#like my brains like ‘awe it’s nice to think of someone like that’ but can’t accept that I am that someone

[freakylilnutjob]

I hope there will be a day when someone says something nice to/about me and I can actually fully believe them.

If y’all decide to have kids, please don’t emotionally neglect and abuse them.

[luveline]

omg would die for a concussion fic with remus <33

—your concussion causes moderate memory loss, and you forget some very important details about your relationship with Remus. fem, 1.3k

“This is nice.” 

You toy with the ring on Remus’ finger, turning it around and around and around. With your weight bearing down on his right arm and your hand secured around his left to stop him from moving, there isn’t much he can do besides say, “Yeah?” 

“I love when guys wear rings.” 

“I had a suspicion.” 

You wince as stars flash through your vision, pausing in your toying to press your face into his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I can see black and white spots.” 

“Oh, no,” he says sympathetically. “Close them, dovey. Take a breather.” 

The chair under you is uncomfortable, your back aches, your head twinges, but Remus is comfortable to lean again. He’s wearing one of his big hoodies, old enough to feel like brushed cotton under your cheek and against your nose, decals washed away. He steals his hand back to pat your shoulder, an image of patience. 

“Sorry. This isn’t a good second date.” 

Remus leans down to talk near your ear. “Dove,” he whispers, “this isn’t our second date, remember?” 

“It’s not?” 

“No, sweetheart. But that’s okay.” 

“You’re really handsome so I don’t want to mess it up.” 

“Mess what up, the date?” he asks. “You didn’t mess it up, it went very well. It was a year ago, but.” He smiles, his breath warming your face, his arm hot around you and securing you to his chest.

“A year ago?” 

“Yeah, a year ago. We went to winter wonderland and the bookshop by the train station and you wouldn’t let me buy you any books.” He laughs softly. “But I got you one eventually. A couple by now, at least.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“You’ve bought me a hundred more, it’s awful.” 

You raise your head to squint at him. “I have?”

“So many,” he whispers, dipping his chin down to kiss your nose, to your wide-eyed delight. “But you let me look after you in other ways.” 

“Let you?” 

“Yes, let me. It’s part of…” He cups your cheek quickly. “Sickness and health and everything. I have to keep you happy.” 

“Ah.” His ring is warm on your cheek. “Sickness and health, like we’re married.” 

“Something like that.” 

You straighten up as someone behind you coughs aggressively. A little further down a baby cries against a mother’s chest, and the TV plays a quiz show you’re starting to hate. Moving your head has black haunting the sides of your vision again, the light seeping in from the automatic doors too much to handle. 

“I’ve asked Sirius to bring you some sunglasses.” 

You turn around. “Sirius, that’s the one with the motorbike?” 

“Yeah. He should be quick. But maybe they’ll have called you in again by then and we can go home.” 

That’s right. You’ve been seen once by a doctor for triage, and sent back out again when they deemed you only mildly concussed, no bleeding on the brain, but an X-ray ordered for safety's sake anyways. That’s what you’re waiting for. Remus is waiting with you, because he’s a very nice man. 

“Sorry if I’m ruining your Saturday.” 

Remus’ hair falls from behind his ear as he lifts his head properly. “I think you might be having a worse day than me, so I’ll forgive you. I'm joking!” He tucks that stray strand behind his ear unsuccessfully. “You could never ruin my Saturday. I’d spend the entire bank holiday weekend in here with you, I only want them to look after you so I can finish the job.” 

Heat like a kiss on each cheek. You bring your hand to your nose, overwhelmed. “Really?” 

“We spend a lot of time together, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember right now, but I love you.” 

“You do?” 

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.” 

You look at him with the sunshine caressing the side of his face, his three mean scars and his scattered beauty spots. He has thick eyebrows, light brown eyes in the sun like honeyed tea, and a playful smile. More frown lines than smile lines, but the beginnings of crows feet speaks to some joy, at least. You bring your thumb up to a small wrinkle and stroke it, before tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s too short to stay put for long. 

“I love you,” you say surely. You do, even if you can’t remember more than your first date. 

He’s a good kisser, you remember. He’d pulled you back from your door and kissed you like you’d stolen the breath straight from his lungs. 

“I know.” He brings your hand from his ear to kiss. Gentle, he strokes your knuckles, his thumb turning a golden ring where it sits on your marriage finger. 

“It’s really like we’re married, we have matching rings,” you laugh. 

He holds his hand up between you. “We are married, lovely girl.” 

You steal your hand back. He waits without hurry, though a line of concern marks his brow. “Are we? When did we get married?” 

“Only a few days ago, but we’re married. This wasn’t on the honeymoon agenda.” 

He takes your hand with care and shows you the gold ring on your marriage finger to match his own, aligning your hands. The colour hadn’t seemed important a moment ago, nor the placement, but now you’re seeing them you realise you’d made a small misjudgement. It’s not like you’re married at all, you simply are. 

You frown. The way he’s holding your hand feels familiar, though the idea that you’re married is preposterous. You can’t remember any ceremony or reception, a proposal, nothing. There’s simply blank space there, which isn’t very nice. But… 

You’re not scared. You haven’t been worried once all day. 

“You have a concussion,” he says quietly, practised, like he’s said it to you before. “And it’s resulted in some amnesia, but it’s going to get better very soon.” 

“We’re definitely married?” 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind.” 

“I don’t want to change my mind.” You fluster quickly with what you’ve said, looking down at the hospital’s linoleum flooring. 

Remus takes your hand where it lays on your thigh and squeezes it. A thread of memory tugs at the touch; you remember this. His tender concern. His constant support. 

“Then you don’t have to. Whether you remember me or not, I’m here to look after you, okay? I’m right here.” 

You nod without looking up. His hand knows yours no matter what you remember, rubbing at all the best parts, holding with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“You okay?” 

“I guess our second date really did go well.” 

“Better than I could ever explain.” He tugs at your hand until you look at him, his head already ducked to keep you pinned by his gaze. “You’re like my shy girl all over again. I forgot how nervous you used to get.” 

You can see the Remus who became your husband and the one who scared butterflies into action every time he looked at you coalescing. “You’re really good-looking,” you explain. 

“And what do you think you are?” He rubs your hand. “You’re beautiful. Can I have a kiss, dove? Is that okay?” 

You squeeze your eyes closed. You’d been fighting stars in your eyes anyways.

When Remus kisses you, your body responds to his touch like it knows him. Your heart thuds against your ribs, your lips know exactly how to move and when he’s going to turn his head. Love for him shines through it. His love for you makes your chest hurt, his chaste kissing like a straight shot of oxytocin. All your worry saps away. 

“Feel any better?” he asks knowingly.

You remember enough about his teasing to withhold an answer. He kisses your cheek, his smile unmissable on your skin. 

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: Non-consensual, Intox (aphrodisiac), Mind breaking.

Two years. Two fucking years of work down the drain. The worst two years of her life, working towards a goal she knows she’ll never see, and all because someone up the chain of command got bribed or threatened or who knows what else. What matters is someone fucking sold her out and now she’s bound up, staring at the gang of absolute sadistic freaks she has pushed herself so hard to infiltrate. 

Shit, the things she has done to be accepted as one of them! Well, “one of them” is stretching it. More like a trusted groupie, she figures. The amount of “slutty, fiery latina” acting she has been forced to do almost makes her throw up. It’s a stereotype and a racist one at that but damn it if these dumb motherfuckers raised by porn didn’t appreciate it, in a sick way. And all of it for a goddamn rumor.

They have this new shit, this kinda spray thing, makes any girl wanna fuck you like crazy… True Love, they call it.

Yeah, right. But still, the chance that such a drug could exist and flow through the streets, paired with some rather bizarre incidents of victims fighting to remain by their captor’s side… it was enough to try and get someone on the inside. And she’s ambitious, young, and most importantly, with the proper… attributes to play the gang-doll. Even now she almost wants to chuckle at the memory of the chief trying to explain that part, fighting so hard not to mention her ass. She’s not dumb. Wasn’t then, isn’t now. Without what she, modesty aside, considers the most spectacular ass in the city, the gang would have never even taken a second look at her. And she wouldn’t be here, now, tied up. 

Fuck. She realizes her mind is rambling, going on tangents, trying to escape the simple reality of the situation. She can’t move, and seven men are looking at her like she’s dessert, discussing exactly what to do to her. 

“Maybe we should use it, you know” one says.

She thinks she’s “it”, for a moment. She realizes she’s wrong as Karl, who has more muscles than brain cells and yet for some reason always calls the shots, removes one of the floorboards. Fuck! She has been in this warehouse dozens of times, looked everyone for evidence of the supposed magic drug, and has always come up snake-eyes. And it’s right fucking there, under the goddamn floor. What the fuck is it, the 1950’s? She’s tried every phone, installed keyloggers on laptops, learned every password- in her head, there had to be some clever operation at work, some devious method to keep such a huge deal secret. Nope. It’s under the fucking floor. She wants to tell them to untie her, just so she can kick her own ass. 

They laugh as they get naked, and a wave of shame crashes over her. She realizes she has seen all of these bodies before, and it makes her sick to her stomach. Sure, men get talkative when bragging and trying to get someone into bed. And men lower their guards after they bust a load- that is, if they don’t just roll over and fall asleep instantly. She has used that, over and over, to get information, to get chances to snoop.

Did she have to, though? That question has haunted her, and now it seems to grow solid, like a rock in her chest. Did she truly have to play up all those stereotypes to become some fucked up fantasy of whatever a hot latina is supposed to be? Did she have to buy all those booty shorts, those cheap jewels, those slutty heels? 

And didn’t a part of her enjoy the attention?

Fuck. Chances are she’ll die here, and she doesn’t want to die a delusional bitch. Yes, fine, being the center of attention felt nice. But the sex? No. That was awful. Pretending to be attracted to these meatheads, doing anything they wanted just so her reputation as a grade-A piece of ass would spread, faking orgasms…

Bull and shit. You’re dying here, Mariana. Stop lying to yourself. You didn’t fake all of them.

She’s yanked away from her little spiral of shame by the loud hiss of spray being applied. They’re passing a little can around, coating their cocks with… 

No. It can’t be real. It just can’t. There is no magic spray. It can’t possibly work. Sure, these idiots might think it does, but in reality, no, True Love isn’t a thing.

The images flow into one another like photographs. She knows, rationally, what is happening. A knife is cutting her bindings as two sets of hands are holding her arms. Her shorts are being sliced, ripped off her. Her legs are being held wide open for Meathead Karl. She files these things in her mind, and feels nothing. She’s there, but she’s not really there. Ah, yes. Dissociation as a defense mechanism for trauma. Mariana has read about it, and now feels mildly fascinated by the experience. 

The pain drags her back to reality. Her instincts kick in, and she braces for the suffering that is to come after that initial opening salvo. She grits her teeth, and…

The pain doesn’t come. She hears laughter as her eyes grow wide, a horrible realization dawning on her. The feeling between her legs is a warm thing, a pleasant thing, slithering up her body, unlike anything she has ever felt before. 

“Starting to hit you, Officer? Oh, this is just beginning”, someone says, his voice coming to her as if from a million miles away. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s real. Fucking True Love is real. Her mind reels, the interviews with previous victims rushing in her memories. The way they spoke about their abusers as if they were Gods. The way they defended them. The way they longed for them, like junkies going into withdrawal. She can’t become like them. She can’t lose herself like that. She can’t…

She can’t focus. Her mind is getting fuzzy as the delicious sensation reaches her nipples. Every inch of her skin feels sensitive, overwhelming. A pussy. My whole body is one giant pussy. She has no idea where the thought comes from, but it grows inside her as she squirms and little moans escape her lips. No. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t moan. Don’t move.

“Oh, now you’re getting it. Don’t worry. It will get much, much worse”

Whose voice speaks? She can’t tell. She finds it harder and harder to care. Suddenly, her body betrays her as her hips start moving on their own, seeking pleasure, trying to coax the cock inside her deeper…

She feels on fire. She hates herself, hates how good every thrust feels, how much she needs more and more and more. Thoughts flood her, like a strange invasion taking over her mind. Cock. Cock feels good. Cock feels so fucking good. This is good. This is perfect. This is exactly what I should do. This is all I want. This is all I have ever wanted. Her mission starts to fade away. She can barely recall why she ended up being fucked like a good girl by this marvelous cock, and it feels so unimportant, so insignificant. Only the pleasure matters. She needs more. Her eyes cast around her. Cocks. Big, hard cocks, stiff for her. She starts drooling. The men laugh. She doesn’t care. There are hard cocks near her. Why aren’t they using her?

No. Snap back, Mariana. This isn’t you.

Why not?

Isn’t this better than whatever she was before?

