#mac aisling

[insertuncleverblogname87]

Be warned; lewd below

also like, drew these last year, so quality isn’t the highest

[lilcrawe]

Some headshot sketches of Cartoon Saloon characters! I rewatched WolfWalkers recently so i’ve been in a Cartoon Saloon kick

[pressplay-if]

Ofc I mean you honey💋

THEN YES.

Gods I'm so glad I found someone to marry. You have no idea how hard it is to meet people when all you do in your free time is sit behind a screen and write this game.

(does this mean I'm an RO??)

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

Alexander married Queen Anora in a lavish ceremony six months after her coronation, becoming the prince-consort of Ferelden. Many said that if the two did not end up vying for control of the throne, they would usher in a new golden age not seen since King Calenhad first united the barbarian tribes.

[daltonsnightmare]

MacGyver (2016) s4e3 Kid + Plane + Cable + Truck | Cold Open

[timmydraker]

I don’t really like seeing Tim as the ‘won’t eat unless he has to and even then it’s Bat Burger and a granola bar’ kind of person.

This boy was raised RICH, he has got to have the palate of literal gold. I’m talking saffron and almas caviar plated on six thousand dollar plates and two hundred year old dining tables.

That and the fact he’s a nerd, meaning he probably studied what foods are best for weight gain, muscle gain and generally anything good for the body and being physically active.

This boy probably has meal prep that requires two whole fridges filled to the max and walk in pantry with aisles in it.

He doesn’t do Mac and cheese but he does do macaroni, cheese, broccoli, bacon, egg, basil, chives and other herbs I’m not smart enough to name. He probably makes a whole pot of it, stores some away for later, and still finishes it within a few days.

Now if he can’t cook he’s got money for that, he can pay his own personal cook or give his long ass list of dishes and requirements to Alfred who would either agree whole heartedly or be annoyed at how specific this boy needs his mushrooms cooked for ‘ultimate nutritional value’.

He doesn’t do the little servings of the food for dinner, but you can bet he has a dozen or so a day as snacks on top of packet chips, previously mentioned granola bars, and fruit salad from the cafeteria at WE or DI.

He’s still short af, even compared to the female Robin he will always be the shortest by a hair in my mind. He’s also somewhat lean, but he’s a vigilante and uses a Bo on the nightly, so he’s packed with muscle and you can’t have muscle if you don’t have fat to burn off.

This dude can demolish a twenty ounce steak in five minutes if you give him the time.

Leave him without food for twenty four hours and he will complain he can feel his stomach eating itself.

It’s hydrating this man is horrible with, because all he drinks is tea and calls water ‘an option’.

[yeahiveheardofbears-fics]

Behind the Beaded Curtain

When you and Steve get stuck closing Family Video together, the usual banter takes a turn toward mischief—and maybe something more—when an empty store and a cart of VHS tapes lead to some questionable decisions. Between late-night chaos, awkward tension, and way too many adult films, Steve might finally figure out that sometimes, taking a chance is worth the risk.

hi guys! here's a little smut oneshot to hold you over till I post the next fic in my rewrite series! There is no use of Y/N and the 'you' mentioned is fem. I loosely based it off of my OC, Mac, but I tried not to be super descriptive so the X Reader girlies can get a little more immersed. This was just an idea that didn't make sense for my main fic, so i decided to write it as a oneshot. I'm goign to try and post my oneshots on this page as well as ao3! comments encouraged and I hope you enjoy.

enemies to friends to lovers, semi public sex, confressions, idiots in love word count: 13,619 TW: talk of porn, sex at work, body confidence issues, uh idk they fuck so if you don't like that i guess don't read it

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, IF YOU LIKE THIS, PLZ MESSAGE ME CAUSE I NEED INSPO <3

fic masterlist

read on ao3 or read below the cut:

The bell above the Family Video door jingled weakly, signaling the entrance of a customer. You leaned against the shelf you were restocking, the rough cardboard edges of a VHS cover pressed into your palm, watching Steve Harrington prop his feet up on the counter like he owned the place. His uniform vest clashing with his shirt, collar slightly rumpled, and his hair—perfect as ever—caught the light just so. You hated that he looked like he belonged in one of the cheesy rom-coms he was so bad at recommending to customers.

“Don’t strain yourself,” you called, sliding a copy of A Nightmare on Elm Street onto the shelf. “Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle working too hard.”

Steve lazily swiveled the stool he was perched on, an easy grin spreading across his face. “It’s called delegating. You’re the one who offered to restock.”

You raised a brow, slapping another tape onto the shelf with a little more force than necessary. “You mean when you handed me the cart and said, ‘You’re better at this, anyway’? Yeah, real great teamwork.”

Robin appeared from one of the aisles, dragging a broom behind her and looking thoroughly unimpressed with both of you. “You know, it’s amazing you haven’t driven each other insane yet. You’re like two stray cats fighting over the same dumpster.”

Steve shot her an annoyed look, but you just smirked, leaning against the shelf with your arms crossed. “He’s not worth the energy,” you said, jerking your chin toward him. “I’d rather put my effort into alphabetizing the horror section for the third time this week.”

“Hey!” Steve pointed at you, his grin widening. “That’s because you have no taste. You keep shoving Gremlins into the comedy section.”

“It is a comedy,” you retorted, the hint of a challenge in your voice. “You’re the one who insists on putting it in horror.”

“Technically it’s a Christmas movie.” Robin interjected but you two were too into your usual banter to acknowledge her comment.

“It’s literally about monsters terrorizing a town,” he shot back, standing now, clearly ready for this argument.

“And it has a montage set to Christmas music,” you countered, stepping closer, refusing to back down. “Face it, Harrington. It’s a comedy, and your taste is basic.”

Robin watched the exchange with barely concealed amusement, resting her chin on the end of the broom handle. “This is how wars start, you know. One second it’s Gremlins, next thing you know, someone’s annexing the drama section.”

Steve ignored her, crossing his arms as he stared you down, his brown eyes sparkling with exasperation. “Oh, I’m basic? Says the girl who has a Misfits patch on her backpack like every other kid trying too hard to look edgy.”

You scoffed, stepping closer until you were almost nose to nose. “You wouldn’t know edgy if it bit you in the ass, Harrington.”

For a second, the room felt charged, like something was about to snap. Then Robin cleared her throat dramatically, cutting through the tension. “Okay, you two, this isn’t a cage match. Save it for the Halloween crowd this weekend.”

You stepped back, rolling your eyes as you returned to your cart of tapes. “Fine. I’ll let him live another day.”

Steve plopped back onto his stool, muttering under his breath but loud enough for you to hear, “You wish you could take me.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, already halfway down the aisle. “It wouldn’t even be a contest.”

“You know, for someone who spends most of her time glaring at customers, you’ve got a lot to say.”

“Somebody has to keep you on your toes,” you shot back, brushing your hands off and making your way toward the front. You flicked a stray strand of hair out of your face as you passed him. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t charm every poor soul who comes in here. It’s starting to get embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Steve feigned offense, placing a hand on his chest. “I’ll have you know, plenty of customers appreciate a little charisma. You could try it sometime.”

“Charisma doesn’t mean flirting with everyone who rents ‘Sixteen Candles,’ Harrington.”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, looking between the two of you. “I can’t decide if this is banter or foreplay, but either way, it’s exhausting.”

“Foreplay?” Steve sputtered, his cheeks flushing.

“God, no,” you said at the same time, shooting Robin a glare.

Robin laughed, leaning against the counter as Steve sighed, shaking his head with a reluctant smile. Somewhere behind the banter, in the dim light and popcorn butter air, the faintest trace of something real hung between the two of you—something neither of you was ready to admit, least of all to each other.

---

The last few hours of your shift crawled along, with Robin having said her goodbyes twenty minutes earlier and left you and Steve to close up. A post-dinner rush had left the place in chaos, with empty shelves and a mountain of returns now sitting on the counter. Steve, standing at the rewinder machine, was absently humming to himself as you finished putting away the last of your cart.

“Finally done,” you muttered to yourself, dusting your hands off. Just as you started to roll the empty cart back toward the counter, Steve sauntered over with a fresh pile of tapes, all rewound and stacked precariously.

“Perfect timing,” he said, grinning as he plopped them onto the top of your cart. “More work for you.”

Your eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as you stared at the offending pile. “You’re kidding me.”

“What? That’s the system!” he said defensively, his hands going to his hips. It was a classic Harrington move—half annoyed, half clueless.

“Your system sucks,” you shot back, pulling the tapes off the top and setting them on the counter. “And you’re helping.”

“I am helping,” he argued, gesturing to the now-empty rewinder. “I rewound the tapes. That’s like, ninety percent of the job.”

You snorted, grabbing the cart handle with more force than necessary and turning it toward the aisles. “Whatever. I’ll do it myself.”

Halfway to the shelves, you paused, an idea sparking as you glanced back at Steve, who was still standing there with his hands on his hips. “Actually…” you said, setting the cart brake and turning to face him fully.

Steve tilted his head, suspicious. “What?”

“You’re an athlete, right?” you said, your tone dripping with exaggerated innocence. “Former Mr. Cool Guy?”

He frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”

You grinned, hoisting yourself onto the cart and sitting cross-legged on its flat surface, tapping the metal sides. “Put those skills to use and make this less boring. You push, I steer. I’ll call out the titles; you take me to the aisles.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, his brow furrowing. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“This is dumb,” he said, shaking his head. “What if someone comes in?”

You leaned back, gesturing toward the door with a dramatic flourish. “Steve, it’s Wednesday. It’s 7 p.m. The only person walking through that door is someone too embarrassed to rent their adult movie during daylight hours. And if that happens, do you really want to help them?”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed, throwing his hands up. “Fine. But if you fall off, I’m not taking you to the hospital.”

“Noted,” you said, grinning victoriously. “ I always wanted to bleed out in the comedy section anyway.”

With a reluctant groan, Steve walked around the cart and grabbed the handle. “What’s first?”

You picked up the first tape from the stack beside you, holding it up to squint at the title. “Raiders of the Lost Ark. Action-adventure, aisle three.”

“Roger that,” Steve said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he started to push the cart. It wobbled slightly, and you leaned forward to steady yourself, already laughing as he picked up speed.

“Faster, Harrington!” you called, pointing toward the aisle like you were commanding a ship. “Aisle three awaits!”

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. He slowed as you neared the correct aisle, and you held the tape out dramatically, like a torch.

“Here we are!” you declared. “Place the artifact on its rightful throne.”

Steve grabbed the tape from your hand, muttering something about your flair for the dramatic as he slid it onto the shelf. When he turned back to you, you were already holding up the next tape.

“Ready for the next one?” you asked, wiggling the VHS case.

Steve let out a long-suffering sigh but grabbed the cart handle again, a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This is going to be the longest close ever.”

“Yeah, but you’re having fun,” you teased.

He didn’t respond, but the way his lips twitched into a full smile as he started pushing again gave you all the answer you needed.

Steve pushed the cart into the Drama aisle, his grip on the handle loose as he rolled his eyes at your smug expression. You waved The Breakfast Club over your head like a trophy, already looking triumphant.

“Drama section, as requested,” he said, stopping with a slight flourish. “But I’m just saying… it could also go in Romance.”

You nearly fell off the cart from how hard you laughed. “Romance? That’s what you got out of it? You think it’s about Claire and Bender hooking up?”

Steve raised a brow, his hands moving to his hips in that classic, I’m about to defend myself stance. “What? No, that’s not all it’s about. But it is a part of it. Opposites attract, right?”

You tilted your head, grinning like you’d just been handed the perfect opportunity to roast him. “Oh, sure. Opposites attract. That’s definitely a trope worth rooting for,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Especially when it’s just code for ‘the weird girl has to completely change herself to be worth the jock’s attention.’”

Steve frowned, clearly thrown off. “You’re talking about the makeover thing?”

“Obviously,” you said, flopping dramatically against the back of the cart, the metal sides rattling under your weight. “She was perfectly fine as she was—better, even. Then suddenly she gets some preppy glow-up, and boom, Emilio Estevez notices her. It’s such crap.”

He was quiet for a beat, like he was actually chewing on your words. His lips pressed into a line, and then, unexpectedly, he nodded. “I mean… I agree with you. She looked out of place like that. It wasn’t really her.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Wait… you agree with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, shrugging. “I mean, she didn’t need all that. She was cooler before.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. His tone wasn’t teasing or defensive—it was sincere. He looked at you with this genuine expression, like he actually cared about what you thought. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and the quiet made your skin prickle in a way you weren’t used to.

Then Steve broke the tension with a smirk, shifting back to lean casually against the handle of the cart. “So, what I’m hearing is… you must hate Grease too, huh? Sandy changes everything for Danny at the end. That must drive you nuts.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, sitting up straighter and gripping the sides of the cart like you were preparing for battle. “Oh, don’t get me started on Grease, Harrington.”

His grin widened, and he gestured with one hand for you to continue, clearly enjoying this way too much. “By all means, let it out. This should be good.”

You took a deep breath, ready to launch into a full tirade about the crime that was Sandy’s transformation, while Steve leaned against the cart, laughing softly under his breath before you’d even said a word.

---

Steve jiggled the lock on the front doors, pulling them to test if they were secure before flipping off the outside lights. The neon "OPEN" sign fizzled out with a soft hum, leaving the store bathed in the sterile glow of its overhead fluorescents. He sighed as he turned the "CLOSED" sign around and shot a glance your way.

You were standing at the counter, finishing up the register deposit you’d started early since the rush had ended hours ago. You hummed quietly to yourself, seemingly in a good mood, which was rare for a late-night shift.

“Got any costume ideas for Halloween?” you asked as you counted the last stack of bills. “Since we get to dress up here and all.”

Steve leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Robin and I are going as pirates,” he said, his voice flat. “Her idea.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Let me guess. She’s all excited, and you’re just going along with it because you have no spine?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, though there was a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s got this whole ‘Captain Robin and First Mate Dingus’ bit planned. It’s exhausting.”

You snorted, finishing the deposit and closing the register drawer. “Well, I’m going as a devil. Simple, classic, but I gotta tone it down a little so Keith doesn’t spend the entire shift staring at my chest.”

Steve went stiff for a moment, muttering something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, straightening. “So, uh, are you done with that?”

“Just about,” you said, locking the deposit bag and setting it aside for the morning shift. Your eyes drifted to the cart in the middle of the store, still loaded with a few stray tapes. “Looks like we’re not done with that, though.”

Steve followed your gaze and sighed. “Oh, great. More cart rides.”

You grinned, hopping back onto the cart and gesturing for him to take the handle. “You’re the one who insisted on delegating, remember? Now push.”

With another sigh—this one more dramatic than the first—Steve complied, wheeling you toward the horror section. You rifled through the tapes on the cart, calling out titles as he brought you to the correct spots. It went smoothly until you reached for the next tape and froze, reading the title aloud before you could stop yourself.

“Blondes in Heat?” you said, eyebrows shooting up. Your gaze darted to the rest of the tapes on the cart. “Oh, no.”

Steve groaned, already knowing what was coming. “Yeah, I’ll take care of those.”

You shook your head, holding up the tape with a smirk. “It’s fine, I can do it.”

