It wasn’t necessarily something he was insecure about but after marrying you, a sweet young woman whos face heated uncontrollably when he looked at you for too long, he was worried about overwhelming you. But you were insistent.

You wanted to please him.

And he assured you that you already did, but you had read a book that had mention of ways to please a man that you hadnt tried with Baelor her and your curiosity was peaked. So now here you were kneeled between his legs on your shared bed, you in just a sheer nightgown and him bare with just the sheets covering his lower half. You could see the outline of his hard cock beneath the fabric, jumping ever so slightly when your hand grazed his thigh.

“You do not have to do it, my love.” He says softly. A large hand cups your face and makes you look at him and he notes the hesitation in your eyes.

“No, I want to. I just… dont want it to be bad. I dont want to disappoint you.” You say as you nuzzle into his palm, the warmth radiating from him soothing your nerves slightly.

“You will not I assure you.” He shifts on the mattress to get more comfortable. “Take your time, and just your hands tonight. You can try using your mouth another time.”

You pouted but understood his reasoning. You stared at his covered cock once again and carefully pull the silken sheets away, revealing the skin of his lower stomach inch by inch at an antagonisingly slow pace. The sheets fell away and left your husband’s muscular body bare before you and the sight made your mouth water. Your hand crawled up his hairy thigh until it rested just inches away from his throbbing dick, taking a moment before wrapping your hand around him softly causing him to let out a hiss.

“Good, thats good. Move your hand up and down, not too fast.” You follow his guidance perfectly, beginning to stroke over the length of him, the skin near his tip making it easier to move your hand fluidly. “Gods, like that.” He groans through his teeth.

He moans when your thumb brushes over the red head and you make note of that in your mind. You keep going, him offering you occasional advice as he tries to refrain from squirming against the mattress. He warns you when he gets close, mismatched eyes meeting yours as he breathes heavily. With a few more strokes his orgasm hits- ropes of thick white cum shooting from his cock and running down your knuckles but you keep your hand moving. He keeps cumming, a sizeable pool of it collecting in the dark curls that surround his cock and some landing higher painting his torso. It lasts for a while. Longer than you had expected. Watching him come undone unlocked a deep primal desire in you to milk everything from him and each time you thought he was finished more cum leaked from him and dripped down his shaft.

“Wow.” You say, eyes locked on the sticky mess covering you both.

“Im sorry,” He pants. “Let me clean you up.”

“Little shits,” Steve’s voice comes from behind you, too dosed with affection to be anything other than fond. “Told ‘em not to run and what do they do? They run.”

You tilt your head back, squinting, lips already quirking into a wider smile.

“Wow,” You drawl as Steve comes into view, stopping just behind your lounger. “Have I told you how hot and bothered I get when you get all motherly?”

You’re joking with him, but also, not really. Steve’s cute when he gets his feathers in a ruffle over the rag-tag group of teenagers he accidentally adopted.

You bite your lip to sell the joke. And also to hide the pulse of desire you feel at the sight of your boyfriend — bare-chested, tanned, a trail of hair down along his tummy, those tiny red shorts.

He’s devious. He knows exactly what the shorts do to you.

“Uh, no, you haven’t,” He chides right back, placing one hand on the lounger above your head and leaning over above you. “Y’say somethin’ about hot and bothered?”

He’s grinning and close enough to kiss — which you take full advantage of, leaning up.

Steve’s lips are warm, like the day, and the kiss is probably too passionate for the audience. You can’t find you care when Steve kisses you like this.

“Hey!”

There’s a splash of water and dozen droplets sprinkle across your legs, giving you a shock. You and Steve jerk back from the kiss, Steve with a particular scowl sent to the splashes origin.

Dustin holds his hand up, ready and threatening to splash again. He narrows his eyes at Steve’s scowl. “No playing hooky!”

“Henderson, that is not even what that means,” Steve grouses. He circles round your lounger to stand beside you, turning to deposit the glass of juice he’d gone inside to fetch for you.

“Here you go, baby,” He says more softly. You take the glass from him and a cold spill of condensation drips over your knuckles.

