#and he is none the wiser and never will be

[redheadfiretruckgirl]

Why Me?

Melissa receives an upsetting phone call from her ex husband at work and, as always, you are there to catch her fall. Who's going to be able to catch you from falling for her, though?

WC: 4k

Tags: America's Sweetheart @milfjuulpod (shoot me a message if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Or be friends idk.)

Warnings: cursing, brief mention of family member death, sad Mel :(

A/N: Turns out I found my calling and it's to make y'all cry.

The halls of Abbott were completely empty, with only the smell of fresh coffee floating through the air. The doors held incredible potential energy, just waiting to be pushed through by the tiny hands of Philadelphia’s youth. The only signs of life were the usual cast of characters enjoying Action News in the teacher’s lounge.

Although you had been a teacher at Abbott for over a year, you had just joined in on this morning ritual. You never really understood why everyone loved it so much until you showed up to work early one morning to try it out. It was perfect: fresh coffee, silence among your coworkers, and extra fleeting glances at the one and only, Melissa Schemmenti.

You were one of the only people in that school to match Melissa’s wit, and definitely the only one that has ever been able to step to her. Just last week you had to explain to her how it was inappropriate to call a student a “bambino fastidioso” (annoying child) to their face, even if they “didn’t know what it meant.” Even though Melissa was much older than you, you found yourself emitting a sort of nurturing energy around her, like your spirit predated hers by hundreds of years. It wasn’t a ‘holier-than-thou’ thing, as you psychoanalyzed that exact thought on a daily basis to make sure you never came off that way, you just simply really cared for Melissa. Maybe even loved her. You two had been on a few coffee outings, mostly to talk about books you were reading, and even then Ava or Barbara would usually tag along. Sometimes you would venture to one of the lunch spots close to the school one-on-one, and you’d savor every moment, but things never went much further than that. And that was fine. 

Today, upon your arrival, you scanned the room for your redheaded crush. Jacob spotted you from the corner of his eye, “Looking for someone?” He wore a shit-eating grin.

You rolled your eyes, “Where’s Schemmenti?”

“She’s taking a phone call—” Jacob started. Barbara, who sat on the sofa, turned around and shushed you two.

Your eyes found Jacob’s again, “Stop smiling like that. You look stupid,” you spat at him, and put your things down on a nearby chair. You straightened your shirt and headed for the door.

Jacob stopped you, “I don’t think she wants to be interrupted…”

You snap back to him, “I’m going to the bathroom. Is that fucking illegal now?”

He cowered. Barbara whipped around again, “Y/N! We are in an elementary school, and more importantly, in the presence of G. O. D. Chose your words wiser.”

“Gee, I almost forgot.” You rolled your eyes and exited the lounge.

You had no intention of bothering Melissa until you heard an animalistic noise cut through the silence of the hallway. You turned around on your heels quickly and followed it. Another loud shriek came from an opening in the door to Melissa’s classroom. Your eyes widened as you scurried over, leaning flat against the wall next to the door, trying to listen. Your stomach turned as you couldn’t make out her words, only her morphed sobs and screams at whoever she was yelling at.

It was rare for Melissa to exude such emotion in public. Even when her Nonna died last year, none of the others figured it out until months later. For some reason, however, you were the one who Melissa called when she found out. You spent all night in the rocking chair on your porch listening to Melissa grieve, mostly silent, occasionally offering reassurance and other soft words. The whole time, you were perplexed: why you? What about you made Melissa feel comfortable enough to let her guard down?

You shook off the memory just as you heard a final yell from the classroom, “DO NOT FUCKING CALL ME AGAIN!” Just then, Melissa’s cell phone flew through the doorway and flopped to the ground. 

You counted to five to make sure nothing else was coming after it, then you bent down to retrieve the phone. The screen was smashed. Melissa, hadn’t noticed you. Her head rested in her hands. You picked up her phone and crept into her room. “I think you dropped this,” you waved the phone in the air and smiled crookedly. You had an inability to be serious in serious situations, but your jokes showed your sincerity, and Melissa appreciated that. 

She looked up from her hands as you handed her the phone. Her face was mangled with tears, full of humiliation. There was a small twinge of relief in her eyes, realizing it was you. The broken phone stared up at her, “Fuck…” she examined it.

“I know. 8AM is a little early for you to be going all She-Hulk on me, Schemmenti. What’s going on?” You leaned back up against her desk.

“Did you hear any of that?” Child-like embarrassment filled her eyes.

“No. Not much. I just heard more crying than cussing, which is what concerned me.”

“It was Joe,” her eyes glued to the phone.

“Oh, joy,” you exhale sharply and wait for Melissa’s explanation. It takes a few moments.

“Actually, I called him,” you raise an eyebrow at her as she continued, “Do you remember when I told you about my Nonna’s jewelry box?”

“The one she left to you? From the old country?” You tilted your head to the side.

“That’s the one. Well, last night, I was going through it looking for something specific. I couldn’t find it anywhere. Practically tore my house apart to find this one little thing. And then I remembered. It was probably under the secret squeaky floorboard at the old house.”

“The secret squeaky what?” You half-laughed. The words sounded ridiculous coming from Melissa.

“At the house Joe and I shared, in the basement, there was this loose floorboard in the corner where I kept all the important stuff: photos, trinkets, jewelry, you know. Nonna gave me the thing I was looking for when Joe and I got married, so I figured I might’ve accidentally left it under there. I called Joe and asked him to look thinking he wouldn’t know what I was talking about because, you know, secret. But he did. And he said in one of his temper tantrums, he found the floorboard and threw away everything under there. Except the thing. He kept it all these years and just…just gave it away to his most recent slam-piece.” Her voice cracked on those last words.

“Slam-piece? I thought he got remarried?” You questioned.

“Re-married and re-divorced. That man couldn’t keep a woman if he had her in a god damn cage. And now, some random whore is in possession of an heirloom that has been in my family for centuries.” She began sobbing again, her words broken up, “And Joe said that if I really cared about it I wouldn’t have left it.” Her head fell back into her hands. 

Your fists clenched, “So he’s just…not gonna give it back?” You asked though gritted teeth.

Melissa was hysterical, stuttering through her next thoughts, “N-no. He said he couldn’t j-just take it b-back from her because he already g-gave it and it would be rude t-to take it away. But it’s—it’s mine! He just took it…he just…” She couldn’t speak anymore.

You quickly stood and wrapped your arms around her poor, sitting figure. “Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Mel.” You whispered, rubbing her back as she cried into your stomach. You gentleness was simply a facade. As you looked out the window behind her, the world caught fire. Your blood boiled; you could feel it in your ears, behind your eyes, and in each one of your fingertips. So badly did your mouth want to spit poisonous words. Your fists wanted to break the windows. You wanted to wail along with Melissa, but you knew she needed softness. Your fingernails combed through her long, red locks as she took a couple of deep breaths, collecting herself. 

When she pulled away, you kneeled down to her level and grabbed her face, “Melissa Schemmenti, I will not rest until you have that…thing.” You paused, “What is it, anyway? I feel like I should know what I’m going to murder someone over, right?”

She let out an exasperated laugh, “It doesn’t matter, kiddo. There’s no chance he’ll give it back to me. Especially not after that phone call. Just forget about it.”

“Impossible.” You replied, but halfway said to yourself. You were going to figure out how to get back Melissa’s heirloom, whatever it was, if it was the last thing you did. Both of you were snapped out of the moment when the 8:30 bell invaded you ears. In just a few moments, Melissa’s students would parade through the door, tugging on the hem of her jacket, needing her.

You ran your thumbs under Melissa’s eyes, swiping away tears, loose makeup, and heartbreak. It reminded you of leveling the flour off the measuring cup when you baked Melissa a cake for her birthday a few months before. Something you were good at: making everything just right. “You are gonna be okay, amore mio,” she raised an eyebrow at your sloppy Italian, “You know where my classroom is if you need me. How about we eat lunch in there together?”

Melissa nodded. The chatter of small children crescendoed from down the hall. Before you could even think of your next move, your body took over. Without thinking, you leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Melissa’s forehead. You stood and stumbled back immediately, both sets of eyes wide. Preparing for impact, you took two more slow steps backward. Melissa softened, however, exhaling deeply. With her breath went every worry, every tear she cried. She straightened her shoulders, dumbfounded that your intimate gesture, however slight, pulled so much negativity out of her body so aggressively. You quickly turned around and headed for the exit. Melissa stood up to stop you, but her students flooded the doorway waiting to be greeted by their teacher.

During lunch, you kept your promise. You suggested you and Melissa take a walk over to the hoagie shop near the school and she agreed. Melissa would never ever turn down a capicola sandwich and a bag of sour cream and onion chips, especially if they were free. The two of you ate in your classroom. Melissa, though still melancholic, babbled about last week’s football game with her mouth full. You felt guilty for not listening all the way, but the inside of your head was too chaotic. It was for good reason, though, as you were thinking of the thousands of ways you could possibly get Melissa’s item back. You had to internally talk yourself out of busting down the door of the house and demanding it back from the bitch. Getting arrested would probably piss Melissa off more, even if she would respect you for it. 

You also couldn’t get that forehead kiss out of your head. What were you thinking? You weren’t thinking. More importantly, why did Melissa seem to like it? What was Melissa about to say before her students interrupted? You decided against bringing it up, as to not make anything weird. Melissa seemed to be in a good enough mood for the situation, and you didn’t want to ruin it. You bit hard into your Italian sub.

“You okay over there, hon?” Melissa asked.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” You replied with your mouth full.

“You just tore that bread off your sandwich like it was someone’s head,” she laughed, “And you haven’t been listening for the last five minutes.”

“What? I’ve been listening!” You put down your sandwich, “You said ‘if the fucking god damn Cowboys run one more shitty play, I’m going to drive to Dallas and set the stadium ablaze myself.’”