“Seriously,” Steve said, his tone a little sharper. “I’ll handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, shrugging. “I’ve seen porn before, Steve.”

His eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words for a second before recovering. “What—you—you’ve—okay, I mean—”

“Relax, Harrington,” you said, clearly amused at his reaction. “You’re not the only person in Hawkins with a VHS player and curiosity.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, his face slightly pink. “I wasn’t—okay, fine. Just—don’t make it weird.”

You laughed, waving him off. “It’s not weird. Now push the cart.”

Grumbling something under his breath, Steve resumed pushing, steering you toward the back corner of the store where the beaded curtain waited. The clinking of the beads was just faint enough to make you second-guess the idea, but you straightened your shoulders and braced yourself. The cart rattled slightly as Steve slowed, and you gave him a look over your shoulder.

“C’mon, Harrington. It’s just tapes.”

The dim lighting of the ‘adult’ section made the whole thing feel way more awkward than it should have been. You broke the silence once more as Steve pushed the cart, and you, to one of the corners and had you hand him the tapes.

“You know, a place called ‘Family Video’ having a section for porn is a little weird.” You say as he shelves Blondes in Heat.

“Can you stop saying porn?” he sighs over his shoulder before walking back to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What would you rather me call it? The erotic arts? Adult features?"

"Just shut up," Steve says, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

You hand him the next tape, which you had been staring at with an amused smirk. "How to Satisfy a Woman in Six Minutes or Less? Really?"

Steve groaned. "God, you're such a pain."

"I'm just saying. Unrealistic. Also why the rush?"

"Oh, my God. Shut up!" Steve says, trying not to laugh.

"What? I'm being serious! Six minutes is a lot to ask. That's barely any time for foreplay, and I don't think anyone wants a half-assed—"

"I am not talking about sex with you!" he says, a little too loudly.

You bite back a laugh. "Why not? It's not weird. I'm sure it's not even the most awkward conversation you've had this week."

He turns, an eyebrow raised. "Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh. Remember when Robin told you and Dustin the difference between tampons and pads?"

Steve visibly winced at the memory. "Okay, fair point."

"See? Not weird," you said, handing him the next tape. 

"Yeah, sure," Steve said, rolling his eyes as he took the tape and glanced at the cover. Then his eyes went wide, and his whole body seemed to freeze.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, trying to peek at the case. "Don't tell me it's worse than the last one. Oh, is it—"

"It's nothing," Steve said quickly, cutting you off as he turned away.

"Uh-uh," you said, jumping off the cart and walking around so you could see the front. "I want to see."

"No, no way."

"If it's really nothing, then why can't I see it?" you challenged, crossing your arms.

"Because I said so!" Steve shot back, his voice high and panicked.

"Fine. Hand it over," you demanded, holding out your hand.

"No."

"Yes."

"No, really, I—"

"Steven Harrington," you snapped, your patience running thin. "If you don't give me that tape right now, I will—"

"Alright, fine! Just stop yelling," Steve sighed, relenting as he shoved the tape into your hand. You stared at him, surprised.

"I yelled once."

"Still."

"Whatever."

You glanced down, and immediately, you felt your own body freeze. In a flash, the situation felt way too real.

Because staring up at you from the tape cover was an image of a girl who could've been you, if her hair was a different color. A girl, sprawled out on her back, naked. The camera angle was positioned above her, the lens angled to give the viewer a full view of her body—her face, her breasts, her legs spread wide.

Your face was on fire, your mouth suddenly dry. Beside you, Steve shifted nervously, and it occurred to you that you were both just staring silently at a porno tape that was clearly made for a specific audience.

"Uh... this is awkward," you finally managed, your voice a little hoarse.

Steve made a sound that was half laugh, half strangled cry. "Yeah, I could've done without the reminder, honestly."

You shot him a confused look. "Reminder?"

He waved his hands in front of him, clearly flustered. "No, that's not what I meant. I just meant—forget it. Forget I said anything. Can we please move on?"

"Not yet," you said, narrowing your eyes. "What do you mean, reminder? Is there a girl in pornos who looks like me or something?"

"Uh... maybe," Steve said, wincing. "But it's not weird, or whatever. It's totally normal. I just... happened watch this one. I wasn't trying to... or anything. I didn't realize..."

He was rambling, and it was kind of adorable. But there was also something about his nervous energy that made your skin prickle in the best way.

"So, if I look like this girl..." you said, letting the words hang as you tilted your head and met his gaze, which was locked onto yours.

"Yeah?" he breathed, swallowing thickly.

You stepped closer, holding his gaze. "Does that mean you've thought about me like that?"

"What?" Steve said, his voice cracking. "No. No way. Of course not. Why would I—"

"Liar."

Your tone was gentle, playful. It was a challenge, not an accusation. Steve's lips parted slightly, but he didn't respond, his eyes still locked on yours. You tried to keep a straight face, but you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you.

"You know- just give me that." Steve said, snatching the tape back. You watched him shove it onto the shelf, the movement quick and jerky.

"Hey, I'm just teasing! It's not that serious." You say, hands up in mock defense as you walk backwards and hop back up to sit on the cart.

"Shut up," he muttered, his cheeks flushed.

You bit your lip, unable to stop grinning. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

"Yeah, well, it's not funny."

You tilted your head, watching him as he fiddled with the shelf, his eyes not meeting yours. There was a vulnerability there, and a hint of shame. He looked almost hurt.

"Okay, seriously," you said, leaning forward and catching his gaze. "I didn't mean to actually upset you."

You hand him the next tape, attempting to make a joke about the absurd cover, but he just gives a noncommittal shrug. You frown.

"Steve, come on," you say, trying again. "I was just playing around. If it's really bothering you, I'll stop."

"It's not that," he said, shaking his head.

"Then what is it?"

He looked away, his jaw tight. You waited, giving him the space to say what he needed to. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, his words heavy with frustration.

"It's stupid," he said, still not meeting your gaze. "I just... we never talk about this stuff, okay? And then, the first time we do, it's because you think I'm some perv who gets off on looking at girls who look like you."

You blinked, caught off guard. "I... did not think that."

"Well, you should have," he snapped, turning to face you fully, his eyes burning. "Because that's how everyone thinks of me, isn't it? Steve Harrington, the former king of Hawkins High, screwing anything that moves."

You swallowed, not knowing what to say. Naturally, you went with humor to deflect.

"I mean if it helps, I've seen your luck with women lately, so I definitely don't think that..."

"Stop. Just—stop," Steve sighed, sounding exasperated. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. This is all we ever do. We can't have a serious conversation without joking about it, and it drives me insane."

You uncrossed your legs on the cart and let them dangle, leaning back against the wall of tapes, taken aback by his sudden honesty. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. You had known each other through school, been friendly since he started at the store in July, but this was the first time he had ever really opened up. It was new, and a little scary, and definitely not something you knew how to deal with.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, and you meant it. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Yeah, well," Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not the best at sharing. Ask anyone."

"Hey, I've got no room to talk," you said, smiling a little. "I've kept my walls pretty high too, I think."

"You're not wrong."

The air hung heavy between you. Steve shifted, his eyes darting from the cart to the shelves, clearly feeling just as awkward as you were.

"You know that the person you were in high school doesn't, like, define you right?" you offered, your voice quiet. "Like, I don't think of you as 'King Steve' or anything."

"Really?" he asked, his brow furrowing skeptically.

"Yeah," you said, nodding. "I mean, we work together. I get to see all of you. The Steve who's actually really good at his job, and a surprisingly good teacher when you're helping Robin study, and an actual nerd about movies. Plus, y'know, the dingus pirate."

Steve rolled his eyes but grinned a little.

"And I mean, maybe you'd have better luck if you were that guy when you tried to uh, pick up women. The fake charm kinda just... doesn't work with this version of you."

"Gee, thanks," he said, feigning annoyance.

"No, I mean it in a good way," you assured him. "I think you're more real like this."

He was quiet for a moment, chewing his lip. Then, unexpectedly, he reached for the next tape and you went to grab it from the dwindling stack. You handed him the tape, your fingertips brushing his palm, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks.

Get it together, you told yourself. You're not suddenly crushing on the guy because he showed a little vulnerability are you?

Steve, oblivious, flipped the case over, studying the cover. "Okay, so this one is... not great," he said, shaking his head. "I've had the misfortune of having to put away more than one."

"Oh, boy," you said, laughing. "I'm ready."

"Okay, here goes," he said, turning the case toward you. "Blonde Bimbo Gets Banged."

"Jesus Christ," you snorted. "Is there any way this can get worse?"

"Let's find out," Steve said, flipping the case back and reading the synopsis. "She's blonde. She's a bimbo. And she knows it. She likes to flaunt her blonde beauty. Her boyfriend knows she's a whore, and that's just the way he likes her. They get wild and hot together, and soon the whole gang is banging the blonde bimbo."

"Jesus Christ how many times do they have to say 'blonde' in one synopsis. Does the target audience have the memory of a goldfish? Does this company need a new marketing team?"

Steve laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it gets worse. The reviews call this a 'stand-out-of-the-pack classic.'"

"Please don't make me read the rest," you said, waving you hand in front of your face while laughing. "I'm already scarred."

"You wanted to know," Steve said, his lips pressed into a line to keep from laughing.

"You're right. I did. I shouldn't have."

You two fell back into a comfortable silence, and you found yourself studying Steve as he went about his task, staocking the last of the tapes neatly on the shelf. He had always been attractive, but he was starting to feel realer. You could see the details of him now, the cracks and rough edges and the parts of him he'd rather not share. It was a dangerous thought, and you knew it. He was still your coworker, after all. And, maybe, your friend?

You watched him finish shelving the last tape, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly with the movement, and your stomach did a somersault.

Oh no.

Steve turned and noticed you staring. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

You shook your head. "Nothing. I was just zoned out, I guess."

"Right," he said, clearly unconvinced. But he didn't push it.

"Last one," you say as your got to hand it to him. "And the survey says... oh. Wow."

"What is it?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Oh, no, it's just this is the first time we've actually stocked something decent," you say, turning the case toward him. "Like, this one doesn't make me want to scrub my brain out with soap."

Steve studied the case, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, yeah. I've seen this one."

"Really?" you asked, surprised.

"Yeah, it's actually pretty good," he admitted. "There's, like, a plot and everything."

"You don't say," you said, smirking. "Maybe we should put this in the Romance section."

Steve rolled his eyes, shelving the movie. "Okay, wiseass."

"I'm just saying. Plot, characters, and actual sex? That's practically a Jackie Collins novel."

"Very funny," Steve said, walking back toward the cart. You were still sitting on the edge, the wheels of the cart rattling slightly.

"Huh. We actually got through the whole cart," you said, grinning a little. "Go us."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, leaning his hands against the cart and looking over at the shelf. "That was surprisingly easy."

"We're a pretty good team," you pointed out.

"Yeah, we are."

You leaned back a little, balancing yourself on your hands and studying Steve. He seemed to be doing the same, his gaze locked on yours. The air felt thick, heavy, and somehow electric. You could practically feel the sparks.

"We should, um," Steve swallowed thickly, glancing over at the beaded curtain that led out to the main sales floor. "We should probably get to the front."

"Yeah," you agreed, though neither of you moved.

You held his gaze, and he held yours, the tension between you was overwhelming, and intoxicating, and you could barely breathe.

"You got a deposit to finish..." he whispered, his voice low.

"Yeah, the main lights are still on," you said, your throat dry.

Neither of you moved. You could feel the pull, the urge to close the space, the electricity between you threatening to overload. Your pulse was racing, your skin tingling. You wondered if he could hear the thunder of your heart, if he could feel the warmth of your breath on his lips.

"This is dumb," he murmured.

"So dumb," you breathed.

"We're not gonna..."

"Yeah, we're not..."

And then his lips were on yours, and everything else faded away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle but firm, and the world seemed to stop. His mouth was soft, the kiss slow, lingering. You melted into him, letting him guide the pace, savoring every second. He tasted like coffee and popcorn and something sweet, and the scent of his cologne surrounded you, enveloping you.

When you finally pulled apart, your lips felt swollen, and you were breathless. Your eyes fluttered open, and you stared at each other, the air crackling around you.

"We are so fucking dumb," he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, a small, amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

You laughed, feeling giddy. "The dumbest. We should probably stop."

"Probably," he murmured. But his lips found yours again, his hand drifting into your hair, his fingers curling. You grabbed a fistful of his uniform vest, pulling him closer. He pressed into you, the pressure of him against your chest, between your legs, made your body ache. You moaned softly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting along your lower lip. You could feel his smirk as your lips parted, giving him access to the rest of your mouth. His tongue grazed yours, teasing, exploring. His free hand ran up the outside of your leg, his palm hot on your thigh even through the denim of your jeans. You arched against him, craving the friction, the feel of his weight, and he pushed back.

You tugged on his vest, and without breaking the kiss, he clumsily shed it and tossed it aside, his arms then circling your waist. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, and you shivered at the contact with his bare skin. He sucked on your lower lip, making you gasp. Your fingertips dug into the muscle of his back, and he pressed harder into you. His body was solid, but soft, and he still held you so carefully. You wanted more of him, all of him, everything.

One of his hands moved to you shoulder to take the same hideous Family Video vest off of you. He broke the kiss only to make sure that he didn't rip it or pop one of your many pins off while doing so, putting it on the bottom of the cart. The careful action made you giggle. He smiled down at you before capturing your mouth in another heated kiss. You pressed your tongue into his mouth this time, running it along his bottom lip. He moaned softly, pulling you even tighter against him.

Your fingers raked down his back, nails grazing the smooth skin, and he moaned into your mouth, grinding his hips into you. The friction of him between your legs sent a shiver of pleasure through your whole body, and you groaned. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs so that he could fit himself perfectly against you. He pressed hard, his body hot between your thighs, his chest pressed to your chest, his mouth on your mouth.

He rocked his hips into you, the slow friction driving you wild, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on as he pressed his full weight against you, pinning you on the cart between him and the shelves. Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he moved again, his hands moving down to grip your hips. You could feel his arousal growing, and you shifted to match his pace, his hips rolling into you as yours rocked up to meet them, creating the perfect amount of friction, the pressure building with every thrust. You whimpered against his mouth as his fingers dug into your thighs.

"God, I want you," he breathed between kisses, his voice husky, sending a fresh wave of heat through your core.

"We—we have to—" you gasped, your words catching in your throat as he ground against you again, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding. His hands moved to your waist, pushing your shirt up and running his palms up the exposed skin, his thumbs grazing the soft skin of your stomach that that swelled gently over the waistband of your jeans, his touch reverent as he let his thumbs trace lazy circles there. You pulled away at the contact, suddenly feeling self concious with his hands on your exposed skin.

"Woah.. is this okay?" he asked, his voice a little strained. "If you're not—"

"It's not you, it's just..." you swallowed, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "I've never been with someone... like you before. Someone who... has expectations..."

His hands slid out from under your shirt as he took a step back, confusion on his face. "Wait, what?"

"I mean," you continued, struggling to find the right words, "You're so attractive, and I'm..." You gestured to your body with an open palm, not even able to find the words to express how self-concious you were about your body compared to the girls that usually got his attention. "You know," you finally added. "Me. So... I mean, I just want you to be sure, because..."

