‘Ello!

You know they'll keep that. They'll make sure to keep anything he says. Those are always the parts that get the most replays- hell they're the parts you replay. When you're up late, watching his videos, hand between your thighs.

"-I didn't tell you to fucking move."

You don't know how it still works for you. You know it's not him, he even ran through ideas of lines he was gonna use before you started. He was very sweet about it, almost shy when you were alone- he's anything but shy now.

His grip on you tightens as he moves back to your clit, his tongue working against you rapidly. You're gripping the sheets, trying to keep yourself steady, your whole body convulsing as another orgasm starts to rise quickly.

"Fuck- please-"

He's already told you to beg, a couple times actually. You know he will again. It gets you hot just thinking about it, the stern tone in his voice. You bite your lip hard, trying to stop your hips from rising again. Your gaze falls to the camera, a reminder that you're supposed to be performing, you batter your eyelashes, let out another loud moan.

He pulls back suddenly, his sticky hand wrapping around your thigh, his other hand moving up to wipe his mouth. He looks like a mess, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, chin glistening with your arousal. He glances around to the set, speaking louder, "Sorry guys- I've gotta- I've gotta take a break."

The room picks up in a flash, people moving around, cameras resetting. People come running over with robes, one gets draped over your shoulders, a plastic cup of water pushes into your hands. You take a big swig of it, suddenly realizing how dry your mouth is.

People move around you, you see a few people checking the monitors, gearing up for the next shot. You glance at Dean, he's pulling in a shaky breath, pushing his hair out of his face with his long fingers.

You try to go over everything that just happened- why he wanted to stop. Maybe it's the way your bare heel had dug into his back the last time you came, maybe it's the way you tugged his hair a few minutes ago. Maybe he's just getting sick of being the only one actually doing any work.

He moves closer to you on the mattress, settling close enough that he could reach out if he wanted to. He looks up, gaze falling over you, then turns away fast, back to his own cup.

You speak quickly, nervously, "I'm sorry- did I-"

He cuts you off, leaning his head down slightly so he can speak in a hushed voice, "I'm gonna cum, sweetheart."

It catches you off guard, "What?"

He takes a swig of water, then speaks slowly, "If we keep going, I'm gonna cum."

You're still not sure you've understood him, "What do you-"

"I'm not kidding here, I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' explode- if they catch that on film my whole tough guy act is fucked-"

"We haven't even- I haven't touched you-" you manage to get out.

"I'll never live it down if I blow my load just from tongue fuckin' you- jesus-" he shifts awkwardly, you realize he's trying to hide his boner- it's not easy when his cock is larger than any you've seen before.

"You're gonna cum just from going down on me?"

"You're moaning like you've never had a guy touch you before- it's not exactly helping."

You raise an eyebrow, "I can stop?"

He grins at you, "Don't you dare."

Your heart skips a beat, thighs clench together. Forget any video- this is what you're gonna be thinking about tonight.

You turn on your heel, extremely furious, fully intending to storm out of the room and leave him to his brooding. You don’t even make it two steps. He blocks your path, locks an arm around your waist, and sweeps you off your feet.

You’re suddenly mid air, legs swinging, batting uselessly at his back as he carries you across the room like you weigh nothing at all. He dumps you unceremoniously onto the bed, crowding your space before you can even try to scramble away. His hands plant on either side of your head, pinning you with his gaze. “You don’t get to walk away,” he murmurs, a wicked tilt to his mouth as he hovers over you. “We finish when I say we’re finished.”

Aerion views your physical defiance as an open invitation. It usually starts as playfighting—you shoving at his chest, trying to wrestle him for a blanket or just testing his patience. Unfortunately for you, his reflexes are entirely too fast. Before you can register his movements, his hand snaps out, catching both your wrists in a vice like grip and slamming them up over your head. He slides a thigh directly between yours to keep you in place against the pillows.

The playful atmosphere disappears almost immediately. He leans down until his lips are ghosting over yours, his chest rising and falling heavily against your own. “You like playing rough, hm?” he rasps, eyes darkening as your pulse spikes under his fingers. “Do pout when you lose. You look cute when you do that.”

Aerion is even worse by the time the moon hangs high. It’s almost as if his need to keep you anchored to his side multiplies. He cannot tolerate physical distance between your bodies, treating even a few inches of space as a personal offense. If you try to slide away from him in bed—whether because you’re simply tossing or because the heat has become suffocating—he reacts without a second thought.

A large, calloused hand reaches out to hook firmly around your hip, and drags you backward across the sheets until your spine is flushed hard against his chest. A demanding pull that leaves you breathless. He throws a solid leg over both of yours, locking you down, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your waist just enough to leave a faint mark.

When Clark saw your name light up his phone, his initial reaction had always been the same. His heart would swell, a smile splitting across his face as he would refuse to let it ring more than three times before sliding his thumb across the bottom of the screen; pressing his phone to his ear to hear the sweet symphonies of your voice; prepared to hear the events of your—as you would call it—mundane day in comparison to his. 

(It was never mundane to Clark. Kept him grounded.) 

