#((I know all of these things but I don't think I've told the dash half of it)) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eoieopda · 1 year ago

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sweatshirt season | ksy

your fuck buddy is good at a lot of things. taking hints isn’t one of them.

pairing: kwon soonyoung x reader type: one-shot / fluff + smut rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) au: one-night-stand to fuck buddies to ? wc: 4.5k cw: gn! and afab!reader (no pronouns used); time skips; protected penetrative sex (p in v); hoshi is kinda a himbo, lmao; ft. cameo by minghao and roomate!gn!sibling OC; reference to the movie they're watching, which is hereditary (brief mention of decapitation + demonic possession); barely proofread, sorry! a/n: this is based on a headcanon i did a while ago! i've been in such a horrible rut re: writing for the past month and a half, so it was a major struggle to write this because i feel like i don't know how to do that anymore 😵‍💫 i'm hoping that himbo hoshi can save me from this hell. also, this is told in vignettes!

[APRIL]

“Babe?”

The voice from nowhere is barely loud enough to drag you from sleep, but the effect it has on you is far from soft. Those consonants dig in where your dehydrated brain shrinks away from your skull, pressing in so hard that they throb.

Bleary-eyed, you blink as rapidly as you can to adjust to the bright, white light beaming in through your open shades. The sound that escapes you is something akin to a hiss; it gets the point across, nonetheless. You sit up just enough to see the figure standing in front of your window, looming overhead with crossed arms, laughing.

Clearly, your roommate doesn’t give a shit or a fuck about your hangover.

“What’s the deal with the stray you brought home last night?” Mei asks, the corners of their mouth tilting wickedly.

You don’t have the brain power for this conversation, so you respond with a groan and bury your face back in the pillow from whence it came. Never one to give up, Mei drops down on top of you so that the full weight of their body rests against yours.

“C’mon,” they urge. “Spill your guts, chingu.”

Funnily enough, if they don’t get off your guts, you might do exactly that.

Your reply comes in the form of a croak, some pathetic little sound that reads as lifeless as you feel. “Why do you care?”

There isn’t a single reason you can think of for their sudden interest in your bad decisions. You’ve been making them left and right for the past few months without much more than a concerned glance, and until now, you didn’t realize that you’d taken the lack of follow-up questions for granted.

What a fucking travesty it is to be perceived.

“Your business is your business.” Mei shrugs. You quirk an eyebrow, ready to jump in and point out their lapse in logic, but then that smirk comes back. “But your business is currently burning eggs in our kitchen, which makes it my business, too.”

Sitting up quickly, the force of your sudden moves nearly knock Mei to the ground. Beyond horrified, you squeak, “He’s still here?”

Faster than you’ve ever moved before, you clamber out from underneath your roommate and crawl to the edge of your bed, kicking wildly at your blankets until your legs are free.

You’re already up and swaying on your feet, panting from the effort, when you finally think to look down and assess the state of yourself. Thankfully, you’d remembered to dress yourself before falling asleep. You glance upward and salute whatever deity was looking out for you, ignore the look on Mei’s face entirely, and dash out of your bedroom.

As soon as you reach the kitchen, you skid to a stop, socks sliding across the hardwood until your hip bone collides with the corner of the kitchen island. You hiss again, far louder than the last time. The shape standing at your stove turns around wide-eyed; his mouth is frozen in the shape of an “o”.

Just as quick, recognition flashes, and the shock wears off.

“Good morning,” he chirps, and he’s all fucking sunshine.

You blink back at him without a single idea of where to start — with the fact that he’s still here after you could’ve sworn he left, that he’s wearing your apron but has no clear grasp on the simple act of frying eggs, or that you cannot for the life of you remember his name.

Fuck.

You should really start keeping a guest book.

Whatever his name is, he’s witnessing you at your worst — certifiably crusty with your standard bad attitude — and that alone makes you want to wither and die, right on the spot. Unbothered by your ghoulish appearance, he gestures to the kitchen island you just collided with, pointing to a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

Items he would’ve had to open two (2) separate cabinets to find.

In the kitchen he shouldn’t even be in.

You open your mouth, primed to explode all over him, but the way he’s looking at you disarms you immediately. His expression is so chipper — so friendly and childlike in its innocence — that you swallow down the shit you’d readily hurl at anyone else. You gulp, and without saying a word in acknowledgement, you grab what he’s laid out for you.

He smiles when you choke down the aspirin, then turns back around to pull the scrambled, half-burnt mess off the burner.

“You must have a pretty low alcohol tolerance if you’re this hungover after three drinks,” he muses.

It’s an accurate observation — a harmless one, too — but you did not ask. Once again, he shoots you a smile that prevents you from snapping at him. Instead, you set the now-empty glass back down on the island and stare vacantly over at him.

Seonghwa?

“You’re still here,” you say flatly. You may be stating the obvious, but that fact speaks for itself. “You’re still here, and you’re also in my kitchen.”

Seokjin, maybe?

He smiles at this, either unaware that he’s violated the unwritten one-night-stand code of conduct or unfazed by his own rule breaking. Rubbing the back of his neck, he laughs awkwardly, “It was the least I could do, you know? After all you —”

What the fuck is your name?

“Sungwoo!” You cut him off with a gasp and a palm raised, all but begging him not to recount what he’s grateful for within earshot of your roommate. “Really, you don’t need to do this. Any of this.”

He corrects you gently, “It’s Soonyoung.”

Then, without even a hint of offense taken, he nods his head towards one of the stools tucked under the counter of the island. Your eyes flit between his hopeful face and the seat, frozen solid with indecision.

You see two options, and both feel like a trap:

Holding the line risks squashing this clueless boy’s marshmallow heart; and you don’t want to be the gash that ruins his day at the very outset. If you feed the stray — rather, if you let the stray feed you — then you’re an enabler, contracting a residency when the show was supposed to be one-night-only.

More perceptive than you’ve given him credit for so far, he senses the conflict inside your skull and attempts to tip the scale with a bread-cheeked smile and a shoulder wiggle. “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he nudges in a soft, sing-song tone.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Begrudgingly, you dump yourself onto a stool without a word. With your elbows now propped up on the countertop, you drop your chin down to rest on the heels of your hands. More than anything, you try like hell to ignore the way it all makes his face light up.

“I don’t understand how you went from demonically hot to…” Your voice trails off as you try to find a word for whatever this is. A beat passes before you give up, waving dismissively. “Domesticated, or whatever.”

And his cheeks go pink.

“You think I’m hot?” He all but gasps, like this is brand new information to him.

Like you would’ve brought him home from the club if he wasn’t — and goddamn, was he ever. Carrying himself with the kind of confidence that made your knees wobble; saying all the right things in a low, smoky tone with his lips at your ear; moving his body in ways that still fluster you to think about.

And yet, here he is.

Adorable, if not completely obtuse.

After grabbing plates from a nearby cabinet, he snags two pairs of chopsticks out of the drawer to the left of the sink. It takes all you’ve got not to roll your eyes. He shouldn’t know where either of those things are, but he does.

A satisfied sigh slips out of his mouth when he takes the seat next to yours and scoots a plate full of eggs and kimchi in front of you.

“Here you go,” he sings as he holds out a pair of your own chopsticks to you.

He’s beaming when you accept them into your hand, and it leaves you with no choice but to take a bite of the food in front of you. Intently and chronically hopeful, he watches you pluck a piece of scrambled egg from the plate, like the trajectory of his life hinges on your approval. There’s no turning back now. Reluctantly, you pop it into your mouth.

While you chew, he leans in a bit closer. From this distance, you can see your own reflection in his irises; there are tiny flecks of honey brown amidst the dark, you realize. Little details you didn’t notice last night when he was much, much closer — like the heart-shaped curve his upper lip takes when he smiles as big as he is now.

“How is it?” He asks, walking the borderline between eager and unbearably shy.

You swallow hard as you snap back to attention. If letting him stay for breakfast was a bad call, getting caught gawking at him is a flagrant foul. Somehow, you need to get the point across without being too cruel; to remind him that you signed up for the night and not the morning.

“Um. Well,” you start with a grimace, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Are eggs supposed to… crunch?”

[JUNE]

“Oh, fuck, just like that —”

Your back arches off the bed as you grip uselessly at sweat-drenched sheets. Between your spread thighs, Soonyoung and the punishing pace he’s set make quick work of pulling you apart, again. His right arm loops under your left leg to anchor you to him while his left palm presses down on your lower abdomen, making damn sure that every thrust drags over your g-spot.

This — this right here — is why you keep calling him back. He may overstay his welcome, but that’s an occupational hazard. His perpetual presence is a risk you’re willing to take, so long as he fucks you like this.

“Shit. You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

He’s panting as he says it, which surprises the hell out of you. His stamina is unearthly, and when you manage to keep your eyes open long enough to look up at him, you don’t see any hint of effort. It's just the ragged sound of his breathing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“I think this might be a new personal record.”

Unfortunately, his little announcement is genuine. He’s merely stating a fact, not trying to tease you, because his only concern outside of making you cum is outdoing himself.

To Soonyoung, sex is a performance he’s trying to perfect. He approaches it like an Olympian — an athlete or a god? — and the bar he sets for himself raises every time you see him.

You find it the tiniest bit endearing how focused he is on self-improvement.

Kind of.

That doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes, though.

“Not if you keep —” A moan that you didn’t mean to let out cuts your sentence in half. “— talking.”

Your head crashes back against the pillows, which only spurs him on. Deeper, more deliberate strokes leave you writhing underneath him, babbling like a fool. He grins so wide that his eyes almost disappear.

“I’m just saying…” Another thrust, a thousand more stars dotting the periphery of your vision. “If you hit five, you owe me dinner.”

There it is, right on cue: another piece of evidence to prove that Soonyoung still doesn’t know what he signed up for.

It’s a conversation you’ve had more than once — never because you want to have it; and never because he seems to be consciously seeking something more than what you have.

At some point over the past few months of scattered nights with you, a seed seems to have taken root in the back of his brain. A zombie parasite, more likely; one that’s overridden the controls and completely undermined his understanding of the situation.

Whether he means it or not, these throw-away comments make you wonder if, deep down, he’s not wired to fuck without feelings.

Not like you, anyway.

Your self-preservation instincts don’t let you get that far. Risk-averse to your core, you don’t see the point of gambling when the stakes are that high. And even if you weren’t wary of getting yourself hurt, it wouldn’t change the fundamental truth that you enjoy your own company enough not to need anyone else’s.

The way you see it, Soonyoung can have a cameo in your weekends, but the plot of your life right now doesn’t need anything more than that. Changing the lineup now could fuck your whole season. So, why try?

To his credit, he seems to get that there are currently more pressing matters at hand than the same old conversation. He pats your hip and says, “Let’s switch it up.”

You’re as grateful for the subject change as you are for the hand he extends to help your boneless body sit up again. Thankfully, the one lesson he has learned is that no one can compete with his perpetually full battery. If he’s going to change positions as often as he wants to, he has to be the one to position you.

This time, you wind up with your back flush against his chest, skin slick against yours. To keep him close, you reach back until your hand finds the nape of his neck. After weaving your fingers through the damp hair at the base of his head, you tug slightly, pulling a low groan out of him.

“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts breathlessly. “Pull my hair.”

You do as he says, albeit a bit harder than you meant to; you can’t help it. That’s the exact moment he chooses to grab your hips and slam your ass back against his pelvis, perfectly in time with his forward snap. He’s in your guts now, there’s no doubt about it, and you’re falling to pieces.

Wailing, you have to squeeze your eyes shut to survive the surge of pleasure coursing through you. “Oh, my god,” you choke out.

The only way you manage to stay upright through your orgasm is with Soonyoung’s arms caging you in. Without him, you’d be a trembling fucking mess, collapsing face-down onto your bed in a useless heap. He keeps holding you even when he lets himself go soon after, spilling into the condom with a moan you feel as it leaves his chest.

“Goddamn,” he sighs, voice rough. The heat of his breath on your neck almost makes you want to cling to him, curl up and let your eyes flutter shut. “Every time I fuck you, I feel like I should thank you.”

That flicker of affection goes out in a flash as the memory of consequences comes back around. You snort. “Please don’t cook for me again.”

You leave it at that, and so does he. When he finally pulls out of you, you give into the safer urge; the one that can’t possible give him the wrong impression. Slumping forward, you hit the mattress so hard that you practically bounce, like the dead weight you are.

Soonyoung misses that spectacle, thankfully. He’s already on his feet, tying off the condom before dropping it into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. You hear it drop against the plastic bag, then the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way back to you. You unbury your face from the pillows and crane your neck to look over at him.

In a rare display, he looks exhausted. Moments like this might be the only time he ever finds himself depleted, and you figure he’s earned that right. Part of you wants to let him lay here with you — maybe even let him sleep it off — but you can’t let him get tangled in the strings you refuse to attach.

He’s halfway to you when he finally looks up at you and catches you watching him. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression; you’d bet it’s as confusing on the outside as it feels on the inside. Whatever he finds there, it makes him pause. There's a quick nod, like he’s reacting to something neither one of you has said out loud, then he changes course.

“You have to be up early,” he says, like he’s finally learned the script. “I’m gonna head out.”

You nod but say nothing else. You just watch as Soonyoung grabs the clothes you’d tugged off of him earlier, piece by piece, and puts everything back to the way it was before.

The way you want it.

Once he’s fully clothed, he shoots you a smile that only uses half of his mouth. Neither of you offers a word as he walks over to the door, although you can tell he’s moving more slowly than usual. Hoping you’ll stop him, maybe.

You don’t.

It’s not until he pulls it open that he looks back over his shoulder at you; and this time, when he smiles, it looks like he means it.

“Sleep well, yeah?”

[OCTOBER]

“I’m just saying that if her shithead brother bothered to include her in his night, maybe she wouldn’t have been decapitated."

You tear your eyes off the television screen in time to see Minghao’s eyes roll all the way back into his head. Across the coffee table from where you sit, he and Mei occupy the couch; his head crashes against the back of it with a muffled thump while his younger sibling continues their rant.

“I’m being for real,” Mei urges, jabbing their finger emphatically through the air in his direction. “If you ever bail on me like that, and my head ends up falling off, you deserve whatever consequences come next.”

You snort. “Up to and including… what, demonic possession?”

“Absolutely,” Mei sniffs.

Minghao sits upright again slowly. He chews thoughtfully on his lower lip, leaving you and your roommate in suspense. Knowing him, he’ll lecture you both on karmic energy and how Mei shouldn’t fuck around with it. To both of your surprise, he frowns. “Is it bad that I kind of want cake now?”

You and Mei respond at the same time, although your responses are nothing alike:

“I think we have some left over.”

“Yes, you’re a monster.”

Despite what they just called him, Mei is nothing if not a good host. With a beleaguered huff, they push themselves off the couch, step carefully over the legs Minghao doesn’t move out of their path, and stalks off towards the kitchen to forage for food.

Left alone in the living room, you and Minghao fall into an easy silence, eyes glued once again to the screen. It’s always been easier to get through a movie without Mei’s commentary; this one would’ve been finished an hour ago if they hadn’t kept pausing it to ramble. You’re so immersed in it that you hardly hear the way they’re tearing through the kitchen like a cyclone. You almost miss the soft knock at the door, too.

Immediately, your optimistic eyes flick over to Minghao. He’s closer to the door, and if you stare at him long enough, he might let you stay in the armchair you’ve all but fused to.

“Nope,” he says coolly, without even looking.

Whining, you peel off the blanket you’ve wrapped yourself in and unfurl your knotted legs. You shiver when your bare feet touch the cold wood below, but bravely, you don’t retreat. You push forward on tiptoe and skip across the living room until you reach the front door.

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead when you open it to find Soonyoung standing there for the first time in several weeks. While overstaying his welcome is his signature, showing up uninvited never has been. That’s apparently one line in the sand he won’t stumble over.

“Hey,” you peep.

For reasons unknown, you have to pause to let your gaze sweep over him, like something might’ve drastically changed about him since you saw him last. There’s a tiny flutter in the center of your chest that begs you to greet him more emphatically than that, but you ignore it.

Soonyoung looks more apologetic than you’ve ever seen him, which makes your pulse quicken even more.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” he swears. “I think I left my headphones here last time. I’ve looked everywhere, I promise, but they’re just — gone.”

Your first instinct is to ask why he brought headphones to a dick appointment in the first place, but you talk yourself out of it. The next is to find out why he came all the way over here on a hunch, rather than simply texting you; he hasn’t in a while, not that you’ve taken it to heart. But you don’t do that, either, which strikes you as odd.

Instead, you step back and push the door open wider, once again letting the stray inside. “No worries,” you breeze.

Since when?

As it turns out, letting him in doesn’t bring the sky crashing down around you. Taking a single brick out of the wall you’ve fastidiously built doesn’t bring about the end of days. It just brings a shy bow and a quiet “thank you” while he toes off his shoes.

He turns to head toward your bedroom with you following behind him, but he stops short after a few steps. Crashing into his back — god, he’s broader than he looks — you grab his biceps to keep from bowling him over entirely.

“Shit — I’m so sorry.” He wheels around, failing to realize that you’re as close as you are. You can see panic light up his eyes, now mere centimeters from yours. “I didn’t realize you had somebody over.”