One of the men lowered his body, his cock inches away from her face. She needs to taste it. She needs to wrap her tongue around it. She needs to worship it, body and soul.

“Oh, poor slut wants it?”

She’s not sure she understands the words. But she does understand, with a frenzied animal cunning, the desire behind them. They want her to beg. Some distant remain of sanity is pleading with her not to give in, not to surrender her voice, to keep some small part of her true self. It screams in vain.

“Please… give… cock…” she manages to mumble between moans.

“No. Not yet. You see, officer, your mind might be going, but your body is learning very fast. It’s so open now… And we intend to keep you around for a long time. No quick sell for you. So we need to… train you a bit”

Mariana knows the man is talking. The words don’t reach her until he starts playing with her nipples, and a single word takes over her entire existence.

“Cum”

She shakes. She screams. Her entire body is reduced to a single, shining sensation of absolute pleasure. She can feel something inside her breaking, giving in. She pants and a part of her expects the sensations to subside, but they don’t. If anything, the constant pleasure grows, leaving her right at the gates of another orgasm. She tries to grind, to move, to use the cock inside her to cum again…

“Not without permission, toy”, someone says. She almost manages to squeak out a complaint, but the stimulus is too strong. All she can do is squeal and moan.

The world swirls around her, colors heightened, bleeding into each other. She never wants to go back to the gray, solid, difficult past. She wants to stay here, be this- be pleasure.

“Cum”

Yes. She cums, and nothing else matters. This is all she needs. All she exists for. Her eyes are unfocused, her mouth hanging open. She feels the cock touch her lips before she even consciously sees it. The imperative is immediate. Suck. Lick. Take it deep in your throat. Use your tongue, pressure with your lips, the vibrations of your moaning. Use everything you are to please cock. 

“Cum”

Every time it gets stronger, going beyond whatever she ever thought possible. No mind can hope to withstand such a tidal wave of pleasure. As soon as she realizes they’re starting to move her, she hops up. The men don’t have to tell her what they want from her. She wants the same thing. She’s just holes. Holes need to be filled with cock. She impales herself on Karl’s dick and leans forward, letting him suck on her sensitive nipples, leaving her asshole ready, eager. She’s presenting herself like an animal in heat, and she’s loving every second of it. She’ll do anything to keep feeling like this, forever.

“Ass…” she manages to say.

“Not good enough, cunt. Come on, you can use your words better than that”

Words. Words for cock. Words to make cock happy. They own her words. They own her mind. They own her body.

“Please… use my ass… fuck my tight little hole… ram it hard! Wreck it! I need it so bad, need it so bad, need you to take me, take my ass, make me cum, never let me go, please please please…”

Even the pain feels good. Everything feels good. Humiliation feels good. Their mockery feels good. Their spit on her skin feels good. Obeying feels good.

One cock in her ass, using it with no care for her or any pain it might cause. One in her wet cunt, driving her mad. One in her mouth, using her like a breathing fleshlight. One in each hand, the promise of cum to come. This is it. This is bliss. This is heaven. This is all any woman could ever desire. This is home. 

“Such a good fucktoy…”, one mutters, trying to hold back his own orgasm.

The word infects her. Fucktoy. It starts overwriting everything inside her. Fucktoy. Her police training crumbles in her memory. Fucktoy. Her memories of her family fade away, forever. Fucktoy. Her hatred for cruel men vanishes. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. It is all she is. All she has ever been. All she ever wanted to be. She’s mumbling it in between taking cock in her mouth. It rises like a gigantic obelisk in her mind, ruling over her, conquering all.

Fucktoy.

“Cum. Cum. Cum.”

Wave after wave of pleasure overtake her, crashing into each other, blasting away all that was and all that could ever be.

By the time she gets back something resembling consciousness, warm cum is coating her skin. She can feel the wonderful jizz inside her holes, taste it on her tongue still. She must have swallowed it. Like a good fucktoy. She feels so proud, so valuable, so beautiful. She made cocks cum. She was good. She was useful.

“Officer, remind me… what were you looking for?”

She looks at the man like a confused puppy.

“Cock?”

“I see. And what’s your name?”

She straightens up, full of pride. This one she knows.

“Fucktoy!”, she smiles.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work and get access to the full library at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[skylarsblue]

✦Incorrect C.O.D Quotes, since AO3 is down✦

Gaz: I wanna know what exactly your type is. Y/N: I'm not just gonna give you more fodder to throw at me- Gaz: I have an idea of it already, but I want details! Y/N: No! Gaz: Like- König! Would you- Y/N: Of fuckin’ course I wanna fuck König! He’s huge, he could LITERALLY snap me in half and my dad didn’t love me, of course I want him to fuck me! Soap: *does that weird inhale-choke-cough*

— (Dick mention + a woman’s experience of a dude making gross comments. It’s funny I swear-) Fem!medic!Y/N: most of the time, people are pretty nice and sometimes impressed when when I bring up I’m a medical professional. Other times…eh.. Soap: Eh? Y/N: Sometimes you get conspiracy theorists. Soap: Ohhhh… Y/N: Some evangelists, gross dudes. Gaz: Gross dudes? What’s the worst you’ve heard? Ghost, sipping a whiskey: This outta be good. Y/N: Uh, once I told this man hitting on me I was a field doctor? He said, and I quote. “Been awhile since my last check up, mind checking me for ball cancer.” And I- Gaz: WHAT Soap: YOU’RE KIDDING Y/N: I am not. I just- I walked away. Price: Fuckin’ hell. Y/N: It’s fine. He got shot in the dick next mission, ended up with a male doctor. Ghost: Karma at its best.

- Graves: Oh FUCK YOU Y/N: Tsk, oooo…you don’t have enough money for that. Soap: HAHA!

- Soap, drunk: Back Street’s back, alright! Do do do do- Gaz, drunk on Price’ shoulders: Dodooodo- Price: Simon, get your boy. Ghost: *picking Soap up by his belt, carrying him like a bag* Yes sir.

- Recruit: When you gonna stop giving me blue balls? Gaz: Whoa hey!- Y/N: Aight, I got my steel toes on. How bout we make’em black and blue? Recruit: I- Y/N: Shut the fuck up. I’ve already turned you down, get a hint. Word of advice? Rather than shoot for the stars, maybe shoot your shot in your lower bracket, yeah? Recruit: Gaz: Someone get a fire extinguisher, this dudes been burned. Soap: On it. *sprays recruit with fire extinguisher*

- Soap: Nice onesie, does it come in men’s? Gaz, in his pyjamas: I think you cum enough in men for the all of us. Soap: ACK- Ghost: *slides out of the room*

- Ghost: Have you ever considered, just once, using your brain first? Soap: Now why would I do that?

- (Insert random name I HC for Laswell’s wife) Kate, after being in a bad explosion and ending up in this hospital: My wife, she’ll get upset if she sees you rubbing me like that on my chest. Diana: I am your wife. Kate …. Diana: :) Heart rate monitor: BEEPBEEPBEEPBE- Kate Hi. Diana: Hehe, hi. Gaz, in the corner: Oh to be in love. Soap: This is disgusting, why can’t I have this? >:,( Gaz: Cause your type in men is awful. Soap: Hey!

- Y/N: *walks into common room* Hello, I am very upset. I feel a meltdown coming on and you are all buff men, so I would like to request being picked up and held like a baby for a short period of time, please. Soap: Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you? Y/N: Nope. König: ….*slowly approaches and picks Y/N up from under their arms* Y/N, clinging to him like a koala and hiding in his shoulder: Thank you, I appreciate you. König: *awkward back pat*

- König: :) Y/N: Bloopbloopbloopbloop- Horagi: Y/N! Y/N: What? Horagi: Tha-That is our colo-that is a dangerous man! Y/N: He’s not a dangerous man! Horagi: What are y- Y/N: We’re bloopin’! Bloopbloopbloop- König: -w-

- Price: Kid, I need you to- Gaz & Y/N: *dancing like they don’t have jobs to do* Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: Fuck it up! Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: Fuck it up! Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: That’s what’s up! Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: I’m in love! Price: AHEM Gaz: Oh shit- Y/N: HEEEYY captaaaaiinn, what’s uuupp ahaha… Price: *sigh*

- (Based on; Me if COD was real. Deadass. Full serious. I am not kidding) Gaz: So have you met the Captain yet? Y/N: No. Gaz: Are you nervous? Y/N: No no, I have a firm belief that they’re just people. Obviously I’ll respect him as a superior but that’s nnnnnnnnwho the hell is that? Y/N: *fucking breaking their neck* Gaz: Oh- Nope. No no, THAT is Captain. Don’t think about it. Y/N: I’m thinking about it. Gaz: That’s not allowed. Y/N: Ive done worse for less, if he asks I’m sucking it, you can’t stop me. Gaz: Jesus Bloody Christ- Y/N: Tell him to call me when he’s on leave. Gaz: Stop-

- König: *walks in* Ghost: ?? Soap: Oh, hey! Gaz: Y’a need somethi- König: *picks up Y/N under his arm while humming, leaving the room* König: I love stealing, I love taking things!~ Ghost: What the f-

- Colonel!König: I’m 42 so, I don’t- Y/N: YOU’RE 42?! Colonel!König: Yeah. Y/N: …it’s okay no one has to know babygirl~ König: NEIN! Nein, don’t call me babygirl!-

- (Based on this awful Gaz outfit I saw on Twitter) MILF!Y/N: *doing paperwork* Gaz: Would you date me? Y/N: Baby we couldn’t even get a drink together. You can’t buy me nothin. Gaz: What do you mean? :( Y/N: Look at your outfit! What are you wearing? Gaz: I think I look pretty fly. Y/N: For who, your mom? Gaz: :((

- Gaz: STOP DATING MY CAPTAIN Y/N: ….you know what, I’m gonna start dating him even harder. Gaz: What’s that supposed to mean? Y/N: You know what it means.

- MILF!Y/N: *shoving apple juice into a cart* They gon’ need nutrition. Laswell: How many kids do you have? MILF!Y/N: Eleven! Laswell: So I’m assuming your kids really like apple juice? MILF!Y/N: No but they looove orange juice but they’ve been bad this week. Laswell: What grade are your kids in? MILF!Y/N: Sixteenth grade. Laswell: PFFT Sixteenth- that’s not even a grade! So your kids graduated college? MILF!Y/N: No they, they- …where are my kids?

- (Her “kids” on the other side of the store) Price: Boys please- Gaz: I AM NOT LOSING! Soap, in a fuckin’ headlock with him: Yes you fuckin’ are!! Ghost: *slipping cookies under his mask, he did not pay for them* König: *looking for a fruity snack* Horagi: *grabbing as many packs of spicy chips as he can* Alejandro: This is a disgrace. *holding up frozen burritos* Rudy: These are worse. *motions to frozen tamales* Alex: Did you know you can use coke as rust remover? Farah: …and you want to drink it??

- Y/N: So. Kyle. Gaz, already afraid: …yes? Y/N: I found some of your old playlists… Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: You an emo? Gaz: I was a SCENE as a teenager, get it right.

[froggibus]

hello hello! froggi i have something rotting my brain and i would love to hear your thoughts on it, but by no means is this something you have to answer!

how do you think gojo satoru and nanami kento (and anyone else you'd like to include!) would feel about having someone pack lunches for them? like real, thought out, balanced lunches in nice containers and thermoses with little drinks and maybe notes

i can already see the confused first years, yuji and nobara gossiping about whether they're dating someone and megumi being weirded out gojo isnt just buying something like the rich boy he is

Sack Lunch - Satoru Gojo, Nanami Kento & Suguru Geto

Pairing(s): Satoru Gojo x gn! reader, Nanami Kento x gn! reader, Suguru Geto x gn! reader

Genre: fluff!

Word Count: 667 (Gojo's), 685 (Nanami's), 680 (Suguru's)

Summary: a day in your s/o's life when you pack a lunch for him

CW: established relationships!, jokes about dying/being widowed (Gojo's--though they are not necessarily married), lots of cutesy stuff, Gojo acts like a child

anon you are the first person ever to call me froggi (and i kinda love it omg)!! i have not answered a request/ask in a hot minute, but this one was too cute to pass up! not sure if you wanted headcanons for this or not, but i got really carried away :') hope this is what you wanted! also i really feel strongly about Gojo having a 90s lunchbox collection that he is very proud of! - also!! the Valentine's Poll is open if you guys have any ideas of what you want for our Valentine's event this year!! you can vote here - also thank you @l0serloki for helping me with writing nanami!!

Satoru Gojo:

“Satoru!” You shake your head at the man as he slinks past the kitchen.

He pops his head in, white hair falling over his eyes. “Yes?”

