#but honestly turned out real well i think

[mikibwrites]

The Price is Right

inspired by @theweewooshow 's post about a kissing booth :) Happy Valentines Day everyone!

bucktommy | 1.4k | G | ao3

This is ridiculous. He’s officially lost his marbles. 

Tommy’s been in this line for at least fifteen minutes, and every third minute of that has been spent telling himself he should leave. The other 2 minutes of each spiraling cycle have been spent eavesdropping his fellow hopefuls in line, listening to their tittering about how hot the firefighter working this shift of the booth is, surreptitiously cataloguing every person that he can see in front of and behind him and evaluating them on what–little, sadly–he knows about Evan’s preferences and whether or not their dreams of bagging a date with him will come true. Which then, in turn, sends him back into spiraling and berating himself for being among them, given his history with said firefighter. 

He needs to leave. 

There are roughly ten people in front of him, and Evan definitely hasn’t spotted him yet. He could totally duck out and no one would be the wiser. He contemplates pulling his phone out of his pocket with an air of importance, putting the completely silent device to his ear and pretending something dire has just happened that requires his immediate attention. No one would question him for getting out of line, no one would suspect that he’d lost his nerve. They’d think, wow, he must be important to be needed somewhere so urgently. 

Tommy’s definitely, officially for real this time, lost his marbles. 

Also, there are now only seven people left in front of him. 

As he watches each person get their sweet little peck on the cheek, he tries to tell himself this is for a good cause. The money goes to charity. There’s nothing weird about giving to charity. Nothing at all. There’s also nothing stopping him from just dropping the money in the basket on a table near the door that’s designated for just plain donations. He doesn’t need to get anything out of it if that’s all he’s hoping to do. 

He’s definitely hoping to get something out of it. He can at least admit that to himself, if nothing else. 

Five people left. 

“Oh my god, he’s so hot,” Tommy hears from behind him. “Look at those arms. Hold me down, daddy.” He almost chokes, the girl’s voice clearly pitched for just her friend next to her to hear, but he’s apparently blessed with supersonic hearing. The friend chimes in as well. “I wonder if he’s actually a good kisser or if he’s one of those dudes who relies on his rizz alone and then can’t deliver when it counts.”

Tommy has no idea what ‘rizz’ is, but he has to physically stop himself from turning around and describing for this girl in detail just how good of a kisser Evan is, how well he can deliver. He’s sure that wouldn’t go over well. 

Two people left. Evan is being so gracious and attentive to each of his patrons that he still hasn’t noticed Tommy. He could still make a run for it. 

He’s not going to. 

There’s roughly enough time for one more cycle of spiraling before he makes it in front of Evan, but Tommy chooses to spend it going over what the hell he’s going to say. Surely, Evan may protest giving his ex a kiss, even if it’s for charity, given the way they ended. It’d be well within his right to do so. So Tommy needs to have some justifications ready just in case Evan gets the wrong idea here. 

And what is the idea? Tommy failed to decide before he attempted this ridiculous stunt. Honestly, he’s been so, so god damned touch starved since he walked out Evan’s door that he thinks he’d do anything for just a brush of fingertips from Evan at this point. And that’s it, really…he only wants it from Evan. His coworkers have told him multiple times that he needs to just go out and get his ex out of his system–Donato offered to wingperson for him, even–but the very idea turns his stomach. 

But did he actually think that throwing some money at charity at a kissing booth of all things was going to get them anywhere near a reconciliation? Jesus, he should have just texted. Not that he hasn’t tried that, many many many times, and all of them ended up deleted because regardless of what he likes to tell himself he does not have the courage to put himself out there without the reassurance–or despair–of seeing Evan’s actual expression when he says what he wants to say. 

Which is…what? Exactly? He still hasn’t deci–

“Tommy?”

Shit. He’s missed the last person in front of him getting their dutiful peck on the cheek, and now he’s run out of time. 

Evan’s voice as he says his name is full of awe, trepidation, and…dare he say it…hope? His expression is even more devastating: like he’s seeing the sunrise just beginning after a century spent underground. His narrowed eyes are earnest and a little guarded, but they are trained wholly on Tommy.

Shit….what was he going to say?

“Uh, yeah. Hi. I, um…well I. Uh.” Tommy runs his fingers over his hair roughly, feeling unbearably stupid and exposed. He should have run when he had the chance. “Look, Evan, I–”

Evan’s breath hitches audibly at the sound of his name. They’re staring at each other. 

“Shit or get off the pot, dude, we’re all paying customers!” Some guy further back in line is shouting. 

“Um. Did you want a kiss?” Evan says, his face turning pinker by the second. And this. This Tommy can definitely answer.

“Yes,” he says, with maybe a little too much conviction behind the word for their current circumstances. Evan seems to clock it immediately, his eyes flicking down to Tommy’s mouth before coming back up to his eyes, his expression morphing to hopeful disbelief. “But, I mean, you don’t have to, here, I know you probably weren’t expecting–”

Tommy’s words are cut off by Evan’s mouth sealing onto his. 

God, god, he’s missed these lips. Each slide is like a revelation, and the thought is not lost on him that they’re in the middle of what is essentially a work function, they are both in uniform for christ's sake, having a whole existential crisis shared along with their breath and space and saliva. Because yes, Evan has now bullied his insanely talented tongue right behind Tommy’s teeth and is exploring like he’s going to be asked to draw a map later. 

Evan kisses him long, hard, and thorough, endless seconds ticking by and Tommy definitely doesn’t listen to any of the complaining going on in the line behind him. Evan does, though, and he very reluctantly pulls his lips away from Tommy’s and blinks in the most adorably flustered way and Tommy’s so, so gone on this man. How did he ever walk away from this?

“Can we talk?” Evan asks breathlessly.

“Please. But maybe later. Your adoring public awaits,” he adds, gesturing with his thumb to the line behind him, still nearly thirty people strong. He can’t blame them, but he’s also feeling a tad possessive so he leans in one more time to press his lips to the apple of Evan’s cheek, causing the blush to intensify when he pulls away. 

Tommy begins to turn to walk away, his smile already making his cheeks sore when Evan clears his throat. He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t pay, you know.” He’s smirking, the little shit. 

Before Tommy can make a move, someone in line shouts, “Damn! How much does it cost to get that?”

“That is not for sale,” Evan states with finality, but he’s still looking at Tommy, lips pursing, trying to hold back a full blown grin. There are a few groans from the line. 

Tommy reaches into his wallet, pulls out a $100, and slaps it on the table in front of Evan. “What time does your shift end?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Meet me at the cafe two blocks down. Bring those lips. We’ll talk.” Tommy congratulates himself on being smooth as he smirks right back at the look on Evan’s face. 

“Mmm, okay. I’ll bring these lips. But I hope you remember they’re good for more than just talking,” Evan adds as Tommy turns to walk away. 

He retracts his self-congratulations as he trips over his own feet. 

[hitlikehammers]

(not your average) seven minutes ⏰ ♥️

or: what if Steve had been ‘playfully’ locked into a room by his drunken not-friends at that infamous Halloween party in 1984, for 💕Seven Minutes in Heaven💞!

…and no one realized Eddie Munson was already hiding inside 🫥

Steve just wants to get the fuck out of this place, this party, this fucking…bullshit life he’s found himself in. He’s not at his best, under-fucking-standadably, so when the drunk-ass Halloween masses push and shove and giggle as they lock him in an upstairs bedroom for—oh god, Seven Minutes In Heaven, what are they, goddamn twelve—he’s going to fucking scream, he— “Not quite what you were expecting behind Door Number One?” Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which sounds familiar and then also, not, because Steve thinks he should know a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s— It’s a good voice, basically. And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak. Half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes and it…it does something. To Steve. It does something to Steve.

rating: t ♥️ tags: s2 era, alternate meeting, that ONE HALLOWEEN PARTY (you know which one), steve meets eddie immediately after nancy does her drunken bullshit thing, seven minutes in heaven meets truth or dare, (weirdly more effective than you’d think), first kiss(es), fluff, humor, boys being boys, climbing out of windows (like a ninja🥷), getting together (?) ♥️

again: originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo forever ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because it’s going to have a sequel show up soon for @steddielovemonth—which I thank profusely for giving me the kick in the ass required to revisit and actually try to finish this series!

“Oh my fucking god.”

Steve honestly doesn’t know if he’s going to start crying or throwing up quicker, like which one’s closest to the surface; keeping his balance as the shock, the jagged parts that draw blood when your heart gets crushed to shards leaving him susceptible—pathetic, fucking pathetic— to the pushing and pulling and grabbing of the throngs of trashed partygoers shoving him away from the front door, pushing harder every time he tripped up the stairs, laughing and yelling and chanting and fuck, fuck he doesn’t need this, he doesn’t want this, and he doesn’t even know what the fuck it is, just that it’s not his car, and then his house, and then his bed where he can…let it all come crashing down and not have a fucking audience, just: goddamn.

As soon as a door’s thrown open and she’s shoved to stumble hard, catch his nails to bending, bleeding against the light switch as the lock clicks behind him—well fuck.

He gets it now.

Fuck.

“Not what you were expecting behind Door Number One?”

Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which is familiar and then, not, because Steve thinks he should know a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s—

It’s a good voice, basically.

And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak, half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes but…it does something.

