a creature who made home in the safety of not trying that he became a self fulfilling prophecy. what if a boy had to survive situations he couldn't survive as himself and in hiding became a coward? what if that boy who became a man wants to love and care and feels the chance right in his reach, but is too scared to love back in all the ways that unveil more of him than he can bear? anyway i love tommy

[tregearix]

SHENANIGANS

ITZY Lia X Male Reader

You're sitting in the counselor's office, your legs stretched out in front of you as the counselor drones on and on about your behavior. You can't help but roll your eyes at his lectures - you've heard it all before. Expulsion threats, detention, the works. It's all just noise to you at this point.

As the counselor continues his rant, your mind starts to wander. You think back to the fight yesterday, the satisfaction of seeing those guys from the rival school crumple to the ground. Fuck, it felt good to let loose and show them who's the boss.

The counselor's voice snaps you back to reality. "Listen, I'm really serious. One more incident like this and you're out. Do you understand me?"

You lean forward, a smirk playing on your lips. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. No more fights, no more trouble." you say it casually, not really meaning a word of it. The counselor sighs, shaking his head in frustration.

As you stand up to leave, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall. Your hair is slightly disheveled, and a small cut on your lip from the yesterday brawl. You look like the badass you are, and you know it.

You stride out of the office, not even bothering to shut the door behind you. The halls are empty, most of the students are in their class right now. You make your way towards your class lazily, already thinking about skipping it. But when you almost changed your path towards the school rooftop, you suddenly remember something. You remember this is English lesson time in your class.

Well, you're not exactly fancying English lesson, but the person behind it are the reason why you're eventually decided to coming back to your class. You walk more faster, and a mischievous smile appears across face.

As you pick up your pace, your mind races at the thoughts of Lia, the sexy English teacher. You can't help but smirk as you imagine her standing in front of the class, her curves accentuated by her tight dress. The way she moves, the way she speaks - it's enough to drive any guy wild.

You burst into the classroom, startling a few of your classmates who were already settled in. Lia who's writing something on the whiteboard turns to face you, her eyes narrowing as she takes your appearance. "Done with the conselor? I thought you're gonna skipping my class just like you do as usual with other classes," she says sarcastically, her tone dripping with disapproval.

You flash her your signature charming smile, ignoring the glares from your fellow students. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Ms. Lia," you reply, winking at her. She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed by your antics.

As you take your seat, you can't help but let your gaze linger on Lia. The way her hair falls over her shoulders, the curve of her neck - every inch of her is perfection. You know as a student you shouldn't be thinking these kind of thoughts to a teacher, but fuck it.

The lesson goes on, but you find yourself getting more and more distracted as the time progressed on. You start doodling on your notebook, sketching out crude images of Lia in various compromising positions. You can't help but chuckle to yourself as you draw her bent over the desk, her dress riding up to reveal her ass. Another sketch shows her on her knees, her mouth open wide.

You're so engrossed in your lewd artwork that you barely register Lia calling your name. You snap back to reality, looking up to see her standing close from your desk, her hand outstretched. "I'll take that, thank you," she says firmly, snatching the notebook from your grasp.

Your heart races as she flips through the pages, her eyes widening in shock and disgust as she sees your drawings. The classroom falls silent, all eyes on the two of you. Lia's face turns red with anger and embarrassment.

"How dare you!" she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "These are completely inappropriate! I should report you to the principal right now!"

You can't help but smirk, finding her reaction amusing. "Come on, Ms. Lia. Don't you think you're overreacting a little?" you say, trying to play it cool. "It's just a bit of harmless fun."

Lia's jaw drops, her eyes flashing with fury. "Harmless fun you say? Get out of my classroom this instant!" she screams, pointing towards the door. "I'll deal with you later!"

You stride out of the classroom calmly, a smirk playing on your lips, ignoring the curious looks from your classmates. You can hear them whispering amongst themselves, trying to guess what could have possibly been in your notebook to warrant such a reaction from their teacher.

You wander the halls aimlessly, not really caring where you end up. You could go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat, or maybe hit up the bathroom for a quick smoke. But in the end you decided to go to the rooftop to take a nap. As you climb the stairs, you can't shake the image of Lia's angry face from your mind. You don't find it scary but rather amusing, and you chuckled at the thought of it.

Once you in the rooftop, you lean against the railing, feeling the cool breeze against your skin as you take in the view from the rooftop. The entire school grounds are laid out before you - the sports field, the parking lot filled with teachers' cars. In the distance, the city skyline stretches out, a reminder of the world beyond these school walls.

After a few moments of enjoying the view, you start looking for a spot to take a nap. You spot a shady corner near the edge of the roof, away from prying eyes. You make your way over, lying down on your back and stretching out your arms above your head, relaxing yourself as you started to drift off.

An hour or so later, you're jolted awake by the sound of a door slamming shut nearby. You sit up groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. That's when you see her - Lia, standing just a few feet away from you, staring at you with a solemn face.

"I don't know you're good at drawing," Lia begins, reminding you about earlier incident in the class, her voice cutting through the quiet atmosphere of the rooftop.

You yawn, stretching your arms above your head as you wake up from your nap. You ignore her comment about your drawings, not really caring about what she thinks. "What time is it? Is it time for a break?" you ask, sitting up and looking around.

Lia stands there, her arms crossed over her chest as she stares you down. "It's 3:30 PM. School ended an hour ago," she says, her voice casual. "You shouldn't draw such perverted things about me, I would be humiliated if anyone else saw that drawings."

You let out a soft grunt, pushing yourself up to a sitting position. You couldn't care less about what she had to say - you were more interested in the way her dress hugged her curves, the way her hair fell over her shoulders. "Well," you began, your voice low and smooth. "Your acting are pretty nice by the way." you smirk.

Lia rolls her eyes at your sentence, her lips pursed in annoyance. "It's not an acting. We're in the school, I'm your teacher and you're my student, and as student you must respecting me as your teacher. Just because we're hooking up often doesn't mean you can draw something inapproriate about me." she says, her tone firm.

You just chuckled, not taking Lia's words seriously. Everyone in the school knows everything about your bad deeds except one thing, and that one thing is your affair with the hot English teacher Julia Choi. As a student, you definitely know very well how forbidden it is to doing shenanigans with a teacher, but that taboo thing is what makes it so hot. And you're sure that Lia feels the same way about it.

You stand up, remembering how it all began. It was a few months ago, and you were caught red-handed having sex with one of the school cheerleader in the girls' bathroom during class period. Lia had caught you in the act, and threatened to report both of you to the principal for your inappropriate behavior.

The girl you had been with fled the scene immediately, her face pale with fear. But you stood your ground, frustrated that you had been interrupted just as you were about to reach your climax. Lia continued to scold you, her voice stern and disapproving.

But then, something changed. Lia's eyes widened as she caught sight of your massive erection, still standing proud and ready. Her face flushed with a mix of shock and curiosity, and she fell silent.

Seeing your teacher's reaction, you follow where her gaze landed. And you couldn't help but start teasing her when you found out where her eyes is setting. "Never seen a big dick before, Ms. Lia?" you said, a smirk playing on your lips.

Hearing your words, Lia put on her angry face once again. She threatened to reporting you again to the principal, but you didn't waver from her threat. Lia glances down one more time at your dick then back again to your face before storming away from the bathroom. You chuckles, remembering her action that day.

For the next few days, you prepared yourself, getting ready in case you were called to the principal's office. But somehow that never happened, you wonder if Lia didn't report your inappropriate behavior the other day in the girls' bathroom to the principal. But why she does that? Why she's not reporting you to the principal?.

Then you start to getting the clues. During English class, you caught Lia several times stealing glances at you with mysterious looks, her eyes lingering just a moment too long. You don't want to get too confident, but you're starting to come into conclusion that she might be getting interested on you after the incident in the girls' bathroom a few days ago, or perhaps she just after your huge dick. And you seeing it as sign to begin hitting on the sexy English teacher that coveted by the whole school.

It's not that easy of course, Lia repeatedly rejected your advances on her. She's citing her job as a teacher, and your bad reputation as the rascal of the school as the reason. But you didn't give up easily, you knew that deep down, Lia wanted you too.

You persisted in your pursuit, until finally, one day, Lia gave in to her desires for you. You caught her alone in the secluded corner of the library, and after a few minutes exchanging words, your seduction winning over her rejection. She pushed you against the wall, kissing you furiously. From that moment on, you and Lia engaged in a secret affair, stealing moments together whenever you could.

"What are you thinking?" Lia's voice snaps you back to the present.

You shake your head, a smirk playing on your lips. "Nothing," you say, voice low and smooth. You walk towards her with a predatory gaze, your eyes locked onto hers.

"Nothing, huh?" Lia's voice is skeptical, but there's a hint of amusement in her tone. She takes a step back, but you match her movement, closing the distance between you once again.

You reach out, your fingers grazing her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. "I was just thinking about that day in the bathroom," you murmur, your breath hot against her ear. "When you saw what I had to offer."

Lia's breath hitches, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment thinking about that day. But she quickly regains her composure, knowing fully what are you after, she pushed you away. "We can't do this here," she hisses, her voice low and urgent. "Someone might see us."

But you don't listen, your hands already roaming over her curves, your lips trailing kisses along her neck. "Let them see," you growl, your voice rough with desire. "I want everyone to know that you're mine."

Lia gasps, her body trembling beneath your touch. "You're impossible," she whispers, but there's no real conviction in her words. You can feel her resolve crumbling, her desire for you overriding her sense of propriety.

"I'm not asking for permission," you say, your voice low and commanding. "I'm taking what's mine."