“Don’t forget your lunch.”

“You made me lunch?” He coos, surging forward to pinch your cheek, “you’re so cute.”

You roll your eyes. “No one should spend as much money on food as you do.” You chastise. “And I want to make sure you don’t only eat sweets today. I can’t have you dying on me at 30.”

“Pft, I’m gonna live forever!”

You shove the metallic Sailor Moon lunchbox into his hands. “Keep eating what I make you and you just might.”

“Aw, baby,” he practically sings, “look at you, trying to take care of me.”

He playfully ruffles your hair, but upon seeing your scowl, drags his hand down to your waist. He leans in and presses a sloppy, needy kiss to your lips. You stand on your toes just to kiss him back, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

He pulls away blushing, lunchbox in hand. “I’ll see you later! Love you lots!”

You wave to him as he heads out the door, “love you too!”

Even when he gets out to his car, the grin on his face doesn’t fade. He might have teased you a little, but only because he was so honoured that you even thought to pack him a lunch. The cute Sailor Moon lunch box that totally isn’t his is only the icing on the cake.

—

Nobara and Yuji stare at Gojo in disbelief. The man has his feet propped up on his desk, whistling a song as he peels a mandarin. A mandarin. The sight of their teacher eating an actual, real fruit is jarring. 

Yuji elbows Nobara gently, “has Gojo-sensei finally lost it?”

“He must have, have you ever seen him eat real food before?”

Gojo rolls his eyes behind his blindfold, popping a slice of the orange into his mouth. He listens to his first years gossip about him as he makes his way through the lunch you packed. You really outdid yourself with this one, he has to admit.

It’s all of the foods he likes, cutely displayed in pink containers that match the glittery exterior of the lunch box. You even packed him strawberry mochi, homemade and neatly bundled. There’s a note in there, too.

Please eat all your fruits and veggies, I don’t want to be a widow. 

Lots of love!

Y/n

Gojo stifles his laughter at your note, but he can’t stop the flush that creeps up to his blindfold. Not only did you pack him a lunch, you wrote him a note. He can’t wait to come home to you and tell you how much he loves you.

It’s when Gojo gets up to use the bathroom that Yuji makes a mad dash to peek in his lunch box. “Sailor Moon?!”

Nobara leaps to her feet, joining Itadori at the desk. “There’s a note, look.”

Fushiguro sits at his desk, softly chewing on the sandwich that you also made for him this morning. He shakes his head at his nosy peers, wondering why they care so much about their ridiculous teacher’s life.

“From y/n?!” They cry out in unison.

“Did he steal this from someone?!” Nobara exclaims.

“Did he do something to y/n’s boyfriend?!”

The pair share their conspiracies on just how Gojo ended up with a homemade lunch and a handwritten note from you, oblivious to the way Megumi snickers at them in the back. 

Finally, he can’t take it anymore. “They’re together.”

Their eyes practically pop out. “They are?!”

“Yep,” Gojo leans against the door to the classroom, smirking at his students.

“And it’s…like that?” Yuji asks quietly.

“It’s like that.” Gojo raises his eyebrows for emphasis.

All three First Years cringe, groans filling the room. Gojo smiles proudly though, already figuring out how he’s going to tell this story to you when he comes home to you.

-

Kento Nanami:

Nanami’s cheeks tinge pink as he makes his way to the door and sees you standing there. There’s a massive grin on your face and you’re holding a grey lunchbox in one hand and a coffee thermos in the other. Despite this being an everyday occurance, Nanami still isn’t used to it.

“I packed your lunch.”

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, grabbing the items from your hands. He sets them on the small table just next to the door to free up his hands before immediately wrapping them around your waist. He caresses your sides gently, almost as gently as he kisses you—trying to show all his gratitude and love for you with a single gesture. 

You’re flustered when he pulls away, straightening out your clothes while you find your breath once more. You watch Nanami as he grabs his lunch and coffee from the table and pulls his keys out of his pocket, clicking open the lock on the front door.

“Oh!” You call to him just before he steps out. “There’s some extra snacks in there, just in case Yuji wants them!”

His dark eyes fill with admiration, his face falling into that soft look he saves for those closest to him. “You really are the greatest.”

You giggle, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “Have a great day today, dear.”

“I will!” You wave at him from the door as he walks to his car. “Oh! And please don’t forget the cutlery at work again!”

“Will do!” His words are punctuated by the closing of his car door followed by the roar of the engine.

You shut the door but the grin doesn’t fall from your face. These mornings are always a highlight for you.

—

Nanami is exhausted by the time he makes it to his lunch hour. Him and Yuji had been running around all afternoon chasing some low grade curse. The second his watch beeped to indicate lunch time, Nanami was already headed to the crosswalk to head to the park across the street, Itadori in tow.

It’s a beautiful day out, the warm sun heating the wood of the park bench just enough to keep it comfortable. He has his most recent novel open on his lap, his lunchbox on the seat next to him. Yuji sits on the other side of his lunch, happily snacking on the extra things you packed for him.

“Y/n really is the best, Nanamin.” He says through a mouthful of food, “packing you all these snacks and keeping you healthy.”

Nanami offers the boy a half grin, though he’s tempted to remind him of his table manners and how rude it is to talk with food in his mouth. He takes a sip of the coffee in his thermos—still warm from this morning—and relaxes farther into the bench. You always make it just the way he likes it, no sugar and hardly any cream. 

He reaches a hand into his lunchbox to grab the small container of carrot slices when his fingers graze something else. He closes his novel and leans over to examine the paper he’s just grabbed.

Hope you’re having a great lunch today, honey. Made with love

To the moon and back,

Y/n

He tries to hide his widening grin and reddening cheeks by pretending to cough into his arm, but only succeeds in drawing more attention to his flustered state. 

“Are you okay?”

Nanami nods, catching his breath from his fake cough. The heat starts to fade from his face. He pulls his head out of his elbow and turns to address the boy, only for his eyes to widen in horror as he realizes the First Year is clutching the note that was just in his hand.

“Woah,” Yuji’s eyes widen. “It’s like that? You really are lucky, Nanamin.”

Nanami breathes a sigh of relief, glad it was Yuji that found the note and not Nobara or Gojo. Had they found it, he would never hear the end of it.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I am lucky.”

-

Suguru Geto:

Suguru is shocked when he sees you waiting for him by the door with a small, black bag in your hand. He tilts his head at you when your eyes meet his, as if asking you what you’re doing.

“I threw together a couple of things,” you explain. “For lunch.”

He’s never been cared for like this, never had anyone to pack him a lunch. A million thoughts cross his mind. Thank you, you’re the best, how’d I get so lucky? Of course, none of that comes out.

Instead, he utters a simple, “...why?”

He cringes at the sound of his own voice, bracing himself for you to be disappointed. Luckily, you don’t offend easily and your smile never wavers.

“Well, you were complaining about Satoru only ever wanting to go to sweet shops—and that you were sick of eating lunch alone, so…”

You look down to his hands, suddenly too embarrassed to face him. It felt like a great idea at the moment, but the longer Geto looks at you, the dorkier the idea feels.

Geto closes the gap between you, grabbing your hand from under the lunch box handle. “Thank you,” he mumbles against your lips, tugging you closer so he can taste you better.

Relief floods through you at his words of gratitude. You lean into the kiss, relishing in the way he feels against you.

“I really do love you, you know?” He says softly when he pulls away, the bag now hanging from his hand.

“I know.”

He looks at you expectantly, giving you the same look he does when you’re acting like a dork or giving him attitude.

“I love you too, Suguru. Now get going! I don’t want you to be late.”

He offers you a small wave before he heads out the door, wondering exactly how he’ll return the favor when he gets home.

—

Satoru stares at Suguru from across the table in the teachers lounge. Even with the blindfold on, Geto can tell the man is eyeing the food he has spread out in front of him.

Gojo raises a finger, about to open his mouth.

“Not a word, Satoru.”

His best friend chuckles, dropping his hands in surrender, and goes back to eating his pastries out of a cute pink box. Geto goes back to his own lunch. Though you claimed you just ‘threw together a few things’, he knows that’s far from the truth.

It must have taken you an hour to prepare it all, at minimum. Not only did you make his favorite meal, but you also packed him steamed, honey coated carrots, a slice of homemade banana bread, and a small thermos of his favorite roasted rice tea.

He pops open the lid of the thermos to smell it, the familiar toasty aroma filling his senses. It smells like home—like the nights where he can’t sleep and you bring him a cup of it mixed with sweet honey.

“What’s this?” Satoru snatches the lid from the desk, flipping it upside down and letting a small piece of stationary fall out.

Suguru groans, reaching desperately across the desk for the lid, only for Satoru’s jaw to fall open. He lets the paper float back down to the desk.

“What?” He demands.

Gojo offers him a teasing grin. “Y/n and Suguru, sitting in a tree….”

Geto scowls and grabs the note before Gojo can pick it up and tease him more. Any annoyance he was feeling at the fellow special grade fades away when he sees your handwriting scrawled across the paper.

Hope Satoru doesn’t give you too much trouble today. I love you so much, can’t wait to hear about your day when you get back

All the stars in the sky,

Y/n

Satoru must not see the way Suguru’s cheeks redden at the sight of the note—or if he does, he doesn’t say anything about it. Though he teases, he couldn’t be any happier for his friend as he watches him read the words on the note over and over, a growing smile on his face.

-

masterlist | jjk masterlist

[bkgml]

more exes to lovers bc i LOVE!! but this time angsty-er 😈 into fluff tho bc i just can’t resist!

“hey…” bakugou spoke into the phone, trying not to get choked up.

“bakugou..? what is it? whats wrong?” you said cautiously.

he sighed upset and a little thankful at the fact you could read him so clearly.

“i’m at the hospital, something went wrong when i was fighting the villains. i-“ he couldn’t take this; feeling so weak and helpless.

“they said i wasn’t allowed to drive home and i don’t want my shitty friends seeing me all fuckin weak.”

“i’m on my way. just relax okay? you’re strong katsuki we both know it” you say as you put on your shoes and grab your keys.

katsuki sighs a thankful sigh into the phone

“…will you stay on the shitty phone with me?”

you laugh, though you’re not mocking him, he knows you aren’t.

“i’ll stay on the phone, promise. ten minutes away, okay?

katsuki sighs again, feeling awful that you had to get out of bed in the middle of the night for someone you thought you were done with months ago.

“hey… just want you to know i don’t regret… us. only regret is the way we ended.”

you pause, worried you shouldn’t give into him.

“i know.” you say.

he sighs again. why are you making him sound so venerable dammit!

“do you..? you know, regret it- us?”

this is happening too fast, you can’t just forgive him this quickly. it’s been 4 months. you were moving on (you weren’t but you’re trying).

“i’m almost here.”

bakugou knows asked one too many questions too fast.

“okay…”

“i just pulled in where are you?”

bakugou gets into the car. he’s bruised and beaten. there’s a cast on his arm and he’s covered in soot. the cut on his lip you saw him with on the news last week has split open and he has a black eye.

“i’m here.”

you inhale shakily, reaching out and brushing some ash off his forehead.

“what happened to you?” bakugou has only heard your voice this small and timid once: the day he broke up with you.

“told you, stupid villains.”

you clear your throat. brushing away any feelings attempting to bubble up to the surface.

“fine. let’s get you home then.”

“fine.” you scoff and bakugou immediately regrets his tone. this is why you broke up with him, he thinks. this attitude he has. the silence is loud the rest of the ride home.

“this is it, right?” you say, still a little peeved at his tone from before.

“yeah.”

the two of you get out of the car.

bakugou knows he shouldn’t say what he’s about to say. this is why you left. his brain just wants him mouth to listen to him for once.

“well goodnig-“ “-do you want to come in?”

you stop stunned.

“bakugou-“

“listen i’m not doing what you think, i’m not trying to get sex out of this i swear.”

you pause, still processing.

“that’s not what i’m worried about.” you state.

bakugou waits confused.

“then what?”

“i’m worried that i’m going to go in there and you’ll have a shower and come out smelling all nice and you’ll put on those sweatpants i like with no shirt. then you’ll ask to hold me ‘just for tonight’. and you’ll kiss my hair and rub my back, and i’ll be head over heels for you all over again.” you breathe out.

“i don’t deserve this, katsuki. you’re just going to mess it up all over again and i cant go through this cycle a million times before we realize that we just don’t work right now. it’s not the right time for us. no matter how much we want it to be.”

you’re both tearing up at this point. he had no idea you could read him this well.

“i’m sorry, baby.”

“please don’t call me that.” you choke on your words. you knew you shouldn’t have come over here.

bakugou wipes his face, trying to compose himself, to not let the tears fall.

