#somehow before this i managed to mostly pay for things

[dancingindreamlight]

Dreams receding even further into the distance.... 😪

[neodazed]

enhypen - 🎀 - grinding/dry humping

ot7xfem!reader - grinding and dry humping

warnings: grinding, dry humping (wow the shock), clothed sex, thigh/knee-riding, hand-riding, nose-humping, abs too, mentions of doing it on objects, some might be executed slightly painful, not all humps are dry tho, lmk if i missed smth!

biggest kisses and hugs to every oral-fixation enjoyer out there 💋 can’t believe it got 600 notes ! also, i wanted to say that i’ll gladly take requests, but i’m a person who takes their time and def puts their brain-bugs first. have fun reading ! masterlist

HEESEUNG

The first time Heeseung kisses you out of pure impatience, so rough his nose quite literally smashes onto yours, you know that’s something you will ride one day.

Obviously, you weren’t wrong.

But it’s not like you could just ask him bluntly — hey, you’re nose is so perfect, can I ride it? You didn’t have that much of a filthy mouth on you, no. You needed an ideal situation, which where you both were lost and loose enough to flew towards that direction.

So, back in the present, you’re already sitting on his face. The only fabric still “covering” you is the partially unclapped white bra, that Heeseung was too impatient to discard entirely, resulting in a annoyed huff, and just leaving it hanging off your tits, before grabbing your thighs in a harsh grip, and pulling you over his face.

Familiar it was, how your pussy enveloped mostly his chin and lips, a thing you’ve done countless times since you got together. The usual, practiced moves of his tongue licking your walls till the deepest parts he could possibly reach. His mouth closing around your clit, sucking so hard to the point you cried from both pleasure and faint pain. Sometimes, he liked to act like a jerk, and force you to stay in place, so that the joy you recieved was completely controlled and minimized by him, but truly, deep down, he was drunk. So high from how you taste, smell, and feel, all he wanted was to lay there and let you bounce on his face until he suffocates.

Totally normal about it.

Again, you’ve taken your well-deserved place. Your grip on his hair is tight and stable, as you lift your hips up and down in a repeating motion, sliding his warm muscle in and out of your pulsing hole. He groans into you, sending all the right vibrations, finger trying to rub your hard nub. When you push a little harder, paying a little less attention to wether he gets to breathe or not, you slide up enough that your clit brushes against the tip of his nose, and it’s so good you forgot everything you’ve thought out before. Your movements become intentional and directed, and his hand drops to his side by the newfound force. He waits a little, before grabbing your hips to pull away, his expression amused.

He’s smirking.

“If you like my nose so much, why don’t just sit on it all together?”

Your face reddens, realizing how obvious you have been. Is there a point of denying now though? Absolutely none. He gives a more soft, confirming nod, actually encouraging. You sit back, now in a position that allows his nose to go in between your puffy lips.

You don’t let yourself down entirely, but he doesn’t take your nice values happily, he grunts and pushes you down. Whimpers leave your mouth as you grind your clit without hesitation this time, a mantra of his name, gratitude to every god in the sky that let you have this moment. Crying out is an understatement to the noise you let out when the tip of his nose somehow manage to push past your ring. The bump rubs your insides in an unusal, yet mouth watering way. It’s Heeseung.

He’s the one slobbering over this, feeling like he’s on the edge of fucking heaven, and you’re about to send him through the gate by choking him into afterlife with your cunt.

Turns around it’s both of yours thing, afterall.

JAY

It was supposed to be a simple makeout session after dropping you off at home.

But then you started to stroke the back of his head with your cute little nails, opening your mouth wider, arching into his touch more, and before you could blink, you were in his lap.

However, he still holds back as much as he can, knowing you have to part ways eventually. He strokes your waist in a gentle manner, not pushing or pressing at all.

The problem is?

Those fucking jeans he decided to put on today. For anyone else, it looks and is like a simple pair of black denim jeans, and you are glad for that, honestly. Because thank god no one expect you stared at Jay enough to obsess over how the baggy pants got so tight in the place that mattered the most in this moment. You don’t even want to deny how you’ve been ogling at the bulge in his lap.

And that was him soft.

You must have a sixth sense, that made you wear a skirt today. As you lean onto his body, and lick into his warm mouth, it’s incredibly easy to just put your covered wetness on said bulge. He groans into the kiss, pulling back for a minute.

“We don’t have time to have sex now…” Is what he whispers, the words sounding almost painful coming from him, and you chuckle, continuing the kiss.

“We don’t have to” The short sentence is made in bits, taking a second for a sloppy kiss in between every word. He’s a tiny bit skeptical, but now so turned on he doesn’t protest.

He’s big enough to press against you in the right angle even through the tight material. It feels so big, so hot, so hard it makes a point itch somewhere deep inside of you. Your panties made of lace, and the fabric you try to so needily grind on make such an uncomfortable mix you’re not even sure how does it still feels so good.

It’s similar to a few things you did in the past, when you were single and inexperienced. Like humping a pillow, spraying cold water onto your clit on the hardest pressure, or grinding yourself back and forth on the arm of your chair.

Expect, now you’re not just dumbly chasing pleasure. It’s with Jay, who is kissing you so hard it bruises your bottom lip. With Jay, who guides you back and forth on his dick with his grip on your hips. With Jay, who pulls your soaked panties aside, and spits on your cunt you’ve rubbed raw by this point to make the slide easier, not caring if it also lands on his clothes. You already dirtied him with your slick, anyways.

It’s with Jay, who lets you explore and have your fun for a while, before getting frustrated and unbuckling his belt. The zipper he tries to pull down fastly grazes your lips, and you hiss, but immediatelly forget about it when his dick gets shoved into you the next second.

JAKE

It’s late in the evening.

The light breeze flowing in through the slightly opened window is a small sort of relief to your body, heated from the oppressive summer air and from the sight of your shirtless boyfriend laying next to you.

You are both tired - it’s obvious. Hazy eyes, short yawns, giggling about literally anything that happens in the late night glow, while you are wrapped up in each others presence.

But you can’t just go to sleep. Not like this, not when he is kissing so softly inside of the part connecting your neck and shoulders. When he reaches down to see if you’re also aroused, and it’s not just him growing needy despite the tiredness glooming over both of you.

He finds you wet, obviously. He smiles against your lips, proud of himself, and probably because he is a little out of it. Helps you kneel up just enough so that he can flatten his palm perfectly to cup your heat. He is way too spent to do his usual teasing, and the same goes for you. You make a silent agreement to just take.

His hand and forearm is strong, they don’t even budge as you begin to slowly rock yourself back and forth. You always loved them, to be honest. They’re big enough to envelope your smaller ones, his fingers are long and veiny, and it all screams perfection. He adds just the slightest pressure with one of his long digits to your clit, a motivation to go faster.

To hump the fuck out of it, basically.

But it wouldn’t be Jake if he wasn’t a whiny mess himself - he doesn’t ask for your palm, he just grabs it, and wraps it around his cock. He fucks your fist in a messy pace, no rhythm whatsover, sometimes yanking your arm so hard your own pace falters. Or the opposite, and he gets you in a position where the knuckles of his fingers press on your covered slit in a way that sends you to the edge right away.

‘S-so good, baby. Gonna come all over my hand? Gonna fuck yourself on it?’

Both of you do exactly that.

SUNGHOON

Black tank top+gray sweats+Sunghoon after his gym session?

Either have him now, or die, you think.

He’s sitting in front of you, with a towel loosely hanging around his neck.

The way his thigh strains beneath the thin fabric makes your mouth water, quite literally. All you can think about is having that taut muscle pressed between your legs, rubbing against your pussy through the fabric until it starts to ache — from both the frustration and the roughness of the material.

Then your gaze travels up to his torso, watching as the black tank top clings to his slightly sweaty muscles, outlining everything perfectly for your hungry eyes. You have to bite the inside of your cheek just to stop a moan from slipping out at the sight alone.

Of course, Sunghoon isn’t stupid — and by now, he knows you well enough to read your mind. Not that your lust-drunk expression left much to the imagination anyway. He smiles at your reaction, before pulling you into his lap.

‘Sit, pretty’ He pats his wide spread thighs for you.

He starts kissing you — hot, demanding. In contrast, his fingers are gentle as they caress your thigh, moving slowly up and down, occasionally slipping just beneath the edge of your shorts. You sigh under his touch, and your own hand sets off on a little adventure — though it’s a short one, since it only gets as far as his cock. He smiles into the kiss, grabs your wrist, and pulls your hand away. A frustrated little growl escapes your lips, making him chuckle softly.

‘What happened? The way you were staring, I thought you were planning to cum on my thigh.”

He says with a smug grin, pushing you back slightly in his lap.

You lift your hips for just a moment, letting him slide your shorts and panties down. With the layers gone, the hardness of his thigh sends even more pleasure surging through you, pressing perfectly against your pulsing wetness.

‘Damn. You’d really ride anything I give you. Are you that desperate for me, Love?’ You don’t have the energy to huff at his words, because truly, you really are that desperate.

You must be quite the shameless sight, reaching down with one hand to part your outer lips just enough to grind your clit directly against him. You can’t say it isn’t a little embarrassing — but the arousal far outweighs the discomfort. You’re wet, of course you are, and every forward motion makes everything even slicker.

Sunghoon watches your little performance with amused, mischievous eyes. He’s already rock hard beneath his sweatpants, but watching you struggle, rubbing your swollen clit against his thigh like that, was just too entertaining to stop you.

‘Mhm, that’s it, baby. Make that dirty cunt cum over my pants.’

And you do.

SUNOO

Sunoo always has nerve-wracking punishments that make you question, time and time again, why you decide to piss him off in the first place.

Of course, not enough to stop you from doing it anyway.

Yet you haven’t even done a single thing wrong — you simply showed your own little cute, polite self when you returned the male waiter’s courteous smile at the restaurant.

Apparently, you can’t smile out of pure politeness anymore — you note out loud, after Sunoo makes you strip naked in front him. Your snarky comment only makes him roll his eyes. Of course even now, you can’t fucking shut up. Your smile instantly fades when he suddenly reaches between your legs, to press his palm onto your flesh. He scoffs at your reaction.

‘I’m scolding your nasty behaviour, and you’re fucking getting off on it?’ You stumble on your feet, and quickly take a hold of his shoulder as you shrug as an answer to his question. It wasn’t meant to be answered. Sunoo pulls back, leaning against the armchair he is sitting in. He is still fully dressed, in black denim pants, and now half-way unbuttoned white shirt. His flashed collarbone and chest, combined with the angry look on his face is simply delicious to your eyes. He pats his knees for you to sit, so you comply. Your first move is to lean onto his mouth, but he grabs your jaw and stops you.

‘I didn’t say you can kiss me’ You sigh. Alright, typical. Should’ve thought so. Your next go is at his crotch, but when he also yanks you back from there, you are left dumbfounded.

‘You’re really that stupid? You don’t get to have my mouth, dick, or fingers, baby’ Oh, okay. So this is the punishment this time.

‘So…what are we doing then?’ You sigh, biting your lip. You are needy, he literally stripped you down, and you are sitting in his lap. There’s no way he just wants to sit around and make you suffer…Right?

‘I didn’t tie your hands, did I? Get yourself off somehow, but do it without my help’ And his cock, mouth and fingers, as he said. As you think about what should you do, you shift on his legs, trying to get more comfortable, and now, you don’t know if he does on purpose or purely accidental, but his knee also adjusts in the same moment, and slides right under your core. And that’s more than enough to inspire you.

You rest your paws on his thigh, to steady yourself. You pull your hips back a little, so your pussy is just right in front of his knee, then push back. The sensation is immediate, though it’s a mix of strange and good. The fabric of his jeans is rough, obviously not meant to be, well, rubbed on, but it’s not like a flicker (or some more) of pain is not something you love in the first place. With the pace you settled on, the humping movement makes you whine, bumping your clit against the bones of his knee again and again. It’s still not enough though, Sunoo can see it very clearly on your face, hear it dripping through your pathetic little sounds.

There’s no warning before he holds your hips down, and moves his knee up. You whimper rather loudly, naked chest slumping against Sunoo’s, grabbing onto his arms.

‘S-sunoo, that hurts’

‘Hurts? You don’t want me to stop though, do you?’ He smirks, knowing the answer damn well is a desperate ‘no’.

His knee spreads your pussy apart as much as possible, the hardest part continously dragging up your slit and against your clit everytime he pushes up. You let out a hiss. Your lips, your slit, the entrance of your hole, your bundle of nerves…they’re all red and swollen puffy of the harsh material rubbing against you. You are almost crying, when you release over his clothes, your liquid dirtying his expensive jeans.

‘Thought this would be a good punishment, but of course you enjoyed it.’

JUNGWON

Jungwon’s family home had ridiculously thin walls, and it didn’t help that his parents’ bedroom was just two doors down.

Knowing all that, you probably shouldn’t have made out with the poor boy like crazy the first time you stayed over — but what’s done is done.

You pulled away before things could go too far, and now the two of you lie next to each other, breathing heavily.You turn over, as if not seeing his face might somehow calm the desire burning in you — or in him.You feel him shift too, the slow, deliberate way he wraps an arm around your waist and buries his face in the curve of your neck.You let out a relieved sigh, thinking maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to fall asleep like this — in this soft, sweet little moment.

Then his hips move.

At first, you try to tell yourself he’s just shifting to get comfortable — but by the third slow grind, it’s hard to keep up that narrative.

‘Won. What are you doing?’ You tilt your head back slightly to look him in the eyes, whispering. The boy shakes his head while a delicate blush spreads across his cheeks.

‘I c-can’t help it. I need to feel you right now’ He says in a desperate tone, now grinding with intent against your ass.

You want him too, how could you not? You haven’t been able to do much since you got together yet, but the desire and chermisty is definietly there. You feel it everytime you meet, everytime you touch, everytime you look at him. Obviously, you’re not about to have sex now. It’s not the place or time to do it, but still…

You can’t say no.

You take a shaky breath. The fingers that were resting on his hand now travel further, stroking his arm that is wrapped around your middle. Not with the most confidence, though just as eager as him, you push back. Feeling his bulge press against your backside and thighs is not that new. But the impatient, hurried pace of it pressing onto you is, and you think it must be good for him.

Good, but is it enough?

You need more. You need his growing member on a place that is pulsing for him, unsure yet open at the same time.

The only thing you’re wearing are boxers and panties, so when you suddenly decide to turn on your other side, he’s not prepared to back up even a little bit, and his cock presses forward, but now onto your pussy, covered by the very thin layer of underwear. Your hand slaps on his mouth almost right way, to stifle the loud noise you know he’s about to make.

You keep one of your hands there, even when Jungwon rolls on top of you, to rub his leaking hardness harshly. He’s obviously frustrated, the layer of his briefs being the reason, since you have gotten so wet your panties almost make no difference in the process. He grunts, and frees his dick, reassuring you when he sees the doubtful look on your face.

‘I won’t do anything else. Just want to feel you better’

It’s messy. Full of pre-cum, slick, and slight sweat, a mix of fluids making the slide so hard. If he was inside, he would he in heaven now. He’s not though, and the slippery mess you have created together only makes his annoyence grow, his grip on you tighter, and the press of his hips unhuman, both in pace and strength.

If there was unresolved sexual tension between the two of you before, now there’s a whole bomb ticking for more.

RIKI

‘I had something in mind’ Is what you whisper into Riki’s mouth when you pull away to breath for a second.

At first, his brain doesn’t really register that you said something, and instead of an answer, he kisses you again. Making out with Riki is quite similar to a fever dream, you think. Relatively slow, but the intensity doesn’t lay in the pace he sets. It’s a nerve-wrecking build up of plump lips, firm hands and wetness.

Both of you like it sloppy.

You try to gently push him away by his chest, and he listens this time.

‘Yeah? What is it?’ He did listen at first too, he was just too into it.

You are not that embarassed to say it, of course. You and him make a couple who are both got a rather high sex drive, and Riki was certainly never afraid to voice his thoughts on new things you could try. You, on the other hand, might be a bit more shy to just blurt them out. You’re not ashamed of wanting it, but your boyfriend is so good at keeping that damn eyecontact, and that cocky smirk on his lips still, that you can’t help but get flustered at times like this.

‘It might be a little weird’

You tuck your hair behind your ears. The muscles of his face are already twitching, but he suprisingly manages to stay serious.

‘Weird to me? Or to you?’ His fingers stroke from your hips to the underside of your chest repeatedly, making it kinda hard to think.

‘To you. I think’ His expression turns amused, but he doesn’t comment anything else, looking forward to hear it finally.

‘I though I could like…you know. Your abs’ You don’t say the word ‘ride’. You don’t really want to, and you already have been grinding on his clothed cock, so the idea might give itself, hopefully.

‘You gotta be more specific than that, baby.’

Asshole.

‘Like…grind on it.”

He stills for a moment, shocked that you actually said that out loud. Then he nods, and peels his shirt of fin a swift motion. The perfect pattern of his abs are revealed to your eyes, your mouth runs dry at the sight. His broad shoulders, biceps, veiny forearms and hands…the well built six pack on his stomach is a perfect match to complete the beautiful man that he is.

He lays on his back on the couch, his upper body flexing in the movement. Since there was no question and he seemed to be on board, you decide not to give him any more chance to tease you, so without another word, you quickly shimmy your undies down, and straddle him.

Biggest beige flag?

‘When his abs are so well defined you can cum by rubbing your cunt on it’.

Yes, that’s pretty random yet you love it.

You have to part your outer lips to feel him, and he is quite mesmerized by the view he is blessed with.

‘Such a pretty pussy for me, hm?’

Now you are glad he is talking, his voice sends waves of pleasure through your body, and it all comes out in the form of your wetness gathering between your legs. You try your best to have a stable grip, but you keep on slipping on his abdomen. He huffs, grabbing your hips and fixing you. He starts to guide you, pressing you down so hard the only thing you can do is moan.

‘It’s a bit funny, no? You’re so needy for me. You want to ride everything I have’ He lets out a low chuckle. Your face turns red.

“And you let me do it. That makes you just as needy, no?’

He smiles, and drags you down for a kiss.

‘Not my fault I have such a freaky girl on me.’

bae @ziiao

[girllblogging777]

HEART EYES… AND HARDCOVERS 𝜗𝜚

spencer reid x gf!reader (fluff, book shopping)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : in which spencer, like the perfect boyfriend he is, carries your books and pays for them too.