It does something Steve doesn’t want to dwell on, the kind of thing he’s kinda been working really hard and doing pretty fucking well and not dwelling on but then…maybe like, any other night, any other hour of any other night? Steve maybe would have turned, and at least tried to force the door open; maybe he’d have pushed it down like he’s been getting real good at, almost to the point where he doesn’t even have to think about it, the thing itself or the pushing it down: in fact he’s absolutely sure he’d have done just that. Any other night. After any other fucking night.

But it’s all bullshit anyway, so like, why even bother, what does any of it even matter, Barb’s dead, blood’s on his hands apparently for a pool he doesn’t even fucking pay for, his love’s fucking nothing and the voice from the corner, hell, even the jawline the flame’s casting sharp every other second, every flip open then stealing away with every flip closed: that’s something and so, like.

Any other night. It’d be different.

But it’s this night.

“I wasn’t expecting any door except the one on the front driver’s side of my goddamn car, man,” Steve sighs and throws his weight against a dresser—plain. Really plain—kid’s room. Not too young. Boy’s room. Little brother of…fuck, Steve can’t even remember whose house they’re in.

“I can see where this would definitely count as,” Munson’s tongue runs almost contemplatively over his lips as he tips his head; “a deviation from the plan.”

Steve snorts; he means it to sound amused, because he is that. Honestly he is.

But it sounds like it get halfway there, before it nosedives a little into a half-stifled sob.

Goddamnit.

“You okay, Harrington?”

Oh. So not only is he recognizable, he’s also recognizably not fucking okay.

That’s just great.

“My girlfriend says I’m bullshit,” Steve has no fucking idea what makes him just say it, to basically a stranger at that, and fuck, no, not a stranger: this stranger, who Steve knows enough of but who Steve’s pretty sure knows too many things about him for comfort, just—he doesn’t know what makes him say it. “That loving her is bullshit.”

Actually: probably that’s it. Bullshit, versus something. Munson’s eyes stay fixed on him the whole time, even as he keeps flicking the lighter.

“Does,” Munson starts, and in his good-voice, he sounds almost, like, hesitant. Which isn’t a way Steve really associates with the guy, if he associates anything with him at all but apparently yeah, he does, because he’s absolutely certain this shit’s out of the norm: “like, not to be a dick, seriously,” yeah, yeah: this is like a gentle voice. Careful. Care…caring?

And, like…why?

“But does that mean she’s still your girlfriend?”

Oh. Pity might be why. That’s fun.

“Shit,” Steve rubs his hands over his face, fucks his hair up even more than it’s been which is possibly not even possible. “Probably not.”

Munson lets out a breath that’s almost a whistle, and looks genuinely regretful—again, why, most of the people he hangs out with would probably celebrate Steve’s suffering, so like, what the fuck—

“That sucks man,” Munson says, honest, like, really honest as he para down his…surprisingly tight jeans until he extracts a pre-roll from the front picked and holds it out in offering: “on the house.”

Steve needs that shit bad enough for it to be maybe the only thing he doesn’t question in all of this.

“Thanks,” he says as Munson holds out a light and Steve leans in; the guy smells of party sweat and too many bodies, of Kate autumn air and cheap cologne. He smells…

It’s a good smell. It matches his good voice.

“You wanna?” Steve offers on impulse after he takes a lungful and maybe a little more, maybe a little too much—greedy, needy, bullshit—and holds it back to Eddie as he breathes out slow, tries to keep it all in as long as he can but not…not in a pushing-it-down kind of way. More a making-the-most kind of way.

“Do you wanna?” Munson asks, eyes so wide, like a baby animal or something. Like a cartoon character. Steve just keeps holding the joint out to him, close enough that his lips will touch Steve’s fingers if he wants them to, and in Steve’s head he feels like he’ll call him Eddie, in his head, if his mouth brushes his skin.

It does.

Eddie it is, then.

And Steve’s real good at shoving down things like the way his heart skips and fucking jumps, runs a little—he’s good at it.

But not tonight.

“They always double the time, ‘specially when they think they’re being funny,” Steve licks his fingers where Eddie’s mouth had touched because why the fuck not, and he slides down the simple preteen dresser and leans back on the palms of his hands as he sighs out the words and the remaining smoke in his lungs, but let’s go of none of the taste he’d lapped off the skin around his knuckles. Not that. “Probably longer than that if they’re as drunk as they looked.”

“Ah,” Eddie kinda, almost, hums through the purse of his lips before he offers the smoke back Steve’s way, and if Steve makes sure his lips drag over Eddie’s fingers, what fucking of it. It does make the space between his inhale and Eddie’s willingness to say any more words out loud a long quiet pause where Steve’s pulse runs high between his collarbones but it’s…it’s not bad. And Steve kinda wants to keep that in his back pocket, for later: the thing he’s gotten so good and pushing down might not feel so goddamn bad, up near the surface where it’s still able to breathe.

Huh.

“So you’re up here on a mission,” Eddie finally says, a little choked but not like you choke on a weird drag, y’know? Different choking. Steve feels the urge to smirk and while he doesn’t give into it?

It’s definitely there.

“As far as they’re concerned,” Steve says with…Steve doesn’t know what he says it with. How he says it. How he means it.

“You don’t look drunk,” Eddie saves him from dwelling on that particular unknown, lets him course correct with a little scoff.

It also distracts him from how Eddie sits next to him. Not too close, but still pretty fucking close.

“I know my limits.” Which is why he takes back the joint without a single thought and does the maybe-too-much thing, because it feels good, and lets himself look for the taste of Eddie on the paper: salt and a tang of something and then sweetness, like fucking candy.

It’s a good taste.

“I’m probably a little drunk,” Eddie declares without sounding it at all, and taking to the eeed again without a secondly hesitation; “more like tipsy, really, if that, but still, totally not my style,” he frowns, like it really isn’t, like he’s disappointed in himself. It’s kinda…cute.

Fuck.

“I don’t touch shit at these parties but I was thirsty as fuck,” Eddie gestures with his free hand, and it’s the first time Steve’s notices how his run at glint: good hands; “haven’t eaten all day and thought I’d beat the punch spiking.”

“Aww, man,” Steve moans on Eddie’s behalf, sympathetic; “the punch is always pre-spiked.”

“Duly noted,” Eddie nods, holding the joint to Steve’s lips straight on this time, and Steve thinks nothing of breathing in without touching it himself, letting Eddie decide when to pull it back. “Point being, on an empty stomach, even one such as myself,” Eddie gestures broadly at his person with the nearly-spent smoke: “is not immune.”

Steve huffs a little laugh; he kinda wants it to be bigger but he’s feeling…soft. Nice.

Good.

“So we’ve got somewhere between seven and…” Eddie glances at his wrist as if he’s expecting a watch there; Steve wants to know if he forgot one he normally wears or if it’s all for show: “thirty minutes, by your estimation?”

“Thereabouts,” Steve shrugs. You can never really know for sure.

“You umm,” Eddie ventures after a few seconds; “you want to talk about, umm,” and he trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Not,” Steve’s saying before really thinking;“not really.” It’s actually kind of weird how much he means it, too. “I was trying to get home.”

“Drown your sorrows?” Eddie surmises, but Steve shakes his head.

“Wasn’t even gonna bother,” and his asshole father’s got the good shit, too; Steve probably could have managed a decent bit of wallowing with minimal hangover. “Just wanted to get out, clear my,” he clears his throat, though he’s not sure why, doesn’t really thing he needs it: “head.”

Then Steve turns to look at Eddie only to find Eddie already looking straight at him.

That’s…that’s something.

“Then they shoved me in here because they’re all fucking assholes,” Steve chuckles a little, does his damn best to make it clear he’s only calling the dickheads downstairs assholes; not…not Eddie.

Like it was an asshole move to shove him in here but, not because of Eddie.

Like, at all.

“And drunk off their asses,” Eddie grins, a very good grin, and Steve matches it as best he’s able because it means his comments landed okay, the right way; “swear I didn’t sell anything hard enough to be the culprit.” Steve snorts, and Eddie matches that and all the matching feels…it feels.

“It’s funny though,” Eddie comments, a little idly once the laughter’s echoed out. Steve tilts his head, all question.

“No one knew I was in here,” Eddie gestures to the whole of the not-very-big room. “It’d be one thing to prank you and shove you in here with me, ha ha,” he tosses his head back and forth and sticks out his tongue like Steve knows he’s done on the tables in the cafeteria more than once but it’s softer, here, it’s almost warm or playful and maybe a little self…deprecating? Steve thinks that’s the word but whatever the word is, Steve doesn’t love that it’s there alongside everything else.

“I mean, insulting as shit to you, so they probably wouldn’t have done that to you,” and Steve frowns because yeah, these parts are thinks he loves at all; “you’re still royalty,” and Eddie pops on an accent and bows his head and it’s not mocking like it would be in school, but.

Steve doesn’t fucking love that either.

“Fuck that,” Steve’s quick to kind of…bite out. Like, hard. “And hell, if I am fucking royalty,” he air-quotes the word because fuck it, fuck it all; “it’s not for much longer.”

Eddie settles, and watches Steve almost…careful. Like maybe he’s looking for something. Or else, he’s taking the time to really get something from whatever he does see.

It’s weird. Steve doesn’t know what to do with being looked at to be seen.

“Think I’ll be glad to be rid of it, to be honest,” Steve says, picks at the beds of his nails a little, something he’s learned from all the girls he’s dated for a few days here and there—distraction.