Steve's eyebrows pulled together in concern, his voice suddenly very serious. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I really don't."

You stared at him for a moment, surprised, and then your eyes dropped to your hands, which were clasped in front of you. Your nails had been painted black with silver glitter, and the edges of your fingertips were rough, worn down from anxiously picking at them for so many years. Your thighs, while sat on the cart, pressed together, the soft curve of them spilling slightly over the edge, a reminder of how you never felt like you fit the mold of what guys like Steve usually went for. You thought about the way your jeans pinched at your waist or how you always avoided certain angles in photos because they made your arms look bigger than you liked. Your stomach churned at the idea of him seeing all of you—every mark, every curve, every imperfection that you’d tried so hard to ignore but couldn’t help cataloging in moments like this.

“I just…” you started again, your voice quieter now, “I don’t want you to feel like this is a mistake. Like maybe the weird girl is hot when you're at work, but in the real world...” You trailed off, biting your lip hard to keep it from trembling.

Steve crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his hands gentle as they rested on your thighs, grounding you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady but insistent. “Look at me.”

When your eyes finally met his, the warmth in his expression nearly unraveled you. “You think I’m going to change my mind just because we take our clothes off? I'm rock hard in the middle of an adult section that smells like stale popcorn, and you think that's going to go away when your clothes are off? Really?" He asked incredulously, pausing to laugh at his own words. "That's pretty bold of you to assume."

Your breath hitched at the words. At his touch. The way his voice softened around your name. "Steve..."

"Seriously," he said, leaning a little closer. His voice was quiet now, almost a whisper, and his eyes darted between your eyes and your lips, his hands still gently kneading your thighs. "It's you that should be careful. I mean... I can barely focus on anything when you're just standing around in these jeans," he admitted, his eyes moving to your legs, his palms slowly moving up the curve of them. You bit your lip, heat flaring low in your stomach. "But naked?" His eyes returned to yours, his voice suddenly rough. "I wouldn't stand a chance."

Before you could even respond, he closed the distance, pressing his mouth to yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, his hands gently kneading the tops of your thighs. You moaned softly at his touch, your arms sliding over his shoulders and tangling in his hair as you melted against him. He wrapped one arm around you, pulling you to him, the other hand sliding up your waist.

"Now," he whispered against your lips as he went to lift your shirt a little again. "Can I continue where I left off, please?"

You smiled, kissing him in reply. You parted your lips, deepening the kiss. He moaned against your lips, his hand slowly trailing up your waist again, lifting your shirt up more this time. Your body tingled in anticipation of his hands on your skin, his fingertips warm on your bare stomach, slowly trailing up to your ribs, then higher still, his thumb brushing the edge of the cup of your bra.

Your head tipped back as he broke the kiss to trace his tongue over your collar bone, then dipped lower, his breath hot on the exposed skin as his thumb gently brushed your nipple through your bra, your back arching slightly at the sensation. He pressed another kiss to your throat, and you moaned as his hand dipped under your bra, cupping your breast and kneading the soft skin.

You slid a hand under his shirt, trailing your fingertips across his waist, tracing the trail of hair that lead lower, the muscles in his stomach contracting at your touch. His hand on your waist tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you took the hint, reluctantly pulling away for a moment to peel the fabric over your head. Steve let out a low groan at the sight of you in your bra, and you smiled shyly, letting him take a moment to appreciate your newly exposed skin. His hand went to the back of your neck, his touch firm, grounding as he leaned in to kiss you again. His free hand found its way to your other breast, palming it and gently tugging your bra strap down.

You were both panting now, his fingers on you and your fingers on him, and your whole body throbbing for more. You ran your palm along the front of his jeans, feeling the outline of him straining against the denim. His mouth left yours and moved to the skin above your bra as his hand left your chest and fumbled for the clasp at your back. You ran your nails over the front of his jeans, your own pulse racing. You had to touch him, you had to see him. Your fingers found his belt, but it was difficult to work with his hands on you and your mind a haze of arousal and nerves.

He seemed to be having the same problem, because after a few more attempts he stopped trying to work your bra clasp and tugged impatiently at the fabric, his voice husky.

"This—can you take this off? Or should we move? Because I can't—"

"Here," you gasped, shifting slightly and turning so your back was to him. "Try again."

Steve hummed softly in acknowledgement, his breath tickling your shoulder as he worked to free you from the offending fabric, his touch feather light and torturously slow. You leaned forward a little, letting your hair fall in a curtain over your face so he wouldn't see how much his teasing was affecting you. But you could feel the wetness between your legs, the ache of anticipation making your knees weak. Finally, with a quiet, satisfied noise, he freed you from your bra, and you sat back against the self again, letting your hair swing back to frame your face again as you watched his reaction to your body.

Steve's mouth dropped open at the sight of you, the slow grin tugging at his lips doing nothing to ease the ache.

"Well, this isn't fair," he breathed, standing straighter with one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair, as if to calm himself down. He looked over you as you leaned back, braced against your elbows. He then let out a long, deep exhale, his hands moving back to take his own shirt off. He paused about halfway through the motion to peer down at you, looking a little ridiculous with the collar halfway up his face, one arm free.

"Oh shit, sorry, did you want my shirt off too, or did you want me to leave it on, or—"

"Shirt. Off. Please," you said quickly. Steve grinned and finished the motion, tugging the tshirt off and letting it hit the floor. Your eyes darted to his torso, his skin flushed and his chest heaving slightly from the anticipation. He had a nice, lean build, with broad shoulders and a surprisingly strong-looking core. His chest hair was a light dusting that trailed across his pecs and tapered into a faint line down the center of his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. It added to his charm, giving him an effortlessly masculine edge. Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, to feel the softness of his skin under your palms, to trace the faint lines of his muscles beneath.

He definitely noticed you staring because he started grinning again, and when you noticed, he laughed a little. "What? Never seen a guy naked before?" he asked teasingly, making a joke of it to cover up the fact that he was suddenly a little self conscious under your scrutiny.

"You're beautiful." It spilled out of your mouth before you could stop it, and he looked surprised by the sincerity. His hands froze in mid-air and his eyes darted to yours. He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out, so instead he cleared his throat and grinned shyly at the ground.

"Okay," he said, clearly trying to collect himself, and you realized that he'd been flustered. By you. A wave of pride flooded your stomach, and you bit your lip as your smile grew wider. You weren't usually so forward, and it had surprised you too, but you were glad it came out. "Okay. Let me just, uh, find my brain."

"You left it over there, on the floor. With your shirt." You smirked at him and his eyes narrowed at the playful teasing. He bent down to place both his hands on either side of you on the cart, caging you in as he leaned closer to you and pressed his forehead to yours. He gave a slight push of his hips against you, just to make you aware of how much you were affecting him, before cupping one of your breasts in his hand and letting out a breath. He took your nipple in his fingers and rolled it gently. You moaned at his touch, your thighs spreading a little wider.

The sound was affirmation enough for him to take your other nipple in his mouth, and you leaned into his touch as he circled his tongue around you. His teeth grazed over it, biting just slightly and making you whimper with need. You could feel him smirk against your skin, and he slid his free hand down to your stomach, then lower. His fingers grazed over your jeans and pressed firmly against you through the thick denim.

He paused with his hand right above your waistband and he lifted his head to look into your eyes. He was clearly trying to make sure that he wasn't overstepping any boundaries and was silently asking for permission to keep going.

"You can always say no." His voice was barely more than a whisper as his fingers played with the button of your pants, not wanting to rush you.

You didn't hesitate, just leaned into him and whispered, "Please touch me. Please."

He gave a low groan, pressing a hard kiss to your lips and biting down on your lower lip, before breaking away and dropping his gaze to your jeans. You watched, biting your lip as he flicked open the button, pulling down the zipper, and slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of both your jeans and your underwear. He dragged a single finger over the slick, swollen heat between your legs, and you let out a shaky breath. He sucked in a breath, clearly affected, and then dipped his finger lower to stroke along your entrance. You shivered, letting out a low moan and trying to pull him closer.

You felt his breath hot on your shoulder as his other hand moved to tug the rest of your pants off, giving him easier access to you.

"So wet already," he breathed, and the feel of his lips moving against the soft skin of your shoulder made your thighs twitch, the tension of anticipation nearly overwhelming. He traced circles around your entrance with one finger before pushing in slowly. His movements were cautious at first, gauging your reaction as he worked up a slow pace. But it wasn't enough, not when you'd been craving the release for what felt like forever. You spread your thighs, trying to pull him closer.

"More," you breathed, gripping his wrist to guide him deeper, faster, harder. Steve gave a low moan as his finger curled inside you, finding that one spot that made your whole body ache with pleasure. He added a second finger, pushing deep and pumping into you again and again as you ground your hips up to meet him, chasing the feeling, desperate for more. You looked up to find him watching you, his lips parted and his pupils blown wide.

He leaned down to kiss you again, and the change in angle sent a new wave of heat through your core, a whimper escaping you. His free hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into him and holding you steady as he pressed his thumb to your clit. You cried out at the new sensation, and Steve broke the kiss to let you breathe, his lips still pressed against yours, your breath mingling in the space between. His eyes locked on yours, he curled his fingers again and began working them in earnest, the heel of his palm pressed hard against you as his fingers pushed deeper and deeper with every thrust.

The pleasure was building, every nerve on fire as your orgasm neared, every stroke of his hand, every graze of his thumb making the tension build higher. His fingers moved faster, and you moaned his name, clinging to his shoulder, his arm, your hips rising to meet his hand.

"You're like...way too good at this..." You breathed between whimpers. Steve grinned, slowing his movements and teasing you.

"Well, I do have a pretty decent reputation..."

You gave a frustrated growl at the sudden slow down.

"Steve," you whined.

He chuckled softly. "Mm-mm," he hummed against your ear, nipping at it as he slowly slid his fingers out. "Not so fast."

"Are you... you're really doing this? Now?" you panted, incredulous. You needed more of him, more of his touch, more of the release you had been so close to, but now he was denying you? You opened your eyes, watching as he grinned down at you while he began to unbutton his jeans, still wearing a smug expression as he slowly pushed them down over his hips and down his legs. Your eyes darted from his face to the obvious bulge in his boxers as you swallowed.

"You want to keep complaining?" He asked, pulling down the boxers a little before taking himself in his hand and slowly pumping once, twice. His eyes never left yours, the grin you were used to seeing every day coming back "Because we can stop."

You couldn't even pretend to be angry as your gaze flicked between his face and his cock.

"Oh. You are... that's..." you stammered, taking a second to drink in the sight of him, so close but still so far from where you needed him. The smug grin turned genuine at your reaction and he pumped himself a few more times as if he was putting on a show for you. He let go of himself to slide his boxers all the way down and then stepped out of them to kick them to the side. He put his hands on sides of the cart and gave it a small shove, testing its durability, which illicited a small laugh from you.

"What's wrong? Not confident that we can stay in one piece for a few more minutes?" You teased. He scoffed in mock offense, giving you a quick kiss that lingered as he pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth.

"It's just precaution. Don't want you complaining if I get too excited and end up breaking this thing." He pulled away slowly, looking at the cart for a moment, thinking. "Actually, maybe I can—"

You wrapped a leg around his waist before he could finish his thought, pulling him to you so he was nestled perfectly against your hips. "You could also start with taking these off me," you suggested, grabbing the sides of your panties and tugging at the fabric. Steve let out a breath, his hands immediately moving to help you, though his mind was clearly distracted by what he wanted to do next. You watched as he pulled down the fabric over your hips, then your thighs, before dropping it on top of your jeans. His eyes trailed over the newly exposed skin, a look of pure desire on his face, his gaze hungry.

"God," he breathed. "You are..."

But you never found out what he was going to say, because your impatient hands had found him again, and you were pumping him slowly, watching him shiver in anticipation. His fingers dug into your hips, his mouth dropping open slightly, his gaze locked on yours as you moved, letting the feeling of your touch overwhelm him for a moment before he pulled your hand away with a small chuckle.

"Fuck. I almost forgot..." He bent to find his jeans and fished around in his back pocket. When he pulled his wallet free, your eyes went wide as you realized what he was getting. He held the square, foil wrapper in front of him.

You raised an eyebrow at him as he went to open the wrapper with his teeth.

"You brought a condom to work with you? Why would you ever think you'd need it here? In Family Video?" You questioned as he opened the packet, spitting the excess foil to the side, before looking at you with a lopsided smile.

"What, you think I put it there just in case we ran out of videos to restock? I had it there for after work one day, just in case," he explained as if it was the most obvious thing. You rolled your eyes, smiling and giving a slight laugh. "I mean, not with you. Not like... I had it there just in case I went on a date." He paused to wince a little. "Wait, no, that doesn't sound any better, does it?"

"I get what you're trying to say," you reassured him as you laughed a little harder, before the conversation took a slightly serious turn.

You glanced between the condom he was holding in his hand, and him. He was hard, aching even, and he looked desperate for your touch. You felt a small wave of pride that you could turn him on so much, and that you had the opportunity to be with him like this. To touch him and be touched.

You licked your lips, then said, "Put it on."

You felt like a teenager again, waiting with bated breath while he carefully slipped on the condom, his own breath shuddering as his fingers moved along his cock. When he finished, he leaned over you, caging you against the shelf once again with his arms on either side of your waist.

"For the record, I was hoping to take you on a date before… this happened. After work some time. Y'know, really take you out. Watch a movie with you, get dinner, go back to my car," He whispered the last bit into your ear, before kissing it gently and adding, "maybe get you in the backseat. But we can save that for another night."

You were too caught up in the feel of him against you to fully process what he just implied. A second night. This wouldn't just be a one time thing, you'd get to do this again... and maybe more?

Before you could react to that, you felt Steve line up at your entrance and your brain seemed to go on autopilot, your focus shifting to how you were about to get exactly what you needed. Your legs parted a little more, your heels resting against the lower shelves for leverage, your back arching slightly so your chest pressed against his. He paused there, looking down at you for a moment. Your breath caught at his expression—he was watching you intently, his gaze fixed on your face, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

"You want this, right?" The genuine question took you aback. The vulnerability was back in his eyes, and it suddenly became clear to you how nervous he was. "I just want to be sure this isn't—"

"Steve," you said, cupping his face in your hand. "Yes. I want this."

His breath left him in a rush as his lips curled into a smile, his relief clear. Then he gave a slight push of his hips and began to slide into you. His cock started to stretch you out, his length filling you inch by inch, and you whimpered at the feeling, the sensation of him inside you so overwhelming after having gone so long without being with anyone yourself. Steve stopped, his head falling to your shoulder as he groaned.

"Oh, god... you feel... Jesus, you're—" he was breathing hard, his chest pressed to yours, his hands gripping the shelf. His cock pulsed inside you, and you were trembling from the tension of it, the sweet ache of being filled, the need to have him buried in you fully. You slid your hands up his back and wrapped your arms around him, holding him as close to you as possible. He let out a ragged breath, then pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck, just below your jaw.