What is that scribbled all over his face?

It’s not anger, you know that much. Nothing about the way he’s looking at you reads like jealousy, either. If anything, he seems genuinely torn-up over what he assumes is date-crashing. Guilty, maybe.

So, why do you feel bad?

“Mei’s brother,” you explain quickly, as if he’s owed one. “Our annual horror movie marathon. We — all of us — do it every October.”

Why did you add that qualifier in there?

Soonyoung’s face brightens immediately, and you feel the tiniest bit warmer now that the corners of his mouth aren’t curved downward anymore. You wish that surprised you, but it doesn’t.

Why should it? You’ve given into him more often than not, haven’t you?

All he says is, “Oh,” in the tiniest voice you’ve ever heard, like he’s embarrassed himself for the first time in his life.

It grows quiet while the two of you continue to stand there in the half-light. If you discount the screaming, the flickering colors coming from the television screen make it feel almost — cozy?

But you’ve been gazing up at him for far too long, so you clear your throat. “Your — umm — your headphones. Do you remember where you left them?”

You nudge him slightly to get him moving, which he does without complaint.

“I think they jumped out of my pocket when you…” Soonyoung’s voice trails off. As you pass by, he glances over at Minghao, who either can’t hear your conversation or doesn’t give a shit about it.

With that indifference confirmed, Soonyoung looks back at you with a smirk. “You broke my zipper, you know. I had to take those jeans to a tailor to fix it.”

Immediately, your cheeks start burning.

Resident fuck monster, reporting for duty! Here to rip clothes to shreds and —

He touches your wrist, just for a second. “It’s cute,” he assures you, even though you haven’t said a word.

And it doesn’t do a damn thing to keep that heat from rising up your face.

You step into your bedroom before you can think of what to say in response, so you let the moment pass and flick on the light. Just as soon as he joins you inside, Soonyoung lays eyes on what he came for — which is a miracle. That thin, white cord is practically invisible under your dresser.

“Ah!” He chirps, bending down to grab it.

Looking triumphant as hell, he tucks it into the pocket of his joggers and shoots you a grin. Suddenly, you find it hard to mimic his smile, although you don’t know why.

He got what he came for, didn’t he? He’ll be out of your hair in a matter of moments, which is exactly what you’ve been demanding of him for months. You had to train him to get in and get out, and when he eventually learned, the relief was immediate.

So, why don’t you feel relieved now?

Soonyoung must hear your trains of thought derailing because he comes in hot with a distraction. As usual, it’s out of left field, just like the soft brush of his fingers on your bare arm.

“You’re cold.”

It’s not a question.

There aren’t even goosebumps on your arm; and there’s no reason why he should know by looking at you that you are, in fact, freezing. But he does, and before you can ask how the fuck that’s possible, he spins around to the dresser nearby and grabs the handle jutting out of the bottom-left drawer.

How does he —?

You open your mouth to speak. The words disappear when he stands upright again, now holding out a sweatshirt from the drawer you keep them in. He’s only seen you open it once before, and the fact that he remembers is making you dizzy.

Soonyoung’s expectant eyes lock on your face, looking at you the same way he did when he handed you those burnt fucking eggs. This time, though, you don’t hesitate to accept what he’s giving you. You tug that sweatshirt over your head without missing a beat, instantly learning that it’s much bigger on you than you remember.

Stunned, you blink back at him from underneath the hood, which obscures most of your forehead. “Is this —?”

You grab the fabric from the front of it in your hands as you look down. At first glance, it looks like the million other white sweatshirts tucked into your drawer, but —

“This isn’t mine.”

Your eyes flick back up to Soonyoung, who’s fighting for his life to bite back a smile.

Six months ago, you might’ve knocked him on his ass for this, but now, you can’t keep it together, either. You crack wide open, laughing so hard that your eyes almost disappear.

“When the hell did you sneak that in there?” You wheeze, wiping tears as they spill over your lash line. The smack you land against his arm is cloaked in a sweater paw, dealing no damage except to crack him open, too. “God, I was never going to get rid of you, was I?”

Beaming, he slips his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front and tugs you closer; you let him. “It was just in case I get cold, I swear.”

“Is that it?” You narrow your eyes playfully. “Are you sure?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, although you don’t believe him for a second. “It does look good on you, though. Maybe you should hang on to it.”

��To the sweatshirt?”

Watching him blush like that may never get old. Still, he maintains his bluff and nods.

“Yeah. I mean, why not? Right? It’s comfortable.” He shrugs, not even the slightest bit casually. “A cotton blend, I think. Pre-shrunk, so… It’ll — uh, never be your size, I guess. That’s — um — that’s kind of a bummer, but…”

“Soonyoung!” You cut him off with a breathless laugh, prompting him to shut his rambling mouth.

The rare use of his name seems to startle him. His eyes go wide with that typical, hopeful anticipation that he never seems to leave home without. That look hasn’t disappeared after six months of getting shot down on a weekly basis, and neither has the way he hangs onto every word you say.

This time, it might actually be what he’s been waiting to hear.

“Do you….?”

It might be a new personal record, you caving like this after holding someone at arm’s length for so long. The relief is automatic, spreading through muscle that you didn’t even realize had been aching.

“If you’re not busy, do you want to stay?”

#svt #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #hoshi fluff #soonyoung fluff #svt fic #svt smut #svt fluff #jade writes #re: sweatshirt season #ksy #kvanity

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chemblrish · 2 months ago

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Hey Lena, any tips for how to make friends in uni as a nerdy but introverted/socially anxious girlie? 🥺 thank youu

Hi!

I need you to know I saw this ask and immediately thought, "Did I just get a message from my past self?" 😅 Nerdy and introverted? Check. Used to have very bad social anxiety? Check. I was in therapy though and it was immensely helpful! I'm still a little shy but doing incomparably better, so I can tell you what I've learnt and hopefully some of it can help you too :)

Excuse the language, but first of all, you need to give yourself a fucking break. Shy people, we tend to fixate on ourselves: our looks, our posture, on whether what we just said was weird, and so, all our flaws (both real and imaginary) appear magnified tenfold - but only to us. Because truth is, nobody else is judging you half as harshly as you're judging yourself. Nobody is analyzing all your jokes or the way you walk. If you trip or say something awkward, it genuinely doesn't matter. It happens to everybody sometimes, it's okay. Remember that there's nothing wrong with you. Maybe you're shy, maybe you're easily overwhelmed, maybe you have very little experience making friends - but none of these make you inherently weird. So give yourself a break. You're sincerely doing a lot better than you think, I promise.

Small talk is actually not a bad thing, no matter what some edgelords may try to tell you. I used to spark up a lot of conversations early on in uni by bringing up things like the last test (because most of the time I'd get a mildly pained sigh in response and then we'd bond over how hard it was and how the professor was crazy lol) or the upcoming lab class ("Any interesting exercises in your schedule?") or how my commute to uni that day wrecked me and hey are you a commuter? Oh, you live in a dorm, how do you like it? And many other things of this sort, because if you think about it, uni is a neverending source of conversation topics when you're a student talking to another student.

You know how shy people are advised to just ask questions because everybody loves talking about themselves? That's not a bad advice. The trick is to be genuinely curious about other people. Don't ask just to say something, ask to hear what that other person has to say. This is helpful for two reasons: it takes the focus away from you (which is exactly where shy people shouldn't keep it) by directing it at the other person, and it actually helps to keep the conversation going, because it allows you to find either another thing that might interest you about that person or something to share about yourself.

Maybe it's obvious, but don't hide yourself. I know it's a lot easier to just curl up in a corner with your phone, but you gotta put yourself out there. Hang out with the rest of your course mates outside the lecture hall as you're all waiting for the professor. Take your time packing up afterwards instead of dashing straight for the exit. Don't look for that secluded spot where you can hide safely with a book (even though your introvert instinct tells you to do just that), be where the other students hang out.

Sometimes you have to keep choosing someone. Storytime with a moral: I took a liking to one of my current friends very early in the first semester. She seemed like exactly the kind of person I wanted to stick with in uni. I'd always come up to her and talk to her first but she hardly ever did the same. For some time I'd think, "Welp, clearly she doesn't dislike me, but she doesn't seem to like me much either." Now I can't even remember when that changed, but in an honest conversation we had maybe last month (so after almost two years of knowing each other!!), she told me she often struggles with figuring out whether someone likes her and wants her around or not, so she usually just stays away. You aren't the only introvert out there. Maybe the person you're trying to befriend is also a little anxious and needs a bit more time and effort from you. Don't give up too easily!

Not all people are your people and that's okay. You'll find that trying to talk to someone continuously feels like a chore no matter your good intentions. That doesn't mean there's something wrong with you or with them. Everybody can't click with everybody and that's fine!

And lastly: "different friends for different things" is a liberating philosophy. Maybe there's this one person in this one class that you always sit with and get along with well, but it doesn't seem like either of you wants to take it any further than that. Cool! That's your buddy X from Y class. Not everyone has to be your bestie who knows all your secrets and shares all your interests. Be open to the concept of casual friends, so that you don't miss out on the more meaningful relationships by chasing someone who's just not feelin' it if you know what I mean.

Good luck my fellow introvert. Remember getting better at making friends is a process but also a skill that can be practiced and polished. You got this, I'm rooting for you!

#i hope these can be helpful #i remember the absolute hell of watching everyone around bond and make friends and just being there like 👁️👄👁️#and i really do think with shyness especially the key step is to give yourself that fucking break #there's nothing wrong with you relax everyone else is only human too #inbox

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bekolxeram · 22 days ago

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I woke up to a dash full of bones, and I thought to myself: What a day to be a moopsy!

But then I realized it was the same kind of bones people have been trying to force feed me since May. I'm a moopsy with standards, give me herringbone, funny bone, trombone, Jackson Rathbone (jk I've never seen Twilight), any other kind of bone.

Please don't force a moopsy into vegetarianism.

Oh, and I've read that opinion piece. It's certainly one of the articles ever written.

First of all, I feel like I'm in a time loop, I can't believe I have to dig through the vault to find this post from June. Tommy wasn't taking Eddie on an "adventure" in 7x04. Both flying and combat sports have been Tommy's passions way before Eddie showed up in his life. They happened to share common interests, so Tommy asked Eddie to tag along for the ride, but he was going to Vegas anyway, solo or not.

Exploring your partner's interests would be more like... I don't know, showing up to a groom-less (and fun-less) bachelor party while being on standby because it's important to your partner? Listening to him ramble about a dead outlaw even though you're so tired from your shift and taking care of him all night that you're basically mumbling half-asleep, yet still manages to catch that he's said "crossed" twice? Thinking your partner is stressing himself over a stupid curse but you still put on a nice suit, drive him to the cemetery and stand behind him while he gives a century old mummy a eulogy, for it to unexpectedly turn into a moment of connection between you two?

Secondly, I'm not even getting into the whole "slow burn is the only valid form of romance" thing. I just never imagined there would be a day I see the words "slow burn" and Bathena put together. They're the antithesis of slow burn. They're explosions in the form of beautiful fireworks. I understand that the author only started the show about a month ago? But literally, in the first episode of S7, Athena told the therapist that while she loved her husband, she didn't know how to just slow down and chill out with him. The cruise ship disaster arc ended with them bonding over yet another near death experience. Life's too short for slow to them.

Thirdly, 9-1-1 doesn't really do cute dates? It's either in the ending montage of an arc or it's a setup for some terrible misfortune afterwards. It's not a YA style queer coming-of-age show either, the best you'll see Buck navigating through queer spaces is speeding from "calling himself an ally while on a date with a guy" through "walking into a room full of people with a soot eating grin". (While we're on that, I guess I have to dig out another post from June about the first date closet comment. Tommy took the initiative to tell Eddie they were just hanging out, and Eddie bought it. He didn't mind keeping Buck's sexuality private, but he did mind Buck pushing him back into the closet with the hot chick lie.)

Finally, Tommy has been relatively involved in the Fire Fam circle ever since his re-introduction. He literally stole borrowed a helicopter and flew the 118 to the Pacific Ocean just to save Bathena. He was at the wedding, he was at the medal ceremony, and now he's part of the hospital vigil for Denny. And each time he's not just there for Buck, he's there for Chimney, he's there for Hen too. For someone who puts so much emphasis on "slow burn", the author seems rather hasty in pronouncing BuckTommy dead on arrival, after watching a total of 5 out of 18 episodes this season (with 2 of them heavily featuring passengers on the plane and putting the whole fire fam to the side no less). Every relationship takes time to build up, I'm sure the author understands that, welcoming a new member into your family is not a question of yes or no, it's also a question of when. Tommy has mentioned 3 times how much he wanted to have a team like that behind his back, how alone he was navigating through life with only negative influence like his father or Gerrard. Buck's story in 8x05 started as a spooky comedy about a mummy, but ended as a heartwarming tale of Buck empathizing with Billy's loneliness and declaring himself part of Billy's posse. So what do you think will be the more satisfying payoff to Tommy's story? Him being formally welcomed to the family eventually? Or having him break up with Buck then cast aside with a mere "lol sucks not being a main ig"?

#Please save a moopsy from eating disorder #“It's not a slow burn so it's not end game but at the same time he's not integrated into the mains' lives fast enough”#Can someone help me out with the logic in that?#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan #911 discourse

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palmtreesx3 · 10 months ago

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Act 4 - Going All the Way

Queening (Steve's Chapter)

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Summary: (10.6k) Steve’s phone call with his dad does not go well, and the aftermath of that call impacts way more than Steve himself. Steve has to realize a few things, only one of which is that he’s got people there to pick him up when he’s down, but the most important is that relationships don’t have to be conditional. As everyone rallies behind Steve, a revelation comes in the form of a stranger on a bench, and that chance meeting starts a few wheels in motion behind Steve’s pretty head. Can he fix what he’s done when he was down and out? Can he patch things up? Is this the end of the road, or can he go all the way? Buckle up, and enjoy this angsty chapter of Get Off.

Warnings: it's a sex shop and generally just NSFW so 18+. Heavier topics are explored, depicted or mentioned including prejudice and anti-gay bias, heavy binge drinking as escapism, depression and a blink of thinking better off dead, controlling parents, overstimulation and some dashes of neurotypical behavior you can catch if you blink slowly enough. There’s also the ongoing sexual innuendos and explicit discussion of body parts, as well as implied p+v intercourse, and the holy grail of pussyeating.

"What the hell is going on, son?" his father's voice bellowed through the phone. "I just heard from a colleague that you're working in some... some pornographic store downtown! In town for business and he could have sworn he saw your lookalike walking into the place, but then you turned around and he knew it was my own flesh and blood. How goddamned embarrassing, Stephen. Do you know how embarrassing that conversation is to have over a business dinner?"

Steve winced at the tone his father took, a visceral response he’s had since childhood. A tone he knows well and somehow still cuts just as deep as it did when he was thirteen. "Dad, it's not like that. It's just a job. It’s…it’s retail, s’all it is" he stammered, attempting to diffuse the tension. To deflect. To play ball.

His father scoffed, "Retail job? Don't play games with me. I've spent years paying for whatever you need, trying to get you scholarships for sports which you squander away with your shitty grades, and this is what you end up doing? Sitting on your ass for a few years and working in some seedy place, peddling who knows what!"

"It's not like that at all. It's just a store, and we sell lots of things, not…not just that stuff, Dad." Steve tries desperately to explain, slipping right back into it - the role of a boy trying to find any excuse to satiate a father that could never be pleased. Like the time he was a shameful teenage boy being told he’s worthless as he stood in the entryway of the house, barely over the threshold, all because he passed the ball and let Sammy Curtis sink the game winning shot instead of taking it himself.

"That stuff” he interrupts with a scoff. “Is this what I raised you for? I expected you to have a respectable career by now. Thought this move to the city was going to give you some fresh choices, not this... this filth!"

Steve was not ready for this. Half his hangover was still hanging on for dear life. Just a moment ago things were…not this complicated. He was eating a raw bagel talking about…you…with his friend. Even when that was the thing that felt complicated it wasn't really, was it? It was simple, and easy and… Now he’s struggling to find the words to defend himself, especially hard long-distance, though he also guesses he should be grateful it was - he wasn’t forced to see the rage and disappointment behind his father’s eyes this particular time."Dad, it's just a job. We needed work, and this opportunity came up. It doesn't define who I am. I just…it shouldn’t matter that much."

“Just a job? Stephen? What do you mean just a job?” At that, Steve can hear his voice slip into a deeper register. He knows the face that goes along with this. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his father is going to try and ruin his life. It’s not much of one, but it’s his, and he can just tell that he’s about ready to pull the rug out from under him.

“You're 25, for God's sake! When are you going to get a real job, a job that befits the family name? Do you think your mother and I worked so hard for you to end up in some disgraceful position like this? Galavanting around a city and being a part in all this promiscuity. Goddamnit, at this rateI bet you even associate with the gays. Don’t you?"

He feels his body tense and wince as those words spill out of his fathers mouth. His eyes flit to his friend, sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under her and perched there watching one side of this debacle unfold like a deer in headlights. Forcing a smile at him, an awkward smile of encouragement, none the wiser about the hate his father is spewing about people like… about her. Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes thinking about it and Robin sees them - or at least she thinks she does - and her eyebrows furrow in concern. But before she can be sure, he turns around refusing to show his vulnerability right now even to her. He bites his lip to stifle the visceral response he had to his dad’s prejudices about his friend. "Dad, I'm doing my best. I'm trying to make a living and figure things out. It's not as easy as you think."