“Thank you,” You say, already focused on a sip so much that you miss the half-formed pucker Steve makes. He’s used to getting kisses with every thank-you you give. Guess you spoil him too much.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” He says, a bit grumbly when he realises the juice truly has taken your attention.

He sits on the edge of your lounger and pokes at your thigh. “C'mon, budge over.”

You laugh at him, because there’s at least a dozen other seats available other than the one right next to you — but you shuffle over all the same.

His thigh presses against yours, a strong line of muscle. He leans back, head pillowed against the lounger, and raises one arm to curl around behind his head. You peer over your shoulder back at him and have the insane desire to lick up his chest.

Taking another sip of rapidly-warming juice, you remind yourself that children are present — and stuff the desire far, far down.

“Y’gonna go swimming again, honey?”

Steve’s voice is a little softer now as he soaks up the sun. The hand not tucked behind his head has moved to sit on your lower back, giving an idle rub. His thumb swatches gently, lovingly.

“Mm,” you think it over. “Maybe. I think if I go in now, I’ll be wrestled into playing a game of chicken. Maybe quite literally.”

“Mhm,” Steve makes a low chuckle in the back of his throat. “Thought you liked it when I got my head between your— hey, ow!”

His sentence derails at the soft slap you deliver to his stomach. He frowns, brows all scrunched together, looking at you with mock annoyance.

“Steven,” you say. “Need I remind you, there are children around—”

“So, I’ll send em’ home,” Steve drawls, his hand moving along your back with more intention now. His smile can only be described as feline.

“Then I can spend some time figuring out this adorable little number…”

His fingers have wiggled their way under the strap of your bikini top, pulling at the elastic almost teasingly.

“You’re insatiable, Harrington.”

He takes his warm hand off your back to clutch at his chest, miming being shot with a dramatic and very unrealistic sound effect.

“Ough, back with the last name. Oh, I’m in the doghouse now, aren’t I?”

He’s insufferable. Insatiable. He’s so good at getting under your skin in a way that makes you want to jump his bones.

In lieu of an answer, you tip his sunglasses further down your nose and peer over him with a faux disappointment.

Steve mimes another gun shot, this time with both hands, then uses them to pull you back up into his chest. He’s too rough with it and your juice splashes a little, a splatter up on your collarbones.

Steve, dotingly, licks it clean for you — kissing the skin after, and receiving an earful of heckling from his children.

Despite his threats, he doesn’t kick the kids out.

They stay for another hour or so, letting the heat of the day pass and tiring themselves out with endless handstand competitions and pool-noodle battles.

When they leave, predictably, there’s a mess around the pool. As Steve gazes over it, he grumbles under his breath, putting the assorted junk away.

You know it’s a half-hearted grumble at best.

He doesn’t like the mess, but he loves the company. You help him, tidying up the space as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. Soon, there is only a linger of the day’s warmth and dappled light dancing over the surface of the pool.

You stand on the edge of it, peering down into the water.

“You know,” Steve begins, wandering up along side you. He stops, just shy of a few inches, one of his hands curling against your waist. He’s smiling at you. “I ever tell you how beautiful you look in the water?”

You frown. “Okay? But I’m not in the water.”

Steve’s smile widens to a grin—then he’s pushing with the hand on your waist, tipping you off balance and sending you straight back into the pool.

It’s not cold—yet you’re not expecting it, so it still gives you a shock.

You push up, splashing about to surface, and are caught halfway between spluttering and cursing, when Steve cannonballs himself in beside you.

Bubbles rush up through the water, reflecting a thousand setting suns.

You’ve barely managed to situate yourself, legs kicking to keep you afloat, when there’s arms around you.

You startle in surprise, but Steve’s expecting it.

There’s one arm around your middle, the other hooked around a thigh and he pulls you easily against him. You flounder for a moment, before finding purchase on his shoulders.

His hair is stuck down flat, sparkles caught in his lashes, hazel eyes fonder than you’ve ever seen them.

He’s smiling, his pink mouth formed into something that could nearly be a smirk.

“You-!” You begin, not letting him get away with that so easily.

Steve grins, then shakes his head side to side, not unlike a dog. You get a spray of water to the face.