But he means it, he realizes that for absolute certain as soon as he says it.

“Huh,” Eddie finally says, and it’s said…like it means something.

Something maybe…good. Or like it could be. Can be.

Huh.

“Anyway, they would have thought the room was empty,” Eddie picks back up, stretches a little and oh. Oh wow, he’s got a long neck when it’s all stretched out. It’s…it looks good.

Then Eddie cuts his gaze sly toward Steve and smirks: “Who were you supposed to fucking have your seven heavenly minutes with?”

Steve rolls his eyes and smirks lazily back in Eddie’s direction.

“My hand?”

Eddie’s eyes widen a little, and they’re…they’re really close, like, either Steve didn’t notice before or they’ve gotten closer.

Eddie’s lips are…really close.

“Oh, well,” those close lips are saying, but that good voice is kinda too-soft for the tease: “don’t let me interrupt.”

Steve blinks a couple times, to make sure he heard right.

“Sorry, that was—“ Eddie starts to walk it back but once Steve’s done with his blinking?

He fucking busts out laughing. Like…the embarrassing, snorting, pitchy kind of laughter.

“Funny,” he gasps a little, waving Eddie’s concern away because it was, it was: “That was funny, man.”

Maybe Steve thinks it’s too funny. But once Eddie shifts from shocked to something more like pleasantly surprised?

It feels like it was the perfect level of funny.

“Okay,” Eddie says as his grin grows but gets ducked into his chin, as his hand fumbles for a stand of his hair like he can hide behind it, which is silly, and weird.

And…endearing. Steve wants to see what that strand of hair feels like.

Also weird. Maybe silly. Maybe too much, maybe bullshit—

“Hey,” Eddie’s leaning toward him, and if Steve thought they were close before, that was a fucking lie in comparison because holy fucking wow, is Eddie close. He’s got freckles on his nose. Steve never would have guessed. “Want me to be funny some more?” He asks, a little loud, a little too bout any and bouncy and…like he means it, like he wants to be this thing but not so much for himself, or else not just for himself, but for Steve.

No one does shit like that for Steve.

“Your eyes are too pretty to be sad.”

Steve’s eyes aren’t too fucking pretty to nearly pop out their goddamn sockets when those words register in his ears, in his brain, make his chest tight in a kinda fucking terrifying way but such a good way and Eddie looks so scared, and Eddie’s eyes are too pretty to be scared and, oh shit.

“Truth or dare?”

The question kinda just pops out, which is…not ideal but better than his eyes doing that, so: win. And Eddie’s eyes shift from scared to stunned, confused—both better options. Double win.

“What?”

Steve clears his throat this time because you genuinely fucking needs it. “Gotta do something to pass however many minutes they leave us here, don’t we?”

Because it was definitely a seven-minutes-in-heaven set up. And Steve doesn’t know how long they’ve passed so far but he wants it to be a while longer that they’ve got left and distractions, distractions to keep from dwelling—

“Truth.”

Oh. Alright.

“Just my eyes?”

That, Steve clocks right after saying it, is the exact opposite of not fucking dwelling. He feels a little sick.

But his heart’s leaping like it’s never been free of a fucking cage until this moment, so it’s confusing.

Eddie looks confused too, so on top of it: Steve’s not even alone. In being confused.

And Steve’s alone so much. This is…kinda nice.

Kinda good.

“Is it just my eyes that are too pretty?” Steve says, for clarity. And Eddie swallows so hard Steve can hear it; fuck, he swallows hard enough it has to hurt.

“No,” Eddie says, tiny and faint before he straights his spine and looks Steve straight on: intentional.

Bracing for impact.

“Truth or dare.”

Steve’s kinda tired of being daring on principle. Generally. He’s terrified of the truth but…shit.

“Truth.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Eddie doesn’t say it mean. But he does say it in a way Steve couldn’t have lied to him about if he wanted to even try.

He doesn’t though. Want to try.

“Literally or, like, figuratively?”

The implications of that answer hit a little belatedly and Steve feels his cheeks go read as Eddie’s breath punches straight out of his lungs:

“Jesus H. Christ—“

“No, to both,” Steve answers quick before he loses his nerve, because maybe the truth was as daring, more daring even, than anything else. “Not even a little bit. For either.”

Eddie’s throat works around words he doesn’t say for a long stretch of seconds. Steve’s heart’s in his throat so, he thinks he kinda gets the feeling.

“Truth or Dare,” he forces out. Because it’s his turn.

“Dare,” Eddie barely breathes. Steve wasn’t expecting that, but the ready response makes it clear that deep down, he was hoping.

“Give me my seven minutes.”

Eddie freezes. Coughs. Pales a little before he stumbles over words less like he’s avoiding anything and more like he’s really that unbalanced. Shocked out of sync.

“With your hand?” he asks, a little squeak in the pitch of his voice. “Like, turns my back, cover my ears?”

Steve huffs a nervous little laugh. Nervous but…undeniably fond.

“No, dipshit.” The implication is…pretty fucking clear.

“You’re heartbroken,” Eddie points out.

“Maybe less that I thought I’d be,” Steve answers honestly, surprises himself; and maybe that’s for a damn good reason, too. “You’re ‘tipsy’.”

“Increasingly less so by the goddamn second,” Eddie confesses, his eyes fixed to Steve’s lips before flickering back up, so so wide:

“Harrington,” he whispers, sounding kinda lost; “I don’t—“

“It’s fine, if you,” Steve’s quick to regroup, even though his pulse is trying to choke him—stupid, needy, idiot, too much, greedy, dumbass, fucking bullshit; “you can forget it.”

Steve would like to forget it, kinda immediately; letting himself want. Letting himself try.

“I don’t,” Eddie starts again, but Steve can’t stand it, can’t beat it: that good good voice trying to make this anything but a goddamn catastrophe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t like, mean to,” and fuck, Steve’s not only clearly suggested some very dangerous things about himself he’s only starting to even be willing to think about coming to grips with but what about what he’s assumed, implied about Eddie, guys don’t take lightly to that shit, oh fucking hell; “I don’t, you know, like, do this,” he tries to salvage, and even he knows it’s a pathetic attempt; “like this—“

“I don’t fuck around with straight boys as a rule, see,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, color high on his cheeks; “keeps my poor squishy gay heart from bruising.”

And Eddie; oh, oh—

Those eyes are too damn pretty to look so scared.

And maybe it’s less about truth being safer than a dare, maybe both are a risk in their own way and maybe…maybe both just require that you’re brave.

Steve can try to be brave, maybe. Just this once. This one night that’s different, where he’s not pushing it all down.

“If I told you,” he says slowly, so slowly because it’s hard to fight what he knows so we’ll; “if I said I didn’t know, yet, how much of a bend there might be in my kind of…straight?” Steve frowns, brow furrowed; that came out so goddamn weird, but he makes himself look at Eddie when he asks:

“Would that change anything?”

Eddie gapes at him, a little like a fish, and Steve goes back to the beginning: he’s equally likely to start sobbing as he is likely to throw the fuck up—but Eddie blinks, and his head tilts and he reaches slow, tentative, like he doesn’t know if he’s really allowed but also like he wants to make sure Steve can cut and run before his hand meets Steve’s cheek.

He is allowed, though. He’s…Steve is pretty sure he’s fucking welcome.

“Would,” Eddie murmurs incredulously, thumbing Steve’s lower lip before he does the slow thing, leaning while leaving an out but Steve doesn’t want a goddamn out.

He moves forward in a blink and kisses Eddie with all the skill and know-how he’s woven together into making the people he kisses feel good, and he puts his whole self in, all the concentration and focus and investment he’s got to make it…great, if he can.

But then something kind of wild happens.

Because it kinda feels like Eddie is…doing the same thing. Like Eddie wants Steve to feel all those things just as big and sure.

Steve doesn’t…Steve’s never been kissed like this. Like that. Like his half of the deal isn’t just a given.

Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, though: Steve has to run on pure instinct; his partner never does that shit first.

It’s fucking amazing. And given the moans he gets, the wet sucking sounds and the panting before they reconnect again, then again: Steve’s willing to bet his instincts are pretty solid.

They finally break for more than a second and Eddie’s hands come to Steve’s chest for balance as he gasps, as his hair falls in a curtain between them and Steve’s barely got the breath in him to speak yet when he covers one of Eddie’s hands with his own and half-whispers.

“Come on,” and he’s tugging Eddie to standing, both of them a little wobbly on their feet for a second or two before Eddie stills.

“We’re locked in,” he seems to remember in real time, like the whole kissing thing—not quite seven minutes; maybe more than seven minutes; not e-fucking-nough either way—knocked reasonable thought out of him for a second, there.

“The window,” Steve’s prepared for it, leads him over with their hands still kinda just covering each other, kinda holding one another, kinda a lot of things. “I’ve been here before, we can get out,” because yeah, he knows the house even if he still doesn’t remember who it belongs to; “and you haven’t eaten,” Steve remembers that clear as day, frowning at Eddie, almost scolding him.

Eddie lights up, though. Like maybe there are things no one’s really ever thought of for Eddie, too. Like, maybe Steve wasn’t the only one finding out someone could…pay attention.

Like he was worth paying attention to.