"Are you okay? Is it too much? We can stop—"

"I'm okay, just please—"

"What? Anything, just say—"

"Please keep going. Please," you whimpered. Your thighs twitched around him and you tried to pull him deeper, your body aching for him, for release. The angle was different and new, and it felt incredible. "I need more... please, I want you, all of you... "

Your words spurred him on. His mouth found your neck, sucking lightly at the spot just below your ear as he slowly thrust deeper, and deeper, until he was buried inside you. You felt your inner muscles stretch to accommodate his size, the pressure making you gasp as your legs quivered and your body flushed. Steve groaned, his breathing ragged, his body taut as he waited for you to adjust, every muscle in his back tense.

"God, I don't know how long I can hold out," he whispered.

"Then don't," you said. Your nails dug into his skin and you clenched around his cock. Steve bit down on your shoulder as he began to thrust in long, hard strokes, the friction making your legs tremble as you tried to keep up.

He pressed you to him, his arm looped under your waist, pulling you down on his length, the slow slide making you see stars. His hand snaked down between you, finding your clit and stroking you as he began to pick up the pace, the pressure building with every thrust. His moans were quieter now, more breathy as he drove into you over and over, the rhythm steady as he fucked you in time to the thud of the shelf against the wall.

You could feel yourself approaching the edge, every nerve tingling, every inch of you burning for release. The pressure of his body on yours, the way he moved, his moans, his scent, his hands—everything was pushing you higher, faster. His cock twitched inside you and you moaned, your own orgasm building with every stroke, every thrust, every touch. His pace became more erratic as you moved against him, your legs spread, your back arched, the angle deep and intense.

"I'm... fuck, I'm going to..." he managed between pants. "I want you... to come first..."

The way his voice shook, his hips stuttering with the effort of holding himself back, made your chest swell. He wanted you to finish before him, he wanted you to feel good. And it did, it felt good—so good, too good. Your heart hammered in your chest, the pressure of it making you feel like it might burst. He pushed harder, his fingers moving faster on your clit.

"Steve—" His name escaped your lips, breathy, as your body started to unravel. The tension in your core built higher, your hips jerking, the shelf hitting the wall harder. Your vision blurred as a wave of pleasure rolled through you, and you gasped his name again as you came around him, your body shuddering. Your muscles clamped down hard, making his pace stutter as he tried to push through. Steve groaned, his forehead resting on yours, his fingers digging into your side. He kept his pace even, thrusting through the aftershocks and holding you through your release, his mouth hovering near yours as he panted and moaned. You slid your arms to his back and raked your nails down, dragging your hands across the planes of his body, reveling in how his muscles twitched as your touch moved along his spine and to his ass, and you pulled him in deeper.

The angle was different now, the pressure intense as his pace sped up and he started chasing his own orgasm, his cock filling you up completely and sliding against every inch of you, sending another wave of pleasure through you. He looked so beautiful above you, his hair disheveled and falling in front of his face, his expression pinched as his pace increased. You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him closer and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. The tender touch made him shiver, and he pushed in hard and fast, his whole body going tense as his cock pulsed, the waves of his own release flooding through him. He moaned softly and your name tumbled from his lips.

For a moment you stayed there, his arms around you, his face pressed into your shoulder. Then, as the aftershocks ebbed away, he pulled out, giving you one last slow stroke as he did so. The loss of his touch made you whimper. You felt so empty now, aching for him, and you couldn't help but feel a little vulnerable at the thought of him pulling away from you. Steve stayed close for a moment longer, kissing you softly, tenderly, and you could feel your heart clench. He wasn't rushing off, he wasn't pushing you away. He was taking care of you.

Your body hummed with the lingering buzz of pleasure as Steve pulled off the condom, knotted the end, and threw it into the wastebasket in the corner, grinning proudly when it landed in the trash.

"Nice," he said, nodding as if impressed with himself. "And with my left hand, no less. Maybe I should have tried for pro basketball."

He was being a dingus again. A post-sex dingus, but still, a dingus. And it was such a relief.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, watching him carefully as he found his discarded clothing on the ground and began getting dressed. You had no idea what would come after, what the dynamic of things would be. What were the rules here? The guys you'd been with in the past didn't stick around to help you get dressed. You just put on your clothes, left the guys to clean up their mess, and went home.

"So," you said, taking your time to gather your own clothes from the bottom of the cart, putting your underwear on first. "Now what?"

He gave you a small grin, buttoning his pants as you grabbed your bra. "Now..." he trailed off, as if in thought. You slipped your bra over your arms, reaching back to do the clasps as best you could with limited reach. Steve noticed you struggling, and stepped towards you. He reached a hand up, motioning for you to turn around so that he could help you.

You did as he instructed, turning so that he had easy access to the hooks. His fingers grazed along the skin on your back as he slowly clasped each of them together. Once he finished, his hands slid up to your shoulders and he turned you around to face him again. You smiled up at him as you continued to put on your bra, adjusting yourself slightly. He didn't pull back right away. He kept his hands on you, running his thumbs across the fabric on your shoulders, a content smile on his face as he stared at you.

"What is it?" you asked, noticing that he seemed to be stuck in his head. He didn't answer you right away. His smile widened and he leaned down, kissing you gently. It was so soft and slow, that you forgot what you had asked him to begin with. All you could think about was his mouth on yours, and his hands on your waist, and the smell of his cologne and sweat, and the way his hair was completely messed up. He pulled away after a moment and you blinked, dazed.

"Nothing," he answered after what seemed like forever. "Just... this."

"This?" you asked. You could feel your heart racing again. He was still smiling, and he kissed you once more before pulling away and reaching down to pick up his shirt.

"This. You and me," he said, as if the answer was obvious. He pulled his shirt over his head and cocked his head at you as you began to put your jeans on, not answering. "Unless you didn't... I mean, I kind of assumed... unless you just wanted to forget this happened? That's not really my thing, but I mean, it's okay, we could pretend if—"

"I like you." It just blurted out of you and he froze, looking surprised. You realized you were holding your breath. He blinked.

"Really?"

"Really. But I mean... I know you like to take girls out, so maybe this was just a—"

"You really don't know me that well, do you?" he laughed. Your heart was hammering.

"What do you mean?" you asked cautiously. You'd said too much. He was going to take it back now. You knew he would.

"I mean..." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, but he didn't look like he wanted to back down. "I'm not just gonna... y'know, get with you at work and then bail on you. I like you, I like... being around you. A lot. I wanna keep doing it. Just in other places. Like outside of this shithole. And definitely without my uniform on. I mean, unless you're into that. I could probably bring my uniform home."

Your mind was going in about twenty directions at once, and it took you a second to process what he'd just said. He'd never... he liked being around you. And he wanted to take you out. You realized your mouth was open slightly and you closed it, biting your lip and feeling a wave of relief.

"You like me?" you repeated. "Not... you actually want to be around me?"

Steve stared at you for a second, a mix of disbelief and concern on his face, like you were the biggest idiot in the world for doubting him. Then his eyes narrowed, like he'd suddenly understood. He grabbed your waist again and pulled you back into him, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Are you telling me I'm so bad at flirting you didn't realize I've had a crush on you for the past four months? Are you kidding me?" He laughed a little at that. "You're actually insane. I thought it was so obvious..."

"I... what?" you stammered. "No! I had no idea."

"I mean," Steve started, pulling away slightly as he began to run through the list of times he'd been blatantly obvious in his interest for you, "I'm always trying to spend more time with you, asking you about yourself, finding stupid ways to make you smile or laugh or just... you know... pay attention to you... and like, the way I talk about you. Robin constantly call me out on it." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up a little more, which somehow only added to how endearing he looked.

"Well..." you mumbled, feeling your cheeks redden, "I just thought it was, y'know. Steve Harrington being Steve Harrington. Being a flirt."

Steve stared at you in silence for a moment, looking slightly disappointed that you were that clueless.

"Wait... do you really not know? About—" he looked up to the ceiling, and let out a short huff of air, before he looked back at you with his eyebrows raised. "The flirting, the winking, the talking about my parents not being home? Like... is it actually not obvious?"

Your face fell as you thought back on all the interactions the two of you had over the past few months, trying to pick up on clues. Had you really missed every hint that he had been dropping? You wanted to bury your head in your hands. You wanted the ground to swallow you up. But... he was still here. Still smiling. Still standing close and looking at you with the same interest that he'd had the whole night, since you had walked through the front door.

"You argue with me about everything, though," you said with a laugh, thinking of the many debates that the two of you had over what was a good movie, what was a bad one, which character in a movie was the hottest, if the latest rom com was really that good (spoiler: it wasn't), or even over the smallest, dumbest things that didn't even matter. "If I hadn't known you, I'd think that we just didn't like each other."

"That's just the chemistry," Steve shrugged, "You think I argue with all my coworkers about every little thing? Please." He chuckled as you blushed and shook your head, before he took another step closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you. "I like getting a rise out of you. You get so annoyed when you're trying to argue your point but can't think of the words. It's really cute."

You playfully nudged him with your elbow, before you finally put on the last of your clothes. Steve did the same, and when you looked down, you were both fully dressed. There was no trace that either of you had just fucked each other senseless a few moments ago. You glanced back up at him as he adjusted his vest.

"Lets go finish that deposit and then get the hell out of here."

You followed him back to the register, and he took the deposit bag and signed it, passing it to you. He waited patiently as you double checked to make sure that the deposit slip and the money matched. Once everything was correct, he gave a nod.

"Looks good. Ready to lock up?" he asked.

You nodded, and you both went to the breakroom to punch out. He opened the door for you, and you punched out on your time clock and gathered your things. You put your vest in your locker and closed it, turning around to see that Steve had already waited for you, patiently leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. You walked past him and out of the door, flipping the light switch as you walked out.

Whe you were outside the store, Steve locked the doors, then took the key and tossed it up and caught it. He turned and started walking backwards in the direction of the parking lot, as you headed to the bike rack to unlock your bike. Steve turned around, thinking you were right behind him and when he saw you at the bike rack, he spoke again.

"What are you doing? Are you riding that?"

"Um. Yes?" you raised an eyebrow, giving him a strange look as if to question what his problem was. "That's the plan. It's how I usually get home from work."

"It's freezing and it's late and I'm not letting you ride that back." He was being insistent. "No."

"Um. Yeah? It's really not that bad. I have a coat."

"Get in the car, leave your bike chained up. I have a morning shift tomorrow, I'll make sure it's there" he insisted, "Please? It's already past ten."

"Steve."

"C'mon. Just get in." he shrugged, his keys jingling in his hands. He wasn't going to budge and you were starting to get annoyed.

"It's really not—"

"Get in the damn car already." He rolled his eyes at you, clearly not buying the argument that you could get home by yourself and in one piece. It was dark outside, and a bit chilly, but that wasn't exactly uncommon for Hawkins. You sighed. You knew you wouldn't win this battle and it wasn't worth it to continue to argue.

"Fine. But just for the record, it's not that cold and I would have been fine. You know that."

"Mhm. Sure." Steve grinned, leading the way to the parking lot. When you got there, you stopped and glanced at all the empty cars and he frowned, before he gave a laugh of relief when he saw his BMW in the back corner. He unlocked the doors, you both climbed inside and he started the engine. He drove out of the parking lot, turning right onto the main street. You leaned your head on the window, your mind still spinning with the events of the last hour. Steve Harrington wanted you. You wanted Steve Harrington. This wasn't a one time thing, you could do this again. It was really happening.

As your eyes closed, you thought about the conversation you'd just had and something clicked. Steve's comment about him having a crush on you for months finally sank in. Your head whipped towards Steve in the driver's seat and you stared at him, as if you hadn't seen him in this light before. You couldn't help but stare. He was... perfect. He was absolutely, flawlessly beautiful and you just couldn't believe that someone like him could be so infatuated with someone like you. You leaned back in your seat, watching him carefully as he drove. You felt like you were going to burst, or pass out. You'd never been more attracted to someone before, but there was something else there. It felt more intense, more intense than it had felt before with anyone else. You felt your face turn a few shades of pink again as you thought of him.

The ride to your house wasn't a long one. Hawkins wasn't exactly known for being large, after all, and you didn't live too far from the store. Before you knew it, you were parked on the side of the road right in front of your driveway. You smiled at the sight of the familiar streetlight flickering every now and then. Home.

"Thanks," you mumbled quietly, as Steve put the car in park. "I... I mean... um, yeah, just... thanks." You fidgeted a little with the seatbelt strap and he nodded at you. He didn't move to take his hand off the wheel.

"Yeah... so," Steve gave a slight sigh as he leaned back, finally looking away from the windshield and meeting your eyes again. "Can we go back to talking about the whole you having no clue thing, because... I gotta be honest with you. I don't think I've ever been this embarrassed in my life. You thought I was just..."

You stared at him for a second, watching the way he spoke, watching how animated he was as he explained his side of the story, as if it had actually been some huge deal that you didn't notice him pining over you. The thought of it was... sweet, and it was such a contrast from what you thought you knew about him before. He really cared about how you felt.

"You know that I would never use you, right?" Steve continued. "Like I really like you. I think I made that pretty clear at the store, but like, if I made you uncomfortable or—"

You reached forward and took his hand in yours. You took it gently at first, testing to see his reaction, before he took your hand in return. He glanced down at where your fingers laced together, as his thumb moved over your skin.

"Steve," you interrupted softly, and his head tilted up to look back at you again. He had been rambling.

"Hm?" He asked, clearly unsure of how to react to what you just said. He watched as you brought his hand up to your mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his hand. When your gaze met his again, you smiled, feeling the warmth of your breath on his hand, your nose brushing against him.

"Take me out." It was a request, a gentle demand, as if he didn't know that you would follow him anywhere at this point.

He grinned at that. The idea was definitely appealing. You saw the wheels turning in his head, imagining all the places that you could go on a date. What movies you could see, which ones would be worth sitting through for two hours with you, and which ones wouldn't. You were certain he had the entire month mapped out already.

"Can I pick you up at five on Saturday? There's this drive in theatre down the next town over." Steve offered, his eyes lit up with excitement.

"Yeah, I'm off on Saturday."

"I know. I've been staring at that calendar in the breakroom all week. I know all the dates you have off." Steve explained, as you looked at him in awe, with your mouth hanging open in surprise. "What? I wasn't lying back there. I had been planning to ask you out."

He didn't seem ashamed to admit it either, as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then brushed his fingers over your cheek, as if to check that you were really there. You leaned into the touch and he smiled, letting out a content sigh. He took your hand and pulled you towards him, pressing his lips to your temple.

"I should get inside, my parents are probably wondering why I'm home from work so late." You whispered, looking up at Steve, whose face fell. He pulled you a little closer to him, leaning his head down to meet you, as if he didn't want you to leave.

"Saturday." He said it more to remind himself than to remind you. "I'll pick you up here."

"I'll be ready. Promise." you grinned, and he nodded in confirmation. With that, he gave you one final kiss, pressing his lips gently to yours for what felt like an eternity, but ended up only being about three seconds, before letting you go. He sat back up, putting the car back into drive, as you reached for the door handle.

"Have a good night."

"Yeah. You too." Steve smiled as he put the car back in drive.

---

extra lil bonus scene for the platonic!Stobin lovers:

The next morning at Family Video, Steve leaned lazily against the counter, flipping through a stack of tapes with all the enthusiasm of a kid forced to do summer homework. Robin, meanwhile, was loading the last of the returns into a cart, muttering about how she always got the worst tasks.