With that, you spin her around, pressing her against the railing of the rooftop. Your hands slid up her thighs, your fingers moving to her panty covered pussy inside her short dress. Lia's breath comes in short gasps, her body arching against yours as you tease her, your fingers brushing against her most sensitive places.

"Please," she whimpers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own breathing. "Not here..."

But you don't listen, your fingers delving deeper, your thumb circling her clit. Lia's moans fill the air, her body trembling with need. You know that she cannot resist the pleasure you given to her, and she hated that fact.

You lean onto her back, pressing Lia against the railing as you slide her panties aside. Your fingers sneaks inside her slick folds. "You know, you promised me something, Ms. Lia," you growl in her ear, your voice low and husky.

Last week, Lia made a deal with you. If you worked hard and got an A+ on English exam, she promised to let you taking her ass. The hole that you always wanted to claim, and she knew it very well. Using your desire as a motivation, she's pushing you to study harder than you ever have before.

As a bad boy, you're always not give a shit about exams. But the thought of finally having Lia's tight asshole wrapped around your cock was enough to make you cared for this once. And the things went well, you aced that test and got an A+, and now it's the time to collecting your prize.

Your thumb circle her clit as your index and middle fingers sawing in and out of her wet pussy. Lia gasp and arch against you. "Oh god," she whimpers, you can feel how wet she is, how much she wants this.

You smirk, knowing that she's completely surrendering her body to you now. "You promised, Ms. Lia," you remind her, your voice low and commanding. "And a debt must be repaid."

You pull your fingers out of Lia's dripping pussy, then bringing them to your lips. "Too bad I didn't bring any lube," you say with a smirk, licking her juices off your fingers. "And I'm guessing you didn't bring any either, huh?"

You turn Lia around again to face you, your eyes looking at her hungrily. "So why don't you use that pretty mouth of yours as a lube, Ms. Lia?" you suggest, your voice low and husky. "Get my cock nice and wet before I claim what's mine."

Lia's eyes darkening with lust at your suggestion, excitement running across her face. "You're so filthy," she breathes, but there's no real protest in her voice.

You smirk, knowing that she's just as turned on as you are. "Filthy is what you like, isn't it, Ms. Lia?" you tease, your voice low and seductive. "Now get on your knees and put that pretty mouth to work."

Lia slowly sinks to her knees in front of you. Her hands tremble slightly as she reaches for your belt, undoing it with deft fingers. She tugs down your pants and boxers, freeing your massive cock.

Her eyes widen at the sight of it, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Fuck, you're huge as usual," she whispers, her voice filled with awe and desire.

You just grin, placing your hand in her hair and guiding her head towards your cock. "Less talking, more sucking," you command, your voice rough with need.

Lia obeys, wrapping her lips around the head of your cock and sucking it gently. You groan at the sensation, your hips bucking forward involuntarily. She takes more of your cock into her mouth after a few licks on the head, her tongue swirling around your shaft as she begans bobs her head up and down.

You can feel your cock growing harder with each passing second, the wet heat of her mouth driving you wild with lust. "That's it, just like that," you encourage, your voice strained with pleasure. "Get me nice and wet for that tight ass of yours."

Lia knows it's forbidden for a teacher to do something like this with a student, but the thought of being dominated by her bad boy pupil is really turning her on. She can't hold back.

You can see the lust and desire in her eyes when your gaze met as she takes more of your massive cock into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around your shaft, coating it with her saliva. You groan in pleasure, your hips bucking forward involuntarily.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good Ms. Lia," you growl.

Lia moans around your cock, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. She's completely lost in the moment, forgetting about the taboo nature of what she's doing. All she cares about is pleasing you, submitting to your every desire.

Her eyes watering as she's deepthroating you, but she doesn't wanna stop. She's determined to get you as wet as possible, to prepare you for what's to come.

You can feel your balls tightening, your orgasm building. But you're not ready to cum yet. Not until you've claimed what's yours.

With a grunt, you pull Lia off your cock, leaving her gasping for air. "On your feet," you command, your voice rough with need. "Bend over and show me that ass." You push your pants and boxer further down to your ankles before stepping aside from it.

Lia catches her breath, a mix of lust and nerves racing through her body as she obeys your command. She stands up on shaky legs, turning around to face the railing. Placing her hands on the cool metal, she leans forward, the fabric of her dress riding up to reveal the tantalizing curve of her ass.

Her heart races as she glances down at the nearly empty parking lot below. She spots her car, a lonely beacon amidst the vacant spaces. A few other teachers' vehicles remain, but there's no sign of anyone nearby. The coast seems clear, for now.

Lia's breath catches in her throat as she feels your presence looming behind her. She knows this is wrong, that a teacher and student engaging in such an act is the ultimate taboo. But the thrill of it all, the danger of being caught, only serves to heighten her arousal.

She can feel your eyes on her ass, undressing her, craving her. Lia bites her lip, trying to suppress a moan as she arches her back slightly, presenting herself to you. The cool afternoon air kisses her skin as her dress rides up even higher, the fabric now a thin barrier between her and your hungry gaze.

She's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Yet, she's never wanted anything more in her life. Lia's body is trembling with anticipation, eager to feel your touch, to be claimed by you in the most intimate way possible.

You step closer, your body pressing against Lia's back. You can feel the heat radiating off her skin, the way her body trembles with anticipation. "You want this, don't you?" you murmur, your hand sliding over the curve of her ass. "You want me to take you right here, where anyone could see?"

Lia lets out a shaky breath, a soft moan escaping her lips. "Yes," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I want it. I want you."

Your fingers find the hem of her dress, tugging it up and exposing her ass to the cool air. You can see the thin strip of lace that passes for panties, the material already damp with her arousal.

"Fuck, you're so hot," you growl, your hand kneading the flesh of her ass. "I can't wait to feel this tight ass wrapped around my cock."

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties, tugging them down and exposing her completely. Lia gasps, arching her back further and presenting herself to you.

You can feel your cock throbbing, hard and ready. You rub the head of it against her ass, teasing her, letting her feel how much you want her.

"Tell me how much you want it," you demand, your voice low and rough with lust. "Tell me how badly you need my cock inside your ass."

Lia whimpers as she feels the head your cock knocking her backdoor. "Please.. collect your prize, fuck my ass, let me pay my debt to you.. I don't care who sees, I just need you to be inside me. Please baby, shove that massive dick deep in my ass and fuck me hard." Lia begs.

You grin wickedly, thrilled by Lia's wanton begging. "Since you asked so nicely," you growl, gripping her hips tightly.

With one hard thrust, you try bury your massive cock deep into Lia's tight ass. She cries out, a mix of pain and pleasure, her fingers scrabbling at the metal railing. "Fuck!" she screams, her voice echoing across the empty schoolyard downs below.

Even after the hot blowjob Lia's gave you, your cock still finding it hard to get inside her ass. From the hard thrust, your cock only able to get inside a quarter of its length. "Fuck.. your ass so tight Ms. Lia." you cursed, feeling how Lia asshole violently gripping your shaft.

Lia cries out again as you force your way deeper into her tight ass, her fingers digging into the metal railing. "Oh god, you're so big!" she whimpers, her body trembling and clenching around your invading cock.

You grit your teeth, gripping her hips tighter as you try to push more of your massive length inside her. "Fuck, you're gripping me so tightly," you grunt, feeling her asshole resist your advance.

Lia's moans grow louder, echoing across the empty schoolyard. "Please, go slow," she begs, her voice strained with a mix of pain and pleasure. "I've never done this before, and you're so fucking huge!"

You take a deep breath, trying to control yourself as you slowly push more of your cock into her tight heat. Inch by inch, you feel her asshole stretching around you, accommodating your thick girth.

"Fuck, I can feel every inch of your massive cock," Lia whimpers, her body shuddering as you bottom out inside her. "You're so deep in my ass, I've never felt so full before."

You stay still for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling of being so utterly stuffed with your hard cock. "You're doing so good, Ms. Lia," you murmur, your hand sliding up her back to cup her breast through her dress.

Lia takes a few deep breaths, trying to relax her body and adjust to the intense sensation of being so deeply filled by your massive cock. She can feel every throbbing inch of you pulsing inside her tight ass, stretching her in a way she's never been stretched before.

"Thank you," she whispers, a shudder running through her body as your hand cups her breast. "I feel so full, so complete with you inside me like this."

You can feel her nipple hardening through the thin fabric of her dress, and you can't resist giving it a gentle squeeze. Lia lets out a soft moan, arching her back to press her breast more firmly into your hand.

"That feels so good," she breathes, her hips starting to make small, instinctive circles against you. "I love having your cock deep in my ass, filling me up so completely."

You can feel Lia's body starting to relax, her asshole no longer gripping you quite so tightly. You know she's ready for more.

"Tell me how it feels," you murmur, your thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling her nipple through her dress as you begin to move your hips slowly, thrusting in and out of her tight asshole. "Tell me how much you love having your student's big cock buried deep inside your ass."

Lia lets out a long, low moan as she feels your cock sliding in and out of her tight asshole. "Oh god, it feels incredible," she gasps, her fingers tightening their grip on the railing. "I've never felt so full, so completely stuffed and stretched around a cock before."

She rocks her hips back to meet your thrusts, her body starting to move in rhythm with yours. "Having my student's massive dick buried deep in my ass is the most amazing thing I've ever felt," she confesses, her voice heavy with lust and desire. "I love the way it pulses and throbs inside me, the way it's reshaping my tight hole to fit your perfect cock."

Lia's moans grow louder and more wanton as you pick up the pace, fucking into her harder and deeper. "Fuck, just like that," she cries out, her asshole clenching and fluttering around your pistoning cock. "Claim your prize, baby. Fuck my ass like you mean it, show me who it belongs to."

"With pleasure Ms. Lia." You grinned and obliged her request, moving your hips more wildy than before, drilling into her ass.