And like…Eddie? Steve doesn’t know exactly what to do with all the things that are tied up in everything he pushes down, where they’re bubbling up and seeping from his pore or some shit, but what he does know, without a doubt?

Eddie Munson is very much worth paying attention to.

“What the hell’s even open,” Eddie says, and Steve takes a second to add it up—food, he needs food—and he grins, and like…he kinda can’t help it? He definitely doesn’t think about it before he kisses Eddie, hard and quick and more smile in it than…he kinda remembers having, or giving, like…

More than he remembers. At all.

Huh.

“Benny’s if we’re quick,” Steve breaks off and pushes the window open; “otherwise the kitchen at Casa Harrington makes a hell of a TV dinner this time of night,” he tosses a grin Eddie’s way that’s nothing like he uses on the girls, he can tell, can feel it: it’s goofy and sincere and…yeah. “Probably got like a Salisbury steak one.”

It’s Eddie who leans, quicker and more like he’s stealing it, like he’s sneaking it and jumping back quick just in case he gets caught and it’s in doing that exactly that Steve has the incredibly clear sense, amidst all the unclear shit in his chest and his brain and his everything, that he…wants to catch Eddie.

“Fancy,” Eddie grins, and oh fuck.

Oh fuck, those dimples.

“Only the best for my honored guests,” Steve pokes one of those heavenly fucking dimples and oh.

Oh.

Steve’s making sure the window won’t fall on them as them climb down when Eddie leans close, looks down, and talks really close to Steve’s ear:

“They’re a reason we didn’t bail from the get-go?”

Steve wouldn’t hide the way he shivers if he tried.

“Honestly?” Steve chuckles, light with it, maybe…and he’s not sure okay, he could be making shit up and talking out his ass but, like, maybe he’s…

Free with it. Free with it?

He looks at Eddie who’s still grinning, dimples and all.

Free’s close enough.

“I don’t know, wasn’t really thinking,” Steve admits, and then tries the brave thing one more time: “truth or dare?”

Eddie’s answer is immediate, leaned close again against Steve’s shoulder, close at his ear:

“Truth.”

“Will you be angry if I said I wasn’t mad,” Steve turns, and their lips are so close: “that I didn’t think of leaving from the start?”

“Oddly enough?” Eddie grins so near that just the motion brushes their mouths. “Not even a little bit.” Then Eddie leans closer, means to, and doesn’t run like he’s stealing anything this time when he kisses Steve like he means it.

Then he’s speaking straight against Steve’s lips: “Truth or dare?”

And fuck it; everything’s been mixed up, shattered, rebuilt, turned inside out tonight. So far it’s turning out way better than Steve could have guessed. Definitely so much better than it started.

Might as well keep running with it.

“Dare.”

Eddie grins but there’s a heat to it, but then alongside, there’s something…mischievous. And then Eddie’s bumping his head into Steve’s and murmuring close:

“You climb down first and catch my ass when I inevitably fall halfway,” he issues his challenger; “I’m uncoordinated as shit.”

And Steve was wrong before.

The kiss he gives Eddie has more smile in it than he’s ever had, or shown, or shared before; not once in his whole goddamn life.

He could get used to it.

🧡

also on ao3

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[literallyjusttoa]

Realizing I also want to keep track of the songs Apollo mentions, so I'm gonna go back real quick and mention "You Send Me" by Sam Cooke, released in 1957, which he mentioned in chapter 2, and "Rise to the Sun" by Alabama Shakes, released in 2012, which he mentions in the opening of chapter 10. Listened to them both, and honestly, they're both great songs! And Rise to the Sun actually fits Apollo really well, I was genuinely surprised.

Going back also makes me realize that Apollo was going to sing an honest to god love song to stop Cade and Mikey. That image will stay with me for years, I think.

Rhea is described as dressing like a "Libyan queen of old" which is interesting, bc I couldn't find any reference to Rhea being an important figure during the period where Ancient Greece had footholds in the region. What's interesting though, is that Apollo definitely was. One of the two cities Greeks established in Libya was Cyrene, and some myths even call the native Libyans the founders of both Delos and Delphi. So like, I have no idea where Rick got the idea of Rhea being connected to Libya, but it helped me learn new things, so that's cool!

Another anecdote: When Apollo drives the sun chariot as a bus, Hermes always sits in the back, because that's where troublemakers sit.

The way Apollo describes his physical state, I'm convinced he's just constantly in excruciating pain. Like, all he does is get off the cot in the Apollo cabin, and he says that his "eyes felt as if they were being microwaved in their sockets." Bestie, what? Are you dying, wtf lmao?

Anecdote: Apollo once attempted target practice in Zeus' throne room. That feels like it might have been a more pointed thing.

Apollo sees Nero in his dreams for the first time in chapter 10, but he doesn't recognize him yet. He spends the rest of the chapter simply referring to him as "The man in the purple suit", "The ugly mauve-suited man", and simply "the ugly man" King behavior, honestly.

I know I made a post about it a while ago, but I still can't get over Apollo's outrageous claim of 33 mortal girlfriends and 11 mortal boyfriends. He has past that in Ancient Greek lovers alone lmao.

Rick does a really good job of writing these long flowing internal monologues for Apollo, only to cut them off with a short sentence that both allows for an easy transition out of Apollo's head and back to the action of the scene, but also simulates Apollo getting distracted in his own ramblings and then abruptly coming back to reality. Like, he goes on for three paragraphs about Nico and will, and then his past loves, and then his embarrassment over sharing his love for Hyacinthus and Daphne, only to end it all off with the short line "I am so confused." and then we're right back into the scene. It's a really great comedic bit, and it does wonders for Lester's characterization. (Also my god does Lester read so much like he has ADHD. Almost more than Percy to me, but then I think Lester's flavor of ADHD is much more similar to my own than Percy's is)

Anecdote: Apollo cosplayed Rocky at midnight showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Queen.

Apollo mentions that he filmed the orientation film on "a tight budget in the 1950's" which like, why? Maybe it's mentioned in the supplemental books somewhere, but why would a god ever be put on a budget for something lmao?

"Had I been a god, I would have turned her into a blue-belly lizard and released her into the wilderness never to be seen again. The thought soothed me." One, Apollo she is twelve dear god. Two, I love this as a character moment for Apollo (Stay with me here). Apollo comes from a culture that is so focused on strength and power and violence. The moment he loses control of a situation, he grasps for any way to get power back into his hands. And in these moments, his way of giving himself power is by reassuring himself that he could totally murder everyone here if he wanted to. Killing people is a way to assert control, it's a way that Zeus and the other gods assert control all the time. And there's an implication with Apollo using these lines too. By asserting that he can kill people, it's also an assertion that the people he is threatening cannot kill him. Idk it's just a very interesting way of coping.

Real quick fun fact! Lester describes the Oracle of Delphi in Greece as a "cavern filled with volcanic fumes" but that's not actually 100% correct. The oracle of Delphi in Ancient Greece was actually in the Temple of Apollo, with descriptions from ancient scholars putting her either in the cella or in an adyton that was below the main temple. There was a opening in the ground in this chamber, but it certainly wasn't a cave. Furthermore, the whole idea of Apollo fighting Python in a cave? From what I can tell, this is also not based in myth! Most descriptions of the fight between Apollo and Python that I can find in myth describe Python being coiled around the mountains of the Parnassus range, which is a terrifying image honestly. Just find it interesting that none of the cave stuff is actually a part of the Delphic Oracle. I mean, from what I can tell, the nearest mythologically important cave is the Corycian cave, which has nothing to do with the oracle and is also like a 45 minute drive away from Delphi.

I usually try to read three chapters before rb'ing, but I had so many notes on these two that I'm gonna cut it off here. Also, this has kind of just become pointing out shit I find interesting instead of focusing specifically on Lester-isms, but I'm def still gonna point those out, so the tag will stay. I just have so much to say about my little blorbo, sorry guys.

I think I'm gonna make a reblog chian of all the little phrases and Apollo uses throughout ToA, now that I'm rereading it. Bc like, he has such a unique way of speaking, and I really wanna dig into it, you know? Ok let's start.

He says "heavens help me" instead of "heaven help me" using the plural the same way demigods do with "oh my gods". I'm guessing this is an acknowledgment of other pantheons? Or I'm looking too far into it, I've just never heard this phrase with a plural "heavens" before.

He calls Cade and Mikey "Ruffians" . And he makes fun of the arrow for being Shakespearean.

He also refers to people as "Mortals" a lot here, which I remembered him doing, but now I want to keep track and see if he keeps that up throughout all the books, or if it peters out near the end.

"I thought how amusing it would be if I could make the snake tattoos around his neck come alive and strangle him to death" I honestly love how violent Apollo's thoughts can be sometimes. Like, you can tell he's someone who has done shit like this before.

I also want to keep track of all the little anecdotes Apollo brings up, so we'll start with the guitar contest against Chuck Berry in 1957, which apparently ended with him getting repeatedly stomped on.

"But something told me this was not she" II love how it's the little things that really get across how old Apollo is. Rick could've easily just said "It wasn't her" or something, but instead he had Apollo phrase this in a way that is far more formal, and more reminiscent of the grammatical patterns of old english. Idk it's just really cool.

(Side note that's not connected to Apollo: Meg's glasses are black? I feel like I've been living a lie, I've been coloring them red for years lol)

God his metaphors are just so striking. Like, I can imagine the phrase "Whatever was left of my pride turned into ice water and trickled into my socks" but I don't want to, because that's such a visceral feeling. I like that Apollo inadvertently proving how poetic he is by making the reader as uncomfortable as possible.