���well, if that isn’t my favourite, my straight out of a fairytale, my only proof of romance, biggest and favorite clients !”

a voice welcomed you cheerfully as you came into the bookstore, the words immediately bringing a smile to your face. the tiny bell above the door rang when you closed it, your other hand tightly holding spencer’s.

it was a routine for the two of you to get some new reading material whenever you run out of books at home, which, for the two of you happened to be once every couple of days.

spencer smiled politely at the woman behind the counter, who was shamefully staring at the two of you with heart in her eyes and you simply gave her a shrug, smiling. “hi, beth. we’re just here to help you pay your rent”

she looked amused at your remark, and if she answered something, you didn’t hear it. you were already long gone, walking past the bookshelves and not glancing back like you owned the place and had no need for directions (you didn’t), while spencer had quietly slipped away in pursuit of his own new source of happiness.

the books on the shelves gleamed in the sunlight, and no words could explain the warm feeling in your chest at the familiar smell of ink on paper. time seemed to stop when you while you picked the books, propping them on your hip and tracing their spines like each of them had been carved specifically to receive your touch.

this was how you enjoyed spending your days. browsing through the store and with nowhere else to be, with no one around to disturb you.

no one, apart from your nerdy husband a couple of feet away, who had somehow already managed to go through half the store. oh, and beth, who paid more attention to the two of you than to the clients she was currently advising.

“found anything yet ?” spencer asked, looking at you softly. his eyes darted down to the numerous books you were still carrying.

you nodded, noticing he seemed in his element too. after all, reading was one of the first things the two of you had bonded over when you first met. and if somehow, you two weren’t eachother’s soulmates, that was because literature held the number one spot in each of your hearts.

“yeah, i think this is good for now. hey, would you-“

he cut you off with a knowing smile, shifting the books from your hands to his. “carry your books, yes ma’am. you know i always do. now cmon, let’s go check out”

perfect. he was perfect.

✩✩✩✩

“will that be all for today ?” beth asked in a high pitched voice, to which spencer nodded in confirmation.

she silently scanned the books one by one, forming an actual pile on the counter, that almost reached your ribs. he glanced at you with a raised brow.

“this is mostly yours”

“right, as if you didn’t just pick another edition of white nights like we don’t have three others at home” you answered in the same teasing tone, taking your credit card out of your wallet.

wrong. move.

before you could realise what happened, spencer’s right hand had your wrists against the wooden counter, his left one handing his own credit card to beth.

“hey- what the hell ! beth-“ you exclaimed, looking up at the woman behind the cash register, hoping she’d have some girls-support-girls energy within her and would take your card.

she didn’t. she shook her head, grinning, and smoothly slid his credit card over the machine.

“that’s not fair, it was my turn to pay.” you protested helplessly, turning to them “and what are you, teaming up against me now ?”

they both shrugged, you had to admit you didn’t seem to have your word to say in this.

“sweetheart, it’s always the same thing. you two empty my store, fight to pay, and then leave” she said, almost bored at the thought of having to repeat the cycle once more.

“you forgot the part where i win the argument every time, by the way” spencer added like the smartass he was, and you stepped on his foot to shut him up, to which he let out an almost whimpering sound that only you heard.

then, beth handed you the quite heavy shopping bag, and you took it, admitting defeat. she seemed to read your thoughts.

“look. he’s smart, he buys you books. he’s basically a keeper”

a smile creeped up your lips, you turned around to look at spencer. he was pretending to be paying attention to the receipt, but the blush on his cheeks told you all you needed to know. yup. he was a keeper.

a/n : reblogs, comments and reviews are appreciated <333

[teapartyprincess4two]

Talkative- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Yapper!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons

inspiration: request

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Matt with a talkative, yapper girlfriend!

Talkative- C. Sturniolo (Chris’s Version)

Talkative- N. Sturniolo (Nick’s Version)

—

☆ SFW

It’s no secret that you love to talk, you can ramble on about topic after topic and never run out of things to say. Matt loves listening to you, whether you’re retelling your day or just discussing a topic you find interesting.

☆ you always ask him rhetorical questions in between your stories, “Okay, but can you believe she said that?” But you never give him enough time to respond.

☆ he just nods his head and hums in response, confused with all the characters of the story.

☆ when you’re watching a movie you always start asking questions about the characters or commenting on the scene.

☆ “why did they do that?” or “wow that’s a cute dress, I really like that.”

☆ most times he responds just so you know he’s listening, but other times he’ll ignore you because he’s too immersed in the movie.

☆ “Y/n I don’t fucking know, this is my first time watching this movie too,” and “That is a cute dress, baby. You’d look nice in it.”

☆ you’re ALWAYS last to finish your meal, mostly because you keep talking in between bites.

☆ he listens intently, responding in between mouthfuls of food with small “uh huh’s” and “yup’s.”

☆ by the end of your stories you’re usually not hungry anymore, so he eats your leftovers while you start yet another story.

☆ when you guys go through drive throughs he knows to just sit as far back into the drivers seat as possible.

☆ you’re leaning over him, chatting with the worker and somehow managing to learn their whole life story before you can even order.

☆ or when you’re going somewhere new and he needs the GPS you’ll constantly talk over it

☆ after missing like five exits, he begins to find it annoying

☆ “Babe, shhhhh,” he’ll smother your mouth with his hand while he grips the wheel with the other.

☆ that never stops you though, you just mumble from behind his hand.

☆ you’re such a good story teller that he can imagine everything you say.

☆ your stories have him dying of laughter, and it’s even funnier that you don’t laugh, you just continue telling the stories like normal.

☆ by the end of your story his face and ribs hurt from laughing so much, “Holy fuck that was hilarious.”

☆ when you say outlandish things he stares at you in shock, “Y/n! You can’t say that!”

☆ you just stare at him blankly and continue voicing your opinions.

☆ he looks at anyone who tells you to shut up with the ugliest, meanest stank face.

☆ you talk to EVERYONE whether it be in the checkout line in the grocery store or in the waiting room at the doctors office.

☆ Matt just turns away for one second and then when he looks back at you, you’re talking to an elderly lady and walking in the complete opposite direction.

☆ “Aw Matt, she said her cat died.”

☆ “Y/n, the cashier asked for your card.”

☆ “Oh, right! So sorry about that-”

☆ “You know what? I’ll pay for it,” he cuts you off before your rambling can distract you again.

☆ on the odd days that you’re quiet, he’ll know somethings wrong.

☆ you’re just sitting on the couch, scrolling through Netflix on the TV or typing away mindlessly on your laptop.

☆ “What’s wrong with you?” he says abrasively, like if he’s upset that you’re quiet.

☆ you’ll just shake your head, choosing to remain silent.

☆ “Did somebody do something to you? Why are you so quiet?” he’s ready to fight whoever made you upset.

☆ “I’m just tired,” you mumble, followed with a quick shrug.

☆ He doesn’t pry, he just lays with you and waits until your mood picks up so he can listen to more stories.

☆ if he ever starts telling someone a story you’re quick to interrupt, “no that’s not what happened!”

☆ he playfully rolls his eyes and lets you take the spotlight.

☆ NSFW

Although Matt loves listening to you talk, sometimes it becomes too much. So, he has to get creative and think of ways to shut you up.

☆ the movie is getting good and you won’t stop talking, asking about the characters and the storyline.

☆ next thing you know you’re on your knees with Matt’s dick in your mouth.

☆ he’ll let you do all the work as he continues to watch the movie in silence.

☆ sometimes you’re a little too friendly with strangers.

☆ Matt’s not usually the jealous type, but he knows that guys get the wrong idea when you’re talking to them and that they mistake your friendliness for flirting.

☆ he’ll pull you away and take you to a secluded area, “we gotta go.”

☆ “Wait but I wasn’t finished talk-“

☆ “we gotta go, Y/n.”

☆ then he’s fucking you and making you talk to him through it, “C’mon, I thought you weren’t finished talking.”

☆ you’re forced to babble your way through it, each thrust fogging your brain more and more.

☆ other times he’ll let you use your words to praise him.

☆ like when he’s eating you out, he just wants to hear you say how good he’s doing.

☆ “Yes, baby, right there. You’re making me feel so good.”

☆ after, he’ll make you ride him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

☆ “You feel so good, baby. So big, I can’t take it.”

☆ your words are always enough to send him into a frenzy.

☆ he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and bucking into you until he cums.

☆ when you guys are done having sex, he’ll cuddle into your side and lay his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

☆ these are the moments when he talks and you just listen, only chiming in occasionally.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

YAP 🗣️YAP 🗣️YAP🗣️

thank you for this request I luv that I’m cementing my legacy as a certified yapper 😏

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

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[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 10 (End)

Summary: You saved Soap's life. And everything comes to an end. And something else begins.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No Y/N)

Warnings For This Chapter: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, my attempt at accents, female receiving oral, unprotected p-in-v sex, some light stalking, Soft!Simon

A/N: We've reached the end, my dears! Thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me. I appreciate each and every comment and reblog! I hope you like this last chapter!

Previous Chapter

Life had been strange lately. Quiet. But, comparing it to the weeks spent in safehouses and in hiding was probably a little unfair. But days continued to trickle on. The packet Laswell had left you with informed you of a job waiting for you once you left the hospital. And she probably thought she was being hilarious when you actually were a consultant for museums now. It was mostly through video calls but you did get flown out, every once in a while, to give a more hands-on approach to the problems that arose in their various archives. You weren’t entirely sure who they bribed or what they did to your resume to get you this job, but you weren’t mad. The pay was better. There was no creepy boss cornering you in the dark of the archives. After your broken leg healed and you got the stitches taken out from your second gunshot wound, you also got to travel.

You said you wanted to do more of that, didn’t you? You’d said that if you survived everything at the hotel, you would actually try to live your life. You’d been to several different countries now and had slowly started checking off the long list of things you wanted to see or do from your bucket list. It was good. Right?

But there was still an ache biting at your marrow when you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom.

It didn’t matter that it had been nearly six months since you woke up in the hospital room with Laswell once again by your bedside and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Simon. You knew it was probably fruitless. Useless. He had left without a goodbye and you lived in a different country. What were you expecting? Some grand gesture and a promise to see you again?

Ridiculous.

You would have been happy with just a simple email address or a postcard you couldn’t reply to. Something.

But you should’ve known better. Didn’t you know that you couldn’t hold onto anything?

Oh. But you had wanted to. You had wanted to hold onto him, and have him hold onto you.

You pushed the thought aside as Pauline shifted in her little carrier, strapped to your chest. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to her downy hair. She babbled something nonsensical but gave you a gummy smile, big, bright eyes looking up at you for a moment before she found contentment in just tugging at the soft material of your shirt. She was growing more each day. You weren’t sure if you could love her more, but every day you were proven wrong.

It had been a wonderful reprieve when Kirby had accepted your invitation to meet in Manchester for a long weekend. She was still on maternity leave and Pauline had apparently been the darling of the business class section of her flight. It was good to see them again, even if it had only been a few months since you’d seen them last, in the maternity wing. Kirby was still settling beautifully into motherhood and had cried when she took a picture of you the first time Pauline fell asleep in her carrier, buried against your chest. Your sister was still in the dark about what you had truly gone through. The manager had found her and Pauline and had somehow convinced her that you had booked an all-inclusive spa getaway that was tailored toward new mothers…outside the city. Kirby had raved about how “relaxed and rejuvenated” she felt but had asked that you not surprise her on such short notice again. You agreed. Mostly because you didn’t even think postpartum spa getaways were a thing before she had mentioned it.

And it seemed like fate that they were able to come with you here of all places. Manchester. Where Simon was from. And you were standing in Chetham’s Library courtyard, the library you told him you had wanted to see. Or maybe it was the universe finally cutting you some slack.

The tour guide checked her watch and then her clipboard before her lips pulled into a thin line for a moment.

“Is there a problem?” Kirby asked, probably noticing the woman’s displeasure as well.

“The last reservation has not arrived. We will have to start without them.” Her lips thinned again, for just a moment, before putting on a practiced smile. “Let’s get started,” she said, raising her voice a smidge to get the attention of the rest of the small group waiting for the tour to start. She then immediately started into her obviously well-rehearsed speech about the building’s origins and history before eventually leading the group into the library itself.

You happily followed her lead, resisting the urge to immediately ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at everything. The building was dark and beautiful. Dark gates framed several of the library aisles and you tried to crane your neck as inconspicuously as possible to see as much as you could. Along the wall, the books were protected by thin grates and tiny booklets hung on a few shelves, denoting the books authored by women. You were immediately impressed that the small stools that lined the aisles were largely original and still in use! It was fascinating from several different academic standpoints and then you spotted a row of chained books. It was all so fascinating.

The tour guide continued, pointing out this and that, and you were happy to hear all of it. Down another aisle, you spotted a death mask tucked between a few books. Fascinating. And why did it make that ache come roaring back.

Surely you couldn’t be relating that to Simon. What is wrong with you?

“Hey,” Kirby whispered as she stepped to your side. “What happened?”

“Hm?” You responded, dragging your eyes away from the mask to look at her.

Her brow furrowed for a moment, even as she let Pauline wrap her tiny fist around one of her fingers. “You spaced out there for a second.”

“Oh, um, I’m fine. Sorry.”

Kirby frowned but her attention was diverted immediately when Pauline cooed. Wonderful. And you used the reprieve to try to focus more on the actual tour. Like you had intended. You had wanted to come here for so long. You couldn’t let something so ridiculous as unreciprocated feelings get in the way of that.

Just as she was pointing out the alcove in the library’s Reading Room where Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels once worked together, the tourguide’s speech stalled and her lips once again fell into a flat line as she looked at something over your shoulder. “I see the last of our group finally decided to join us. I do hope you still get something out of this tour.” She tutted and then slipped right back into her speech as Kirby stifled a giggle beside you.

The tour continued and you were all shuffled into the next room right as you felt as if someone was staring at you. You brushed the feeling aside; the person was probably looking at Pauline anyway. She was a particularly cute baby. But as the tour continued on, the sensation of knowing someone was staring at you didn’t cease and by the time you reached the final room, you chanced a look over your shoulder.

There was the older couple in their matching cardigans, a small group of bespectacled academic types all furiously scribbling into notebooks, and the younger family who looked a little tired but happy for the cool air of the building. You’d seen all of them at the start of the tour and then…

A huge figure now stood at the back. Black hoodie with the hood up. Black surgical mask. And brown eyes that immediately drew you in.

Simon.

Simon was here.

You hadn’t realized you had stopped breathing until someone accidentally knocked their foot into yours as they shuffled in beside you, following the tour guide and it punched out of you as you whipped your head back around. You couldn’t stumble. Not now. You squinted against the sun as you stepped back outside and tried to breathe normally. But apparently that was more of a herculean task than you anticipated because your entire chest ached for the next handful.

The tour ended without much fanfare but you might not have heard anything the guide had said for the last five minutes. You still tipped her with a polite smile and tried not to look back at Simon.

You needed to speak to him. Say…something. Maybe one of the million speeches you had thought up in the middle of the night when you remembered what it felt to be held by him.

“Ready?” Kirby asked as you rejoined her as she waited for you near the courtyard's entrance. “Our dinner reservation is in, like, twenty minutes I think.”

It was. And you needed to leave soon so you wouldn’t have to hurry to make it. But you still turned to try to spot Simon again. And he was gone.

Again.

It took a concentrated effort for you to not scream as soon as you were alone in your hotel room that night. What did he think he was doing? Making sure you hadn’t accidentally killed yourself after all their hard work keeping you alive? One last look to make sure you knew he simply could? And it made you even crazier when you knew he wasn’t cruel like that with you. And Simon certainly wasn’t the type of man to do something without cause.

So what was he trying to do?

You saw him outside when you, Kirby, and Pauline took up a corner booth in a small cafe the next morning. He was on the other side of the street as you took a picture of Kirby and Pauline at the park the day after. And then again through the glass of a center display at one of the museums just a few hours later. But when you tried to hurry around it to talk to him, he was gone. Again.

Maybe you were going insane. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Either way, you tried to push thoughts of your dark haired almost-stalker away and focused on having fun with your family. And it was so nice to see them, to be able to dote on them and discover this city together. But, you weren’t sure if you were relieved or sad when you didn’t spot him in the crowd when you traveled with Kirby and Pauline to see them off at the airport. You were able to squeeze them each an extra time before making sure they go through the security line without too much hassle.

You still had another week left in the city, helping another museum recover after an incident in their archives. Another week with Simon lurking in the shadows. What was the worst that could happen? (Don’t answer that.)

Maybe you should’ve been surprised to see Simon sitting on the edge of your bed when you got back from the airport. His posture was rigid, but you weren’t sure if it was because he had been waiting a long time or if he hadn’t been expecting you to walk in. One of his cloth masks was folded on your bedside table.

“Hi.” For just a moment, you thought you might go to him, wrap him in your arms and just let his big, warm body press against yours again. Or smack him. But you did neither, out of cowardice or something else, you weren’t sure.

He didn’t say anything but you didn’t think he would. Instead, his dark eyes tracked you as you shut the door and locked it behind you and then walked further into the room.

“I guess I shouldn’t even wonder how you got in. Probably wouldn’t tell me anyway, right?”

His dark eyes simply continued to follow your movements as you set your purse down on the small recliner tucked into the corner and kicked off your shoes. This was decidedly not how you thought seeing Simon again would go. You might have imagined it dozens of different ways and you might have hoped that the blocked number that called you a couple times a few months ago had been Simon on the other end. But whenever you had said hello, the person had hung up. It had probably been a wrong number, but it had been a nice thought that kept you from spiralling a time or two.

But now his silence was deafening. And grating on your already frayed nerves. He hadn’t even said anything and your stomach was in knots, blood running hot. You could smell his cologne, feel his eyes on you, even when you turned around, pretending to fiddle with something on your shirt. As you picked at a loose thread, you pushed out a slow breath, lungs burning. “Are you going to say anything? Or do you just want to listen to me prattle on like an idiot?” You winced as soon as the question left your mouth. That had been unkind.

He was quiet for a stretch longer and then…“I’ve always liked ‘earing you talk.”

This damn man. You abandoned your thread and turned to him, hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt. “You…you just left.”

To his credit, Simon didn’t deny it. “‘s protocol. Orders came from ‘igher up.”

You nodded, your head feeling more like a ball on a stick. “I just don’t understand why you couldn’t…” The words dried on your tongue and you hated how desperate you must sound to him. “Why you couldn’t let me know? If you were okay? If…if you wanted to see me again?” The last word cracked on your tongue and embarrassment burned at the back of your throat.

And then Simon was quiet again. And you almost hated his quiet then. But you couldn’t…not really. Because that was part of who Simon was.

“Didn’t know if ya wanted to see me.”