His father's tone softened with a hint of disappointment unlike the frustration and anger that has been flowing out of him since the minute Steve picked up the phone. In almost a plea, he says "You're embarrassing us, son. This is not the life I envisioned for you. You need to reconsider your choices and start acting like an adult."

After a brief silence, his father's voice returned, this time laced again with frustration - the softness that just fell was all an act. This is the hammer Steve was expecting, and it’s falling. Right now. "Enough of this nonsense. You're coming back home. I've arranged for a position for you in the firm. You'll start immediately. Stability, respect – those are the things you need. Not whatever you're doing in that disgraceful place."

Steve ran his free hand through his hair, shaking his head but not really knowing what to say. Dragging his hand back down his face, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The pressure to conform to his father's expectations had been a constant weight on his shoulders for his entire life and this is not the first time this conversation has been had. This time feels different though. Before he hadn’t had anything to call his own - not as much to lose. This stupid apartment and the life that they’re living, it’s been good. Maybe the best thing that he’s ever had. And it’s been his. Before, his dad just wanted control. This time, he wants to control him and strip him of the actual identity he’s been working so hard to understand and build. "Dad, I... I need some time to figure things out here. I can't just drop everything and come back."

His father's tone grew more insistent. "Time? You've had enough time, and look where it's gotten you – working in a place like that! It's time to put an end to this foolishness. You're coming back, and that's final."

Steve hesitated, torn between his desire for independence and the fear of his dad. He takes a deep breath and finally responds "I appreciate your concern, but I need to make my own choices. I can't just give up on everything I've built here."

"Built? You call this building a life? What have you accomplished, working in that... that den of immorality? Come home, and I'll set you on the right path. It's time you take responsibility for your future."

As his father continued to insist, Steve’s yearning to forge his own path and avoid any that looks remotely like his fathers continues to intensify. He’s tuning out the insults at this point, desperate to find some sort of life raft to hold on to as he drowns in his fathers disappointments. It’s only then, that he finds it. The lifeline. The realization that he's got miles between him and his father now. He’s not coming home later to ground him or impose punishments on him. He isn’t relying on their money to pay bills. His mind is racing a mile a minute, and nothing…not one fucking thing he can land on points to any reason that he has to comply with his father. He isn’t depending on him for anything anymore, so why does he owe his dad anything at all?

"I'll think about it, Dad," And with that, he hangs up, knowing full well that he won’t think about it for another goddamn second.

And that day, Steve called out of work.

Robin couldn’t even argue with him. After the receiver hit the wall, she could tell that it was worse than she expected the minute he turned around and she could see his eyes glistening. She also was confused as fuck, because she swore she also saw him smirking just a little bit, but she was not going to poke the bear. She let him storm off and slam the door to his room. She didn’t bother him even though everything inside of her was screaming to go knock on the door and make him talk about it. Make him listen to her. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t anything that his father probably just said he was, but they’ve had this conversation before and…damnit she was working really hard at knowing boundaries - trying to read the room and figure out when she needs to shut up instead of rambling incessantly at all the wrong times. She thinks that this is one of those times that people need space, so she acquiesced.

She makes a full pot of coffee, sets out some more food and the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and leaves it all out on the kitchen counter for Steve for whenever he emerges once she’s gone. Subtle. Not every way to help has to be in your face, she tells herself. I don’t need to meddle. He’ll let me know if he needs anything. Right?

Robin’s walk to work that day was quiet and dreary. The weather outside, overcast and air thick with that feeling that comes before the clouds break open and pour down on you. Seemed fitting.

It took Robin five whole minutes after she got to work and put her stuff away before she meddled anyway. She picked up the phone once, and quickly set it down - thinking better of it. But immediately picked it back up against her better judgment and called you. As your answering machine picks up and your message plays, dripping with sarcasm and coyness asking your caller to leave a message after the beep, the realization hits then that she has no idea what your schedule is and it was a dumb idea to call you. Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.

As the silence settles on the other end of the line Robin’s eyes widen in panic. She meant to hang up, call back later, pretend this didn’t happen at all and play it off as a wrong number. But she’s pretty fucking sure she just said that out loud instead of in her head. “Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.”

She hung up faster than the devil can fly, slamming down the phone and rattling the display case. The commotion drew Murry out from the back office, shirt pulled up and scratching at his stomach. “What’s got you all worked up Red? Little lost without your other half? Where is he anyway? Finally ruined his perfect attendance because of a wicked hangover, didn’t he? Make sure you tell ‘em he’s not eligible for the Perfect Attendance award this year, nowwww–ohhh something is off about this... What is it Red?.”

So for the next hour, Robin tries her best to summarize what it’s like to have the Harrington’s as parents and what just happened this morning. At least what she knew, because Steve hadn’t shared anything that his dad had said on the other end of that line. “Red, thank God you talk so fast, otherwise that story would have taken up your whole shift. Shit.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of Robin, which makes Murray smile. “Listen, that guy sounds like a Grade-A Asshole. No wonder Steve’s wound so tight…Makes so much sense actually. But this ain’t your fight. Steve’s gotta deal with this demon on his own and he has a funny way of showing it, but he knows where to find the people to help when he needs them. I’m sure of it. He’s not that fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, see you’re wrong there Murray. He does absolutely think that he has to do everything on his own. Even when he knows we’re here, he won’t… he won’t ask for help. He won’t talk about it. He…thinks he deserves it.”

It ended up being a slow day, not many people wandering the streets with the off and on drizzles happening all day long, so Robin used that time to bring Alex up to speed after she popped in the shop after work.

Alex found the story surprisingly relatable. She grew up in a house with rich, successful parents just outside the city in the suburbs. Her parents hosted lavish dinner parties for business partners and she grew up in a way that seemed an awful lot like the Harrington house, other than the fact that they didn’t disappear on her for weeks on end. Her parents, however, were disappointed in her. Unlike Steve’s story, they were not pissed at her skill or her work ethic, her dreams or aspirations. No, they were pissed and disappointed at who was calling the house late at night and giggling on the other end of the phone. Who was picking her up for a night at the movies, or who she was driving off to meet under the swaying trees in the park. The boys she was dating were not good enough for the family - not a “strong enough merger of families” and then when she brought home a girl…well that was a horse of a different color all together.

Five hours later, Robin and Alex are standing outside of their favorite pizza place in the neighborhood, thinking that a pie and some beers might just draw a sulking Steve out of his cave of self-loathing for the night. They haven’t heard from him all day, and Robin, despite thinking she should maybe let him be for a while, still decided to try and call home to check in on him. When he didn’t answer, Alex offered up a simple explanation, “Rob, he’s probably just sleeping it off, or not in the mood. It’ll be fine.”

Pies and six packs now acquired, they walk side by side the rest of the way back to the apartment, ready for whatever their friend might need.

“Honey, we’re home!” Robin exclaims, as they barrel through the door. But she stops dead in her tracks seeing the counter laid out with all of the supplies, perfectly arranged exactly how she left them that morning. “Steve? Y’okay?”she shouts down the hallway, on her way to tap at his door before she hears Alex call her name from the living room, beckoning her to come.

When she arrives, what she doesn’t expect to see are the crushed cans of High Life strewn all over the coffee table, an ashtray so full that she knew he had to blow through most of the pack he has tucked away from when they drink, and the half emptied bottle of Whiskey sitting at the foot of the couch. He didn’t even bother with a glass, she knew it. He spent the day trying to drink away the awful things that sorry excuse for a father said to him straight from the bottle.

His shoes - the Chucks, the ones he’s been wearing lately - they’re not by the door. Neither is his jacket, so she knows he left and went somewhere.

But then a high pitched beeping sings from the kitchen, and Robin immediately knows that Steve’s Tamagotchi is hungry…he left, but he forgot his keys. That stupid drunk idiot got locked out.

All the strings Robin has been holding together all day come loose. They unravel like a dangling thread on a handknit sweater and Alex is pretty sure she hadn’t taken one breath since she started rambling. “Ohmygoddoyouthinkhe’sokay? Whatifsomethinghappenedtohim? Ican’tlivewithmyself. Howdoweevenfindhim? OhmygodI’mgonnahavetotellthekidshe’smissing. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

“Robin.” Alex calmly speaks.

“Ifhe’sdeadI’mblaminghisdad,Isweartogodhe’sasgoodasadeadmanhimself”

“Robin.”

“Jesus,weshouldcallthehopsital? Ormaybethepolice. Yeahwegottacallsomeone. Ohmygod.”

“ROBIN!” Alex finally screams, two hands on her shoulders now shaking her into some sense of reality. “You’re spiraling. You can’t be spiraling. We have to think.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just….”

“Rob, I know you’re worried. We’ll figure it out. Okay?” Alex slides her hand along Robin’s cheek, around her neck and tugging her in for a deep hug, trying to get her to reset, regroup…focus. “Babe, first thing….why do you think he would leave?”

Pulling back, she assesses the situation. Eyes darting around the apartment, closing her eyes so she could think. Just then they pop open looking at the mess on the coffee table. The beer. That was the last of the beer.

“He was out…” she whispers. “I bet he ran out of beer. That was all we had, and it looks like he polished it off.”

“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk. Check some places where he might get some beers - maybe the corner store you guys go to? See if anyone has seen him, okay? Sound good babe?” Alex’s tone is cool, calm. Her eyes are caring and concerned not just for Steve but also for Robin. She’s being so soft, and even in her panicked haze, Robin notices.

“Al…Thank you. I needed that.”

With a soft kiss on her temple, Alex grabs Robin’s hand and tugs her towards the door. “Now don’t forget your keys, either, you maniac. Let’s go.”

It’s three pit stops and two meltdowns from Robin on the sidewalk curb later that they find him. It’s honestly the first place they should have looked, but at least they were on the right track.

Steve did, in fact, get raging pissed that he was out of beer. The cashier they recognize, but don’t know his name, told them as much - mentioned that their friend came in angry and stumbling, grabbed a pack of beer and left it in the middle of the aisle when he rushed out of the store grumbling to himself. It seems as though dear Stevie also forgot his wallet.

The next place they thought to look was The Hideout. Robin thought that maybe he’d come looking for her, begging for some cash so he could replenish his stash. Pay no mind to the fact that it was past closing for a weeknight and Robin was long gone, at this point they were absolutely certain Steve had no idea what time it even was. Half expecting to see him leaning on the door of the shop, or passed out in a slump on the front stoop, when they came up empty handed again Robin needed to cry.

Head in her hands, leaning on her knees as she sits on the curb, Alex tries to stifle a laugh at how splotchy faced and snotty her beautiful girl is right now. “Baby,” she says, pushing back her hair “Baby…let’s think, kay? is there anywhere else Steve feels safe in this city? Who else does he feel safe with other than you?”

The revelation comes quickly.

Head popping up with a renewed sense of confidence in their search for their missing and probably sloppily drunk friend “I bet he’s at Bennys.”

And after a 10 minute walk that is the most silent Robin Buckley has ever been in her entire life, she lets out a breath that she may or may not have been holding the entire time when the door to Benny’s swings open and she takes in Steve with his forehead on the bar. Hopper is standing behind the bar polishing glasses with an irritated scowl and right in front of Steve stands a Joyce, hand right on top of his with sad, concerned eyes that flit right to the girls who just sounded the bell.

Pitiful. The look Joyce was giving him was pity. And if Steve were coherent enough to realize it, he would be completely ashamed to be receiving it from anyone. Steve was shitfaced drunk out of shame and disappointment and whatever feelings of inadequacy he was shielding away from everyone else in his life, but at least he was safe. Thank Christ he had the decency to come to Benny’s, where at least Joyce would take care of him - make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid.

“Steve!” Robin yells, rushing over to his side “Steve, we didn’t know where you were. And you left your keys. I was so worried. We thought you were dead, I swear….well I thought you were dead. Alex was much more rational, but…”

A groan falls from Steve’s throat as their attention turns to Joyce. She opens her mouth to speak but Hopper interjects before she could even get a word out.

“Your buddy here is a fucking mess. He’s lucky this is Rick’s third stop on his daily tour of downtown dive bars. Recognized the bastard and drug him over here after he got kicked out of wherever they were before this. I honestly don't know where. Ricky’s always so drunk I probably shouldn't even be serving him by the time he gets here anyway.``

“Steve, honey.” Joyce’s honey soft voice stirs him “Your girls are here. Rob and Alex, they’re here for you, baby. Let them help you, okay? Y’cant stay here like this.” She says as she rubs his hair back and tries to soothe him awake.

“He’s been drinking straight ginger ale for at least an hour. He thinks it's mixed with whiskey but I just couldn't. It was easier than him and Hop arguing ‘bout it.” she says under her breath, just out of his earshot.

After agreeing to let him sweat it out for a bit longer, Joyce passes the girls a drink while they wait and slides another ginger ale in a rocks glass in front of Steve with a wink. With soft voices they talk about what has unfolded today just loud enough to hear each other over the din of the jukebox playing “Hunger Strike” in the background.

Shit.

As she hears the deep roll of his voice on Eddie Vedder’s verse she’s reminded of you, and remembers the cryptic message she most likely left you on your answering machine. Even though the boy is sitting there in the flesh in front of them, his eyes now open enough to see the whites of them, his stare is vacant and he hasn’t looked this way since… well. Ever. Robin has seen him through some pretty serious shit, and he’s never looked quite this detached.

“I’m worried about him, girls.” Joyce coos.

With a nod in agreement, she asks for the only thing she can think to do next. “Joyce, can I use your phone? I gotta call someone who might be able to help.”

Alex’s eyes go wide and she winces, “You sure that’s a good idea, Rob? I mean, I see where you’re going with this, but he’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?’

Seeing the look of confusion on Joyce’s face, Robin grabs the phone and continues “It’s..a girl. He’s fine. It’ll be fine. I don’t care if he’s pissed about it at this point. We need help and… I might have already left her a message earlier in a panic. Oh - Hey!” interrupted in her rambling as you answer the phone on the first ring. “Yeah, yeah I’m so sorry about that weird message earlier. It’s been a… day - a real bad one. We need some help. We’re at Benny’s, and…it’s just - Steve. We need help with Steve, can you come?”

Of course you will. You were there to help as soon as you could. And just like Robin and Alex assumed, Steve was pissed.

“I'm just saying Stevie, you didn't have to be so mean to her. She came because I called. Didya really expect the two of us to be able to drag your sorry ass home without calling in reinforcement? Have you seen my arms? They're basically twigs!”

“I wasn't trying to be mean to her. It was you guys. I was pissed you called her…cause I didn't… It's embarrassing. She didn't need to see me like that. I know you were trying to help. You can barely carry a damn grocery bag, so I get it, its just… I was pathetic.”

“Well. You said it, I didn't.” Robin shrugs, kicking her feet up on the stool next to her by the register. It's been a few days and they're at least able to poke fun a little bit at the whole thing. Steve and Rob had a long talk after he was able to shake off a two day long hangover that he spent in the dark, shades drawn - crackers and some Pedialyte by his bedside.

Steve eventually spilled his guts to Robin on the fire escape while she smoked, his throat still too sore from the pack he inhaled in his drunken rage that day. He wouldn't even look at her when he told her about how his dad was talking about… her. Told her that there's been a lot of terrible, downright rude things that his dad has done and said over the years that he's made an excuse for or ignored, but that…that disregard, that intolerance he showed for someone that Steve cared about. That when it comes down to it, Steve loved. That was the last straw. He couldn't turn a blind eye anymore.

He didn't feel he owed his dad an explanation. If he really thought Steve would show up this weekend with his bags and his Beamer ready to put on a suit and head to the office alongside his dad on Monday, he has another thing coming.

Murray saunters into the storefront then “Before I finalize this schedule, ya sure you're gonna show up on Monday, dude? Last chance to turn in your notice and go shadow daddy dearest, because if you no call no show me on this schedule next week consider this bridge burned.”

“No way in hell, Murray. I'm fully committed to your dick shop. I'll sell anything you dream up over spending one hour in a building full of pricks like my dad. Don't care how much the salary is or how big the guilt trip.”

“Well in that case, Steve, it sounds to me that where your dad works is the real dick shop, huh? We…deal only in one way tickets to pleasure town here.”

“Touche” Steve gives Murray a pow pow with his finger guns before walking through the dangling beads hanging at the entrance to the break room.

Emerging twenty minutes later (and five minutes late from his break) Steve is unsurprised to find Alex spread across the length of the couch. “What are you two assholes doing?”

“Hi Alex, thanks again for saving my life and ensuring I don't die in a ditch or need my stomach pumped from alcohol poisoning and ensuring that my most magnetic and caring roommate and best friend didn't have a stroke while I was missing. It's nice to see you again. I am forever in your debt.” Alex mocks with a deep voice meant to imitate his while Robin cackles, slapping her thighs.

“Smash or pass” she deadpans. “Julia Roberts.”

“Pass” Steve and Robin say in unison.

“Really?” Alex pops up in surprise.

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal with that one. I like her movies, though, just…don’t wanna see her bush. No rolling in the hay with her for me.” Robin says very matter of factly.