“Touché.” She took another bite, “You coming?”

You raised an eyebrow. Coming. “Coming where?”

“To Dallas. For arson. I don’t need an accomplice, but I’d like to have someone there to take a picture of me in front of the burning stadium.” You both burst into laughter.

“Well, why me?” You shook if off. 

Melissa looked through your eyes, into your soul. “I don’t know. I just like you.” She snapped back to reality, “And you have fast little feet for when we need to make a run for it. Duh.” 

After walking Melissa back to her classroom, you decided to visit Miss Problem-Solver herself: Janine Teagues. You dropped your kids off at music class and then tiptoed over to her room. After a few knocks, she popped out of her seat and scurried over to you, “Hey, you! What’s up?”

You chose your next words carefully, as to not overexcite the small fireball, “Do you have a couple minutes? I think I need some advice.”

Her eyes widened, “Advice? I’m so good at advice! What do you need advice about? The math lesson plan you’ve been fooling around with? You know, I know you’re not the strongest in math but I really do think you totally got this and if we just—”

“No, no, nothing school related…kinda,” you cut her off, “Lets say one of your friends has an item that is super important to them…that someone else is in possession of…and they won’t give it back. But your friend is the rightful owner. How would you, you know, stick your hand in and try to get it back?”

“I knew Melissa was acting extra hostile today.” She spoke to the floor.

“What? I didn’t say it was Melissa.” You raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t have to,” Janine smirked. 

“Okay, whatever. But this conversation is definitely not happening right now. Capeesh?” She mimed zipping her lips. “Good. Now, Joe took a family heirloom from Melissa and gave it to his new girlfriend, but it’s been in Melissa’s family for like a million years. He is refusing to give it back to her. But I need to get it back. I know I can.”

She tilted her head to the side, “Have you tried asking his girlfriend about it?”

“I guess not,” you began, “But I don’t even know who she is!’

Janine cackled, “Y/N, we’re millennials. We’re the Facebook stalking champions. Let’s figure this out.”

She walked back over to her computer and you followed. You stood behind her as she got onto Facebook. First, she pulled up Melissa’s page. You paused to admire her profile picture: it was when the Eagles won the Super Bowl last year. She stood at Lincoln Financial Field with her arms spread wide as confetti rained around her, and an open mouth smile decorated her face. Janine caught you smiling, “Your dimples are showing,” she joked, and clicked on Melissa’s friends list, where she found Joe. 

The two of them were on good terms until, presumably, this particular morning. Joe’s profile picture was himself holding an oversized beer. Sounds about right. Every time you saw Joe’s picture you never understood what Melissa saw in him. Of course, you never really had any sort of feelings towards men, period. But, Melissa was so beautiful, and Joe was…so average. Ugly even. You weren’t afraid to think it. You recalled seeing their wedding photo once: Melissa looked radiant and Joe looked like he didn’t want to be there. They didn’t look right next to each other; they didn’t fit. You always imagined what you and Melissa looked like walking together. Even today, on your journey to the hoagie shop, you wondered how you two would look next to each other if the hypothetical paparazzi snapped a photo at that moment.

Janine was combing through Joe’s recent posts until she came across a selfie of him and a woman…a redhead. The caption: “My Redheaded Firetruck Girl.”

“Give me a fucking break,” you whispered.

One of Janine’s students stood, “Oooooh Ms. Y/N said a bad word!”

The class erupted into a chorus of ‘Oooooo’s. Janine looked at you disapprovingly. You shrugged a silent ‘sorry’ at her, and motioned for her to keep going. 

She clicked on the poster of the photo: Carol Trinity. “I think we found her,” Janine clapped her hands together and blew on her knuckles. “Look her up on WhitePages and you’ve got yourself a phone call!”

You thanked Janine warmly, and she replied with a wink. “Go get her, tiger.”

Your head snapped back toward her as she fixed her words, “Go get IT. I meant. Go get it. The thing.”

And you did. You called Carol and explained yourself: said you were a close friend of Joe’s ex wife and that he gave her one of Melissa’s important pieces of family history. The phone call was quick. Luckily, Carol was a normal human being. She volunteered to bring it to Abbott by the end of the day herself, and wouldn’t mention it to Joe. A girl’s girl. You thanked her a million and one times and said you would be waiting for her in the main office.

When she arrived, she hugged you tight and harped on what an amazing friend you were. You nodded intently, but your eyes kept traveling to the clock in the corner of the room: 3:54PM. The children had long gotten on the bus, and Melissa was probably packing her things to leave for the day.

As soon as Carol was outside, you blasted through the front office door with a small, sleek black box gripped tightly in your hand. A cacophony of clicks erupted from the heels of your boots as you sprinted down the hallway toward Melissa’s classroom. Your speed was so incredible, you almost missed her doorway, but as you backtracked, you realized the lights were off. “Shit!” You stomped your foot in defeat. You were then alerted by the click of the back doors opening. You whipped around to see a glimpse of bright red hair floating through. “MELISSA!” You called, but she was already outside.

Like a bull to a red scarf, your charged the back doors, knuckles white from gripping the box so hard. Melissa had already crossed the parking lot by the time you made it outside. Her hand brushed her car door when she heard your yelling, “MEL! MEL!”

Her head snapped toward the door. You jumped up and down a few times before sprinting toward her, “I got it, Mel! I got your thing!” You waved the box in the air.

Melissa’s face contorted with disbelief. There was no way you were able to get the heirloom back, and in just a few hours no less. The woman stood frozen as you finally caught up to her and held out the box. “I got it,” you repeated, breathless.

She took the box, almost glowing in the overcast light, and ran her fingers along the raised “Bellissima Gioielleria” logo. “Y/N…how did you…”

“I got a guy,” you smirked, proud of yourself. “It’s me. I’m the guy in this case. And I didn’t even have to brutally maim anyone.” 

The redhead couldn’t stop marveling at the box. You interjected again, “I didn’t open it. I know you were trying to hide what it was. I just wanted to let you know I didn’t open it.”

She looked up at you with tears in her eyes, “I just can’t believe…I can’t believe you did this for me. Why? Why did you go to all the trouble?”

“Schemmenti, I would get in bigger trouble than this if it meant I didn’t have to see you shed another sad tear for the rest of forever.” You placed your hands over hers underneath the box. 

The school doors opened again to reveal Janine, Gregory, and Jacob chattering away on their way to their cars. You and Melissa looked at them, then each other. She hit the unlock button on her keys and said, “Get in. I want to show you something.”

You ran around to the other side of the car, opened the door, and slid in with Melissa mirroring you. Once both the doors were shut, Melissa stared hard at the box in her lap before finally picking it up. She carefully took the lid off to reveal the object: a thin gold chain bracelet with the smallest, little gold star clasp. Melissa’s mouth stretched into a wide smile.

You stared at the dainty jewelry in awe, “It’s…beautiful.”

“You bet your sweet ass it is. Been in the family for over a century. My Nonna gave this to me before I married Joe. Her Nonna gave it to her and she was saving it for me,” Melissa pointed to the clasp, “She always said I was ‘la stella più luminosa’—her brightest star. I lit up the world and worked tirelessly to make it better for others around me…her words, of course. She gave it to me on my wedding day because she wanted to make sure I knew to never let anyone stomp out that light in me,” she mimicked her grandmother, “especially not some uomo disgustoso. You know, old Italian women always seem to know when something isn’t gonna work out. I swear they see the future, all of ‘em.”

She pinched the bracelet in between her fingers and lifted it to eye level, examining. Then, she looked at you. With her other hand, she summoned you, “C’mere.”

You sat back, “What?”

She reached for your arm, “Gimme your wrist.”

“Melissa, what? No,” you snatched your wrist away, but Melissa pulled it back, “Stop, what are you doing?”

“Can you please just hold still?” She unclasped the bracelet and draped it around your left wrist before re-clasping it. Tears filled your eyes immediately.  Romantic, platonic, or other, Melissa just adorned you in one of her most prized possessions. 

You looked up at her, unable to hide the immense strength it took to hold your tears back. All you could muster was, “Why…me?”

Melissa exhaled deeply, “This past year, It seems like whenever I look up, you’re always there. You’re always helping me, guiding me…I feel a comfort around you I can’t describe. I was planning on giving you this anyway, that’s why I was so upset this morning, but witnessing what you did for me today, there’s just no doubt in my mind…it’s you. You are my stella più luminosa, Y/N. And I don’t know what this is, and I don’t know what I want it to be…but I know that I really trust you.”

There was no stopping your jaw from dropping. While you had a little schoolgirl crush on Melissa, she had actual, true love for you. Actual trust in you. “All that to say,” she began again, “Do ya wanna try this out? Can I take you out sometime?”

All of your feelings for Melissa crawled up your throat and fought for space in your mouth, but you couldn’t manage to say any of them. Your body kicked into autopilot again to make up for your lack of words. You touched Melissa’s cheek, leaned in, and pressed your lips to hers. It wasn’t too gentle, but it wasn’t too forceful: it was affirming. You didn’t need to say yes, the kiss already did. When you pulled away, Melissa immediately pulled you into an awkward hug over the center console in the car. “I’ll take that as a yes,” She whispered.

You nodded into her shoulder. Muffled cheers erupted from outside the car. You both look through the front window to see Gregory jumping around and Janine and Jacob crying, holding each other. Melissa squeezed your hand, “Should we give ‘em a show?”

Before she could finish her question, you were kissing her again. 

Why you? Because you deserved Melissa. And she deserved you too.

[nerdishpursuits]

Sometimes all you need is for someone else to voice the same concerns you have and validate them. Someone to tell you “I see you, I hear you, I understand you”. Someone to be a good sounding board and confirm that, indeed, every cell in your body screaming at you to not go through with something? It cannot, and should not, be ignored. Someone to tell you to trust your gut instinct and do what’s right for you.