“Of course I wanted to see you, Simon. I…” Again, the words stalled. But you tried to find the courage you had tapped into all those months ago, huddled behind a bomb or throwing yourself down stairs. “I-I wanted all of you. I know it wasn’t a long time but I really…” You needed to pick your words carefully. It had been over six months since you'd seen him last. You might feel the same about him as you did then, but that didn’t mean anything was reciprocated. “I really care about you.”

He was quiet again. He then stood and closed the distance between you, holding one of your hands between both of his. The roughened pads of his scarred and calloused fingers against your skin nearly had you shaking before your next breath pushed past your lips. “I care about you, too, sweet’eart. Gotta know that.” He was still, unmoving, in that way only Simon seemed to be. But god, you wished he would do something. Say something more. You sighed as one of his hands moved to cup your cheek, thumb pressing against the half moon beneath your eye with a tenderness that had tears starting to burn the backs of your eyes. “Bein’ with me is dangerous. I told ya about my family. What ‘appened to them.”

He did. And your heart still ached for him as you reached up with your other hand to keep his hold on your face. You didn’t want him to let go. Not now. Not after so many nights of not feeling him at all. “I told you about my past, too. Does that change how you feel about me?”

He shook his head. “But-”

“Shouldn’t I get the choice, too? Or am I just supposed to be okay with knowing y-you care for me, too, and we don’t get to be together? Not even try? Is that what you want?” You knew the self-loathing he must carry from that. You knew it well. While yours might carry a little less brutality, you still shouldered it the same. “You protected me against Makarov and his men, over and over again-”

“You held your own.”

“I am safe with you,” you continued on, ignoring the small flare of pride his comment created. “I know I am.”

But Simon was still again. “I’m not a good man.”

“You’re good to me.” The words were spilling out of you before you could even think of how desperate you must sound. But they were out now. You could not pull them back between your teeth. “You’re good to me,” you repeated, a little quieter.

“I want to be good t’you. Gotta know that, yeah?” His thumb traced across your cheekbone, careful and soft.

“Simon.” You pressed a little firmer against his hand and made sure to tangle your fingers with his with your other hand. It was greedy, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. Not now. “You are.” But when he didn’t say anything else, your heart broke the smallest bit, a chip off the side. “But I won’t beg you. I-I know better than to do that.”

And his shoulders rolled, like he was trying to brace for something and he slowly pulled his hands away, leaving you cold. “I’m gone all the time. I can’t give ya something normal-”

“I never said I wanted normal,” you retorted. “I want you. And I’m going to be gone all the time, too.” Another beat. Another stretch of silence that had your heart trying not to break or hope. “But if you don’t want to try-”

“I never said that. You… I said I care about you.”

“Then try! Try with me. Try. I’m not asking for forever but-”

“And what if I want forever?”

Your heart hiccuped and it almost hurt. Ached. “Simon…” It was all you could think to say. “Please.”

And then he moved. His hand slid up, grasped at your face and yanked you forward. His mouth was on yours. Your eyes shuttered immediately and you surged to meet him, hope sweet on your tongue. He dominated all of your senses before your heart could take its next beat. Everything was Simon Simon Simon. And he so easily coaxed your mouth open to let him plunder and take.

“You with me?” His voice was a low rumble as he pulled back the smallest distance.

Your blood was roaring in your ears, singing in your veins. “With you.”

That was all Simon needed. One hand anchored at the back of your head, the other gripping the underside of your jaw, holding you still as he stole your breath from your lungs and licked between your teeth. A stuttered moan shook itself loose in your throat and Simon’s grip tightened just a fraction before your back pressed against the wall. You hadn’t realized he was moving you backward at all.

“Pretty thing,” he grunted against your kiss-warm lips. “You gonna let me feel ya, yeah?”

You just nodded, eyes still tightly closed even as he mouthed across the arc of your cheek down your neck to nip at your pulse, undoubtedly feeling it jump under the blunt edge of his teeth. God, you wanted him. You wanted all of him. Everything he could give you. And right now, you needed his jeans off.

Your fingers blindly reached out, as Simon once again claimed your mouth, scarred lips prying yours open with a tender, vicious ease. The button on his jeans had you fumbling only once before you undid it, and the zipper soon followed. He let out a low hiss as your fingers slid inside, wrapping as best as they could around his cloth-covered cock. It was thick and near scalding against your palm and you earned a sharp thrust and a cruel grunt, torn from Simon’s throat. You could have delighted in this tiny crack in his usually unaffected shield, but all you did was whine as his hands slipped away for just a moment. They were quick to grasp more greedy handfuls of your hips and waist, dragging your lower body just close enough to his to feel the hot weight of him straining against the fabric of his boxers.

“You feel tha’?” His voice was curling smoke in your ears as thick fingers slid across the hot strip of skin just below your belly button.

Your body jerked, chasing his touch. It was all the answer you could give and Simon seemed to know that, smiling against your throat.

You don’t remember losing your jeans. Or your shirt. But his teeth sinking into the softness of your breast just above the edge of your bra had your eyes snapping open. “Si-Simon!”

“There’s my girl. There she is.” And then his teeth sunk into the other. A matching mark.

You swatted at his shoulder with a smile as he looked at you, dark eyes alight with a quiet laugh of his own. The simple look curled heady smoke in your stomach.

You tugged the well-worn hoodie he wore up up up and he let you. Simon lifted his arms to help you yank it off of him and you marveled at everything revealed. Warm skin. Old, angry scars. Hard muscle beneath a soft layer. The rest of his tattoos, both dark and faded alike. Tried and true imagery of bombs and barbed wire, guns, skulls twisted their way up his arm and down one side of his chest. You tried to take it all in as quickly as you could and he kicked off his boots, but your heart still clenched when you saw the large scar he had, stretching from navel to the middle of his sternum. And maybe it was the heat of the moment, some synapses firing off kilter, but you leaned forward to brush a kiss against the top edge of the gnarled skin.

The large man stalled for a moment before his fingers brushed softly against your cheek, beckoning you to look up at him. And you did. The weight of his soft gaze had your already-thrumming heart leaping. But it was quickly quashed when he grasped at your hips and tossed you onto the bed. Simon crawled above you, rough fabric of his jeans stung at your warm skin before he quickly tugged them off, his mouth sealed over yours.

And then he moved down. Deft fingers removed your bra and tossed it over his shoulder to join the rest of your clothes. His lips brushed against the scar on your shoulder before dragging down to press against the newest addition at your side. Another scar. Another kiss. The rough warmth of his hand over the leg that had been broken had you shivering.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.”

He dragged your underwear down as he mouthed at the arc of your hip, one and then the other. An answering, almost embarrassing, mewl slipped by your lips as your fingers curled into his short, blond hair. He was barely touching you.

He huffed a sharp, short laugh before his hands curled over your thighs, grasping at the warm skin before hauling both of them over his shoulders. And then his mouth was on you. There was nothing shy about it. Not that Simon was shy in anything he did. He was ravenous, licking and sucking and stroking, building building building a heat in depths of your core until you choked out a wail as almost every nerve sparked and fizzled beneath your skin.

Simon did not cease his attentions on your slick folds until you tugged gently on his hair with a whine. “Don’t be mean,” you joked. Your body gave an involuntary jerk as he gave your clit a parting suck. You glanced down to see his dark eyes staring back at you, face still half hidden in the cradle of your thighs. His grip tightened as he sponged a kiss to each thigh before rising, stretching his body above yours.

And…oh.

Thick and long. Oh God. Just the scalding weight of him against your thigh was enough to stall your next breath. And Simon just laughed, short and sharp, when you tried to drag him up toward your face. You needed to feel the weight of him on your tongue, knowing you wouldn’t be able to swallow all of him down. But you needed to try. After all, it was fair, wasn’t it?

But he was immovable. He tugged on your hands and then pressed them down into the pillow beside your head, looking over you like some sort of scarred marble statue. Beautiful and terrifying. “Stay there.”

“But-”

His next kiss, tart and sticky, halted any sort of protest you had, tongue dragging against yours as his fingers found your still leaking core as he reached back. Two fingers plunged in, straight down to his last knuckle, and knocked the wind from your lungs. Heat started to bubble beneath your skin again as he shoved them in again and again, twisting one way and then another, scissoring you open as heady, wet noises filled the air. You could feel your own arousal starting to pool beneath you but you could not care less. Especially not when he suddenly pulled his fingers away and slid further down the bed, thick thighs bracketing yours.

“Think you’re ready for me.” It wasn’t a question and you weren’t about to argue.

He knocked your legs further apart and settled between them. One hand braced against your hip and the other wrapped around his cock, rubbing the tip against your folds, letting you jump and squirm against him as he smirked down at you.

“Mean,” you moaned, the single syllable breaking in your throat without any heat.

“Yeah, sweet’eart. I’m mean to ya.”

The stretch of him burned. And burned and burned until he was fully sheathed inside of you, his chest pressing against yours, stretching your legs wide as he dug his beneath yours on the bed. Your hands scrambled against the hard muscles of his back, feeling them shift and bunch beneath your palms. His lips dragged over your racing pulse as he wrapped his arms beneath your back, pulling you closer as you slowly adjusted to the way he filled you so completely.

And he waited. Not even trying to thrust or move. His strength and resolve was truly something to behold—and maybe you would later when you weren’t sure you could feel him in your throat. But soon your hands stilled on his back and you could press a kiss to his shoulder, feeling the strength of him, steady and waiting. “Fuck me, Simon. Please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The sound of slapping, wet skin filled the air, buoyed by the sound of her whining, chanting his name. Simon had never liked his name more than when he heard her say it like that. He might never like anything more.

She nearly screamed when he reached down to rub at her clit again, liking the way she clenched around him. He wanted to see her come again. Wanted her. In any way she would give him.

Her back arched when he drove deep and Simon gladly took the invitation to mouth at her slick skin, already blooming with his earlier marks. Pleasure rippled down his spine as her nails dug into his shoulders with a gasped, “please, please, please.”

And who was he to deny her anything?

Truthfully, Simon had been close the moment he sank into her wet, tight, heat. But he wouldn’t come before her. His fingers moved faster, hips slamming into hers so all she could say was “Si-Si-Si” as her eyes rolled back into her head.

“C’mon,” he murmured, pressing his lips close to her ear. “Give it t’me. Let me feel ya.”

The vice-like grip she had on his cock tightened even further as she wailed and Simon happily drank it down, letting her whine into his mouth, her breath filling his lungs as he thrust once, twice, three more times before making sure his hips were snug against hers as he finally let himself go. His vision went white just for a moment, his war-torn nerves vibrating as she went slack in his hold.

When he could feel his limbs again, Simon sat back just enough to look at her, not yet ready to pull himself free, even if he could feel the wet pool beneath them growing wider. And she seemed to have the same idea because her arms wound around his shoulders, holding him close in her shaking group. “Just need a moment,” she whispered.

“Take all the time you need,” he answered before rolling them both over so she was draped over his chest. Her surprised laugh warmed something else in his chest as she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. They settled there, both of them groaning as he finally pulled out.

He watched her chest rise and fall with her heavy breaths, a little pleased with himself to see her so spent. He reached out and trailed his fingers against her cheek, down her neck, between her shoulders, feeling her heart thunder beneath her skin.

She was here. With him.

She brushed a soft kiss against the corner of his lips before retreating to the bathroom for a moment. He watched the bright light of the bathroom blooming behind her made her look like some sort of angel—not that he’d ever say or admit that. He called the front desk and asked for new sheets to be brought up and he had them on the bed by the time she returned and slid beneath the clean sheets, sliding back into his side like she had always known she would fit there.

They spoke for a little longer. He listened as she told him about her life, about the museums she had helped and the cities she’d visited, like he hadn’t kept tabs on her the entire time. Maybe he’d tell her one day. Probably not. She had been safe the entire time. That was all he had wanted. He had been strangely proud when he realized she had stuck to her routine of going to a pilates studio three times a week whenever she was back in Chicago. Maybe he’d have her show a few of the moves he saw her do through the cameras at the studio in person, too.

Yeah, he was a selfish bastard.

But he couldn’t stop. Not now.

She talked a little longer and he reciprocated with what he could. The dog he befriended in the forest a few months ago that Johnny now spoiled daily and had annoyingly named Riley. “In yer honor, LT!” Sure. He felt her smile when he mentioned that Price and the manager had crossed paths again and Price was now a little more protective of his phone. She murmured a happy “oh, that’s so wonderful for him,” when Simon told her that Kyle was recently promoted.

Simon couldn’t remember the last time he was this comfortable talking to someone outside his unit or the 141. There had been brushes with it with her. But now he could feel it sinking into him. That ease and comfort with her. It was almost painful to realize it. But he wouldn’t trade it. Not now. Not after he knew what it was like to have her again, knowing that she wanted him, despite everything. She fought for him, with him, for him. No one else had done that. It twisted at something he wasn’t sure was too soon to say. He wasn’t good at this. Had never wanted to be good at this. But he’d try. For her.

The talking eventually quieted and he listened to her soft breathing. Soft and slow. His breathing matched hers, almost unconsciously.

And she must’ve thought he’d fallen asleep because she was quiet the next time she spoke. “I love you.” It was a whisper, quiet, head still tucked and hidden away on his chest. “Even if you disappear on me again. Even if you think I shouldn’t.” The words vibrated over his ribs, burrowing against the shadows in his heart.

His eyes shut as he let his fingers start to wander up and down the soft skin of her arm. He almost smiled when he felt her stiffen, not realizing he was awake, but he just continued his careful touches. He might want to keep touching her, soft and gentle, like this, forever. “I love you, too, sweet’eart.”

Six months later, there was a ring on your finger and you signed your name with Riley tacked on the end. Johnny had been near beside himself when Simon asked him to stand beside him during the small ceremony where Price pronounced you husband and wife. Kirby stood at your side, Pauline balanced carefully on her hip—the baby had tried to pull the flowers of your bouquet into her mouth several times until Kyle distracted her with a stuffed unicorn he pulled from his pocket…like he was waiting for the chance to give it to her (which, if Kirby’s lovestruck smile was any indication, was a good sign of something else about to change for the better).

You were still sent all over the world for work. Simon was gone often, too. Sometimes with little notice. But he never left without kissing you breathless (usually after leaving you boneless between rumpled sheets). And he always said he’d do everything to come back to the apartment you now shared in Manchester.

You understood why he couldn’t and wouldn’t take a picture of you with him and why his wedding ring was always dangling on his dog tags instead of around his finger. You liked that it was closer to his heart anyway. You liked it even more when Pauline fell asleep on his chest when you visited her and Kirby in Chicago, her little hand tangled in the chain as he snored alongside her.

Sometimes still smelling of gun oil and whatever transport he’d taken to get back to the UK, he’d wake you up, no matter how late or early, and you’d shower together, washing it all off of him before climbing back into bed. The sheets always smelt of your perfume. Simon made sure of that—you’d more than once caught him spraying a bit of it onto the blankets or filling a small bottle of it to take with him when he left.

“Need something from home,” he said, when you’d asked.

When you’d asked why he didn’t take something else, like the tea he drank in the afternoons, he just shook his head. “I said: home.”

You were his home. And he was yours.

A/N: Again, thank you all so much for coming along on this ride with me! I hope you liked it. Please let me know what you think! I'm hoping to have Price/Hotel Manager's side story up soon! Thank you! xx

[psformybss]

could you please write something about secret fiancé! reader and Drew and how they met and their love story? I see them being high school sweethearts

Folded Notes & History

series masterlist

warnings: fluff, high school slowburn

an: i also see them as high school sweethearts! i tried my best to keep it kinda vague because if i got into details this would have been over 10k words but if anyone wants to see anything specific ab high school or college lmk and i will definitely write it

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Junior year U.S. History smelled like old carpet, burnt coffee, and dry-erase markers that hadn’t been replaced since the Bush administration. The windows barely opened, the chairs squeaked every time someone moved, and the only working clock on the wall ticked just a little too loud.

Y/N sat in the second-to-last row, back straight, notes neat, her pen gliding across the lined paper in even strokes. She didn’t talk much in class—kept to herself mostly—but her notebooks were always full, color-coded, and annoyingly precise.

The seat behind her was usually occupied by Drew Starkey.

Basketball team starter. The kid who always had one earbud in until the teacher told him to take it out. Somehow managed to look both effortlessly tired and infuriatingly good in a wrinkled hoodie and scuffed-up Nikes. He wasn’t loud like the others. He laughed with his head tilted back and his whole chest, but he talked in this low, lazy voice that made people lean in.

He wasn’t in class that day.

Or the next.

By Friday, he slid into the desk behind her like he hadn’t missed a thing.

“Hey,” he said, a little raspy.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Strep,” he said, tugging his hoodie up over his head and ruffling his hair. “Felt like swallowing knives.”

She winced. “Sounds awful.”

When the bell rang, everyone shuffled out—some slower than others, hoping to stall their way into lunch. Y/N was stuffing her folders into her bag when Drew tapped her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said again, a little more unsure this time. “You, uh… take good notes?”

She blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

He grinned. “The kind where I’m hoping you’ll let me borrow them.”

She stared for a second, weighing her options, then flipped open her binder and gently tore out three pages.

“Here,” she said. “Don’t crumple them.”

Drew took the pages like they were made of gold leaf. “Whoa. Color-coded and everything.”

“I like things to make sense,” she said with a small smile.

He gave her a look—just a flicker of something amused and genuine, like he hadn’t expected her to be funny. “Thanks. Seriously. I owe you.”

“You can pay me back by actually listening in class,” she teased.

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

From then on, something shifted.

It started subtly. He started saying hey every morning, even when he didn’t need notes. He started tossing her pens when hers ran out mid-lecture. When they got assigned group work, he pulled his desk up to hers before the teacher even finished talking.

They weren’t friends yet. But they were circling something.

One Wednesday in early February, she caught him doodling in the margins of his quiz while they waited for the bell. He passed her the paper before handing it in—Mr. Klein drawn as a Cold War dictator, complete with sunglasses and an absurdly large cigar. She snorted, smacked him lightly with her pen, and nearly got detention for “disrupting the learning environment.”

That afternoon, Drew waited by her locker.

She blinked in surprise. “Did you get lost?”

“Nah.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“You busy Friday?”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“I was thinking… coffee. And maybe you could quiz me for the test. But mostly coffee.”

She raised a brow. “You’re using school as a cover to ask me out?”

“I’m multi-talented.”

She smiled. “I’m free after six.”

That Friday afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the wind had a bite to it—the kind that made you hunch your shoulders and tuck your hands deeper into your pockets. The coffee shop sat on the edge of downtown, nestled between a dusty used bookstore and a florist whose windows fogged from the heat inside. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso the second you walked through the door, the kind of scent that made you want to stay a little longer than you meant to.