However, nothing had prepared Clark for when he answered the phone to you, to be met with a tone he feared hearing from you. 

“I’m mad at you.” You said bluntly, without a greeting. 

Clark paled, “I’m thousands of miles away, honey. What did I do this time?” 

You sighed dramatically, head dropping onto the plush pillow of your bed as you looked up at the ceiling, “I had this…horrible dream. All this tension between you and Lex Luthor has clearly began to seep into my subconscious.” 

“Tell me more.” 

“He decided to use me as bait. Against you. I was tied up in a dark room with duct tape over my mouth. He would taunt you with videos, or photos of me. And—” you paused with your eyes narrowed, “—You just never came. You left me there. To rot away.” 

Clark frowned, “Oh, honey. You know I would burn the whole of Metropolis—” 

“Till death do us part, Clark.” You interjected sardonically, “Was this your way of parting with me?” 

“What? No!” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose and paced the floor of the Fortress of Solitude. Despite being Clark’s entire centre of gravity, you weren’t opposed to occasionally giving your husband a dull headache from your flair of theatrical display. He dragged a palm down his face, “Never, honey. It was just a dream. I promise I would save you. Even if it meant my life.” 

You hummed, “Tell your dream-self that then.” 

After that, you gave up the topic with ease, and to be quite frank, you were only toying with your husband—understanding that the dream was out of some deeply embedded fear within you, rather than Clark’s ability to protect you. However, the further you conversed about your day, and the gossip that had whirled around your workplace; the quieter Clark had become. 

His usual self was upbeat, keen to engage in heart-to-hearts with you seeing as you had been apart for far too long. (It had only been two days.) 

This time, Clark was quiet. Engulfed in his own thoughts whilst you talked his ear off about the fight that broke out over the coffee machine in the staff room. A new wave of guilt began to gnaw away at his thoughts, creating a three-headed monster that was growing to be a problem by the minute. 

All because you had brought up your dream, where he was incapable of saving you. 

But, that was his whole purpose? Saving people. Tilting the world upright each day at a time. Citizens looked to Superman as a beacon of hope, to bring them to justice and protect them from harm. So, why all of a sudden did it fall short with you? 

You had once told Clark over breakfast, that dreams meant something, if you had the time to look it up. This came after he sleepily mentioned that he dreamt that you had replaced all of his teeth with Kryptonite. Obviously, you were only prodding fun that it could’ve meant something deeper than it really was…but, Clark latched onto that piece of information.

And now, he was beginning to run wild with it. 

There was obviously some underlying cause as to why your mind would have ever conjured up such an absurd outcome to a hypothetical kidnapping by Lex Luthor. Clark didn’t want to dwell on the imagery of it all, because it made his stomach churn at the thought.

However, he could think of a million reasons as to why that particular scenario happened.

Clark had been more occupied than usual. Far away from the one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Metropolis, far away from the warmth of the kitchen with the toaster that nearly always burnt his toast in the morning, far away from the soft sheets and ambient lighting of the bedroom; and most importantly…far away from you.

Albeit, only being two days on this particular occasion. It still didn’t account for the four days from the week prior, and the month stretch when he had flown himself to Jarhanpur. 

It was evident what was needed. 

Clark needed to be with you. To regain the trust to make you believe that he would save you. (If you didn’t save yourself in all your strong-headed excellence.) 

“Clark?” Your voice tugged at his strayed thoughts on the other end of the phone. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“Yes, honey.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he spoke. 

You paused, incredibly in-tune with your husband. Two peas in a pod. 

“You’re upset, aren’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question, as it was a statement; an accurate one at that. When your husband didn’t reply, you spoke again, “Clark, I’m not really mad at you. It was just a dream. It meant nothing.” 

“But, you said—” 

“—I said dreams meant something deeper. Yes. But…more along the lines of if you dreamt we had a baby!” You waved your hand about, “It means, you probably would like a baby. Or, if you dreamt about Ma’s cooking. You miss the farm. That sort of stuff. This was just me being subconsciously scared of Lex Luthor.” 

Clark’s jaw set at that. “I’m coming home.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Yes. I am.” Clark gave a nod to Gary who was loitering around the area he had been pacing in, “I will be there soon, alright?” 

You rubbed at your eye with the heel of your hand, frustrated with yourself, “Why are you doing that? I promise, I was joking.” 

but then you start being unhappy.

and that's where bb's composure starts to crack. because he can see it. he sees everything when it comes to you. always has. but this he sees with a clarity that borders on painful.

the way your laugh changes. shorter. tighter. the way you stop reaching for bobby in group settings. the way you show up to things with a brightness that's performed instead of felt and nobody else clocks it because nobody else is watching you the way bb is watching you. bobby doesn't see it. terrence maybe senses something but doesn't push.

and for a while he does nothing. because what can he do? it's not his relationship. it's not his business. he's the weird twin on the sidelines and the sidelines are where he stays.

but it gets worse. you get quieter. the light behind your eyes dims by a degree and then another degree, and bb watches it happen in real time and something in him that has been very patient for a very long time starts to heat up. bb who is generally quiet, generally introverted, generally content to exist in bobby's shadow, changes.