“You could at least pretend to help,” Robin said, giving him a pointed look as she pushed the cart toward the back.

“I’m on very important rewinder duty,” Steve replied, smirking as he leaned back against the counter.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You’re on very important doing nothing duty.”

She disappeared into the aisles, her voice carrying back to him as she headed toward the adult section. “Why do I always get stuck with the beaded curtain of doom? I didn’t sign up to alphabetize Hawkins’ finest porn collection !”

“Because you’re the captain, and I’m just a humble first mate,” Steve called after her, grinning to himself.

A moment later, Robin’s horrified yell shattered the calm.

“STEVE!”

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat as he sprinted toward the back, shoving through the beads to find Robin standing stock-still, staring at the trash can with a look of utter disgust.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, panting slightly.

Robin pointed at the trash can like it was radioactive. “There is a used condom in the trash can!”

Steve froze, his stomach dropping. “Uh…”

Robin turned to him, her expression a mix of shock and dawning realization. “Wait. Wait. Harrington. No. Tell me you didn’t—”

“I—it’s not what it looks like!” Steve stammered, raising his hands in defense. “I mean, technically, it is what it looks like, but it’s not like that!”

Robin’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Oh my God, you and—wait— you and her?! In the adult section?!”

“No! Well… yes. But it wasn’t—it was after close!” Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly panicking. “And it wasn’t planned ! It just… happened!”

Robin stared at him, blinking slowly. Then, she tilted her head. “So let me get this straight. You, Steve Harrington, had sex here, surrounded by titles like Butt Bandits 3 and Debbie Does Dallas? ”

Steve’s face turned bright red as he buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Robin then let out a bark of laughter. “Steve, do you have any idea how lucky you are that I found this and not Keith? Can you even imagine? He’d have a field day!”

Steve groaned again, his face still buried in his hands. “Please, don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not joking!” Robin said, laughing harder now. “You’d never live it down. He’d probably give you some gross high-five and call you ‘stud’ every time he saw you.”

“God, please stop. I’m already dying of embarrassment.”

Robin folded her arms, a wicked grin on her face. “Oh, I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. Who even does this? At work, Steve? In the adult section? What, were you inspired by the ambiance?”

“It wasn’t planned!” Steve repeated, throwing his head back. “It just… happened!”

Robin smirked. “Oh, I’m sure it just happened. ”

“Robin,” Steve said, glaring at her. “Please. I’m begging you. Just pretend this didn’t happen.”

Robin pretended to consider it, then shrugged. “Fine. But you’re taking the trash out.”

“What? No way!”

“Oh, yes way,” she said, shoving the trash can toward him. “You made this mess. Literally. Now deal with it.”

Steve sighed dramatically, grabbing the trash can and stomping toward the back door as Robin’s laughter echoed behind him.

As he reached the exit, Robin called after him, her voice dripping with amusement. “Oh, and for the record? Since she clearly likes you back, maybe next time, take her somewhere that doesn’t smell like old popcorn and desperation!”

Steve froze mid-step, turning to glare at her. “Robin!”

She just grinned, wiggling her fingers in a wave. “Have fun with the trash, lover boy!”

Steve groaned loudly, stomping outside as Robin’s laughter rang through the store, the last thing he heard before the door slammed shut.

[kitten4sannie]

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, mainly!! praise and pet names, one instance of false praise, [ the following happens inside a crowded room of ppl and possiblyy in front of reader’s husband: groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping, one neck bite, san cums untouched, ] ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, oral (giving/receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover + peaches + nothing on me by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of figurative autofellatio the beautiful people around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

-

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands, to various vague acquaintances doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms. All of that chaos saught to entice you, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, instead focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink any more, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who all simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, his cheeks flushed red, haphazardly holding onto a half-empty champagne flute, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

Just about spilling the rest of his bubbly onto his lap, San gulped, slowly spreading his thighs open wider and patting one of them, giving you a silent invitation to take things further.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

San’s throat went dry. He must’ve done something truly benevolent in a past life to deserve this. “Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

His cock now directly near your face, San smiled devilishly down at you, his dimples appearing. He lazily ran a closed hand along his curved, dripping length. “And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? Because Mommy’s a good little slut, huh?”

“What do you think?” you mused, just before running your tongue along the underside of San’s heavy cock up to the salty tip, a pleased chuckle vibrating from your throat.

“Yeah, get it wet for me…” he mumbled absentmindedly, pushing his fingers through your hair to move it out of the way. San pressed his thighs tightly against the side of the bed, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

Just when San began getting worked up, you pulled yourself off of him and sat up to rid yourself of your useless, disheveled dress. Hearing a distinct groan of approval, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, you come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

“Yeah? I’ll show you…” San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you. “In fact, I’ll make sure you never forget, baby.”

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[ahqkas]

hey goergous!! I've been BINGING your writing on the batboys and I absolutely love them!! Is there a chance you can do Costco runs with the batboys? Weird idea but I was just at Costco and was thinking about it hahaha!! Thank you!!! ❤️🦇

♯HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU ( the batboys accompanying you to costco ! )

— gn!reader, bruce & dick & jason ( separated ), i had to google what costco is so i hope i got it right !! fluff, this is so short i’m sorry 😣

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

THE MERE IDEA OF BRUCE WAYNE IN SUCH A SHOP WAS AS SURREAL AS ENDEARING. it happened during a simple saturday morning, still when many people were busy sleeping in, when you got to the task at your hand: grocery shopping.

you glanced over at your company, noting how his well tailored black sweater and dark jeans contrasted with the whole place and its contents. his classy clothing looked so out of place among the sea of puffy jackets, hoodies, and sneakers. yet, as always, he didn’t seem to mind. he almost looked comfortable ( if you could call the expression on his face by that word ) by your side, but you had your suspicions it was only because he was with you.

he pushed the cart with one hand, his other resting warmly on your lower back as he guided you through the place like he knew exactly where to go. you’d begged him to come with you—not because you couldn’t do it alone, but because you were curious about him in such a place. the idea of bruce wayne, a billionaire who owned sprawling estates and could have groceries delivered with a snap of his finger, was far too good to pass on.

bruce picked up a bulk-sized box of protein granola bars and studied it like he was deciphering a riddle from the riddler himself. “do we eat these?”

you tilted your head towards him, eyes flickering between his handsome face and the bars in his hands. he managed to look good even under those fluorescent lights. “i eat them. you inhale them after your patrols.

a flicker of smirk danced on his lips while his free arm tightened around your waist, tossing the box into the cart with a nod of his head. “point taken, sweetheart.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

the idea to shop at costco was his.

it was funny to watch him move through the shop, one hand pushing the cart while he held your hand with the other. ( “costco? are you kidding? i love costco,” he’d said with excitement filling his voice, practically dragging you out the door before you could protest. ) . now, you were strolling through various aisles with your boyfriend. dick was dressed in his usual hoodie and jeans, although you knew he was hiding his suit under the casual clothes. his blue eyes sparkled whenever he discovered something that was ‘essential’ for your home.

“do we really need a 10 pound tub of peanut butter?”

“we do now.”

it was nice seeing him like this, doing normal things like shopping for once. he scanned the rows of fresh fruit like a normal guy instead of the acrobatic vigilante who swung through blüdhaven’s skyline every night. dick picked up a bag of green apples and tossed it into the cart. they’d bruise, no doubt. “do you approve of these?”

“i approve of anything that gets you to eat actual food instead of protein bars and instant noodles,” you pinched his biceps, feeling the muscle flex under your touch.

he swatted your hand away. “hey, i make a mean bowl of mac and cheese.”

“you mean you open a mean box of mac and cheese.”

dick shrugged with an ashamed smile on his face, hand reaching out and picking up a tub of pre-cut pineapple. “there. that’s balance right here. carbs and fruit. meal prep done.”

. . . JASON TODD !

THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR GROANED UNDER THE WEIGHT OF WHAT FELT LIKE AN ENTIRE GROCERY STORE as jason hefted yet another bag onto his shoulder, the plastic handles straining under the bulk of sparkling water. his leather jacket creaked with the movement, and a few stray strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead as he turned to you with a playful look on his face.

“explain to me again,” he drawled out lowly, “why two people need this much stuff?”

you shrugged your shoulders and leaned casually against the car while sipping your iced coffee, looking far too pleased with yourself ( which you kinda were ). “because it’s costco, jay. you don’t go in for just a few things. you go in, black out, and come out with a year’s supply of paper towels and enough food to survive the apocalypse.”

your boyfriend huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head as he grabbed another bag, this one balanced with a carton of eggs and a bag of frozen chicken nuggets. “pretty sure you’re prepping for more than just the apocalypse. you’ve got enough granola bars in here to feed an entire boy scout troop.”

“don’t act like you’re not going to eat half of those on your next patrol.”

jason ate like he was the entire boy scout troop.

“fair point,” he admitted and you watched as his lips twitched into a smirk. jason had this way of making even the most normal activities feel like they were charged with a kind of electricity. the way he moved, the way he joked — it all carried that signature side of him.

[rafeysvenicebitch]

TV in Black & White

summary: When a man stalks you at the store and try’s something, Rafe defends you with brutal force, and gets arrested for it. Now he’s behind bars again, and you’re back to prison visits with your baby girl in your arms. The world is black and white without him… but your love refuses to fade.

cw: creepy guy, Rafe beats him up(yay!!)

You knew something was wrong the moment that man looked at you — not like a stranger, but like he knew you. Like he had every right to follow you down the frozen food aisle, say your daughter looked like his, smile like this was some twisted reunion.

You picked her out of the cart, held her to your chest, and turned your back.

He followed anyway.

“You gonna introduce me to my little girl?” he said, trailing you straight through checkout. “Don’t be like that, baby. You always did run hot. Hey, I can help load the car—”

You screamed his name.

“RAFE!”

You didn’t see Rafe run out of the corner store. Didn’t see the rage bloom. Only heard the crash — a wooden bat splintering against bone, metal, flesh. Heard Rafe scream, “STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY FAMILY, YOU SICK FUCK!” over and over again while people yelled and your daughter cried in your arms.

They arrested him covered in blood.

The guy lived. Barely. Enough to press charges.

Now it’s back to prison bars and scheduled visits. A glass wall between you and the only man who’s ever made you feel like more than a good girl gone wrong.

You dress your baby girl in pink, tie her hair up with a ribbon, and drive out to the facility with a stitched Bible tucked in your purse, you bring Rafe some lemon bars and warm mac and cheese for while you visit. You hand over your ID and wait for the buzzer. The second you walk in, he’s already there.

Rafe sits behind the glass, bruises healing, hand pressed flat to the barrier like he could still touch you.

You place your daughter’s tiny palm against his. She gurgles. Reaches for the receiver. You hold it to her ear.

“Say hi to Daddy,” you whisper.

He watches you like a dying man — like you’re the only color in a black-and-white world.

You don’t say much. Don’t need to. Just hold your daughter, whisper how much you miss him, how you’re proud of him for protecting you, how you’ll wait as long as it takes.

He finally speaks, voice cracked and low.

“If you get lonely… think of me only. Prison ain’t gonna keep me from you.”

You smile through the tears, remembering that day on the beach, how he carried you into the surf until the waves turned blue and your sins washed off like sand.

When you leave, your daughter kisses the glass. Rafe touches his heart.

And you swear, no matter what the judge says — this is still your family.

Because living without him is like TV in black and white.

And your world?

It’s always been colored by him.

Tagging Moots: @memoirofasparklemuff1n @rafesbabygirlx @ilovefiction4lmen @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @cameronsbabydoll @harkovsangel @drtyelvisfantasy @supasolaa

[sunsetmade]

request for calm and older rafe (twenties) and hyper independent reader when they run into her father and she just like freezes bc she's remembering childhood trauma. she gets kinda scared and like hides behind him and is just super freaked out and distant and weird for the next few days

(I made a request like two minutes ago but I had another idea sorry 😭)

Sorry for taking longer! Hope you enjoyed your other request!

Meaningless Judgement

Older! Rafe Cameron x Independent! Reader

Rafe never thought he’d enjoy grocery shopping.

Not until her.

It used to be a chore — something he either rushed through or avoided entirely, leaving it to delivery apps and takeout menus. But now? Now it’s something else entirely. Something quieter. Softer. Almost sacred.

It’s become one of his favorite parts of the week.

Not because of the food. But because it’s them.

No distractions. No schedules. Just the two of them moving through aisles lined with bright packaging and fluorescent lights, sharing small jokes and easy silences. There’s something grounding in the simplicity — hands brushing as they reach for apples, debates over which cereal is actually superior, her soft laugh echoing between shelves like a song only he gets to hear.

Today, his arms are wrapped around her waist as she pushes the cart.

He’s not really helping. More like a weighted blanket draped over her back — chin resting on her shoulder, breath tickling her neck, his fingers loosely interlaced at her stomach. His tall frame shadows hers as they move, slow and unhurried, down the aisle.

She doesn’t mind. She never does. Sometimes she leans back into him with the faintest smile, like she’s trying to pull him even closer, like she needs the warmth of him pressed against her spine — and every time, it leaves Rafe dizzy with how much he adores her. Right there in the middle of the store, next to bags of lettuce and boxes of rigatoni.

She’s wearing one of his sweatshirts — sleeves swallowed past her fingertips, hood bouncing slightly against her back as they move. Her hair is tied up in that lazy, thrown-together way she does when they’re just hanging out, and every time she tilts her head toward him, he catches the faint scent of her shampoo. It’s familiar and warm and so her that it tightens something in his chest.

They’re in the pasta aisle when it happened.

At first, Rafe doesn’t notice him.

Just a voice — deep and clipped — that cuts through the soft rhythm they’d been floating in. A little too sharp. A little too pointed. The kind of tone Rafe’s come to recognize. Not loud enough to make a scene, but calculated enough to land like a slap.

Her body stiffens against him.

And that’s when Rafe sees him.

Her father.

The man’s standing at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, wearing the same judgmental expression Rafe remembers from the one time they’d met — the kind of look that scans for weakness, catalogues flaws, and wears superiority like a well-tailored suit.

His eyes flick from the two of them — the way Rafe is wrapped around her, the oversized sweatshirt she’s swimming in, the closeness they wear like second skin. And then come the comments. The kind that sound casual, offhanded even, but carry barbs meant to draw blood.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, gaze sliding down his daughter with a subtle sneer, “Looking… comfortable.”

Rafe doesn’t move.

He just stands there, solid and unmoving behind her, chin lifting slightly, arms firm around her waist now. Protective. Grounding. Saying without words: I’m not going anywhere.

She forces a smile. “Just grabbing groceries.”

Her dad’s eyes drop to the cart. He doesn’t say anything at first — doesn’t have to. The look on his face is familiar. That same subtle tilt of his head, the faint twitch of his mouth. It’s not overt, but it’s pointed — like he’s scanning for evidence, for ammunition. The boxed mac and cheese. The frozen dinners. A pack of cookies she’d grabbed without thinking. Nothing unusual, but under his gaze, it all starts to feel like proof of something shameful. Proof that she’s still not living up to whatever standard he decided she should meet years ago.