Y/N slid into the corner booth first, the red vinyl cool beneath her jeans. Drew followed, his backpack thumping softly against the seat as he dropped it beside him. The table between them was scratched and slightly wobbly, and one of the overhead bulbs flickered every few seconds, casting them in and out of soft, golden light.

Drew’s hands dwarfed the paper coffee cup he held. He turned it in slow circles, fingers twitching around the lid. His foot tapped under the table in a restless rhythm—quick, uneven, like he couldn’t decide if he was cold or just anxious.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes flicking down toward the motion.

He offered a quick smile, almost sheepish. “Yeah. Just… too much energy, maybe. I had practice this morning, but I guess it didn’t wear me out enough.”

“You’re practically vibrating.”

“Could be the caffeine. Or nerves.” He met her gaze for a second and then looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d made a joke he wasn’t sure she’d laugh at.

She gave him a small smile. “Nervous about what?”

He shrugged, eyes on the lid of his cup. “I don’t know. Talking, maybe.”

“But you talk to everyone,” she said, brow raised.

“Yeah, but not like this.”

Her smile faltered slightly, not because his words were bad—but because they felt… honest. Real.

They had both said they needed to study. Finals were creeping up fast, and the stress was starting to hang over the school like storm clouds, thick and heavy. But neither of them had even unzipped their backpacks.

Instead, they talked.

About everything and nothing at all.

He told her about late nights after football practice—how the field looked different when it was empty and quiet, the stadium lights buzzing above him, casting long shadows. Sometimes he stayed behind after everyone left, just to sit in the silence. He told her how his shoulder clicked every time he threw too hard, and how he’d ice it without telling the coach because he didn’t want to be benched.

“I hate calculus more than I hate losing a game,” he confessed, resting his forehead against the heel of his hand. “And that’s saying something.”

“That bad?” Y/N asked, hiding a smile behind her cup.

Drew groaned. “It’s like a foreign language I was never supposed to learn. And the teacher… he acts like we’re just lazy, not confused.”

She nodded. “I get that. It’s the worst when they make you feel dumb for asking questions.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting his head. “Like, I already feel stupid. No need to pile on.”

She traced the rim of her cup with one finger, letting the steam rise into her face. “That’s why I always study with music on. I can’t do silence—it makes everything feel heavier.”

Drew looked at her, curious. “Music helps?”

“It’s like… noise that doesn’t expect anything from me,” she said. “Just fills the space so my brain doesn’t spiral.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away for later. “What kind of music?”

“Depends. If it’s math, it has to be instrumental. If it’s history, I can do lyrics. English? Full-on sad playlists.” She smiled at that. “Like tragic heartbreak anthems while I write essays.”

Drew laughed, the sound warm and low. “You’re way more strategic than I am.”

“I just can’t sit in a quiet room and focus. It makes me feel like I’m waiting to mess up.”

He was quiet for a second, watching her with a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there earlier. “I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged. “Not something I really talk about.”

He leaned back, stretching one arm over the booth. “Well, for the record, if you ever need study music, I make a mean playlist.”

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “Do you specialize in tragic heartbreak anthems too?”

“Only the best,” he grinned. “I’ve got taste, Y/N.”

They laughed, and the tension that had been buzzing low between them since they sat down seemed to lift, just a little.

Outside, the sky had faded into a dull blue-gray, and the streetlamps were flickering to life. Inside the café, the lights over the counter glowed golden, making everything feel softer, smaller—like they were the only ones in the world for a little while.

“I like this,” Drew said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Just… talking.”

Y/N met his eyes. “Me too.”

His foot had finally stopped tapping. His hand rested on the table now, not far from hers.

“You make it easy,” he added.

Her heart jumped at that, but she kept her voice steady. “Easy to what?”

He shrugged, almost shy. “To be myself.”

There was a silence after that—not the kind that felt heavy or awkward, but the kind that settled between them like something gentle. Like understanding. Like maybe they were both just starting to see something they hadn’t quite realized before.

The following week, students spilled out of the building in slow waves, some lingering in clumps by the flagpole, others heading straight for their cars with earbuds in and heads down. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, juggling her water bottle and a loose folder full of notes.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the low hum of chatter as he caught up to her just outside the double doors, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

She turned, surprised. “Hey.”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking unsure. “You headed out?”

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Wanna walk together?” he asked, his voice almost too casual. “I mean—I’ll walk you to your car. If that’s cool.”

It was.

They fell into step beside each other, his steps a little slower than usual to match hers. The air smelled like cut grass and something sweet from the vending machines by the gym. Neither of them said much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a quiet ease in it. Just the occasional brush of his arm against hers and the low hum of his voice when he pointed out a sticker on someone’s bumper that made him laugh.

When they reached her car, she turned to unlock the door, but paused.

“Thanks,” she said softly, glancing up at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to say something more but didn’t.

Instead, he smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Tomorrow.”

And he waited until she pulled out of the parking space before turning to leave.

A couple of weeks later, it was Thursday, right after seventh period. The bell had just rung, and the halls were buzzing with bodies and noise—slammed lockers, overlapping conversations, the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Y/N was heading toward the front stairwell when she felt someone catch her hand gently from behind.

She turned, and there he was.

Drew.

Still wearing his practice jersey from PE, cheeks a little flushed, eyes scanning hers like he was trying to read something written just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like maybe he’d jogged to catch up.

She smiled. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stepped a little closer, checking over his shoulder. The hallway was mostly clear now, just a few stragglers around the far corner. His fingers laced through hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he murmured.

And then he leaned in.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was quick but warm, like a spark that caught and lit something deeper. It wasn’t showy, or practiced, or perfect—but it was real. He pulled back just enough to look at her, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face.

Her heart was racing, but she smiled back.

He tapped her knuckles gently. “See you eighth period.”

And just like that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway with a stunned grin and the taste of cinnamon gum still on her lips.

By the time spring bloomed and the world smelled like fresh grass and impending finals, they were inseparable. The kind of inseparable that made other people tease them in passing.

Afternoons were for shared iced coffees and laying in the sun behind the bleachers. Evenings were late-night phone calls that started with “I should probably study” and ended with whispered laughter and one of them falling asleep mid-sentence.

And that’s when she started writing him notes.

Little ones. Folded into triangles with sharp creases, sometimes stickers stuck to the outside—smiling suns or tiny frogs with glittery eyes. The messages varied. Sometimes it was a quote from a book she liked. Sometimes a joke from class. Sometimes just: good luck today or don’t fall asleep in history again or I’ll steal your hoodie.

She slipped them into the vents of his locker when no one was watching—between fourth and fifth period, right before his lit class. He never said much about them, but she’d catch glimpses: Drew standing at his locker, one shoulder pressed to the metal like he was shielding the moment from the world, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he read her words.

He kept them all.

She found that out months later, on a quiet Saturday afternoon in his room. The window was open, and the curtains moved with the breeze. She sat cross-legged on the floor, picking through a shoebox of old ticket stubs and tangled friendship bracelets, when she found them—flattened out notes stacked neatly under a band of ribbon.

“You kept them?” she asked, holding one up between two fingers, her voice caught somewhere between laughing and blushing.

Drew looked up from where he was sprawled on the bed, arms tucked behind his head. He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

“They were the best part of my day,” he said simply.

She blinked at him, heart stuttering, and looked down at the mess of her handwriting, all those tiny things she’d never really expected him to remember—much less treasure.

“You’re such a sap,” she teased, but her voice was soft. Adoring.

He sat up then, barefoot and slightly rumpled, his t-shirt creased from the way he’d been lying. He rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous, and she tilted her head.

“What?”

“I was gonna wait,” he said, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Like… I had this idea to ask you at prom or something cheesy like that.”

She grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “But then you found the box, and you smiled like that, and—God, I really don’t wanna wait.”

Her smile softened. “Wait for what?”

He looked up at her then, finally, and she could see it in his eyes—the mix of hope and nerves, like the way he looked right before a big game.

“To call you my girlfriend,” he said. “Like, officially. If you want.”

She didn’t answer right away.

She leaned forward, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other still holding one of her notes, and kissed him—light and warm, like the breeze drifting through the open window. His hand found hers, fingers curling around her palm.

When she pulled back, she was still smiling.

“Of course I want to.”

And for a second, neither of them said anything else. The world felt small and soft and safe, like maybe everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Then senior year came. So did prom, late-night drives, college decisions, and the terrifying realization that not everything lasted forever.

But somehow, they did.

Even when school ended.

Even when dorms and deadlines tried to pull them in opposite directions.

And now, years later, he still has that shoebox.

She still folds her notes into triangles.

And he still grins like a boy with a secret every time he finds one.

[zerosbubble]

The Rookie Prank War!

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

A/N: Okay, so, I may have had a mini writer’s block—but! Hopefully this lengthy oneshot makes up for it. 😭

Summary: You start a (mostly) harmless prank war with one of the other rookies. Tim doesn’t care—until you drag him into it. Now he’s torn between helping you win and making sure you don’t get fired.

Pranks weren’t technically against department policy.. but that didn’t mean Tim Bradford approved of them.

Tim Bradford didn’t play games.

He didn’t do pranks. He didn’t do childish antics.

He especially didn’t do rookie nonsense.

For the first two weeks of your ongoing prank war with Aaron, Tim had stayed blissfully uninvolved. Sure, he rolled his eyes when he caught wind of your antics, and yeah, he warned you at least three times that you were playing a “dangerous game.”

But he had other things to worry about, like actual police work and making sure you didn’t get yourself killed.

So long as you weren’t embarrassing him, he didn’t care.

Yet here he was.

Stuck in the middle of a full-blown prank war between his own rookie and Aaron Thorsen.

And it was entirely your fault.

It all started when you strolled into roll call one morning looking suspiciously innocent.

Tim, unfortunately, knew you well enough by now to recognize that nothing good ever came from that expression.

He barely glanced up from his clipboard before sighing.

“Kid.”

You blinked at him, wide-eyed, the very picture of fake innocence. “Yes, sir?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

“Why do you always assume I did something?”

Across the room, Lucy snorted, barely looking up from her coffee. “Because you always do something.”

Before you could fire back, the doors burst open like a dramatic courtroom scene.

Aaron stormed in, and for a second, you thought he might actually combust from sheer rage. His usually pristine uniform was slightly disheveled, his patrol belt slightly askew, as if he had been fighting for his life.

He pointed an accusing finger at the room.

“Okay, which one of you messed with my shop?!”

You barely bit back a grin. “What happened, Thorsen?”

Aaron glared, breathing deeply like a man trying to suppress a violent outburst.

“…Every time I hit the brakes,” he gritted out, “my car starts blasting ‘Barbie Girl.’”

Silence.

For a full three seconds, the briefing room held its breath.

Then—

Chaos.

Angela doubled over, wheezing, gripping the table for support. Meanwhile, Nyla had to physically turn away to wipe the tears forming in her eyes.

Lucy? Clapped.

She actually clapped.

Tim sighed loudly, rubbing his temples like he was regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

Aaron threw his hands up. “Do you think this is funny?!”

Angela barely choked out, “I—I just—” She gasped for air between cackles. “It fits your whole vibe, man.”

“My vibe?!”

Nyla, still wiping away laughter tears, nodded seriously. “Yeah. Rich kid turned cop? Total Ken energy.”

Lucy lost it at that. “Oh my god, Thorsen’s a Ken!”

The laughter doubled.

Even Grey—Grey, the literal sergeant who had the patience of a saint (and zero tolerance for rookie nonsense), tilted his head like he was mildly impressed before exhaling sharply, looking away like he was suppressing a smirk.

Aaron, however, looked seconds away from committing a felony.

Tim, watching all of this unfold, finally turned to you, exasperated.

“You’re lucky Grey isn’t in the mood to suspend anyone today,” he muttered.

You beamed, utterly unbothered. “That means I win this round, right?”

Aaron’s glare deepened.

“Oh, you’re so going down.”

And just like that—

The war escalated.

Tim just sighed deeply, wondering what debt he had left to pay that had led to him being responsible for you.

By the next day, you knew you were in trouble.

Aaron had resources.

Specifically? Money.

Which meant he had somehow managed to hire a professional prankster to help him.

You came back from patrol to find everything in your locker had been individually gift-wrapped.

Every. Single. Item.

Socks? Wrapped. Notebooks? Wrapped. Your taser? Wrapped, complete with a bow.

The squad was losing their minds.

Tim, walking past, barely spared it a glance. “That’s what you get, kid.”

You turned to him, desperate, your hands clasped together as if you were praying for a miracle, “Sir, I need your help.” you whined.

Tim scoffed, turning on his heel to face you with a stern look, one that screamed ‘I don’t have time to play around.’ “Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You leaned in. “Come on. You hate losing.” You argued.

“I’m not in the game.”

You cheekily smirked as if you were in on a joke that he had no knowledge of, “Not yet.” You cooed with a knowing look.

Tim eyed you warily, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You just grinned, giving him a firm pat on the back, “You’re already on my team, sir.” You exclaimed, already daydreaming of all the possibilities of how this prank war was going to end.

Tim frowned. Hard. “Kid, no, I’m not—”

“You gave me a direct order to win.” You said, raising a brow.

Tim blinked, staring. “I did not—”

“Ohhh, but you did.” You tapped your chin, feigning deep thought. “Just this morning, you said—what was it? Oh! ‘Don’t let him get away with that, kid.’”

Tim groaned, already regretting every decision that led to him being stuck with you. “That wasn’t—”

“Sounds like encouragement to me,” Lucy cut in as she walked by, smirking.

Angela who’d been watching this whole ordeal unfold with arms crossed, grinned like this was the most entertaining shit she’s seen all day, “Oh yeah. That’s definitely involvement.”

Wesley, who wasn’t even part of the department but just happened to be visiting Angela, sipped his coffee and muttered, “That would hold up in court.” Adding his very valuable two cents in.

The whole squad was watching now, entertained as hell.

Nyla leaned back in her chair, nodding like she was considering the argument, “You do hate losing, Tim.” Gaining a nod of agreement from Nolan who’d just come back from returning war bags.

Tim turned to her. “Not the point.”

“Sounds exactly like the point,” Nyla countered.

Tim exhaled sharply, looking toward Grey who was strolling past like maybe—just maybe—he’d be saved.

Grey just raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to stop walking, or taking the risk of hearing things he didn’t wanna hear, “I don’t care what you do as long as it doesn’t make my life harder.” He casually said, already disappearing into his office.

Tim groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine.” He pointed directly at you. “But if I help you, it’s only to make sure you don’t get fired.”

You beamed. “That’s a win in my book.”

Tim muttered something under his breath—probably regrets and prayers—but you didn’t care.

Because Tim Bradford was now on your side.

And that meant?

Aaron didn’t stand a chance.

The next morning, Aaron strolled into the locker room, yawning as he reached for his locker.

He unlatched it—

And immediately stumbled back as a dozen overstuffed balloons burst out, each one exploding mid-air and showering him in a relentless, ungodly amount of glitter.

It got everywhere.

His uniform. His hair. His soul.

Aaron froze, hands outstretched in horror as the last bits of glitter floated gently onto his already-ruined uniform.

The room?

Absolutely lost it.

Angela gasped, eyes wide. “No. Freaking. Way.”

Nyla leaned against the lockers, impressed. “Okay, I gotta ask—how did you even set that up?”

You shrugged, innocence personified. “Trade secret.”

Lucy wiped away actual tears. “It’s so evil.”

Wesley, who somehow kept getting roped into this nonsense, just sipped his coffee and muttered, “That’s a felony in some states.”

Tim, standing beside you, pinched the bridge of his nose like a man deeply regretting his life choices.

“Don’t get cocky, kid,” he muttered.

Aaron, still frozen, wiped a slow, agonized hand down his glitter-covered sleeve.

Then, very carefully, very deliberately, he turned his deadliest glare on you.

“You,” he said, voice deadly calm, “are so. Dead.”

You?

You just smiled.

Because this?

This was only the beginning.

From that point on, it was war.

Aaron, never one to back down from a challenge, retaliated by slipping red food coloring into your hand sanitiser.

You stared at your hands in horror—bright pink, you raised your hands in the air like you’d been caught in a crime scene. “What the fuck?!”

Aaron, smug as ever, gave a short laugh. “I thought it would be a nice touch.”

Tim, ever the reluctant mentor, simply sighed deeply from his desk. “Here,” he muttered, tossing a pack of tactical gloves your way. “Wear these until it fades.”

You, still sulking about getting caught up in Aaron’s prank, slipped the gloves on. “You’re the best, sir.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples like he was at peak regret already. “I regret everything,” he mumbled, half to himself.

But you weren’t done yet. Oh no, this was only getting started.

The next move? You reprogrammed Aaron’s entire shop GPS to only speak in Tim’s voice.

You watched with barely-contained glee as Aaron got into his shop, fully unaware of what awaited him.

It didn’t take long for the magic to happen.

A few miles into his patrol, Aaron pressed the GPS button.

The voice crackled to life, Tim’s voice, smooth as ever.

“In 500 feet, make a U-turn, rookie. And try not to embarrass yourself.”

The entire squad, who had been waiting outside, erupted.

Angela gasped, barely holding her coffee. “Oh my god,” she half-laughed, half-choked on her drink.

Nyla actually slapped her knee. “You are a genius.”

Grey, who normally maintained a wall of composure, actually snickered and cleared his throat, turning to Tim. “You sure you didn’t record those lines yourself?”

Tim was staring at you, eyes wide with a mix of confusion and something that could’ve been admiration.

“Kid.”

You beamed, leaning against the counter casually. “Yes, sir?”

Tim’s brow furrowed as he gestured vaguely toward the car. “Where the hell did you get a recording of my voice?”

You just grinned and leaned back, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “That’s a trade secret too.”

Aaron, furious, slammed the car door, his face flushed red, glaring at you through the windows. But you didn’t even flinch.

Because you knew…

You’d won again.

By the end of the week, Aaron was running out of ideas.

But you?

You were winning.

Each day, you upped the ante, pushing the limits of what could be considered acceptable behavior in the workplace.

You’d switched his shop keys for ones that didn’t fit. You’d swapped out his patrol jacket for one covered in pink rhinestones. You’d even clipped a “kick me” sign to his back when he wasn’t looking.

Aaron’s frustration was at an all-time high, but you were still going strong.

Unfortunately, Tim?

He was growing more and more exasperated.

“If you get fired,” he muttered as you and Aaron stared each other down across the room, “I’m not writing your recommendation letter.”

You grinned, unphased. “I would never get fired, sir.”

Tim glared. “You put silly string in Aaron’s patrol air vents.”

You paused, looking innocently at him. “…Okay, fair, but—”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I helped you. I am complicit.”