“Yeah, for me” Steve quips pointing right at Robin. “Reminds me too much of this asshole right here. Can’t even think about it.”

Madonna. Demi Moore. Sharon Stone. Liv Tyler was a unanimous smash. An hour went by throwing out names and shouting out whether or not they were fuckable before Alex’s bisexual ass snuck in Brad Pitt.

“Bleh, pass. That's a dick.”

“Smash.” Steve's eyes go wide. Did he just…

“Stevie boy, did you just smash Brad Pitt?” Alex is literally on the edge of her seat at this point. Robin's jaw is just about on the floor. He's waving her off “That…that's not.. I mean. If I were I guess…he’s a good looking guy, s’all I’m saying.”

“You would like the golden boy type shit. I'm more of a ruggedly handsome older man kinda bisexual. I bet you'd smash Patrick Swayze too, handsome. UNLESS…are we talking Interview with a Vampire long hair type Pitt because…”

“This is too much for me!” Robin is shouting as she starts pacing.

“Robbie, I’d expect a little more tolerance from you. I’m disappointed.” Steve pokes fun. “Anyway, you do have the late shift today, so I’ll save you from thinking about me boning Brad Pitt and get out of here.”

“Ew. Steve. No. You and Pitt? You’re definitely bottom. He’s batter dipping the corn dog, not you.”

Raising his middle finger in the air, he gestures behind him to the girls as he walks out the door.

After grabbing a coffee, Steve swings into the record store to browse for some new vinyls. The guy at the front desk is starting to get to know Steve, and he likes that the guy is comfortable enough to make recommendations or pulls a vinyl or two to save for next time Steve comes in. It makes him feel memorable. He’s little more than guy at the record store to Steve, but yet guy at the record store cared enough to think about him and what he might like even when he’s not here.

It’s stuff like this, that he hasn’t really experienced until he moved here to the city, that makes Steve feel less than insignificant. Who would have thought that coming to a city filled to the brim with more people than he knows what to do with would make him feel more seen than a small town where everyone knows your name ever did.

He grabs his bag, filled with three new recommendations from guy at the record store, and he’s heading for the door before the cashier yells out “Oh damn, bro. I almost forgot. Someone left this for you. It’s already paid for, so don’t worry about it, but she said you gotta hear this one.” Steve reaches out to grab the bright red sleeve and turns it over twice before slipping it into his bag. “Yeah thanks dude. See ya around.”

He lies to himself when he thinks that the brisk pace he is walking on his way home is because the nights are turning colder in the city and he wants to get home. He lies to himself a second time when he says he wants to keep moving so he takes the stairs two at a time instead of waiting on the elevator. He lies to himself for a third time, pretending that he’s not really in a rush even though he doesn’t take off his shoes and jacket before he makes a beeline right for his record player all while unwrapping that vinyl he knows that you left for him.

The whirring of the player and the zap of the scratching needle connecting with the plastic make his brain start to buzz and he’s done lying to himself when he thinks that he was so fucking stupid when he shouted at you - drunk out of his mind or not, he has been expecting you to never speak to him again, so…you leaving this for him might just mean…

In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey

Butane in my veins and I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables

Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose

What the fuck did she leave me? He thinks, as he lets the record spin and listens, patiently. Waiting for the hook. Waiting for the bass drop. Waiting for those deep drum rhythms he likes so much. Waiting for the lyrics that are supposed to hit home.

Oh.

Soy un perdedor

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

(Double-barrel buckshot)

“Maybe I should just move home and take a stupid job with my dad like he’s been telling me to do since junior year of high school.”

Murray hears the boy complaining as he walks through the door with three giant boxes stacked on top of one another. “Casanova. Hey!” Setting them down he snaps both his fingers right in Steve’s face “We’ve been over this… focus on my dick shop, not your dads. I got new goods, get your sweet ass over here.”

He waves Steve and Robin over to the front window, and they dutifully follow. Ripping open the boxes with a rusty pocket knife he pulls from his tube sock, Murray rambles about the boxes filled with a new Latex fashion line he was checking out at the expo. He shoos Steve off to grab the mannequins from the back storage room so they can set up the window display. “Make sure to grab the dudes with the biggest packages back there, Stevie-boy!” before looking at Robin curiously, asking her to spill the details and explain the pivot back into full on self-loathing Steve took.

“Ah, the lady friend? She gave him that? Sassy. I think I like her. If he doesn't want her…” wiggling his eyebrows, Murray is quickly cut off as Steve re-enters the floor.

“Doesn’t want who?’ Steve says, male mannequin under each arm.

“Oh, nothing. I gotta go get some lunch. I’ll grab the plastic girls on my way back in and you two can play dress up.”

“Hey Stevie, whaddya think?” Robin’s got one of the black latex outfits held out in front of her as she tries anything but effortlessly shaking her hips to the beat of the song playing overhead on the speakers. The would-be seductive dance is cut off when her face lights up, running off to the break room with the package in hand.

“I don’t like that look Robbie. What are you doing?”

Shaking the beads dangling from the door frame to announce her re-entry, Steve’s eyes glance up before doing a double take. Robin stood there, leaning into the wall looking as casual as she possibly can (which isn’t that casual, honestly), standing in a full head to toe black latex catsuit. If Steve could have, he would have taken a polaroid if not just to gift to Alex as a thank you, or apology. Whatever she needs most from him - he’s not too sure at this point. Robin arches her back like she’s posing for a centerfold and it’s not long before the two of them are deep in a fit of laughter from her antics.

Except something goes wrong. The fit of laughter soon lets up, but Robin still can’t catch her breath. Steve is breathing deep, grinning again and shaking his head at her, and while she’s happy she’s coaxing out a laugh and a smile she hasn’t seen from him in over a week, her chest is getting tighter by the second.

Looking at his friend's pallid face, his eyes dart around thinking while she starts wheezing for air. “Rob…are you...you’re not allergic to latex, are you?”

She shakes her head no adamantly but quickly backtracks, realizing that no, she can’t be sure she’s not allergic to latex. Holding up her hands between the two of them, her wrists are ballooning up around the seam of the catsuit sleeves, body swelling up making the suit stretch over her skin even tighter. She starts to claw at it, trying to get it off, but it’s so slippery and tight, and suctioned to her sweaty skin that it won’t budge and her panicked expression locks on to Steve’s.

“You didn’t know you were allergic to latex? What the fuck Robbie?”

“When was I supposed to find out, huh? Not like I’ve been carrying around condoms since I was 15 like you, you asshole!”

“So what…that’s not… What about a balloon? Haven’t you ever been around a fucking balloon before, Rob?”

“Steve, I'm poor. We didn’t buy balloons for birthday parties. I didn’t get….extra…shit. I…no. I can’t remember …ever having a…. balloon.” She’s sucking in breaths between words as much as she can. “Steve, help. It’s….I can’t…”

Walking down the street, Murray is on his way back from grabbing his sandwich, when he spots the flashing lights on the street ahead. What he doesn’t expect is to see those flashing lights belonging to an ambulance pulled up outside of his store. Dropping his sandwich into the grimey gutter, he’s absolutely dumbfounded at the sight before him - Robin laid out on the stretcher, clearly naked and covered with a white sheet and his new inventory in shreds on the sidewalk after the paramedics had to cut it off of her. “Oh for fucks, sake. I didn’t literally mean you should play dress up, Red.”

It takes the paramedics another 20 minutes to get her settled and breathing from an oxygen tank in the back of the rig and explain the situation to Murray and Steve. Her reaction was bad, so they should expect her to be down and out for at least three days until the swelling goes down and she can recover her breathing enough to function normally. Murray storms off into the store grumbling about Workers Comp paperwork and throwing his hands in the air while Steve stays back, readying himself to climb into the back of the rig and ride with his friend before she stops him.

“Listen, dude. I’m clearly not gonna be home tonight, and you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t you dare think you’re gonna sit and keep watch at my bedside. This is definitely the only time in my life my tits will look this big, so I’m not about to invite you in. Alex gets clear first dibs before the swelling goes down.”

Steve grimaces, scrunching his nose up in disgust “Ew, gross Robbie. Stop talking to me about your tits.”

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, maybe take advantage of the empty house? I know she sent you a message loud and clear with that record but I still don’t buy that she won't give you a shot to explain. Call her. Please?”

All he can do is nod as she pats his hand and smiles. He backs away so they can close up the rig and watches as they pull off, lights flashing with his swollen raspberry of a friend in tow.

Murray ends up closing the shop early that night, saying he’s had it up to here with both of them and he just wants to go see Hop and Joyce for an ice cold drink. Before Steve could even respond, Murray’s finger is in his face “NO. You’re not invited this time, buddy. I don’t wanna see your face until tomorrow. And you have the late shift. I don’t wanna close and I think you two owe me.”

“Owe you?! What the heck, I didn’t do anything, man. Robin, she is the one that -”

“No, you listen here. Your moping and loathing is getting irritating. I like you, unfortunately. I’m not sure why, but I like you Steve, and you’ve been fucking annoying since you let your dad get in your head. And whatever is going on with this lady friend, you better fix it.” He pokes Steve right in the chest - hard.

“Is she a girl, or a woman, Steve?” he says, and Steve remembers their chat about Steve’s choices. Why they never seem to work out and how he keeps going for the wrong kind.

“She’s … she’s a woman. Obviously. She doesn’t want to put up with my bullshit.”

“Fix it, Steve. Thank me later.”

He had two beers before he worked up the nerve to pick up the phone. He probably would have had another, but he thought better of it considering the last time he saw you. More like the last time you saw him because he doesn’t fucking remember a lick of it. An apology probably wouldn’t go over very well if he was shitfaced again all because he needed some liquid courage to get the balls to call you up.

It took three, long, agonizing rings for you to pick up, your voice suddenly some sort of beacon in the night for him. He was silent for a beat too long, and just when you went to hang up muttering “whatever asshole, prank call someone else next time” he finally was able to whisper out your name just loud enough that it traveled through the phone line and made it to your ears.

“You got my record?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I deserved that… and it’s actually good.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I know. Can I see you?”

And to his surprise, you agreed. You asked him to meet you outside, so you can walk to the cafe together. Promised in a way that had him believing it would all be fine - that you’ll figure it out from there. So he’s sitting on the bench outside of his building waiting, legs bouncing up and down uncontrollably mind weight down from anticipation, nerves and his least favorite piece of baggage, self-doubt.

“You look like you’re waiting on something, boy. Don't wait too long, or you’ll end up looking like me and still never finding what you’re lookin’ for, ya know?”

Steve chuckles and nods. He thinks he does know. And God, he doesn’t want to spend his life chasing an idea and running away every time he gets close because he’s sure he’s not good enough for it. He doesn’t want to be sitting on a bench when he’s 80 lamenting about how he used to look good, had the good hair before it all fell out and turned gray, would get the girls and throw the parties, could pound back a six pack like it’s no big deal, how he was the former Keg King - King Steve. Like that all means anything at all. None of it did. It was all bullshit.

“I’m Steve” he says, holding his hand out and reaching across the bench. The man reaches out accepting his grasp and introduces himself as Robert.“You live here too?” he nods back at the apartment building.

“Sure do. Me and my little rascal Dart.” and Steve notices the small dog laying quietly at the man’s feet.

“What you said before…I am waiting on something. Someone actually. But…I think I’m mostly waiting on myself.”

“Ah, yes. That’s the age old problem innit? We’re always late to our own party. Been in this city for decades and it’s all the same. Young kids like you are lost until they find what they’re looking for, but some of ‘em, they never find it. No one leads ‘em to it and they forget that it’s even worth lookin’ for along the way.”

Steve nods, a little solemnly, at the wisdom the old man is sharing. Resonating just a bit closer to home than the old man probably knows. But then he sees a flash of you from down the sidewalk, your jacket wrapped tight around your body, a tentative smile on your face when you see Steve waiting for you like he promised.

“Ah,” the man laughs a hearty laugh. “She looks like she’s worth waiting for though, my boy. You should go.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Steve says with a bright smile, and it’s genuine. Maybe she's worth it? Or Maybe Steve will see the old man again. He's not sure which he meant, actually. Maybe…both.

The walk to the cafe seems to go on for eons. After an interaction teetering on awkward, feet pushing at invisible rocks on the pavement and tentative smiles, you both head in that direction side by side, stealing glances for a block or two before either one breaks the silence.

It seems like both of you have let the dull drone of the city take up enough space in the night and you finally speak up at the same time.

“I am sorry for being such a mess.”

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

“No. No.” You cut him off. “Yeah you're right. You were a mess and you were kind of a dick about it. I'm not gonna excuse that. But you were a mess, and Robin and Alex were worried for good reason, obviously. You were a mess because something happened and I can't be mad at that. I can be frustrated with how you handled yourself…how you treated people who were just there to fucking help you, man, but at the end of the day, you were going through some shit and…I held it against you instead of helped. And then I got you that record and…”

“I…yeah I should not have drank my problems like that. I shouldn't have. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. That song is…not that far off. Might be my theme song, actually.” He holds back a small laugh to himself. “I do stupid shit. That's not new. But…I wasn't mad at anyone until -”

“You sure seemed mad, Steve.”

“I was…it's just. I guess I'm realizing now I wasn't actually mad at anyone but myself and my dad until you showed up.”

“Correct. You made that loud and clear.”

“Oh. I -” silence falls over them for a few steps, Steve finally looking over at you in a way that makes you feel like he's looking into you not at you this time. “I think I finally understand. Can…can I try and explain? Once we get there?”

You nod. And you let him.

Like a floodgate, the honesty Steve holds back on a regular basis flows out the minute he starts. Tucked in the back corner of the cafe, a steaming hot chai in front of you, a black coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg there in front of him, he tells you how growing up actually felt for him. Not just the my dad is an asshole version but how it really affected him. He says it out loud and admits the way his dad made him feel. Tells you stories about all the sports and the winning and the popularity that was never what he wanted anyway. Tells you how his dad has spent his whole life grooming him to be a mini-version of Mr Harrington, and that's the absolute last thing in the world he wants to be. He just wants to be Steve - whoever that is.

And he cries. He cries when he tells you about the phone call. You notice it's not at the mean things his dad says to him, the names he's called or the put downs about his life that break him down - it's when he tells you about the disdain in his dads voice when he berates him about being friends with the gays. How he couldn't look at Robin after the way his dad talked and how he felt more shame in that moment than any other. Not ashamed that he’s friends with Robin. Not in a million years, but more from the idea that his dad - no anyone - would be lucky to find a friend half as good as Robin is, so who the fuck cares who she loves, right? Jesus Christ. Shame that someone he loves has to live in a world where people like his dad exist.

You both need a refill before he can get through the hard part, though, the part where he hurt you. Steve motions to your empty cup asking if he can get you more and before you know it, comes back a short time later with two new steaming mugs and plates of assorted pastries and snacks balancing on top. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got it all.

Something tells you that even if you don't actually say it, Steve would know for next time. He'd know that you're a sucker for their blondies and like to snack on their homemade caramel corn because even as he's spilling his guts he's paying attention to you, and from here on out every time you meet Steve Harrington at the cafe, he'd have your drink and a plate with a blondie on it waiting for you every single time.

Then, Steve tells you about that day. About how he remembers chain-smoking inside the house and how he knew Robin would fuck me up for it but I didn’t care. He recalls for you how he sat on the sofa with the whiskey bottle muttering to himself about the things his dad said, trying to figure out why this man thinks he can still push his grown son around. He tells you he remembers leaving to get another 6-pack when he ran out but that was the last of it. He doesn't remember much of anything or how he got to Benny's. Hop had told him, and he makes sure to remind him every time he's seen him since that he was pitiful watching Steve being drug in by the drunkest man on the block. Never thought I'd see the day anyone was more drunk than goddamn Rick, boy. Sure proved me wrong.

And when he gets to the part where his friends show up, when you show up, he looks downright ashamed and worried. With a deep sigh, falling from his lips, he tells you that the next and only other thing he remembers from that night was you walking through the door. With his head lain on the bar, vision completely sideways, what he saw was a fucking angel walking into the bar. Thought he was hallucinating or maybe even finally out of his misery and you were coming to bring him towards the light, until his brain made you right side up and he realized who it was.

He didn’t remember the yelling, but Robin told him later how big of a douchebag he was when all he did was start yelling at you and making one hell of a scene. Hearing Robin tell him about how he shouted and asked in such an accusatory tone What are you doing here? made him wonder if he was no better than his dad in the first place. Sounded an awful lot like him in the moment, at least.

You think he looks like a kicked puppy as he explains the rest. “I - I don't expect you to say anything. Or do anything. I don't expect you to forgive me or…” running his hands through his hair you can tell he's trying to pluck up some semblance of courage.

“The thing is, I was mad when my drunk brain finally registered that you were there, and you were there to help. Because I didn't want that. Help sure…I fucking needed help. You saw me. But you….” His swallow is so loud it's audible.

“I was embarrassed I didn't want you to see me like that. I… “

Reaching across the table you gently touch his forearm and it gives him enough courage to finish what he has to say.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I like you too much…Like, the real kind. And I feel so stupid saying it out loud, because I thought that if I showed you how broken I was, you’d see that I wasn’t worth it. Maybe you don’t think I am in the first place and that’s fine I can be just your friend. S’probably all I deserve, honestly.”