I think I'm gonna start crying out "Horrors!" when I'm upset to. I think I deserve that level of drama.

ahh the classic "My blessings upon you!" Again, I love how every little line characterizes him. Either it's overly formal, like before, or subtly arrogant, like here, or both. It's so fun.

I need to write him saying "Sacred Sibyl!" more. Because that is such a fun little term. Rolls right off the tongue, honestly.

I think I'm gonna leave it there for now, but trust that I will definitely be adding more to this later. Bc Lester-speak is so fun to really look into.

[kashverse]

some say let your hands and fingers do the talking. not like that, you perv! i mean by playing the guitar. what did you think? anyway, when your boyfriend pulls out a guitar, it’s a moment of pure suspense. it can either go very, very good—think angelic strumming, a voice so smooth it makes you question if he’s been hiding a secret record deal—or very, very bad, like an out-of-tune massacre that makes your eardrums file for divorce. there’s no in-between. he’s either serenading you into a nicholas sparks movie, or you’re suddenly trapped in a hostage situation where the ransom is pretending to enjoy his soulful (read: painful) rendition of wonderwall.

ah, gojo. the man, the myth, the self-proclaimed musician. he played the guitar once—once—in high school, butchered wonderwall in a way that made even noel gallagher cringe from a distance, and now he tells everyone he’s a ‘part-time guitarist.’ you don’t have the heart to tell him that whatever note he’s playing isn’t in the known musical scale of this universe. he strums with the confidence of a rock god but with the technique of a toddler discovering sound for the first time. the worst part? he believes in it. “music transcends rules,” he tells you with a wink, completely unaware that he’s transcended harmony, melody, and all known music theory altogether.

then there’s geto. now, he looks like a guy who plays the guitar—cool, effortless, the type to lean against a wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips while plucking out a song that makes everyone in a ten-mile radius fall in love. and technically, he does play. but does he play songs? absolutely not. geto is a man of riffs. he’ll pick up a guitar, pluck out a legendary lick that would make jimi hendrix’s spirit shed a tear, and then… stop. no full songs. no verses. just a 15-second snippet of greatness before he casually shrugs and says, “eh, i never learned the rest.” it’s infuriating. masterful, but infuriating.

choso, on the other hand, is eager. enthusiastic, even. and the shocking part? he’s patient with it, which you didn’t expect given his general aura of broody silence. but the man loves to learn—he already had a thing for keyboards, so naturally, guitar was the next step. and he’s good. so good, in fact, that you have to physically restrain him from playing in front of random people. because let’s be real: if choso sits down with a guitar, strums even a single melancholic tune, women (and men) will descend upon him like he’s the last attractive man on earth. you’re not dealing with that. not again.

does sukuna play the guitar? please. your big, beefy, borderline villainous boyfriend doesn’t do “basic” instruments. he plays the shamisen. yeah, that’s right. while everyone else is fumbling through 'hotel california,' sukuna is out here commanding an ancient instrument with the kind of raw, aggressive technique that could send every mainstream musician straight into retirement. the way he plays is nothing short of feral—sharp, powerful, sending sound waves through your soul like he’s calling forth a battlefield. you don’t know whether to be turned on or to fear for your life. possibly both.

toji, bless his heart, tries. he wants to play the guitar. he knows it looks cool. and, honestly, the intent is there. but here’s the thing—his hands are the size of dinner plates. the pick disappears between his fingers like a lost sock in the laundry. fretting a chord looks like he’s trying to delicately handle a teacup with boxing gloves on. it’s not a skill issue. it’s a size issue. the guitar wasn’t built for a man whose hands could palm a basketball and a toddler’s head at the same time. but he keeps at it, convinced that if he just tries hard enough, one day he’ll stop making the guitar sound like it’s being physically assaulted.

and then there’s nanami, the dark horse. the unexpected legend. you find out, completely by accident, that he plays guitar—not just plays, but plays it well. sings with it, too. every night, he softly strums lullabies for yuuji, an act of pure paternal love that no one would expect from the stoic salaryman. but when you ask him about it? he shuts that conversation down. you don’t get details. you don’t get demonstrations. and you definitely don’t get to see the video of 17-year-old nanami covering ‘pocketful of sunshine’ with embarrassing sincerity. it exists. he won’t admit it. but one day, one day, you will find it.

[glowettee]

the secret to taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖°

hey lovelies! mindy heree <3

for this post i'm superrr excited to share a guide on taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖° trust me, i know how overwhelming it can get when it feels like you're stuck in the middle of endless textbooks and dry lecture slides (honestly, we all have those days). so, let's transform your note taking into something delightful, empowering, and totally reflective of your unique self.

✧ finding your vibe first things first, bestie: the key here is to make your notes feel personal and inspiring. rather than sticking to a rigid system, i suggest mixing a little structure with a whole lot of creativity. here are some steps to help you set up your perfect note taking vibe:

choose your medium: even if it’s a cute pastel notebook, sticky notes, or a digital app with fun themes, pick something that sparks joy and invites you to open it up. i personally love notion + remnote + coda

establish sections: break your notes into clear sections. introduction, main points, and summary. this not only boosts organization but also gives you a gratifying sense of progress every time you finish a page.

add your signature touch: doodles, small illustrations, or even a decorative border can make a note feel less like a chore and more like a mini art project. i love using aesthetic symbols for my digital notes <3

✧ creating a study ritual i believe that great notes come from a relaxed and focused mind. try integrating these rituals into your study sessions to set a positive tone, this is really important if you want to make note-taking fun:

begin with a short breathing exercise or a moment of gratitude (think of it as your pre-study pep talk).

play some light instrumental music or your favorite lo-fi beats, or playlist. something to keep your mind in a creative zone without distractions. (i have a great playlist i made that i use for tackling assignments here: 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀! <3)

grab your favorite beverage (i’m a fan of herbal tea or a cute iced coffee) and make sure you're comfortable. a little self-care goes a long way!

✧ structuring your notes for clarity a well-organized layout makes reviewing notes less daunting and more interactive. and obviously so much more fun, consider using this format for a balanced + demureee approach:

start with a title and date: it grounds your notes and gives you a quick reference.

write a brief summary of the topic: in your own words, capture the essence of what you’re about to learn. just summarize it as best as possible

list key points: use bullet points, numbered lists, or even headers for different subtopics. tip: use cute symbols for bullet points

highlight examples: it can be a quote, a definition, or an application concept, mark these with a star or a cute icon.

close with a reflection: jot down any questions, what you found most interesting, or even a mini action item related to the topic. this is your space for self-talk and reflection.

✧ turning notes into interactive canvases (cause we need it) notes aren’t meant to be static pages floating in an endless binder. make them interactive to truly boost your study sessions:

include thought-provoking questions: ask yourself things like “what would elle woods do?” (lol, we love her <3) or “how does this connect with real life?” to spark critical thinking.

add mini quizzes: at the end of each section, write one or two questions that challenge you to recall key points.

leave room for updates: as you learn more, come back and add extra notes, doodles, or even inspirational stickers (yes, just like in a scrapbook!).

✧ personal tips from mindy because i want you to shine in every note you take, here are my totally secret, fun tips to elevate your note routine:

secret tip #1: color with purpose choose a color palette that not only looks cute but also maps out different themes in your subject. use one color for definitions, another for examples, and maybe a sparkly tone for key takeaways. over time, these colors will trigger your memory (i promise, it really works!).

secret tip #2: integrate affirmations studying can be stressful sometimes, so why not lace your notes with a few tender affirmations? write a quick pep talk (like “i got this, bestie” or “every detail counts”) in a corner. it might seem small, but these little lines can boost your confidence when you need it most. and it's just so freaking cute <3 affirmations from you to you, is like a love letter to yourself, so just try it

secret tip #3: try mind mapping if you’re more of a visual learner, create mind maps instead of linear notes. start with the main topic in the center and branch out with related ideas and details. this not only makes your notes dynamic but also helps you see connections between concepts (ever notice how some subjects just click with a visual flow?).

secret tip #4: use digital tools creatively if you’re leaning towards digital note taking, like me, experiment with apps that support drawing, voice notes, and even embedded links. add images that resonate with the topic or short videos for a quick concept refresher. making your digital notebook interactive can really keep boredom at bay.

secret tip #5: schedule weekly note reviews set aside a bit of time every week to revisit your notes. treat it as a mini self-study session where you update, add reflections, or even reorganize sections for clarity. this habit not only reinforces your learning but also lets you see your own progress over time, like looking back on how far you’ve come.