bb starts showing sharper edges.

it starts small. pointed comments. you're at bobby's apartment telling a story about something that happened at work and bobby's fiddling with a lens, half-listening, giving you the occasional "mm" and "yeah" without looking up. and bb says "she was talking" in a voice that's a little too flat to be casual. bobby looks up. looks at bb. looks at you. "what?" and you say "it's fine" because you always say it's fine and bb's jaw does a thing that bobby's jaw also does because they have the same face but the expression behind it is completely different.

then it escalates. because bb is watching you dim and bobby is not seeing it and bb has spent his entire life being quiet about things that matter and for the first time in his life he doesn't want to be quiet anymore. not about this. not about you.

they fight.

bb starts saying things. not to you, to bobby. in private. in the kitchen. in the car. "she's unhappy." said flat. said certain. said with the authority of someone who's been paying attention for years while bobby was paying attention to everything else.

"she's fine," bobby shoots back. because bobby needs you to be fine. because if you're not fine then he has to look at why and looking at why means looking at himself and bobby doesn't do that. that's the whole problem.

"she's not fine. she hasn't been fine for months. you're not—"

"not what?" bobby's voice goes sharp. the defensive edge. the armour.

and bb (quiet bb, sideline bb, weird twin bb) looks his brother in the eye and says "you're not paying attention to her. and she deserves someone who pays attention."

and the air changes.

because bobby hears that sentence. really hears it. not just the words but the weight behind them. the heat. the specificity. "she deserves someone who pays attention" spoken by someone who's been paying attention for years. someone who remembers things you said in passing. someone who watches you the way bobby used to watch you before the things in his head got too big.

and bobby looks at his twin. his weird, quiet, too-still twin who laughs a beat late and stands in corners at parties and has never once in his life raised his voice about anything, or had a girlfriend.

who is raising his voice now.

about you.

oh.

OH.

the realisation is a physical thing.

bobby's whole expression shifts. you can see the exact moment everything connects. with the kind of certainty that restructures everything that came before it. every pizza night. every band practice. every time bb saved you a seat and asked your opinion. made you laugh with something dry and quietly spoken just for you. every time bb looked at you when you weren't looking and bobby wasn't paying attention because bobby was never paying attention.

"you're in love with her," bobby blurts out.

not a question.

bb doesn't deny it. doesn't confirm it. just stands there with bobby's face and a completely different expression on it and the silence says everything.

and this is where it gets really interesting. because bobby's first instinct is anger. obviously. territorial, possessive, the flare of something hot and sharp. that's MY girl, you're MY brother, how dare you? but right behind the anger, close enough to taste, is something worse.

relief.

because if bb loves you (if someone who is good and patient and attentive loves you) then maybe youll be okay. even if bobby can't fix this. even if bobby can't undo the months of neglect and the drifting. you'll be okay because someone who actually sees you has been standing three feet away the whole time.

bobby would never say this out loud. bobby would rather die.

but it's there. underneath the anger. the quiet, devastating knowledge that his twin might be better for you than he is. not because bb is better in general. bobby's got the charm, the ease, the social instincts, everything that's always drawn people to him and not his twin despite sharing a face. but because bb is better at this. at you.

at paying attention to one person so completely that nothing else exists.

sound familiar? it should. it's the backrooms dynamic without the horror. it's the whole of better bobby translated into a world with sunlight and kitchens and real beds.

bobby who loves you and can't show it versus the version of bobby who loves you and can't stop showing it.

same face. same choice.

Your degree in political science and global affairs finally helping you prove to the world that you deserve a seat at the table.

Negotiating with the world’s most influential leaders, drafting contracts and accords, it was truly your dream job.

What you hadn’t expected all those years ago was to meet your husband, who also happened to be the brother of your boss. You fell for one another quickly and fearlessly, the way Johnny Storm does most things in his life. He had a ring on your finger less than two years later, and life had been blissful ever since.

You had your dream job, a husband who loved you, and a found family.

The lab buzzed with the low hum of machinery, the screens were glowing softly against all the sleek stainless steel surfaces. It was one of those meetings where science, diplomacy, and pure chaos somehow had to coexist. So, Sue had insisted everyone be present.

You stood beside Sue at the main console, tablet in hand, going over notes for the third time. Across the room, Reed was mid-explanation, already five tangents deep, while Ben leaned against a workbench with his arms crossed, pretending to listen but clearly zoning out.

Johnny, on the other hand, was watching you. He was sitting next to Ben, he was supposed to be listening to Reed. But he was staring.

Not subtly, either.

You could feel it, like a heat lamp pointed directly at your back. Which, knowing him, wasn’t far from the truth.

You would think you would get used to it after all these years, but he still manages to make you blush. Everyone else on the other hand, was completely used to his obsession with you, and had learned to ignore it.

“—and that brings us to our guest,” Sue said smoothly, gesturing toward the far end of the lab. You both looked up from the tablet just in time.

The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, as if perfectly timed.

Mole Man entered like he owned the place.

Short, smug, and already scowling… until his eyes landed on you. At least you think they did. He was sporting his thin glasses that helped his eyes adjust to the light above ground and it was hard to tell exactly what he was focusing on.