You grinned wider. “That means you’re an accessory.”

Tim groaned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I hate you.”

Angela, who had been watching this whole thing unfold with an amused smirk, chimed in. “No, you don’t.”

Tim turned to her, exasperated beyond belief. “They’re worse than Lucy.”

Lucy, who had been silently enjoying the drama from her corner, gasped in mock outrage. “Hey!”

Tim pointed directly at you, almost accusingly. “This is your fault. You encouraged them.”

Lucy just grinned that mischievous grin she always wore when chaos was afoot. “I am so proud.”

You raised an eyebrow. “See? Lucy gets it.”

Tim rolled his eyes, rubbing his forehead as though he were moments away from walking out the door and never looking back.

“I really regret this,” Tim muttered under his breath.

But no one was listening—because you were too busy preparing your next move.

The prank war had reached its peak.

Aaron was tired. You were unstoppable.

But it wasn’t until Grey finally had enough that everything came to a grinding halt.

“If I see one more prank,” Grey called out from his office, voice like a thunderclap that cut through the chatter, “you’re all pulling double shifts.”

The squad froze.

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over everyone. No one dared to speak. You glanced at Aaron, who shot you a murderous look, but both of you knew—this was it.

The war was over.

You stood up, offering your hand to Aaron with all the grace of a seasoned negotiator.

“Truce?”

Aaron sighed, rubbing his temples as though trying to physically push the frustration out of his head. But then, after a beat, he reluctantly extended his hand.

“Truce.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved.

But not without Tim watching from the sidelines, his expression ageing five years in a matter of seconds. You could practically hear him thinking, What did I get myself into?

The squad, still thoroughly entertained by the spectacle of the entire week, immediately pulled out their phones and gathered together in front of Aaron’s locker, now completely covered in glitter, to take a group picture.

Angela, still laughing, wrapped her arm around your shoulders. “This is definitely going on the wall in the break room.”

Nyla, wiping tears from her eyes, nodded. “I’ll print out a copy, frame it, and put it next to Grey’s desk. For posterity.”

Grey, who had been leaning against the doorframe, gave a low grunt of disapproval but didn’t stop them. “You’re all ridiculous.”

But even he couldn’t help but smirk.

And Tim?

Tim stood a little farther away, arms crossed and looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was trying to hide the fact that, despite everything—the pranks, the chaos, the countless headaches—he was proud.

He refused to admit it, of course. Not in front of anyone.

But watching you outsmart Aaron every step of the way? Watching you win in ways he never thought possible?

Yeah.

He was definitely proud.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty

[mxstellatayte]

landoscar 4+1 kiss things.

alternate title: four times it's casual and the first time it isn't

this one is inspired by @prokrastinartiya's landoscar kissing meme! i saw it, fell in love, BOOM absolutely locked in for an idea :)) (before y'all start telling me it's normally 5+1 I KNOW shhhhhhh i prioritize quality over quantity)

contains: the 4 is mostly fluff but a lil bit of spice, the +1 is straight up smut tho, smut warnings: making out, sub lando, miami gp win, congratulatory sex, L bombs, lowkey a shitty ending bc i don't know how to write endings LOL, just two boys being really in love :)

find the original art post that inspired this here!

taglist: @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore @lucycowr @benstormy @anat33-blog1

@Xoscar03 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @nenamalenaa @champagneproblems17 @marknolee

@toby33b @theendofthematerialgworl @soloqualcosa @sassyinchident808

join my taglist here!

i: the establishing kiss.

contrary to popular belief, oscar's love language is physical touch. he doesn't let it show all that much, but when he feels safe with someone, he doesn't stop showing it.

take lando, for example.

the first time he kisses lando, they're in japan in 2023. the brit is initially confused and a little bit shocked, taken aback by the sudden change in oscar's demeanor, but quickly learns to reciprocate.

lando had been endlessly yapping about something or other, oscar hadn't really been paying attention, but when his engineer poked his head in to summon oscar for a quick check in about potential tyre strategies, oscar stood, pressed a kiss to lando's cheek, and was about to walk out of the room before he heard his teammate short circuit.

"shit, sorry. it was an automatic reflex. is it... was that okay?" oscar had backpedaled, completely ignorant to the flush that immediately flooded lando's summer-tanned skin.

"y- yeah, it's fine, i just... wasn't expecting it."

oscar takes that as permission to continue the goodbye kisses.

ii: on the forehead.

the second time, lando is clinging to oscar's arm in his sleep, the left side of his body plastered to oscar's right and his head resting on oscar's shoulder. they're heading back to the MTC on the team jet after qatar, and frankly, oscar understands lando's exhaustion. the heat that weekend was entirely unbearable to the point where multiple teams, including mclaren, were genuinely concerned for their drivers' and pit crews' safety, and most, if not all, of the drivers had reported feeling unwell in their cars. the fact that he and lando had somehow managed to scrape a double podium together despite the brutal conditions was astounding.

lando shifts a bit in his sleep, the crown of his head resting in the nook between oscar's jaw and his shoulder, and a protective impulse hits oscar like a freight train. he tilts his head just so, pressing his lips to lando's forehead gently enough so that he doesn't wake, instead sighing delicately in oscar's arms and shifting impossibly closer.

oscar lays his head on top of lando's and passes out within minutes, the comforting weight of lando's body on his lulling him into the deepest sleep he's gotten in weeks.

iii: on the cheek.

the next kiss occurs inside the MTC, and this time, it's lando's lips on oscar's skin.

immediately after being released from the team debrief meeting that stretches on, in lando's entirely correct opinion, for an unnecessarily long amount of time, he all but throws himself into oscar's arms, and oscar gladly accepts, wrapping his own arms around lando's waist and burying his face into the soft fabric of lando's hoodie. thankfully, lando had quickly caught on to the fact that reciprocating oscar's physical touch is not only acceptable but also welcomed and encouraged, so he'd begun initiating hugs and slotting himself underneath oscar's arm more frequently in the past weeks.

"hello to you, too," oscar murmurs into lando's hoodie, taking comfort in the feeling of lando's arms around his body.

"'m so happy you're okay," lando mumbles, his face tucked into the crook of oscar's neck between his jaw and his shoulder. "you... you are okay, right?" he pulls back briefly, looking up at oscar with concerned eyes that search oscar's own, scanning for any signs of discomfort or pain but finding none.

"i'm okay. are you?" lando's eyes slip shut with a nod, the most delicate of smiles tugging at his lips.

"yeah, i'm good."

"good." lando pulls back, much to oscar's disappointment, the stale, conditioned air of the conference room replacing the comforting warmth of lando's body almost immediately. sensing that the hug is now over, oscar lets his hands drop, settling awkwardly at his sides.

fuck it, oscar thinks. "you wanna get dinner?"

lando sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. "i don't know, mate, i'm pretty beat. breakfast tomorrow?"

had lando not been focused on noticing how scuffed his trainers are, he would've seen the way oscar's lips fell into his signature pout. instead, he hears a quiet "oh, okay," before looking back up and smiling faintly. "i'll text you?"

oscar sounds like a kicked puppy.

"oh, come here, you muppet." lando's left arm wraps around oscar's shoulders and his right hand holds oscar's chin, his lips on oscar's cheek, and... yeah. that's exactly what oscar needed. "where do you wanna get dinner?"

iv: on the neck.

it's early february, and they're finally back in woking to film some teaser content before pre-season tests in bahrain.

"mm, i missed you," lando says, tilting his head back as oscar mouths at his neck, and oscar hums in response. of course, oscar takes that opportunity to graze his teeth across the delicate skin of lando's neck, which, in turn, makes lando whine.

when oscar pulls back to catch his breath, his mouth goes dry, a stark contrast to the spit-shiny side of lando's neck. the fact that the buttons of his team kit polo are all completely undone and the collar is shoved to the side only adds to it, but his disheveled curls and flushed face really tie it all together with a pretty bow made of the finest ribbon oscar could ever imagine. "fuck, you look beautiful."

"osc," lando whines, and the look in his eyes can only be described as downright pathetic. his eyes are glassy, his lips parted and red from how furiously oscar had kissed them just minutes before, and his chest heaves with the panting breaths he's taking. it's only then that oscar notices- lando's hard.

+i: on the lips.

oscar hasn't really fully processed it yet. lando just got his maiden formula 1 win. he heard it on the radio, the replay of lando's overwhelmed cheers, screaming to his engineer that they did it, they finally did it.

it's only when his lips find lando's long after the podium ceremony, the lingering taste of champagne, sweat, and tears filtering itself onto his tongue, that he realizes just how real it is, and he can't even find it in himself to be mad that he wasn't in the points. "'m so proud of you," oscar says between kisses. "so fucking proud of you." the soft duvet of the hotel room bed wrinkle as lando squirms in an attempt to release some of the pent-up energy from all the adrenaline coursing through his body.

"fuck, osc..." lando's brain short circuits when he feels oscar's hands reach underneath his shirt, calloused fingertips on sensitive skin. "thank you." lando keeps smiling stupidly into the kisses oscar's pressing to his lips, hands scrabbling to grasp at whatever they can. oscar feels like every single sense in his body is heightened, and he's noticing every single detail about every single kiss he feels. the scent of champagne and sweat and lando's skin, the taste of something so distinctly lando that oscar doesn't think he'll ever be able to describe in words, and, above all, the feeling of lando's skin on his. desperate hands grabbing everywhere on oscar's body they can reach, the toned muscle of his abdomen beneath oscar's palms, lando's legs tight around his waist, bringing oscar impossibly closer to the tender skin on the inside of his thighs-

fuck.

he's hard.

"oscar," lando whines, pulling away ever so slightly to catch his breath. "fuck me."

what?

what the fuck?

oscar swears he's hearing things. the roar of engines, wheel guns, and fans' screams have finally gotten to him and he's suffering from either hallucinations or straight up hearing loss.

"what?"

"fuck me, please. there's lube and condoms in the bottom of my suitcase." and... fuck. stronger men have been defeated by less, so there's no way in hell oscar will be able to resist that, especially with how desperate lando sounds.

"where you hoping this would happen?" oscar stands, immediately mourning the loss of lando's body heat, but hastily rummages through the suitcase placed at the foot of the bed, easily locating the bottle of lube and a condom from the bottom of lando's suitcase, exactly where he said they'd be. he doesn't miss the way lando's cheeks flush even more as he nods, hands desperately fumbling to get his shirt off, just to have something to do with them. oscar grins and clicks his tongue, dropping the lube and condom next to lando's hip. "let's get these jeans off, yeah?"

"please." lando's hands fly to his pants, popping the button open and shoving the fly down before shimmying his legs out of the denim. a shuddering sigh pushes past his lips at the release of pressure, and oscar shoves his own jeans down, kicking his and lando's pants off of the bed. there's a faint dark spot on the front of lando's boxers, his erection tenting the fabric, and oscar's sure he looks no different.

"are you sure about this?" there's a nagging in the back of oscar's mind, telling him it's all the adrenaline from lando's maiden win, that this isn't actually what lando wants, that he's going to regret it in the morning... the tone of oscar's voice brings lando out of his haze, clarity returning to the race winner's eyes alongside something else that oscar can't currently pinpoint at the moment.

"do you want to do this?" that's what it is. concern. lando's voice is clear, lacking any of the previous whiny twinge it'd held just moments prior, and his hands come up to gently hold the side of oscar's neck, his fingertips brushing the short bits of oscar's hair. "if you don't want to do this, we can go out and get drunk and forget this ever happened." his eyes search oscar's, his multicolored irises inspecting for any sign of discomfort, hesitation, or uneasiness.

leaving is the last thing oscar wants to do. he knows that much.

with a deep, steadying breath and a shift of his hips- oh, fuck, that was a mistake, because now his clothed dick is laying in the juncture of lando's hip and thigh, and, instead of the thought-out words he was going to say, the only thing that spills past his lips is a moan and a breathy "stay" on the tail end of it. the muscles in his arms give out and he collapses on top of lando, his face tucked into the crook of lando's neck, and when he inhales, lando's fingers already raking soothing rows along his scalp, he smells champagne, sweat, and lando's body wash.

"stay."

"okay, osc. i can do that."

oscar isn't sure how long they lay there, lando's left hand resting in the small of oscar's back and his right rubbing soothing lines into oscar's scalp, but by the time his heart rate slows and his brain stops running a mile a minute, the desperation and speed that he was ready to fuck lando with has sunk out of his body. there's only one problem- well, rather, two problems, but one stems from the other. one: oscar and lando are both still hard. two: neither of them have the energy required for prep, sex, and aftercare.

lando is able to solve both of those problems, though.

"osc?"

"hm?"

"do you want me to get you off?" oscar's face flushes, a whine falling from his lips in embarrassment, but he nods into lando's neck. "yeah?" oscar nods again. "okay, baby. i'm gonna need you to get these off for me, though." he thumbs at the elastic waistband of oscar's boxers, and oscar is barely able to muster enough strength to push himself up and off of lando's chest to pull his boxers off and toss them aside before falling back onto lando. "can you roll over for me, baby?" okay, scratch that. now he summons the last of his strength to roll off of lando, wincing slightly when the long-forgotten bottle of lube and condom dig into his ribs.

"hey." lando's voice has a tenderness to it that oscar's never heard before, used to the constant energy and bubbly laughs, and it makes something stir deep in oscar's chest. before he can prod into it and try to figure out what it might be, though, lando's rolling over and slotting his left leg between oscar's, leaning down, and kissing oscar with a certain softness that leaves every point of contact with lando's body fizzling with electricity. it's a unique and beautifully intimate moment, chests pressed together and bodies touching everywhere they possibly can as hands grasp for places to hold the other closer.

oscar moans into the kiss, high and pathetic, when lando takes both of their cocks into his hand, and even dry, he thinks he could cum just like that.

"oh, fuck, lando-" oscar's eyes are screwed shut, panting as lando continues licking into his mouth, running his tongue along oscar's lips before dipping down to oscar's neck, mimicking the same actions there. lando can't form a verbal response, so he simply hums relishing in the taste of oscar's skin. the aussie doesn't want to admit just how keyed up he is, doesn't want to admit the fact that, with a little bit of lube and a little bit of movement, he'd be cumming onto lando's hand.

thankfully, though, lando seems to be in the same boat, and he makes that very well known with a perfectly timed gentle thrust of his hips forward and a slight loosening of his hand, and the sound that it pulls from oscar's throat can only be described as unholy. "osc..."

"like this, lando, please."

"fuck, me too." oscar jumps slightly when the cold lube hits his cock, but with the slide it adds and the grip around lando's big hand has around them both and the fact that he's completely caged in and every single sense is flooded with lando, lando, lando, the temperature difference is rapidly forgotten in favor of white-hot pleasure. he can't stop himself- his hips are canting up into lando's hand, and it just feels so, so good. oscar's ears aren't processing the difference between his moans and lando's, so all he knows is that there's sounds of sex filling the hotel room, the wet slide of his cock along lando's, and it's so much at once.

when lando's hips start moving, too, fucking into his own fist, oscar throws his head back into the fluffy pillow and groans so loud that he gets a flickering sense of sympathy for whatever neighbors may share a wall with this hotel room, but it's immediately wiped from his brain as lando's lips meet his once more.

oscar isn't sure how much time passes, his lips and tongue gliding along lando's and their hips fucking into lando's hand, but his ears finally process that lando's moaning his name, desperately mouthing at his neck. "oscar, aah, fuck, i'm gonna cum, please, 'm gonna cum-" and, well. oscar didn't think he had a thing for begging, much less a thing for his teammate begging, yet here he is.

"yeah. yeah, go for it. cum for me, baby." before oscar finishes talking, his words breathy and faint, lando's cumming with a cry, his hips shuddering as his cum paints his hand and oscar's cock and stomach in a pearly white. oscar looks down, and the sight he's met with is absolutely filthy. past the mop of lando's curly hair and sweat-shiny skin, he sees the way lando's muscles tense with every thrust and the way his dick is painted white with cum and lube.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, osc, love you, love you so much." and that's what sends him over the edge, muscles in his torso tensing as he grasps desperately at lando's shoulders.

"aah, lan- love you. love you."

[steviesbicrisis]

Steve’s best relationship wasn’t even a relationship. He could barely call it a fling, a flirt. They never even went on a date. They never kissed.

Steve still thinks of it as the best whatever-it-is he has ever had with someone.

At the beginning it was mostly infuriating, how quickly Eddie managed to win the kids over, compared to Steve’s months of work as babysitter/nailbat swinger/monster fighter. Steve had to literally bleed multiple times to get an ounce of respect, Eddie only had to run a nerdy club about fictional bleeding and monster-fighting.

Then somehow, and Steve still has trouble pinpointing when and how it happened, everything changed.

Taking the kids back home from hellfire became something he impatiently waited for.

He and Eddie would barely talk for a few minutes and he would find himself replaying the conversation in his head for days. Anything he could say to get a reaction out of Eddie became fundamental, and if he started by picking subjects to piss him off, he ended learning about Eddie’s favorites, because few minutes after hellfire were never enough and Steve needed Eddie to talk as much as possible, until the kids were begging to drop it and go home.

Steve never questioned the change, most likely out of fear. He doesn’t think he ever was clueless, just really scared about what would potentially mean to be staring at another dude’s eyelashes as he goes on a rant about why Ozzy Osbourne is the best artist of his generation. Or blush whenever said dude would call him “baby”, or “sweetheart”.

Steve convinced himself that the thing he and Eddie were having was as good as it was going to get, nothing more.

Then Chrissy Cunningham died, Eddie ran, and Steve realized that the thing will never be enough for him.

He couldn’t not have Eddie. Not watch him as he entertains a bunch of freshmen, as he stomps with his worn out sneakers on top of forniture, as he puts his terrible music on to push away anyone who doesn’t care enough about him to stay.

Steve needed to see Eddie being alive, doing what his heart desires, and he needed to be next to him when he does.

Obviously, this realization came at the worst possible time.

Steve tried to tell him so many times: when they found him at the boathouse, when he was hiding at refer Rick’s house, when they were taking a stroll in the upside down, and even when they were driving a stolen trailer to a gunshop.

But, it seemed, Eddie had come to a realization just as important and he tried his best to avoid Steve at every given chance.

Steve tried to initiate the conversation as Eddie did his best to run away from it. And he ran until Steve had no chances left to tell him how he actually felt.

———

Steve doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say he lost something he never had. To mourn a relationship he never began. A partner that, technically, never became a partner.

After Eddie dies, Steve has no one to be next to but he can’t say he ever did.

Steve just exists waiting. He can’t tell if he’s waiting for the pain to go away or for Eddie to jump out of a bush and yell “ah! I got you sucker!! By the way, I’m in love with you too.”