“Looks like you’re doing… fine,” he says eventually, with a pause that’s so slight it almost sounds natural. “Domestic life suits you, I suppose.”

Rafe stays behind her, close. He hasn’t moved an inch since the moment her father appeared — still resting against her back like a silent wall, solid and unmoving. A quiet protector. His fingers are no longer loosely laced; now they’re steady, grounded. Anchoring her.

But he feels it — the change in her.

She shrinks. Not dramatically, not visibly to anyone who doesn’t know her. But Rafe knows her. And he notices the subtle way her spine straightens, how her shoulders tighten, how her voice drops just a notch too low — like she’s afraid to be too loud in front of this man. She’s not just uncomfortable. She’s small. Made smaller by habit. By years of these encounters that always left her questioning herself even when she swore they wouldn’t.

And it wasn’t like her at all. She never backed down—never shrank herself for anyone. That fire in her, the one that made her speak her mind and meet the world head-on, was part of what Rafe loved most about her. But now, standing in front of her father, she looked smaller somehow. Quieter. Like she was folding in on herself just to survive the moment. And that’s what made Rafe’s blood boil—not the man’s words, not even the subtle judgment in his tone, but the way he was stealing her light right in front of him. Stealing the parts of her that burned brightest. Like he’d done it so many times, she’d learned to dim herself on command.

Rafe clenched his jaw, fingers tightening where they rested on her waist.

Rafe hates it. Hates the way that man still makes her doubt, even now. Even with Rafe standing right there, ready to defend her if she so much as breathes the word.

“I am doing fine,” she says, voice even but tight. “Really good, actually.”

Her father’s gaze flicks back to Rafe then. No change in expression, no raised voice — just that same measured stare. There’s nothing in it, and yet everything. A subtle kind of disdain, dressed up in civility. Then his mouth tugs at the corner — not quite a smirk, but enough to feel like a challenge passed silently between men.

“You’ve always had a soft spot for lost causes,” he says mildly.

It takes her a second to realize he isn’t talking about himself.

Rafe’s jaw ticks behind her. Still, he says nothing — his silence louder than anything else in that aisle. But his grip at her waist tightens slightly, as if reminding her: You’re not alone. I’m here if you need me.

Her father’s voice cuts in again, casual. “He the reason you haven’t called in six months? Or were you just… busy?”

She swallows hard. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

“I suppose not,” he replies, with a quiet, amused exhale. “Not much to say when everything’s so perfect.”

It’s not the words that cut — it’s the delivery. That calm, rehearsed tone he’s always used. Like he’s playing a character he’s mastered: the concerned father. The well-meaning man. As if he hadn’t made her flinch more with his politeness than others ever could with anger.

“We should finish up,” she says softly, eyes still on the cart.

Her father gives a small nod, like he’s granting permission instead of just acknowledging her choice.

“Take care of yourself,” he says — and maybe, to someone else, it would sound kind. But not to her. Not with that undertone. That implication. Like it’s a reminder. Like he doesn’t trust her to manage it.

Rafe doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even look at him.

He just shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, and tightens his arms around her waist — guiding her away from the aisle, from that man, from everything heavy that clung to the moment like a shadow.

And as they walk on, her hand reaches down and covers his where it rests at her stomach. No words. Just touch. Just the quiet echo of everything she didn’t have to say.

After they pass another two aisles Rafe clears his throat and speaks up.

“Hey,” he says quietly, feeling her fingers rub over his. “You okay?”

She nods too quickly. “I’m fine.”

Rafe doesn’t call her on it. Just nods once, pulling her in this time tighter — like a shield. He lets her push the cart again, doesn’t pressure her to talk. But the rest of the trip, she’s… quieter.

It’s heavy. Withdrawn. She doesn’t hum to the store music like she usually does. Doesn’t debate with him about Pop-Tart flavors. Doesn’t even react when he makes a joke about off-brand frozen pizza.

And when they get home, it didn’t stop.

She walks into the house ahead of him, the front door swinging open with a soft creak. She doesn’t say anything — just heads straight for the kitchen and sets the grocery bags down on the counter like she’s going through the motions on autopilot.

Rafe follows behind her at a slower pace, watching closely.

She doesn’t move to unpack like she usually does. She just stands there, her fingers lingering on the top of one of the paper bags, lightly brushing at the fold like she’s forgotten what comes next. Like she’s somewhere else entirely.

It’s subtle, but to Rafe, it’s loud.

“You don’t have to unpack,” he says gently, stepping up behind her. His voice is soft, a hand brushing lightly against her lower back. “I got it.”

She gives the smallest nod, not quite looking at him. “Thanks,” she murmurs — so quiet it’s almost lost in the hum of the fridge.

And then she’s gone, disappearing down the hall without another word.

The sound of the bedroom door clicking closed carries more weight than it should.

That’s when Rafe knows — really knows — this isn’t something she’s just going to shake off.

She never lets him do things for her, not like that. Not without a little smile or a “You sure?” or a shared glance that says we’re a team. But tonight, she handed it off. Let it go.

And that scares him more than anything her father said.

He unpacks the groceries slowly. The crinkling of the bags fills the quiet space around him, and for once, it doesn’t feel like a home — it feels like he’s just filling time until he can check on her.

Every few minutes, he glances down the hallway. Wondering. Worrying. Trying to figure out what version of comfort she needs tonight.

Sometimes she wants distraction — a stupid show, a dumb joke, something light to pull her out of her head. Sometimes she climbs into his lap without a word and just needs him to hold her until she can breathe again.

But tonight?

Tonight she needs quiet.

So he gives it to her.

He wipes his hands on a towel and makes his way down the hall, careful not to make too much noise. The bedroom door is closed but not locked. When he opens it, his chest tightens at the sight.

She’s curled up on the bed, tucked into herself, knees hugged to her chest. She’s wearing his hoodie — the one he threw on this morning, the one that still smells like him — and the sleeves are bunched around her hands like she’s trying to disappear inside them.

She’s not crying.

That almost makes it worse.

Her eyes are distant, fixed on some spot on the wall like if she stares hard enough, the ache will leave her. Her breathing is slow and shallow, every inhale like she’s fighting to keep something down — a wave, a memory, a crack in her composure.

Rafe walks over slowly, crouches down in front of the bed, gaze level with hers. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Baby? Can I sit with you?”

She nods, the movement small and tired.

He climbs up beside her, moving slowly, carefully, like she might break if he comes too close too fast. He settles behind her, legs stretched out, and gently pulls her back into his chest. One arm comes around her waist, the other resting over her folded knees, anchoring her to him.

Her hands stay still in her lap, her body rigid for a beat.

But then — slowly — she softens against him, like she’s letting herself trust the weight of his presence.

They sit like that for a long time.

No words. No pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of breathing, the soft creak of the mattress, the occasional sound of wind outside the window.

He presses a kiss behind her ear. Then another one to her shoulder, through the fabric of the hoodie.

And finally, he speaks. Low and steady. “He doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

She lets out a shaky breath, not quite a sigh. “It’s just how he’s always been.”

Rafe’s arm around her waist tightens. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

She doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t agree either. Her voice is distant when she answers. “I used to think if I just… tried harder, he’d stop. That maybe if I said the right thing, or didn’t say anything at all, or acted the way he wanted—”

Her voice breaks, just for a second, and she stops herself before the emotion can fully rise.

Rafe’s heart twists.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he says quietly, his forehead pressing gently to the side of her head. “That’s not what love is. It’s not something you earn by being quieter or smaller or ‘better.’”

She doesn’t respond right away.

And then, finally, she says it — soft, broken:

“He always made me feel like I was hard to love. Like no matter what I did, it wasn’t enough for him to want me.”

Rafe turns her gently toward him, just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brush along the corners of her eyes, warm and grounding.

“He was wrong,” he says firmly, eyes locked on hers. “He was so fuckin’ wrong.”

She doesn’t cry — not exactly. But her eyes glisten, and her lips tremble like the weight of it is finally too much to carry alone.

She leans into his touch, nose brushing his palm.

“I didn’t think seeing him would mess me up like this,” she whispers. “But it’s like… the second I heard his voice, I felt twelve again. Powerless. Like I shrunk back into that same version of me he spent years tearing down.”

Rafe’s hands slip down to cradle her jaw, gentle but unflinching.

“You didn’t shrink,” he tells her. “You stood there and held your ground. You didn’t let him in. You didn’t let him touch you — not really. And you don’t have to carry his words anymore. Not here.”

She closes her eyes at that, lids heavy with the weight of everything she’s been holding in. Her forehead drops gently against his, and for a moment, she just stays there — letting his presence quiet the noise still echoing in her chest.

“I just hate that he still has that kind of grip on me,” she breathes, voice fragile but honest. “I hate that I can still feel so small.”

Her words hang there, quiet and raw. Like they’ve been waiting to come out for years.

Rafe doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence with reassurances or empty comforts. He just lets her speak, lets her be honest in the safety they’ve built together.

Then, in that low, certain voice of his — the one he only ever uses when it matters — he says, “You’re not.”

His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek as his eyes lock with hers. “Not to me. Not ever.”

The way he says it… it’s not just comforting. It’s unshakable. She feels it settle inside her like something sacred — like an anchor in the middle of the storm.

He shifts then, wrapping both arms around her fully, pulling her against him like he never intends to let go. And she lets him — melts into him — her body molding perfectly to his, her cheek pressed against his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart.

Rafe moves one hand in slow, grounding circles across her back. The other stays firm around her waist, holding her as if to remind her she’s safe, she’s home. He whispers softly — not advice, not corrections, just little nothings meant only for her. I’m here. I’ve got you. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.

And in the stillness of their bedroom, wrapped in the warmth of his arms and the quiet strength of his love, something inside her finally exhales.

The tightness loosens. The ache dulls.

And for the first time in what feels like hours — maybe longer — she lets herself breathe again.

Deep.

Steady.

Real.

[warfaredoll]

𝐁𝐀𝐆𝐒

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warfare ⋮ Tommy x f!reader ⋮ fluff ⋮ requested ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

the automatic doors hissed open with a soft gust of cold air, and Tommy stepped inside hood pulled low, hands buried in the pockets of his worn gray jacket. the grocery store was nearly empty just how he liked it

7:10 AM

Tommy grabbed a handbasket instead of a cart he wasn’t here for much. just eggs, bread, and maybe something for dinner. his walked quietly over the freshly mopped floor as he wandered through the aisles

his fingers ran along the tops of soup cans as he passed them. at the fridge section he grabbed eggs, and stared at the milk before walking away. he didn’t even drink milk. just grabbed it sometimes out of routine.

the frozen foods aisle was colder than the rest of the store, and Tommy stood there longer than necessary. in his left hand a bag of spinach ravioli. in his right chicken tortellini.

he stared at both, he didn’t even care much for either. but he couldn’t decide which he would have for dinner he shifted his weight, still holding both brow furrowing

and then soft foot steps come up from behind him

you turned into the aisle, market basket in hand. with a few items. you glanced up, catching sight of him

Tommy didn’t move. you offered a polite smile. the kind reserved for strangers

he gave a small nod in acknowledgment. but his eyes followed you as you stopped at the shelf beside him, scanning the rows of frozen meals. your fingers brushed past boxes of mac and cheese, frozen stir fry, dumplings. you could feel him still standing there

left hand tortellini, right ravioli.

he stared at both. he’d read the ingredient labels. twice. there was nothing new to discover.

his thumb tapped restlessly against the plastic packaging. and you were still there. reading something off the back of a frozen meal

Tommy exhaled slowly through his nose. thought about just tossing both bags back and walking away. but he didn’t.

he wanted an opinion. and he hesitated, and hesitated again, before he mustered up the courage to ask

“Hey.” it came out softer than he meant, a little too careful and hesitant

you looked up from your crouch position, blinking once before your gaze met his. then a small smile spread on your lips. polite. friendly.

he felt his stomach twist

“Can I uh…” he lifted both bags slightly. “get your opinion?”

you straightened up slowly, as you moved a little closer, just enough to peer at the labels in his hands.

you stood beside him and tilted your head thoughtfully as you examined his options.

“Hmm” you hummed. your arm brushed lightly against his as you reached forward and tapped one of them. “I’d go with this one. It’s my favorite.”

Tommy looked down at the bag you picked. then up at you

your were still smiling. still warm. like this wasn’t a big deal at all. like you didn’t notice how stiff he was standing, how long it had taken him to ask

he nodded once, “thanks.”

and just like that, you were already beginning to walk away. basket in hand, your head tilting slightly as you glanced down the next aisle

Tommy watched you go. and something tugged at him

“Hey- wait” he said, too quickly. he cleared his throat, softer this time “Hold on.”

you paused, half-turning back toward him, brows raised slightly

he motioned to your basket. you weren’t carrying much, but he’d noticed the slight shift in your shoulder earlier when you adjusted it. most people wouldn’t have caught it. but Tommy did

“That basket looks heavy” he said, stepping toward you before his nerves could second guess him. “let me help”

you blinked at him, smile returning not the polite one this time, but a little more open, a little more you

“You don’t have to.”

“I know” he said, already reaching. “still.”

you handed it over. as soon as the handle settled into his grip, Tommy felt his pulse quicken not because of the weight, but because your fingers had brushed his briefly

“Thank you” you said, falling into step beside him

he nodded, focusing on keeping the pace casual. you walked together down the next aisle

“I usually only get what I can carry” you said, glancing at him. “but sometimes I forget how heavy frozen stuff gets.”

Tommy gave a small huff of amusement “Happens.”

you both walked side by side, the basket in Tommy’s hand swinging lightly between steps, your pace matching his without needing to think about it.

the conversation started small and casual

something about how the store always moved everything around just when you’d memorized it

Tommy’s lips curved up slightly. “Swear they do it on purpose. keeps people wandering.”

you laughed, the kind of laugh that just slipped into it naturally

he glanced sideways at you, catching the gentle curve of your mouth as you talked. your shoulder brushed his lightly as you reached up to adjust the strap of your bag.

he didn’t move away. if anything, he leaned into the space between you just a little more. not enough to touch, but just enough to stay close

as you approached the end of the aisle, just before the signs for checkout came into view, you slowed

“Actually” you said, glancing toward the back corner of the store, “I need to grab one last thing before I check out.”