Then everything changed.

“Well,” he said, voice dripping with something between amusement and interest, “I was not informed the surface world had become quite so… aesthetically pleasing.”

You blinked at home, trying to keep your expression neutral and professional.

Ben made a quiet choking noise and Johnny went very, very still.

Sue, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. “This is—”

“I know who she is,” Mole Man interrupted, not looking away from you. “I make it a point to learn about influential figures, especially before meeting with them. And I’ve been most excited to meet her.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Elder,” you said cheerfully.

You extended your hand to shake his, but he took it in his and placed a light kiss on your knuckles, making your skin feel hot. You were sure your cheeks were beat red. Even Sue had a hard time keeping her face neutral.

Her eyes widened as she watched you pull your hand back.

She cleared her throat, trying to redirect the vibe, “Harvey, thank you for coming all this way.”

His gaze dragged over you in a way that made your skin prickle. It wasn’t necessarily unsafe, but deeply annoying. The type of notion that made it nearly impossible not to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I like her,” he added. “Much more than you lot.” He gestured vaguely towards where Johnny, Ben, and Reed stood in shock.

Johnny pushed off the wall immediately. “Okay—nope. That’s enough of that.”

“Johnny,” Sue warned.

“What?” he shot back, already moving closer to you like a reflex. “He’s being weird.”

“I am being appreciative,” Mole Man corrected, stepping closer as well. “Surely she is allowed to receive compliments without interference… or are you one of those crazy… husbands?.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to it.

“You must find it exhausting,” he continued, looking at you again, “being surrounded by such… immature company.”

Ben barked a laugh. Reed looked back at his notes, avoiding the conversation completely.

Johnny, however, looked like he might spontaneously combust.

“I’m standing right here,” he said flatly, “and that’s my wife.”

“Yes,” Mole Man replied, unimpressed. “And yet somehow you’re still the least interesting person in the room.”

“Oh, that’s—” Johnny stopped himself, jaw tightening. “You know what? I don’t need to prove anything to a guy who lives underground.”

“Johnny,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He glanced at you immediately, tension flickering.

Mole Man smirked.

“You see?” he said. “Even she must calm you. How tiresome.”

“I don’t have to—” Johnny started, then stopped again, visibly reining himself in.

Sue cleared her throat, another attempt to stay focused. “Perhaps we can stay focused on the purpose of this meeting.”

“Of course,” you added quickly, stepping slightly forward, subtly putting space between yourself and both men. “We’re here to discuss the Foundation’s expansion into—”

“Oh, I would expand anything you asked me to,” Mole Man cut in.

There was a beat of silence. You coughed, literally choking on your spit in shock.

Reed blinked, eyes widening as he pretended to look at his notebook. Ben turned his head around so that he was facing the conversation, fully invested now.

Johnny made a sound that could only be described as deeply offended disbelief. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Johnny,” Sue warned again, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips now.

“I’m just saying—he’s doing it on purpose!” Johnny gestured wildly. “He’s literally—he’s flirting to mess with me!”

Mole Man folded his hands behind his back. “If it unsettles you, that is merely a bonus.”

Johnny laughed once, sharp. “Unsettled? I’m not—”

“You’re pacing,” you pointed out gently.

He froze mid-step.

“…I’m not pacing,” he muttered.

“You were.” You said calmly, still trying not to show any sort of emotion on your face.

By the grace of god, the meeting somehow continued, though barely. Every time you spoke, Mole Man leaned in just a little too close. Every time he did, Johnny found an excuse to insert himself between you, adjusting a screen, grabbing a tool, existing aggressively in your space.

Johnny wasn’t even supposed to be directly involved. He was merely there because the rest of you were. And now he was fully involved in the negotiations you were supposed to be carrying out besides Sue.

By the time it ended, Johnny was visibly simmering.

Mole Man, annoyingly, looked delighted.

“Well,” he said as he prepared to leave, “this has been… enlightening. I do hope we meet again.”

His gaze lingered on you one last time.

“I certainly would not mind further conversation,” you said with a smirk, playing into it.

(So what if you loved getting Johnny just a little worked up?)

Johnny stepped forward immediately. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Mole Man chuckled, actually chuckled, and turned, disappearing out the lab doors. He threw a wave behind himself as you watched his shoulders shake.

The second the doors closed, Johnny dragged a hand down his face.

“Oh my god.” He said, groaning.

Ben lost it. Full-on laughter, echoing off the walls. She joined in from her place at the table, still pretending to look over her notes.

“I have never seen you like that,” Ben said, wheezing. “You were about two seconds away from throwing hands with a guy half your size.”

“He started it!” Johnny shot back.

Reed looked up, thoughtful as always. “Technically, his comments were strategically provocative—”

“Reed, not helping,” Ben said through his laughter.

Sue stepped closer to you, voice warm. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, smiling faintly. “I’m fine. Just… surprised, I guess.”

Sue glanced at Johnny, then back at you, clearly amused. “I’ll leave you two to sort that out.”

One by one, they filtered out, Ben still laughing, Reed already distracted again, Sue giving you a knowing look and still smiling.