“You—” You repeat hotly, only to cut yourself off with a little gasp at the sudden warm, wet heat applied to your neck.

Steve’s begun lazily mouthing up the column on your throat, a low hum vibrating against your skin.

“I, what?” He says when he pulls back. His lips are pinker and his pupils darker now. “I’m sorry, baby, I just had to get you back in the pool again.”

His hands shift, pulling you a little closer. He leans in, aiming for your mouth, and you turn to let his kiss find your cheek.

He makes a little noise that you’d probably classify as a whine.

“Baby,” he whinges. “You know you love me. C'mon, I said I was sorry.” He pulls you ever closer, so much that you’re now flush against his body.

You hold out for all of another minute, face turned up and away, pretending you can’t hear him.

Unfortunately for you, Steve takes the opportunity to begin peppering kisses along your neck, up to your jaw, insistent and unfairly good at softening you.

You relent when his kisses reach your lips. You let your hands slide forward, looping around his neck and you kiss him deeply.

He tastes like summer, cherry chapstick, and a hint of chlorine.

Steve loves kissing. He’s told you that a dozen times, most of the time said as a dreamy sigh, when he’s all heart-eyed and fuzzy from a make out.

But now, your legs finding their place twined around his waist, his mouth kissing yours, the firmness of him through his shorts betrays his other motivations.

You pull back and be upfront, “Steve, I’m not sleeping with you in the pool.”

Your boyfriend at least has the decency to look a little sheepish at being so easily figured out.

He grins guiltily, then kisses the edge of your mouth, “Not even a little?”

Slipping your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, you scratch gently. You smile your sweetest, honey-iest smile, and say “No.”

Steve groans, his hand sliding up along the line of your outer thigh. His head tips back. It’s obviously not the answer he was hoping for.

“Baby, you’ve been driving me crazy all day,” He bemoans. “What am I supposed to do?”

Using your hand in his hair, you nudge his head back up, crowding in close. There’s a surprise in his eyes that delights you, hazel hopeful.

“I said,” you say with emphasis. “Not in the pool.”

Realisation dawns and within a moment, Steve’s putting his strong swimmer body to use. The water cuts around you, sending ripples out all around.

In a minute, he’s got you both at the edge of the shallow end.

“C'mon, lemme help you up,” He’s talking more to himself, feet planted, hands already around your waist to help lift you up onto the tiles.

Water drips off you, little splatters on tile, as you're hoisted up and out of the pool. A little pleased thrum runs through at the strength your boyfriend displays, his hands still lingering on your hips.

The tiles feel cool beneath your thighs. You feel anything but.

Steve takes a moment to appreciate the angle. He gazes up at you, a mixture of reverence and hunger in his eyes.

The insistence urge to jump his bones rears up stronger. You pat yourself on the back for only giving him one, long kiss, leant over him in the water, before beginning to hunt for your towel.

It’s not like it’s much help.

Droplets get dried up, just to be replaced by the wetness of Steve’s swim shorts. He crowds you against the lounger from earlier, his chest to your back, all eager hands and nippy kisses.

“I know I’m being pushy,” He says, a little sweeter now. “If you don’t want to, you know I don’t mind. We can just take a shower, order some pizza…”

His hands, which had been crawling over your hips, meeting at your navel, come to stop. He’s making sure you aren’t distracted.

It’s an easy decision. You twist in his grip and let yourself fall back on the lounger, landing with a little oof!

Steve sees it for what it is. He’s on you quickly, large hands planting on either side of your hips.

“God, m’so lucky,” He murmurs, fingers curling into the side of your swimsuit bottoms. A flame blisters deep in your gut.

The cushions still somehow feel warmed by the sun as you lay back on them.

You’re still that kind of sticky-wet from the pool, but there’s enough heat in the air to dry your skin. Or maybe that’s you, growing warmer and warmer as Steve deftly undoes the ties keeping your suit together.

“C’mere, handsome,” You say, hand finding his jaw and directing his focus up to your face.

Steve follows eagerly, grinning when he realises you want a kiss — and gifting you one without hesitation.

“Okay?” He murmurs against your lips. “Gonna warm you up a bit, yeah?”