✧ action items for the week (it's homework timeee) to wrap things up, here are a few steps to try:

pick one class or topic this week and redo your notes using one or two of these tips (maybe add a mind map or a quick quiz).

experiment with color coding: choose colors that resonate with you and assign them to key points or sections.

schedule a 10-minute review session at the end of the week to refresh and reflect on your notes.

share your progress with a friend or even a study group to celebrate little victories. accountability can boost your motivation!

note: note taking is a creative process that should feel as refreshing and inspiring as a new day. keep experimenting until you find what truly works for you. i hope these tips help you get excited about every page you write on.

xoxo, mindy

I made this amazzinggg playlist (as mentioned earlier in the post) and its specifically made to help you complete homework + assignments. i curated it to make sure its soft music to help you focus <3 love from mindyyy 🩷

don't forget, if you need personal advice, submit it here and i'll answer it as a detailed tumblr blog post <3: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[hencheri]

if you ever get the chance, watch squid game s2 (or s1 if you haven’t, top tier) but, your racer heeseung got me thinking.

racer!jeno (or anybody, i don’t care as long as it’s fitting) who comes to your car repairs shop late at night to get some paint fixed on his car. when it comes time to pay he makes sure to give you a big tip. you tell him that there’s no need but he wasn’t talking about cash. despite the protests, he bends you over the front of his car while he holds your wrists in his hand while he thrusts into you, the side of your cheek practically stuck to the car from the paint drying :/ he asks you what a women’s doing fixing cars and shit anyways. when he’s finally finished and he pulls you off the car, you swear your skin ripped off from how much paint had combined you and the car together. he looks over your shoulder and the side of your face was completely embedded in your car. he tells you he thinks he’ll keep it there, and you know what? maybe he wants your ass to be printed on the top of his car too? maybe he wants your tits to be embedded on his passenger door too. it doesn’t matter, the next race he’s in, everybody’s gonna be wondering who’s face that is on the front of his car.

it’s got to be written because my mind is going absolutely wild

18+ mdni.

warnings: noncon, misogyny.

racer!jeno is perfect, especially since i've been craving him really badly lately... honestly, it's something i would have never thought of, that's so out of pocket (in a good way). i know he's mad af when he comes to the garage and he sees you, like, really? a girl, repairing his car?

you ignore his comments at first because you honestly hear it all so often... "isn't there anybody else working?", "you? the mechanic?", "you're sure you won't break my car even more?", stuff like that... when he comes to check on the job you've done, it pisses him off that everything seems completely fine bcs he can't complain. but he pays you the right amount, but when your back is turned, he takes a hold of your neck, pulling you to his chest. he wants a little extra, a bonus. after all, that's what you're here for, right? to serve him, use you how he sees fit.

he bends you over the hood of his car, your hands flat on it, trying to keep your balance as he fucks you brutally. he's merciless and rough; he has a point to make. you're made to take cock, be a little cum dump, nothing else. and he fully believes it by the end of it, taking a fistful of your hair and bringing you flush to his chest once again. his eyes burn into your face and honestly, he's never been so painfully hard.

but also... i see the opposite, you coming to have your car repaired; brakes too rusty, oil change... idk, something like that, something real simple. with the model of the car, he fully thinks the owner is a man, but when he sees you, his jaw clenches, biting the inside of his cheek. apparently, you do car races. well, you think you do because he knows someone like you could never handle a race. he wants to scoff in your face, but he holds back.

the garage slowly empties, only you and jeno remaining as you come to pay him. when you hand him the money, he reaches for it, but unexpectedly grab your wrist, bending you over the counter. he shoves the side of your face onto the surface, squishing your cheek against it. he snarls at you, talking about "it's no place for a woman, who do you think you are? driving a car way too powerful for you". you're a dumb little girl if you think he won't demand you an extra.

[rvmanoffbarnes]

Lingered looks || Joseph Quinn x Actress Reader!

Summary: Joseph and you can feel the tension. What will happen if both of you listen to what the're feeling?

Warning: The next one shot contains explicit content and sex scenes. MDNI.

They say that the eyes say more than words.

Apparently, the gazes between me and Joseph meant something beyond words.

The tension between us could easily be cut with a knife. Joseph was just inches away from me as we walked to the hotel elevator. It had been a busy day after doing interviews for our new movie and meeting some fans.

The elevator doors greet us and Joseph gestures with his hand to let me through first. "After you," he says with a slight smile. I thank him and enter the space, followed by him. The doors close and silence envelops us. It's only a few seconds until the Brit decides to break it.

"Are you tired?" he asks me. I can only nod my head. "It was a lot for one day. Honestly, this is what i hate about being an actress," I joke.

He laughs at that.

"Are you tired?" I ask him, looking at his profile. He has a beard from days ago and I notice that his shaved hair is growing longer every day.

He grimaces and leans against the elevator wall. "I still have a little energy left," he admits, "I have to use it all up before I can let myself go to bed." I raise an eyebrow at his response.

Usually, I do the opposite, even if I have energy left, I decide to go to bed anyway. These last few days, stress has consumed my being, so I opt for the healthy decision of putting aside the activities I had planned for our day off. Tomorrow I would make sure to get as much sleep as possible before going back to work.

"What will you do to spend that energy?" I ask him curiously.

He seems to think about it for a few seconds before turning to look at me, at the same time the doors open.

"I'll see if something comes up" A smile sneaks across his face.

We leave the elevator and he walks next to me with his hands in his pants pockets until he leaves me at the door of the room where I am staying. I stop in front of it and take out the card so I can open the door and get inside to rest for the rest of the night. I keep the card in my hands and neither of us seem to move.

These days I have felt a palpable tension between us, which has only increased every day since we had to share more moments together between the two of us to make the chemistry of our characters much more real. Although I have worked with Joseph before, the director asked us to deepen our relationship so that the friendly connection we had would be reflected in the film. Now, of course, we had to have a couple chemistry. I didn't think beyond the topic; I was an actress and my job was to be able to bring those emotions to life and to the film. However, I have been hearing my heart race every time Joseph and the character he played approached me for a scene or in our daily routine together.

I was almost sure it happened to both of us.

I bite my inner cheek and smile at him.

"Okay. This is it," I say in an attempt to break the silence that surrounds us. Joseph looks at the door and then guides his gaze to me. He nods and licks his lips, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

"Yeah...." he says.

I don't know what I expect exactly. The only thing that is clear to me is that neither of us wants to say goodbye at all. His gaze persists on me and a shine appears in his brown orbits. Joseph clears his throat as if suddenly reacting. He straightens his posture and points to the door with his hand and then puts it back in his pocket. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it," he mentions, "Have a good night, (Y/N)."

I smile. Almost dissapointed. I wonder why.

"Goodnight, Joseph"

He starts to back away and then turns his back on me to walk to his room which is a few doors away from mine. Before I can enter, he turns around and says:

"If you need anything," he begins. I look at him feeling my heart stop for a second "you know where I am."

I swallow and nod my head.

"Same here"

He smiles and waves his hand goodbye. We both go into our respective rooms and I close the door, leaning my back against it. A sigh escapes my lips and my eyes close. Heat invades my cheeks and I run my hand over my forehead. I take my bag off my shoulder and leave it hanging on the coat rack on the wall. Not even 10 seconds pass after I do that and I already hear someone knocking on my door with three firm and urgent knocks.

I open the door and widen my eyes when I see Joseph with a serious expression, which when he sees me changes to one of desire and desperation.

"Actually I do need something" he says.

Before I can ask him what, he kisses my lips fiercely. He grabs my waist with his arms and I allow myself to react to wrap my arms around his neck. In an agile and quick movement he leans his body back, still hugging me, to close the door. He gently pushes me against the wall and explores my mouth with his tongue.

He breaks away for a brief moment to look me in the eyes. He has his dark, eager gaze, his mouth slightly open and then whispers: "I couldn't take this anymore," he admits with heavy breathing.

He brings a hand to my cheek and looks directly at me.

"Joseph..." I say in a whisper. I have a whirlwind of emotions after what just happened.

He shakes his head dejectedly.

"If you don't want me to continue, I'll stop now and go to my room," he says. "It all depends on you."

I lick my lips and take his hand that is on my cheek to slide it around my waist. I smile slightly at him and say:

"Who says I want to stop?" He growls and smiles.

That action I do allows him to continue devouring my mouth as if there were no tomorrow. He pins his body with mine against the wall and spreads my legs with his knee, rubbing his pants against my underwear-covered crotch, which is now a wet mess. It's incredible the ability he has to make me wet in such a short time, just with a fierce kiss. He slides his hands from my waist to my butt to knead it as he wants. This causes me to cry because of the delicious sensation and I cling much more to his body, the word distance disappears as soon as he decides to continue squeezing my cheeks to his liking.

"Mhm...." I moan, clutching at his shirt desperately. I feel ashamed to be in that state so quickly, but after months of tension on the verge, I honestly shouldn't care about it.

He smiles amused and sighs against my lips. "I know we're going too fast, but it's impossible not to enjoy your body and your lips like this," he admits agitatedly.

"Please, Joseph. Don't lie to yourself; we've been wanting this for months," I say firmly and sure of my answer, even though I'm agitated. "To hell with the wait."

Joseph reacts to my words and continues kissing my lips passionately. He lifts the skirt of my dress and massages my ass like he owns it. With more and more lack of control. I venture to unbutton the buttons of his shirt clumsily, but when I manage to do so, he steps away from me for a few seconds and, without taking his eyes off me, takes off his shirt in a hasty movement. This gives me time to start taking off my dress. I lower the strap on one shoulder and then the other, feeling cold as my tits are exposed. I'm not wearing a bra.

"Oh, darling..." he moans.

He takes my waist again and connects his lips with mine. He walks with me until he sits on the edge of the bed and watches me with puppy eyes.

"I want you" he says.

"Then take me," I say.

I settle into his lap and finish lowering the dress with his help. I feel it fall to the ground and I sit back down on Joseph's lap. He looks at me pleadingly for a moment.