And then it was just you and Johnny.

Silence stretched for a moment. He avoided your eyes at first, fiddling with nothing in particular, shoulders tight.

“…He’s an idiot,” Johnny muttered.

You tilted your head. “You’re jealous.”

His head snapped up. “I am not—”

“Johnny.” You said firmly.

He paused and then sighed, long and dramatic.

“…Okay, maybe a little.” He admitted bash fully.

You stepped closer, softening. “He was trying to get under your skin.”

“Yeah, well, mission accomplished,” he grumbled. “He kept looking at you like—like—”

“Like I was interesting?”

“Like he thought he had a shot,” Johnny corrected, voice sharper now. “Which he doesn’t. Obviously. But still.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

That got his attention.

“Hey,” you said gently.

He looked at you then and some of the tension eased. You ran your thumb over his knuckles, stopping at the gold band on his ring finger, tapping it thoughtfully.

“You have nothing to worry about,” you continued. “Not from him. Not from anyone.”

Johnny huffed softly. “I know. I just—he was so—”

“Obnoxious?” you offered.

“Exactly.” He said relieved, like you finally understood.

You smiled, stepping even closer, your free hand resting against his chest.

“I’m yours,” you said simply.

All the leftover irritation, the jealousy, the defensiveness, it melted right off his face, replaced by something softer.

“…Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.” You answered confidently.

You leaned up, brushing your lips against his in a slow, reassuring kiss.

Johnny responded instantly, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer like he needed the confirmation.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“…Okay,” he murmured. “I feel better now.”

You laughed softly. “Good.”

He smirked a little then, some of his usual confidence returning. “Still gonna punch him if he talks to you like that again.”

“Johnny—”

“I’m kidding,” he said quickly. “Mostly.”

You shook your head, smiling, squeezing his hand.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s go before Ben starts telling everyone you almost fought Mole Man out of jealousy.”

Johnny groaned. “He’s already texting the group chat, I guarantee it.”

“Probably.” You said, biting back a laugh.

He laced your fingers together more tightly as you both headed for the door.

“…He really didn’t have a shot, though,” Johnny added under his breath.

You bumped his shoulder lightly. “Not even a little. No one does, but you baby.”

And in those three years he fell so deeply in love with you—and in turn, you fell in love with him—that Steve couldn’t wait for the day he finally got down on one knee and asked you to be his wife.

He decided he would do it during a week away. You had rented a lake house, just the two of you for once. Usually you went on trips with Robin and Nancy or brought along Dustin and a few of the other kids that affectionately called you and Steve ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. But this week it was just you and Steve and he couldn’t think of a more perfect time to propose.

He planned it for the third evening mostly because he couldn’t wait. He had cooked an amazing carbonara complete with garlic bread and a Sicilian lemon cheesecake for dessert. It was mouth watering and despite the fact you weren’t drinking the expensive wine he had bought, Steve was feeling good.

The ring was burning a hole in his pocket and he really couldn’t wait any longer. He led you to the dock so you could watch the sunset together. It was stupidly romantic and everything Steve had wanted it to be and more.

And so, he drops down on one knee and pulls out the ring box. He tells you how he had lied—that he had actually wanted to marry you from the very first date. He told you that you were his best friend, that he wanted to hold you through the good times and the bad. That he wanted you to not only be his wife but the mother of his children.

And when he finishes, he looks up at you.

And then—you burst into tears.

Steve’s heart dropped out of his stomach.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He asks, trying not to panic as he slips the ring box back into his pocket so he could pull you into his arms. “Why are you crying? Do you—do you not want to marry me?”

You’re a blubbering mess, tears streaming down your face and shuddering breaths falling from your lips. “Of course I want to marry you, idiot.”

Steve laughs at little, one of his large hands cupping the back of your head while the other rubs your back gently.

“Then why are you crying?”

You sniffle, pulling away enough to look up at him. “B-because I really want to marry you but—”

“—but?” Steve repeats, alarmed. “There’s a but?”

You smile a little before nodding. “Yeah—because I think we’re gonna be a little busy for the next…9 months.”

Steve blinks, utterly perplexed.

“Why?” He asks. “Do you want to go backpacking or something—”

You let out a snort of laughter and shake your head. “Jesus—no. Steve—I’m pregnant.”

Steve doesn’t react. He doesn’t move. Hell—he may have stopped breathing and then—

He gets the biggest, dumbest smile on his face and before you could do anything except smile back, Steve arms are wrapping around your waist and he’s lifting you off your feet.

“Steve!” You yell out through a fit of laughter. “Be careful, I’m carrying precious cargo.”

“That you are,” Steve says, twirling you around once before setting you back down on your feet. He’s beaming. God—you had never seen Steve smile like that before. Like nothing—absolutely nothing—could have wiped it from his face.

And then he’s kissing you—kissing every square inch of your face and you’re holding back laughter, mixed with tears, as those kisses move down from your face, down your neck, over your chest before he’s finally kneeling in front of you. You squeal when he lifts your shirt but the warm kiss he places over your stomach makes you forget about the cold.