Lia cries out in ecstasy, her voice echoing in the rooftop as you pound into her ass with wild abandon. "Yes, just like that!" she screams, her fingers scrabbling at the metal railing for support. "Fuck me harder, baby. Show me what a naughty teacher I've been for letting my student fuck my ass like this."

You can feel her asshole gripping you like a vice as you drill into her, the tight heat enveloping your cock and threatening to pull you in even deeper. Lia's moans grow louder and more desperate, her body shaking with the force of your thrusts.

"That's it, baby," she pants, her voice strained with pleasure. "Fuck your teacher's ass just like you wanted to. I'm your dirty little slut now, your personal ass fuck toy. Use me, baby, use me hard!

You slap Lia's jiggling ass cheek hard as it bounces against your crotch, leaving a red handprint on her skin. "Fuck, look at this ass, bouncing and shaking with every thrust," you grunt, slapping her ass again and again. "You're loving this, aren't you Ms. Lia? Loving the way my huge cock is wrecking your tight asshole, stretching it out and claiming it as mine."

Lia lets out a sharp cries as your hand keep makes contact with her ass, the stinging pain mixing deliciously with the intense pleasure radiating from her core. "Yes, yes I am!" she screams, her body jerking forward from the force of your slaps. When you stopped slapping her ass and moved your hands back to her hips, Lia's greedily pushing her ass back against you, desperate for more.

"Fuck, the way you're stretching me, filling me, owning me," Lia babbles incoherently, her eyes glazed over with lust. "I've never felt so used, so utterly claimed. My ass belongs to you now, baby. Only you can fuck me like this, make me scream and beg for more."

You can feel her asshole clenching and rippling around your pistoning cock, the tight muscles fluttering wildly as you continues to pound into her. Lia's moans reach a fever pitch, her voice raw and hoarse from screaming your name.

"Don't stop, please don't stop!" she wails, her body shaking uncontrollably as she teeters on the edge of a massive orgasm. "I'm so close, baby. Make me cum on your huge cock, fill me up with your hot seed. Please, please, please..."

You grunted as you feel Lia asshole gripping your cock more tightly than before. "Then cum for me you dirty slutty teacher," you growl, squeezing her hips harder as her asshole camping down on your pistoning cock like a vice.

"Milk my fucking cock with your greedy ass Ms. Lia, show me how bad you needed this. Cum all over my huge dick like the needy whore you are." you command, pounding into her harder and faster, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing across the empty rooftop.

Lia throws her head back and screams as her orgasm crashes over her, her asshole clamping down on your cock like a vice. "FUCK, YES! I'M CUMMING!" she wails, her body convulsing uncontrollably as wave after wave of intense pleasure rips through her.

Lia's juices shoots from her pussy, splattering across the floor below the two of you fucking. Her asshole narrowed around your cock dramatically, the greedy muscles squeezing tightly in a way that almost push you over the edge.

"Fuck.. Ms. Lia!" Your cursed, your cock throbbing violently as your orgasm approaching fast.

Lia feel it too, she can feel how your cock throbs wildly inside her asshole. She turned her head, her face frown in pleasure as she looked at you with eyes full of lust. "I know you're so close baby. Fill me up please, I want to feel your hot cum flooding my ass, marking me as your dirty slut. Give it to me, baby, give me your fucking load!." She pushes her ass back again and again to met your frantic thrust.

Lia pulled her right hand from the railing to grab the back your neck to open up a kiss. Your tongues battled, huffed breaths ragging against each other, and moan after moan drown out by the hot kisses. Your thrust getting sloppier from the seconds by, you feel your cock are so close to hitting the finish line.

With a final, brutal thrust, you bury yourself to the hilt inside Lia's spasming asshole, your cock pulsing and throbbing as you erupt like a volcano. Your hot, thick cum flooding her tight asshole, painting her insides white.

Lia screams into your mouth, her body shaking and jerking as she feels your seed filling her up, marking her as yours. She swallows your moans, her tongue dancing with yours as you both ride out the intense waves of pleasure. Your hips jerk and twitch as your cock spurting jet after jet of cum deep into Lia's hungry ass. The walls of her ass clenched hard around your cock, milking every last drop of your essence.

Finally, with a shuddering gasp, you pull your mouth away from hers, both of you panting hard from the hard anal sex you just haved. Lia's eyes gazed you wistfully, and she gives you a lazy, satisfied smile. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice hoarse from screaming. "That was so good."

"Yeah, that was incredible," you pant, slowly pulling your softening cock out of Lia's well-fucked asshole. You watch in satisfaction as her gaping hole winks and flutters as streams of thick cum began to leaking out and dripping down to her trembling thighs.

"An A+ on that exam now feels really worth it, Ms. Lia," you smirk, giving her ass cheek a playful squeeze. "I've never cum that hard before. You're probably a natural-born anal slut, you know that?"

Lia blushes at your crude words, a mix of embarrassment and pride warring on her face. "I can't believe we just did that here," she murmurs, slowly straightening up and pulling her dress back down to cover her dripping ass. "If anyone had seen us..." She shakes her head, still in disbelief.

But then a wicked grin spreads across her face, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I can't believe how much I loved it," she admits, turning to face you with a smirk of her own. "You've awakened something in me, something I didn't even know was there."

She steps closer, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lips. "Maybe you're right," she whispers, her voice low and seductive. "Maybe I am a natural-born anal slut. And maybe..." She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "Maybe you'll help me explore all the naughty, dirty things I've been craving but never dared to try before."

"Well well, looks like that's an invitation for more, yeah?" You smirk confidently, your eyes roaming over Lia's disheveled yet sexy appearance. "But let's dress up first and get out from here, the sun's setting and I bet the school's about to lock up real soon."

Lia glances at the setting sun, the orange and pink hues painting the sky. She nods, realizing the time. "You're right, we should go," she agrees, and quickly straightens her dress, smooths out the wrinkles and pulled up her panties, trying to regain some semblance of her usual put-together appearance. She reaches up to fix her hair, but a few strands still frame her face in a just-fucked sort of way. You also picked up your pants that were on the floor and quickly put them back on.

As you both make your way to the stairs, Lia glances back at you with a playful smile. "I'm gonna grab my purse first, wait for me in the parking lot, I'll drive you home."

You smirk at her words, knowing exactly what's on her mind. "Sounds good, Ms. Lia," you bet that she will not drop you off home right away, she definitely gonna 'crashing' you somewhere else first.

Lia smirks knowingly at your smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, you cocky boy," she teases, but there's a promise in her voice that makes it clear she thinks exactly what have you guessed. "Meet you at the car in 5 minutes."

With a sway of her hips, she disappears. You walk towards your class to grab your bag before finally making your way to the parking lot. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the empty lot as you wait by Lia's car, a sleek black sedan that matches her sophisticated yet sexy vibe.

As you lean against the car, you can't help but grin to yourself, already looking forward to your next 'study session' with your hot English teacher.

[echolynn13]

Okay, I finally got to watch today's video, so here's the not-quite-live commentary/chaotic highlights post I promised about it :)

Not entirely video related, but I love that as usual, I see a bunch of people in the comments saying "Woah I never knew AJ stood for Alexander Jeremy" while I'm here like. I don't think I've ever heard any of them refer to Tom as Thomas before this intro. Do they normally introduce him that way and I just never noticed or-?

Eve is an icon, love the vibes going from "oh fuck" in response to "what is your name?" to her pulling a "your mum" on Sam. Got her confidence back real quick there

Not to mention the fact they actually used 'your mum' as the stimulus-

"My mum is lovely" *5 seconds later* "You ring the bell, I don't want to" Something is telling me her mom isn't that lovely

AJ saying the name Martha, trying to figure out who it would make sense for Martha to be, and then giving up by saying his character panicked. Love it

"She's a massive *bleep*" Censors aren't allowing me to hear Tom say 'bitch' and I won't stand for it

I saw a comment say it as a joke, but it really was funny how Sam kept saying change until Luke made them a straight couple (calling Tom's character 'Suzanne') lmao

Darren: "Listen, I'm gonna win her over, okay?" Suzanne, about to sob: "yeah-?"

The whole coming onto Suzanne's mom bit was gold "He's coming onto me" "Sorry I'm panicking" "Why am I coming onto my mom??" "You're panicking!"

"I wish I had his muscles.." "Oh you'll catch up with me, don't worry" Tom you're so fucking funny-

The slight hesitation from Luke at the 'men' suggestion, followed by all of the other three being like "Fuck yeah, let's complain about men" is so good and lowkey reminds me of Tom's vs everyone else's reaction to the Evil-Make-A-Wish-Kid title

"Because you have one thing on your mind" "Yeahhh" "Podcasts" "🤨"

"Take 2 steps towards your progress" is the new "Today embarks on change"

Legendary Letters/Time Warp crossover we didn't know we needed

Words can't describe how much I expected and wanted the last line to be "Now you are our bitch" goddamnit-

Sam entering the scene, eating a large block of cheese while moaning, and waiting for another character to interrupt him, only for AJ to fuck it up immediately upon doing so, this is what we love to see

Something about Sam going "I love cheese :D" makes me very happy

"No one wants me to say" He's right, I absolutely do not want him to say what's so different, not while knowing SFTH's history with dairy products

I know everyone's been saying this, but yeah Sydney is definitely cosplaying as Sam in this video and I respect that

Luke's character quickly becoming problematic throughout Pillars is great. First he's unfaithful, then he's saying 'gay people' and 'the t-word', and by the end he apparently represents all of the world's problems smh

"I'll just sign this myself and do it in your writing" Heathers: father's will edition

Speaking of him, are we gonna acknowledge that he's trans-? "When I gave birth to you, do you know what I said to your mother?" Because none of the guys mentioned it, which is unlike them

"Daddy, I just want a fucking hug!" The first uncensored 'fuck' in the video!