For obvious reasons, that never happens.

What does happen, is a call.

It’s a normal Tuesday, as normal as you could define it after Hawkins almost collapsed into the upside down. Steve got into a routine, between checking on the ones at the hospital, helping out at the shelter, allowing Robin to check on him to see if he’s still alive.

The call happens while Robin is doing her kitchen check up - aka making sure he has food and that he’s eating it-, so she picks the phone like she did a million times before.

“Harrington residence, this is Robin” she says, cheerfully.

Steve doesn’t pay much attention to it as he’s folding his dad’s old clothes that intends to donate to the shelter, until he hears Robin’s loud gasp.

“What is it? Is it the hospital? Is it Max?” He rushes to the other room where Robin is.

She doesn’t answer but she gives him a look as she passes him the receiver.

Steve goes quiet, a million thoughts going through his head as he takes the phone from Robin.

He’s still unprepared when he hears that unmistakable voice “Baby”.

Steve gasps for breath “Eddie?”

Is that really you? What happened? Are you hurt? Isn’t this impossible? Is what goes on in Steve’s head, but he ends up just asking “are you okay?”

He can hear a chuckle, Eddie’s wicked chuckle, a further confirmation that it is him, “I’m- hanging in there… are you okay?”

Steve finds the question absurd. He isn’t the one who got left in the upside down, the one that got eaten by demonic bats, the one who died before Steve had the chance to tell him how he felt.

He answers truthfully nonetheless, “I’m… I’m not okay.”

“I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“Please Eddie, come quick.”

“I’ll break the sound barrier for you.”

[kp-alice]

The Puppy With an MAcc

Summary: Despite officially retiring as a professional dominatrix months ago, there's one client you've decided to keep. Maybe it's because of the generous amount he pays, or maybe, just maybe, it's more than that. With the lines between the two of you continuously blurring, you can't help but return every time.

AKA a hopelessly devoted accountant!sub!Yunho x hesitantly-in-love!dom!f!reader

Word count: 5 150

Warnings: non-sexual dominance (kneeling, various acts of service, pet names - Miss, Puppy, etc.), crying, implied minor age difference (like 3-4 years but both characters are in their 20s), basically just two cowards in love who are too scared to admit their feelings to each other but love to indulge in non-committal domesticity

A/N: This fic is the second part of my sub!Yunho Kinktober 2024! The event's masterlist can be found here.

A/N 2: MAcc = Master of Accountancy (I think?? if I got it wrong, please correct me!!)

Your "dominatrix era", as your close friends liked to call it, was pretty short-lived, to say the least.

Well, it's not like you intended on making it your full-time job for the rest of time, anyway. Really, at the core of it, it was mostly just curiosity you wished to sate before getting out into the real world after university. Because of this, you didn't exactly focus on "expanding your empire", keeping only a handful of clients you'd found nice enough to deal with on a semi-regular basis.

The first few months were fun, to say the least. After all, how could you not feel excited at the thought of ordering wealthy men around for money? It made you giddy just thinking about it - you, a normal uni student, making powerful guys crawl around like dogs and thank you for it at the end of each session. Not to mention how good it felt to see them enjoying it too, all that stiffness in their shoulders and the frowns on their faces vanishing a minute into your session. And though a lot of what you did could be described as sexual in nature, you never actually had sex with anyone, keeping things as professional as can be. In a weird way, all of it felt more like a therapy session than stereotypical sex work.

But, as with everything else, even your little side gig had to come to an end a little less than a year later. Because while everything was fun and paid more than enough, you really couldn't see yourself doing this work long-term. Even with just a handful of clients, eventually, taking care of them started to take a mental toll on you. You tried to separate work from personal life, you really did, but as time went on and you got to know them a bit more personally, it was just not possible anymore. Even outside of your dominatrix persona, you felt burdened with each client's struggles and stories, eventually overwhelmed to the point of quitting.

And so, after a few weeks of careful consideration, you finally sent out your goodbye letters to all of them.

Well, all of them except one.

Jeong Yunho was one of the last clients to request your services, sparing him your initial awkwardness when you were just starting out. The first thing you noticed about him was his age - in comparison to your other clients, you were surprised to learn he was just three years older than you. The next thing was his profession. Despite his relatively young age, he had already established himself as the local manager of one of the biggest accounting firms in the country, earning him both a nice sum of money as well as unbearable loads of stress.

Which is exactly what brought him to you.

Unlike your other clients, Yunho didn't overload you with random bits of his tragic past and complaints about his depressing marriage. No, no, his case was much simpler than that.

"I don't know," Yunho shrugged nonchalantly at your question, letting you tuck him into bed, "I get really stressed from making all the big decisions at work and I love powerful women. It just felt natural to combine the two."

Somehow, it was exactly that reasoning that had made you keep him even months after quitting.

You didn't tell him he was the only one left, though. Didn't want to make it weird or make him think there was something deeper to your decision. Your dynamic was perfect just the way it was, and despite its deep and stable foundations, you still didn't dare risk breaking it in any way.

Another thing that set Yunho apart were his requests. Unlike your other clients, his preferences had stayed pretty much the same since the first time you'd talked to him. He liked it when you visited his apartment instead of just some random hotel, and when you wore clothes that could pass as everyday attire rather than the stereotypical leather and latex. His scenes were nothing short of domestic, either. You always felt like a husband from the 50s, coming home to his loving and generous wife after a long day of work (classes) and letting her shower him with affection and praise.

Much like today, as you yet again found yourself on an all-too-familiar doorstep. It had been a few weeks since your last visit, and you had to admit, you'd really missed Yunho during that time. The longer pause wasn't intentional on either side, mind you. It was just a case of his busy schedule clashing with your finals week and the mandatory week-long recuperative period that followed. Now that you were back, however, you couldn't help the small smile on your lips, looking forward to whatever awaited you inside.

Not to mention this visit would mark your first anniversary with Yunho as your client (though you couldn't dwell on that too much in order to keep those incessant butterflies in your stomach at bay).

You didn't have to knock or ring the doorbell. Instead, you fished out your very own key that Yunho had given you a few weeks back. A sign of his trust and how welcome you'd always be in his home, as he'd described it.

Any other potential thoughts were quickly halted, though, as the door suddenly swung open, revealing a very excited-looking Yunho.

"You're here!" He exclaimed excitedly, flashing you a big grin. He stood like that for a second, just watching you in what appeared to be awe before suddenly straightening up again and stepping to the side. "Oh, right, sorry. Come in!"

You let out a small chuckle at his antics, an undeniable warmth blooming in your chest at the mere sight of him.

The next steps were pretty much automatic at this point. First, Yunho helped you remove your coat and hung it up for you. Then, he knelt down, letting you lean on his shoulder for support while he slipped your heels off and neatly set them aside.

"Good boy," you cooed enthusiastically, moving your hand up from his shoulder to ruffle his hair slightly. "Always so happy to see me, hm? Are you all ready for tonight or should I go wait in the living room?"

He quickly shook his head at the suggestion. "No, no, it's okay! Everything should be ready, me included. Oh, and I made you your favorite today, just how you like it! You know the one, the- the..."

You watched him try to finish his thought, but it was too late. In just a few moments, Yunho's eyes glazed over the same way you'd witnessed many times before. He was still present, yet his gaze grew a bit distant, retreating into himself to adjust to the sudden change. A change he clearly needed a lot, considering all it took for him to slip into subspace was the small ritual he'd always done to welcome you into his home.

But just as quickly as his voice trailed off and his eyes lost focus, he snapped back to reality, almost startled by the sudden clarity in his mind.

And there it was. All of his personal and work-related worries had been set aside, making his head feel almost overwhelmingly light and empty in comparison to his day-to-day state.

"What is..." He began, making you follow his line of sight, "what's that?"

A fond smile spread across your lips at the innocent curiosity in his eyes, realizing he was looking at the gift bag in your hand.

"Just a small gift I got for you, Puppy," you spoke softly, watching his eyes widen.

"Wait, for me?!" He asked excitedly, though you could sense a hint of uncertainty in his voice as if he didn't dare believe it just yet.

"Yes, hun, for you," you confirmed, unable to stop yourself from ruffling his hair again with your free hand. "But we'll get to that later, okay? How about you show me what you cooked for us tonight first?"

It didn't surprise you to find out Yunho had already eaten before you arrived. Sometimes, if he was still lucid enough, he'd eat alongside you and chat about random things that came to mind. Usually, though, he'd just eat in advance so that he could fully relax and focus on you only.

You sat at the small dining table, zeroed in on the delicious dish in front of you. Over time, as Yunho began cooking for you more and more frequently as a show of gratitude, you noticed a considerable improvement in his skills. Not that he was bad before, of course not, but now? It almost felt illegal to be paid for your services in both money and food this good.

In Yunho's eyes, though, it was all worth it. The time he'd spend cooking for you helped him ease into the scene, in a way. Even just preparing all this for you felt extremely calming, knowing how much you'd always compliment him and how appreciative you were.

Much like right now, as he sat on the floor next to your chair, cheek resting against your thigh. His eyes were closed as you ran your hand through his silky hair, muttering small words of praise every now and then. This part of your evenings was one of his absolute favorites, as he truly got to just think about nothing. No work or family issues could reach him here. All he had to do was just lean against you and focus on your soft voice and loving touch.

Sometimes (not that he'd ever admit it), when he couldn't sleep at night and felt extra lonely, he'd try petting his hair just like you always did. He'd try to think about your words of praise to force out all the negative thoughts clouding his mind. And yet, it could never compare to the real thing. The warmth of your fingertips just felt different and he could never quite replicate your voice in his head for it to be satisfying enough.

After a while of not thinking at all, Yunho liked to talk. A lot.

While he cleaned up in the kitchen, you let yourself get comfortable on his couch, propping your back up with some extra pillows since you knew you'd be here a while. Like usual, you'd put on a skirt today too, knowing it was the most convenient option considering what was in store for the two of you.

A minute or two later, Yunho emerged from the kitchen, the content smile on his lips spreading even wider at the sight of you. Without an ounce of hesitance, he walked up to the couch, looming over you with his tall self for just a second before dropping down to his knees again.

This, too, was one of Yunho's interesting, distinct traits. Whenever he could, he'd find himself on the ground, looking up at you with nothing but utter devotion.

"People always marvel at how tall I am," Yunho muttered, nuzzling his face into your hand while you finished your meal. "And it's really flattering, don't get me wrong! It's just that... sometimes, I also want to feel small, you know? Even if it means I have to literally kneel down in front of someone."

"So? How have you been?" Yunho began, flashing you a bright smile. As tentatively as always, his hands reached for your left foot, giving you enough time to stop him (even though you never did). "I want to hear everything."

You groaned. "Ugh, don't even get me started. Remember the professor I told you about last time and how he can never grade our papers on time? Guess what? We're still waiting! I swear we've collectively sent him like a hundred emails already and he's still acting like he doesn't see them."

Yunho hums thoughtfully at your words, brows furrowing as he keeps massaging your leg, going up to your calf now. "That really sucks, I'm sorry. I'm sure it's gonna be fine, though. He'll probably be more lenient because of the delay, not to mention you always ace all your classes anyways."

Your leg involuntarily jolted as he grazed a particularly ticklish spot, making him giggle. "Thanks, I really hope so too," you replied, trying to stay focused despite his skilled hands. "It's still nothing in comparison to our dorms, though."

Yunho shot you an inquisitive look, urging you to keep going.

"I mean, it's nothing too shocking, they're just raising the rent again for the second time this year. I really shouldn't be surprised at this point, but just- I wish they were at least honest about being greedy instead of making up random excuses as to why we have to pay even more outrageous prices than before."

"You know I'd love to help you with that if you want-"

"Puppy," you warned in a stern voice, making him immediately hush and drop his head. "We've talked about this, remember? You already pay me more than enough, I can't ask you for any more than that. Besides, the rent thing is an issue of principle, not finances."

"I know," Yunho sighed, halting his movements. "I just want you to be happy and pursue your dreams without having to worry about things like money."

"Yuyu," you cooed, leaning down to tuck his hair behind his ear. "I know you want to help, but please believe me when I say you're already doing more than enough. Not just because of the money, but because of your company in general, okay? I always look forward to spending time with you and I'm really thankful we get to meet like this. Seeing you happy makes me happier than any sum of money you could possibly offer."

There was silence for a moment as Yunho took your words in, still gently holding onto your foot to stay grounded. But even with his head dropped down, you could see his lips begin to tremble, fighting back tears.

It had been a while since he'd got to talk to someone so openly and vulnerably. To just say whatever was on his mind without fearing it would be somehow used against him later. To be appreciated so genuinely without any ulterior motives from the other side.

Sniffling quietly, his hands resumed their work, taking hold of your other leg to massage it as well.

"Thank you, Miss," he said in a mere whisper, afraid his voice would break if he spoke any louder.

"Of course, Yu," you muttered back. "You'll always be my good boy, always," you reassured him lovingly, giving him a playful nudge with your now-free foot. The effect was immediate as a small smile spread across his lips, lighting up his teary eyes again as he looked up at you adoringly.

Oh, how he'd missed you.

After a good while of just talking about anything and everything that came to mind, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence. Yunho's hands rested on your shins while you pet his head on your thighs. His breathing had evened out over time, and you could see the way his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy. It was time to sleep.

This was usually considered the end of your sessions, where you'd help him get dressed for bed and caress his hair until he'd doze off. He always felt really sad when you left and he hated going to bed alone, so this solved both of those issues. Besides, you had to admit that the sight of someone as overworked as him sleeping so peacefully did something for your soul as well.

"Alright, Puppy," you began softly, making Yunho lift his head up, "let's get you to bed, shall we?"

Ever the good boy, he gave you a sleepy but content nod.

Happy with his agreement, you were about to stand up and lead him to the bedroom, but quickly paused in your tracks.

The softest kissing sounds echoed through the living room, one for each of your knees.

Yunho quickly sensed your tension and looked up at you in confusion, which then turned into alarm.

"I-I'm so sorry Miss, I should have asked for permission!" He rambled in panic, leaning back on his haunches to give you as much space as he could. "I guess I spaced out a little too much and forgot myself for a moment, it happened without me meaning to, I'm really sorry-"

"Yuyu," you interrupted him gently, fighting the smile on your lips, "relax, it's okay."

Yet another thing you really cherished about the man before you. No matter what, he always asked for permission when trying something new. Sometimes, he'd even ask with things you had already agreed on in previous sessions, just to be sure. So to see him get flustered the one time he accidentally got too carried away and forgot to do so? It was strangely endearing, to be honest.

Had you had any suspicions that this wasn't a mere accident, that this was simply Yunho's way of "sneakily" pushing your boundaries, your reaction would have been much more different. You weren't afraid of stopping a session mid-way through and banning your client on the spot; you'd done it before.

But seeing the genuine panic written all over the man's face, clearly scared of upsetting you? He was nothing short of adorable, looking like a small, frightened animal.

"But- but I," Yunho tried again, but stopped at your firm gaze.

"I said it's okay, you're not in trouble," you repeated. "...Besides, it was actually quite cute. Maybe I'll even let you do it again in the future."

Oh God.

After calming your precious puppy down, you walked him down the hall to his bedroom (well, you walked; he decided to crawl instead - after shyly getting your permission, of course).

"Think you can change yourself, hun?" You asked him as he sat down on the bed, patiently awaiting further instructions.

While he always tried to be good for you and not feel entitled to anything, he visibly deflated at your words. "Why? I mean- I definitely can if you want me to, but..."

It took all your willpower not to cave at his puppy eyes.

Alas, you had more important things to sort out.

"The gift, remember?"

And that was all you needed to say for Yunho to immediately jump into action.

The second time you entered his bedroom, this time with the gift bag in hand, Yunho was tucked in bed and ready to go. His clothes were neatly folded on a nearby chair, exchanged for a set of comfy-looking pajamas. He perked up at the sight of you, sitting up and making more space for you by the edge.

"Ready for your present, Pup?" You asked giddily, wanting to hear him say it out loud despite the obvious curiosity and excitement in his eyes.

"Yes, please!" Yunho beamed at you as you sat down next to him, trying to resist peeking into the bag before he was properly allowed to.

But as you finally handed him the bag, his features turned sad, a small pout on his face.

"What is it, Yu?" You asked, worried at the sudden change in tone.

He let out a deep sigh, cheeks warming. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything back. I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate and the internet didn't give me a clear answer either so I panicked. I hope it doesn't look like I don't appreciate your services or anything, that's not it at all, I swear!"

You let out an amused chuckle. "Sweetheart, I'd never think that about you. You already show me enough gratitude as is. Besides, this wasn't even supposed to be a gift exchange in the first place. I just saw something online and it made me think of you so I bought it. I'm not expecting anything in return."

Whether you said something after that or not, Yunho wasn't sure. His mind had already stopped at the mention of you thinking about him outside of work.

Sure, he did that all the time when it came to you, using you as a source of comfort to cling onto whenever he had an especially hard time at work. Whenever he had to stay in his office late into the night, or heard his subordinates gossip about him, only to give him smiles and compliments the second they noticed him, thoughts of you were the only thing that could ground him again. And even when he was doing alright, he still liked to think about you, reminiscing on your past sessions and looking forward to the next. But to have you do the same with him?! Yunho's heart felt like it would leap out of his chest if he didn't calm down soon.

"...Well? Aren't you gonna open it?" You nudged his thigh with your hand, a playful glint in your eyes. "You looked so excited before, don't you want to see what's inside?"

Yunho didn't need any further enticing, flashing you a big grin before he finally reached into the bag. Inside, he found a pretty, dusty pink box with an unknown brand name embossed into its center.

With shaky hands, he lifted the lid.

"What do you think?" You asked, nervously scanning his face.

Yunho was frozen, stuck staring at the custom-made leather collar. Attached to it was a silver tag gleaming in the dim bedroom lights, the word "YUYU" engraved into it staring right back at him.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" You spoke again, trying to hide your growing concern. "We can totally return it if you don't like it, I won't be-"

All the words died in your throat as Yunho suddenly lifted his head, looking right into your eyes as his bottom lip trembled, fighting back tears. The second he spoke, however, they spilled over anyway.

"It's perfect."

"Oh, Puppy," you cooed as a sob ripped through him, bringing him into a tight embrace. The anxiety weighing down on your chest immediately dropped at his words, making you sigh in relief. His hands clutched at your shirt, almost desperately so, wetting your shoulder as he sniffled in your hold.

You stayed like that for a moment or two, soft snivels and affectionate whispers filling the room.