He chances a look at you just then, and when it’s not a scowl or indifference he feels safe rough to continue. “Before I didn’t know why I was being such a jerk and I figured it was just because - I am a Harrington, after all. But, I understand why I did it now. I understand that even though I did it wrong, I was trying to protect you from me, and I was trying to protect myself from… ”

Scooting your chair closer to Steve, you push his wild and windswept hair back so you can see him even when his head is hanging low. His eyes flit up to yours and there’s no pity in your eyes. He was expecting pity at the very least, but it’s not there.

“Steve, who says I need to be protected? Especially from you?”

He doesn’t expect your fingers to find his on the walk away from the cafe. He doesn’t expect your touch to be soft. He doesn’t expect it to stay longer than a second - maybe just the gift of something fleeting. But it is. It does. Your fingers hook into his and they don’t pull away, holding on to him and his limp hand before he can even process what he’s being given. Fingers hooked and coaxing him to just let go and embrace it. Fingers he accepts as he laces his with yours, and they stay that way for the entire walk back to his apartment.

—-

A nod of the head with a huge grin spread across his face, Robert welcomes Steve back to the building, still perched on the same bench he walked away from a few hours ago. Maybe Dart needed to go out again, or maybe Robert never left, but in that moment, Steve thought about everything the old man said to him earlier. He’s done with waiting. Waiting has gotten him nowhere. Hiding his feelings has gotten him nowhere. The only person standing in his way is himself.

Your name falls from his lips softly, but there’s something there that wasn’t there earlier in the shop. It’s more sure of himself, almost confident. The predictable thing to come next was a goodnight kiss on his front stoop, and you’re thinking that maybe after all this time and him finally admitting that he’s into you, you’ll get what you’ve been wanting since that night in the back seat of the cab, or when you felt your tummy flip sitting across from him eating that ice cream. Poised to lift up on your toes to close the distance, instead he surprises you when he tugs your arm and pulls you inside the front door to his building with a grin.

And you got that kiss. Oh God, did you get it.

When the door closed to their apartment, Steve turned around to look at you. There was a heat behind his eyes as he slid your coat off of your shoulders for you, and a yearning hiding there when he looks up at you from below as he crouches down to help you slip off your shoes. Rising back up in front of you he’s close. So close that his lips are just barely apart from yours and the heat of his breath tickles your cheeks. The pair of you are so close that there’s barely any space between your bodies when you suddenly find your back pressed up against the door behind you.

Lips finally touching, slow and just barely you breathe out “Robin…”

“That’s not my name, honey.”

And you laugh. A sweet thing that makes Steve’s insides twist and turn.

“She won’t be home tonight. There was some latex…She’s fine. I’ll explain later.”

The kiss you finally get is sloppy, but in the best way. There’s no time for chaste kisses here, pillowy lips slotted together and moving effortlessly between one another. He adjusts your chin with the tips of his fingers so that he can gently caress the line of your jaw, following it back down and up again as he slides his fingers through the base of your hair. His grip there is tight, but not painful, Possessive but not overwhelming. It’s like he’s got something he wants so desperately and he’s afraid to let it go.

He gently touches your upper lip with the tip of his tongue, coaxing you open further for him, letting his tongue follow the outlines of your teeth before letting his dance together with yours. He lets out a small sigh as you continue to nip at each other's lips and play with how you both respond to one another's kiss. The sigh makes your mouth crack open in a smile, cheeks drawing up with the grin and encouraging his kisses to explore elsewhere. Small pecks start on the corner of your mouth and then your cheeks, right on the apple of them as their pulled taught by your smile.

Moving down towards your jaw, your neck, they get more and more salacious the lower they get. Red and pricking, a bruise is blooming at the spot on your neck just under your ear where he settles in to suck and kiss at your skin while the whimper that falls from your lips as he does it and your fingertips running through his hair and scratching at his scalp keep him grounded - barely capable of holding it together as is.

When you ask him what he wants, the answer he gives you is not one you expected. Sure you expected him to want to dote on you - after all, he’s attentive like that on any given day, so Steve being a giver in the sheets was almost…a given? But when his gasping breaths punctuate each word that comes out of his mouth Can you … I want you to ride my face? was a pleasant surprise.

Now surprising him, you not only agreed, but were confident about it. “Always wanted this. No…no one would let me.” He tells you as he breathes into you, chest heaving, foreheads touching. He barely notices as you pull the top of your dress down and work it over your shoulders, then the swell of your breasts. He only registers your exposed skin as you guide his hands down to your waist so he can hold you steady as you step out of it.

Coaxing him backwards towards the sofa, you tap his shoulder and tell him to sit down on the floor, back against the furniture, as you make a show of removing your bra. He does as you ask, unable to tear his eyes away from your supple skin and perfectly peaked nipples, making a mental note that later he absolutely has to get his mouth on them. As you shimmy down your underwear in front of him, you pause to add a kiss to the top of his head before dropping the garment directly in his lap.

He bunches them up in his hand, sliding them into his front pocket for later as you settle over him, “Y’know…they call this Queening?” perched there on your knees, you’re fully undressed and slotted above his face so casually.

“Mmmm. Makes sense.” He says, against the seam of your pussy and your thighs, making you vibrate with his words and his gentle hum.

“R’mind me to tell you why one day.”

“Mmmmhmm. Sure thing.” In a haze, he reaches around you, fingers digging into your supple ass and pulling you closer. Forward and over, just where he wants you. The perfect position where he can use both his mouth and his nose - just like Robin told him he should. Head moving subtly left to right, he tests it out, tip of his nose gently nudging your clit left to right and right to left and his warm breath teasing your wet, glistening folds. You let out a gasp followed by a small breathy little uhh, that has his ears ringing and he’s happy. Pleased with his position, he slips his tongue out and traces you with it, before returning with a big, firm lick - tongue flattened and wide making sure you touch all of you in one pass. Those big hands wrap further around you, now snaking over the tops of your thighs and this time tugging you down. Down down down and there’s nowhere else to go.

Now you’ve had some fine oral sex before. It’s a non-negotiable for you when it comes to relationships: If a man is worried about tasting your clit, you don’t want him. You’re worth more than that. You’ve even done this a time or two, but Steve nestled between your thighs, under you like this fully clothed and pulling you into his face further despite there not being anywhere else to go is otherworldly.

Other times you’ve found yourself in this position were tactical. A position change, a new angle, just for fun, a lazy guy. But being perched on top of Steve Harrington’s face is making you feel like a true goddess. You were about to give him a history lesson and tell him why this is called Queening and instead he’s proving it to you. Making you feel just like one.

Between smooth glides of his tongue, Steve sucks at your lips, your clit, the seam of your thigh. Once you’ve settled and allow yourself to fully relax over top of him, he releases his bruising grip - perfect tiny crescents left behind in their wake - and uses those free hands wherever he can reach. Sliding up your spine, ghosting over the peach of your ass, along the curve of your backside and between them, too.

You’re not quiet anymore. You couldn’t be if you tried, and if you weren’t muffling the sounds coming from him with your thighs, you’re pretty sure the symphony of both of your moans would be enough to tip you over the edge. Since his are busy elsewhere, your hands find their way to your tits, rolling your nipples between your fingers and throwing your head back in pleasure as you start to absentmindedly grind on his face.

He lets you bask in your pleasure for a while before tugging you out of your daze, hands covering the small of your back, pulling and angling you forward so that your hands fall to the arm of the sofa behind him. Now, leaning over him, soft and subtle grinding returning like muscle memory, he takes the opportunity to slide his fingers in from behind, just alongside his mouth. Thick digits slipping inside, scissoring alongside the wet muscle of his tongue, nose nudging your clit between deep rolls of your hips against him, he notices the twitching of your velvety walls first, followed by the shaking of your thighs.

Freeing his hands, he finds your legs again, if only to hold you down to ride out your climax, combating how badly your sensitive body is trying to pull away, just slightly. The work he’s putting in on your pussy is paying off tenfold when you tremble and shake above him. Unable to move from the vice grip he has on your legs, you have no choice but to cry out and let him lap at you, drink you up until you're overstimulated and begging him to stop.

Limp and satiated, you easily fall into his arms as he moves up between you and the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your head lolls forward has he grabs your cheeks to look at you “Y’feel good baby? Y’feel like a Queen?”

You nod, dazed but eager and happy as he lifts you and stands. Legs wrapping around his hips while he peppers you with kisses that taste like your own pleasure, he carries you down the hallway to his room.

Kicking open the door, he stalks over to his bed and tosses you onto it without a second thought. Looking up at him with big doe eyes, he knows he’s done for. He can’t move fast enough as he loosened his belt and tugs down his pants. Crawling over you on his bed, he nudges that nose against yours again to get your attention. “You wanna? We don’t have to y’know?”

“Steve Harrington, I want to so bad, I’m gonna make you forget your name.”

TAGLIST: @livsters @katie-tibo @johnrichardpapen @angywritesstuff @k-k0129 @tisthedamngoldrush @middle-of-the-sky @thebrazilianatheist @mochminnie @micheledawn1975 @falling-throughthe-hourglass @rafaaoli @ash5monster01 @gabessock @onyxslayss @scoopshxrrington @superblysubpar

#joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #robin buckley #sexshop!steve #steve harrington x you #steve and robin fanfic #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley smut #robin buckley fanfic #steve and robin get a job #steve and robin 4l #platonic stobin #stobin fanfic #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin

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thalfbloodloser · 1 month ago

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You bring insanity to a boringly sane fandom. I would like to hear your latest thought on ivorycest... Whatever nugget you may be nursing. If that is alright

✦ aw, thank you! you're so sweet 🐌🧡 it's very much alright - no one in here ever sends me fun stuff anymore. your ask was a breath of fresh air, anon! truth be told, i haven't been thinking about ivorycest all that much, but get ready for a HUGE text-block jumpscare because you just gave me the perfect excuse to write about them ➜

✦ sometimes it pains me to see so many folks avoiding ivorycest like the plague, because, like ranfren itself, it's so unapologetically insane that you can't really hate it. even if you try. if you have a dash of sense of humor, you'll see it's hilariously canon compliant!

i've seen lots of people argue that "anything romantic/sexual between randal and luther would be inherently out of character", which i'll admit is a reasonable concern, but it's just not true. the issue is characterization: people keep projecting human-based tropes and behavior on cryptids, and that's where the knee-jerk "eugh" reaction comes from. because yeah, randal and luther aren't going to declare their Forbidden Love for each other and then passionately kiss under the moonlit sky, nor are they going to feel guilty about their attraction and part ways with a tearful "we can't! this is wrong!". it would be completely unnatural behavior for them. all that? made for humans. and pretty basic humans, at that. for ivorycest to work, both in and out of canon, you gotta fully embrace the weirdness, see beyond humanity and forget all old expectations you might've gotten from any other couple of siblings!

from my point of view, it doesn't even feel like it fits with the rest of the "-cest"s. and not because of the possibility that randal and luther aren't even biologically related (i seriously doubt they're even from the same species) - we all know that adoptive siblings aren't any less siblings just because they don't share DNA. plus, pseudo-incest is still a thing - but because they're so, so far from human nature and from other brother/brother ships that it's almost laughable, and sometimes genuinely puzzling, to apply ANY human labels to them at all. for example, would you call luther a cannibal because he eats people? no. because it'd be like calling a human cannibal for eating cows, and that makes no sense. words mean things.

to us, at least.

coincidentally, that's half of my point.

the ivorys adress each other as "brother", sure, but you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that they fully understand what that means or that they care about it enough to follow the moral/ethical guidelines attached to such terms. you simply cannot. most times it feels less like they see each other as family and more like they're just...roleplaying.

but if you decide to call someone "daddy", just when does that make them your father?

randal, who could (but perhaps shouldn't) be considered the most resourceful of the two, uses "brother" as both title and honorific - like one uses "sir" or "ma'am" - but doesn't seem to be overtly attached to the familial aspect of it. again, he's not a human, and, as far as we know, our siblinghood doesn't come naturally to him - much like pain, guilt, conscience and a whole load of bodily functions that he also seems to lack. luther, on the other same hand, understands the caretaking implications of being the "older brother", but that's pretty much where his brotherly-ness begins and ends. if anything, he's incorrectly using the sibling label while playing parent; just without any trauma and/or responsibility attached to it. there's also the fact that he's the most powerful entity in the household and randal - no matter how many pianos he "possesses" or how many times he shoves himself in the space between the wall and the fridge - cannot possibly overpower him, also adds to this parent/kid dynamic; hence granting luther the (almost-meaningless) title of "master" and the authority over their dysfunctional home. that still doesn't mean randal perceives him as anything but a housemate, or playdate, for he doesn't really seem to keep up the role of mischievous little brother unless he's bored (often, not always).

so they use the word, but it lacks permanent meaning. in that sense, classic incest tropes - no matter if brocon or dadson flavored - don't really work. there's power imbalance, sure, but the familial bonds needed to reinforce that imbalance simply do not exist. randal is babied because he likes to be. he likes being taken care of and likes having rules to break. it's a character he plays. luther "takes care" of him because he himself likes doing it. he likes being a parent and likes having a reason to lecture & discipline. it's a character he plays. they don't actually need this dynamic to thrive, and it wasn't imposed on them by parents/caretakers or any set of misfortunes that we know of. they just deliberately chose to partake on it.

consequently, i don't think they feel what humans perceive as familial love (healthy or unhealthy) for each other. they're simply two powerful entities - whom we can assume have been at least friends for a long time - playing make-believe. creatures who have little to no regard for humanity as a species, and are only interested in their own antics. of course they do eventually commend certain humans for their achievements, and seem to find all sorts of comfort in our art/creations/traditions, but outside of that? they see humans as fragile beings as intelectually insignificant to them as most animals are to us. randal forcibly keeps one as a pet. not far from "master" luther, who keeps two.

again, the ivorys are clearly intelligent, specially regarding their own survival. they're not behind being purposefully dense when it comes to anything human that is even slightly inconvenient to them (huh? eating the delivery man's arm when we order pizza is bad? haha, i would never have guessed!). they have the means and understanding necessary to behave (and perhaps look) 100% human, they just...choose not to. they can bend reality itself to their whims, turn themselves and others into inconceivable creatures, all while feigning absolute normalcy at the chaotic world around them (werewoofs, carpet cats with human faces, alive walls and furniture...), and you think they'd draw the line at willingly distorting something as frivolous as family hierarchy?

tch. please.

with that said, by the rules of their own game, if they were to partake in any...non-platonic activities, it would only be considered incestuous because they decided it would be - by creating the dynamic and environment in the first place. and they would simply not fucking care if it is upsetting, distasteful or imoral by human standards. and that's the ship's whole flavor - that's why i love it so much! precisely because there's no such thing as the "oh, no! i accidentally fell in love with my sibling! woe is me!" (which i also love) with the ivorys. there's also not a "normal" way to ship them, even if you're adamant about them not being related or not seeing each other as family, because they're two fucking weirdos.

their whole relationship is so tastefully bonkers that i genuinely wouldn't be fazed if they spawned another creature to be their "littlest" sibling. honestly, who could stop them? and who's to say that, in their cryptic way, they're not a married couple? or buddies into weird roleplay? ultimately, it is undeniable that they - in at least one sense of the word - love each other enough to enable each other; and to indulge on each other's silly/straight-up-criminal fantasies.

to me, there's no (human) romance, nor seduction, involved. randal knows he'll get nothing by jumping on his brother's lap and performing the most disgustingly horny hentai rip-off scenario ever. much like he'll get nothing in exchange for sweet words, flowers and chocolate. it's part of the game. he knows he'll receive only a "<3" (♥︎) - which him and luther seem to be able to pronounce out loud - or a hummed, blank-faced lecture about needing either a nap or to drink more water. if luther is having a bad day, he might even receive some sort of punishment. and those are the reactions randal wants, the normalcy (if you can call it that) he counts on. if he wanted a different response, something genuinely human, he'd have forcibly gauged it off sebastian, nyon or even nyen. likewise, luther knows better than to come too close or to grab randal by the waist, lest he get bitten or not-so-playfully snipped with scissors.

but there's intimacy. so much intimacy. on waking up to the other's figure looming over them, on physically crawling under each other's skin, on wrapping hands and claws around each other's organs and muscles and bones, on faux eyes staring into faux eyes, on a eerie smile pressed against unmoving lips, on the suspension of disbelief, on the lingering smell of copper, on the flashing lights and sappy endearments and and-

and, i suppose, on the sex too. i don't think i can picture them having human sex - really, who am i to guess what these creatures are packing in their pants? for all we know, they might as well be ken-doll smooth down there - but if they were to ever consummate their relationship sexually, i feel like it would probably be as uncomfortable, off-putting, disturbing and offensive to the eyes as everything else they do. genuinely revolting from any possible point of view - unless you're a true monsterfucker. a ritual so gross that, for us, it resembles nothing but a cacophony of unthinkable horrors molding together wetly, but that, to them, feels nothing but heavenly from beginning to end. as close to divinity as such wretched demons/creatures are ever going to get.

anyways. enough, my apologies-

the conclusion is that...me shipping these two isn't even about wishing they'd get together, because, in their fucked up way, they already are. it isn't about spiting other fans either. it's about having fun coming up with increasingly nonsensical scenarios hoping to come close to their freak ✦

#randals friends #ranfren #randal ivory #luther von ivory #ivorycest #ask answers #this poor anon is never sending me an ask again #asked for a singular thought and i wrote a goddamn dissertation #long post #txt #thalfbloodloser

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setmeatopthepyre · 5 days ago

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Bucktommy breakup (arc) mix

I started making this playlist pretty much right after 8x06 in order to cope with all the feelings, first just throwing together some songs, later structuring them into their own little emotional arc. Prepare for all the stages of grief but with a generous sprinkle of love, more than a few winks, nods and references, and a dash of hope for reconciliation at the end. Song list with lyric highlights below. Bon appetit!