Sadly, this time, Fina couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Loving someone to the point of sacrificing everything for them has its downsides. And at times it blinds you to the obvious and keeps you from doing the right thing. For love is as much a strength as it is a weakness. The positives of stumbling and falling? From mistakes we learn and move forward, stronger and wiser than before (fair, I think, to also mention that the lack quality of time together heavily contributes to Marta & Fina being unable to really delve into important topics - 5 stolen minutes are not enough to get to the heart of the matter).

Fina needs to learn that it’s safe to share her truth with Marta, at all times. That doing so is not manipulative or controlling, nor will it confirm her fears that Marta might disregard her feelings and opinions if she allows herself to be vulnerable. In fact, she’ll learn the exact opposite is true. And Marta needs to learn she needs no validation from people who only seek to coerce and take advantage of her, nor does she need to please others in order to be loved and accepted. She needs to learn that she’s enough, just as she is. That her feelings and thoughts need no validation or justification. That she’s allowed to simply be herself, take up space and defend it.

And having come so far while twisting herself into impossible knots? Marta really needed for someone she loves and trusts to put a name to her fears, stand by her and admit the picture she’s looking at is positively desolate. And in her hour of need, that someone turned out to be Andrés. For all his shortcomings, he is the brother who loves Marta unconditionally. Who wants what’s best for her. Let no one accuse Andrés of toxic masculinity. He’s the one man on this show who is in touch with his emotions and isn’t afraid to wear his heart on this sleeve. In many ways, give or take, he is very much the male version of Marta. And it’s lovely to see that their affection for each other never falters.

Having made those points?

We might as well remember that Mafin is one the best, if not the best, written lesbian relationship we’ve seen in a long time, or maybe ever. It’s not filled with petty jealousy and irreversible self-sabotage. It’s two women, always together, against the world. Are they perfect? Definitely not. But it’s their very imperfections that make them so compelling and interesting as characters. At the end of the day, their complexities and contradictions only reinforce their identity. They may have their ups and downs, their light and shadow, their triumphs and losses. But they hold steadfast and true to each other. Devotedly and infinitely. What other pairing can say that? They’re all plagued by cheating, numerous trysts and abusive behavior. No matter how you twist it? Mafin sets the bar so high none of the other pairings can ever hope to reach it. Let’s enjoy it, shall we?

And in the vein of that thought? Let’s just step back and acknowledge that even when certain storylines might take too long to reach port and are frustrating to boot ?The payoff will be there, waiting.

Furthermore. Let’s also admit there’s a lack of patience for narratives to build, unfold and unravel. A desire for instant gratification (one of the many plagues of our time with its 8-episodes formats and little to no slow-burn). And let’s bear in mind that’s not what this story is about. This is not the fast and the furious. It’s the slow and the steady. It’s about nuanced characters with their flaws and struggles and hurdles they need to overcome. They’re honest and well fleshed-out, multifaceted. Of course, the downside to that? 90% drama and 10% happiness.

Never mind a string of other things to complain about: the evident double-standards when it comes to displays of passion (although the way these two look at each other is pure fire), a lack of occasional coherence and continuity etc. All this aside? We’re dealing with a slow-burn that’s meant to go the long run. It’s not a happy ever after, per se. It’s the nitty gritty of everyday life, where things are often hard. It’s having to choose each other, time and again, in spite of all that stands against them.

That being said? I think it’s only right to assume that Marta’s refusal to submit to the manipulations of the patriarchy marks the beginning of Pelayo and Damián finally revealing their true, ugly selves. And it’ll be gloves-off from here on out. The fuse has reached the powder-keg and, inevitably, war is brewing on the horizon. A war between Marta and Fina and the men who try to gaslight and control them. The board is set, at long last. The pieces are moving. Queen against the King. Knight against the Bishop. ''She would end up distancing herself and she would be right to do so ... because she does not have to accept such a cruel situation'' ''This child won't be happy if their mother isn't happy. I cannot be happy without Fina. She'll always be the sword of Damocles over your political career, or are you going to deny it''

And to speculate a little too, because why not? Spoilers indicate Santiago will quite possibly make a comeback? It’s not too far-fetched to assume it’s Pelayo himself who gets him out of jail with the sole purpose of getting vengeance and neutralising Fina. She may be his own sword of Damocles but he forgets hell hath no fury like Marta fighting for her woman, or Fina’s Promethean proclivities. And should the vermin be unleashed again? I sure hope they’ll use it as an opportunity to double back on Marta’s crusade for justice in Fina’s name. Only this time around? Fina not only champions her wife on this war path but also helps her bury the body.

Having them set the patriarchy on fire together? It would be cinematic and such a powerful stance to take on the issue of women being forced into compliance and submission by men acting as their puppeteers, by men trying to strip them of all agency, by men trying to silence and gaslight them. The strings need to be cut and I think it will be liberating to watch them triumph in the end.

Alas. The first shot has been fired. The proverbial rubber band has been strung so tight until it finally snapped, hitting Pelayo square in the eye. Marta has taken a decisive stance of many to follow. The agreement between the three of them was never going to be compatible and now it’s come to a grinding, screeching halt. If one can always count on something? It’s that the egos of men are a fragile, brittle thing. Seldom can they take no for an answer. What follows will be a bloody war without quarter and Marta and Fina won’t make it out unscathed.

On the bright side? We’re re-entering consecrated ground: the Mafin-against-the-world-territory. They may shed tears of blood but they’ll shed them together while serving looks and declaring their undying love for one another. Oh, masochistic bread and butter, thou art both famine and nourishment.

This war will cost them dearly. But they victory will taste all the sweeter.

P.s. the preview for Monday looks positively thrilling … Marta against Damián and Pelayo … and Marta and Fina in the almacén, draped in shadows … these two and low lighting? … could it be … could it be? … I prefer to be cautiously optimistic but Marta & Fina and feverish love confessions? … long overdue. P.s. 1. thanks to @midniteowlet for listening to me endlessly ranting about Mafin, always being more level-headed about it than I am and having really clever and insighful takes on their story

[aceinthefreakinspace]

Pride Month Asepc Headcanons Day 1

Oswald Cobblepot - Gotham (2014-19) - Asexual

We're kicking off Pride Month with Oz since I'm currently in the middle of my Gotham rewatch and I can't get this off my mind. It's more technically semi-canon, but I just had to include him.

Relatable moments:

Telling his mom he "doesn't date" due to aceness in an allo world + other outside factors just generally combining to not wanting to yet. Soon followed by, despite this, catching feelings for a friend and it ending with said friend getting a gf about the time feelings were to be confessed (my situation thankfully didn't end in murder. it actually just ended in nothing happening since I never said anything since no murder happened haha)

Queer mother-figure that helped in formative years (that is the only way my softball coach is like Fish tho lolll)

Wearing ace flag colors subconsciously literally all the time

Fed up with straight people's drama

I, too, would adopt a slightly violent child from an orphanage on my own (I love Martin so much)

[garfieldgleek]

[lucabyte]

Happy PMD Red is on NSO day. Sadly I don't think King the Skitty and Muse the Cyndaquil will be returning to finish up their adventure regardless.

[joenhead]

Posting my favorite frog freak so I don’t completely disappear like a plastic bag floating through the wind

I miss my frog,,,boy,,why u so cutesy

[guangshi-091305]

You know what's sad about Wei Wuxian's death? Its not that a bunch of people disliked him and said 'die bitch!'. No. The thing with Wei Wuxian was that he had to die. There was no other way.

Wei Wuxian was kind, selfless, paid his debts and favours as deserved, cared about people, used his skills and cultivation for good of as many as he could, didn't shy away from danger or back down in the face of injustice. He was, in short, the very definition of what a cultivator should be. And that's why he had to die.

If he lived, corruption would have decreased and ended over time. If he lived, civillians and younger cultivators would've realized their rights and how they shouldn't take bullshit from clans. If he lived, next generations would've realized that rules and traditions were just constraints set to keep them under strict control and from realizing they didn't need all those useless elders after all. The system would've changed, no one would've tolerated all this extortion, corruption, nepotism, power imbalance, crimes that were swept under the rug due to the committers being influential. Absolutely no one.

And all that would've been caused by the existence and actions of one man. Wei Wuxian.

So how do we deal with that? We nip the evil in the bud. First use his horrible treatment at the hands of Jiangs as a base to show that yes, he's bad, his martial family treated him that way and they know him best. Then cutting off his allies by skewing their perception about him and his intentions. Then by sowing fear into hearts of allies and civillians. And then leading a siege to cleanse the world of 'evil' so that their bullshit won't be discovered or put a stop to even centuries later. So that his end would serve as a warning to anyone who wishes to rise against evil and corruption, as an unspoken threat to anyone who cared for people and their duties for real.

And it worked. It worked spectacularly. Anyone defying the rules was punished, anyone saying anything similar to Wei Wuxian's? Anyone trying to do real good or anyone following in his path was deemed evil. Their torture and murder were never even acknowledged, yet the rumours were spread to discourage others from trying. Even people who didn't follow his footsteps and chose to be righteous of their own accord didn't live to see the results of their goodness (Nie Mingjue, Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen etc) and if they did, no one found out and they were forgotten quickly (Mianmian).

It worked so well that every harm that befell on anyone, whether it was from the gods or from someone playing god and taking advantage, was attributed to the Yiling Laozu's evil ways. He was dead, yet everything that went wrong was his fault. Your marriage didnt work out? Wei Wuxian was behind this, I am sure. There was a flood that destroyed years worth of your hard work? Sounds like the Yiling Laozu. You had a cough because you ate something cold in the winter? Pretty sure the evil Wei Wuxian is behind it, he has various very evil tricks up his sleeve. That Monster!