“i want to make this work. i don’t want to tiptoe around you and pretend i’m not the mean guy who hurt you. i want to be able to call you stupid fucking nicknames again without care and i want to make you laugh again.”

wow. he’s really not making this easy for you. you sigh before speaking.

“how about… you try again in a couple weeks. maybe i’ll let you call me a ‘stupid fucking nickname’ again.” you say in your best bakugou impression.

“a couple weeks, huh?”

“mhm. too long of a wait for you?” you tease, starting to fall back into your old ways.

“it’s never too long for you…. dumbass.” he tests the waters with a nickname he gave you before you started dating. one that makes his words seem a little less vulnerable from his perspective.

you laugh. a real fuckin laugh that he hasn’t gotten to hear in forever.

“alright… ‘dumbass’.” you say, still laughing.

“a couple weeks?” he asks.

“yes, a couple weeks.”

“okay…” he doesn’t want to leave your side but he won’t push you just yet.

“night.” he turns on his heel and gets his keys.

“g’night… ‘dumbass’.” you say, sending yourself into another fit of giggles and getting in your car.

as you drive off katsuki is grinning to himself.

the night turned out all right after all.

EEEEK you guys!! my first angsty post! and i made this little divider thingy with dynamy! i think it’s so cute personally i hope you like. :)

[wrathofrats]

aeth humping a pillow right in front of a very bratty phantom and still getting cum all over bug's tummy somehow

whattt who said that

Quint manipulation my beloved.

Warning for manipulation, heavy degradation, heavy use of quintessence, kinda dollification, phantom tries to get aether to fuck him and it goes very wrong

I took this in a strange direction as I always do but you deserve the apology anyways.

I think phantom is just downright awful when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Asks aether to fuck him, wants to be stretched open, wants to be made stupid for him with that signature sweet lilt to his tone when aethers talking down to him, something he can only get from aether. He’s nice about it too, he knows how to be good. Asks so sweetly with a please and a thank you and a bat of his eyelashes. He’s learned how this game works from rain. A shy voice and a little touching, it’s never failed him. So why should it fail phantom?

“No bug, I’m busy”

Phantom stood behind him in the kitchen, a hand delicately caressing his upper arm. It flexed under his touch, the muscle almost bulging through the fabric, momentarily distracting phantom from his denial.

“What? No???”

“The answer is no phantom, go find Swiss I’m sure he would be more than happy” aether said, checking on whatever he had in the oven.

“I don’t want Swiss. I want you”

“I have to get this done. Copia needs cookies for his ceremony and for some reason omega can’t do it.”

Phantom looked almost dumbfounded. If he played his cards right he’s sure he could pester aether into bending him over the counter for a rough quickie. Leave him gaping and mess on the floor when he’s done. But, if he played them wrong however ….

“We can be quick, do it right here so you know when the oven goes off, or I can blow you until they’re done”

Aether gave phantom a look that should’ve been his warning to stop while he was ahead. Cold and unwavering and phantom got more and more petulant with his needs.

“If you’ve been so fucking spoiled that you don’t know what no means then this is your lesson bug. Maybe learning some patience will do you good.”

“You’re the one always calling me a stupid you, maybe that quintessence has fried my brain, can’t blame me for not learning anything”

Something snapped. A sharp smell of metallic smoke tinged the air as phantom was brought down to his knees from something beyond his own free will.

“Stay”

He couldn’t speak, the magic making his blood pound in his ears as he watched aether move in front of him. He opened the oven to hastily throw the cookie sheet onto the stove before ridding himself of the oven mitts and walking back over to phantoms frozen form.

“How stupid can you fucking be phantom? If i didn’t feel so bad for you id leave you here for someone else to find, see what they want to do with the discarded sex toy on the floor”

Aether picked him up by the waist to throw him over his shoulder, carrying him off into his room to throw onto his bed

The magic let up slightly, enough for him to be able to move his syrupy limbs to spread his legs for aether. His vision was blurred at the edges, a small bit of confusion adding to the heavy mix.

Aether grabbed a pillow from the side of his bed, setting right between phantom legs. Not touching him, but close enough for him to see.

“Are- are you going to fuck me?” Phantom practically whimpered, watching aether maneuver the pillow against his hips. He wonders when either of them had gotten undressed, mixed in the haze of magic.

“Of course bug”

Phantom looked downright confused. The pillow mixing in and out of his vision as aether thrusted into it, it looked like he was thrusting into him, but without any of the sensation. He couldn’t move his arms to grab at him, could only watch as aether fucked into him.

“Aether please, please touch me I need it-“

“Buggy I am touching you, can’t you feel it?” Aether asked, that sweet lilt to his lie. He continued to fuck the pillow in front of him, a wicked smile as phantom whined.

“No! I can’t!”

“That’s really such a shame, I’m giving you what you asked for aren’t I?”

Aether was close, not looking to draw this out when he still had work to do. He continued to hump the fabric, small moans falling from his lips at how good it felt.

“Please aether I’m sorry just touch me-“ phantom babbled

Before aether could respond he was spilling onto the fabric, ropes of cum shooting up onto phantoms own cock and stomach. He rode himself through it, watching phantoms pathetic face as he worked himself through his high.

“Aether please-“

“Buggy I did touch you, look” aether pointed to his stomach, cum splotched along his abdomen, some even on the head of his cock.

“You already came babydoll”

[music-royal01]

Eywas mystery

Sully family x child!Reader

You were a mystery to the Na’vi people. Like literally, no one knew where you came from or how you got there but what they did know is that you were protected by Eywa.

Neytiri and Jake were returning from an ikran ride through the hallelujah mountains when they found everyone gathered around the tree of souls, Jake being Olo’eyktan immediately asked what happened worried the sky people could have returned. The crowd around the tree parted to reveal you, a little Na’vi child asleep the seeds of the great mother floating happily around you. The Omatikaya agreed that they had to protect you per the great mothers request, they also agreed that if they couldn’t find your parents then the only one that would be able to do that would be Toruk Makto and his family. So with caution, so she didn’t scare you, Neytiri carefully leaned down so she was kneeling next to you and tapped your arm to wake you. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, a small whine leaving your lips. Neytiri can’t help but awe mentally

“hello little one, what’s your name” you take a look at her properly, your big innocent eyes examining her face

“My name is Y/N, ” 

Neytiri smiles extending her hand out towards you

“Nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Neytiri do you know where your parents are”

“What are parents?” You say tilting your head in confusion

Neytiri looks back at Jake and raised an eyebrow, she didn’t know how to answer your question. But Jake did so he sat down next to his mate and introduced himself before answering your question

“A parent is usually an older person who cares and protects you, their someone who only wants the best for you”

Looking down at the floor you shake your head “I don’t think I’ve every had one of those”

When Jake heard your answer he immediately felt the need to protect you even more now. Either way the truth was you couldn’t remember anything your brain was fuzzy and the only thing you could remember was your name and how old you were. Neytiri took your hand making you look up at her

��Don’t worry little one, we’ll be your parents now and you’ll have a family” she said making Jake nod “if you want it of course”

They made you feel at relaxed and happy, so you smiled and hugged Neytiri

“I would love that”

Jake picked you up smiling “so how old are you kid” you smiled and stuck up 6 of 10 of your fingers. Jake made a mental note of you being a half breed but Neytiri just smiled “you know your the same age as my younger son and oldest daughter, so I think the three of you will get along perfectly” Jake set you down so you could walk on your own

Jake pulls up the flap for the hut calling out to his kids. Two boys and a girl stand in front of you smiling

“Kids this is Y/N your new sister”

The little girl runs up and hugs you

“I’m Kiri and I’m so glad to have another sister that I can play with, cause these boys are not very good at doing anything but goofing off” her statement makes you giggle and then one of the boys shakes his head

“Don’t listen to Kiri I’m lots of fun” the boy elbows his brother I can’t promise anything from this one though, I’m Lo’ak by the way”

The other boy rubs his ribcage a little before extending his hand towards you “I’m Neteyam and I’m the most responsible one here” Lo’ak buts in saying that it’s just a polite way of saying that Neteyam was the oldest

Neytiri calls everyone inside where you see her hold a little baby in her arms slightly rocking side to side

“Little Tuk is up and your grandmother was prepared dinner”

They all ran off but you just looked around and smiled.

You were truly loving this family so far

Part two: time flies

[eoieopda]

🙏🏻 This is my first time submitting a request because I can’t stop imagining Dino helping his drunk BFF home while secretly being in love with her 🧎🏼‍♀️Please if you have time!

superpower

summary: not all heroes wear capes, but chan would probably do so if you asked. pairing: lee chan x reader type: drabble genre: fluff au: friends to ?, pining word count: 1.4k (oops) rating: pg15 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: alcohol/drunkenness, obvi; no pronouns or gendered language is used for reader. a/n: not even remotely proofread (double oops), but i still love this down-bad doofus, so i hope you do, too!

“I’m not saying I have superpowers, but I’m not not saying it.”

Your eyes are blinking a little more slowly than usual, but the unimpressed look you fire off at Chan can’t be missed.

“Can you just —” A hiccup cuts your question in half. You frown with your whole face just to make it clear how serious you are. “Hold my hand? It’s wobbly.”

Chan knows you’re referring to the sidewalk — where you stand and sway along to music that isn’t playing — but that description fits his knees, too. 

He hopes you’re too busy pouting at him to notice the way he wipes his palms against his jeans, afraid you’ll notice how nervous you make him. You start to lean a bit too heavily to one side for his liking, though; and he thinks it’s safe to bet that you’re not noticing much of anything.

That settles it.

The second he envelopes your hand in his, you take it a step further, tugging him close enough that you can slot yourself under his arm.

“Smell nice,” you mumble from his side. “‘s that the new stuff? From the place?”

Now, Chan is the one that’s blinking slowly. He was as drunk as you were until you needed him, and despite his sobering up on a dime — which is a superpower, thank you very much — his processing speed is lagging. You nudge him with your elbow, as if that’ll make what you just said make sense.

“Ahhh!” He plays along, making a big show of realizing things. “Yes, that place. By the thing, right?”

You nod. “Exactly.” 

Behind you both, the Uber that dumped you back at your place pulls away from the curb. Three beats later, you tilt your head and cheer “goodbye” at a long-gone Kia. He feels his heart swell three sizes in chest.

“You like it?” He redirects you because he’s a little bit greedy for your praise — and also because he bought this cologne with the hope that you’d compliment it. Chuckling, he notes, “Considering how much I’m propping you up right now, you’ll probably end up smelling like me.”

When you smile and mutter, “Good,” Chan suddenly feels weightless.

It takes some concentrated effort, but he manages to guide you up the front steps to your apartment building. It takes significant concentrated effort to corral you into the elevator once you clear the threshold. You would’ve spent your night talking the doorman’s ear off, otherwise, providing a dramatic retelling of every single step you took over the last few hours. It takes everything Chan has not to laugh at the relieved sigh he gets in thanks for intervening, although it’s hardly altruistic to want your rambling to himself.

Surrounded by the metallic walls of the elevator car, you point to your joint reflection and muse, “Someone’s awful smiley this evening.”

Chan makes eye contact without having to tilt his head. His brain works overtime to churn out a response that isn’t self-incriminating, but the only thought ricocheting around his brain relates to how cute you look, nestled into him.

With a ding, your reflection is gone. The moment goes with it, and without a barrier in front, so do you — like a bat out of hell.

“Oh, my god,” you wail when your apartment door comes into view. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Chan chases after you, arriving embarrassingly out-of-breath — and more than a little fond — just in time to watch you wrestle your keys out of your pocket. They clatter to the floor the second they’re free. You groan, bereft at the loss.

“Stay here,” he says firmly with a finger pointed because he knows you, knows you’ll take one or both of you out of commission if you don’t heed his warning. 

Your eyes cross a little bit as you stare down the barrel of it, but you listen, thankfully; and he’s able to pick up your slack without anyone receiving a concussion. He’s able to usher you into your own home without further incident, too.

Once again: superpowers.

The task of kicking your shoes off is apparently too much to ask of you, so you wander off to your bedroom without even trying. His Nikes are discarded so hurriedly that they barely hit your mat by the time he takes off after you. The second he catches up, he wins the pleasure of watching you flop backwards onto your mattress.

Funny, he thinks. His heart makes a similar thwump when you smile at him the way you are right now.

Gesturing to the feet dangling off the edge of your bed, he laughs. “Can I please help you?”

You shoot him with dual-wielded finger guns. He takes that as a yes, please, and gets to work on the triple knots you managed to install in your laces.

“Chan?”

He hums in acknowledgment without looking up, too confounded by your drunken rope-work to take his eyes off his fingers.

Were you a sailor in a past life?