(There's a couple of references and half-jokes hidden here and there, so let me know if you catch those. Also if you're curious at all about any of my choices or why a certain song is included, please ask me. I love yapping about this shit and have 100% overthought this playlist a million times.)

Built to Break (Glitterfox) - Every thread is bound to fray / I can't outrun the ending

if this was a movie.. (Kacey Musgraves) - If this was a movie / You'd run up the stairs / You'd hold my face / Say we're being stupid / And we'd fall back into place

Plain Sailing Weather (Frank Turner) - This was supposed to be easy / I found the one damn person to help me fall asleep in the night

Smalltown Boy [Bronski Beat cover] (Orville Peck) - But the answers you seek will never be found at home / The love that you need will never be found at home / Run away, turn away, run away, turn away

Scared (Joywave) - I wanna touch you but I'm scared / I really love you though, I swear / I had another nightmare / Covered in sweat and unprepared / I woke and you weren't there

La da da (Glitterfox) - I don't know what to say / My head gets in the way / I don't know what to feel / Only learned to conceal

Let Me Drown (Orville Peck) - I swear there's good things that are coming your way / And I can't be the one left here, dragging you down

Stick Season (Noah Kahan) - I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad / That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad / Now I'm no longer funny 'cause I miss the way you laugh / You once called me forever, now you still can't call me back

Why Would You Be Loved (Hozier) - It's only said to be kind, the time that you have with love / You're never told, but you're loaned it // Why would you play it all on something as hollow as trust? / What if you gave it all to find that it wasn't enough?

San Andreas (Louise Burns) - The San Andreas fault line tells me stories from below / California misery in this angel town of gold

Feels Like a Lie (Joywave) - It'd be human to let it go someday / But I've got it stored above my rib cage

camera roll (Kacey Musgraves) - Chronological order and nothing but torture / Scroll too far back, that's what you get / I don't wanna see 'em but I can't delete 'em / It just doesn't feel right yet

How Far Will We Take It? (Orville Peck & Noah Cyrus) - I tried to love you, just couldn't break through / No getting used to living without you / 'Cause I've been waiting, don't wanna waste it / We're all alone now, how far will we take it?

Black Treacle (Arctic Monkeys) - And I tried last night to pack away your laugh / Like a key under the mat / But it never seems to be there when you want it

Recovery (Frank Turner) - I know you are a cynic, but I think I can convince you / Broken people can get better if they really want to / Or at least that's what I have to tell myself if I am hoping to survive

We Are All We Need (Joywave) - I was a boy who kept a list of everybody who wouldn't let me in / Sense of humor now about it / But there's a jadedness where love should have been

No Such Thing (Sara Bareilles) - Thin air, you're out there in it somewhere / If I could only get there / I could breathe again // I've tried to get over you / But I think there's no such thing

First Time (Hozier) - Before I heard it from your mouth / My name would always hit my ears as such an awful sound

Ever You're Gone (Orville Peck & Teddy Swims) - This anxious heart of mine / Gets me in and out of trouble so many times / And I keep losing pieces each time I try / I burned enough bridges to light my way home

Wanna Be Loved (The Red Clay Strays) - I just wanna be loved / I've been afraid and I've been alone / Sometimes I need someone to pick up the phone / I'm tired of leaving / I need a home

Timefighter (Lucy Dacus) - And I fought time / It won in a landslide

No Witnesses (Keaton Henson) - So I wrote down a list of all the things / We've never spoken of / And I wrote "Man, I hate Los Angeles" / And I've never been in love

Love is a Laserquest (Arctic Monkeys) - When I'm hanging on by the rings around my eyes / And I convince myself I need another / For a minute, it gets easier to pretend that you were just some lover

Haven't Been Doing So Well (Frank Turner) - And if self-loathing was a sport I'd be Muhammad Ali / 'Cause I can sting like a butterfly and sink like a bee / But they don't hand out medals to monsters like me

787 Dreamliner (Joywave) - I'm feeling dizzy just from the view / Got another six lives to lose / Before my final descent is through / Before I find my way back to you

Hot & Heavy (Lucy Dacus) - When I went away, it was the only option / Couldn't trust myself to proceed with caution / The most that I could give to you is nothing at all / The best that I could offer was to miss your calls

Burning House (Cam) - I had a dream about a burning house / You were stuck inside / I couldn't get you out / Laid beside you and pulled you close / And the two of us went up in smoke

Don't Keep Driving (The Paper Kites) The distance between us is half of this city / Don't keep on driving, let me say something / There's nothing wrong with a little space / But not right now, don't leave / Don't push me away

On Board (Alana Henderson & Joshua Burnside) - And if you came on board / I know you'd scan for the safety of a lighthouse blink / Any port in a storm, love / You promise you won't falter / But I know I've seen men sink

I Know (King Princess & Fiona Apple) - You can use my skin / To bury secrets in / And I will settle you down

Canyon (JOSEPH) - Take me to your darkest corner / Show me what you're trying to hide / I've got a little fear / But it's the reverent kind

Back At Your Door (Orville Peck & Debbii Dawson) - I'm sure the deadbolt's turned / But baby, if it weren't / I'd come quiet up the staircase / Slip into your arms / Like I was never gone

Watchman (Gregory Alan Isakov) - So take me however I seem to be / Haunted, I know

Francesca (Hozier) - My life was a storm since I was born / How could I fear any hurricane?

Noise in My Head (spookyghostboy) - Sit in the dark for a while / Look for your name on my phone / My thumb hovers over the button / It rings and you say, "Hello"

Orpheus (Sara Bareilles) - Don't stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos / Though I know it's blinding, there's a way out

Late To You (Keaton Henson) - All these years of running / Of running away / I've been looking for something / For something to feel this way

The Way I Tend To Be (Frank Turner) - But then I remember you / And the way you shine like truth in all you do

Saint Honesty (Sara Bareilles) - We're collecting evidence / Of one remarkable storm / How wild it was to find it, finally feel the climate / Instead of only staying dry and warm

#this playlist is basically my 911 spec lmao #with some angsty headcanon thrown in #bucktommy #bucktommy breakup mix #911 s8 #911 #my playlists #my playlist #911 playlist #bucktommy playlist #bucktommy songs #tevan #kinley #Spotify

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magic-crazy-as-this · 5 months ago

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fanon vs canon: we're talking (an essay)

Hiya! I've been seeing a lot on my dash these huge arguments about fanon vs canon in the DC/Batfamily univers, and it's getting pretty heated. People seem to be getting upset about what "counts" as canon, what parts of the story are "real" or "made up by fans" and what is "allowed" to be "real".

Personally, I find the entire argument to be reductive and extremely so.

Here's why:

Batman as a property has existed for 85 years. The idea and mythology and story of Batman has been handled by countless writers and artists, been seen in every kind of artistic medium, and has been changed over and over again over the past eight and a half decades. This story has never been told the same way twice and that's half the point of these stories and mythologies we've built up. We've seen Bruce Wayne be morally questionable if not outright reprehensible, a loving father, a staunch loner, a murderer-by-proxy (Batman v Superman, you know not what you do). It's okay to pull ideas from across time because, well, there's a lot of it and things are changing all the time!

There's a lot more there than we can easily comprehend (this is kind of more of a "1a, but fine, whatever, hey) This is something I see a lot where someone is accused of being "too fanon" only for it to turn out to be something pulled directly from the over eight decades of work. Maybe it's not productive to accuse people of this kind of thing when maybe, just maybe, there are sources for this.

Flattening these characters into "allowable" ideas of the character limits our creativity I mean, think about it for a moment: why should we limit what stories we tell and things we create by what other people tell us is acceptable? After all, if we said there were only certain kinds of stories and ideas allowed, we would never have Dark Knights of Steel, Red Son, or even Batman Beyond. Without taking risks, making changes, and telling our own stories, we miss out on so many amazing ideas that would never be permitted to bloom. (ok but the LEGO Batman movies make Damian this cheerful people-pleasing little ball of sunshine and that's not it tbh, there are limits)

People are more nuanced than you think - it's okay to be a little contradictory (this means you!) When I was growing up, I was in an intense and huge music fandom that engaged in something called The Great Poser Hunt of '07 (IYKYK). In what was supposed to be a loving space for the outcasts and forgotten weirdoes of every known high school, we would bully each other relentlessly for "not liking the right thing" or "not being a real fan" and we would constantly test and torment each other over it. It was stressful, it was awful, and it made me and many others like me feel like we had to fit a certain aesthetic, mindset, and media taste otherwise we would be outcast again and this time from a group already ostracised. (And these aesthetics and media tastes that were chosen for us by large corporations but whatever, that's another essay for another day) I listened to Backstreet Boys in secret with my iPod under the blankets, I could let none of my friends know about my secret love of Bon Jovi, and the parts of my heart devoted to 80s New Wave were locked away where no one could see. I felt reduced to what other people wanted from me. I hope you're reading this and thinking "man, that sucked, I don't want to be like that! I want to like all the things I like and proudly!" Which is grand! Please continue to think nice things for yourself! My question to you now is: why would we do this to fictional characters, too? Why can't Dick Grayson be cunning and clever, sometimes kinder than he is wise, friendly and funny and horribly ruthless when he needs to be and all at once? Jason Todd already embodies this kind of thing by being a head-taking badass biker who loves the classics but you know what, he can listen to Slipknot and Britney Spears! That's okay, too! And whatever it is you like, whether it fits a certain aesthetic or scene or mould, that is okay. You deserve to enjoy your things freely and without shame and without shaming others. (So leave Jason's Katy Perry CD collection the hell alone, ya vultures!)

In conclusion:

It's okay for people to make up new ideas for the things you love. It's okay for people to try new things. It's okay for you to disagree with them, too, you don't have to like everything anyone ever comes up with.

But bullying people for their creativity, especially when there's over eighty goddamn years of media to be inspired by, when limiting creativity is stifling and has us miss out on truly special things, and when people in general are more nuanced than you think?

#dc comics #dc universe #batman #batfam #jason todd #batfamily #fanon #canon #canon vs fanon #canon vs headcanon #an essay #why can't we be friends #dick grayson #batfamily headcanons #dc headcanon #bruce wayne

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xmorguekittyx · 1 year ago

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Ever Unlocked

Part 5: Broken Mug

Part 4: A Uneventful Shift

pairing: Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: Thoughts of sex, creepy actions such as sniffing underwear, violence, breaking and entering (let me know if i missed any!)

It was still fucking raining. Raccoon City was like Seattle. It rained more often than not near the end of the year, half the year they were dry, people taking walks through the beautiful plant nurseries. The wild life here was beautiful once you got out of the major city area. Then, the other half, you'd be lucky if you got any sunshine. Clouds and rain drowning out the sun and hustle and bustle. Leon preferred the sun, he loved the rain too, but feeling those rays of the big flaming ball of gas in the sky made him feel alive, it hit a reset button on his mentality. Without it, sometimes he felt a bit fuzzed. At least today, Leon was one of the officers that was sent home early. It was still so slow, Chief Irons didn't see any reason to have so many officers stay. It was dark out as the persistent droplets beat against his windshield, blurring his vision. They all mixed into a waterfall of obscurity.

He shouldn't be here. He knew that. The two-toned apartment building barely visible through the rain that pelted his Jeep. She had to stay back, since only her and Rebecca worked in the Coroner's Office. She was no doubt still slightly leaning over that desk, typing away with her foot tucked tightly under her. No doubt her eyes blinking back exhaustion as she stared at the bright screen and blinking text bar, as she has been when he finally pushed himself out of that ugly ass red chair. He'd gone back to the large area; he and his fellow officers used as a shared office space, opening up the McGrath file, before a hand broke his consciousness, Chief Irons informing him he was sending a few officers home for the night as it seemed it would be dead all night, but that if anything changed, he'd be the first to know.

A strike of lightening lit up Leon's face, causing him to cover his eyes. As his eyes opened back up slowly, he looked to his dash, 6:45pm. Had he really sat here 15 minutes? He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring slightly. He rocked his jaw as he contemplated, he could just go up to her door and try the handle. Just to see if she truly did leave it unlocked every day. This girl had to be wanting this, who was she to tell a man, a stranger, something so sensitive? He couldn't wrap his head around the heedless decision. He wanted to just see if she was honest, surely, she was, he just needed a reason that seemed less creepy to him, a worried coworker, and a soon to be friend- then lover. He had to make sure his girl- his naive, stupid little bunny- was safe. He couldn't let any other wolves get to his pretty little bunny.

His thumb wrapped around the top of her doorknob, his other fingers under it as he stood in the 1st floor hallway. "Oh, hello.", he heard a fragile voice call out to him, a woman, clearly in her fifties to sixties stood across from him. "I don't think I've seen you around before.", she squinted up at Leon, the glasses on her nose very thick and even had the chains handing down and around her neck. He realized she was waiting on him to speak, his fingers leaving the cold knob, then disappearing into the hair at the nape of his neck, rubbing anxiously at the short blond locks. "I'm her boyfriend, she told me about her heater not kicking on. I came to take a look at it before she got here.", his anxiety causing a pink flush to cover his cheeks. "Oh, what a sweet thing to do! She hasn't mentioned you before. Did you two recently start dating?", her words were innocent and a bit shocked. Her little dachshund sitting at her feet. His mouth felt dry as he licked at his chapped lips, hand falling limp by his side. "Yeah, actually. Last week I asked her.", he knew his looks gave him an upper hand. "You seem like a very sweet boy. I'm glad she met someone as thoughtful as you. She's a sweet girl.", her lips curling back to smile, showing off crow's feet.

"Well, I'll get out of your hair. It was nice to meet you, Mr.?", she trailed off, looking up at the blonde man. "Leon, Leon Kenndy and likewise Mrs. Jones.", perfect. Show her you are familiar with those in her life, that way there's even less suspicion. Leon felt proud of how he handled that. He had created a good basis that if she saw him around again, he was just her neighbor's boyfriend. He smirked as he reached for the doorknob once more, his wrist turning as the latch retracted. Silly, silly, stupid bunny. His eyes squinted as he smiled, he was going to get a taste of her, an intimately close taste of her haven. He nearly shook from joy, pushing the door open as he stepped in, that smell. Oh, that sickly sweet smell that engulfed his senses as he looked over the dark apartment. It was just as he remembered it. So welcoming, despite his motives. His hands slowly pressed the door closed, making the latch silently and slowly slide back into place, he didn't want it to make a sound. He feared that a small noise would break this air he filled the apartment with.

His feet slowly crept further into the darkness that permeated the rooms. It was so... her. The kitchen was small, even smaller than he remembered. He felt his jacket snag on one of her island chairs. The chair squeaking against the floor. He lifted his pocket from the snagged piece of wood, pushing it back as he looked down at the island. She had a few bills, some with a "LATE" stamp across them. Did she not get paid well at RPD? He almost let himself forget his intrusion as he lifted one up. Checking over her name and address, yep, it was hers. He felt a pain in his chest, was she struggling? A soft breath left his lips as he places the envelope back down. He would do something about that soon. He lifted his phone from his jacket pocket, snapping a photo of the name of her bills, making sure he could read the name of the companies. He didn't like the idea of his bunny struggling to pay for anything. He made decent money, decent enough anyway. He'd call them Friday after he got off work. He placed his phone next to the bills; he'd grab it on his way out. He was too enamored by the feeling that being in her home was giving him.

Before he could think much more that memory of her purple bedspread came to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to see it again, see her room for himself. He turned down the black hallway, the soft rain and thunder serenading him and his eerie actions. The door was shut. It never stopped him before as he prepared himself to invade her privacy even more. Pushing the door with his left hand, breath hitching as the first thing he saw being her underwear on the floor next to a pair of sleep pants. He stared, mesmerized by the cloth as he bent down to pick it up. His fingers tightening around the lace. It felt so delicate in his hands, bringing them up to his nose. Sickly sweet, just like her.

He early dropped them as the lights from a car shone into the room, he quickly peeked from the window, seeing her 2002 Nissan Maxima pull up. "I told her to text me and I'd take her home again.", he growled as he slipped the panties into his pocket. He'd save them for later. He couldn't wait to see that black lace wrapped around his cock, pumping back and forth into them as he imagined her. Her back arched as he rocked his hips into her, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His cock wept at the mental image. He let out a harsh breath as he felt his cock twitch. The sound of steps jolting him from his daydreams as he turned his head to face the hallway. He looked back at the window, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone for a light before his breath hitched, his phone, he snarled. His fucking phone. He pushed into her kitchen as he heard the latch of the door click. He snatched his phone as he rushed to the sink, her refrigerator stuck out just far enough for him to remain hidden in the dark.