He was all-powerful, a man who didn't bend to the whims of gods or wills of mortals. Someone who could defy everyone if he woke up in the mood to.

The propaganda and brainwashing worked so well that people never stopped to ask themselves the question: If Yiling Laozu was truly so powerful, how did he get defeated by a bunch of corpses? How did the Ghost General, his most powerful weapon, get killed by a few dozen cultivators?

And thinking of that is depressing as fuck because he died solely so the rich could get richer, the evil and corrupt could advance in their evil ways (Jin Guangyao, Xue Yang) and everyone could stay on their carefully curated bubble of bliss with none the wiser about their deception, manipulation and bullshit about bloodlines and traditions (Jiang Cheng, The Lans, Jin Guangshan, etc).

[turtleblogatlast]

I find it interesting that Leo tells Raph that Raph was Mikey’s age when he first went out alone because it’s fun to draw the conclusion that Donnie and Leo were not that age when they themselves first went outside.

Sure, they likely could have just ventured out at the same time as their brothers and Leo just chose to focus on Raph to make his point, but given Donnie and Leo’s respective personalities I can absolutely see them just leaving anyway at a much younger age.

[seyamu]

it's been half a year since i read FSFK but i am still haunted by nol's past

[skitskatdacat63]

Misc lore drop day 3/?

Before and throughout Vettonso's marriage, Fernando is constantly making up paranoid escape plans or planning ways to fake his death. But Seb keeps unknowingly bringing him back from the brink, usually just by virtue of his honesty or earnestness, which Fernando has a reluctant soft spot for.

For example, before they take their actual wedding vows, after like a hundred random feasts and celebrations and such, Fernando is like: "Alberto. Here's the plan. You cause a distraction, and I'll escape in these monk robes I got smuggled in!" But at that very moment, he receives a missive from Seb, something along the lines of "I know we've had our struggles and disagreements up to this point, but I really think we can make this marriage work!" Fernando's just hitting the wall like, god damn it, I cannot resist this earnestness.

Fernando is like, I'll pretend to die while eating this dessert, and then I can escape! But then Seb is starry eyed eating his cake, like, "Good heavens, Fernando! Is this cake not immaculate! I do believe it is the best cake I hath ever sampled!" And he can't bring himself to ruin Seb's enjoyment 😔

[dylawas-reblogs]

One thing I do look forward to about in-person work for the first time in four and a half years, even if it's 28 miles of travel both ways right during the worst winter months, is I can't be my father's free Chore Servant when he's too busy (read: disorganized and lazy) to sort things before he leaves for the day

[theheadlessgroom]

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/723147826502254592/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride

@beatingheart-bride

“I’m sure you would’ve too,” Dorian smiled fondly, as he brushed away the tears pricking the corners of his eyes with his handkerchief. “She was an incredibly kind, incredibly gentle woman that I felt very honored to know, even for a short time. She was...very motherly to me as well when I was a boy.”

Oftentimes more than my own mother! he thought to himself wryly, as he began to recall stories from his youth to Emily (Randall briefly wondered if she’d heard these stories in the future when they were all dead, but it felt good to talk about his mother, and so he listened, chiming in here and there as well). While Mrs. Gracey was often away, having tea with her other wealthy friends (perhaps including Mrs. de Clair?) or just elsewhere in the house, June Pace was happy to keep an eye on her employer’s son (at least, when Beau couldn’t), always patient with the rambunctious Gracey boy (whose bountiful energy often rubbed off on her own son). She indulged his (many, many) questions and even showed him some of the finer points of gardening, allowing him to help her in her work, quickly enamoring him with the wonders of the world of horticulture.

“In fact, I credit her as being the one to get me invested in gardening,” he smiled, thinking of his bounteous conservatory, and all of its splendors. “We still maintain the beautiful rose bushes she planted-I see to that personally.”

[the-weeping-dawn]

I feel like Ethel doesn't even get mentioned in the Grove within the long fic often enough that there is the full Hag plotline going on somewhere at the same time...He does not know that women, nope name doesn't even feel a slight bit familiar either.

[tojicide]

JEALOU$Y. ☆ CALEB.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. at the end of the day, you and caleb are just childhood friends—nothing more, nothing less. so, when you mention going on a date, it’s totally logical that he wouldn’t care, right? if only that were the truth.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. fem!reader, current!caleb, zayne mention, jealousy, pet names, praise, oral ( fem. receiving ), cowgirl, unprotected p in v, creampie. 𝑤𝑐. 5.4k.

𝑛𝘰𝑤 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔. jealou$y — the neighbourhood.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Doomsday has finally dawned upon Linkon City, though Caleb seems to be the only person truly affected by this catastrophe.

It was all his fault in the grand scheme of things. He hadn’t been clear enough, hadn’t shown the full extent of his feelings for you. But above all, he should have never offered Zayne those measly words of advice.

He should have known that the doctor had ulterior motives. Why else would he have called Caleb up one week ago to ask about you of all people?

It was a mean ploy, truly. Anyone and everyone knows about Caleb’s inability to shut up about you, his sole weakness was being exploited right in front of his eyes and he was none the wiser. The questions seemed harmless then. Posed as genuine curiosity, Caleb would have never been able to decipher the hidden intent behind each word that Zayne spoke into the receiver.

What are her days off? What does she do in her free time? You said that the restaurant around the corner from Akso Hospital was her favorite, yes?

In retrospect, he should have absolutely seen this coming. But then again, nothing could have ever prepared Caleb to hear those four life-altering words slipping from your lips.

“I have a date.”

A record scratches in his brain, forcing him to halt his steps for an abnormally long time before he slowly turns to face you. “You… what?”

Hearing the words repeated in that saccharine tone of yours only added salt to the wound, oddly enough. It physically pained him to ask for more information about your date, though he managed to hide his disdain with that boyish grin of his and a bit of lighthearted teasing.

But inside? That little green monster was stirring, and there was very little he could do to quell it.

Begrudgingly, he managed to get the key details before forcing himself to stow away in his bedroom and… think. Next Thursday. 6 PM. Maltosio Restaurant. With Zayne.

The next week passed by in an agonizingly slow fashion. It was as though each X that marked a passing day was a physical blow to his already aching heart, and those adorable images of the kittens on his calendar (the calendar that you picked out) did very little to help him.

Subtlety was never his strong suit, but then again, desperate times call for desperate measures. And believe Caleb when he says that he is very much desperate.

“Soo…” he’d drawl, leaning over the back of the couch to peer down at you. “I heard there’s a screening of that movie you’ve been wanting to see at the drive-in next Thursday. Wanna come with?”

You perked up like a ball of excitement, and for a moment, Caleb allowed himself to get his hopes up, but your frown quickly dissipated them. “Next Thursday? Oh, no, I can’t make it! I’m going out with Zayne, remember?”

Of course he remembered. That was exactly why he hadn’t let up—not even once—in his attempts to distract you just enough to make you forget all about your dinner plans. He could take you out for a nice dinner too. Say, that’s actually a good idea…

The next day, Caleb tried that one.

“Oh, pip-squeak,” he sang, his airy voice ringing through your apartment as he walked down the hallway. “I got us reservations at the restaurant in Skyhaven that you’ve been itchin’ to check out.”

You perked up, just like you did before. “Really?”

He nodded with a triumphant grin, internally patting himself on the back for his own good idea. “Mm-hmm. Next Thursday. Got us those window seats you wanted too—the ones that overlook the city.”

And once again, your gaze softened, and an all-too-adorable pout tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry. I’m busy that day.”

You really are too sweet for your own good. He can’t even blame Zayne for taking an interest in you, he’d be downright shocked if any man with two seeing eyes had the audacity to not think that you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Caleb sure does. He always has. He always will.

It wasn’t long before the day of reckoning was upon him. Thursday evening. Sunlight cut through the blinds in the living room, casting golden hues across the vast space. Much to his dismay, the trashy reality television you’d left on the screen did very little to soothe his worries.

He fidgeted with the dog chains you’d gifted him, his thumb brushing along the gift that you had so kindly given him. It was a testament to your bond. A bond that something as trivial as a single evening apart couldn’t tamper with… right?

“Caleb!” Your antsy voice cut through the air, forcing his wandering mind to snap back to reality.

He was up and down the hallway before you could even say another word, pressing a flat hand to your door to nudge it open. It was then that he saw you, all dolled up in your robe with your favorite dresses laid out on your bed.

Your hands grasp onto two of the hangers, holding them up side-by-side to help him get a better look at them. Though, his eyes were noticeably distracted, contorted in an unfamiliar lovesick expression as they pierced into yours. “Quick! Which do you think is cuter?”

Caleb blinks—once, twice, three times—until he forces himself to finally look down at the dress options in your grasp. He’d seen you wear them plenty of times before, and the thought of someone else seeing you in such beautiful fabric nearly made his stomach lurch.

He raises his forearm, leaning against the doorframe as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, c’mon, that’s an impossible choice. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

It was a typical response, one that you were expecting, though his lack of advice made you hmph as you lost yourself in your thoughts. “Well… I hear polka dots symbolize happiness and stripes symbolize slipping between realms. Pretty interesting stuff, huh?”

“Very interesting,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging up at the mere sound of your voice. “Is that why you buy so many things in those patterns?”

You quirk an eyebrow, confusion etching into your expression. “Huh? What else do I buy that’s…” It quickly dawns on you, and you can feel heat creep up your neck and reach your face. “You’re a jerk.”

Caleb can’t help but laugh, taking a few steps into the room so that he can properly look at each and every one of the dress options laid out on your bed. “What’s the matter? If I remember correctly, someone was beggin’ me to do her laundry. Somethin’ about the laundry machine being sooo far and your feet hurting sooo bad.”

Huffing and far too flustered for your own good, you shake your head. “Well… well I didn’t realize you were so observant.”