A little louder and a lot more pathetically, you whine, “Chan,” adding several seconds’ worth of the vowel sound in the process.

Chan has no option but to look up at you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s got no choice but to smile with all of his teeth, too. “You rang?”

“You’re so nice.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, he suspects, but it sounds much more like a shout. “How?”

His bemused snort is disguised by the sound of your right shoe hitting the floor.

“I mean it!” You laugh — like he’d ever doubt you — and smack your palms against your duvet for emphasis. “Like, hello? Good boy alert!”

That — well, that does something to Chan that he’s not willing to unpack right now. Instead, he shucks off your other shoe, bites back his smile, and sits back on his heels.

For a minute, the two of you stay that way: you gazing at him, him gazing right back at you. In every second that slips by in comfortable silence, he works to convince himself that the twinkle in your eye is a byproduct of the shots you took, nothing more. You’re smiling at him like that because you won’t have to sleep in your shoes tonight.

Right?

You nibble thoughtfully on your lower lip before your smile turns sheepish. “Chan?”

He’s not thinking that an angel gets its wings whenever you say his name, but he’s not not thinking that.

“The one and only,” he says with a nod, and he only cringes a little bit at his words, after the fact.

Whatever you want to say next seems to be stuck on its way out. In fact, you open and close your mouth twice to no avail. Patience is a virtue, and you are divine, so he waits there — on his knees, no less — and lets you take the lead. Your eyes flick from his face to the fidgeting fingers in your lap, then to the blank space at your side.

“It’s cold out,” you finally declare.

It’s July, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You shouldn’t have to walk home in this weather.”

The sky simply couldn’t be clearer, but Chan would take your word for it if you said that it was green.

“Maybe you should stay.”

He tries not to let the giddiness overtake him. Really, he does. He attempts to shrug nonchalantly, but it's more of a shiver than anything else, and he’s scrambling to his feet before he can chide himself for it.

You laugh — with your whole chest, no less — when he leaps into the spot beside you, settling flat on his back and grinning up at the ceiling. You’re still giggling when you mimic his graceless movements, still beaming when you turn your head to look at him. The air still feels electric, somehow, even after the laughter peters off.

A few moments pass, probably. He doesn’t notice them on their way out.

In a whisper that is actually a whisper, you say his name again, and it kicks off that wild thwump inside his chest.

“Yes?” He responds, much more quietly than his pulse in his ears.

You tug gently at the pillow under his head to draw attention to it. “You’ll probably end up smelling like me now.”

[thewritingmagician2022]

Hi! I have a bit of an uncommon ask; would you be willing to write the brothers+dateables (just the dateables if that's too many characters) with a MC that...just seems to know things before they happen? They never say anything about it or redirect the conversation, but they've snagged Luke on the collar seconds before a demon comes sprinting around the corner or a car speeds the red light, and always seems to know what a person's saying before they even finish saying it.

Idk, I like the idea of an MC who's been through time shenanigans before (bc time shenanigans be like that), I think it could have some really interesting effects, especially around lesson 16

This is a fun ask and it’s interesting to me because I tend to be someone that dreams about things before they happen - usually years in advance and it’s such mundane moments that I don’t even think about it until it happens in real life and I’m like hey! 👀

Despite the coolness of this ask, it’s obviously very delayed and not very fleshed out because I couldn’t find it in my brain/creativity to do it justice. I’m sorry for that and I hope you were able to find it elsewhere!

Lucifer: Lucifer is more than a little suspicious at first. It’s one thing to have a human down here in the Devildom but quite another to have one with the ability of precognition. It puts him and his family and the kingdom at potential risk; if you’re having visions about the future, it’s hard to keep any secrets or keep you in line as you may be a step ahead of him which really throws him off his game. So he’s keeping a careful eye on you at first and instructs you tell him about all of the visions you have, at least until he’s sure that he can trust you. Then he’s going to use that nifty little powers of yours to help stop his brothers before they can cause too many problems for him.

Mammon: Mammon thinks it’s both cool and freaky. He definitely wants you to keep it a secret just between the two of you so you can use it to his, excuse me, your advantage. He would absolutely bring you with him while gambling in the hopes that you’ll be able to see the winning numbers or colors or machines. It would make you even more invaluable to him, especially when you save his hide by warning him pre-emptively about bounty hunters or Lucifer coming after him or even just a RAD project that he may have forgotten. He’s a little in awe of you honestly.

Levi: Levi thinks you’re super cool! It’s like you have a superpower like one of his favorite anime girls. He can’t wait to be your sidekick as you work your way through the Devildom with your secret powers. He gushes over them/you every time you use them, especially when you use them for something nice like making sure Luke doesn’t get plowed over in a hallway or you keep something of his safe from Mammon. Occasionally, he does let you use it for gaming. He won’t let you warn him ahead of time of things in his games because it feels like cheating but if you’re playing co-op, well, he can’t exactly stop you and if you become practically undefeated realm-wide, that’s just a bonus.

Satan: Satan loves a good mystery and research so this is perfect. You have no idea where this elusive power comes from nor do you have any idea how to control it. That means he’s going to do a full deep dive getting your history, learning all about what the preminitons are like for you and what their usual subject matter is, tracking them to see if there’s any triggers or precursors he can identity. It’s like a fun game for him. He absolutely loves it when you get information that involves Lucifer because he and Belphie want to use it to their advantage for pranks, and he also loves how incredibly human you are with your gift - you use it kindly for everyone around you, always saving them from danger or distress or even just to spare their feelings.

Asmo: Asmo is easily freaked out by your power. Don’t get him wrong, he adores you and loves how special and unique you are - of course everyone should be super jealous knowing he gets to have the superpowered human. However, he is lowkey creeped out by it because he is so easy to startle. Pulling him out of the way of a random food fight? He shrieks. Snatch something out of his hands because it’s actually cursed? He’s got tears in his eyes both of gratitude and fear, also maybe a little bit of arousal because wow, you really do take such good care of him, don’t you?

Beel: Beel is the definition of the surprised pikachu face meme every time you use your powers. It’s like he has short term memory loss when it comes to this so whenever you manage to answer a question that’s so far unasked or catch something flying at you or you save one of the brothers from falling down the stairs, Beel looks at you like you’re a superhero. He’s just very impressed with you all the time anyway and he does his best to make sure that no one bothers you about or for your gift. You’re not some little sideshow pony for people to use for their gain and he’s going to make sure no one treats you that way.

Belphie: Your gift breaks his heart a little. Belphie wonders how much you knew, how much you know now. Did you always know that he was going to betray you and did you still choose to befriend him, to heal his family, to love him anyway? Did you know it would work out in the end or did you just hope for it? Or did you have no clue about his betrayal despite being aware of so many other things? He doesn’t know what’s worse actually - if you were ignorant and blinded or if you walked into his home a knowing martyr. It makes him want to project you, especially when all you seem to do is protect others with your gift. You’re always rescuing everyone else, heedless to the danger of the present and the pain of the past. He does his best to support you in any way possible, especially when the visions are something stronger and deeper than just making sure Beel doesn’t eat his last cookie.

Diavolo: Diavolo had no idea when he selected you as the exchange student that you had such a wonderful gift. He sees it as a sign from the universe that he picked the right person; it’s just another reason that you’re perfect for here, for him. Especially because you actively use your powers to do the good and right thing. Where others could and would choose to be selfish or manipulate others or gain power, you do your best to ensure everyone’s safety and happiness. He finds you and your gift incredibly endearing and wonderful. He’s just so thrilled that he has such a talented little human around to prove their goodness and usefulness. He also very much enjoys watching you have fun with your gift, whether it’s causing some trouble with Solomon or Mammon or Simeon, and he doesn’t let anyone scold you for it because he thinks it’s so much fun to watch you make your own way down there.

Barbatos: Barbatos was at first a little unsettled by this power of yours. He’s grown quite used to being the unsettling, omniscient person in the group. It’s not every day you meet someone who can see through time, even with visions as mundane and innocuous as yours usually are. It makes him suspicious in the beginning but, as he grows to trust you, he helps you deal with your powers both in terms of handling the visions/honing your skills and in terms of coping with the things that you may see. Once you’ve built that strong relationship between you, he absolutely loves to create chaos with you. You both like to be as ominous and vague as possible, using your unspoken twin bond thing to communicate and leave the others in a constant feeling of being a step behind the both of you.

Solomon: Solomon is deeply curious; he’s a man who knows everything about the past and you’re the person who knows everything about the future. He’s met humans with powers before, some even with the power of pre-cognition, but yours are the most erratic and it’s a very interesting coincidence that you happened to be brought in as the exchange student at RAD. He’s definitely going to ask to run tests and experiments on you, a bit like Satan but much more hands on his approach. He wants to figure out the origin and the extent of your powers, and he’s certainly okay with stirring up some trouble. It’s not unusual for him to use your powers as an excuse for why he did/didn’t something, even if it’s not true, and he uses his magic to help you harness your gift to turn into something consistently useful.

Simeon: Simeon is almost as curious as Satan and Solomon (must be an S name thing?). He does wonder where your gift comes from - if it’s a Gift from his Father to be used to better the world around you, which he sees happening every time you save one of them from a near death experience or even just give them the answer in class in RAD because you knew the professor would ask them, or if it’s a curse because he’s seen the haunted, lonely, terrified look on your face when you’re confronted with the visions of darker things than the others can even comprehend. He knows you don’t share those visions with everyone; you tend to keep them to yourself and work to make sure they don’t happen. Simeon is the one who sees that look and steps in to stand by your side and support you so that you don’t have to bear the responsibility alone. To make things a little light for you, Simeon encourages you to use your gify for fun. Between your visions and Simeon’s angelic grace, no one doubts whatever you two say and that means you can get away with so many things and keep yourself out of trouble. It might be a little bit naughty of you but you think you both do more than enough for the Devildom to have earned this little mischeif.

[roostersbby69]

0.8 | For old times sake

Summary: Bradley hasn’t gotten any action with his wife. They didn’t have kids, not because of their jobs, but because she just didn’t want to anymore. Bradley had a very high sex drive, and his maid that his wife hired might just give him a memory refresh of how good sex is.

Pairing:Bradley Bradshaw x maid!reader

For old times sake masterlist. Full masterlist.

After this weeks fiasco, Bradley was in desperate need of a break. He needed something to relax him.

So he went to his only solution, The Hard Deck.

-

Phoenix was throwing darts with Coyote and Fritz when Bradley walked towards them with a beer in his hand.

“Hey, there’s my favorite girl friend.” She said as she threw a dart towards the target.

Bradley rolled his eyes and hid his smile to himself. Even on his worst days, Phoenix always found a way to cheer him up.

“Nice to see you too.” He muttered and took a swig of his beer.

“Where’s your maid?” Hangman popped up to his side and asked.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, come on, we hit it off the other night.” Hangman raised his arms and dropped them down to his sides.

Bradley was not pleased by this, he shouldn’t be talking about you like that, hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you.

“Come on, Rooster. throw some darts with me.” Phoenix turned to him and handed him a dart from her hand.

Bradley took it and stood beside her.

“So, how’s the wife?” She asked as she reared back and let go of the dart, sending it straight to the target.

Bradley sighed, he didn’t even want to think about her right now. He didn’t want to ruin his mood, “Not good.”

“How come?” She asked, Phoenix knew very well what went on in their relationship and how he was treated.

“I think shes seeing someone behind my back.”

Phoenix almost choked on air at his statement, “Really?”.

“Yeah, really.” Bradley nodded and threw a dart.

“What makes you think that?”

“I saw her phone, some random number was texting her. And I got Y/n to help me figure out who it is.”

“Wait,” she turned to him, “you got your maid in on this?”

Bradley sighed, yes, it sounded awful, “Yeah, I didn’t mean to. It just happened, she knew how to trace stuff like that.”

Phoenix nodded and grabbed another dart off of the table, “And, how did that go?”

“Shes gotten pretty damn close.”

“Elaborate.” Phoenix said as she and Bradley walked to the target to collect all of the thrown darts.

“She figured out that the number that has been texting Isabelle is a local bank number.” He said as he plucked darts out.

“Damn, she is good.” Phoenix muttered, “So, what are you going to do?”

Bradley sighed, “I don’t know.”

“I like this Y/n girl. What’s she like?”

He looked up as if caught in a daze and let all of the air out of his lungs, “She’s smart, cute, sweet, independent, she uses this detergent on my laundry that every time I smell it I just think about her, its like shes stuck in my brain.” He felt terrible talking about you like this when he’s a married man.

“She sounds great, maybe shes the one for you.”

“Nat.” He warned as he walked back to the table and dropped the darts back into the basket.