Her lips parted into a yawn, her hands stretching over her head. She was so tired, her eyes nearly closing. Exhaustion was clear on her barely lit face as she pulled out her phone. Leon prayed, silently, that she wasn't texting him. Her face, now more visible from the small light from the device's screen. She looked so beautiful. So peaceful. He wanted to share this moment with her, watching her arrive home and because he got off earlier, he'd have dinner ready for her. He would make them a plate while she changed, wait for her on the couch while he picked out a movie, or if she preferred to eat at the table, he'd gladly sit there and listen to her rant about how Rebecca prattled on all day. He'd listen to her talk about anything, including the bodies that came into her morgue. He just wanted her, he thought about her belly large with his child. He thought about how after a long day of work, he'd come home to see her, waddling to him with a baby on her hip. Leon always wanted a family, something he, himself, lacked after his parents' untimely demise.

He hadn't realized in his daydreaming state, he'd taken a step closer to her. His boot stepping onto her grey wooden floors, as his heel met the flooring, a soft squeak sounded out, breaking the near perfect silence. He watched her, his heart rapidly beating against his chest. Her irises moved, her head still as she looked from the corner of her eyes towards the sound, she was frozen, head still tilted towards her phone as she bent her wrist, moving the phone to light up some of her kitchen. She looked like a cartoon, her lips parting as her eyes grew in size. Her brows raising as she looked up at Leon. He could almost predict her next movement as his hand clasped over her lips, pulling her into his chest. "Shh...", he muffled her scream, the sound not nearly as shrill as it could've been. Her phone falling to the floor, lighting up down her hallway. Fingers digging into his arm as she tried to pry him off of her. "I- I'm not trying to hurt you-", he tried to coo her, brushing her hair back with his one hand, his chin near her temple. "It's okay. I was just-", he felt her foot come down on toes. He yelped, his hold on her loosening as her hands forcefully pushed against his ribs. "What-", she turned, swiping her phone from the floor as she ran down her hallway. Leon still could feel the wetness on the palm of his hand from her tears.

He searched the small island, feeling around until he felt a coffee mug she must've left out, probably one from last night, the night they had spent together. She couldn't call 911, he'd lose his job. He would be ruined if they knew he had entered into her home uninvited. He lifted the mug by the handle, taking the lunges across her kitchen to slam the mug down on the back of her head. She let out a whimper of pain as the mug shattered against her skull. Her body dropping as he heard the thud of her body hit the wooden floor, her phone sliding away until it hit the white wall. He almost felt bad, he did, he did feel bad as he heard the soft groan from her lips. She made him do this, if she had just listened to him. He said he didn't want to hurt her and yet, she still tried to hurt him. He felt pained, she'd tried to hurt him.

His eyes softened as he looked down at her crumpled form, her skirt rose slightly as her one knee was lifted. "I didn't want to hurt you, bunny.", he whispered, crouching down to he could lift her into his arms. Her blouse thin against his hand as his other arm wrapped around her bare thighs, carrying her bridal style into her bedroom. He laid her down, pulling the messy blanket and sheet over her. He brushed her hair back from her eyes, her eyelids flickering as she slept. He didn't mean to cause her any harm. He just- he understood his acts could've been taken a wrong way. She wanted this, though, right?

Leon swept up the broken mug, tossing it into her trash can, the cup of Honey Hollow coffee still sitting atop the rest of her garbage. He dumped the dust pan, closing the trash and placed the broom carefully back where he had found it. His breath heavy as he walked back to the hallway, picking up her phone and spinning the metallic and glass device in his hand, no cracks. Nothing for her to notice. He made the short pathway to her bedside table, plugging her phone in. He hoped she'd think it was a nightmare, that she passed out as soon as she got home and dreamed the entire thing.

He sat on the edge of her bed once more, his hand finding hers as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, the thin skin soft under his rough finger pad. "I'm sorry, bunny. You'll understand one day that this is all for you.", he whispered, leaning over her. His lips brushing past the hair on the crown of her head, pressing a lingering kiss into her hair. "My beautiful, naive little bunny. I'll always protect and watch you.", and with a final brush of his finger pad onto her hand. Leon made his way back to his 1997 Jeep. He could still feel the way her hair felt against his lips, his azure eyes going back to her bedroom window, he watched her curtain blow in the breeze, knowing she was unconscious behind it as his hands slid into his pocket. He toyed the lacy fabric between his fingers. "I'll see you tomorrow, bunny.", his words lost in that same breeze.

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wisteriasymphony · 8 months ago

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fuck god. ok fine writing more GoldenLady/Lesbian!Ladywalker.

tagging @asukiess again and for all of these. because these are all gifts for her. sorry not sorry my love

GoldenLady Part 1 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5

---

Goldeneye had a habit of choosing to meet at the most opulent places in the city for "patrol". The very first week was a slew of nights like these—Ladybug being whisked away on outings that felt almost magical, this dashing prince of velvet and gold taking her by the hand and carrying her to the top of the Eiffel Tower or dancing on the top of the Arc de Triomphe. Goldeneye would always tease her princess with cataclysms in the shape of roses, excite her with short glances, enchant her with song and poetry, and when Ladybug rejected each and every one her prince would simply laugh and smile as if it had been little more than a joke to begin with. There had to be something about Gold that made it so much more mysterious, something about it that stirred Ladybug's heart in a way that Chat Noir never did.

Ladybug had, at one point, thought that this must be because her Golden Prince was the very same as Adrien Agresté—but that was nonsense. Not even Adrien made her feel this way.

After half an hour of searching, Ladybug seemed to catch Goldeneye by surprise. Unlike her usual self, Ladybug's prince had chosen a fairly dark and out-of-the-way spire of the Notre Dame Cathedral to perch upon. Goldeneye flinched at the sight of her princess, quickly discarding something.

"Were you... smoking?"

Goldeneye wasn't sure what to say to it. So, she did what she always did when she wasn't sure what to say—she laughed.

"It's a terrible habit, princess," she said, standing up slowly. "I've been trying to quit, you know."

Ladybug imagined what Gold must look like during the day, whether she was some sort of coarse delinquent chainsmoking against a brick wall and burying herself in a black leather jacket. The image wasn't unattractive, she supposed.

"I've just never seen you smoke before," Ladybug commented quite innocently.

"You're the reason I'm trying to quit."

Ladybug felt her cheeks grow pink again, so she quickly turned away, hiding behind her own hands. To think such a beautiful girl would quit smoking for someone like her...

"Come on now, little Lady," Gold smirked, approaching her princess. "You don't have to take it to heart. —Or are you thinking about something else?"

Ladybug faltered, the sight of two golden eyes stirring heat in her chest.

"Do you think I'm some sort of bad boy now?" Gold's gravely voice whispered to her. "Am I no longer your perfect prince?"

In an effort to distract Goldeneye and take control of the situation, Ladybug flicked one of Gold's earrings, letting it swing like a little golden pendulum and scatter light everywhere.

"It's really only one thing," she said. "It's not like I'm a perfect princess either."

Goldeneye's gaze softened as it met Ladybug's, the prince's fangs glinting in the light. Gold grabbed her princess by the waist and—like the tease she was—planted a kiss on Ladybug's head.

"Perfect or not, a princess is a princess to me," Goldeneye told her. "And a princess such as you is better off escorted through her patrol."

As was routine, Goldeneye offered her arm, and Ladybug slipped her hand through, noting the subtle firmness, perhaps even muscularity to her prince's arm.

"Shall we, my princess?" she said. It wasn't the same way Chat would say it. It was easier to trick herself into thinking Goldeneye didn't mean it that way. That they were simply just friends.

"We shall."

#lady “it's not flirting if we're both women” bug #IDIOT. she has fallen for the classic yuri blunder!#ladywalker #goldenlady #miraculous fanfic #marinette dupain cheng #mlb ladybug #mlb ladynoir #lesbian!ladynoir #gay ass cat and her gay ass bug friend #miraculous fandom #miraculous lb #miraculous chat noir #catwalker #patte de velours

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svechnikovvv · 2 years ago

Text

the color violet

pairing: playboy!trevor zegras x fem!reader

warnings: profanity

summary: trevor wasn’t supposed to fall for you, but he did

a/n: I WAS TRYING TO HAVE THIS FINISHED EARLIER TODAY, BUT MY BESTFRIEND WAS IN TOWN AND I HAVENT SEEN HER IN A YEAR AND A HALF SO I WAS WITH HER ALL DAY. MY APOLOGIES

masterlist: here

i took my drugs and took my lovin’ when i left out the spot

i left the party with a barbie marking x on the dot

she calls my phone up, but i told her, "i'm a loner"

but she likes my watch and my droptop and my persona

of course you knew who trevor zegras was. who didn't? the notorious campus playboy that every girl just had to sleep with. so, it was no surprise that when you decided to attend a party for once, he was there.

you walk through all the sweaty bodies grinding on one another, and manage to make it to the kitchen. a dark-haired boy is leaning against one of the counters with a faraway look in his eyes.

"you okay?" you ask, and he looks up, giving you a soft smile.

"yeah, just thinking." you let out a soft laugh at his response

"you can think with all of this going on?" he shrugs

"i'm jamie," he says and you walk and stand beside him, pouring a glass of water.

"nice to meet you, jamie. i'm y/n" the sound of giggling then comes into the kitchen and both jamie and you look up to see trevor with some blonde hanging on his arm.

"don't wait up for me tonight, jamie." trevor then locks eyes with you and he just stands there and stares.

"trevorrrr," the blonde whines, breaking him out of his trance. for a moment, trevor forgot that he was about to go home with—what was her name again? stacy? stephanie? he can't remember. all he knew though, is that he needed to get to know who you were.

"yeah, let's go." he breaks his eyes away from yours and walks out the house.

"what was that?" jamie asks, looking at you.

"i don't know. but i refuse to be one of his notches under his belt." jamie takes another sip of his drink.

meanwhile, trevor was lying in his bed with his phone up to his ear. he made a very last minute decision and told whatever her name was, that he wasn't sleeping with her. he dropped her off at her sorority and is now getting an earful from her on the phone.

"trevor, i just don't understand-" he cuts her off.

"listen stacy-" now she cuts him off.

"it's savannah!" he rolls his eyes

"savannah, stacy, same thing. look- you're a nice girl, but i had a change of heart."

"more like a change of dick," she mumbles.

"are we done here?" trevor asks, ready to just be off the phone and do whatever it is he does.

"i just don't get it. you're hot, i'm hot, what's not working?" he sighs

"i don't know, okay? i don't. now i have to go, bye." he then hangs up the phone, not giving her a chance to speak and he lies his head back, groaning. why was this girl he didn't even know getting to him?

we hit the highway, 1-5-5, with my whole foot on the dash

she's in my ear, she's got no fear, she could care less if we crash

but on my radar, i've got some nerve to play hard

i've waited for my chance, but playboys we don't dance, dance, dance

trevor needed to forget you. this past week, you're all that's been in his head, and it was starting to mess with his hockey performance. he's been trying to work up a nerve to talk to you all week. ever since he saw you at that party, he sees you everywhere on campus. he tells himself that it's not that hard to just go up to you and talk to you, but it is. you're different.

"savannah? yeah, you free?" he knows he shouldn't have called the blonde, but he needed it. in minutes, he's over at her sorority to pick her up and she slides into the passenger side of his car, her cheap perfume wafting into his face.

"where do you want to go?"

"wherever you want to go." trevor nods and puts his foot on the gas, speeding to wherever his car takes him. he somehow ended up on the main highway, not really having a specific destination in mind. he was just aimlessly driving. savannah then leans over and starts to sweet-talk trevor in his ear.

"savannah, i'm driving here." he grips the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turn white.

"i don't care." trevor then picks up his speed even more and the blonde girl beside him smirks to herself.

"hard to get, huh? two can play at that game." she continues on with her charade for the rest of the car ride, and eventually trevor pulls over on the side of the road.

"are you happy now?"

"very." trevor knew he shouldn't be doing this. if he wanted the girl, he should've said something. but she didn’t deserve a playboy.

i lost my heart

speedin' car goin' 90 in the rain

she took my heart, filled it with nothin' but pain

this beat in my dance is not for romance

i wanna stay but, playboys, we don't dance, dance, dance

trevor has been seeing more of you lately. with your newfound friendship with jamie, you’re over a lot to help him study or to just hang out. trevor would always say a small “hi,” not wanting to mess up his chances with you.

you, however, didn’t know what game he was playing at. you knew his reputation and refused to be known as one of his hookups. no thank you. so you’d always just give him a small wave and that seemed to satisfy him. or so you thought.

you were hanging with jamie and since a big storm was about to blow in, you were trapped at the drysdale-zegras house.

“don’t wait up for me tonight, jamie!” trevor calls out from the living room. jamie gets up and leaves you sitting in his room.

“where are you going? it’s about to storm.” trevor shrugs because honestly? he couldn’t last another minute in the house with you. he gets the hint—you don’t like him. he just needed to drive and clear his head.

“just need to clear my head.”

“but z-” trevor had that determined look in his eyes that jamie knew all too well. he wasn’t backing down from this. he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“just, drive safe man.” trevor nods and leaves the place. jamie heads back to you and you’re caught off-guard by his distressed look.

“what happened?”

“trevor wants to go driving right when the storm is about to start.” your brows furrow

“huh, that’s weird.” jamie nods in agreement and takes his seat back beside you.

“you figure out what the answer to number 7 was?”

“mhm. the velocity is 8”

“you’re like… a math wizard.” you roll your eyes at him

trevor turned the music up. the current song that was playing was let it happen by tame impala. trevor seemed to get lost in the music and his speedometer was just shy of 95. he then sees those red and blue flashing lights and he curses to himself as he pulls over.

“you were going pretty fast!” the officer shouts over the pouring rain. “you need to slow down or you’ll wreck.” he then writes something on a slip of paper and tears it out the notepad, handing it to trevor. just his luck, a fucking speeding ticket.

without even knowing it, you broke trevor’s heart. you were the first girl since his sandbox crush in kindergarten, that he liked for more than a day. and you just took his heart and ran it through a paper-shredder.

he drives off and heads back home. figuring since the rain was getting harder, he should be inside. god, he hated when jamie was right.

when he parks in front of the apartment complex, he sees that your car is still there. he sighs and runs up the stairs, not wanting to get drenched. he puts his key in the lock, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

“trevor, is that you?” he hears jamie call out

“yeah!” he calls back, taking his key out the door and shutting it behind him, locking it. trevor walks into the living area to see that you guys have moved into there.

“glad you’re safe,” jamie says and trevor nods, meeting your eyes for a brief second before heading to his room. when his door was shut, you turned to jamie.

“what’s up with him?” he knew why trevor was acting the way he was. trevor came clean to jamie the other day with some liquid courage in his system. he blabbed on about how you’re so pretty and he just wants a chance with you, but he’s not the romance type and how you deserve someone better than that. jamie though, thought it was all bullshit because he knew deep down that trevor was a great guy. he knew you were a great girl. so why not give it a chance?

“i don’t know, he’s been in a funk lately.” jamie lied through his teeth. but he told trevor that if he wanted anything to happen between the two of you, he should tell you on his terms. he wasn’t an asshole to out his friend’s feelings like that.

oh, face in the daylight, wastin time on the stars in the sky

she’s got my pager, blankets of love fall on my eyes

then i’m reminded, love don’t come until you find it

i just hope that it’s workin’, i’m yearnin’, i’m searchin’

trevor was sitting on the rooftop with jamie like usual, staring at the night sky. their rooftop playlist was softly playing in the background.

"what's on your mind, z. i can smell the braincells burning." trevor looked at his friend and rolled his eyes, getting a laugh out the dark-haired boy.

"y/n. i just... i like her so much, you know? but i know she doesn't like me because god, i'm such a whore."

"hey man, just tell her. you never know what she'll say. when's the last time you hooked up with a girl?" trevor sat and thought. the last time he did was with savannah and that was about four months ago.

"four months ago." jamie nods

"when's the last time you even talked to a girl that way?"

"four months," he says again and jamie gives him a look that says told you so.

"go for it. you miss 100% of the shots you don't take." trevor whips his head to look at jamie.

"okay wayne gretzky." they both laugh and go back to staring at the sky. he wanted to make a move, he did, but he needed to know that you felt the same. he needed a sign. he needed to find that love that he's always been preached about that he'd find. all the endless scolding by his brother that he needs to change his ways and find someone to settle down with and love.

i mean, lately you've been talking to him more. so there's something there, right?

the afterparty was on wilson and 73rd

you got the notion that somebody else was with me first

but on my radar, you had some nerve to play hard

you took away my chance, but playboys we don't dance, dance, dance

trevor hadn't been to a party since when he met you. so he figured, what the hell, and went to one that one of his basketball friends was throwing after the win on their big game. unbeknownst to him, you were also there. specifically to see trevor.

yeah, you'll admit that at first, you didn't like him. but hanging with jamie everyday, you saw a lot of him. not talking to him at all went to talking him a little then went to talking to him everytime you saw him. you started to see why everygirl wanted to jump his bones. he was a nice looking guy, and he was pretty fucking funny.

so here you were to see him. you were in the corner of the kitchen sipping on your water and talking to jamie when he spotted you. he was about to come talk to you when one of the cheerleaders that one of his friends used to date came up to him.