He clicks his tongue, absentmindedly pinching your side as he leans down to rest his chin in the dip of your shoulder. “Tsk. You know I’m always observant when it comes to you. Even if it’s remembering something as trivial as the patterns of your cute little undies.”

You swat him away. “You’re so annoying!”

To that, he can only chuckle, giving your sides a brief squeeze before taking a few steps back. “Alriiight, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Before exiting the room entirely, he hangs onto the doorframe, giving you a soft smile. “I’m serious though. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” His lips curve into a smirk. “But if you want my input—you know I’ve always been a sucker for seeing you in florals.”

And with that, he whisks away, silently hoping and praying that this date will fall through on its own. Plopping back down on the couch, his eyes are practically glued to his watch. 5:48 PM. It wouldn’t be long before Zayne would be knocking at the front door—punctual as ever. Oh, it made him sick.

How could he have done this? To you, to himself? Caleb should be ashamed. He should be the one sitting across from you later tonight, holding your hand and listening to you ramble about whatever your heart desires. It should be him. It would have been him if he wasn’t so damn afraid.

But the sound of approaching heels clicking along the hardwood floor quickly snapped him out of his pity party, prompting him to look over his shoulder. And there you were once again, now adorned in a floral sundress that had made him lose his mind more times than he’d like to admit.

Under his breath, he can’t help but mutter, “Yeah, you’re gonna kill me…”

It was his favorite dress of yours, too. You really were trying to kill him. A white dress that was littered with blue flowers, the fabric fit you perfectly, loose and fitted in all of the right places.

Zayne didn’t deserve to see you like this. Plain and simple.

Standing from the couch, he lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “There she is,” he says, taking your hand to spin you around a single time. His smile only widens as he sees yours. “You look gorgeous, just like I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes with a bashful smile, one that he has to physically fight the urge to kiss away. “Oh, you flatter me,” you say through a laugh.

He shakes his head, bringing a hand up to gently smooth down a pesky hair on the top of your head. “Can’t be flattery if I mean every word of it.”

A breeze wafted through the open window, blowing the fabric of your dress ever so slightly. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers infiltrates the living room, though the scent of your perfume and something that was uniquely you had his full attention.

“Y’know, you can be pretty nice when you want to be,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Chuckling, he simply nods, his large hands settling on your middle. “Yeah. When I want to be.”

You brush past him, padding over to the back door. Pushing it open, you step out onto the warm concrete patio, breathing in the fresh air that the backyard had to offer you. Spring in Linkon was always a delight, though the warmth that Caleb radiates behind you serves to be the most comforting thing about the entire scene.

His hand comes to rest on the curve of your shoulder, his fingers nimbly pulling at one of the straps of your dress. With his heart rate shooting through the roof, he forces himself to take a moment. He needs to get this right. This may be the last chance he’ll be able to do this.

“I… look, there’s something that I—”

But suddenly, the sound of rapping knuckles at the front door cuts through the tense silence. Both of your attention is drawn to the closed door, and having left the back door open, you both have a clear view of it.

You turn around to face Caleb, offering him a sheepish smile. “That’s probably Zayne.”

He only nods, forcing his hand to fall back to his side. “Yeah, probably.”

This was it. He was losing you. It stung to know that this was no one’s fault apart from his own. His inability to be honest about his feelings, his lack of forwardness with you… what was he expecting? That you’d never date? That he could keep you happy forever without offering you anything more?

It was a stupid fantasy, one that had earned him this spot. But when he saw you turn to leave, your eyes still locked on his, a surge of panic shot up his spine. His eyes flit around—the grass, the flowerbeds, the hose… that was currently filling up the pool…

“Be mad at me later,” he suddenly says.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Wha— ah!”

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, you were suddenly pushed back into the chamber full of chlorine infested water. Caleb watches with a wry expression as you shoot up from beneath the water, splashing aimlessly as you swim towards the edge.

“What the fuck was that?” you bark, perching one elbow up onto the concrete as you reach the other one out to him. “What the hell are you looking at? Help me out!”

Caleb can’t even protest, not with the incredibly irrational stunt he’d just pulled. “I’m sorry, pip-squeak, I just…” And so, he reaches down, his hand clasping around yours… until you pull him forward with all of your strength and send him tumbling into the pool too.

And when he comes up for air, you splash him the moment he opens his eyes. Serves him right. The chlorine will sting his eyes almost as much as your mascara is stinging yours right now.

With that, you pull yourself out of the pool, a trail of water marking your path as you wring out the fabric of your dress. After that, you disappear inside of the house, leaving Caleb to rub his eyes in utter defeat.

He gives you both a long stretch of alone time before he retreats back into the house like a kicked puppy, his head hanging low as he runs a hand through his wet strands of hair. You’ve evidently told Zayne that today wasn’t going to work anymore, judging by his lack of presence, and that thought alone makes Caleb more happy than he should be.

Sucking in a short breath, he knocks twice at your shut bedroom door. “Honey? It… it’s me.”

“Go away,” you retort without missing a single beat.

Caleb pokes his tongue into his cheek as he leans forward, resting his forehead on the cool surface of your bedroom door. “C’mon. Just… talk to me.”

It doesn’t take long before the door is swung open, revealing an incredibly angry version of you with a freshly cleaned face. He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to try and rectify the situation in any way he can, but you beat him to it. Quickly.

“How dare you?” you spit, jabbing your index finger into his chest. “What was that, Caleb? Are we ten years old again? Your method of communication is… is pushing me into the damn pool?”

He sighs, catching your hand to unfold your closed fingers. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” you cut him off, sticking your other index finger into his chest. “It’s your turn to listen. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, you’re all I’ve ever known, all I’ve ever wanted. Do you know how it feels to have everything you want dangled in front of you for so many years, and… and just torn away? Time and time again?”

Caleb is rendered speechless, his brows furrowed in both confusion and a sense of odd relief as you unleash all of the thoughts that you’ve kept hidden for so long. He doesn’t bother catching your other hand, instead, he allows you to repeatedly jab at his chest. It hurts, but he can handle it. Just like he can handle the words you’re saying.

“So, you know what? I decided that enough was enough!” you continue, your index finger pressing wildly into the hard planes of his chest. “I wasn’t going to wait around, I wasn’t going to pretend, I was going to move on! And… and I was going to!”

He tilts his head, his amethyst eyes growing fuzzy as he looks down at you. “Was going to?”

You huff, eyes narrowing as you jab your finger into his chest for a final time before turning away from him. “Well, I’m not exactly going on a date anymore, am I?”

Caleb nods, though you can’t see it. He leans against the doorframe, his gaze tracing your silhouette through the soaked fabric of your dress. Sighing, he straightens off the wall, but before he can turn away, you spin around to face him.

“And you know what else?” you huff. “You know the solution to this problem just as well as I do.”

He nods his head with a single jerk of his chin, beckoning you to continue. “Yeah? What’s that?”

You step closer, and for the final time, you stab your finger into his pec. “You need to grow a pair.”

Inhaling deeply, all he can do is smile. It infuriates you and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself. He takes both of your wrists and tugs you forward until your chest presses against his own, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek.

You’re slowly simmering down, the heat of your outburst dissipating as your skin cooled. With your eyebrows still furrowed, all you can do is look up at him, daring him to speak. To do anything.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “A little.”

He slowly nods his head, his fingers curving along your jaw before he cups your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “Is there anything I can do to help with that?”

You can feel his breath fan along your lips, cool and minty and just about everything you could have ever fantasized about on your own. You part your lips to reply, but this time, Caleb is the one who beats you to it.

“We’re making puddles all over the floor, you know.”

Glancing down, you see the truth in his words. The pool water dripped from your respective clothing and gathered around the two of you, making a wry smile find your lips.

“Oh,” you breathe, “I didn’t even notice.”

“I like to think I’m pretty observant when it comes to you,” he murmurs, smoothing his free hand along your side until it grasps onto the fabric of your dress. “Need some help with this?”

You look up, meeting his gaze once more. “With… with what?”

“Well,” he drawls, his fingertips brushing along your outer thigh as he slowly drags the fabric upward. His movements are hesitant and cautious, his eyes flickering between each of yours. “You’re wet. I’m wet. Maybe we can… help each other dry off.”

Your eyelids falter as they flit between his, your gaze instinctively falling to the plush curve of his bottom lip. “Okay,” you murmur.

A smile tugs at his mouth. “Okay. Arms up.”

Slowly, you lift your arms above your head. His hands work together to slowly push the fabric of your dress up and over your head, letting it slip onto the floor with a wet plop.

His breath is nearly torn from his lungs the moment he sees your bare skin, so beautiful and soft and made to be his. Hesitantly, his fingertips trace the curve of your hips with a sense of reverence.

“Do you need help too?” you ask, your voice breathy from the restrained sense of need that has come over you.

Pausing his exploration of your bare skin, Caleb finds himself nodding, almost immediately lifting his arms over his head. “Please.”

And now, you take the opportunity to do the same. Slowly, you peel his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly into the laundry hamper near the door. Your gaze traces over the defining lines of his abdomen, your touch doing the same as it trails southward.

His lower stomach tenses up as your fingers brush against the hem of his jeans. He can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut, the way a touch so simple can nearly bring him to his knees. Breathing shakily, he leans down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Careful,” he breathes in warning, his voice taking on a raspy tone.

You almost startle at the unfamiliarity of his voice, though you push your hesitation aside as your thumb brushes over the button of his pants. “But… these are wet too.”

A huff of air leaves his mouth, the sound something between a low laugh and a groan. He forces his eyes open, his stare meeting your own. “Trying to get me naked before our first kiss? I have to say, you’re full of surprises.”

Faltering, your hands fall away from his pants. “You’re right, I… I’m—”

Caleb can’t help but chuckle, taking a hold of your hands to bring them right back to where they were before. This time, he guides your fingers through the motion of unbuttoning his pants. “Kidding,” he whispers against your lips. “Besides… we’re good at multitasking, yeah?”