“I’m serious, you ever think that you deserve someone who makes you happy? And this girl really sounds like she’s good for you.”

Bradley sat down and placed his head in his hands, “I can’t do this, I can’t be this person.”

“Why not? Just confront Isabelle then take it slow with Y/n.”

“There’s a problem.” Bradley slowly looked up to her nervously.

“Uh oh.” She widened her eyes and braced herself, “What?”

Bradley sheepishly looked down and played with his fingers nervously.

“Shut the fuck up,” she gasped which made him look up at her, “You fucked her? You fucked the maid!”

“Lower your voice,” he hushed her, “No, I haven’t fucked her.” Not yet.

“You kissed her.” She kept playing the guessing game.

“No, I sort of ate her out.” He mumbled as he rubbed his neck and leaned back in his chair.

“No you didn’t.” She smirked and laughed.

“Mhm,” he closed his eyes and held up two fingers, “Twice.”

Nat looked like she was going to faint, her eyes were wide, her eyebrows were raised, her face was red from shock and she looked amused.

“You’re a dead man, Bradshaw.” She tsked and shook her head.

“Yeah, I keep hearing that.”

-

Bradley had realized he had been at the hard deck for a long time when he checked his phone and realized it was 4:25.

He hurried into his bronco and hurried home when he caught a glimpse of of a sign that read, JP Morgans citi-bank.

He swerved into the parking lot and drove through each row, trying to find Isabelles car.

He sighed and rested his head on the steering wheel.

Just as he picked it up, a white SUV caught his eye.

He turned to the left and in his side mirror he saw his wife and a random man practically eating each others face against the wall.

Every thought ran through Bradleys head right now, he wanted to drive his precious bronco into them and call it a day. But instead, he drove off and made his way home with one thought on his mind.

You.

-

Today you had on some tiny, baby pink shorts with a skin tight, white, tank top on. You hummed as you folded the blankets on the couch and fixed the hideous decorative pillows.

You hated that you let yourself inside their house without them home, but Mr. Bradshaw did tell you that there was a key hidden under the door mat after last times incident.

But here you were, cleaning with the house to yourself.

That was, until Bradley pulled into the driveway and you heard him locking the bronco.

He rushed inside apologizing for being late and took his shoes off.

“That’s ok, I just decided to come in and do my job. I hope thats okay.”

He admired you for a second, in your skimpy outfit, your hair that was pulled up in a clip, your white painted toes, the pink gloss on your lips, it was all too much for him.

He stepped forward until his chest touched yours and he had to look down at you. You peered up at him with doe eyes and batted your eyelashes, “Is something wrong?”

He said nothing as he grabbed our face and leaned down to capture your lips with his. Your lipgloss tasted like strawberries as his tongue darted out and licked your bottom lip, pulling it in between his teeth.

His hand came down to your ass and squeezed the flesh between his fingers.

Your lips smacked against each others as your tongues tangled together and he backed you up to a wall.

You gasped as his cold hands came under your shirt and onto your belly, rubbing it softly.

He dove back down and shoved his tongue into your mouth, causing you to moan and close your eyes.

Your hands came to his hair and tugged to pull him as close as possible to you.

He could feel your hard nipples through your tank top pressing against him which was sent down to his dick as made it twitch.

You had an incredible rack, one that he couldn’t stop staring at every time you walked past him or cleaned the windows.

He gripped your hips and hoisted you up too carry you down the hallway towards his bedroom. Once he made it there he turned you around and pressed you against the door, closing it. He pushed his body against yours and you could feel his dick pressing against your core.

You could already tell he was big by the way it reached from your thigh to the top of your pussy.

It wouldn’t be different, you weren’t a virgin and had been with guys in college and in high school. Not that it was many guys, just two.

You sighed when his lips found your neck and sucked lightly, pulling the skin between his teeth.

Your fingers laced through his hair and you held onto his broad shoulders as he held you without a struggle.

He turned the two of you around to lay you down on the bed softly while he caressed your sides.

Bradley leaned back and realized what was happening, he was kissing another woman while his wife kissed another man.

He remembered she could be home any minute, so that’s a why he locked the door on the way in. He quickly removed your shorts and panties, tossing them to the side out of his way.

Bradley tapped the side of your thigh, “Turn around, sugar.”

You obeyed and turned over, doggy style, and let him put you in the position he wanted you in.

He pushed down between your shoulders to set you face down ass up and spread your legs for him.

Bradley got on his knees until he was face to face with your pussy and licked a long stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you, he took the tip of his tongue and toyed with your entrance.

You moaned and shoved your face into the soft duvet while he shoved his tongue inside you and you felt his nose against your ass.

He let go and grabbed both of your ass cheeks and kneaded them while he licked your pussy and sucked on your clit softly.

Listening to you whine, he sucked harder and pulled on your clit until it released from his lips and returned back to its place inside your pussy lips.

“Fuck!” You groaned as he dove back into you and his nose pushed against your entrance.

He sat back up and smacked your ass, roughly, and rubbed the spot where a red handprint flamed on the globe of your ass.

“Turn over.” He said as he grabbed your hips and roughly spinned you to get on your back.

You bit your lip as you gave him your best innocent looking eyes as he stared down at you with hunger.

His veins pulsed, as did his dick, and he brought his hands down to remove his shirt to reveal his abs and delicious arms.

You brought your foot up to rub his six pack and watched as he grabbed it and brought it up to kiss your ankle and drape it over his shoulder, casually.

“Say my name.” He growled.

“Mr. Bradshaw.” You whined.

“No,” he let do of your leg and leaned down to your ear where he licked your jaw and kissed it before whispering in your ear, “Say my name.”

“Bradley.” You moaned and nuzzled your face into his neck.

He leaned back and undid his belt, “Good girl.”

He placed it to the side and undid his pants and let them drop to the ground, he pulled you up by your arms, gently, and placed your small hands on the front of his boxers.

You looked up at him as you pulled them off of him and blinked as his thick cock sprang out of his boxers and waved in front of your face.

God, he was huge. You wondered why his wife never wanted to sleep with him because shes the luckiest girl on earth. You’d be sleeping with him every second if you could.

His red tip was throbbing in your face and the veins curled around his thick length, small white beads of precum dripped down onto your thighs as he stood in all his glory in front of you.

You stuck your tongue out and kitten licked his tip, collecting the cum on it, and staring into his dark eyes.

“Fuck.” He hissed and gripped your hair as you sucked on his cock softly teasing him.

He shoved you back onto the bed and removed your tank top to reveal a pink sports bra, he grabbed it and pulled it over your head to watch your tits bounce out of it.

“Fuck you’re so hot.” He grabbed one and played with it as he kissed the other. You moaned and held his head there while he sucked on your nipple, pulling it between his teeth until it was peaked.

“Please, Mr. Bradshaw, please fuck me.” You moaned, helplessly.

He smirked and spread your legs open, he grabbed his dick and rubbed it between your pussy lips, collecting your wetness and pushing his tip into you.

He watched as he stretched you out and your walls hugged his dick tightly.

“Holy shit, you’re so damn tight.” He groaned and tried his best not to bust right then, “Fuck.”

You moaned as he slid all the way inside of you until he was balls deep.

You whined and squirmed, trying to get him to fuck the daylights out of you. You had been waiting for this, for him.

His large arms came under your knees as he held them wide open and started to snap his hips into you.

“Fuck!” You almost screamed as the head of his cock rammed into your cervix immediately finding that sweet spot inside of you.

“Shit!” He threw his head back and thrusted into you with all he had. It had been so long since he had sex with anyone, and damn did you show him how much he missed it.

“Fuck!” You flailed your arms out and gripped the sheets tightly between your fingers.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and brought both arms up to your perfect tits and grabbed them like handles as he fucked you.

You could hear the sound of skin slapping together as he snapped his hips forcefully into you.

He fucked the shit out of you, like he had been wanting to.

He pulled out and heard the suctioning noise of your pussy longing for him to fill you up and turned you over doggy style for him.

He placed his cock on your entrance and stopped, “Tell me how much you want me.”

“Please, please, please fuck me! Please, Mr. Bradshaw. You have such a big dick.” You moaned into the bed as the cool air hit your pussy.

He shoved himself deep into you, finding a new angle, and started to thrust into you. He watched as your ass jiggled for him with each thrust and the clapping noise was louder now at this position.

“Fuck.” He groaned and gripped your ass cheeks in each hand, pulling you back onto him.

You moaned with each thrust and leaned back up when it got too much, only for him to shove you back down and slap your ass.

“Nuh huh, I’ve been waiting for this for too damn long.” He said as he kept thrusting into you with so much force you became dizzy.

“God, I’m gonna cum!” You warned him as he kept his brutal pace on your poor pussy.

“Good girl, cum for me.” He encouraged you as he kept hitting that spot inside of you, “Say my name, baby.”

“Fuck Bradley!” You screamed as you felt your stomach tightening and Bradley spilling his load inside of you, filling you to the brim.

You felt your thighs shake as a warm liquid poured out of you as you orgasmed, coating the bed and the two of you.

He slowed his pace and rode you through your high, “Shit.” He hissed as he finished cumming and watched as you whined on the bed.

He gave your ass another small smack as he pulled out and watched his cum leak out of you.

He brought his finger up to collect it and push it back into you and watched as your pussy sucked it all up.

You flopped onto the bed and he flopped down beside you with a content sigh, “That was amazing.”

“Yeah, let’s just hope your wife doesn’t find out.”

“I could care less.” He shrugged and smirked to himself.

—————————————————————

Part 9

Authors note: AHHHH. It happened! They freaky little things. ;)

Thank yall so much for the love! Yall are my inspiration <333

Lmk in the comments what you think!

Tag list:

@rosiahills22

@schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker

@aestheticaltcow

@bellaireland1981

@persassyismysecrettwin

@violetisheresworld

@lyn-js

@senawashere

[queuestarter]

daybreak

(johanna mason x reader)

cw: none- just two girls in love

link to the request → grumpy x sunshine during training for the quarter quell

open to submissions/asks

You watch from across the room as Johanna strips off her training uniform and begins to rub oil all over herself. You shake your head in amusement and refocus on the conversion you’re having with your district mate and close friend, Beetee.

“I wonder what the reason they put the forcefield up this year is,” he comments offhandedly while observing a piece of wood as he attempts to figure out how to start a fire. You sit opposite him, not having much luck either.

You didn’t win your first games by fighting or learning survival skills. You won by appealing to the audience.

“Maybe someone attacked them. Or maybe one of the Gamemakers fell over the balcony,” you giggle, throwing down your two sticks as Katniss walks over to you.

You’ve never met her, but of course you know all about her. Who doesn’t at this point?

“Hello,” you friendlily greet her. She stands over you and Beetee awkwardly. “Do you know how to make a fire with two sticks? We’re awful at it.”

She sits down at the station with you. “Yeah, but I haven’t done it in a while. Let me see…” she grabs some sticks and begins to rub them together.

For the next ten minutes that you three spend at the station, a friendly rapport grows. You talk about many things, like the forcefield, productivity in your districts, and a few other topics. Eventually, she starts asking if you’re going to join any alliances.

“I think so,” you say hopefully. “I know me and Beetee are going to stick together. Johanna, too.” 

“Johanna?” Katniss asks, raising her eyebrows.

You smile, finding your girl across the room. She’s arguing about something with Finnick, shoving his shoulder and getting shoved back in response. 

“Yeah, she’s great. She’s just really, really great.” You can feel a blush growing on your cheeks which you hide behind your hands.

“I didn’t feel that way when I met her.” You furrow your eyebrows at Katniss.

“Oh. While I’m going to go see if I can try to make a lure with Mags. Beetee, want to join?” You want to be nice considering she doesn’t know about your relationship with Johanna and your girlfriend does come off as rude sometimes.

“Oh, yes. That could be very helpful,” he comments, getting up from his seat. “Thank you for helping us, Katniss. Maybe we would keep up that trend in the arena?”

Katniss nods, getting up as well. “I should see what Peeta is doing.”

You don’t talk to Katniss again until the next day of training. 

You’re sparring with one of the trainers, having decided that it might actually be important this time around to work on your physical skills rather than just relying on your brains and public appeal. 

When you finish the spar and are bent over trying to catch your breath, you feel a hand cup your ass. You let out a gasp of surprise.

“Johanna!” You shriek as you return to an upright position. Ignoring the shocked gazes of the people around you, you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her in for a quick kiss. “You can’t just scare me like that when I have a deadly weapon in my hands!”

She looks beautiful with her signature smirk on her face. “I just wanted to let you know how good you were doing. And let everyone know that you’re mine.”