You’re nodding easily, the slight nerves of being outside, even in Steve’s sheltered backyard, mixing with the anticipation.

The flame deep in your tummy burns a little hotter at the sight of Steve’s fingers disappearing into his pink mouth — coming out slicked with spit.

Then, they disappear between your thighs and you rediscover them in a sigh of pleasure, pulled from your lips.

Steve’s good with his fingers. Good with his hands. Good at almost every part of this.

You let him rub little circles of delirium through your clit until you’re welled with wetness, flushed through your body, and ready. Finger, tongue, cock—anything. You want something.

“Steve, c’mon,” you pant, torn between watching the bulge of his bicep or his own captivated face, mouth open slightly, hazel eyes fixed on his hand between your legs.

“Yeah?” He says a little breathlessly, eyes finding yours.

You make a little uh-huh that Steve thinks is beyond cute, while also sending a throb to his cock. Double threat.

All of you is a quadruple threat to Steve, he thinks.

It’s less than pleasant to try pull off half-dried swimming trunks, the fabric stuck to his skin, so Steve’s settles for a halfway. It’s a bit crude, red shorts pulled halfway down his ass — but you’re half dressed, so he is too.

Nudging one thigh up gently, he smooths over your calf tenderly, eyes still checking your expression.

Finding nothing but the glint of love in your hungry eyes, Steve bites back his groan and begins to sink into you, slow.

It’s torture. It’s heaven. You’re warm and wet and so goddamn pretty beneath him.

He starts slow, hips rocking in and out at a tantalising pace. The urge that’s been itching all day finally begins to feel relief.

“That it?” He whispers, his hand sliding up from your calf to hold the underside of your thigh. “This what you wanted, huh? Making you feel good?”

You make a pretty-sounding sigh that manages to send even more blood south, which Steve hadn’t thought possible. His head spins a bit.

You’re nodding, brows creased in a beautiful agony, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. God, you’re a dream. God, he’s so lucky.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, lashes fluttering as he ruts in slowly. “Feels so good, baby.”

For a long moment, it’s just that.

Easy, soft, slow thrusts that get stickier and stickier. You keen and sigh, hands gripping the fabric of the lounger beneath you as you fight to keep your eyes open. And when that’s not enough, you latch onto Steve’s shoulders.

It’s mutually beneficial.

The muscles shift beneath your fingertips, the exertion of his movements, the slow drill into you, sending fire down your spine.

The delightful pain of your fingernails, pressing half moons into his skin, when he finds just the angle you like.

As always, Steve can’t stop talking. His face is buried in your neck, his hand flexing where it holds your shaky leg up, and his mouth going a million miles an hour.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? God, you’re so wet- so fuckin’ perfect for me. Oh, my baby is so pretty when she’s fucked, isn’t she?”

It’s murmured against your skin and you can hear every word. The response you make isn’t exactly voluntary. A high-pitched moan staggers out your throat before you can think to capture it.

It only urges Steve on. He starts fucking you with an inch more force— all the way in, all the way out.

“Christ, just listen to you,” He breathes, pure lust threaded in the words. “You’re so perfect. Every noise is— ngh— oh fuck.”

There’s a stutter in his breathing. Your back arches off the lounger, instinctively trying to get closer, closer, you’re not close enough.

“Baby, baby, you can’t squeeze me like that, can’t- can’t expect me to- oh my god, shit, listen to you, listen to— fuck, you’re so wet.”

The pooling of heat in your stomach rolls with pleasure in and over you, like waves on a shore, each one bigger than the last. Your breath hitches. You cling tighter to Steve’s shoulders.

His name punches out of you, more whimper than word, “St— Steve,”

“I know, I know, baby,” He coos, hips still rolling into yours. There’s a spot within you, one that makes you wail, that he keeps tapping with the tip of his cock. “Will you let me have it? C'mon, baby—fuck— can you give it to me? So perfect, so pretty when you squeeze my cock like this.”

He knows just what to say.

Knows just what you need to turn the building coil in your tummy tighter, turn it hotter.