“I love you so, so much already, little one,” he tells your stomach, his voice so soft and gentle that you felt your heart double in size. This was all Steve had ever wanted.

He looks up at you then, those big hazel eyes that you prayed your child would get and the smile still has not left his face.

“So—is that a yes to marrying me or—”

“—yes,” you say through bright laughter. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

𝜗ৎ gator tillman

Gator Tillman swore when he was seventeen he was never going to marry. He knew how Roy treated women, how he looked at them as though they were disposable. He saw how girlfriends he had as a teenager would tense at the mention of his father, how they would break things off with Gator not too long after being introduced to Roy.

He couldn’t blame them. In fact, he could only blame himself. He had just wanted them to meet his family. But Gator quickly learned that any women he bought home wouldn’t be safe from Roy Tillman.

And so, Gator made a promise to himself to never settle, never marry, never have kids and he intended to keep that promise.

Then you came along.

You were a nurse at Lehigh’s General Hospital and Gator being the Sheriff’s Deputy for Stark County meant that you ran into each other a lot. It didn’t take long for Gator to ask for your number, figuring you could keep him occupied for a little while until he found another woman to keep his bed warm. But you had laughed in his face and told him to fuck off. And Gator? He was hooked.

It took a while for you to come around. But you eventually did and he fell in love with you despite his best efforts. And boy, did Gator Tillman fall hard.

And because he loved you so much—he had to keep you safe. He had to. And so, he had suggested moving out of Lehigh. Far away. It was his only option. And because you loved him so much, you said yes.

You left Lehigh under the cover of night with only three bags between you in the truck Gator had bought so his father couldn't track him. There was a small farmhouse waiting for you in Washington, it was a fixer upper but Gator was more than happy to get his hands dirty to build a home for the two of you. It took nearly two days to get there but it was worth it. Because it was the safest Gator had felt in a long time.

And so, it didn't take long for Gator to start thinking of how he was going to propose.

Marriage and Gator didn't seem to belong in the same sentence but he found himself imagining you with a ring on your finger, you in a white dress and god, the wedding night—

You didn't have much money, most of it was spent on renovating your house which Gator insisted on doing himself. But still, he went to a jewellery shop and bought the prettiest ring he could find for $200.

It was simple and he was sure you deserved more but he told himself he would replace it one day.

He decided to do it while out for a walk the forest nearby your house.

“You think we should try a pottery class together?” You ask Gator as you walk hand in hand down the path.

Gator hums by way of a response. The corner of your mouth twitches.

“Or maybe line dancing. Want me to book us in for a class?”

Again, Gator only hums in response.

“I’m thinking of starting an Only Fans,” you try next.

“Cool,” Gator murmurs, glancing over at the nearby river. “Cool.”

“Gator.”

He blinks and then turns to look at you as though he had only just realised you were there.

“What?”

“Were you listening to me?” You ask him, not annoyed just amused if anything. Gator was so rarely distracted.

“Yeah,” he lies as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, tugging you towards the river. “Something about pottery or dancing and um—”

“Only Fans,” you finish for him. “You’d said it would be ‘cool’ with it if I started one.”

Gator’s head snaps in your direction and you know you have him then.

“Baby, if you think—”

“—I was just seeing if you were listening to me,” you say, leaning up to pinch his cheek. His jaw clenches but you see the way his eyes soften as he looks at you. “And you clearly weren’t. What’s up? You’re acting weird.”

“Am I?” Gator grunts, kicking a nearby stone into the river.

“Yes. You are.”

You step closer to him, your eyes flickering between his as though trying to read his thoughts. Gator looks back at you, trying to keep his expression as neutral as humanely possible and ultimately failing as he thinks about that ring in his pocket—

“You’re nervous,” you observe, head titled to the side as you look at your boyfriend. “You’re never nervous.”

Gator tries to think of an excuse, some lie but he just can’t. He’s too busy imagining a life with you—one that made him feel safe and everything he had never felt growing up. He didn’t even really register that he was getting down on one knee.

“Marry me?” He asks simply.

There was no big speech, no long, romantic declaration. Just Gator Tillman with a ring in his hand, looking up at you with a soft expression he had only ever given you. One that said it all—I love you, I trust you, I feel safe with you.

“Yes,” you say, holding back a smile that was so big it almost hurt.

𝜗ৎ walter "keys" mckey

Keys took his time to plan your proposal.

Like seriously took his time.

Eight months to be exact.

He started with the ring—which he had custom made from a jeweller he had found after days of extensive research. It was expensive and a lot of effort but he knew that you deserved something special and uniquely you.

Keys then did even more research, trying to find the very best holiday destination for the proposal. He then did months of overtime and even some freelance work to be able to afford the holiday to the Maldives for you both.

He then booked various activities for the two of you including a sunset dolphin cruise, couples massage, scuba diving and all culminating in a private sandbank dinner beneath the stars where he would get down on one knee and ask you to be his wife.

Keys really had planed it all.

But what he hadn’t planned was for you getting sick the day after arriving.

And you weren’t just a little bit unwell—you were really fucking sick. Like you couldnt keep down a meal without throwing up and couldn’t get out of bed kind of ill.