You giggle uncontrollably, holding onto her for a few more seconds. With one final kiss to her smiling lips that end up more on her teeth than anything, you back away from the sparring station to allow other people to enter, namely Finnick and Katniss. Katniss has a look of disbelief on her face.

You say a quick ‘hello’ to them before Beetee is calling your name from across the room. “Can you identify the metal that comprises this beam? It seems to be steel but the density is all wrong.”

As you walk across the room to help out Beetee, you can hear Johanna talk to the two others, none of them being too quiet. 

“What a woman,” she says, causing you to smile once more.

“You two are…? Her?” Katniss practically hisses.

“Why not?” Finnick teases. “Johanna needs something good in her life.”

“Shut up!” You turn your eyes back towards your girlfriend just in time to see her try to knock Finnick over. 

This is what it means to be in love

-

[astermath]

The touch starved prompts are making me be in my feels :') If you're still open to requests for them, can I have either "how long has it been since someone hugged or?" or "you don't need to earn my affection, not now and not ever." with Steve? Those two really hit hard for me... :')

omg i almost completely overlooked this ask i'm so sorry! the first one i answered not too long ago with this oneshot, but i'll happily write the second one!

send in some touch starved prompts! ♡

word count: 1K

You’ve been sick for two days already, and frankly, you’ve had enough.

It’s not that you feel bad for missing out on work. Seriously, you could have used a break from 10 hour shifts a long time ago already. And you don’t really have any other commitments you regret not being able to attend either.

No, Steve is taking care of you.

And it’s very conflicting.

On one hand, you love it. He’s your boyfriend, of course he takes care of you. He makes you soup, makes sure you have a blanket and a nice hot water bottle at your disposal, does everything around the house. It’s like heaven. Well, almost like heaven.

Because you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt about it all.

It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid. You would do the exact same thing for him if he was sick.

But there’s this awful feeling gnawing away at you, making you feel like he’s slaving away for you and that you’re ungrateful, that you don’t deserve it. That he doesn’t even like taking care of you, he just pities you.

That’s why when he comes to sit down next to you on the couch, reaching out for a cuddle, you pull away.

You don’t dare to look his way. You know the expression on his face already, a mixture of confusion and hurt. Mostly confusion. You’re sick, maybe you just don’t want to make him sick as well?

“Come on, we can cuddle, right? I’ve got a strong immune system, I won’t get sick from giving my girl some attention now.” He chuckles, but you don’t give in. It’s starting to concern him now. His sweet girl, not wanting to be enveloped in his arms? Maybe your sickness has gotten to your brain, or he’s done something seriously wrong.

“Hey,” He ducks his head under a little so he can get a look at your face, but you turn away. “What’s up baby? Did I do something?”

That makes you look at him, because you can’t have him thinking your insecurities have anything to do with his actions. He’s perfect, literally the dream boyfriend. And yet you feel like he’s being too good for you right now.

Your eyes are watery, and that you cannot blame on the illness. Steve’s expression softens, and he suddenly feels a lot worse for joking around just now.

“It’s just— you’re being so nice to me, and I… I don’t know…”

“Peach… If I’m doing something wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“No, it’s— you’re not doing anything wrong, it’s just—“ you sigh, sniffling a little. “Feel like I don’t deserve this.” you pause, eyes quickly darting his way and back. “Like I don’t deserve you.”

Steve’s facial expression contorts into one of worry and confusion in a matter of seconds. “Oh, baby… C’mere.”

He reaches out, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders and pulling you flush to his chest. The warm scent of his cologne overtakes your senses, and you can’t help but feel comforted by it. His large hand rubs over your back, gently, soothingly, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Y’know, sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you.” He mumbles against your hair.

You scoff; why would the Steve Harrington ever feel that way?

“Seriously, like,” he leans back a little, still holding you, “I used to be such an asshole. And you knew me back then, you’ve seen me during my worst times, when my ego was bigger than Hawkins itself, and you still decided I was worth your time. The fact that you stuck with me all that time, that really does count for something.”

You close your eyes to reminisce for a moment. He’s not entirely wrong, he was an asshole, but if anyone is the living proof that a person can change, it’s Steve.

He looks down at you, eyes full of love, glad to see you're starting to come out of your insecure cloud of thoughts.

"You know, even if you're not sick, you don't have to earn my affection."

Your head peeks out of the embrace he has you in, all curled up on his lap. Your eyes are a little glassy from almost crying, and though he hates seeing you sad like this, you do look so pretty.

"Yeah?" you ask, voice a little fragile.

"Yeah," he replies, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, "not now," peck, "and not ever."

You giggle softly, returning the gesture. The kiss deepens by the second, your lips melting together in what you could only describe as "getting lost in each other". And that's exactly what you do, because while his tongue slips past your lips and your fingers slide into his hair, you forget all about the sickness you'd been so tormented by.

Your eyes open suddenly, a soft gasp erupting from you as you pull away. "Wait, no-- no, I'm sick Stevie!"

He simply chuckles in return, pulling you in again before you can protest. "So what?" he mumbles against the plushness of your lips, "if I get sick, you'll take care of me too, right?"

"Duh," the tip of your nose rubs gently over his, "I'll make you chicken noodle soup and everything."

"Good, so," he shifts your positions, laying you down gently under him, your back flat onto the couch, "a bit of kissin' won't hurt."

You grin, the pure love and affection flooding your body making you forget all about being sick. "You're impossible, Harrington."

"You love it." He leans down to peck your lips once more.

"Yeah," your arms wind around him, "you got me there."

tag list ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚

@palmtreesx3 @inkluvs

[imagionationstation]

*Rant Incoming*

Warning: Tired & Emotional Author did not check for emotional errors. This is not the usual “facts & research” essay. It may feel attackish. It may feel like a targeting accusation. I guess, in a way, it is. I apologize. But I need to speak.

Sometimes I wish I could be that creator.

The kind who can say mean, hateful things about RISE and walk away. The kind that can go in depth to explain how truly bad Splinter is and how furious Leon makes me and how the way the Foot are portrayed feels like a betrayal to the Foot’s history and everything else cringy or mortifying about that series.

But I can’t. Because that’s not fair.

Because if I spent every single day hating on Rise when I remember something that upsets me, everyone would be rightly upset.

There are people out there who adore this show and I’m just sitting here going through every reason why their favorite thing is stupid.

That doesn’t seem like a nice thing to do by any means.

Just because I have an opinion doesn’t mean I have to share it.

Just because I dislike a character design or certain aspects doesn’t make the show as a whole an inherently awful show. Heck, (as an example, not a truth) just because I dislike every single thing about a show doesn’t make the show itself inherently awful!

I think we should be able to agree on that for any tmnt iteration.

So why is it that 2012 happens to be the favorite outliner?

Why is it that I can’t go a week without someone reminding me how inherently awful and disgusting and terrible it is? Why is it that I’m biased and nostalgic and that’s the only reason that I could like the show, and one day, I’ll have to take a step back and realize how awful it is? How abusive and cringe and stupid it is?

Some days I get online after long, stressful days to indulge and relax and maybe even write- and then someone comes up to tell me how dumb or horrid my love for the show is. And I don’t even want to do any of that anymore because a part of my brain is looking at the screen and wondering, “Maybe they’re right.”

And then I’m miserable because I know that’s not fair.

Why do you get to stand in the way of what I love? Why can’t you talk about the series that you love and adore, and just ignore 2012? What joy do you get out of tearing down the one thing that keeps me sane?

It isn’t like people are sitting down to explain anything. To acknowledge character development or changes or to explain the inherently abusive things the ninja family does and take into account their heritage and bond and then reason why it’s still bad.

It’s always the same things.

“The brothers are so horrible and abusive-”

Great, so don’t watch the show.

“The love triangle is so cringe and Donnie is a creepy stalker-”

Great, so don’t watch the show.

“Splinter is literally The Worst example of Splinters in any iteration-”

Great, so don’t watch the show.

“Leo is so boring and stiff Ugh I can’t believe season three exists-”

Great, so don’t watch the-

“Raph is so mean and cruel and he always takes it out on Mikey-”

Great, so don’t watch-

“Mikey is a poor baby who has never done anything wrong and just likes playing around and doesn’t deserve anything that his family ever throws his way and it’s like they aren’t family at all-”

Great, so-

“That isn’t how REAL brothers would act.”

Great.

Just. Great.

Thanks for sharing.

[harrywavycurly]

Ok but I’m going to need Harry calling Niall to tell him about his date/first kiss with miss Southern girlie 👀

Hiii lovey!!! Oh for sureeee we need the deets on how Niall thinks the date went 😂 I hope you enjoy💖

-find all things Southern Comfort here✨

A/N: Harry figures he might as well talk to someone on his walk home so of course that someone is going to be Niall✨

“Decided you needed to see my face during these early morning chats huh?…why you grinning like that mate? You’re freaking me out.” “It’s not even midnight Niall so it’s not early morning and…well I’m walking home from my date-” “oh fuck that’s right your date!….well going on your grin I’d say it went well? Unless you decided to just go full obsessive and kidnapped her and she’s actually in your basement or something?” “You’re truly a disturbed person…yes it went well you twat…she even let me kiss her goodnight.” “Did you ask first? Like a proper gentleman and all that?” “Yes…and honestly I thought she was walking up to her door but she was just trying to be the same height as me so I wouldn’t strain my neck.” “She sounds too good for you mate…honestly what’ve you done to trick her into agreeing to date your lanky ass?” “I haven’t tricked her you into anything you ass.” “Whatever…so what did you end up bringing her instead of flowers?” “I uhm made her…a mix cd…she liked it a lot and was very surprised I went through the effort to do that for her.” “A mix cd? Jesus H that’s like…proper boyfriend shit…what even songs did you put on it? Don’t tell me you just loaded it up with yourself…” “I mean it has the band on there…and yes you annoying little hobbit I’m on there but so are just some random artists I think she’d like.” “Okay so you made her a cd…then what did you do?” “I took her to dinner at a nice little Italian spot and then we went to this new wine bar that just opened and…after we just walked around downtown.” “You two and your bloody walks I swear…always fucking walking.” “We enjoy a good stroll okay? Just because you have wonky knees doesn’t mean the rest of us do…” “oh piss off you know you like taking walks with her because she lets you hold her hand.” “Oh…she let me touch the top of her thigh at the wine bar.” “What?” “Yeah she was sitting next to me in the booth and I reached over and placed my hand there to…test the waters ya know?” “Yeah…and?” “She didn’t slap it away….she even put her hand on top of it…” “I’d say that with the kiss goodnight is some serious progress…I’m happy for you Harry.” “Thanks….I really…really…like her.” “I know ya do…when do I get to meet her? Only seems fitting that she meets your absolute bestfriend on the entire planet now that you’ve got the first date out the way.” “Oh she’s meeting Jeff next week…he invited us to lunch.” “Oh fuck right off Harry you know damn well I’m above Jeffery on the friends hierarchy okay? Who is it you call about her every fucking time you have an update? Me…not him…me so get your head outta your ass and set up a time for me to meet her you wanker.” “You can’t have that kind of potty mouth around her Niall.” “I know how to behave myself around new people don’t worry.” “Oh I’m worried…you worry me.” “Yeah? Same goes for you… but at least I know the difference between salt and sugar.” “Why do you say such rude things to me when I’m on such a high?” “Sorry…but really I want to meet her…and I’m happy for you man…you deserve this.” “I’ll see when she’s free and get back to you…thanks Niall that means a lot.” “Now I gotta go…but keep me posted on how things are going…and please for the love of god Harry stop calling or FaceTiming me late at night you’re starting to fuck with my sleep schedule.” “I’ll keep you posted…sorry it’s just I like to call you while it’s all fresh in my brain that’s all…but I’ll do my best…now go get some sleep you look bloody awful.” “Love you too ya wank.”

[zanykingmentality]

do you want to be with somebody like me | leon kennedy x reader

SUMMARY: you've lost your friend at the bar. TAGS: alcohol, profanity / explicit language, first meetings, some humor, meet-cute, unresolved romantic tension, hints at depression LENGTH: 3.6k

[AO3]

Someone is singing awful karaoke. Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, he’s singing, way off-tempo, and he doesn’t know any of the rest of the words, even though every few lines he insists he has the song memorized. Your friend is off somewhere, doing something—you thought she was getting another drink, but when you’d followed her through the crowd she was nowhere to be found. 

So now you’re camped at the bar, running your fingers over the sticky wood of the bartop, unsure if you should get another drink or keep looking. You decide the best course of action is to stay in one place, so your friend can find you, and hope she didn’t also think the same thing. 