You’re nodding fervently, eyes scrunched closed, a jumbled string of uh-huhs and yeahs pouring from your mouth.

Steve pulls back to watch, transfixed, because fuck, you’re so pretty like this. There’s sweat at his hairline. He presses your thigh an inch higher, rocking in, and then drags his thumb over your clit—over and over.

It’s a chain reaction; the hitch of your breath, the turn of your face, the whine in your throat. You tip over the edge gloriously.

“Thaaat’s it,” Steve fucks into the snugness of your cunt, a whine threaded in his moans, the coil in his stomach blazing warm and ready to snap. “Shit, fuck, that’s it. That’s my fucking girl— god, that’s- uh- fuck—“

Thrusts losing their patient rhythm, overstimulation glitters at your edges as Steve ruts once, twice, then pulls out with a grunt to finish on the lounger beneath you both.

You’re still fringed with pleasure, chest still heaving, when he flops down, still half on you.

You’re so lax you don’t even mind his weight — instead, your hands come up, skating along the planes of his shoulders to bury in his hair. There’s sweat along the nape of his neck. You scratch at his scalp lovingly.

It’s darker now, but not all light is gone. It’s the later stage of dusk. You feel blazing warm, especially pressed against Steve, but you know it won’t stay like that for long.

For now though,

“Mmmmm,” Steve hums drowsily, even as he’s still catching his breath. “S’fucking nice to me.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder half-heartedly. What he lacks in enthusiasm, he makes up for with slobber.

★ The sun hung lazily in the sky over Route 11, casting soft rays across the tall, waving grass. You were crouched low, gently coaxing a Cutiefly so you could add it to your Pokedex entry. The buzzing pokemon flitted about, wings shimmering in the light, but eventually settled on a large rock nearby, holding still just long enough for you to get a proper shot of it.

★ “Gotcha,” you whispered, standing up to brush the dirt from your knees.

★ “Ahww, look at you. Real impressive,” a familiar, grating voice drawled behind you.

★ You sighed, already knowing who it was without needing to turn around.

★ “Guzma,” you greet him flatly, as if his sudden appearance was just as normal as a Pidgey flying overhead…

★ Nothing better than the self proclaimed “Gang leader” of Team Skull approaching you. He had a knack for that it seemed. What a thorn in your side.

★ He stepped out from behind a tree, leaning casually against the trunk as he folded his arms over his chest. His white dyed hair sticking out wildly, matching perfectly with that fuck all attitude he always carried.

★ “You really got nothin’ better to do than babysit bugs out here?” He smirked, tilting his head to watch the Cutiefly dart away. “What, you tryna be a professor now? Fillin’ that Pokédex all proper?”

★Glancing up at him, almost chronically unimpressed with him at this point. “Yeah, some of us like helping out, you know. Not everything’s about causing trouble.”

★ “Tch—Sounds boring.” He kicked a pebble across the path, eyes flicking toward you in a way he hoped you didn’t notice.

★ But…you noticed. It was hard not to, considering how used to his antics you were. The sneering, the teasing. But something about the way he kept showing up around you, especially when you were obviously out by yourself. It made you wonder…

★ “Uh huh,” you replied dryly, stepping further down the route as if to leave him behind. “If it’s so boring, why are you here?”

★ “Pfft—i ain’t here for you,” he retorted quickly, catching up with you in three strides. “I’m just—ya know—scouting. This place’s on Skull’s uh, radar.”

★ You couldn’t control the lift in your brows, amusement coloring your features. “Really? Hm. Last i checked, Cutiefly weren’t exactly rare treasures for your big schemes.”

★ Guzma frowned, clicking his tongue. “Maybe I just like walkin’ around. Got a problem with that?”

★ You snort softly at his stupid, almost charming, defensiveness. Shaking your head, “No, no problem here. I just think its kinda funny how you always ‘happen’ to be wherever I am.”

★ His steps faltered for half a second before he regained his composure, shoving his hands into his pockets with a scowl. “You think too much, ya know that?”

•••

★ The two of you kept walking, the silence stretching out, broken only by the occasional rustling of wild Pokémon in the grass. It wasn’t uncomfortably awkward, though. Guzma, despite his reputation, had this strange way of being tolerable when he wasn’t actively trying to irk you.