You felt awful—not just because of the illness but because Keys had worked so hard and spent so much money that you weren’t sure he would be able to get back.

“Just go without me,” you murmur miserably, face mushed against your pillow as you try and convince Keys to go to the sunset dolphin cruise without you.

“Absolutely not,” Keys says with a shake of his head, climbing into bedside you. “I’m not leaving you when you’re this ill, sweetheart.”

He couldn’t tell you, not for a while, but Keys was internally freaking out. Not because of how much he had spent but because he had spent eight months planning—eight long months so that he knew exactly what to do the moment he dropped down on one knee in front of you. And now? Now he didn’t know what to do.

And so, Keys did what he did best. He took care of you. He cancelled almost all the activities he had booked and dedicated his time to making sure you were drinking enough water, holding your hair back when you threw up and running down to the hotel’s pharmacy to find anything that might help.

The very last day of your holiday (if you could even call it that) you felt a lot more human. Human enough that you had decided to go to the private dinner along the beach with Keys (though he had made sure that any sea food was kept well away from you).

“I’m really sorry I’ve been so sick,” you say sometime after dessert as you and Keys sit side by side in the sand.

“Don’t apologise,” Keys tells you firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and tugging you closer so you could lean your head against his shoulder. “You can’t help being ill. Besides—I don’t mind looking after you.” He tells you, pressing a kiss to your slightly warm forehead.

He’s hyper aware of the ring box in his pocket and angles his body away from yours to ensure that you didn’t notice a thing. He’s trying so hard to act normal but he was nervous—stupidly so—and he needed this proposal to go perfectly since the holiday itself had been—well, not so perfect.

It’s quiet between the two of you then—you’re looking out at the ocean, at the sunset that kissed the horizon while his gaze remains on you.

He opens his mouth to say your name—to ask you that big, life changing question but—

“Holy shit!” You yell out, eyes wide and gesturing wildly towards the ocean. “Keys! Look!”

“Huh?” Keys murmurs, still looking at you as he fumbles with the ring box in his pocket. He hadn’t been paying attention to anything beyond looking at you and he glances towards the ocean just in time to see a pod of dolphins out at sea. “Oh wow—”

It was a perfect moment—the beach, the dolphins, the array of flowers that still littered the sand from the dinner and Keys didn’t hesitate. He scrambles about widely and you barely have time to blink before he’s kneeling down on one knee beside you.

Keys says your name again. He continues looking at you as your eyes remain on the frolicking dolphins for a few more moments before you turn to look back at him and he watches how your expression changes in a few, quick seconds.

Keys had a whole speech rehearsed. Something about how wonderful this week had been and how he hoped you had a lifetime of wonderful vacations together but it felt redundant now. And so, Keys instead spoke of how despite how much he hated seeing you so unwell, it had only cemented the fact that he wanted to love and take care of you for the rest of his days. How he would do it all over again, even if you had thrown up on his nicest shirt the other day. He wanted to say more—he wanted to say so much more but he didn’t get the chance to because you were grabbing his face and kissing him all over, murmuring “yes” over his sun-kissed skin.

𝜗ৎ kurt kunkle

Kurt honestly could have proposed the first very week you were started dating. But he knew how insane that was. So he waited—eight months to be exact. You were his first kiss, first love, his first—well, everything. He had a ring picked out before you had moved in together and did a lot of really stupid brand deals to be able to afford it.

“But you don’t drink protein shakes, Kurt,” you had said when you saw the package he had received with a strawberry flavoured protein powder inside.

But he had just shrugged, tried to hide the pink flush on his cheeks by pressing a kiss to your forehead, murmuring something about wanting to get a new monitor.

You had no idea those damn protein powders would be paying for your engagement ring.

Kurt initially was going to do a big proposal. Like in Disneyland in front of a bunch of people kind of thing. He wanted to vlog it, wanted to get as many views as possible because he knew how well those videos did.

But as you both stood in front of the castle, your eyes shining with child like wonder and Kurt’s camera set up nearby without you knowing—Kurt began to panic. There was so many people. What if you said no? What if you laughed at him? What if other people laughed at him? What if someone filmed it and the whole world laughed at him some more?

He couldn’t do it. Not in the middle of Disneyland, anyway.

He considered doing it on a livestream but again—the thought of you turning him down and the whole world seeing made him want to throw up.

And so—when it happened in the quiet of your living room, there was no cameras. It was just Kurt, some candles, a ring and you.

You hadn’t been expecting it. Not at all. You had came home from work and was greeted by a nervous looking Kurt. He had a silk blindfold in his hand and figuring it was for a taste test video or something equally as silly, you very nearly rolled your eyes. In your defence, you had a long day at work and the last thing you wanted was to blind taste pop tarts again.

“Kurt—” you began to say but the look in his big brown eyes made you stop. He looked desperate, as though he might cry if you say no. And so, you sigh and allow him to tie the blindfold behind your head.

He guides you through the apartment, his trembling hands holding your hips as you stand in what you think might be your living room.

“Is it pop tarts again?” You ask Kurt, unamused.