Tom describing AJ's Tindr profile while AJ tells him to shut the fuck up-

"Sorry Mum!" a necessary apology from Sam, although at this point in his career I feel like it has a lot of ground to cover-

Thought for a second we were gonna get another one of Sam's iconic animal characters. But instead we got a surprise Henry VIII reference??

All in all, good shit as always, though the censorship did throw me off, idk what that's about-

[pedge-page]

I tend to stay quiet about these things because quite frankly I'd blow my lid off and melt the world around me with my fury but.

It amazes me that people can come on here and have the option to be kind to others and leave an incredibly positive impact on people they interact with, and feel good about themselves for it, but choose to be insufferable shitheads who want to bring everyone else down so they feel as miserable and angry too instead. This isn't math class. Two negatives do not equal positive.

For any newbies , we've lost some of the most talented and inspiring writers in this Fandom thanks to these trolls. The same trolls who have been here for less than 2 minutes are the ones who whine about why there isn't enough content coming out fast enough for their enjoyment.

When we say "18+ only" that also applies to people who use their adult brains. If you can't handle that a properly tagged fic that has explicit warnings about its content is stuff you won't like, the mature thing to do is just shut up and move on. When you start to become you own gestopo trying to police other people's FICTIONAL work that had nothing to do with you in the name of purity censorship rather than just moving on with your own life, you've lost all credibility of calling yourself an "adult". Idc how old you are. You're not ready for the internet. You're not ready to be reading fan FICTION. You're not ready to interact with other adults.

If you spent half as much energy doing this level of "activism" in the real world where REAL people are being hurt , you wouldn't have time to be responding to a million messages applauding or condemning you about your take on FICTIONAL. WRITING. You'd actually be doing something useful with your life. But alas, harassing writers is all you're good for.

You are not the hero you so desperately want to think you are.

And folks, if you're going "hey I'm not harassing anyone!" Ask yourself if you've left a racist, homophonic, transphobic, ableist, elitist, narcissistic anon in someone's box. If you meet one of those boxes, guess what! You're the problem !

The internet is going to be filed with things you don't like. It always has. It always will. But guess what? This is gonna be real shocker for some of you:

YOU ARE RESPONSBILE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME, ESPECIALLY AS AN ADULT.

YOU ARE RESPONSBILE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME, ESPECIALLY AS AN ADULT.

YOU ARE RESPONSBILE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME ESPECIALLY AS AN ADULT.

You picking and choosing what is and isn't ok IN FAN FICTION makes you look stupid. Like I can't tell you how fucking moronically hypocritical some of you are. It has to be a joke.

So if you aren't going to be the adult, and choose to go make a stupid ask to let someone know you don't like their thoughts, don't do it on anon. If you believe in yourself and aren't afraid of your morals, say it with your chest and your profile. Let us be the adults and block you so you don't have to see our content, and we don't have to deal with illiterate kids trying to interact with us anymore.

OR

YOU COULD TAKE OPTION #1 : YOUR VERY OWN LUXURIOUS "BE THE ADULT FIRST" PACKAGE! IT COMES WITH THE INCREDIBLE FEATURE OF "BLOCK THE CONTENT THAT GIVES YOU THE ICK WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING AT ALL"!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT !?!?!? ITS ALL YOURS all YOU have to do is click 2 buttons! It's sooooo much easier, pain free, and mental and emotionally freeing to just do that instead of typing out some horseshit post or ask and then dealing with everyone on your ass! The added bonus of nobody being on your ass! Did I mention the great feeling you have about not seeing that content anymore! AND as a special thank, we're offering "guilt free conscious" just especially for you! So you can go about your day not thinking about it anymore! No muss no fuss. It's easy!

[moonflower91]

"I have a wife?!"

It was a gallbladder surgery, and it fucked up your brain so bad. You remembered your mother telling you that the first thing you needed to tell the nurses was that the pain was a nine out of ten, so they could get you the good drugs. But honestly, the pain was a solid 6, no accessory drugs needed. .

Well, it was probably the drugs responsible for her stupid, runway mouth, but who cares what it was exactly when you opened your eyes and saw the prettiest woman in the world. And you have about six sisters so that’s saying something. 

“Hi.” You managed to choke out. Had you been in the right state of mind, you would have cringed at the pathetic attempt. 

“Hey sweetheart.” Natasha cooed softly, gently brushing her fingers over the stray hairs over her forehead. 

“Oh my…” your heart fluttered at the soft gesture. “I have a wife, you can’t do that to me.”

Natasha’s nose wrinkled with barely contained mirth. “Do what?”

“My wife is gonna kick your ass if she sees you touching me like that.” And she would, your wife was tough as nails.

“But I am your wife.” 

It took a moment to sink in, but the second it did, your eyes blinked open. It still felt like a bat was taken to your middle, but you were sure if it didn’t, you’d have jerked up from the bed. “Wait, really?”

“Yep.”

“You married me?”

“I married you, and you married me. In front of God and everything.” 

“Awww.” you cooed, heart fluttering once more to remember how Natasha married you in a church. “You don’t believe in God and you married me in a church.”

“I got to marry you. That’s all I cared about.” 

“Holy crap...I am gonna make you such a good wife. Like...pot roast level good.”

“You're already a good wife. And we have a baby.”

It should probably not be the first thing on her mind, but the only thing that came was, “Did I name it?” 

“Yeah, you named him Henry. Completely bulldosed me on the name ‘Jack’.”

“That's basically an invitation to call him ‘Jackass’”. 

“I know, that’s what you said.” 

She closed her eyes a while, and then perked up, blinking up at Natasha. “Wait, you really married me?”

“Yeah.”

“In front of all your friends and family?”

“Mmmhmm.” 

“In front of our kid?”

“He wasn’t born yet.”

“Our son is a bastard?” You looked like you were about to cry. 

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh. “One sec” she pulled out her phone. “If you’re gonna be like this, I need physical evidence.”

“Noooooo, I don’t want my bastard baby to know he’s a bastard.” 

“I love you so much.”

“And you even married me.”

“Yep. I wifed you up real quick.”

“And now we get to have sex all the time.” 

“Yeah, and it’s pretty great sex.” 

The curtain fluttered, and Bradley’s head appeared, holding a bouquet of carnations. 

“Are you talking about sex with an inebriated woman?”

“She brought it up!” Natasha defended, inching closer to her wife. 

“Hey chicken boy!” 

“Say that to my face, you limp noodle.”

“Is he our baby’s godfather?”

“Bob is his godfather.”

“Where is our baby? I miss his squishy little face.”

“With his godfather.” 

[altruistic-meme]

skk ficrec time! pt2 electric bugaloo

It’s finally time for more skk fic recs from yours truly. I have more than doubled the number of bookmarked BSD fics since my last rec list HAHA WHOOPS so now the total is 351. Surely this says nothing about anything and simply means everything is fine–

Anyway, we had 29 recs on the last list so lets round it out to a lovely 30 this time :) on to the recs!

i'm not putting warnings with the fics, but bc this is BSD please do take note of tags and warnings that are given! i read a lot of fics with darker material so do be cautious!

One-Shots:

The One with the Confession by fortunatelypancakes @fortunately-pancakes (Teen and Up, 8k)

Chuuya snorts. “Do ya always get so fuckin’ philosophical on first dates?” “Usually they end as soon as I propose a lover’s suicide,” Dazai says, breezy yet suddenly dark, giving Chuuya the jarring feeling of having wandered into the woods only to realize night has fallen and he’s lost. “To the waitress or the date?” he asks dryly. Dazai looks up from his mess on the table and smirks. "Sometimes both.” (about an hour later) From its place on the coffee table, Yosano’s phone vibrates and lights up with three new notifications. Dazai: helloooo~ Dazai: I’m sure your valentines is going ~wonderfully~ 😘😘😘 but pls spare a moment for your tragically single best friend and send me Chuuya’s number???? Dazai: I seem to have misplaced him 😵 “Uh oh. One of the boys texted me,” she calls out to Kouyou. Yosano’s phone buzzes again. Chuuya: I am NEVER going on a date ever again Chuuya: What the fuck made you think I’d get along with him??? Chuuya: He’s the worst person I’ve ever met Chuuya: No offense. I know he’s your friend

Stupidly, Tragically, I Really Do Love You by timeflowpetals (Teen and Up, 5k)

Chuuya and Dazai are married. But why is Chuuya currently smashing his husband’s head against a doorframe? And… is that Dazai poisoning his tea? Worried about his mentor’s love life, Atsushi launches Operation: PTDODB (Prevent the Divorce of Double Black) and drags a reluctant Akutagawa along for the ride. Their mission? Convince Chuuya that Dazai isn’t that bad of a catch. If only they had realized before spending an absurd amount of money that Double Black’s true love language is sheer, unfiltered chaos.