"I- I've never," Yunho began, but quickly stopped again, hiding his face in the crook of your neck some more. It was right then that you'd noticed the unusual proximity between the two of you, never staying this close for more than a second or two when he occasionally hugged you goodbye instead of you tucking him in. But now, it felt as though you were enveloped in him, his comforting warmth and light cologne all around you.

"It's okay, hun," you encouraged him gently, "take your time."

Yunho exhaled heavily, as if steeling himself for whatever he was going to say next.

"It's just- this is everything I've ever wanted but never actually dared wish for, and now that it's real, now that you're real, I don't even know what to say."

Reluctantly pulling away from your embrace, he reached back to retrieve a few tissues from the bedside table. "Every day, I have so many people relying on me, so many people waiting for me to make a mistake so that they could take my place, have to deal with so many awful clients while acting like none of it affects me, and it's just- it's so hard. I've always wanted to have someone who I could be vulnerable with, who I could confide in without fearing they'd use it against me later, but it always seemed too good for me. And then you appeared, and you've made my life so much more bearable, made me look forward to every day because it meant I'd get to see you soon again. No amount of words or money could ever match just how thankful I am for you, seriously."

"Yunho..."

Stunned by the sudden confession, you silently sat and processed his words. Yunho just smiled at your shocked expression, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I know this is a lot to unload on you so suddenly, so please don't feel like you have to respond to any of this right now. We can just brush past this and never discuss it again, I won't be upset. It's just something I've been thinking about a lot lately, and seeing you care for me so honestly made me finally tell you, I guess. Like I said, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but just know that if there's anything, and I mean anything, that I could do for you, just say it and I'll do it. Even if it's something small, like confiding in me the way I do with you, I'm always here for you."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his offer, unconvinced. "I'm not really sure you want that, Yu. All of my problems are pretty repetitive and boring, not to mention how annoying and stubborn I can get when stressed. Wouldn't want to break the illusion you have of me, you know?"

...A hand gingerly grabbed yours.

"And what if I tell you that's exactly what I want?" Yunho challenged, a more genuine, playful smile on his lips this time. "I'm not stupid, Y/N. I know you're much more than the persona you put on when you visit me. I want to know the real you, good and bad included - if you'll let me, that is. You already have the keys to the apartment, don't you? My home is open to you anytime, even outside of our sessions."

Just as Yunho had said, this was a lot to unpack on the spot.

And yet, somehow, deep down in your heart, you already knew your answer to his confession, even if you didn't fully want to admit to it just yet.

"I mean," you began hesitantly, mulling everything over as carefully as you could, "there's no harm in trying it, right?"

Yunho's eyes lit up at your words, looking at you hopefully.

"Besides, I come here so often it feels like a second home anyway."

He gave you a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, same here."

"What do you mean?" You asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Exactly what I said before - you." His grip on your hand tightened, the other pointing to the collar sitting in front of him. "I've found my second home in you."

Silence.

It felt as though the Earth had stopped spinning for a second. Everything around you faded into nothingness, leaving you to stare into his eyes.

You don't know for sure how his lips ended up on yours, but judging by the surprised noise coming from him, it must have been you who'd initiated the kiss. Not a second later, however, he replied with matching enthusiasm, resting his palm against your thigh to lean in even closer.

In spite of every cell in your body screaming at you to stay, you eventually pulled away, giving the two of you a chance to breathe. Yunho's gaze was nothing short of reverent, looking at you like you've hung the stars in the sky.

"So? Would you like to try on your present?"

Yunho refused to believe any of this was real.

No matter how much you tried to convince him to take it off, Yunho refused to sleep without his collar. Looking at the way it pressed into his neck when he lay down, you knew there was no way it could be comfortable to sleep in. And yet, Yunho insisted that it was fine, that it actually felt nice despite the way it was smothering his Adam's apple. In the end, you had no option but to concede, tucking your overgrown puppy into bed with the collar still around his neck.

But as you were about to get up to turn the lights off, a hand grabbed yours to stop you. You looked back down at Yunho, being met with his signature pout and teary eyes.

"I know this is a lot to ask, especially considering how much I've asked of you today already, but... stay? Please?"

You gave him a long look, considering your options. Or pretending to consider them, rather, since there was no way you'd be able to deny him anything right now.

"Only because you've been such a sweet boy today, okay?" You said, trying to sound reluctant even though you weren't fooling anyone.

You quickly excused yourself to the bathroom, boldly taking one of Yunho's sleep shirts with you to change into.

Despite his eyelids growing heavier by the second, Yunho bravely fought to keep them up until you'd arrive, sighing in relief when the bathroom door opened again.

No more words were needed as you plopped down next to him, joining him under the blankets before moving to rest your head on his chest. Despite no visible reaction from him, you could hear his racing heartbeat below you, making a soft smile creep up on your lips.

Within the next two minutes, you heard his heart eventually calm down again, breaths evening out as he fell asleep. It took you a while longer to follow, mind struggling to relax with so many thoughts racing through it. What did all of today mean for your relationship? How professional will you be able to stay with him after this? You should probably tell him you haven't had any other clients for months now, shouldn't you.

No use worrying about it now, you suppose. All of those concerns can be solved only once Yunho wakes up again. And until then, you have no choice but to enjoy whatever it is that you have right now, no matter how ambiguous.

Snuggling further into his chest, you finally doze off as well.

Whatever this is, it's perfect.

taglist: @justconniez @domribo @another-random-fanfic-blog

Thank you for reading! And remember, feedback is always very appreciated! <3

[gojoest]

being in the same friend group as satoru means your life has a few constants.

like your local grocery store. somehow, they always have your favorite snack in stock, even the ones that even major chains never seem to carry consistently. they’re always right there. your favorite drink? chilled and in front. that one obscure brand of chips that maybe only you like? whole shelf of them. and every time you go? a free snack tossed into your bag at checkout. “store discount” the cashier always says with a wink.

you never think too hard about it. just good luck, maybe. maybe karma’s finally cutting you a break. you don’t realize you’re living inside someone else’s meticulously crafted affection until that evening.

you and satoru are out, for a short walk around the neighborhood. it’s still hot outside and he’s insisting on buying you ice cream from your local grocery store. you both walk in. he’s already pulling you toward the freezer aisle. but then—

the cashier’s new. some nervous looking kid, clearly fresh on the job, trying to look competent behind the register but fumbling with the barcode scanner.

and when you and satoru approach the counter, chatting and laughing, the kid brightens.

“oh! i remember you! you’re that guy who pays the store to always have those snacks stocked and give free stuff to your girlfriend, right?”

you blink.

satoru freezes like someone hit pause on him.

“uh” the kid looks between you. “the manager said not to forget because you come in a lot and it’s like a special thing for her?”

silence.

you turn to look at satoru. his mouth is open. he makes a tiny wheeze, but recovers with alarming speed.

“ahahaha, girlfriend?” oh no, no, no, no—” he starts to wave his hands, eyes wide, smile stretching a little too tight. “i mean— she’s not… like, technically— well, you know… hah…hahah…”

you stare at him. “you what?”

“i can explain” he says, and then immediately adds “actually, no i can’t. because i was going to take it to the grave”

you blink again. “you’ve been paying the store to keep my favorite snacks stocked?”

“and give you freebies” the cashier pipes in helpfully. “pretty sure your ice cream is free too”

you turn slowly back to satoru. he smiles. that ridiculous, dazzling, i-get-away-with-everything kind of smile.

“it’s not weird, i think it’s endearing” he says, leaning casually on the counter like he didn’t just get exposed. “i just figured the best way to your heart was through sugar. and crunchy things. and maybe some mild corporate bribery”

you stare.

he looks sheepish for exactly half a second before flashing another grin. “you do always smile when they give you the free snack. i mean— what can i say? i like seeing you smile”

you feel your face go warm… annoyance bubbles up, but mostly because it is kind of cute. you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “satoru, that’s insane”

“satoru is insane” he agrees proudly. “but in a sexy, thoughtful way”

you roll your eyes and grab your free ice cream.

later, when you’re sitting next to him on the curb outside, eating quietly, he nudges you with his shoulder and says softly. “so… no hard feelings?”

you don’t say anything, just hand him the last bite of your ice cream.

his eyes widen. “you do like me too” he gasps dramatically.

you give him a look. “don’t push it”

he grins. he absolutely pushes it.

[solarmorrigan]

Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The days pass like cold mud – slow, uncomfortable, and relentless.

But they do pass.

Eddie had said he could give Steve the time he needed, and he’d meant it; he would wait out the two weeks and be there on the other side to talk to him. To hope for a second chance.

They see each other here and there, mostly in passing: Steve comes to pick a few of the kids up from a gaming session; Eddie stops in at Family Video with Jeff, Gareth, and Oliver to grab a movie (where Jeff and Steve exchange a surprisingly friendly greeting); they occupy separate sides of the room at a group dinner.

Each time, Eddie is sure to at least acknowledge and wave at Steve, in spite of any protective hovering and scowling Robin might be doing if she happens to be present. Steve gives cautious nods in return at first, but as they near the deadline, he’s returning Eddie’s distant greetings with a hesitant smile and that ridiculous little finger-wiggle wave that Eddie had been reluctantly charmed by in the beginning.

And in the meantime, Eddie plots.

He is not, by nature, an optimist (strangely, between the two of them, that’s Steve’s area), but in this instance, he plans for the best: the idea that Steve will say yes and let Eddie take him on a proper date. And as improvisational as Eddie likes to be, he’s also a veteran dungeon master and plotter of all sorts of campaigns; if you want long-term plans to go off without a hitch, it pays to be prepared.

So, he plots.

He brainstorms and makes lists of all of Steve’s favorite things and schemes out elaborate romantic gestures and draws on all the knowledge he’s retained from the romcoms he’d whined about having to watch with Steve but had always given in over when Steve gave him that puppy-eyed look that Eddie has no defense against.

(And somehow, he’d continued to think they were just friends. His lack of awareness should be studied as a scientific anomaly.)

He thinks Steve would be proud of his accumulated work (and Eddie himself isn’t ashamed of it, but all the same, he makes sure to hide the notebook where none of the guys will ever, ever stumble across it, because they would never, ever let Eddie live it down).

In any case, the ticking down of two weeks finally comes to an end, and Eddie stands in front of the phone earlier than he’d normally care to be awake, hoping that his work will pay off.

Steve picks up before the fourth ring, just like he always does, and answers the phone like a dork, just like he always does.

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking.”

This is where Eddie normally makes a joke – says he’d been trying for the funeral home and asks if Steve happens to have a shovel and some time on his hands; says he thought he’d had the number for the Hawkins Gentleman’s Club and asks if Steve is much of a dancer; once, he’d even affected a terrible New York accent and spun some lines about how he’d been trying to call a speakeasy. He can always hear the laughter caught behind Steve’s dry responses to his nonsense, and he always loves it.

But now is not “normally,” and Eddie only just manages to sound like himself as he replies, “Steve. Just the Harrington I was hoping would speak.”

“Eddie,” is all Steve says for a moment; he sounds almost surprised, but not displeased. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Eddie says back. “So, I know punctuality has never been my strong suit, but it’s, uh. It’s been two weeks. Pretty much on the dot. And you said I should come talk to you again, so…”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, no, did you – You can come over. If you want to talk, still,” Steve says – stammers, really, like he’s been caught off-guard, like he really hadn’t been expecting Eddie to call.

“Well, if I didn’t change my mind in two weeks, I’m not gonna change my mind in the fifteen minutes it takes to get to your house,” Eddie says.

“Sure,” Steve says, a little steadier now. “Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit, I guess.”

“You definitely will,” Eddie assures him. “See you in a bit, Steve.”

“Yeah. Yes. Bye, Eddie.”

It’s awkward, but – it’s something.

The only reason Eddie doesn’t break an egregious number of traffic laws on his way to Steve’s house is because he simply couldn’t bear the irony of getting arrested now, of all times. With his luck, he’d get sent up the river and Steve would be left waiting and waiting at his house before coming to the conclusion that Eddie had never really cared about him after all, only to be found surprised and jaded several years later when Eddie is finally released from prison and makes his first stop the Harrington house and – Christ, Eddie’s had romance on the brain too long. He’s going to have to binge reread Lord of the Rings or something to get his head back on straight.

He pulls his head out of the clouds and his van into the Harrington’s ridiculously massive driveway and heads up to the door with a vibrating surplus of energy sustained entirely by nerves and determination.

It seems like he’s not the only one running on anxiety power, though, based on how quickly the door opens after Eddie rings the bell.

It’s the first time Eddie’s really seen Steve up close since the trailer two weeks ago. He looks– better. He’s still tired, Eddie can tell; he’s got that slightly droopy look around his eyes and an almost painful set to his jaw that’s nearly impossible to spot if you don’t know what to look for – and most people don’t (but Eddie’s spent a lot of time learning Steve, even if he hadn’t picked up all the right tells). But he still looks better, and Eddie finds himself relieved.

“Hey, there,” he says, giving Steve a nod. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood, y’know. Thought I’d drop by.”

Steve shakes his head, a tiny smile quirking up at one corner of his mouth. “Come in, jackass.”

“Fine way to treat your guests,” Eddie drawls in return, gratified when Steve’s smile grows just a tiny bit more.

He takes off his shoes at the entryway (Steve hardly ever asks anyone to take off their shoes, because worrying about the state of your floors isn’t cool, but it bothers him all the same, and so Eddie takes them off) and follows Steve through to the living room, where they both perch awkwardly on the couch and sit in an equally awkward silence for about thirty seconds.

“So… you said I should come talk to you,” Eddie says finally.

“I did, yeah.” Steve nods.

“You said to tell you if this was still something I wanted,” Eddie goes on.

“I did, yeah,” Steve says again. “And… you’re here.”

“I told you I wouldn’t change my mind, Steve.” Eddie’s hand twitches, almost instinctively reaching out for a spot on Steve’s knee, or around his wrist, or threaded through his fingers, but he doesn’t think he can take Steve freezing up or pulling away again. “This – you, us – I still want it. I want to do it right. If you’ll give me the chance, I want to treat you how you should be treated.”

Steve nods. “Okay.”

Eddie blinks. “Okay? As in – just, yeah, okay?” He knows he’s not making much sense, but he’d been sort of prepared to have to make his case – to extol the virtues of the perfect dates he had planned, to sing the praises of all the things he knows now that he should appreciate about Steve, to lament the loss of trust and ease between them, but instead Steve is just sitting there, watching him with a funny sort of smile on his face.

“I was… I was never going to say no, Eddie.” Steve shrugs. “I just really needed you to think about it. To make sure this—a real relationship with… with me—is really what you wanted. Because if it’s not, if you took it back again, I don’t think I’d– I just really needed you to be sure.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, low and serious, “I have never been more sure of anything in my life. A real relationship with you is exactly what I want.”

Steve’s smile twitches, changes into something a little more familiar, a little warmer. “Okay.”

“You’re never gonna regret it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, can’t help bouncing a little in his seat as his nerves turn to excitement, to elation. “I have the corniest, most romantic dates planned, I swear, I’m going to knock your socks off. We’ll unlock your inner Molly Ringwald.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve shakes his head at Eddie. “You really don’t have to do all that. I’m not– putting you through a trial, or whatever, we can just go back to what we were doing, right? Just with… I dunno, more awareness.”

“Noooo, no.” Eddie shakes his head right back. “You said you didn’t want to pretend nothing ever happened, and you shouldn’t have to. I want to do this, Steve. Let me take you on a real date.”

Something unreadable flashes across Steve’s face, and suddenly his smile is wrong again. Sort of plastic – like he’s trying, but it’s not quite reaching his eyes. But before Eddie can ask what’s wrong, Steve is shrugging.

“If you insist…”

“I most certainly do,” Eddie says firmly. “I’m gonna romance the shit out of you.”

At that, Steve releases a helpless snort of laughter, and the plastic smile is gone, blown away by a real one.

“You’re making a super good argument for it,” Steve says, and Eddie grins.

“Aren’t I?” He bats his eyelashes. “So tell me: you free on Friday night?”

“I’m working, actually. Someone has to dole out dumb romances to other people out on dates,” Steve says drily, as if he himself hasn’t seen most of the films he’s maligning.

Eddie hums. “Saturday?”

“I could probably get someone to cover my shift,” Steve hedges, teasing and flirty and everything Eddie’s missed in the last few weeks.

“So you’ll be free?” Eddie asks.

“As a bird – as long as that bird isn’t a robin, considering who’s going to have to cover for me,” Steve says, and Eddie pulls a grimace.

“Yeah, maybe don’t tell her why you need the shift covered. I get the feeling she wouldn’t be as agreeable if she knew I was involved,” he says.

“I don’t think Robin’s ever been agreeable in her life, and she’d probably resent the accusation.” Steve smirks. “But as long as she doesn’t think I’m sneaking away to see you, and if I take the Monday morning shift she really hates, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Let’s plan for Saturday?”

“Saturday it is!” Eddie pops up off the couch, both unwilling to sour the mood by overstaying his welcome, and suddenly overflowing with the need to set preparations in motion. “Six o’clock, sharp! I’ll pick you up.”

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Steve asks, one eyebrow cocked.

“Absolutely not. The surprise is part of the experience,” Eddie says.

“Dress code, at least?” Steve wheedles, and Eddie supposes that’s fair.

“Casual. And bring a jacket,” Eddie says.

Both of Steve’s brows go up now, as he rises from the couch to follow Eddie back out towards the door. “Telling someone to bring outerwear to a date is usually a red flag, man,” he says, watching as Eddie shoves his shoes back on.

“But you love being outside,” Eddie counters, glancing up at Steve with a grin.

“I,” Steve pauses, blinking at him. “I guess.”

“And no more hints,” Eddie says, rising from the floor and reaching for the door handle. “I’ll see you on Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice warming around a small, pleased smile, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Can’t wait.” Eddie throws one last grin at him before stepping out into the brisk, late fall air.

He doesn’t stop smiling the whole way home.

Part 7

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The tag list is full at this time, but I'll be posting this fic to Ao3 soon, so hopefully people can subscribe there if they want update alerts?

[spicyschemmenti]

SOMEHOW, SHE'S IN CHARGE ➫ casey novak

pairing: casey novak x bumbling idiot!fem!reader

synopsis: casey is prepared for a lot of things in her career. grueling cases, tough defense attorneys, and long nights buried in paperwork. what she isn’t prepared for is discovering that the new district attorney is the same woman she just watched pour orange juice into her coffee

warnings: reader puts herself in awkward and embarassing situations, reader is clumsy and chaotic

word count: 1.2k

MASTERLIST

Casey’s day had been going fine. Court had gone smoothly, she only had one more case review before lunch, and she’d managed to avoid running into that adorably chaotic woman who seemed to exist in a constant state of mild distress.

Until now.