You’re nodding before you can truly process his words. “Yeah.”

His lips crash onto yours with a groan that omits from deep within, the button of his jeans finally popping open from your ministry. The zipper went next, tugged down along with the fabric entirety until he was left in only his boxers.

His hands roam your curves greedily, eating up every inch of skin that he has deprived himself of for far too long. Your waist, your hips, your thighs—he needs to feel you in any way possible.

And you return his eagerness so well, wrapping your arms around his neck as you draw him in even closer. His hands worked quickly, hoisting you up until your legs wrapped around his waist as he walked the both of you over to your bed.

Laying you down on the mattress, he takes the initiative to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip to gain access that you readily give him. He can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sweet taste of your tongue tangling with his own forcing his brain to short circuit in a way he’s never experienced before.

You kissed him like there was no tomorrow, and he was loving every second of it. Your hands fisted into his hair while your lips moved in tandem with his, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands gave your hips a firm squeeze.

His lips trail down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck and the curve of your shoulder as he uses his grip on your hips to pull you flush against him. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of his erection pressing against your clothes sex, the friction so delicious that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Caleb is so far gone, kissing his way along your arms, your neck, your sternum, all up until he reaches the valley of your breasts. He wastes very little time there, licking a trail to your nipple before sucking the peak into his mouth. His other hand palms at your other breast, kneading the soft flesh in his palm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, his hips rocking forward as he switches sides, latching onto your neglected breast and giving it a hard suck. “So beautiful.”

His descent continues as he mouths at the soft skin of your belly, your hips, your inner thighs. His eyes depart from yours as they settle onto the fabric covering your cunt, and a grin stretches across his face. Polka dots.

You scoff, softly shoving his shoulder. “Don’t even say it.”

Chuckling, he leans in to press a kiss on the damp patch of fabric. “Wasn’t gonna say anything, baby.”

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs and tossing them aimlessly. His lips press feverish kisses to your ankles, your calves, your inner thighs, and eventually, the mound of your pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispers into your heat, hiking your legs up and over his shoulders and he pulls your sex closer to his mouth. “So damn worth it.”

A cry leaves you as his tongue delves in deep between your legs, his eyes slipping shut as he lets out an unabashed whimper into your sex. His grip on your thighs only tightens, keeping your legs spread apart as they threaten to press in on his head.

He wouldn’t have that. He couldn’t. He needed to have you in the way that he’s dreamt of for so long, in the way that he’s thought of time and time again as he fucked his own fist to the thought of you. It was filthy, it was lewd, but it was honest.

You tasted better than he could have ever imagined, his tongue eagerly lapping at your inner walls before his lips sealed around your puffy clit, sucking hard enough to make your back bow off the plush mattress.

The stimulation is leaving you feeling overwhelmed, your hands pushing into his hair as your trembling thighs test the strength of his grip. You whine, eyes slipping shut as your head tilts back against the pillows.

“It— it’s too much—”

“Be good,” he finds himself saying, pulling you right back to his mouth as he continues to feast on your pussy like a man starved. “You can take it, baby.” Caleb cracks open his eyes, sucking harshly onto your clit before releasing it with a wet pop. “Go on, pretty girl. Say it.”

You whine, though you hardly have the brain power to say anything else apart from what he’s asked of you. “I… I can take it,” you breathe.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your sensitive pearl before nipping at it. “There you go.”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble once more, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, a final resort for reprieve as he works you over the edge.

Caleb redoubled his efforts, spreading your thighs even wider. Soon, the warmth pooling in your lower stomach was far too much to bear, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“I’m… I’m coming,” you gasp out, hands gripping tightly onto his dark locks of hair.

And when you do, his flattened tongue laps at your honeyed release. He works you through your high, his movements eventually slowing down as the twitching of your hips gradually calms.

He pulls off of you with a wet pop, pressing soft kisses to your swollen clit. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, pressing another peck on your mound before he moves back up your body once more to slot his lips against yours.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only spurs you on further. Your hands grasp onto his shoulders, and in one swift motion, you flip him onto his back. Caleb looks up at you with a starry-eyed expression, but when you straddle his hips and sit in his lap, he has no words of protest. None at all.

“You really are full of surprises,” he says, running his hands along the warm skin of your thighs.

Tugging him free from his boxers, he helps you remove them from his body, leaving you both entirely bare together. He sits up, his back pressing against the headboard as he tugs you closer to him.

“I need you,” he whispers, pressing a longing kiss on your stomach as you shift to straddle him once more. “Please, baby.”

You gaze down at him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Please what?”

He leans into your touch, his hands settling onto your waist as he pulls you lower, the head of his cock pressing against your pussy. “Make yourself feel good. Please.”

Caleb’s own cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, both from the embarrassment that his own lack of experience brought upon him and the reality of finally having the love of his life in such an intimate way. His amethyst eyes search your face, as if searching for a permission that he didn’t know how to ask for.

Dipping your head, you press a soft kiss on his lips. Simultaneously, you swivel your hips until the tip of his length catches your entrance. You slowly lower yourself, feeling the way his cock stretches you out, filling you up in a way that only he can.

He smiles at you, cupping your cheek with his hand. Brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, he kisses you gently. “You feel so good,” he whimpers into your mouth, his other hand resting on your hip as you roll your hips in a way that has his breath hitching in his throat. “So fucking perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, consisting of a slow and meticulous rocking of your hips. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing the deepest points of your inner walls with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Caleb’s hands grasped tightly onto your hips, helping you set a pace that had the both of you losing your mind. He leans backward, his head tilting against the headboard as it slams against the wall with each intense grind of your hips.

“Good girl, give it to me how you like it,” he breathes, eyes cracking open to watch the way you look down at him as you work yourself on his length. “Use me however you need me, baby, there you go.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him in for a longing kiss. “I… you— you feel so…” you stammer, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder as you lose yourself on his cock.

He nods his head in agreement, turning his head to press a kiss on your damp cheek as he gently pets your hair. “I know, I know.”

You lose yourself all together, your legs shaking as you tighten your hold on him. “Caleb!” you moan.

His hips help you the rest of the way, his grip on your hips keeping you firmly planted as he meets your movements with thrusts of his own. “I know it, baby, I’ve got you,” he pants through a smile, guiding you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Atta girl, use those hips.”

His arms wrap around you entirely, crushing you against the hard planes of his chest as you slowly ride the both of you through your shared orgasm. In that moment, in your house, in this space that belonged to you and Caleb alone—the two of you became one.

Heavy breathing and hammering heartbeats is all that consumes the two of you for a long while, skin to skin with far too much bliss brewing in your chests for either of you to handle alone.

Huffing softly, Caleb runs a hand up your side. “You okay in there?” he asks, turning his head to pepper soft kisses along your cheek. “C’mon, I need some proof of life.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. “Shut up, give me a second.”

He merely smiles, wrapping his arms around your middle once more as he tucks your head beneath his chin. Thirty seconds after finishing and you’re already mean. “There’s my girl.”

Caleb’s hands smooth over the soft planes of your back, giving your hips a soft squeeze as he revels in the feeling of your heartbeat drumming against his own. He can’t help himself from pressing a few kisses on the top of your head, his arms opting to wrap even tighter around you.

“I love—” he cuts himself off, eyes widening dazedly. Would that be too much? A confession of his undying love not long after ruining your date and making love with you for the first time? After a stretch of awkward silence, he kisses your head once more. “I love… cuddling with you. You’re so soft.”

You smile, nuzzling even closer to his chest, your nose brushing against skin. “Mm, I love you too, Caleb.”

His eyes widened, though he knows that communicating his confusion is futile. You knew him so well, too well.

“You do?” he whispers, turning his head just enough to look down at you.

In response to that, you nod. “Mm-hmm. I’ll love you even more if you tell me that you didn’t cancel those dinner reservations.”

Caleb smiles, running a hand over your hair. As if he’d given up his last ditch effort to take you out. “You know I didn’t.”

𝑛𝘰𝘵𝑒. rip zayne i still love you king!!! also i actually don’t really know how to write for caleb… so… i hope this didn’t suck! this is the only fic that managed to break my intense writer’s block that i’ve had for the past two months. reblog/comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate you reading so much <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

♡ TW: yandere, noncon, incest, twincest, blind!reader, twin brother!satoru

♡ FEM reader

Overprotective twin brother Satoru…

He was born with an abundance of cursed energy, while you got none and no heavenly pact or anything at all to show for being a Gojo.

You can’t even see curses. In fact, you can’t see at all.

It’s as if in the womb, Satoru harvested everything for himself so that you would always depend on him.

He sees it differently, though. He’s the older twin—and that means everything to him. You’re his. His good half. You were born with the heart, and he was born with the rest, all in order to spare and protect you.

“The royal guard walks at the front to keep the princess safe” is something he started saying when you were younger. “That’s why I was born first. To keep my princess safe.” 

He always holds your trembling face in his hands while saying it. And although you can’t see, you still feel it, how he’s sticky and warm, soaked with the blood he’s spilled—all in the name of protecting you.

You don’t think you were scared of your twin brother when you were toddlers, but you’re not sure. You were still young when he learned how to use his techniques. He’d never had any tolerance to speak of and no mercy to spare when that non-existent tolerance was tested. Still, of course, he’d never ever think of harming you.

That’s not what worried you…

No, rather, it was the staff and any other unsuspecting visitor you feared for and how they might have the misfortune of crossing the hair-thin tripwire that triggered your brother’s cold-hearted rage.

Maids were fired every other day—often after having suffered at his hands, sometimes with limbs missing, sometimes with senses lost. None of them could ever measure up to his standards, especially when it came to you. You were to be treated like a goddess, not a child, despite that being what you both were. His sister deserved only the finest and was to be dressed to new perfection every day, hand-fed only your favorites, and never ever allowed to lift even a single finger yourself. That’s how Satoru saw it.