Tommy looked at you. you looked back, a little unsure if maybe this was where you both went your separate ways

but he didn’t hesitate. he just nodded once, quietly, and said “I’ll come with you.”

like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you smiled again, slow and sweet like you were glad he said it. like you were hoping he would.

together, you turned down the next aisle

Tommy followed you without question, trailing just a step behind as you turned into a corner of the store he rarely ventured into. he expected maybe paper towels.

but instead you wandered into the flower section.

he blinked as the soft colors filled his vision rows of delicate petals in white buckets, chilled and fresh. bouquets wrapped in crinkling plastic, shelves lined with everything from roses to delicate carnations.

you stepped forward, slowing your pace, eyes scanning the flowers. the space smelled different here clean, sweet, fresh

he watched, unsure of what to say

you brought a finger to your lips playfully, eyes narrowed “Hmm.”

you crouched slightly beside a row of tulips, carefully running your fingers along the stems, lifting a few gently to your nose. he watched the way you moved

he didn’t even realize he was holding his breath.

you touched each bouquet like it was something delicate, something worth noticing. Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he slowed down enough to notice flowers. he’d passed them, sure. but he’d never watched someone choose them like this.

and then you found them a bouquet of soft pink tulips, your fingers cradled them

you looked over at him, bouquet in hand

“we can check out now.” you said with a small smile warm and satisfied

Tommy didn’t smile immediately. he just looked at you, really looked at you

then softly, shy almost, he smiled back. “okay” he said

and when he adjusted the basket in his hand and walked beside you toward the checkout lanes, the pink tulips seemed to glow a little brighter under the cold lights.

at checkout, you moved up first, gently setting the pink tulips on the conveyor belt like they were the most important thing in your basket. Tommy stood beside you, wordlessly helping unload the rest he remembered each item, each little thing you’d reached for

once your basket was empty, he placed his own items behind yours, adding the divider between them

you smiled at him barely, as the cashier began scanning.

Tommy stood back slightly, letting you handle it, his hands loosely by his side. but his eyes stayed on you.

he watched the way you handed over your card, the way you thanked the cashier softly, the way your fingers fixed the edge of the tulip wrapping without thinking.

he didn’t realize how long he’d been watching until the cashier started ringing up his items and you stepped to the side, done

he expected that to be it. you’d walk away now, maybe offer a quick goodbye, maybe not.

but when he looked up again you were still there.

standing off to the side, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed loosely. your eyes weren’t on him directly, focused instead on your receipt, then the tulips, then the tile floor.

you were swaying slightly, just enough to show your nerves. your fingers fidgeted at the edge of the receipt, folding and unfolding it

waiting for him.

he turned back to the cashier to finish paying, trying not to let the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth give too much away. his hands moved automatically, card, receipt, bag. but his eyes flicked to you again, like they couldn’t help it

you glanced up right then, catching him. and smiled.

the automatic doors opened and the two of you stepped out into the crisp morning air.

neither of you spoke right away.

you stopped just past the doors, the bags hanging at your sides, your tulips swaying gently in your grasp. Tommy stood beside you not quite close enough to touch, but closer than he normally would be to anyone

he could feel the warmth of your presence.

you looked up at him for a second, then looked away again, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the bouquet wrap. the breeze blew lightly at your hair. you shifted your weight a nervous habit he recognized

Tommy cleared his throat softly

he hadn’t felt this kind of nervous in years not the battle kind, not the mission kind but the kind that made his palms feel weird and his heartbeat loud in his ears.

you looked at him again, sensing it

and when you smiled small and encouraging, it gave him just enough of a push

“I never got your name.” he exhaled slowly.

your expression softened, “It’s ___” you said gently.

he repeated it, just under his breath like he wanted to make sure it felt right in his mouth. like he’d say it again later when you weren’t there just to remember how it sounded.

you tilted your head. “And you?”

Tommy hesitated for a second. not because he didn’t want to tell you, just because it felt like giving you his name meant something.

“Tommy” he said finally. “Just… Tommy.”

you smiled again. “I like that” you said simply.

and he well, he didn’t know what to do with that. didn’t know what to say, the small smile he couldn’t quite hold back growing on his face

you shifted your grip on the tulips, smile still lingering on your lips “Thanks again” you said softly, eyes moving up to meet his one last time.

Tommy opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words got stuck. so he just gave a small nod

you turned first. he didn’t stop you. he let you go.

your steps were slow at first, walking between parked cars, the tulips bounced lightly in your arms

Tommy stood there, bags in hand, still.

you were almost halfway to your car when you looked back over your shoulder just once.

a quick glance, like you weren’t even sure if he was still watching

but he was

you caught him standing there, still in the same spot, and you smiled again this time smaller, a little more distant and lifted your hand in a small goodbye wave

Tommy blinked, heart quickening like he’d been caught off guard. he didn’t wave back.. just stood there

you turned again and kept walking

and when you finally slipped out of sight behind the rows of cars, his grip tightened around the handles of his grocery bags, and he let out a quiet sigh that trembled slightly on the way out

warmth crawled up the back of his neck, he could feel it in his ears

he finally turned, heading toward his own car, Tommy took a few steps toward his car

before he glanced back once.

you were almost at your car now, digging for your keys, the tulips tucked under your arm like something you cared about. and Tommy smiled just barely the kind that grows across your face when you’re not even sure why you’re smiling.

he turned forward again and kept walking

but five steps later, he looked back again

You were opening your car door, sliding your bags into the passenger seat. you hadn’t noticed him this time. but he noticed you still

the small smile never left his lips it deepened just slightly. it felt… strange but good

“Shit.” he muttered under his breath rough and low

not frustrated, not because he regretted anything

but because now you were stuck in his head. and you were definitely going to stay there

the way you smiled, the way his name sounded when you said it, the way you’d waited for him outside, swaying nervously like maybe you’d hoped he wouldn’t walk away

Tommy swallowed hard, eyes now on the empty spot where you’d been

he turned the rest of the way toward his car, but he already knew you weren’t someone he was about to forget. part of him was hoping he’d run into you again, somewhere, some place.. he just wanted to see you again.

I LOVE TRADER JOES FLOWERS

@bib200 @luna-sungirl @nerdgirlbutinpink @f4nfic-lover @k-ilisi @https-junebug @glassbxttless @samslvrgirl @vinecstasy @illyrianbrat

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[iamthatonefangirl]

this just have been on my mind, i don't think I ever saw someone talk about but: CEO!Bucky with a loser!reader. bear with me, he's rich, he is a respectable man, has the fanciest shit ever, drink and eat the best; but he meets reader who's absolutely feeds on junk food and energy drink, she dresses in loose clothes and bedroom is a mess and people ask how did she pulled a man like Bucky.

(you can absolutely ignore this if it's not your cup of tea, im just rambling and projecting at this point)

wait no I totally see your vision anon.

*heads up for this one I am NOT trying to shame anybody’s food or lifestyle choices!

like imagine when you first meet it’s a whole awkward thing like,

imagine you’re in a grocery store. you’re walking down the aisle with a basket on your arm. you’re not paying a lick of attention to where you’re going, staring down at your phone with chunky over-the-ear headphones on and chewing gum annoyingly

he’s trying to keep his head down and not get noticed. most of the time he loves the luxurious life but sometimes it’s nice to pretend to be normal

you’re walking to the end of the aisle and you totally bump into him as he’s walking the other way

“so sorry!” you tell him casually, yanking your headphones off your ears. “total accident. my bad.” you’re still chewing the gum loudly, mouth wide open as you do.

“no, it’s okay,” he responds politely, noticing the way you’ve stopped to look at him. he wonders if you’re about to say something to him, being who he is

you look down to his basket. “wow, look at you, mr health nut,” you tease with a snort.

he looks down to his basket and back up to your slightly amused expression. he laughs a little bit. you have no clue who he is, you realize

he sees your basket full of nothing but processed crap. boxed kraft mac n cheese, white monster energy drinks, instant coffee, sugary cereals, etc

it’s insanely refreshing for him to see

“you… don’t know me?” he asks

“don’t believe we’ve met, no,” you say, shuffling all your stuff to your right arm and jutting out the left arm to shake his hand

it’s hilarious to him that you don’t even know proper handshake etiquette

he gently squeezes your hand, amused, and you’re completely oblivious. you tell him your name with a crack of the gum in your mouth and he tells you his

“you really don’t know me?”

“no, sir, i don’t!” you smile, your confidence never once faltering

“the ceo of <idk some rando company>?”

“oh! that’s you? congrats, by the way!”

you’re the funniest fucking thing ever and he adores it. he loves how fucking carefree you are. how you don’t even know him

“can i take you to dinner sometime?” he offers.

“nah, not if you’re gonna serve me that crap,” you smirk, pointing to the stuff in his basket. “i’ll make you macaroni, though,”

when’s the last time he had boxed macaroni and cheese?

“okay,” he laughs.

you intrigue him, and he loves your snarkiness. the sex you have that night after eating macaroni is fucking intense

you keep him honest. he’s only partially a capitalist prick but you keep him humble and grounded. and you refuse to go to events with him, but he’s okay with that. it’s not your scene. and he’ll gladly come home to fuck you and eat macaroni with you

okay i also completely just rambled!

[syntheticsymp]

Obsessive reader is such a cute idea, like I'm just thinking of the mental image of a normal citizen trying to kidnap a whole ahh colonel 😭

Yes!! This is very much the picture. Though, I doubt he'd fit in your trunk if you tried

TW: stalking, brief nsfw, attempted kidnapping

Part One Here

-

When you first saw Konig, you were buying groceries. Running into him truly had been coincidence back then. He was deep in concentration, holding two identical boxes of mac and cheese, trying to decide which one was tastier. The facemask covering the lower part of his face kept you from seeing his full expression, but you could tell by the crease in his brow that he was struggling. He leaned from one side to the other, reading in the aisle as other shoppers swerved to avoid him.

You hadn't seen him around these parts. If you had, you would have noticed. Between his height and the way he carried himself, he was hard to miss. If you had to guess, a military man. Still in service, judging by the muscles you could see peeking out beneath his hoodie.

People were each their own little puzzle. A mystery, begging you to solve piece by piece. You couldn't help the way you were drawn to Konig, like a moth to flame. He was so random, sticking out like a sore thumb, that you were lured in. Soon, you were looking out of the corner of you eye for every row you traveled down, mentally graphing where he would end up. It was fun. A game, of sorts. And you couldn't help imagining the possibilities of what could be, what else would happen if you learned more.

No, no. You weren't going down this rabbit hole again. You were not going to start obsessing over a stupid crush on a stupid man you met by pure chance. Your mind may be running a million miles, but you could keep it leashed, if you tried.

But, on the other hand, you could follow him. Just for a little bit. Your curiosity about the strange man was endless. And curiosity wasn't necessarily obsession. You'd be fine. You just had to keep yourself in check.

Before you knew it, you were following him through the store, down the street, all the way back to his little apartment, walking exactly 23 steps behind. A respectable distance. Just enough you could see him without being seen yourself.

You had to bite back a laugh as he fumbled with his keys in his thick fingers, fingers that you couldn't help imagining inside of you, curling into your spongy pussy, hitting all the right spots. Fingers you could imagine interlocking with your own, the callouses rubbing so sweetly against your skin. You'd make sure to kiss his rough fingers, rubbing lotion on his hands, before working it lower and lower. Imagining him in your mouth had you practically drooling, along with the little kisses you would pepper against his thighs. You wanted him, you wanted to take care of him, shower him in love, offering him the same happiness he gave you while you watched. It made sense, in your mind. He would fit perfectly against you in every way. You just knew it. If only you could have the chance—

But no. You couldn't just appear out of the blue like that. Maybe you'd try again some other time. First, before you introduced yourself, you'd have to learn a little more about him.

This was supposed to be the end, you were going to return home. But then again, there was a building right beside his, abandoned and quiet, with a nice roof on the same level as his window. It was almost like fate herself was offering this opportunity to you. It was the weekend, you didn't have anywhere to be, you could stay out as late as you wanted. You'd stay, just to see what the mysterious man was like when he was comfortable in his home, opposed to in public.

To be honest, there wasn't much to watch. He ate microwave ramen, smoked a joint, tripped over his own rug, and nearly faceplanted. It was a strange entertainment, watching him go about his daily life. Neither exciting nor tragic, all you could do was watch from your spot on the roof through your binoculars (you had bought them for bird watching, but this worked, too) and observe as he fell asleep on his couch.

You stretched, recounting each tiny moment, making sure to file away the details for later. His face behind the mask, each of his little scars you couldn't quite see from afar, the way his shirt rode up when he stretched, revealing a tuft of hair trailing down his stomach. It was like he was made for you, created just so you could lay eyes upon him. You were happy you got the chance to observe, to be a passing part of his life.

Soon, one walk with him turned into two. Then three. And before you knew it, the cycle had started. Cameras placed in the dark recesses of his apartment, forgotten items of his clothing finding their rightful place in your closet. It was simple instinct for you to take what you wanted, care for the things you loved. Even if you knew deep down it was wrong, it simply felt so right to bask in his presence. A familiar face after a long day, a man just as broken as you, a man you could love as you thought he deserved to be loved.

You couldn't help wanting to know more, familiarize yourself with every part of his life.

-

Konig was his name, you had learned that from KorTac's electronic file system that was protected by the classic password, 'Password123'. If you ever introduced yourself to him, you'd make sure to tell him about the fault in the system. You didn't want his information to fall into the wrong hands.

You had also learned other things about him. His diagnoses, his past injuries, and the sidenote describing how other operatives avoided him. It hurt you to see that, but you weren't surprised. His social skills clearly weren't the best, and even on his little online games, he was struggling to hold conversations in chat.

It was such a good thing you came along, wasn't it? That you had stopped fighting against your thoughts telling you this was wrong. Konig wouldn't have to go through all the stress of getting to know you and falling in love, you had easily taken care of that all for him! He had the perfect person for him, standing 23 steps away.

Of course, you could have just gone up to him like a normal person.

But you didn't want to startle him. It was clear he had troubles acting normal in social situations. Besides, you didn't want to run the risk of rejection. Because, while he may not be perfect to the majority, he was to you. You didn't want him to slip away from you now that you had found him.

It would be easier for everyone involved if you kept your distance. That's what you decided. Konig had so many things on his plate, you didn’t want him to worry about you, too. You were just happy to be around him, whether he knew you were there or not. He was like the sun, warming your face and soul.

But you also knew you couldn't keep this up. You weren't naive. He was growing suspicious of being followed, looking over his shoulder once too often. You'd introduce yourself soon, you promised yourself that. But you wanted to wait until he came to you. It was all about making everything was perfect. He'd love you, you knew he would. The porn he watched of dominating, controlling women was enough to comfort you about that. But even that certainty wasn't enough to get you to go up to him.

The simple truth was, you didn't want to ruin the relationship you had with him. You were content to watch, clinging to your fantasies of his hand in yours. With every fiber of your being, you wished that if you confessed everything, he wouldn't run away. You didn't want to be called crazy, even if that's what you were.

Maybe you'd attempt a conversation, if you could manage to keep yourself settled. That was the plan. You could do this.

But then, he left.

No warning, no clues left behind in his apartment. Your Konig had simply disappeared.

It didn't take long for you to put together that he had been deployed. You had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth. He was off in battle without you. Clearly, he was capable of combat, but you didn't have that much faith in him. He hadn't even done anything about you! How could he go up against trained killers?

You kept trying to rationalize things, deciding to take up his apartment while he was gone, living in his space to calm down. Something about the smell of him calmed you, sitting in bed and hugging his flat pillow to your chest. He had survived this long, so, logically, you knew he wouldn't die. And when you had checked his mission status, he was put on something you assumed was very simple, under an officer that knew what he was doing. As you fell asleep in his bed, you prayed the ache of his absence would ease. You didn't want to think of a life without your obsession. He would come back to you in one piece, he had to.

If anything, you weren't mad at Konig, or even sad at the possibility of his death. You were mad at KorTac for taking him away from you. Being deprived of him for a week was bad enough. What would happen if he got deployed again? What if this time it was for months? Years? That wouldn't do. You couldn't have him leave you again.