I Won’t Leave You (Again) by deviance @ao3-deviance (Teen and Up, 15k)

"Executive Kouyou, we've been informed that you are planning a coup." Before the signal could be given, there was a large explosion and many men were blown from their feet as something like a black hole went tearing through them all. Kouyou could recognize the gravitons of her own pupil; she just wished it hadn't come to this. The men scattered, but Corruption was beyond anything a human could defeat. Kouyou watched from afar as Chuuya's body cackled while taking down men he'd mostly likely led in missions recently, taken to bars, worried over. "I hope you're worth it." Kouyou didn't startle at the voice behind her. "Isn't that for the lad to decide?" "You know how this will affect him," Dazai accused her, and she couldn't see a glimpse of the light in his eyes. "He didn't want to be conscious when he fought them." "Not going to leave him again?" "There is no leaving him again," Dazai denied. ….. (Chuuya leaves the PM to save Kouyou, then joins the ADA so he can stay in Yokohama)

Hold Me Close This Dreary Night by ay_masakali @ay-masakali (General, 5k)

“I’m not singin’ for the likes of you,” Chuuya answers anyway, “And settle down, you’re gonna aggravate your injuries.” “You’re gonna aggravate your injuries,” Dazai mocks, with the poorest imitation of his accent he’s ever heard. “How ‘bout I aggravate you.” mafioso has to bite his lips to prevent more laughter, “You really don’t hear a word you’re saying, do you?” A mission with Dazai is always bound to be an eventful one, so it’s no surprise when the man ends up injured and unconscious on a rookie level job. Now it’s Chuuya’s responsibility to look after him until backup arrives, and strangely, he doesn’t want to punch Dazai’s brains out.

That’s One Way To Start Your Morning by Chaos_Ensues (Explicit, 3k)

Dazai takes a moment to appreciate the muscles in Chuuya’s back and shoulders—it’s not as big as Dazai’s, Chuuya is more on the lean side—but they’re still noticeable. He can watch them contract with every small breath that Chuuya makes, his freckles covering the expanse of his back. There are many ways Dazai can go about this—the different positions to put Chuuya in— But that requires moving the omega around. And Dazai doesn’t want to wake Chuuya up. Not yet. Or: Dazai fucks Chuuya while he sleeps (with previously established consent of course) and wakes Chuuya up with a knot.

A Claim On Your Name by Nyx_xy (Teen and Up, 4k)

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, before offering a hapless shrug. "Very well. Then, how about operation Mouse and Stampede?" Kunikida blinks. Chuuya blinks back. "What?" "…what?" The detective frowns. "What did you just say?" "Mouse and Stampede? You know?" Or Chuuya and Kunikida end up on a mission together, and Chuuya decides to make Kunikida a guide on being Dazai's partner. Dazai doesn't approve.

Stay by the_most_happy (Mature, 23k)

“Oi, Dazai, what are they saying, anyway? Too many people. It gets confusing.” The detective smirks. “They are just discussing the budget for the next mission. Kunikida insists he wants an ice cream, a drone, and a goat.” From the Port Mafia dungeon to the depths of Meursault, Dazai and Chuuya keep finding each other. They fall in love all over again — or, maybe, they never stopped. That’s all.

Confessions of Inconvenience by chuuyasporkie @chuuyasporkie (Mature, 8k)

Dazai swallows hard. “You think I’m beautiful?” Chuuya smiles, nonchalant. But really, he’s very chalant—give him a break, he needs to maintain his reputation. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful people in the world.” Dazai is avoiding his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” “You are,” Chuuya reiterates softly. “Very beautiful.” Dazai looks up at him. “I hate to interrupt,” he says blandly. “But have you maybe ever looked into a mirror?” Chuuya blinks, more than a little confused for a moment, but when it finally clicks, he bursts into loud laughter. “Shut up,” he says. Four times Chuuya drunkenly confesses to Dazai and forgets all about it, and one time he’s too sober to run from it. Or: Chuuya keeps confessing and forgetting. Dazai is sick of pretending like nothing’s been happening. A sweet fic—may cause cavities.

Multi-Chapter:

Home is where You are by carlynagisa @carlynagisa (Mature, 13/13, 60k)

On the day Dazai Osamu was supposed to die, his attempt to finally end it all was harshly interrupted by a call of his former best friend who he had not spoken to in years. A former best friend with a son Dazai had not known of. And he had a request that might derail Dazai's plans more than he had initially thought. Or: the fic where Dazai learns the hard way that family is what you make it.

picking a flower that blooms on the heart for you by burgundytshirt (Mature, 9/9, 44k)

The question is obvious at this point. To die, or to ask Dazai for help? Chuuya is so choked by this question that his breakfast is lodged in his throat, unable to be swallowed. (Or, Chuuya would much rather die than let Dazai find out he has hanahaki disease.)

I threw away this human form of mine by love_island (Mature, 22/22, 118k)

Dazai was facing away from the door, so he couldn’t see his new roommate, but Ango could, and his face went pale. That, coupled with the excessively aggressive entrance, told Dazai enough to know who it was. Dazai sighed loftily and turned around slowly. “Hey there, shrimp,” he drawled. “You lost, or am I actually stuck with you?” Motorcycle Guy dropped the two duffel bags he was holding. Dazai watched his face as it morphed from confusion, to recognition, and finally to anger. “You!”

i’ll follow the line that connects us two by lunarumbra (Teen and Up, 3/3, 23k)

Dazai learns a total of three things about Chuuya when they unexpectedly bump into each other after years of radio silence. One, his hair has grown considerably longer. Two, he moved here to Yokohama because of his new job. And three, his kid is an absolute menace.

Conscious Uncoupling by zinniapetals (Mature, 6/6, 66k)

“I’ll only say this once, so listen up,” Chuuya announced, stepping closer until his chest pressed against the box in Dazai’s hands. He tilted his head to meet Dazai’s eyes, his lips firm with determination. “This…saving people thing? It suits you. I don’t hate the fact that you made it out alive.” Dazai blinked in response, blinking again when the spots in his eyes didn’t disappear and neither did Chuuya. He stared silently, unsure of what to say, whether he was allowed to joke, be angry, feel hurt, or assume this was the end of an era.

Easy in Theory by the_most_happy (Mature, 14/14, 126k)

"When we're older, I'm going to marry 'Samu. I promise. I swear." If someone had told Dazai he would be fake dating the sister of one Nakahara Chuuya - his childhood best friend, current housemate and first love - he would have called them crazy. There's just no way. Alas, that’s exactly what he’s doing. Or: Chuuya's unofficial guide on how to stay (almost) sane when your childhood crush is dating your sister.

Shades of Red by Kirb8_woo (Mature, 42/45, 416k)

Nakahara Chuuya, an Omega with a bad temper, finds a job as the assistant for Dazai Osamu, the CEO of the Mori Corporation. Chuuya wants to start on a good foot but the alpha’s cold exterior and rumored dislike for Omegas is definitely not helping…

No Cock-Ups, Only Happy Accidents by Fenriel (Explicit, 10/10, 60k)

Going out and getting drunk with friends is all great and fun - until you wake up in a foreign bed with no memory of how you got there. And if a question pesters your mind, you want answers. What better method is there, than to try and see if the memories come back? Which is exactly what happens to Chuuya, who wakes up next to the most insufferable guy alive; Dazai. But what makes it worse is that neither can recall what happened last night, evidence speaking for and against the fact that they've had sex.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo (Explicit, 7/7, 52k)

“Hey, shitty Dazai, let’s go out.” Dazai, who started to walk again after composing himself from their almost crash, stumbled a bit on his next step while his head snapped in Chuuya’s direction with an alarming crack. He regarded Chuuya with one curious eye, then he chuckled. “Don’t be silly chibi, we are already outside. Your tacky hat is clearly eating your bra–” Chuuya’s irritation flared anew. From the corner of his eye, he could clearly see the two figures coming closer and closer, and he knew he had only mere seconds until the inevitable would happen. “No, you fucker. I meant, go out with me,” Chuuya pressed on, throwing all his pride and dignity out of the window, then he gulped around the dry cotton suddenly clogging up his throat before he uttered his next words. “As in, date me for the week.” Or: DarkEra!Skk and their seven days of dating, mixed with Chuuya's obliviousness, idiots in love, and a fair amount of smut. Oh, and Odasaku ships skk in this one.

I’d Adore You (With Your Hands Around My Neck) by chuuyasporkie @chuuyasporkie (Teen and Up, 16/16, 123k)

In which Chuuya loved too early and longer, and Dazai loved too late but deeper. Or, Dazai and Chuuya find out they’re mates, Dazai is bad at feelings, Chuuya has had enough, and somewhere in the middle they fall in love, but not necessarily in that order.

Touch by borntoshine (Explicit, 13/13, 68k)

Omega!Chuuya lies for over a year about his second gender, but when he stupidly forgets to order his suppressants, things start to get out of hand, and sharing a room with Dazai, his Alpha roommate, gets a very unexpected twist.

If I had a world of my own (everything would be nonsense) by encsiimomo (Explicit, 2/2, 17k)

Chuuya felt divine in his arms. The memory of his captivating scent made his mouth water and his still semi-hard dick fill with arousal, and even more than that, his ex-partner tasted like�� Dazai’s eyes widened comically as his brain finally caught up to what just transpired between them only minutes ago. He turned around sharply, gaze settling onto Chuuya as if the redhead’s pull of gravity suddenly gained ownership of his every move, but his mind just couldn’t process the sight in front of him. “Chuuya?” Dazai asked in such a low voice it came out as nothing but a mere whisper, and Chuuya let out a whimper at hearing his name roll off of Dazai's tongue like that. The tiny sound tasted like distress in the thick air separating them. Or: a mission goes wrong and Dazai finds out the hard way that his ex-partner presented as omega after he defected from the PM.