"Can...?" He points to my body, to which I nod. The brown-haired man runs his hands slowly over my skin, enjoying the moment. I lean on his shoulders while I'm only wearing my panties. I start kissing his neck at the same time that Joseph raises his hand to my tit, playing with it, while the other holds my waist. I let out a moan, moving closer to him. My hips take on a life of their own and begin to move against his crotch. Joseph curses under his breath and grabs my hips to move them urgently on top of him.

"I need you to tell me if... oh, fuck...." he doesn't stop the movements of my hips on him "I need you to tell me if you want to do it soft or hard."

I lick my lips.

“Fuck me hard, please,” I whimper.

I can't stand the pressure that forms in my lower area. My panties feel so sticky I just want to rip them off. Joseph moans and begins to unbutton his pants, kissing my neck. I stretch it so he can taste my skin better.

I feel his pants and boxers fall to the floor. I look down and see how excited he is. I smile and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The tip of his member is red and dripping precum from the situation. Joseph looks me in the eyes and smiles amused. He lowers his gaze to my lips while with his fingers he moves my panties aside and begins to caress and spread my clitoris.

"So wet. Is it for me?" He asks and I move against his fingers. "Yes, Joseph," I say, throwing my head back. "Please... it's just for you."

Joseph chuckles softly. He inserts three fingers again and again until he sees that I am at his complete disposal. He removes them and I instantly miss the sensation. Joseph licks his fingers clean and I swear the action he does can't look any hotter. He closes his brown eyes and enjoy my taste.

"Delicious," he says with a grimace, "just as I imagined."

I groan when I see it.

He places his hand on my cheek. "Do you want me to take control or would you rather ride me?" ask. So gentlemanly and thoughtful of him. I think about it for a few seconds, but with a mischievous smile I answer: "I want to ride you"

Joseph chuckles.

He lays on the bed with a smirk plastered on his face.

"Go ahead, darling"

"I'm clean," I tell him.

"Me too" he smiles in a sincere tone.

And that's enough for me.

I lower my body until I feel his hard member at my entrance and without thinking twice I get into it. I let out a pleasant whimper at the new sensation and watch as Joseph's face is invaded by pleasure.

"Fuck" he groans.

He grabs my hips and begins to guide me with the movements. I rest my hands on Joseph's chest, feeling the small hairs brush against my fingers.

"Oh Joseph," I stifle a moan.

"That's right, beautiful, take all of me" he pushes his hips against mine.

The obscene sound of our bodies is confused with our moans throughout the room. I'm about to cum. I need a little more stimulation, so I take one of his hands that is imprisoning my hip and guide it to my tit. He seems to understand what I want, so he starts massaging it and playing with my nipple. "So beautiful... oh, god" he says.

I moan. This time i'm moving faster.

"Joseph... i'm gonna cum" i admit.

He barely nods with his eyes closed.

"Yes, beautiful, cum for me" he lifts his body a little and hits deep into my body

"I'm ready too." A few more seconds pass until the climax reaches us. "Fuck!"

I feel all his semen spread in me, at the same time that I cum on top of him.

"Oh god" I try to catch my breath and feel him take me by the waist and gently lay me down next to him. I hug him and he smiles at me, looking into my eyes.

"Hey"

"Hey..." I say with a smile.

The rooms smells like sex and the temperatures is increasing.

"That was... incredible," he mentions. I nod my head.

He caresses my cheek softly and tenderly. "I don't want you to think that this will be a one-night thing," he begins by saying seriously, "I really want to try it with you."

My heart races.

"Only if you want it too," he adds. I kiss him to answer him. Joseph corresponds to me, and as we part I tell him:

"I would love to try it, Joseph."

He smiles and kiss my forehead.

"Joseph?" I ask.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Did you waste that energy left?"

He laughs.

"Yeah. I did"

--------------------------------------------------

Hi! I hope u enjoy this one shot... i'm so bad writing smut.

[overnightheartbeats]

She only rolled her eyes at his comment, not even worth addressing. Though, the roll of her eyes also communicated her growing annoyance and anger at his lack of a reaction. On the contrary, he was amused? That didn't make any damn sense.

"I don't need to be queen of the university to tell you that you just don't belong. Honestly if you weren't glued to my roommate, I wouldn't even know of your existence. That's how irrelevant you are." It wasn't intentional, her emphasis on my, but she couldn't help it. "Oh, don't act dumb! You know who I'm talking about. Laurel!" Still, as she spoke, she just sounded like a petulant child who wasn't getting her way. And, that really was her right now. Just a child throwing a tantrum. "Unless you already forgot about her," and that, kind of perked her up. Because, if so, maybe she won't have to do all this. "Maybe because you already got what you wanted from her." Laurel hadn't shared anything with her, but she overheard her gushing to her friend. It didn't take much to guess what had happened between them.

"Oh, you didn't say it," humorless laughter followed, flashes of all her classmates going on and on about him filled her mind. "Just everyone else. Like you're god's gift to this stupid fucking place." Laurel raved about him, so did everyone she met. Jenny was sick of it. She completely ignored his quip about Laurel's free will, instead just shaking her head at him. "You're below so much, you're not even close to us," she scoffed at his words. Did he really have such a naive view, just because he didn't come from money? Such a fairytale notion. It's not like Laurel was high up there, not the way Jennys's family was, but she was distinguished enough, she supposed. "I just care about her! In a way you can't understand. I'm here for the real deal, not some college hook up. You're just messing this whole thing up!" Jealousy was not easy to hide.

Her frown deepened at his refusal, a simple no and it had her riled up. "I don't need to ask you for a favor. Just need to get you out of the way, really." Jenny was just talking out of her anger, and had no concrete ideas as to how any of this would work. But, ideas would come soon enough. "No? You're going to regret saying that to me. I'll make her see, just how much of a wrong choice you are. Not worth more time than she has already given you. She's just dazzled by you now, but all things lose their shine. Sooner or later."

Laurel had just finished drying off her hair when she opened his bathroom door. She almost called out to him to ask about dinner ideas when she overheard muffled voices. It didn't make much sense to her, but as she stepped out of his bathroom, the voice became clearer. Jenny? It was her voice, but the things she was saying just didn't match the person she knew. She was quiet as she stepped closer to him, tapping his shoulder to silently ask what was going on? She had heard enough, however. Eli being the wrong for choice was absolutely ridiculous. But, that wasn't what infuriated her. It was the way she was expressing herself about him, and the fact that Eli wasn't saying anything either.

Laurel turned to look at him, confusion washing over her, before she wiggled in between him and the door. Her hair was still damp and a mess when she faced Jenny. Her features were a blend of annoyance and anger, something her roommate was quick to catch on to, because before Laurel even spoke up, Jenny was stuttering and trying to bring in some context to her earlier hateful words. "I...thought you were spending the long weekend at your dad's," she cleared her throat, trying to think of what else to say. "Well, no it's not what you think. I'm just," a nervous giggle fell from Jenny's lips as she tried bringing that sweet side back to the forefront. Harder than it sounded when the object of her sheer hatred stood right next to her. Damp hair, he was shirtless - it didn't take a genius to deduce. "I just, you know that overprotective friend conversation, I owed him that. It's nothing though." The story she was spinning really would only work if he didn't contradict her. And the chances of that happening were slim.

"Save it Jenny. I heard you and I can't stand here and have you spew all of this about him. He is one hundred times better person than you are, and just— you should go. I won't be back, find yourself a new roommate."

Eli chuckled out of amusement, clearly he wasn't even off put by her lame attempt at an insult. "You'd have bigger problems if you couldn't carry your own trash bags." Not that he truly would help her. He had no business with a bully. If he gave her the inch he was sure she'd barge in and make herself at home in his dorm trying to rip him a new one. But, still eyes were on her as she went on.

Surprised eyebrows knitted together as she told him to get lost. "Who died and made you queen of the university, last I checked I belong here. Just because you don't like doesn't mean you get to tell others if they belong or not. Stuck to her? Now, who do you mean?" At this point he was baiting her, he wanted her to be clear since digging her own grave would be her doing not his.

Eli laughed as he shook his head. "I never said I was all that. I'm just a normal human being minding their business. You're the one trying to disrupt that peace." he sighed and rolled his eyes. "It seems to me that you think I'm forcing her to be here. Laurel has got a choice and her own free will. Just because I didn't come from money doesn't mean I'm below you or her. Why do you care so much though is the question?"

"Hmmm that seems more like I'd be doing you the favor and I'm not in the business of doing that for you. So, no." He tried to be cordial given the many insults she had just given him but it was hard standing there taking it. Half of his head turned to see if Laurel had come out yet but also didn't want her hearing this given how much Jenny was talking out of her ass.

[blondemrk]

hi ill become an anon 4 u! would you write chenle x reader who's really obvious w their crush? like they make him lil things all the time and gets so blushy around him so lele decides to take matters into his own hands :3 (you can do wtvr you want with the confrontation >_o) okii ty!!