And if anyone were to fail to understand that, they’d meet with his swift judgment. Even being blind, you’d still see the awful glowing blue of his eyes before the screams and the sudden smell of rust all around.

You remember the first time it had happened. Your nurserymaid had insisted it was time the two of you no longer shared the same bed—said it wasn’t proper. You must have been about six years old. One second, she was there. Next, you were covered in her.

The two of you had slept in it. 

No. Satoru had slept, tucked snugly against you as if nothing was amiss. 

You had barely slept since.

You never stopped sharing a bed. You’d tried at a point to tell him how it wasn’t right, how it wasn’t something siblings should do. He’d only asked you who’d put those silly ideas in your head. And you’d been wiser not to raise the thought again, fearing for the lives he might decide were responsible.

Still, despite his lack of moral restraint, you’re older before he decides sleeping in the same bed just isn’t enough anymore.

You’d always known of the way he looked at you. You’ve felt it. Always there as a silent voyeur during your dress fittings and baths, studying you in a way a brother shouldn’t. You’d done your best to ignore that ever-present feeling of yearning coming from him in those moments he’d touch you, feeling his long slender fingers run cold over your bare skin, always insisting on giving you a helping hand, to dress and to undress, to eat, to walk. 

You’ve always known what he’s wanted.

Still, you’d thought some type of decency would hold him back from ever acting on it. 

You realize now how foolish you’d been…

As head of the Gojo clan, he makes decisions as he sees fit and announces your engagement before the entirety of its ranks and members as if it were only obvious. And under the pressure of his six eyes, no one dares even utter a gasp at the outrageous prospect. No, all they do is smile and clap while giving their blessings.

In the end, you’re the only one who objects.

“Satoru?” you ask after the assembly. Walking, or rather wandering, unsteadily on your plank shoes in the direction of his voice, hearing him talk about clan matters he’s never bothered to include you in—it’s not for you to worry about, is all he’ll ever say. Always treating you like a child despite being the same age.

“Princess!” he exclaims, rushing over to you, holding you up as if you were in danger of getting knocked over by a sudden draft. “What are you doing up? How many times have I told you, just tell the carriers where you want to go and they’ll take you there.”

You purse your lips and bite your tongue from sounding too chagrinned. Embarrassed enough already to want to cause more of a scene. Only muttering, “I can walk fine on my own–”

But Satoru isn’t convinced, nor concerned with the same matters as you, much too busy with protecting you from the terrors of standing on your own two feet. 

“You’ll exhaust yourself. Come,” he decides, dismissing the elders he'd been talking to.

You listen to them leave, lifting a hand to call them back, “No wait, but–”

But nothing. As always, Satoru doesn’t listen. Picking you up without further bickering. He lifts you off your feet and carries you away like an infant, back to the cozy den of pillows and blankets he insists you sit on during assemblies, calling it your throne despite it not being much different from your bed.

He doesn’t set you down. No, instead, he sits down with you, holding you in his lap as he gets comfortable in the plush nest.

“So, princess? Did you like my announcement?” he asks cheerfully. Already picturing you in wedding attire—so hopelessly incapacitated in the heavy layers, how you’d need his help every step of the way, even with walking down the aisle. 

“We can’t marry, Satoru…” You break his line of thought with a mumble. “You’re my brother.”

You're unable to say it with your chest—rather, you only muster enough courage to whisper it. Feeling anxious about his reaction. All he ever seems to care about is dolling you up so you can sit pretty next to him. And for so long, he hasn’t allowed anything else. You have no idea what to expect now that you’ve finally asked. 

Of course, you hope he’ll respect your words and see reason, but somehow, you doubt he’s ever really thought or cared about what you think you want—intent on making all those decisions for you.

“Silly princess,” he starts, closing the distance between the two of you by cupping your face as he so often likes doing, stroking his thumb over your bottom lip. “Who else would we marry if not each other?” 

It’s as you thought. He doesn’t understand, nor does he care to. And still, there aren’t many options other than you trying to reason with him. Despite only being brave enough to do so by mumbling, “It’s—it’s… not right...”

To that, he just hums, nose-kissing you despite how you try to duck your head away—his voice dumbifying your worry, saying “Don’t you love me, princess?”

It’s an unfair question… beside the point, and yet to him, it makes the point. Still, there’s nothing else to say but “Of course, I love you, Satoru.”

It comes out as a croak, somewhat choked in the feeling of hopelessness, all of which he just finds so endearing. Rubbing your cheek with his thumb as he watches those milky eyes of yours grow teary.

“Then who’s to say it’s wrong?” he croons, kissing your forehead as if you’re a silly child crying over silly things, and further explaining it to you just so, “We’ve belonged to each other since birth. Marriage is just to appease society's structures. It means nothing compared to what we already have and have always had.”

His other hand kneads your midriff, keeping you snug against him as if sensing how you wanted to leave. But you don’t try it. No, you barely manage to shake your head.

“I love you,” he says, but it isn’t the same way you say it. No, it’s something far more disturbing. “Sometimes, I wish we were the only two people on earth, like it was when we shared the womb together.”

You shudder, feeling his breath hit your face with your heart causing a ruckus in your chest, telling you to do something to stop what’s coming.

“I want to be close like that again. Just you and me and nothing else.”

You accept it for a moment—his lips against yours. Thinking you had no choice. But as you sit there, willing yourself to stay still, a sickness starts climbing up from the pit of your stomach, until you suddenly can’t stand it anymore. 

And with both hands pushing him away, you shriek, “Don’t!”

Prying yourself out of his embrace, you throw yourself back so fast you end up falling out of the elevated throne bed. Still, the pain in your rear barely registers as you wipe your mouth free of the spit your brother had left behind. Cringing at the stickiness, feeling nothing short of abhorred, as if it were the last thing that should ever touch your tongue.

“It’s disgusting. I won’t. I—” You’ve raised your voice now, for the first time in your life. Your brows furrow as you put all your might into the next words. “I refuse.”

And then, as if almost regretting it, you swallow thickly. Ears burning for any sign of his reaction, everything remains silent, deadly so, only disturbed by the heavy ups and downs of your own labored breath. 

Until…

“Disgusting?” he repeats.

And you don’t know why, but something about the edge in his tone makes you whimper and shuffle back. It was as if something about the very air changed, feeling heavy, crushing, all of a sudden.

“No… You don’t mean that, princess.”

You hear his steps come after you, soft first, stepping through the pillows, then light against the marble tiles, unhurried, knowing you’re not able to go anywhere. 

“You’re just reciting whispers you’ve heard,” he hisses under his breath. Then, darker, growling, “I ought to cut out everyone's tongue. That’ll teach them.”

“No–” you object, but he’s done now with listening to you. 

Shutting you up instantly with a dismissive, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, princess. I’ll teach you too. This is how it’s meant to be.”

You kick off your plank shoes at that, struggling in your heavy dress as you twist around onto your hands and knees before getting up, holding the many fabrics in your arms as you run—only… you have no idea where. 

Anytime you’d snuck out of your room to explore the grounds, trying to map out a route you’d never dared admit was for an escape attempt, your brother had always come and collected you before you’d made it down the first hallway. And so, blinder than blind, you’re completely lost even in your own home. And the panic makes you slip on your skirt before you’ve even made it halfway down the assembly chamber, accompanied by the awful sounds of your own fumbling being echoed back as if mocking you.

You hear him sigh heavily behind you. And then his hand grips your upper arm, harshly—in a way you’ve never felt. 

It’s enough to make you yelp, starting to thrash—panic in your chest, you’re shaking your head, trying to pull yourself free by pushing him away. “Please, Satoru—please, let go–”

Before you know it, you’re pushed flat against the floor. Cushioned by your weighty dress, it’s like a soft bed, but with the way Satoru holds a hand over your mouth and forces you down, you feel as if you’re drowning.

“Keep this up, princess, and eyes won’t be the only thing you’ll be missing,” he barks. Not even giving you enough time for the freight in your chest to settle before worsening it. “Run away, and I'll take your legs. Fight me, and I’ll take your hands. Keep talking back, and I’ll take your tongue too.”

Balanced between your legs in the mess of your skirt’s many layers, bearing over you with his back hunched, he keeps you pinned as your whole body starts to quiver. 

“Is that what you want?” he questions. “Is that what it’ll take for you to behave?”

More tears flow then, in nothing short of a storm. Flooding down your cheeks, wetting the hand he’d locked over your mouth.

It brings a pang to his chest, and he realizes what he’d just said.

He peels his fingers off your lips, then cups your cheeks instead, shaking his head. 

“No, princess, I didn’t mean that—you know I didn’t. I would never hurt you—you know that—”

He kisses your forehead again, then your nose, then your lips, then your neck, where he nuzzles himself as he continues to coo at you, “Sh-shh, princess. Listen to me. Listen to your big brother. I just want to love you. Won’t you let me love you?”

You sob, shaking your head, trying to crawl out from beneath him and the tongue he has against your neck, sucking and biting at your collar with a mouthful of heated words, “Trust me, princess. I’ll take care of you. You’ll see. Just like always. And there’s never been anything wrong with that.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[hungharrington]

show-time

request: i cannot stop thinking about asking steve if he ever got himself off to you before you got together. he’d be so blushy and sheepish about it but man it’d be fun to watch him squirm 🤤

2.1k words, established relationship, masturbation (steve), gn!reader, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

It’s a universally awkward experience to have a sex-scene come on in a movie. Unless one’s watching it alone, of course.

You are not. Cuddled in behind you, cushioning you against his chest, Steve lounges, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Sure, in terms of awkwardness-rankings, watching this with your boyfriend who you also have sex with isn’t as bad as, like, watching with parents.