So, when he finally came back, you snapped. It didn’t matter how illogical it was, how weak you may be in comparison to him, because your mind was made up.

You were going to kidnap Konig.

You had bought enough sleeping pills to put down a horse. And considering his height, he'd need all of them. Surely, Konig wouldn't mind. He was yours, and he needed a break from all this bloody work. It was time for you to take care of him, just as you had in the shadows for so long. So, you waited, biding your time, so close yet so far. Blinded by obsession, you didn't even consider the risks ahead of you.

Just like the first time, you had followed him home from the store. Still 23 steps behind, your pace never faltering, head bent to look at an imaginary text on your phone. You followed him without thinking, his apartment building right in front of you, once he went inside you could wait until he was distracted and sneak in behind him, slip the tablets in his drink

Then, he veered off the sidewalk. He wasn't supposed to do that. You quickened your pace, following him down the alley where he disappeared to. Where was he? Surely, he hadn't left you again.

The next thing you knew, there was a hand around your throat, throwing you against the wall. You couldn't help leaning into his touch, your plan going out the window as he spat questions at you. He was so mad, attempting to make himself seem scary like a red panda when cornered. But you knew better, you had seen the true him.

You couldn't stop yourself from finally saying the words you had been dying to confess.

“I love you, Konig.”

He didn't say it back, but that was to be expected. Your appearance into his life was sudden and strong. You almost thought he was going to kill you in that tiny alley, (you would have happily met death it was by his hands), but that never happened. Instead, he let you go, not even bothering to lecture you as he walked off.

It was an invitation. And the small bit of shame you had felt, whispering that this was wrong, was squashed.

He left his window open that night. He had done so too deliberately for it to be an accident, choosing the window by the fire escape knowing you could climb up to break in. Unsure of how to approach you, this is how he did. An open window, slowly taking off his shirt in front of it, conveniently leaving his underwear out in plain sight for you as he went to bed naked.

You took the bait. You couldn't help it. And if the smile he wore the next morning when he saw the garment missing meant anything, it told you he didn't hate you. No, if anything, he liked your attention. You knew he was perfect for you, and this reaction had just confirmed it.

Your plans to kidnap him could be held off a little while longer, you supposed. Just until he warmed up to you enough that he would come willingly. The little gestures he gave to you, that strange affection he reciprocated, were enough to prove that if you played your cards right, he might just care for you the same way you did him. Konig was no longer just an obsession. He was your true love.

[sturnioz]

─────── ⵌ FRATBOY!CHRIS X SHY!READER INSTAGRAM authors note. reader has no set face claim.

christophersturniolo ᯤ Eggs Aisle・Mac Miller ᯤ

liked by matthew.sturniolo, nicolassturniolo, nathandoe and 7,945 others.

christophersturniolo sum shit

view comments...

nicolassturniolo 🖕🤪 ♡ liked by creator ⤷christophersturniolo finger is as long as ur forhead ⤷nicolassturniolo learn how to spell it before you come at me

nathandoe i'll be ur passenger princess 🤭🫣 ♡ liked by creator ⤷christophersturniolo ?

yourusername 😧 ♡ liked by creator ⤷christophersturniolo use ur words

kittyz i hope u crash ♡ liked by creator ⤷christophersturniolo ur the target

matthew.sturniolo kids finally got his licence. proud of u ♡ liked by creator ⤷christophersturniolo thanks man

yourusername ᯤ Fly・Djo ᯤ

liked by imbee, kittyz, nicolassturniolo, christophersturniolo and 691 others.

yourusername 🌿🍃🍵☘️💚

view all comments...

nathandoe 🍏🥒🥦🥑🍐🌵🌴🌳🌲🌱🟢 ♡ liked by creator ⤷yourusername greens!😁

imbee im loving the green vibe but i love you most ♡ liked by creator ⤷yourusername 💚😁

kittyz we love an independent woman who paints her own walls and takes her dog out for a walk ♡ liked by creator ⤷yourusername but i dont have a dog?☹️ ⤷kittyz @/christophersturniolo

nicolassturniolo 🔍👁️ ♡ liked by creator ⤷yourusername investigator bun reporting for duty!!

christophersturniolo that thing is still fckn creepy. ♡ liked by creator ⤷yourusername thank you for finding it!!😊 ⤷christophersturniolo yeah alr

divider credits. @issysh3ll

©STURNIOZ est 2025 𐔌 . all rights reserved.

[rainstormies]

Second Door on the Right | Eddie Munson

pairing: eddie x r!little sister's friend

word count: 2,2k

summary: best friends with his little sister, you’re stuck hiding a secret crush on Eddie - the ‘black sheep’ older brother who never sees you as more than family

best friend's brother | summer romance

1 | 2 | 3

Julie was buzzing all day.

Not in the normal, bouncing-around-with-a-new-tape kind of way — this was different. The kind of buzz that only came when a boy asked her out. A real date. A maybe-date. A movie, anyway.

"You have to come," she said, standing in front of the closet mirror, trying on her third outfit of the hour. Her lip gloss was already on. You could smell the vanilla from across the room. "Nick’s bringing his friend. He's cute."

You raised a brow from where you were lying on her bed, thumbing through a copy of Sassy magazine.

Julie turned. "Seriously. He’s not like super annoying. He's kind of funny."

You hummed. "If you have to convince me he’s not annoying, he probably is annoying."

Julie threw a pillow at your head.

But you agreed. Mostly because Julie asked and because she was your best friend and because saying no would mean spending the evening alone, eating leftover mac and cheese at home while her night unfolded into something romantic.

You got dressed. Nothing fancy. Low-waisted jeans, your favorite worn sneakers, a navy tee. A little mascara, maybe. Just enough to feel like you could be on a date, even if you already knew you didn’t care.

The Hawk Theater was buzzing when you got there — popcorn smell thick in the air, flickering marquees overhead, teens spilling out from the arcade side of the lobby. Nick and his friend, Mark or Matt or… Mike? — whatever his name was — were already there. Julie waved when she spotted them.

Nick leaned against the pinball machine like he thought he owned the place. His friend looked you up and down like you were on some kind of test. You forced a polite smile and stayed close to Julie.

The movie started — something dumb, a horror comedy that didn’t commit to either genre — and you sat through it trying not to make it obvious you weren’t having a great time. Julie giggled a little too hard at Nick’s jokes. Nick whispered in her ear and she shushed him playfully.

Halfway through, the guy next to you — the one you were supposed to be with — leaned a little too close. You caught the smell of bubblegum and BO and whatever cheap body spray boys used when they were trying too hard.

His hand brushed your thigh.

You flinched.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t care.

A few minutes later, he tried again. This time his hand actually landed on your leg, fingers curling like he had any right. You froze.

"Don’t," you whispered.

He leaned in, smirking. “Relax.”

"I don't want you to." You pushed his hand off.

He rolled his eyes. “God, don’t be so stuck-up.”

You didn’t say anything — your heart was thudding too hard. You turned toward the aisle, considering getting up, maybe even walking out. You’d done your part. You came for Julie. You played nice.

But then a voice — from a few rows back:

“Didn't she say no?”

Your head whipped around.

Eddie.

He was slouched in a seat, arms crossed, legs kicked out — and somehow still managing to look like he might leap out of it at any moment. Next to him sat Jeff and Gareth, both half out of their seats too.

The guy next to you straightened, confused. “Who the hell are you?”

Eddie stood. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t shout. Just spoke slow, clear, and with an edge sharp enough to cut through the buzz of the theater.

“She said no,” he repeated. “And when someone says no, you listen.”

Julie turned around too, eyes wide.

Nick looked between Eddie and his friend, obviously weighing his odds.

You stood before it could escalate — you hated attention, hated scenes — but Eddie didn’t look at you. He didn’t need to. His eyes were locked on the boy still sitting beside your now-vacant seat.

“Let’s go,” you said, grabbing Julie’s hand. She hesitated only a second before following you into the aisle.

Behind you, you heard one of the boys — maybe Gareth — mutter, “Dickhead.”

Julie’s hand tightened in yours.

Outside, the air felt cool and sharp against your cheeks. Your heart was still pounding.

Eddie and his friends came out a few minutes later. He looked at you briefly, then at Julie.

“Next time Nick wants to take you out,” he said flatly, “say no.”

Julie frowned, pushing hair out of her face. “I didn’t know him and his friend were gonna be such assholes.”

“Now you do.”

It was quiet for a second. Then Julie let out a laugh — half embarrassed, half relieved. “Okay, yeah. That was… not great.”

Eddie smirked a little, then nudged her shoulder. “That’s what big brothers are for.”

It was strange, in a way. Eddie didn’t usually act like a brother. Not in the stereotypical way. He didn’t lecture Julie. Didn’t go through her things. They weren’t close. But in that moment, you saw something click into place. An older sibling standing between her and the world.

It made something ache in your chest.

You walked with them for a bit. Julie was quieter than usual, and you were still a little too stunned to say much. Jeff and Gareth talked about the movie like nothing had happened. Normal conversation. Comfortable.

Eddie, at some point, fell into step beside you.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t do much.”

You gave him a look. “You stepped in. That’s not nothing.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked ahead.

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” he said eventually. “That guy’s a dick.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “He is.”

The way he glanced at you then — quiet, serious, almost gentle — made you want to stop walking altogether. Your cheeks flushed. You looked away.

The group split at the corner — Jeff and Gareth heading one way, Julie and you the other. Eddie hung back, hands in his jacket pockets, like he wasn’t in a rush.

As you walked away, you turned to glance back.

He was already watching.

Julie was unusually quiet on the walk home. The neon lights of the Hawk sign still cast a faint glow behind you, buzzing like an afterthought.

She finally broke the silence.

“Okay… maybe you were right.”

You raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Nick,” she sighed. “He is kind of the worst.”

You nudged her. “Only took you two weeks to figure it out.”

She groaned. “I’m never gonna live this down.”

You laughed. “You’ll survive.”

She glanced at you sideways. “Hey…”

“Yeah?”

“You okay? Back there?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… glad your brother was there.”

Julie rolled her eyes dramatically. “God, don’t tell him that. His ego’s big enough already.”

But you couldn’t help it — some part of you wanted him to know. Because it wasn’t just about him saving you. It was about the way he looked when he did. Like you mattered. Like he saw you.

And for a moment, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you weren’t invisible to him after all.

The sun had baked the wooden deck so thoroughly that every step made the soles of your feet sting.

It was mid-July, and Hawkins was in the middle of one of those heatwaves that made the pavement shimmer like it was sweating. Julie had dragged two lawn chairs into the patch of shade near the fence, claiming it was “the only habitable part of this hellhole,” and you were both sipping smoothies she made in the blender, watching the condensation drip down the plastic cups.

Your thighs stuck to the chair. The back of your neck burned. You didn’t care.

The Munsons’ backyard was quiet except for the buzzing of cicadas and the occasional bark of the neighbor’s dog. You could hear the faint sound of a guitar from Eddie’s window upstairs, but you hadn’t seen him in a week — not since the night at the theater.

Not since he stepped in and made your heart trip over itself.

Julie nudged you with her knee. “Okay. You’re thinking about him again.”

You blinked. “What?”

“That stare. It’s the same one you had when I played the new Madonna tape on repeat. You hate Madonna.”

You laughed and looked away. “I wasn’t thinking about him.”

Julie raised a brow. “Mhm.”

Of course Julie didn't know who Him was. She had just assumed you were daydreaming about some guy you'd met at the corner store your parents owned.

You were saved from further interrogation by the creak of the back door. Eddie stepped out onto the deck barefoot and squinting in the sun like a vampire who hadn’t seen daylight in years.

Your breath caught a little in your throat. He had a towel slung over one shoulder and a garden hose in the other hand. His jeans were ripped, as always, and there was a smudge of black on his cheek, like he’d been fixing something in the garage.

“Christ,” he muttered. “It’s like walking on the surface of the sun.”

Julie groaned from beside you. “Tell me about it.”

Eddie looked over, grinned — and without warning, lifted the hose and sprayed.

Water hit your legs, then your chest, and you screamed as the cold shocked your skin.

“EDDIE!” Julie shrieked.

You dropped your cup, laughing as the smoothie sloshed onto the deck.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” Julie shot up, dripping and furious.

Eddie doubled over with laughter.

You were soaked. Your shirt clung to you in all the wrong places, your hair plastered to your neck, and somehow, you were still laughing too.

Julie lunged toward him like a cartoon villain, threatening to hug him with soaking arms. He dodged her, hose still in hand, but then his foot caught on the hose itself and he stumbled.

“You’re a menace,” Julie muttered, wiping water off her forehead.

“I’m keeping you cool,” he said innocently, flicking a drop at her. “You’ll thank me later when you don’t melt.”

“I will thank you,” you said, breathless. “With revenge.”

His eyes flicked to you then.

Really looked.

You felt it down to your stomach.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m going inside to get towels before I strangle you both.”

She grabbed the sliding door and disappeared inside.

And suddenly… it was just you and him.

The garden hose fell to the deck with a lazy thud. You could still hear it dripping.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, not for modesty — the shirt clinging to your skin was already a lost cause — but to keep your hands from fidgeting.

“I really am sorry,” he said, nodding toward your shirt. “Didn’t mean to completely drench you.”

You gave a half-shrug, heart thudding. “I’ve had worse. Besides, it’s hot. Honestly, thank you.”

That made him smile — not the teasing, smug grin you usually saw, but something smaller. Warmer.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrows raised, curious. “Yeah?”

You nodded, pushing damp hair behind your ears. “I mean… you’re different than people say.”

A beat passed. His smile faded into something more unreadable.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that a lot.”

You looked at him — really looked. The chipped black polish on his fingers, the little scar under his jaw you’d never noticed, the band tee that had been washed so many times it clung to his frame like second skin. He was nothing like what people said.

He wasn’t scary. Or gross. Or some loser hiding in a basement.

He was just a guy. A guy who played guitar and told stupid jokes and sprayed his sister with a hose on a July afternoon.

“You’re a good brother,” you said.

He blinked. “That might be the first time anyone’s ever told me that.”

“She’s lucky,” you added. “Even if she doesn’t always act like it.”

Something flickered in his eyes then. You didn’t know what it was, but it made your stomach twist.

And then, just like that, the space between you shifted.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Your breath caught.

And maybe he leaned in. Or maybe you did. Either way, it was close. Too close. You could smell his skin — sweat and cheap cologne and the faint trace of engine oil.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re not what I expected either.”

The door creaked open.

Julie stepped out, arms full of towels.

You both jumped apart like you’d been caught stealing something.

She didn’t seem to notice. “You guys are useless. You better not get smoothie on the couch.”

Eddie muttered something about grabbing a drink and disappeared through the garage door without another glance.

Julie handed you a towel. “Okay, what was that?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Eddie,” she said, like the name itself was suspicious.

You wrapped the towel tighter. “Nothing. He was just being… Eddie.”

She squinted. “Weird Eddie. Hose-wielding Eddie.”

“Exactly.”

You didn’t meet her eyes.

And when she went back inside to change, you sat on the deck a little longer, still dripping, still flushed.

Wondering what might have happened… if she hadn’t come back so soon.