Kurt blushes, though you don’t see it. “Something like that,” he murmurs before he unties the blindfold and you look—expecting to see his camera set up and an abundance of pop tarts flavours littering the dining table but instead you see a candlelit dinner waiting for you.

You can’t help it. Your jaw drops. “Oh, Kurt!”

It may not have been much—just some mild spice fajitas (since Kurt could not handle anything too spicy) and some incredibly cheesy nachos. But you knew it was made with love and so, you devoured it.

You notice how nervous Kurt seemed which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary since he had a nervous disposition but he seemed especially nervous tonight.

“You okay?” You ask him, nudging his calf with your foot and shooting him a gentle smile. It did nothing to help Kurt’s nerves. In fact, it made him feel all warm inside. As though his insides were made of goo and that smile on your face? Fuck—he loved you. He loved you so much. He wanted to wake up every morning and see that smile. Wanted to—

“Iwannamarryyou.”

The words fall from his lips before he could stop them. He immediately wants to curl up into a ball and die—did that even count as a proposal? If it was a statement rather than a question? Did he need to play it off as a joke before you caught on? Did he need to change his name and move to a different state? Did he—

“Are you asking me or telling me?” You ask him gently, smiling back at him. He can see the hopefulness in your eyes and it does nothing to help the situation. Absolutely nothing. Kurt’s face darkens to a bright red as he forces himself to nod.

“Yeah,” he finally stutters out. “I’m—I’m asking.”

And because he figures that he should probably prove that he was serious—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring before he drops down on one knee in front of you.

You let outa a squeal of excitement that makes Kurt jump, he nearly drops the ring in the nachos.

“Yes!” You exclaim happily, jumping up from your seat and rushing round the table to shower his face with kisses. “Of course I’ll marry you, Kurt.”

𝜗ৎ travis "teacake" meacham

In the two years you had been together, Travis had never kept a secret from you. He had practically told you every waking thought he had since your first date. Mostly because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut but it was also because he loved you. So the thought of keeping anything from you felt inconceivable.

And so, when he began to think about proposing to you—Travis had a problem.

Because how was he meant to keep something this big from you?

The day he bought the ring, he immediately wanted to tell you about it. He wanted to tell you how it sparkled in the light, how he had it engraved with his and your initials. But he couldn’t. And so, he told his barber about it instead.

He did the same thing when he had finally decided how he was going to do it, he ended up telling his parole officer. And the postman, and the guy who came to fix the boiler in your apartment and his boss and—well, anyone who would listen really.

He had decided that a recreation of your first date was what he wanted to do. And so, he spent all morning preparing a basket full of food, bought a gingham picnic blanket he knew you’d love and grabbed the biggest bunch of sunflowers he found at the florist.

“You didn’t have to do all this, Tea,” you say with a smile after Travis had attempted to feed you chocolate covered strawberries.

“Oh, I did,” Travis insists before he leans in to lick some of the remains of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. “You tastes so good, baby.”

Your face warms and Travis laughs—especially when you playfully smack his arm in warning.

“There’s children around Tea,” you mutter, jerking your head towards a bunch of children playing football nearby.

Travis puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright, ruin my fun. No ravishing you on the picnic blanket.”

You try not to laugh but it’s impossible not to when Travis had that playful look in his eye. You lean in and press a kiss to his lips that he’s quick to return, his hand cupping your face as his other hands fiddles with the box in his pocket.

“I love you,” you tell him quietly when you pull away.

“I love you more.” He tells you.

“Not possible,” you say with a shake of your head.

Travis insists that no—he really does love you more. It’s back and forth for a while after that until you finally give in.

“Fine—we love each other equal amounts, how’s that?”

Travis considers it before nodding. “Okay,” he concedes. “But I love you that little bit more—”

You stuff a macaron in his mouth just to shut him up. And just like that—you’re both laughing again.

And Travis knows this is the perfect moment.

He says your name, pulling the box out from his pocket in what he hopes was a subtle move. You turn and before he could even open the box—

“Yes.”

Travis blinks, titling his head and furrowing his brow like a confused puppy.

“But I haven’t—”

“The postman told you,” you say quickly, your heart hammering as you look at Travis as though you could burst. “I’m sorry! I know you wanted it to be a surprise but he told me like two weeks ago—”

If Travis wasn’t on parole, he would have lost his shit at the postman.

“Ah shit,” he grumbles. “But I had this speech and I wanted to—”

“—and I’m sure it would have been amazing!” You say, your eyes flickering from his face to the damn ring box in his hand. “But you don’t need to do all that. My answer is yes.”

“But it was really good, like the perfect balance of romantic and funny and—”

You had truly never wanted Travis to shut up more. And so—you shut him up the way you only know how. You grab his face and pull him towards you. Your lips meet in a messy, slightly chaotic kiss. Travis manages to slide the ring on your finger before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you almost onto his lap.

“Tea—” you murmur against his lips. “There’s children—”

Travis groans and though you don’t see it, you know he’s rolling his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, pressing several final kisses to your lips before finally pulling away from you. “Then let’s get home so I can ravish my fiancée in the privacy of our own home.”