"trevor, long time no see." he chuckles and pulls the girl into a hug

"lindsay, hey. how've you been?" the brunette girl shrugs

"i've been better. but i was wondering if you know who has talked about me any?"

"he may have said that he misses you and breaking up with you was a mistake. but you didn't hear that from me." he zips his lips and she laughs, giving him a hug bye and walking off. trevor then goes back to head to you only to see that you weren't there. he walks over to jamie and his brows are furrowed.

"where's y/n?"

"said to hold her drink and that she needed to go dance." trevor nods and scouts out the dancefloor for you. you were against some guy dancing and he had his hands on your hips. trevor walks over to the two of you and pushes the guy off of you, grabbing your hand and taking you to the kitchen. you tore your hand out of his grip and he spun around to face you.

"what's your problem?" you asked him and he crossed his arms. he then pointed a finger at where you previously were.

"want to tell me what that was?" you scoff

"you don't own me, zegras. why do you care anyways?" it was your turn to cross your arms.

"because y/n, i thought i made it painfully obvious that i liked you!" you were shocked. now you felt you had the nerve to play hard to get tonight when he just admitted to that. you then remembered the girl he was friendly with a few minutes ago.

"then who was that girl you were so busy talking to?" his brows furrowed

"what? what girl?"

"you were just talking to her, trevor! brown hair, a dress too short for fucking winter. any of that ring a bell to you?" he then pieces it together. lindsay. you saw him talking to lindsay.

"y/n, no, she dated one of my friends and wanted to know if he missed her." you kept your arms crossed and he sighed.

"want me to prove it to you?" he then looks around for her and when he spots her, he calls her over. she walks over to trevor and looks between him and you.

"trevor, who's your friend?" she then holds her hand out to you. "lindsay, nice to meet you."

"y/n," you said and trevor tapped lindsay on the shoulder.

"lindsay, are you and i a thing?" he asks her and she gags

"hell no. you know i'm still hung over drew. besides, i don't do brunettes." trevor then looks at you and gives you a pointed look.

"wait, why did you ask me that?" she asks him

"just proving a point." he then waved bye and slung an arm over your shoulder, leading you to somewhere more quiet.

"y/n, i'm being honest when i tell you i've liked you since that night i met you at the party. i would never lie to you about something as serious as feelings." you were still a bit skeptical, but you nodded your head anyways.

"so... will you go on a date with me?" he nervously asks and you give him a soft smile, nodding. he gets all excited and fist bumps the air.

maybe playboys can change their ways.

tags: @goldenbrokenheart @lhugh @woodruff-edwards @hockeyboysarehot @ajbird2010 @hughesx3 @hannahh01938 @theywantedplayer @k1ttyt3ar @l0veforhugh3s @fratboyzegras

a/n: this was so fun to write 🫶🏻

#trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras #nhl hockey #nhl #anaheim ducks

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meaningofaeons · 1 year ago

Text

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ obviously oblivious

⊹ character(s) - geto suguru ⊹ word count - 2.7k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, fluff, a hint of angst if you squint, fake dating, takes place in hidden inventory (before all the bad stuff so ... hs!au sort of but still in jjks regular setting), possibly ooc suguru sorry </3

this is the raffle fic for the winner of the cat-baret raffle, @psychopomp-enthusiast !! they requested a geto x reader fake dating and I was more than happy to oblige *:･ﾟ✧(=✪ ᆺ ✪=)*:･ﾟ✧ permission was granted to post this fic! also, sorry in advance if there's any she/her usage or fem terms used for reader! I try my best to edit and ensure they're 100% gn, but sometimes things slip through the cracks! let me know if I messed up anywhere!

"You want me to do what?"

You kept your hands firmly over your face, already thoroughly humiliated by the request at hand. If not for the fact that Satoru would certainly value holding something over your head as blackmail, he would've already ran and told Suguru about your little plan.

"I'm not repeating myself!"

"No, no, seriously, I think I didn't hear you!"

Satoru's disbelief had melded into disbelief and humor, his eyes lighting up at your misery. "Tell me what you wanted my help with again!"

"Satoru, you are a dick!"

"I don't think that's how you ask someone for help if you really need them to help you out."

"Forget it."

"Why do you want me to pretend to date you, of all things?" he chuckled, ignoring your words and continuing the conversation, plopping himself right onto your desk. You glared at him, having half a mind to shove him off onto the floor. "Wouldn't that just make Suguru upset?"

"No— Well, yes, but like, not intentionally."

"You literally have bad intentions with this plan."

You shoved him hard, but the white-haired boy managed to keep his ass firmly on your desk, laughing at the futility of your gesture. You slumped backwards in your seat.

"What's the point?"

"The point is that he'd realize he likes me back. Or, if he doesn't like me, I'd be able to tell by him not caring. Or something like that..."

"That's stupid."

You groaned. You knew that.

"He's definitely the type of guy to just let it go and suffer in silence. I mean, I've been friends with him for ages. He'd be all, 'I'm happy you're happy, Satoru!' or something."

You knew that too. That's one of the reasons you liked him, for God's sake.

"So let's do it."

"Huh?!"

You shot up in your seat, eyeing your friend suspiciously. He only shot you a catlike grin in turn.

"Well, you asked me, Suguru's closest friend. So obviously, I could wring it out of him if he was really upset, and then boom, the sham is up! You two date! Happily ever after!"

You gave him an unimpressed look, and he whistled indignantly.

"...Or I could ask Shoko. Whatever."

"And what do you get out of this?"

"Entertainment?" Satoru batted his annoyingly long eyelashes at you prettily, placing his hands under his chin in a mock-gesture that made you want to strangle his perfect skin. "Fun? The satisfaction that I finally get to stop seeing you pine after him—"

"What do you really want?"

"You treat me to sweets anytime I want. It fits into the scheme, anyways! And besides, Suguru kinda pissed me off last week."

"You're literally rich! And you probably started it! What do you mean, he pissed you off?"

Satoru raised his eyebrow at you, and you let out a long, deep, exaggerated sigh.

"Fine."

"Yippee!" You could've pelted him the way he, a grown ass man, pranced around the room like a little toddler girl. As if he even needed your money for his sugar addiction.

"Prick," you muttered, just out of earshot of the strongest as he walked towards the door.

"Okaaay, I'm going now, my dearest! Have some Kikufuku on my desk tomorrow and I'll consider the contract sealed!"

"Prick!" you shouted it this time, really throwing something (a small eraser) but Satoru had already dashed out the door, laughing all the way.

Regardless, you collapsed into your seat again, utterly mortified.

Would this really work?

Guess you had to try.

—

"What's this?"

Suguru, despite himself, found himself questioning the packet of Kikufuku on Satoru's desk. They'd only just come from the dorms, and they'd done so together as usual, so there was no way Satoru would've had time to get it for himself. Not to mention...

"Isn't this the specialty one from Sendai, too? What, did you do Shoko a huge favor?"

The raven-haired man wasn't pleased when the only response he got was a happy hum from his white-haired friend, who sat down and inspected the treat before popping a piece of mochi in his mouth.

"No," he finally spoke up after a beat of silence, mouth stuffed (causing Suguru to gag in an over-exaggerating fashion). "This is from the best partner in the world! My pookie bear!"

"Very funny," Suguru deadpanned.

Satoru looked offended for a moment, but his affronted expression melted into a look of pure glee as soon as he heard the sliding door open.

Suguru looked up at that, a small smile coming to his lips as he spotted you walk into the room.

"Hey, Y/N—"

"Sweetie!"

The smile dropped at once when he watched his friend bound over to your side, immediately hanging off of you. This wasn't necessarily unusual, but the pet name—not to mention how you didn't immediately shove Satoru off as you usually would—caught Suguru's attention.

"Satoru, stop. We're in class."

"But you got this Kikufuku especially for me, right? Come on, let me pay you back with some cuddles~"

You pushed Satoru away by the cheek, but didn't necessarily work to extricate yourself from him. The raven-haired man definitely noticed this time.

An unpleasant feeling rose in Suguru's gut, but he played it as coolly as he could.

"What's this? Are you two going out or something?" he mocked, chuckling in disbelief. You looked contemplative, and Satoru got a nasty smirk on his face.

As if—

"Yeah, we are," you answered back, equally as calm. The man hanging off of your arm looked all-too pleased with himself as you answered, whereas Suguru had practically gone into shock.

"S-Seriously?" The sorcerer tried to keep his outward dismay to a minimum, but a stutter still edged its way into his voice.

While you were far too distracted in subtly attempting to remove Satoru's arms from around you without making it obvious that your "relationship" was a sham, the man clutching onto you was relishing in the way his friend tried desperately to remain casual at the news.

"Seriously, seriously!" Satoru chimed in, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight hug. That was the point you gave up trying to get him away.

"Well, congratulations," Suguru muttered, half-hearted words barely forced out. He eyed you for any sign of this being a trick, but to his utter despair, your poker face revealed none of what he was searching for—humor, annoyance, anything that might tell him that Satoru was making the whole thing up.

"Thanks," you murmured back, a bit dismayed yourself.

Did he even care—

"So who asked who ou—"

"Okay, in your seats, everyone," Yaga walked into the room, cutting off Suguru's desperate question, glaring at you three. "Shoko's out on business and won't be back until the afternoon, so it's just you lot."

"Okaaaay," Satoru dragged his feet, letting go of you reluctantly and plopping himself into his seat. You sat one over from him, right between he and Suguru.

Throughout the entire class, your white-haired friend couldn't help but chuckle to himself at your raven-haired friend's urgent glances your way.

By the time Yaga had dismissed you three, Suguru excused himself quite quickly and practically ran out the door.

Well, strode was more like it, but Satoru could see the hurry in his steps.

Off to tell Shoko all about it, he was sure.

"See? He didn't seem to care at all," you pouted a bit, head slumped on your desk. Bright blue eyes rolled in incredulity at your density.

"Seriously? He always sticks around after class to hang out. Why else would he have ran off?"

"To not see you making a fool of yourself and drooling all over me?"

It was tempting to take that Kikufuku in Satoru's hand and pelt him right between the eyes with it as he batted his eyelashes innocently, but you resisted your violent urges. He only chuckled more, popping treat after treat past his lips.

"I think you're being dumb."

"You're dumb."

"Am not! Suguru's the dumb one, really."

"He's not dumb!" you fired back. "He clearly just isn't interested in me, so let's just stop this already."

"Wow, I've only been your fake boyfriend for a day, and you're already trashing me. Shame!"

"I just don't want to owe you more desserts than I have to for something that clearly won't work."

Satoru whistled. "Well, at least I got one bag of Kikufuku out of it!"

"Jerk..." you muttered.

A beat of silence passed, and you half-expected the man to up and leave after getting bored, but when you glanced up, you saw him fiddling with his flip phone.

Then, he grinned at the screen, turning to you.

"Let's go to Suzukien."

"What? Why?" you asked. In all fairness, matcha gelato did sound pretty delicious at the moment, especially to offput your bad mood. However, you'd be loath to admit when Satoru had a good idea lest his head inflate to the size of a large balloon.

"Just feel like a colder treat. Your treat, 'cause I helped you out and all."

You grumbled and pulled your bag over your shoulders, walking over to the door. "Fine, let's go."

"Yay!"

—

The second Suguru had gotten out of class, as Satoru had guessed, he had gone straight to Shoko.

She nearly leapt out of her seat as the door slammed open, whipping around with a glare to shush her friend.

"Are you insane? This is a clinic. I'm working."

"Did you know Y/N and Satoru are dating?"

For a moment, Shoko's expression reflected pure horror and pity, but then, she stopped. It took her a total of 5 seconds of thought to put two and two together, and she shrugged.

"No, they're not."

"They just told me they are."

"Then you're an idiot for believing them."

Suguru plopped himself into the cold metal chair in the corner, eyeing Shoko and awaiting an explanation. She sighed, finishing up her technique on the patient and removing her gloves, walking over to her table full of various medical tools.

"I remember like a year ago, there was a guy I thought was kind of cute. Gojo had this grand idea to get him jealous by pretending we were going out, but the catch was that I had to buy him sweets whenever he wanted. It lasted maybe a day, but he does a good job of being overbearingly annoying as a fake boyfriend."

Suguru, for all his intelligence, was still a bit slow. Perhaps it was the implication of you having some sort of feelings for him that ran the train of disbelief in his mind.

"And that connects to this situation... why?"

Shoko looked at him, extremely unimpressed.

"Did Gojo have a pack of sweets on his desk?"

"Yeah, Kikufuku..."

"And were they from Y/N?"

"He said—" Suguru paused, his brain running a mile a minute. Then, he buried his face in his hands. Shoko only pulled out her flip phone, typing away.

"I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are."

"I bet this is because Yaga backed me up when we were arguing over the pronunciation of a word last week..."

"Probably. That's Gojo for you."

"So do I ask them out now?"

"What do you think?" Shoko flashed her phone's screen in Suguru's face, the man squinting to get a good look at the words.

Gojo had sent a whole slew of text emojis scattered between every word, but somewhere within the endless stream of colons and parenthesis and threes was a message detailing him taking you (or you taking him, more like) to Suzukien.

He was out the door with a quick thanks before the girl could even blink, and she chuckled, popping a cigarette out of the box as she sent one more text to Satoru.

"He's on his way."

—

You grumbled to yourself even more as you sat at a small bench outside of Suzukien.

The second your money was in the clerk's hand and Satoru's gelato was in his, he had taken off, some shit excuse about having somewhere to be flying off his lips before you could process he'd ran away with the treat.

You silently wondered how much trouble you'd get into with Yaga if you were to smear mochi and red bean paste all over Satoru's desk, when a breathless voice spoke up from next to you.

"Hey."

You jumped slightly, whipping your head to the side to see none other than Suguru. Instantly, your face burned hot.

"U-Uhm, hi. What's up?"

A part of you wondered if this is why Satoru was so enamored with his phone earlier...

"I, uh, talked to Shoko."

"Oh! Um, what would that be about? Here, let me buy you a cone, it's pretty hot out, you look exhausted—"

"No, no, it's okay, uh..." Suguru toyed with his bang, trying to maintain eye contact with you and failing horrendously.

He could talk to you just fine before.

What the hell was going on with him now?!

Right. You'd gone through all the trouble to get roped into Satoru's scheme just at an attempt to convey your feelings without really conveying them, and those feelings just happened to be the same as his—

"Suguru?"

The raven-haired man shook his head. Even if Shoko said what she said, he has to be sure he's not actually trying to steal his best friend's official significant other or anything.

"The dating thing with Satoru wasn't—isn't real, right? Just... Just double checking."

"U-Uhh..." You were torn between perpetuating the lie and telling the truth, but seeing the smoldering look in Suguru's eyes, you shrunk and bowed your head. "N-No, sorry... It was just, uhm, a joke. That's right! Just a joke. I assume Shoko—"

"She told me it was because you wanted to make me jealous."

Well, that was blunt.

It seems Suguru himself realized it, too, because at your flustered expression, he waved a hand frantically.

"But that's just what she said could be it, because Satoru and her did that to another guy! She could've been lying, or just relating it to another experience! Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, no, she's, uhm, she was right," you laughed anxiously, scuffing your shoe against the ground and fidgeting about as your cone slowly melted. "Being completely honest, she was right. I did— I did do it to make you jealous."

"Oh... oh."

The silence was thick with tension between you two, but you soon began giggling—out of pure nerves or actual humor, you weren't sure.

It wasn't long before Suguru joined in, his tense expression softening at your laughter.

"I'm sorry, I was being stupid... I should've just told you."

"No, I think I should've told you first. That I like you, I mean."

Your chuckles ceased at once, hot shock rising in your cheeks.

"Seriously...?"

"Seriously, seriously," Suguru mimicked Satoru. Your eyes widened, and you glanced away, but the raven-haired man only leaned back into your line of sight.

"So, do you want to go out? I'll buy you a new cone to make up for distracting you. It can be our first date."

It was at that moment that you realized the icy cold that was covering your hands, jumping with surprise and embarrassment as you noticed your treat all over your fingers. Suguru only smiled, heading inside and coming back out with some napkins, helping you clean off your hands and toss your cone in the trash.

"Really, though, Suguru, I'll treat. It was my fault for going along with Satoru's—"

"Nuh uh. He already made you buy Sendai Kikufuku. I can't imagine the time and effort to get that for today."

"Well, then, um... Thanks—"

"Finally!"

You two practically spun in a circle at the obnoxious voice ringing out from behind the corner of the block. Satoru waved around his flip phone victoriously, a picture of Suguru and you standing quite close together now on its screen.

"I've already told Shoko! Enjoy your date, lovebirds~!"

Before you could say a word, he had scrambled off, giggling all the way. You and Suguru shared a glance.

"Would you be opposed to sharing the punishment with me if I fucked with Satoru's desk? I was thinking of leaving him a couple of melted gelato cones in there."

"Yaga will kill us, but it'll be worth it."

The two of you smiled, laughing a bit. Then, Suguru led you into the gelato shop, warmth filling his chest.

It took a bit of time and confusion, but he had you.

#geto x reader #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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