♡ marks wife

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

p chenle x fem!reader g fluff

hi anon!! tysm for req. what do you want ur emoji to be :3

chenle wasn’t stupid.

if anything, he prided himself on being sharp—on reading people well, on picking up things others missed.

so when y/n started acting weird around him—stammering when he got too close, avoiding eye contact, blushing like crazy—he noticed.

and the gifts? yeah, those were hard to miss.

it started small. a neatly wrapped pack of his favorite candy left on his desk one morning. then a custom keychain with his initials, which she shoved into his hands so fast she nearly tripped over her words. then a handwritten note before his basketball game, wishing him luck with a tiny doodle of a dolphin in the corner.

chenle wasn’t dense.

and if y/n thought she was being subtle, she was dead wrong.

which is why, after weeks of watching her fluster herself into oblivion, he decided to do something about it.

the opportunity presented itself after school, when he caught y/n stuffing yet another carefully wrapped gift into his locker.

“you know, most people just say hi when they like someone.”

y/n jumped.

she spun around so fast she nearly knocked herself into the locker, her face instantly going up in flames. “chenle?! what are you—”

chenle grinned, leaning casually against the row of lockers. “what am i doing?” he tilted his head. “the real question is, what are you doing?”

y/n looked horrified.

“i wasn’t doing anything!” she blurted, immediately stepping in front of his locker like she could physically block the evidence.

chenle snorted. “yeah? then move.”

her eyes went wide. “why?”

“because i want to see what you definitely weren’t putting in my locker.”

y/n clamped her hands over her face, groaning. “oh my god.”

chenle just laughed, stepping closer. he didn’t miss the way her breath hitched, the way she gripped the sleeves of her sweater like it might help her survive this.

she was so obvious. and honestly? it was cute.

“i think i get it now,” he mused, tapping a finger against his chin. “you like me, don’t you?”

y/n’s whole body twitched.

“you dont know what you are talking about”

chenle leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to make her squirm. “is that a no?”

she opened her mouth—probably to deny it—but her words got stuck somewhere between her brain and her throat.

chenle grinned. “thought so.”

y/n made a noise that sounded somewhere between a whimper and a cry for help.

“hey,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly. “relax. you don’t have to freak out.”

“this is so embarrassing ,” y/n muttered into her hands.

chenle chuckled, then—before she could spiral any further—reached for her wrist, gently pulling her hands away from her face.

“listen,” he said, softer now, meeting her wide, embarrassed eyes. “if you’re gonna go through all this trouble just to get my attention…”

y/n swallowed hard. “what?”

chenle grinned. “you could’ve just asked me out.”

“what?"

“i’m serious,” he continued, watching her carefully. “you like me, right?”

y/n stared at him, her lips parting slightly.

it took a second, but she nodded.

chenle smirked. “ i like you too.”

for a solid five seconds, y/n didn’t move. didn’t breathe.

chenle laughed, ruffling her hair before turning on his heel. “c’mon, let’s get something to eat. i’ll consider it our first date.”

and with that, he walked off—leaving y/n standing there, still frozen, still reeling, still trying to comprehend what just happened.

@chenlezip @injvns @polarisjisung @narcisstict @mrkified

[zepskies]

Aww thanks for the shoutout, my friend! This format for HCs is just so fun, right? It's really cool for me to see how it's caught on in the fandom of Jackles characters! And now, I'm very excited to dive into some Valentine's Day fluff. 😍😍

Dean-o:

Dean isn't big on Valentine's Day and romance. Not because he thinks it's an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn't know how to be romantic.

Oooh this is so true for Dean. He's only had like, what, two real relationships in his life? With Lisa, I feel like we got a sense that they were loving partners, but the show didn't dive all that deep into what their relationship actually looked like romantically. (One of my biggest gripes honestly. Outing myself here: I shipped Dean x Lisa hard back in the day and was heartbroken when they broke her and Dean up and wrote her and Ben out of the show the way they did. 😭)

But anyway lol, back to your lovely headcanon. I love this because Dean really does show that he cares in his actions -- not in big grand gestures, but in the little every day things, as well as in the way he would protect and care for his girl, "taking care of you when you're injured," etc.

What a lovely turn in the ending though!! He decked out the Dean Cave, I love it!! 😍 That's a big gesture he could 100% pull off. 💕

Ahaha not him getting flustered because he's not used to being given unconditional affection. *breaks my heart and knits it back together at the same time* 🥹

Benjamin:

LOL "old school" is an understatement with this guy for sure, but it very much tracks that he'd go all out for V-Day. He's got money to burn, and I feel like he'd enjoy trying to impress his girl with all the fanfare of a beautiful night out. (I explored that idea in Lost on You for sure.)

💀💀 omfg you nailed him there. 💯 😂

Dear lord I get so freakin' weak for the hand on the small of the back. 😭 plss

But I cacked at the "not being an award for bad acting." 😂😂 Ben does have that old-school charm in spades though, so I don't blame her for letting some of that caveman mentality go. lmao

However this:

omfggg Ben. So accurate, and somehow it's still sexy 😅 (there might be something wrong with me. It's fine.)

I also like the contrast between Dean's card and SB's card at the end -- Ben's not asking questions. He's more straightforward and demanding that you're his. 👌🏽🫠

Beau Beau:

Awww sweet cowboy sheriff. 🥹 He really is making up for past mistakes and going all out!

LMAO I loved this entire section for so many reasons -- Beau's southern charm and chivalry, the good dose of realism coming from the reader, plus that one at the end making me cackle. 🤣

I really like how she manages to surprise him back though. What a perfect gift for Beau, giving him quality time, and some peace and tranquility. 💗 I would love a lakehouse cabin getaway with this guy. Feel like that would be the perfect cozy vibes. ❤️

Russ:

Very on-brand indeed that he's the one you can't quite pin down (at first). 😅 His job really would make things difficult to make a relationship work, even with the reader soldiering through and trying to be unaffected that she thinks he won't be around for Valentine's Day.

His homecoming is so very sweet though! What a lovely reunion moment. 🥹

I loved ALL of these HCs, Wayne, but I'm torn between Dean and Beau on this one. So very sweet for this hopeless romantic!~ 💞

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn @thej2report @spnaquakingdom

Other lists that apply: @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @corruptedcruiser

[of-the-eventide]

dinner is far better with good company!

auragust 2024 - feast

[anna-scribbles]

they should've been at the club(infertility treatment centers)

[sysig]

Two big softies(?) (Patreon)

[mortalityplays]

a bunch of things that I know are going to sound really corny (which honestly I think is half the cultural problem - the idea that non-coercive parenting is touchy-feely, ineffectual or just kind of cringe - but that could be a whole other post)

the main thing was that they always explained things to me. if I wanted something I couldn't have, they explained why (from 'we can't afford that', 'it's bad for you', 'it's dangerous', all the way up to 'it's made by a big company that treats its workers badly, and we don't want to give them money'). If I threw a tantrum, they either waited it out until I got tired and bored or they redirected what we were doing ('we have to be patient and wait in line. if we don't wait in line, we can't go into the theatre. we can't wait in line if you scream and upset people. okay then, we're going home.')

beyond that, they always spoke to me like a full person. they asked my opinion on things and took it seriously, and asked me why as much as I asked them. apparently I had a phase as a toddler where I always wanted to be the first one on the swings / down the slide, and would throw almighty fits about it, until my mum took me aside one day and said 'why do you want to be first? are you worried the slide will get used up?' I laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard, and never kicked up a fuss about taking turns after that.

on the granular level, they focused on positives over negatives. My mum would draw little good behaviour charts for me, featuring e.g. me walking a long winding path through the woods with my soft toys. the path would be made up of, say, 30 stones, and every day that I was well behaved I'd earn a sticker on one of them. when I reached the end of the path, I got to pick a treat. something like a new plastic animal for my collection, or a day trip to the aquarium.

I do remember them sitting me down once and asking me to come up with what I thought would be an appropriate punishment if I ever did something really bad. I think my first suggestion was something like 'no TV', which was a real nice try because we didn't have a TV at the time. I don't remember what I finally decided on, it might have been 'no dessert for a week'. We wrote it down together and I signed my name, and they sealed it in an important looking envelope which they put in my dad's filing cabinet (for important documents). This would be unsealed if I ever did something Really Bad. the eventuality never came up, but the act of participating in the exercise kept me mostly on the straight and narrow. It's funny, the conceptual punishment itself wasn't even that bad. It was the seriousnes of the adult commitment I'd made to Behaving Well that did the trick.

When I DID do the standard naughty stuff, my parents would just sit me down and explain to me seriously why it was wrong and what impact it had caused for other people. They'd ask what motivated me, and why I acted on those feelings in that specific way. They would, of course, tell me they were disappointed. If necessary, they would tell me how things would have to change as a result of what I'd done. They were always, always open to hearing out my side of the story, and always, always took my feelings seriously even if they disapproved of my behaviour. they would ask if I was ready to say sorry and get a hug. if I wasn't ready, if I was still upset or angry, they would give me space in my room and ask me to come find them when I wanted to make up. and I always did, because I always knew they would accept it.

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[isogenderskitty]

i think it's interesting how steph is like... the nerds see her as part of the popular group, and sure we see her talking to the cheerleaders a little, but other than that she doesn't really seem to be one of them in the truest sense? i could fully believe that she feels like the tiniest bit of an outcast there, like she's just cool enough for max to give her a pass but she doesn't really click with them that well. she feels to me like the bridge between the popular ones and the nerds, which is appropriate i suppose for her place in the story.

[lokh]

oughh i wanted to do a cute laishuro take on the blu ray extras (what if laios had been eaten instead) but lets be honest. they absolutely would not have made it as far without laios