She stands in the break room, staring in absolute disbelief as you, the aforementioned human disaster, stir orange juice into your coffee like it’s completely normal. You’re not even paying attention, humming to yourself, wearing an oversized blazer that looks two seconds away from slipping off your shoulder, your hair slightly messy like you forgot to brush it in your rush to work. The lid to the orange juice carton is on the floor, and Casey is pretty sure you didn’t even realize you dropped it.

"You, uh… you meant to do that?" she asks, tilting her head.

You blink like you just remembered she was there. "Huh?"

Casey gestures vaguely to the abomination in your hands. "The coffee. The orange juice. You just—" She waves her hand, unable to even finish the sentence.

"Oh! Yeah." You take a sip, and your face immediately contorts in regret. "Oh, wow, that is so bad."

"Yeah," Casey deadpans. "Shocking."

You make a small, suffering noise and set the mug down, like you don’t even trust yourself to hold it anymore. Then, as if the universe needs to hammer home just how much of a mess you are, you spin to throw something in the trash and promptly knock over an entire stack of case files that were sitting on the counter.

Papers scatter across the floor. You freeze. Casey closes her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling like she’s gathering strength.

"Cool," you mutter to yourself, hands on your hips as you stare at the chaos you’ve just created. "Super cool."

Casey sighs and kneels down, helping you gather the papers. "You always like this?" she asks, handing you a file.

"Oh, yeah. Whole life," you say with an exasperated smile. "I mean, it’s mostly fine! Just little things. Like, this morning I tripped getting out of bed, and my coffee maker kind of exploded, and then I dropped my phone in a puddle, but—" you hold up a finger, like you’re about to make an excellent point—"I got here on time! Which is more than I can say for yesterday."

Casey just stares at you. Who lets you operate heavy machinery?

She’s already mentally filing you away as someone she’s going to have to keep an eye on—not in a bad way, just, you know, to make sure you don’t accidentally set the office on fire—when a voice interrupts.

"Ms. Novak?"

She turns to see one of the junior attorneys standing in the doorway. "Are you ready for your meeting with the DA?"

"Yeah, just—" she stands, brushing dust off her skirt. "Where are they?"

The attorney gestures toward you. You.

Casey looks at you. You give her a sheepish little wave, still clutching a file upside down.

"You're the DA?" Casey blurts out before she can stop herself.

"Uhh… yeah?" You say it like even you can’t believe it. "Newly appointed! Just started last week. You know, whole ‘shiny new District Attorney’ thing. Trying my best. Not setting things on fire, so, y’know… that’s a win."

Casey squints at you. You are holding a coffee cup full of orange juice. There is a very real possibility that you misplaced your own office keys at some point today. This person is running the DA’s office.

"Uh-huh," Casey mutters, rubbing her temples. "Right. Okay. Cool."

"Anyway!" you say brightly, rocking on your heels. "We should totally get to that meeting before they send a search party."

And then you walk directly into the doorframe.

Casey groans. "I need a stronger coffee."

Casey follows you to the meeting room in a state of mild shock, clutching her coffee like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality. You, this complete and utter disaster of a human, are the District Attorney. The head of the office. The person she technically answers to.

She sneaks a glance at you as you walk, still a little dazed from the revelation. Your oversized blazer keeps slipping off your shoulder, and you keep pushing it up only for it to slide right back down. You’re flipping through a file as you walk, mumbling something under your breath, completely oblivious to the way the hallway full of other attorneys keeps subtly moving out of your way, as if they’ve all learned to give you a wide berth for their own safety.

Casey is starting to suspect that you might be a legal genius trapped in the body of a chaotic mess. That’s the only explanation, right? Otherwise, there’s no way you’d have this job.

You finally reach the conference room and push the door open, except it doesn’t move because you’re pulling instead of pushing. You blink at it for a second, clearly confused, before switching tactics and shoving it open with an awkward laugh. Casey, standing right behind you, just closes her eyes and exhales slowly.

Inside, the room is already full of attorneys and detectives, papers spread out across the table. Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler sit on one side, their expressions unreadable, while some of the ADAs murmur amongst themselves. Casey takes a seat, watching as you drop your files onto the table with an unceremonious thump.

"Alright, folks," you say, clapping your hands together. "Let’s talk case strategy."

You don’t even notice that your coffee cup, which you set down a little too close to the edge, is teetering dangerously. Casey notices. And now, apparently, it’s her job to keep you from causing minor disasters, because she smoothly reaches over and slides the cup to safety before you can knock it onto a detective’s lap. You don’t even register it.

The meeting begins, and Casey is bracing for impact. But then something wild happens.

You start talking about the case, and it’s like flipping a switch.

Your previously scattered energy sharpens into focus as you flip through documents and analyze evidence with an alarming level of precision. You start throwing out legal strategies, breaking down arguments, and countering objections before anyone can even make them. Every time someone raises a concern, you have an answer ready—a good answer.

It’s terrifying.

Casey watches, stunned, as you pick apart a potential defense strategy like it’s nothing, completely in your element. You lean forward, tapping a document with your pen, your once-awkward movements now deliberate and confident. Even Stabler, who usually looks unimpressed by everything, is giving you an appraising nod.

This… this makes no sense.

Not even ten minutes ago, you were drinking orange juice coffee. You almost took yourself out by walking into a doorframe. And now you’re making legal arguments that even Casey wouldn’t have thought of?

Who are you?

Then, in the middle of a brilliant breakdown of jury strategy, you gesture a little too enthusiastically and send your pen flying across the table.

It lands in front of Olivia with a soft clink.

The room goes silent for a second.

You blink at it.

Then, with absolutely zero shame, you just point at Olivia and say, "That’s yours now."

Olivia snorts. The tension in the room breaks, and a few people chuckle. You just keep going like nothing happened, diving back into your strategy like the absolute menace you are.

Casey drops her head into her hand, suppressing a groan.

She has no idea how you exist, but she’s starting to suspect she’s never going to be bored again.

[shaunamilfman]

Being Jackieshauna's Controversially Young GF

pairing: jackie taylor x r / shauna shipman x r note: yes, i will always manage to make it about jackieshauna.

Jackie definitely brings a “we saw you from across the club and loved your vibe” energy to the party, and you’re just kind of glancing at Shauna glaring at you over her shoulder. like, does her ass know that? Shauna’s all for it, but the glower takes breaks for no one.

Shauna loudly refers to you as their daughter at least once to embarrass Jackie. preferably right after she’s kissed you in the grocery store. Jackie tells her off for the whole drive back, but Shauna's ass does not care. hands at ten and two on the wheel and the smuggest fucking look on her face. loses the attitude when Jackie starts throwing blankets on the couch, but it’s over for her at that point.

Jackie’s introducing you to all her friends without shame, and Shauna’s just daring someone to say something.

You start to wonder if Shauna’s main reason for dating you is all the opportunities it gives her to embarrass Jackie. One of their friends asks where you met, and Shauna says something like, “Jackie stole her from the cradle.” Jackie’s over there doing a spittake as she nearly chokes on her wine. she just loves to make Jackie squirm.

Now, if someone else makes a comment about it? Jackie’s going to have to drag her out of there or blood’s going to be spilled.

Jackie insists on making you watch the "classics," but it’s mostly just beaches over and over again. she refuses to move on. Shauna’s three glasses of wine in before the movie even starts. she’s seen it so many times she can recite it line by line.

Shauna throws Star Wars in there, but it’s mostly just because she knows Jackie's sick and tired of watching it. Shauna's got to get revenge somehow.

Shauna comes up behind you and just stands there, glaring at anyone that tries to approach you. God forbid you mention having to meet someone at the library for a project. you’ve never heard a more terrifying “Oh?” in your entire life. she’s dropping you off in her little minivan like your a child. talking about “I’ll be back in two hours.”

Jackie consistently tries to match your schedule to stay up with you, but it's always lights out for her at 10 PM sharp, no matter how hard she tries. she’s so competitive with it though, so sometimes the two of you just have to pretend you’re going to sleep so that Jackie won’t be an absolute nightmare in the morning. she wakes up once to find you in the living room doing something else after you've “gone to sleep” and won’t speak to you for at least a day.

Shauna likes to teach you how to cook (spices who? ), but Jackie always hovers around giving bad advice. They end up bickering about it every time, and the food gets burned. Shauna’s so frustrated she can barely look at Jackie, and Jackie’s ass is skipping over to the takeout menu drawer.

Jackie and Shauna have separate bank accounts just so Jackie can make Shauna pay for dates still. It’s the small things.

Shauna’s more self-conscious about initiating PDA, given that she’s a lot more aware of the age difference in a way. Jackie’s always the one to initiate it first; whether it’s holding your hand or practically climbing on top of you, trust that Jackie does not care.

Jackie’s way too invested in any of your friend group gossip. she’s expecting daily updates. Shauna “doesn’t care” and yet still knows every detail. interesting.

Any argument Jackie is losing, she pulls the “listen to your elders” card. It’s the only time you’re ever allowed to acknowledge that she’s older than you, unless it’s to call her a milf. she’s partial to that, no matter how much she pretends not to.

Shauna tries to give you advice that you barely listen to because her life is a train wreck. Let's be honest, she pulled Jackie by accident. Who else was going to match her freak?

Jackie’s embarrassedly knowledgeable about slang for her age. you’re not sure what's worse: Shauna purposely using it wrong to embarrass you, or Jackie using it correctly at her advanced age.

Every gift you’ve ever received from the two of them has been one that Jackie bought and put Shauna’s name down on. It’s not to say that Shauna can’t get thoughtful gifts, but if it’s from the both of them, it’s really just from Jackie. Jackie thinks you don’t notice, but she always overexaggerates Shauna’s bad handwriting when signing the card. it goes from being slightly unreadable to looking like a five-year-old wrote it.

Jackie tries too hard with your friends and always comes off as the like “cool mom” type. she’s out here offering snacks. shauna’s making it awkward by asking one with a Nirvana shirt to name five songs.

[rubberducki20]

Seth clearwater x Male!Vampire! Reader

Summary: Seth forgot yalls two year anniversary due to the hustle of Emily, Sam's wife, the birth of the twins. But thankfully he knows just how to make you melt for him 💕🥀

You weren't having a good day, whatsoever. Seth and your anniversary was two nights ago, yet he completely forgot. Sure, Emily went into labor that day, but you didn't even get a text! Besides that, as usual in Forks, it was raining, ew. Your job was hell, too many customers, and being understaffed wasn't for the weak. Sam was also refusing you from seeing the twins, but it was completely understandable. Fresh babies, Emily was still bleeding from labor, and well, you're a vampire.

You pulled into the driveway of Seth and your small cabin in the Rez, soft browns and dark greens greeted you along with the scent of dog and rain. Seth's old beat up red truck was in the garage, but there was no clue if he was home. You slid off your shoes by the other sets in the kitchen, slowly making your way to the bedroom, first you weren't paying any sort of attention till you heard his nervous heart beat. Turning you were greeted with a Seth that was only in a pair of boxers, your favorite ones matteroffactly, and on your nightstand was a small basket of things you could use.

"I know I forgot our anniversary, but-." He cut himself off with a huff when you walked away towards the bathroom. "Dammit baby. I'm sorry!" He groaned as he heard the door close. He'd have to try harder than that, wouldn't he?

When you got back into the room, there was a fresh cup of warm blood and a few treats you knew he put the blood pills in so you wouldn't get sick from the human food part. You sighed as he wrapped his arms around your delicate hips, "Let me make it up to you. How can i?"

You leaned back into him, before smirking, "Baby me." And he paused, "I do that anyways." He kissed at your neck, "No, no. Like give me princess treatment."

He huffed a small laugh at your words, "Yeah? That's what you want? Fine."

He sat you on the bed, grabbing your Noir body cream that Leah had gifted you religiously the last three years for Christmas. Seth and you had only dated for two, but you were a lot closer to the pack than the Cullens were, surprisingly. Mostly cause you actually had a human sense of humor and could take Paul's moodswings like it was nothing.

He went to work, babying you as you had called it. Rubbing your legs, thighs, and then your hips. His lips grazed your skin as he worked his way up. You'd sigh here and there cause even though you didn't feel much, your work would somehow manage to wear you out. "Work was terrible, wasn't it?" He asked between soft kisses at your thighs, you grunted a soft yes, leaning back into bed as he made it to your sides.

You let out a breathless sigh as his tounge traced your v-lines, he smirks before biting at the sensitive skin under your naval. "Seth, don't tease." You grunted, and since he was working to get back in your good graces, he stopped before making you turn over to lay on your stomach. You whined in soft pain as he massaged the back of your thighs, those were always the worst! As he made his way to your back, you could feel him settle right behind the curve of your ass. You grabbed a pillow to rest your head on, feeling his hard erection press into your ass every so often. It was an amazement as to what could get him hard, which was almost anything as long as it was you. Guessing that since you were butt ass naked in bed, his big hands massaging at you, it couldn't be helped that he was turned on.

Even after he had finished massaging you, he kept his groin pressed right into your ass, hand dipping under your left hip to try and find your own cock. "Need ya so bad, prince." He mumbled, nibbling at your shoulder. Prince, the nickname he'd give you only when he wanted to get his way, sneaky bastard.

You arched lightly and sighed as his warm, smooth hand wrapped around your hard cock. His thumb grazes your tip, and he let out a soft whine as he felt the precum leaking. Afterward, it didn't need words. You and Seth knew each other like worn-out books. He had you on your side, a leg hooked at his hip, back ti his chest as he fucked into you. One hand at your hip, the other at your throat. Sure, you didn't breathe, but the kink was hot enough. Besides, he could easily snap your neck if he wanted. Your own length wasn't neglected, no you had your delicate hand wrapped around it, stroking it in tune with his thrusts. He was already ass drunk, as he usually got. Letting out soft growls on how you're his mate and how good it feels to be inside you. You loved Seth, dearly, but damn his cock was perfect. Not overly big, a good 5 1/2 inches with just enough girth to stretch you out. You could remember the first time yall had sex, he was so embarrassed cause you had at least two inches more. But you snapped that shit in the bud quickly, you didn't need that stereotypical "Bigger guys are better" bullshit. You had your mate and that was that.

" 'M gonna come." You mumbled as your ass tightened around him, his thrusts had been sloppy the last five minutes. His own release was impending. "God, yes. Do it, baby." He panted before asking softly, "Bite me?"

Was it dangerous? Yes. Was it stupid to put yourselves in this predicament? Also yes, but Sethy loved to feel your fang sink into him without taking his blood, and you had learned to not have your venom release so it was easier. You grabbed his arm, kissing at the place you'd bite, grazing your fangs before sinking them into him. He whimpered in relief and slammed into you a few times before you felt his hot release fill you up. You pulled your mouth away, kissing the bite and the small blood dots as his other hand pumped your cock till it spilled itself all over the bed.

The both of you cleaned up before calling it a night. The rain was still going, and you cradled your sweet wolf boy while he slept. Oh what you'd do to never let this change.

[chaosisalwayscrying]

PLSPLS write about chris spoiling his gf

SPOILED

⇥ synopsis : chris loves spoiling his girl

⇥ warnings : none! just fluff all around

⇥ extra : my first request!! i rewrote this a lot, im still not sure how i feel about it. i hope i do your request justice anon, tysm for the support 🫶🏻

⇥ masterlist !

⇥ taglist !

chris loved nothing more than spoiling his girl, even though you protested every single time. he loved the way your lips turned into a pout and your eyebrows furrowed. he loved the way you huffed and puffed as he slid his card into the reader before you had the chance. he loved the way he had to carry your bags for you, despite how much complaining he does.

—————

chris had taken you out on one of his "suprise dates", something he did when he could tell you were stressed or drained. it was an excuse to get you out of the house and do things you love.

as matt dropped you and chris off at the mall, a smile spread on your face. your boyfriend was eager to drag you to shops you liked, and even more eager to watch you try stuff on.

"come on ma, you like this one right?" he asked, dragging you towards a small boutique.

you laugh at him, not resisting his actions. he finally lets you go as you enter, and you browse around, picking up a few things to try on. once you manage to flag chris down, all you have to do is tell him to sit in one of the chairs outside the dressing rooms. he was practically vibrating in his seat as he waited for you to try on what you picked out.

    chris was nothing short of amazing, he was constantly complimenting you as you showed him each piece of clothing. once you had decided what to buy, you handed it off to chris to hold as you got dressed again, hoping he’d stay put like you asked instead of running off to the checkout to buy the clothes for you.

    however, you weren’t that surprised when you open the dressing room door to find chris gone. when you turned the corner, you spotted him eagerly talking to the obviously less eager cashier as he bought your clothes. you made your way over there with a pout on your face, only getting to chris when he turned to find you.

    "there you are! i bought your clothes for you, i even put in your rewards card thing, i know you like getting the points and stuff." he rambled as he grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the store, either not noticing or ignoring your obvious pout.

    "thanks chris, but you know you dont have to spend so much on me. i couldve bought it myself!" you huff, despite your hwart swelling at his actions. your ‘anger’ had become a running bit in your relationship, and it made you happy that chris wasn’t sick of it.

    "i know, but you know i love spoiling you. you deserve it, you put up with me and you help out me, matt, and nick with filming so much that i have to pay you back somehow!" he says, smiling that always bright smile at you as he gave the same reasons he always does.

    "fine, i guess its fine" you say, trying to keep from smiling back at him as you roll your eyes and keep up the facade.

    of course, chris notices immediately, a grin still on his face as he huffs back at you. "c’mon ma, dont be like that. you know you love it" he teases, nudging your shoulder with his arm.

    "fine, fine, i give up. you make it hard to be fake mad at you, you know?" you say, rolling your eyes at him as you smile. all chris does in return is lean down to press a kiss to your temple and keep pulling you along to stores.

and since chris went and bought mostly everything you planned to buy, he was also forced to carry all the bags. of course he whined the whole time, but you sinply told him that since he bought it, he has to carry it. all you ended up carrying was a small sephora bag with a lipgloss and highlighter in it that you managed to sneak by chris to get.

“why do i have to carry the bags? it’s your stuff!” chris whined, huffing and puffing like the few bags he had weighed a hundred pounds each.

“you bought them, not me. buyer carries the bags” you say, smiling at his overdramatic distress. “if you stop whining we can make cookies tonight” you hum, letting out a small laugh at how quickly he straightened up.

while you and chris waited on matt to come get you, he eagerly listed off all the cookies he knew that you could make, what movies you could watch after, and got sidetracked talking about filming this weeks videos while asking if you wanted to film it for his channel.

⇥ TAGS !

@sturnioloshacker @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @hertvgirl @cupidzsq @sturnnie @leah-loves-lilies