No Long Human by Wolf___Spirit (Mature, 21/21, 130k)

“Jesus Christ, Chuuya is going to kill this idiot for worrying him like this, for being a suicidal maniac who decided to put himself in the damn trajectory of a machine that they don't even know all the effects of yet.” When a stranger starts stealing people's abilities, the ADA and the Port Mafia team up to figure it out. However, something goes wrong and Dazai loses his ability in the process. The big problem? His ability not only nullified the abilities of others, but also his own emotions. And now, for the first time in his life, Dazai has emotions, chaotic and in turmoil. In the midst of this identity crisis, Dazai sets out to explore the world with Chuuya as his grumpy bodyguard, only to discover that he has never felt so...alive. And then they find out that if they don't find a way to give him back his ability, Dazai will die within two weeks. In a race against time, chaos ensues.

memories fade (fears don’t) by DeviBlue (Mature, 2/2, 13k)

“You refused to take the mandatory swim test,” Mori said suddenly. Chuuya lifted his head up at the sudden topic change. “Are you afraid of water, Chuuya-kun?” Chuuya didn’t like where this was going. “No, sir.” A small ‘ah’ of understanding left Mori’s mouth. “So just afraid of being submerged then?” His heart skipped a beat. “N-no, Mori-san.” Mori chuckled. It felt like a death sentence. “Don’t lie to me, Chuuya-kun.” OR Mori knows Chuuya's worst fears and uses them as punishment.

don’t you ever tame your demons by writingfromtheshadows (Mature, 18/18, 108k)

Every year, a handful of children are born with the ability to command supernatural powers. Thousands of dollars and dozens of trained specialists are tasked with identifying, tracking down, and labeling each one as Deviant. Once identified, they have no rights other than those that are permitted to them, and disobedience is a crime punishable by death. Chuuya has never known a life outside of the routine he's forced to follow, but when the boss of Yokohama's Port Mafia offers him a chance of freedom, Chuuya is not prepared for the rebellion he's stumbling into.

centrifugal/centripetal by TopHat69 (Explicit, 31/31, 204k)

[There is no description, but trust <3]

Incorruptible by Decadee (Mature, 10/10, 82k)

After the fight with Lovecraft, Dazai had left Chuuya behind. He didn't expect Chuuya to go missing. He didn't expect his entire world would shift once the redhead did. In the meantime, stuck in a place he thought he would never return to, Chuuya is just trying to stay alive. --- This is a canon-divergent take not only on what happened after the fight against Lovecraft, but as I have only seen the anime, this is a very canon-divergent take on Chuuya's past.

The (Un)Lucky Ones by songofthesheep (Mature, 31/31, 114k)

“Who knew children were so strong these days?” Dazai grumbled, but that sucked Chuuya back into reality. Okay. Yeah, hell no. No one made fun of his height. “Who the hell are you calling a child, asshole?” Chuuya bit back, furrowing his eyebrows and crossing his arms. “I’m twenty-two, for your information.” “Ah, I didn’t think a grown man could be so short! The more you know!” he smiled brightly, but Chuuya felt the tease in it. Who did this guy think he was? “Fuck off,” Chuuya glared at him for a second but then decided to walk away before he picked a fight with someone at a callback. That wouldn’t look very good to the director. But if there is a god out there, it must hate Chuuya because the freakishly tall actor decided to follow behind Chuuya, chatting as if he wasn’t just cussed at, “You know, I’m sure it’s not too late for a growth spurt! If you drink more milk, you never know what could-” The ‘I’m not gonna punch someone’ plan failed. --- Nakahara Chuuya auditions for a movie. Dazai Osamu is a world famous actor. What could possibly go wrong?

cracking locks by clustersorrow (Mature, 10/10, 59k)

Chuuya isn’t allowed to step outside unless it’s for work, and much less to spend time with anyone who isn’t his boyfriend. It’s a monotonous routine, but he doesn’t mind it. Until he meets Dazai, and suddenly his cage isn’t as comfortable anymore.

Nfwmb by persimmonsandcats @persimmonsandcats (Explicit, 3/4, 46k)

“What do I think?” He asks lightly. “Yeah,” Dazai leans back a bit and presses a socked foot into Chuuya’s hip. “Don’t you wanna fuck me, Chuuya?” It’s asked innocently. It feels like jabbing a finger into an open wound. Chuuya blows his smoke to the ceiling despite Dazai tilting forward and opening his mouth. Dazai makes a little tcht sound at him. “You want to fuck me?” Chuuya asks. Dazai doesn’t drop his eyes. “I trust you.” He repeats. Chuuya had asked Dazai once how many times he thought you could break a person before they stopped trying to put themselves back together, stopped trying to pick up the pieces and left themselves shattered. Depends how cruel you are, Dazai had answered after a long moment, you can still break pieces. Chuuya is pieces and his edges are sharp.

Five times Double Black make a bet, and the one time neither of them lose by nyxi-pixie @nyxi-pixie (Explicit, 3/6, 17k)

And then, expression betraying how far well too pleased with himself he is, “You feeling like you’re losing, shitty Dazai?” “I’m not losing anything,” Dazai responds, a little more sharp than he means. He’s supposed to be sounding unbothered because Chuuya’s arguments aren’t worth attending to. Annoying little slug. “You’re the one wearing my collar.” “And who’s the one desperately barking for my attention? Didn’t think this one through at all, did ya?” “We’ll see.” Or, a bet is a sacred sort of thing within the Double Black partnership, and worth following through all its many varying contexts, stupid and ridiculous or otherwise.

Series:

fame-covered love by haleysdiary, reigned (Teen and Up, 3 works, 17k total)

A collection of works all in the same timeline, in chronological order. Soukoku streamer AU, with Twitch streamers Chuuya and Dazai, and their shenanigans with being a famous couple.

[ author's tumblrs are tagged when i could find them! if you know one who wasn't tagged or if you're an author and would like to be untagged, let me know! ]

[callmemana]

Captain’s Bet:

Quinn Hughes x Amanda ‘Trouble’ Hamilton

Summary: Quinn broke up with his girlfriend and to get him back on the saddle, Brock and Lizzie try to set him up with Brock’s childhood best friend, who’s known for being trouble thinking that maybe some chaos in Quinn’s life will help him get over his ex. The friendship starts a little rocky, but eventually the fine line of love and hate is crossed when they make a secret bet between the two to get their friends off their backs about dating and trying to change Trouble’s view on love.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, bad past relationships, accusations of being a slut (male/female- we do NOT slut shame here), relationship started as a bet, messy break up, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cursing, suggestive comments and scenes. 

A/N 1: heart breaker oc, I will NOT write smut. Inaccurate hockey descriptions (I’m trying, I’m still new to the hockey world)

A/N 2: if you don’t like this fic, I don’t really give a fuck. This is for myself and I won’t be bullied or whatever by some anonymous asshole. If you got something to say, say it with your chest.

{Master-list} {Next Chapter} {Previous Chapter}

Word count: 3k+

I sat in my car with the music loud and coffee half drank in my hand as I head banged to the divorce dad rock in my hoodie and tights.

My strawberry blonde hair was in a messy bun, made worse with the aggressive movements and my coke bottle glasses threatened to fly off my face every time I moved.

I didn’t look my best, but what do you expect on a Saturday morning when I was supposed to be asleep until almost noon and watch cartoons cuddled up under a blanket with my dog.

I’m not known for being a morning person, I've never been one and most likely never will be.

Honestly if I didn’t love Brock and his wife as much as I did, I probably would’ve told him to shove off if they asked me to be up before the ass-crack of dawn.

Mimi, my brown mini goldendoodle, sat in my passenger seat looking out the window and lightly panting from the excitement of seeing her ‘best friend.’

As the Metallica song faded out and the next song began, there was a knock on the glass on my opposite side. At first I didn’t recognize the man, so I ignored him.

He knocked again, harder and more urgently, gaining my attention. The brunett leaned against the sill, casually and slightly irritated.

I rolled my eyes as I lowered my music and rolled down the window on Mimi’s side just enough for my voice to be heard.

The brunett ran his hand through his shaggy hair frustratedly, the action making his dark wet curls fall in his face.

“Sorry, my parents told me not to talk to strangers,” I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not a stranger. Are you Brock’s friend, the one who’s supposed to pick us up today?”

“I might be, but I’m not telling someone I’ve never met before if I am or not.”

“Boes said that a woman in a burnt orange Honda would be here for us. I’m gonna assume that’s you?”

“Like I said, I’m not telling a stranger if I know Brock or not.”

I looked him up and down, there was no denying that he was far from being ‘just some rando off the side of the street.’

He had the build of a hockey player and had a ‘Canuck’s’ duffle bag similar to Brock’s.

“What if I introduced myself? Then I’m not a stranger anymore.”

“True, but I still wouldn’t know you enough to tell you anything.”

He groaned, “Dammit woman, please just let me in your car, it’s chilly out here.”

“Sorry, Captain, can’t do that. Plus I don’t have any candy to offer you to get inside my car.”

“It’s not like you're kidnapping me, I’m willingly getting into your car.”

“See, that’s how it starts, people willingly getting into strangers' cars. Next thing you know there’s an alert out for you and I’m hunted down by the police.”

“Wait, did you call me ‘Captain’? So you do know who I am!”

“I call everyone Captain, don’t feel special.” I rolled my eyes with a smirk.

Before he could call my bullshit, I looked him straight in the eyes and waved as I rolled up the window cutting his response off.

The man knocked on the glass a couple times, spewing curses as his ears started to flush pink in frustration or the weather, could be both.

I took that as my cue to roll the window down again, the same length as before.

“Yes, Captain?” I gave a half-assed two finger salute with a shit-eating grin.

“I think I’ve figured out your little game, you do know who I am but are playing the dumb blonde card.”

Quinn leans into the door frame, a smirk on his lips and a sparkle of mischief in his hazel eyes.

“Whatever do you mean? I've never met you a day in my life. How could I know who you are?”

“Cut the shit, you know I’m one of Brock’s teammates.”

“Wow, do you really think that when Brock and I hang out we talk about hockey? ‘Cause newsflash captain, we don’t.”

“There you go using ‘Captain’ again. Are you sure you don’t talk about the team when you're with Boes?”

I rolled my eyes, “Wow, egotistical much? You must think you’re hot shit if you think that all of our conversations are about you and the team.”