But still. You kinda can’t tell if you should be watching or averting your eyes — and you don’t want to peek over your shoulder to figure out what Steve’s doing.

The man in the film grunts, his hand in his pants jerking furiously, his eyes fixed on a polaroid of the film’s love interest.

You squint—surely this is stretching the truth a bit?

Yeah, yeah, guys jerk off, you know that - this isn’t your first day on earth.

You just didn’t think it would be like, romantic style. People in movies kiss in the rain and run through airports, so they’re hardly known for being grounded in reality.

The man in the film groans lewdly and you feel Steve shift slightly behind you, his fingers looped around your middle twitching.

Did he-? When you-? You suppose you’ve never really thought about it.

You’re asking before you can second guess yourself.

“Did you do this?”

Steve’s attention switches idly from the screen to you as you crane your neck to look back at him. His brows pinch together.

“Did I do what?” He asks, doting brown eyes searching your face.

You fluster a bit. This is certainly moving you up through the awkwardness rankings. But now it’s in your head —now you’ve said it — you can’t turn back.

The thought of it blazes hotly through your mind.

Steve, all those months ago, still just crushing on you, but never quite making a move. He’d told you, whispered his secret, when you’d finally gotten the nerve to ask him to be your boyfriend officially, that he’d been sweet on you far longer than you knew.

But the image of it is what has you interested. You imagine Steve, his fist stuffed into his tight jeans, working himself over and biting his fist to hide his moans, at the mere thought of you.

You’d had plenty of long, late night conversations on the phone before officially getting together.

The thought of if he’d ever touched himself while you talked, none the wiser on the other end, wanders into your mind — and your stomach clenches hotly at the thought.

Clearing your throat, you tip your head towards the screen.

“Like, before we got together?”

It takes Steve another glance at the screen to realise what you’re asking. A simmering, pink colour crawls up his neck and in a moment, you go from feeling awkward to feeling downright devious.

Steve clears his throat, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth from the screen to your face. “Uh, I- I mean, why do you ask?”

A coy smile curls at your mouth. “I wanna know how accurate it is.”

Steve stares down at you, the pink now creeping up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. God, he looks delectable like this.

Is this how he looked when he did it too? Blushy and embarrassed to commit such a filthy act thinking of someone that wasn’t his? A hot buzz drizzles through your core, fringed with endearment.

Steve licks his lips nervously. His hands on your stomach stiffen and then relax. The film plays on in the background. His expression shifts towards something sheepish.

“It’s — I, uh, well, yes.” He stammers. “It’s accurate, yes.”

“How many times?”

Steve’s eyes narrow, but his face gets redder. “What is this, an interrogation now?”

You giggle, drinking in his evidently embarrassed state. The confirmation of him doing it solidifies the perfect image of him in your mind, your own film-scene imagining Steve in the same position as the character on screen. In real life, Steve moves his hand to tug at the collar of his shirt.

“I’m just… enjoying the idea of it.” You muse.

“Uh huh,” Steve says, tongue jammed into the side of his cheek. “Not just—” He fumbles for his words. “Just enjoying seeing me, I don’t know, like—”

His words trail off and his head tips back with a groan, exposing the delicious expanse of his throat. It begs you for kisses and love bites. He moves both hands up to cover his face.

You wait til he pulls them away to nod. “Absolutely, baby. Watching you squirm is far more interesting than this film.”

In the background, the man on screen gives a pornographic shout as he finishes in his pants. Steve manages to turn redder, even if he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

“But I’m just,” You huff and pout. “Put out, I guess. You did all that for me and I didn’t even get to see it.”

At the exact same time, you watch as Steve’s pupils dilate, blowing out in obvious lust, and something pressed against your back thickens up.

Steve, to his credit, only makes one strained noise which he immediately smothers with a cough. You feel his hips twitch beneath you and make a quick decision, confidence built on the sweltering heat of Steve’s face.

You push forward and up, then quickly turn, slotting your knees across either side of Steve’s thighs, perching atop them nicely.

You’re not outright in his lap—there’s room between the two of you for what you hope will happen.

It takes Steve another long moment to catch your drift.

“Wait, you want-?” He inhales sharply. You can see the twitch of his cock through his loose sweatpants. “To see?”

“To watch,” You clarify, smiling almost mischievously. “Yeah.”

Then just to check, “Is that okay?”

Steve’s breath shudders out of him but he’s nodding before the question is completely out of your mouth.

“H-Here?” He checks. You nod, resting your hands atop your thighs to show you don’t plan on using them. Steve’s hungry eyes scan you up and down, the tent in his pants pitching up in arousal.

“Just show me how you did it,” You murmur, words on the side of sultry. Your own excitement, that faint thrum of pleasure, has already started to pool low in your gut.

“Yeah, but I normally don’t have an audience for it,” Steve mumbles, his left-hand reaching for the drawstrings of his sweats.

They come undone with a simple tug. Steve stretches the elastic out a bit and then slips his hand in.

You know the moment his large hand settles around his cock from the flutter of his lashes, the soft groan that curls out his throat, rough and sweet all at once.

This… This is new. You usually don’t get such a focused look at Steve’s pleasure, at the little shifts in his expression, too wrapped up in your own pleasure to pay proper attention. Getting this much detail sends a delicious throb between your thighs. You hardly want to blink.

Steve’s hand moves slow to begin with, slow, gentle strokes to get himself properly warmed up.

After a moment, he draws his hand back and some part of you worries he’s too weirded out now. But he only brings it up, to his mouth, and you realise what he’s doing.

Quickly stealing his hand, Steve’s eyes widen as you let spit drop from your lips and pool in his palm. Another soft, jagged noise drags from his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” He murmurs, more to himself. “This is not what it’s like when it’s just me, this is, like, ten fucking times hotter.”

His hand sneaks back into his sweatpants but this time when he grips his cock, the reaction this time is immediate.

Steve moans, louder this time, his eyes crushing closed and his hand starts moving faster. With the help of your spit, it doesn’t take long before you can hear it, the slick sounds of him fucking his cock desperately.

His head tips back against the couch and a piece of hair flops over, into his eyes.

You reach out and brush it to the side and Steve’s eyes crease open at the same time a whine threads through his moans.

“Fuck,” He grunts. He sinks in teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes desperately roaming your face. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.”

“That what you thought bout?”

You’re impressed with yourself for the cool, calm demeanour you’re portraying. Steve nods, the motion a little wild, his hand still making those lewd, wet noises.

“Uh huh,” His voice shakes a little. “Just, fuck, dunno, like, your face and-uh-what y-you’d sound like.”

Your eyes glitter with interest, ego raring at the devotion your boyfriend is spilling out.

“What I’d sound like?”

“Y-Yeah,” Steve stammers, his breathing heavy. “Like, doing this.”

Now that’s a picture; Steve jerking off to the thought of you, hot and bothered with your hand between your thighs. You give a breathy gasp without meaning to.

Steve hears it, groaning louder as he quickens his pace. You sort of want to reach forward and ruck up his shirt, so you can see the glorious clench of his stomach as he rolls his hips up into his warm hand.

“Can I see more?” You ask tentatively. “Please?”

This time, it’s more like a whimper that creeps out of Steve’s throat.

“Oh my god,” Steve mumbles through a stilted moan. “Jesus Christ. Yeah, yeah, of course.”

He swallows heavily, his free hand reaching down to push at his waistband. You help, lifting up to help tug the fabric out of the way.

Obstructions removed, your mouth salivates. Steve’s cock is pretty — and it looks that much more enticing when it’s worked up, pink and the tip of it leaking all over his hand.

Steve’s a fucking vision. His head still lolled back, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His throat, dotted with moles, crawling with pinkness. His big, veiny hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it steadily.

You think about how much you’d like the lick the trail of hair on his tummy, down, down, down.

“You seem close,” You say and it earns you a reedy whimper in response. “Is it- does it normally happen this fast?”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve whispers back. His eyes are closed and after a moment, you realise he’s trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly, even as his hand doesn’t slow. “I—ngh— n-normally don’t have such good, ah, material. My imagination is— is not this good.”

You’re equal parts flattered and flustered, heat twinging in your gut.

“Can— can I?” Steve whimpers out suddenly.

The question nearly throws you. You almost say Can you what? when the meaning of it douses you in fire.

He’s asking permission.

Oh, that does something to you.

“Yeah, Stevie,” You say, voice lilting closer to a coo. “I wanna see it, please.”

Something shifts in his motions, changing gear as Steve’s hand suddenly starts moving in smaller, tighter strokes, just over the head of his cock. His head tucks forward, his eyes scrunched closed, and he’s whimpers out, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It only takes a few seconds, the whine in Steve’s voice pitching higher and higher, until something gives.

His hips take over, something desperate and primal shoving them up, his thrusts rapid and frantic. His hand doesn’t stop moving, not even as his cock starts to leak out ropes of cum, shooting out enough to cover the back of his knuckles. It joins your spit to rub slick against his cock.

He keens pitifully. For one long minute, you listen to Steve’s breathy whines get softer and softer, watch his desperate thrusts abate til an overstimulated shiver wracks through his body. Then, and only then, does he collapse back, sinking into the couch.

He’s a bit ruined, truthfully.

And you’ve soaked through your panties.

“You’re welcome,” You croak, throat dry. His hair is back in his eyes and lean forward, tenderly brushing it out of the way. You leave your hand there, cupping the side of his face, and Steve leans into it, still panting.

“What?” He asks.

“You were thanking me,” You point out cheekily.

Steve’s face plunges back to that scarlet colour you’re beginning to adore most ardently. He turns his face further to hide away in the palm of your hands.

“Shut up,” He mumbles.

“So you don’t wanna do that again?” You tease.

Steve pulls back and eyes you. “Now, hang on, I didn’t say that…”