★ As you crouched to inspect another little Pokémon, Guzma shifted from foot to foot behind you. Clearly restless.

★ “So…what, you really enjoy all this?” He asked suddenly, nodding at the Pokédex in your hand.

★ “I do.” You simply replied with a small shrug. “I like learning about Pokemon, helping them when i can…guess its just the way i am, i dunno.” You nonchalantly say.

★ Guzma scoffed, but his usual venom wasn’t there. “Figures. Bet youre the type to give a Potion to a wild Rattata or somethin’.”

★ “Maybe,” you replied with a small smile.

★ He stayed quiet after that, watching as you worked. After a while, you stood up and stretched your arms above your head.

•••

★ “Alright, I think i’m done for today.”

★ “Bout time,” Guzma grumbled, though he made no move to leave. “You headin’ back?”

★ “Yeah. You…wanna walk with me?”

★ His eyes narrowed suspiciously, like you asked him to confess his deepest secret or something. “And why, would i do that?”

★ “Because you clearly have nothing better to do.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at him.

★ Guzma opened his mouth for a snarky comeback but shut it just as quickly. Staring at you for a long second, his brows furrowing before shrugging dramatically.

★ “Fine, but don’t get any ideas. I ain’t bein’ nice or nothin’. Just…bored”

★ “Sure, sure.” You bite back a grin as you side glance him.

★ The two of you walked down the path, the heat of the afternoon sun easing into a cooler breeze. A flock of wingull circled overhead, their caws blending into the soft hum of the route. Guzma kicked at the dirt, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

★ “So,” you began, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “how long are you gonna keep pretending you don’t like hanging out with me?”

★ His head snapped towards you, his eyes widened before slanting at you. “Hah?! You kiddin’ me? I don’t—“

★ “Relax,” You laughed, matching his steps. “I’m messing with you. Mostly.”

★ Guzma huffed loudly, but there was a tiny smile playing at hush lips while dragging a hand through his hair.

•••

★ Guzma’s eyes drifted to the side, stealing glances at you whenever he thought you weren’t paying attention. Something about the way you smiled at wild Pokémon, or how gently encouraged a Metapod out of the path, made his chest feel weird—tight almost. He hated it.

★ “Hey,” he said suddenly, his chin nudging, pointing toward your Pokédex, “that thing tell you how strong a Pokémon is?”

★ “Kinda…? it’s more for cataloging, though…”

★ He snorts. “Bet it can’t ‘catalog’ my Golisopod.” He arrogantly points at you with a stupid smirk.

★ You grinned, ignoring his dumb jab and instead find interest in his ace. “You’re really proud of that thing, huh?”

★ “Damn right I am. Golisopod’s a beast.” He crossed his arms, chin lifting slightly.

★ “Well…” you teased, “if i ever catch one, maybe i’ll let you know how it compares.”

★ “Tch, good luck with that. You’d need me to show you the best spots.”

★ “Mmh, sounds like an excuse to hang out again,” you quipped, nudging his shoulder lightly.

★ Guzma looked away sharply, hiding the pink dusting his cheeks. “You wish…”

•••

★ The path eventually led to a small clearing. The sun finally dipping and painting the sky is soft oranges and pinks. The sound and smell of the nearby ocean faintly lingering in the air. Guzma slowed his steps, almost reluctantly. Like he was about to say something…

★ “What? are you scared of the dark?” You playfully ask, looking over tour shoulder to see him already catching back up.

★ “You’re so annoyin’ sometimes” he simply mutters, not bothering to pull away from you as your shoulders brush against each other.

★ Eventually, the sky had melted into deeper shades of purple and orange when you reached the edge of the route. The last bit of sunlight lingered on the horizon, but it wouldn’t be much longer until nightfall. Kricketot settled into their chirping, the evening proving its presence when the breeze nipped at tour akin, making it prickle.

★ Your eyes slid to the side, catching Guzma stealing yet another glance your way. He shoved his hands further into his hoodie pockets and looked away quickly, pretending to focus on a distant tree, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

★ “You know,” you drawled out, breaking the silence. “I can get home just fine from here. You don’t have to stick around…”

★He scoffed at that, waving off your words. “Yeah, right. Like i’m gonna let you wander off alone when it’s gettin’ dark.”