“But you do, I can see it in your eyes. Brock’s told you about me. What’s my nickname then?”

I shrug, brows popped, “I might’ve heard about some guy on his team that you so happen to look like. Not saying you are this ‘Huggy Bear’ guy, but you could be, I guess.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know me even a little bit, I can see it in your eyes. Brock’s told you about me,” he boasts with a smirk on his lips.

I tip my head from left to right, squinting my eyes and nose scrunched in concentration. I stroke my imaginary beard as I look at him.

Of course I know who’s standing right outside my passenger side door, you’d have to be living under a rock not to.

But it seems that the young defensemen might need an ego check, one that I’m more than happy to provide.

Mimi lets out a playful bark, panting as she puts her paws on the window as if to say, ‘haha, I’m in the car and you’re not!’

The window switch is calling my name to use and who am I to deny it, especially when the opportunity is too good to pass up.

The window starts to slowly roll up again as he starts to reply. A lop-sided grin on my lips as I sip my coffee loudly.

“You guess?” Quinn popped his brows and ran a hand through his hair again, the curls falling every which way.

It’s damp at best now, the shorter pieces dry and starting to fluff. The weather probably isn’t helping either, the wind blowing the brunet curls all around and messing it up more.

The glass is almost to the top now, maybe a centimeter or two before it touches the sill. I stop the movement just long enough to antagonize him one more time.

I give him a non-committal sound, shrug my shoulders and adjust my glasses again, “Maybe. You know I’ve only seen ‘Huggy Bear’ in photos, and he’s blurry most of the time.”

The window is closed and Quinn groans before starting to knock again. I take a sip of my coffee, making an exaggerated sigh, and turn up my music again.

My phone lights up from a message from Brock I pick it up and text him back, then turn my phone off.

Broccoli: Quinn should be outside and looking for you.

Trouble: 🤙🏻

Quinn has his head leaned against my car, face down and eyes closed. A smirk finds its way to my features as I form a plan in my head.

Will this get a lecture from Brock, most likely, but will it be fun and worth it? Absolutely!

I wait until Brock and his other blond friend are coming out of the building before honking the horn and waving through the window to show the others where I was.

Quinn, who wasn’t expecting the loud noise, jumped and fell to the ground. Brock and Elias leisurely made their way to us as they laughed.

I smirked at the annoyed face the brunett wore as he got up. A scowl now took over and a glint of anger in his eyes.

Once Brock had made it to my car, I turned the music off and rolled the window all the way down.

He takes Quinn’s empty spot on the door as the brunet tries to open the backdoor to get in. I was so distracted while talking with my friend that I forgot to unlock it.

Elias is stood near the back, waiting for the trunk to open as Brock and Quinn hand over their gym bags so he can put them inside.

He closes the door and makes his way to the passenger side, patiently waiting, unlike his friend.

I quickly press the button and the doors open as the boys get in the back before they close them again.

Brock stays outside to chat for a few more minutes before he gets in too, adjusting the seat to accommodate his height.

Mimi gives Brock a couple of puppy kisses before being told to get in the back.

The Captain grumbles as he situates himself now with the dog taking up the extra space and excitedly giving Elias and him kisses too.

Mimi calms down and stretches out on the seats, invading their personal space.

Elias laughs at his uncomfortable position, causing Brock and me to join in when we look back from the rearview mirror.

“I’m pretty sure you gave my boy a heart attack with that little prank Trouble.” Brock joked, a smirk on his features and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes that matched mine.

“I had to make sure he’s awake enough for practice, you guys can’t just arrive tired and sluggish now can you?”

“Trouble, you know how to keep people on their toes!”

I let out a full belly laugh, turns up the Nirvana song playing through the sound system and took off.

The ride back to Brock’s was chaotic to say the least, but when it’s my car you should’ve known what was gonna happen when you stepped inside.

The music had been turned down to a single digit, to please the princess Quinnifer, and talk about pretty much anything that came to mind.

Once I pulled into Brock’s driveway, the boys all said their thank yous and goodbyes.

Boes stayed for a little bit after while the other two men grabbed their duffles and went inside, most likely to eat what Lizzie had made for breakfast.

“So, what do you think?”

I popped a brow, “About what? Am I missing something here, are you trying to be a girl and see if I noticed anything new about you?”

Brock laughs, “No, Trouble, about Quinn?”

I rolled my eyes, “He’s ok I guess. Why does it matter what I think?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “‘Cause I was thinking about setting you two up, you’d look cute together and Lizzie agrees.”

“Brock, I don’t need a knight in shining whatever. No one’s gonna change my mind on love. He seems nice, sweet even, but I don’t wanna break his heart when it doesn’t work out.”

“Trouble, I’m not saying that he’ll change it. I’m just saying that maybe he could be good for you. And he’s always grumpy, I think he needs more chaos in his life.”

“Listen Brock, I appreciate the thought, I do, but I’m not looking and by the way he’s been lately from what you tell me, he just got outta a bad breakup. He needs time to heal, and I’m not that kinda girl.”

He sighs, but nods, “Yeah, I knew it was a long-run, but thought I’d try at least you know? Maybe if you got to know him better?”

I reached over the middle console to hold his hand that’s hanging off the door inside as he leaned out of the car.

“Brock, honey, I don’t think he’d wanna be my friend. He’s more of a quiet soul, he needs someone who’s gonna match his vibes. And I’m not that, we both know how I am.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya. But don’t cry when in a couple of months I tell you I told you so!”

He smirks, taps the roof of my car twice, then walks backwards with his middle fingers up in a friendly goodbye.

I laugh, lazily showing my own middle fingers then back out of the driveway.

I turn up my music to double digits and start my way home.

A text from Brock popped up about halfway through his neighbor. The Bluetooth reads it off for me as I drive.

Broccoli: Drive safe Trouble!

Trouble: I’m always safe! 🖕🏻💛

Once home, I let Mimi out to go potty, then went inside to warm up under some blankets with hot chocolate, cuddles on the couch with my girl, and watched cartoons.

The warm drink and the noises from the tv must’ve lulled me to sleep because the next time I opened my eyes it was about midday and Mimi was whining about going outside again.

I hurried to get ready to go outside again, grabbing all I would need and Mimi’s leash, attaching it to her magenta color.

We rode the elevator down, passed the front doors, and went to the front lawn of my apartment building.

Mimi sniffs for a little bit before finally picking a spot to use to do her business.

I gave her a treat and let her play outside for a little bit before I was too cold and had to go in.

When we got back into our apartment, I realized that I had left my phone inside and forgot where I put it.

I looked everywhere I had been since I came home, but no dice. I double and triple checked the places before finding it sitting perfectly fine on the coffee table.

I groan, of course it’d be in plain sight.

I turn it on, and see that in the half hour I was outside with Mimi that Brock, Lizzie, and Raven had sent texts.

Lizzie: Brock said that you don’t like Huggy! Wtf?! He’s so your type babe!

Broccoli: I’m assuming that you didn’t die on your way home with the lack of ‘I’m home safe and sound’ and no calls from the police.

Tiny: can we FaceTime? Got big news!!

I replied to each, giving Brock a sassy comment more than anything.

It wasn’t long before Ray’s contact requested a facetime call, I accepted it quickly and got comfortable on my couch again.

The phone rang twice before Ray’s camera showed her and Willy. I smiled and waved, “Well hello gorgeous! Hi Willy!”

“Hi Trouble!” The couple replied in unison. It was gross just how cute they were sometimes.

“So, what’s the big news?!”

“We’re moving in together!”

I screamed, probably annoying my neighbors in the act, but I don’t really care.

“No way! Are you gonna pick which house to live in or a new start?”

Raven blushed, “I’m moving into Willy’s apartment. We’ve just gotta start packing everything and the moving truck should be able to hold all my things.”

“This is exciting!! If y’all need any help don’t hesitate to ask, okay? ‘Cause you know I’ll drop everything and come to Toronto!”

Ray laughs, “Yeah, we know. But that’s too much to ask.”

“But, when we get Ray settled in, if you wouldn’t mind coming for a housewarming party that’d be great!”

“Of course I’ll be there!! I get to see my favorite gal pal!”

“Aren’t you missing someone Trouble,” Willy popped a brow and smirked.

“And her boyfriend.” I mumbled, jokingly as I rolled my eyes.

“C’mon, don’t act like you're not our biggest supporter! You even threatened him if he ever broke my heart!”

I raised a brow, “And I stand by that threat William. You better make sure she’s the happiest girl in the world or I’ll come to Toronto.”

I pointed at him menacingly, a smirk on my lips as I threatened him again through the screen.

Willy laughs, “I know you would, but I’m keeping my promise. I swear, scouts honor.”

I narrowed my eyes, “You were never a Boy Scout, you wouldn’t have time with hockey being your main focus.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep a promise like one.”

“I guess,” I mutter, “OH you’ll never guess what Brock did today!”

“Tried to set you up with someone?”

“Not just someone, his captain! He set up a little meet-cute this morning at the ass-crack of dawn!”

“Oh my god, really? Didn’t Quinn just get out of something messy?”

I nodded, “That’s what I told him, I’m not lookin’ and Quinn just got out of something.”

“Should I be here for the ‘girl talk,” asked Willy as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“You should hear this too, in case Ray or you get any ideas when I come to visit Mister.” I jokingly pointed my finger at him as a smile pulled at my lips.

He raised his hands in mock defense, “Alright, alright I’m listening. No promises that we won’t meddle though.”

I groaned, “Please don’t, I already have Brock and Lizzie on my ass, I don’t need you guys too!”

“Trouble, who do you think told us about the meddling in the first place?”

My brows shot up to my forehead, “No they fucking didn’t, did they? When did you get their numbers? How long have you been cheating on me?”

The couple laughs at my dramatics, “We like to keep in touch in case you make a surprise visit to Toronto or anywhere and forget to tell us!”

“Oh, well that makes a lot of sense.”

“No shit Sherlock. We exchanged numbers after I texted Brock that you were safe after a night out with us. You were shitfaced and didn’t tell him you were in Toronto so of course he was freaking out, especially with the drunk texts you sent.”

“I don’t drunk text people, I go on side quests and make new friends along the way!”

Ray cut me off with a snort, “Yeah okay, lemme just pull up the last time you messaged me while at the bar.”

“Hey, how bout you don’t.”

“So you admit you do drunk texts friends,” she popped her brows with a smirk.

“I’m not saying that, I just get so excited to share my journey that I need to tell someone,” I babble, unable to talk my way out of this, but too prideful to agree.

“Whatever you say Trouble. Anyway, tell me about Quinn!”

“I honestly don’t know what to say, Ray. He was grumpy, and from what Brock’s told me, that’s just how he is.”

“Quinn’s not always grumpy. I’ve heard through Willy and the guys that he’s actually one of the nicest people in the league.”

I rolled my eyes, “Well I didn’t see that. Maybe it was ‘cause of the early morning and he was tired.”

“That’s not what Brock told me and he heard it straight from Quinn. You gave him Hell this morning.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “How was I supposed to know who he was when I’ve only seen blurry pictures and heard stories from Brock?”

Raven rolled her eyes, “That’s a lie, Trouble. I know you’ve seen him play when you go to games for Brock with Lizzie.”

“It all happens so fast how can I keep up with what’s goin’ on!”

They both gave me a deadpan look, I sighed loudly, making Mimi glance as if checking if I was okay before laying her head down again.

“Okay, maybe I’ve looked up the captain a time or two.” I mumble, arms crossed over my chest as I look away from the screen to hide my slightly burning cheeks.

“I know he’s your type, brown hair and lightly colored eyes. You can deny it all you want, but I know you think he’s attractive,” she smirks, Willy’s lips echoing hers.

“You don’t have to call me out like that,” I groan, pulling the blanket up to my face to hide the rosy tint coloring my features.

“What are friends for?”

“Not that, you should support me and tell me that I’m too good for him and everything else friends do in this sort of thing!”

“Trouble, I hate to say this, but I actually think y’all would be good for each other. It’s the classic grumpy x sunshine trope! And Quinn and you would be super cute, don’t you think so Willy,” Raven chirped, her hands flapping with excitement.

William chuckled, “Honestly, I agree with Ray. He’s more down to earth and well, you’re spontaneous. I have half of the chaos sisters and I know my life has been better since I’ve met her.”

“You guys are the perfect couple, I swear! ’Cause Willy, you go with the flow. You’re happy to be drug around with Ray. It wouldn’t be the same for us.”

“How do you know if you never take the leap?”

“I don’t, not for sure anyway,”

“Then jump bitch, maybe he’ll surprise you and catch you before the fall,” smiled Ray.

“Or maybe I’ll hit the pavement,” I mumble, more into the fabric on my lap than anyone.

Raven groans, “Don’t be like that! Quinn’s a good man.”

I repositioned on the couch, now sitting criss-crossed with the blanket tangled on my legs.

I fidget with my hands, “He might be a good guy, but I don’t wanna hurt him in the end. You know how I look at love and I don’t wanna get his hopes up that he’s changed it and then crush him when we break up.”

“Trouble, just be his friend first. That’s how Willy and I started out, as friends, then later we ended up where we are now.”

“Well I might’ve already messed that up. I did roll my window up while he was talking and honked the horn to scare him,” I smirked, still fidgeting with my fingers to get rid of the nerves.

The couple laughed, full belly and loud. Raven was the first to recover.

“Maybe less mischief and more talking.”

“Or,” Willy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a wide smirk on his lips.

Raven groans, and lightly pushes his face away from the camera.

“Don't listen to him. Just get to know him better, then maybe after you figure out his humor, a couple of pranks.”

“Boo, you're no fun!”

“I am very fun, but I know my audience. You my dear Trouble, don’t know Quinn’s yet. He might surprise you, he did grow up with brothers,” Raven popped a brow.

“Yeah yeah, whatever mom, I’ll be on my okayest behavior next time I see him,” I rolled my eyes, a humorous smirk on my lips.

“That’s all I ask for.”

“I love you Tiny, thank you for the advice that I totally won’t use.”

Raven laughed, “Love you too, Trouble. Just keep it on the back burner though, okay, you might need it later.”

“I’ll think about it, but now I know who to go to for relationship advice in the future.”

“Bye Trouble, see you soon, yeah?”

I nodded, my hair falling out of the messy bun from earlier and the nap, “Yes sir! As soon as the apartment has been Raven-fied!”

With that, and a few more ‘I love yous’ and ‘see you soons’ the call ended.

Birdie’s Basket🧺: @dragon-kazansky

🏷️ list: @alwaysclassyeagle

[dema-heart]

Eye Contact 😳

Hobie x Gn! Reader

Can't really think of any warnings I think it's pretty standard 🤔

He calls you love/luv

Unedited

“Am I boring you, luv?” Hobie's embarrassed tone had you snapping your gaze back to him; Him and his much too pretty face, you blinked shaking your head. You had just looked away to stop the embarrassing spiraling thoughts on just how attracted you were to him especially when he was this passionate about something.

”Never. You said that thingy there. That i'm not even gonna attempt to pronounce, when added to your web shooters will help up the hydraulics or some other fancy nerd words to say adding these parts will make your web shooting smoother and less likely to internally stick when being used in rapid session” You lay on hobie’s couch looking over at him at his desk his safety glasses slipping down his nose. You pretend to push your own nonexistent safety glasses up and turn your nose up in mock haughtiness.

He grins standing up with a laugh as he makes the short trip across the boat to stand over you. You have to lay your head back against the arm rest to look up at him. His gaze always makes your heart stutter. The way he focuses solely on you the moment your eyes meet.

Neither of you break the eye contact. Not even when you feel your heartbeat stutter then pick up as if trying to escape from the tension for you. Not even when it feels like the blood in your veins has turned to fire, heating you up from head to toe. Not even when it takes everything in you to hold back from kissing him stupid for being this close.

Hobie smiles as he takes in your face and your heart skips a beat again.

“Why are you so fucking pretty?”

Hobie’s smile turns playful and your eyes widen as you realize you'd said that out loud. You look away with a squeak, preparing to roll off the couch and make a run for it.

Just as you'd made up your mind Hobie scoops you up, spinning you with a laugh. You scream, arms locking around his neck and legs locking around his waist. He stops only to fall back onto the couch with you laughing loudly.

“So you think I'm pretty? Is that what had you so distracted” It's his turn to look up at you as you settle on top of him. Once you're comfortable you look down at his smug face, he's grinning from ear to ear like he just won the lottery. You roll your eyes ignoring the heat in your cheeks.

“Shut up, Hobart” you push his face so he's looking away from you. You can feel the rumbles of his laughter, making you crack a smile as you pretend to struggle to keep his head down.

“Oh come on,love. Tell me how you really feel!” Hobie’s obviously teasing but you pause. Thinking for just a second before you lean down and kiss him. Just a peck to that smug mug of his and he's silenced looking up at you in surprise.

It's your turn to grin as you look over his face. You guys had been tiptoeing the line between friendship and whatever comes next for a while. So a sudden kiss wasn't necessarily in the cards no matter how often you'd thought about it.

”you wanna know how I feel? Hm… maybe how when I'm with you I can't help but act out of character around you? How ,me, one of the most confident people in a room turns shy from just one look from you.” You watch his face as surprise settles into a bashful expression as you finally confess what he's been dying to hear. He tries to break eye contact but you shake your head with a soft smile leaning down so you’re nose to nose with your hands boxing his face in.

”How everytime you're near me my heart skips a beat and I have to do everything in my power not to either run away or pull you closer….I like you, Hobie.” You whisper the last line against his lips before pulling back a bit.

”That's how I feel..”

You don’t get to finish, Hobie leans up, closing the small distance between your lips. You gasp tensing up only to fully melt against him. His kiss is rough and passionate, just like everything else he does, but his hands on your waist are shaking and you can feel just how fast his heart is racing against your own.

He pulls back first. You keep your eyes closed. Embarrassment finally sinking in.

“Look at me, love”

You shake your head going to sit up to at least give yourself a moment to calm down.

”Ah ah don’t go getting shy on me now. If anyone should be clutching their pearls it's me. I didn't know you had it in you to steal kisses now.” His teases as his hands grip your waist keeping you stuck on top of him.

You groan covering your face with your hands before peeking down at him through your fingers. He's absolutely glowing. His grins so big you fear it hurts and his eyes have this surprised delight to them.

”I like you too. No reason to hide when you could be kissing me more you know.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively causing you to burst out laughing.

“Way to ruin the moment Hobart. Why do I like someone like you?’ You roll your eyes as you lower your hands to reveal your own big smile swatting at his chest when he wiggles his eyebrows again.

”I don't know, maybe you should tell me again?” He's obviously teasing, but the way his gaze softens and his eyes shift just slightly to the side before looking back up at you….

“I like you, Hobie. And I'll say it as many times as you want” You lean down to kiss his forehead, then cheeks, and finally, his lips to shut up whatever smart remark he was gonna say.

[baphometsss]

if i see one more post about how solas/mythal/elgar'nan had a weird love triangle thing going on i'm gonna scream

[beetlethebug]

i've written an Emmrich x Rook daddy kink fic but the real question is when i'm going to get around to writing a Lucanis x Rook mommy kink fic with Lucanis as the mommy ;)