★ He saw you tilt your head, and tried to correct himself clumsily. “Wild Pokémon come out more at night…ya know?” he added, like you didn’t already know that.

★ “Ahh, that’s why you’re still here.” You press, but not too much.

★ “Exactly,” he said a little too quickly. “I mean…what kinda person would I be if i just let ya get jumped by Spinarak or somethin’?”

★ “Right…” you smirk, and he grumbled under his breath, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “Don’t make it weird.”

•••

★ The two of you continued walking, the atmosphere quieter but of course for you, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Guzma’s usual snark had dulled, replaced by something that was definitely akin to awkwardness. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

★By the time you reached the path leading to your house, the stars had begun to scatter across the sky, twinkling against the almost pitch black canvas. The faint glow from your porch light illuminated the small, yet pretty front yard, beckoning you into the warmth.

★ “Well,” you said, stopping just short of the front steps. “Home sweet home.”

★ Guzma lingered a few feet behind, shifting on his heels. “Yeah…guess so.”

★ You tilted your head a notch, catching the way he seemed hesitant to leave. His gaze drifted over the house, as if he were searching for an excuse to stick around just a little longer.

★ “Thanks for walking with me,” you said softly, stepping up onto the first step

★ “Tch, I wasn’t walkin’ with you, punk.” He muttered, staring down at his sneakers. “I was just headin’ the same way. Pure coincidence.”

★ “Right, of course—pure coincidence.” You echo, rolling your eyes at him.

★ His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and you could see the faintest crease of hesitation in his brow. He stayed rooted to the spot, looking like he wanted to say something but couldnt quite get it out.

★ Without thinking too hard about it, you leaned in, pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

★ It was light—barely there—but the second you pulled away, Guzma froze like you had just taken his picture with the flash on. His eyes widened, hand instinctively shooting up to where your lips had been, fingertips brushing against his cheek, as if needing proof that had actually just happened.

★ “Goodnight, Guzma,” you said softly, turning back toward your door.

★ Before you could fully step inside, his hand shot out, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist.

★ “Hey,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

★ You glanced back around him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his grip on your wrist wasn’t firm, but it was enough to stop you. There was something uncharacteristically soft in the way he looked at you. Something rare for the Leader of team skull.

★ “C’mere,” he said, tugging slightly, making you stumble toward him. His other hand hovered uncertainly by your waist, and his gaze flickered between your face and the ground like he was trying to work out if this was a terrible idea or not.

★ Before you could question it, Guzma leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. It wasnt rushed or over the top. It was a simple, soft kiss thag lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary. His hand stayed loosely around your wrist, thumb brushing gently over your skin.

★ When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. His forehead rested lightly against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off his face, even as he tried to play it cool.

★ “Guess i’ll walk ya home more often,” he muttered.

★ “Oh yeah?”

★ He huffed, finally releasing your wrist, though his hand trailed down as if reluctant to let go. “I mean, yeah. You’re kinda alright, it’s not a thing though.” He smirks.

★ “So now i’m ‘kinda alright?’ Ha.” You teased, leaning against the doorframe.

★ “Yeahh, well. Don’t push it, short stack.” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets for the umpteenth time tonight, rocking on his heels with a small grin.

★ You couldn’t resist asking, double checking maybe? “so…are we just gonna pretend this didn’t happen or…?” You cock a brow.

★ Guzma shrugged, the grin turning slightly smug. “I dunno. Maybe i’ll letcha call me your boyfriend if ya catch up with me tomorrow.”

★ “Oh, let me?”

★ “uh, yeah? I got standards.”

★ You scoffed at his obvious joke, his tone weirdly softer than usual. As you opened the door, Guzma stood there, watching you step inside.

★ “Get some sleep, loser.” You say before shutting the door behind you.

★ He stood there for a moment, before turning around to make his own way home, his mind swirling with too many thoughts of you already. “Did i just officially, unofficially cuff them or…?”