The bartender in front of you’s got his lips twisted into a frown. He’s watching the guy on the tiny stage at the front of the room, belting notes that are nowhere near the real ones. You imagine this is his favorite song, and he’s livid to hear such a blasphemous rendition of it. The crowd is going wild. You—well, you would also be going wild, if you could find your slippery friend, because at your core you love deeply terrible things. Instead, you turn to watch while still leaning on your elbows over the bar, taking up space that people are clamoring to get into. Because you’re a nuisance like that. 

A man sits at the bar next to you, and he runs a hand down his face. He’s nursing something on the rocks, in one of those nice glasses you always see mafia bosses drinking from on TV. It looks like crystal, even though it can’t be, because this isn’t one of those upscale bars that would shell out for nice glasses. He glances over at you and your eyes meet. On a whim, you mouth along to the song, This will be the day that I die. 

The line repeats, and he mouths it back. 

The guy on stage is falling over the mic, tripping over the friends crowded around him. It’s probably his birthday. He’s probably drunk out of his mind and hoping to get lucky tonight. You scan the crowd for your friend and can’t find her, again. 

The guy in front of you follows your gaze and puts a fist to his mouth. He leans toward you. 

“You a fan of this kind of stuff?” he asks you. 

“No,” you answer immediately. You press your fingers to your mouth, wiping away the hint of a smile that had been there. God. You love bad singing. 

You do not, however, love losing your friend in a karaoke bar full of drunk twenty-somethings with no impulse control. As a sort-of drunk twenty-something yourself, you’re all too familiar with the way your brains will latch onto anything. Your friend can handle herself, sure, but can you? 

“Looking for someone?” the guy asks again. 

“Yeah,” you say, and you have to lean in to be heard over the horrendous singing. How fucking long is this song? “My friend. You seen her?” 

“Probably not,” he says. “I’ve been right here.” 

“She’s like this tall, and she’s wearing all blue. Dark hair. You haven’t seen her?” 

“No,” the guy says, “but I’ll help you look, if you want.” 

You’ve half a mind to slam your head against the bartop, but you do not do that—in part because getting kicked out would greatly lower your chances of finding your friend, and would otherwise be totally humiliating. Nice of this guy to offer to help—in your experience, most guys would implore you to stay here. Which is a slippery slope to come back home with me, a guy you don’t know at all, and you are not really interested in getting murdered tonight. Point being that—at least this guy is asking to help. At least that’s something new. 

“That’s okay,” you say, because as much as you may want to, you do not believe the best in people. 

The guy gets up from his seat. It is immediately filled behind him. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Might be easier to find her from my vantage point.” 

…He is taller than you, you suppose. You scowl, but you don’t really mean it. 

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks.” 

The guy stretches a hand out to you. “I’m Leon.” 

You give him your name in return with a shake. Like you’re business partners, not two random people meeting in a club. 

The two of you push through the crowd. The guy on the stage is finally wrapping up his butchered version of “American Pie,” which you are exceptionally excited for. No act can top his, you think. You will forever be in search of something as terrible as his pitchy, off-tune rendition of a classic song. Leon cranes his neck, looking for your friend, and you’re forced to watch the muscles in his chest contract and expand as he breathes. Must he wear a shirt so tight? Goddamn. Not that you’re checking him out or anything. 

He leans down to breathe into your ear, “I don’t see her.” 

You try, very hard, not to shiver. Weird. 

Like, you can admit to yourself that he’s attractive, even in the dim lighting. You have eyes. But you also don’t know him, which means you should very much be on your guard. You keep reminding yourself of that, and yet… 

There’s this look in his eye that makes you want to believe in him. You hate that. You hate when people are good, and nice, and kind—it’s so much harder to find people like that. They make you want. They make you hope. 

“Damn,” you say. The two of you make your way to the back wall. You almost get swept away by the crowd as they part for the end of the song, and the guy on the stage is bowing and screaming something about college football. Someone shoves into your space, and Leon holds his arm out in front of you to push them away. 

“Oh, wait,” Leon says, and he squints into the opposite corner of the bar. “Is that her?” 

You stand on your tiptoes to peer over the crowd, but you can barely see. You make out a flash of blue in the corner booth, and you say, “Maybe?” 

Leon leans down, and you repeat yourself. He’s very close. 

You can not be falling in love with strangers again. 

The crowd does not move for the two of you, but someone else gets up on stage—they’re singing a Kelly Clarkson song, and you wish them luck for all the belting parts. You and Leon shove through to the opposite corner of the room, where—lo and behold—your friend is leaning toward some guy sitting in the booth next to her, a guy you think you recognize, vaguely, from somewhere. 

“Elsie!” You grip your friend’s shoulder in a vice-like grip. She whirls around to look at you, and says your name with a brilliant smile. 

“Hey!” She puts her hand over yours and turns back to the guy in front of you. “You remember Daniel!” 

No, you do not remember Daniel. 

“Oh, yeah,” Daniel says. “We met at the racquet club.” 

You do not go to the fucking racquet club. Who do you look like? Someone who can afford membership to the racquet club? 

“The time I brought you with me,” your friend tries to remind you, nudging your side. You feel like you’re going insane. You have never been to the racquet club. 

“I remember seeing you guys and thinking I had to talk to you,” Daniel says, staring at your friend. She avoids his gaze. 

“Who’s that?” Elsie asks, nodding at Leon. 

“Oh.” You turn back to Leon. “Thanks for helping me, Leon.” 

He nods, his eyes never straying from Elsie and Daniel. Like he’s sizing them up or something. Assessing threat levels. Elsie pulls your arm, forcing your head down next to hers, and whisper-yells way too loud in your ear, “He’s hot.” 

You know. 

Elsie scoots over on the booth and pats the now-open seat next to her. “Leon, why don’t you sit?” 

“Elsie,” you hiss. She meets your gaze with fake-innocence. Leon looks at you, then Elsie and Daniel, then you again, like he’s confused. He swallows; you watch the movement of his throat. The music is too loud, and the singing is just mediocre—not bad enough to be good. And it’s too hot. The press of bodies and sweat and alcohol closes in around you. 

If Leon sits, there will be no space in the booth for you. At the other table, this really old guy in full safari gear sits and stares at the floor. You don’t think he’s moved in hours, maybe years. Daniel has an unreadable expression on his face. Lights dance across your faces. A spike of irritation at your friend stabs through your stomach. 

“No, thanks,” Leon says. You look at him sidelong. He’s looking at you. 

Elsie frowns for a moment, then decides, “We need more drinks!” She hauls Daniel to his feet. To you, she says, “Hey, so you’ll be okay on your own, yeah?” 

You look between her and Daniel. “No, not really,” you say. 

“I’ll meet back up with you outside later,” Elsie says. “Let’s go!” 

“Wait—” you start to say, but she and Daniel have disappeared into the crowd. The Kelly Clarkson song is over, and the DJ’s put on some weird EDM abomination you can’t imagine anyone dancing, drinking, or talking to. 

You look at Leon again, and he cocks his head. 

“Sorry about that,” you say. “I guess I’ll just… head outside.” 

“Want company?” he asks. At first, you don’t hear him, so you get on tiptoe to get closer to his mouth. He repeats himself. 

“Sure,” you say. Because why not. You can only stomach so much betrayal in one day, the dramatic in you decrees. Why not. 

Leon follows you out through the entrance, onto the balcony. The bar is situated on the second floor—the first floor, coincidentally, is dedicated to some other bar that you’ve never heard of. To be fair, you hadn’t heard of this one before either, before Elsie had called this afternoon and told you she needs to get drunk and make out with a stranger tonight. You suppose this is not an uncommon feeling for her, if the amount of times she’s complained to you about her experiences with men are anything to go on. 

You rest your elbows on the railing of the balcony. It’s made of black metal; in the dark, it looks like there’s nothing under you. Leon stands next to you, mirroring your stance. 

It’s not that high up at all, but the cool night breeze paired with the near-midnight sky makes you feel like you’re a speck in a much larger city than this, like you’re just one of many people escaping to a balcony from a crowded room. Through the open door, you hear the music shift abruptly to “Mamma Mia” by ABBA. You watch Leon nod along to the beat, and sudden affection thrums under your skin. That small movement is enough, you think, to get a read on him. 

Because at first glance, Leon looks like someone you’d be scared of. He’s got a permanent scowl and furrowed eyebrows and a chiseled jaw, which is already a recipe for intimidation. It’s hard to tell if the reason your heart is pounding is because of fear or attraction. So the image of him—this handsome, dangerous stranger—bopping along to ABBA’s Swedish pop is so terribly cute that you can’t help but love him. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Your eyes trace the curve of his jaw before you pointedly look away. 

“What?”

You should say something. Shouldn’t you? Make friendly conversation. He’s keeping you company, after all, when you would otherwise be staring at the sky feeling sorry for yourself. 

“Tell me about you, Leon,” you say. 

“There’s nothing interesting.” 

You hum in acknowledgement. “Wow. So secretive.” 

“There’s just not much to say about me.” 

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” 

Leon scowls. He looks like a pouting puppy. 

So, rather than prying further, you start talking. It’s not something you have a lot of experience with, just rambling without end. You talk about a clue in the New York Times crossword that you hated. You tell him about how you met Elsie, and how you have never belonged anywhere, not once. About the time in college when you stayed up all night to watch the sunrise and how maybe that’s why you keep living. 

He looks at you when you say that, a strange understanding in his eyes. Like someone who’s seen the sunrise for the first time and gets it now, too. You want to squish his cheeks between your palms. 

“You,” he says, “have a lot of thoughts.” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I guess.” 

You wonder what goes on behind those eyes. What kinds of things does Leon think about? What does he do for fun? You’re so curious, but you can’t ask—he’s drawn a line, and as much as you want to, you can’t cross it. 

“You’re shivering,” Leon says. 

Huh. You are.

Leon’s jacket falls around your shoulders before you can insist you don’t need it. Once you have it, you don’t want to let it go. It’s a nice damn jacket, with fur lining and big pockets. You hold it close around yourself. 

“Thanks,” you say. Guilt pricks at you—now he’ll be cold.

Like he can read your mind, Leon says, “I run warm.”

This, somehow, is surprising to you. But also, it’s not. You suppose you hadn’t thought about it—not that you’d had time to. You’d only met him thirty minutes ago. 

“So, Leon,” you say, “what brings you to the bar tonight?” 

“A drink,” he says simply. 

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “You know, that’s a surprisingly rare answer.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Most people I know go out to party, or to get laid.” 

“Oh. Well.” He doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. You wouldn’t either, if you were him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You suppose the people you know are the worst kinds of bar-goers. The kind who never know where to stop. A beat later, he says, “Is that why you’re here?” 

You forgot that you count as people too. “No,” you say. “I was here playing wingman for Elsie. My friend. Supposedly.” 

“Supposedly,” he echoes. 

You watch him, then, the way his lips are set together and his jaw isn’t clenched, per se, but hardened, the lines of it stark. The way his gaze darts to you when he notices you staring, then quickly away. He’s sizing you up still. Trying to figure you out. There’s an insurmountable wall of unfamiliarity that neither of you seem properly equipped to traverse. 

“I wasn’t very good at it,” you say. “Playing wingman. If that wasn’t obvious.” 

“It was pretty obvious,” Leon says. “So you’re anti-social, and you like crosswords. What else?” 

Your face feels warm, right up to the tips of your ears. You chalk this up to the extra blood flowing to the parts that need desperately to stay warm, even though it’s not that cold out. He says it all huskily, like he’s confiding a secret in you. Like you are his hidden-away gem. He’s got big hands, you notice. 

There’s not much else to say, you suppose, but you search anyway. You tell him about the things you like, the little doodles at the corners of your planner, the keychains dangling from your bag. The places you’ve lived. He listens like he’s never heard anything more interesting, hooded eyes and the beginnings of a smile pulling at his lips. 

He doesn’t seem the type to smile often. You’re not sure what you did to make it happen, but you want to do it again. You want to see a real smile. 

“You have a nice voice,” he says suddenly. You flush. Is he trying to make you explode? Spontaneous combustion isn’t off the table here. 

“You do too,” you say, unsteady. 

He laughs at that—you think. It’s barely there, a quick exhale and a rumble in his chest you can’t really hear. “I didn’t think I did.” 

“Well, you do,” you say, and because you are an embarrassment to your family name, you add, “Plus, you’re attractive.” 

Leon’s eyes widen minutely. He opens his mouth to say something. Nothing comes out. 

“Sorry.”

“No,” he manages. “That’s okay.” He presses a palm over the bottom half of his face, obscuring his mouth, fingers splayed across his cheek. He’s flustered. He’s flustered. What the fuck did you do to him? You broke him. 

You grip the railing of the balcony and try not to feel so many types of ways. 

“I’m, uh,” Leon starts again, then stops. He swallows, and you watch the hunted-animal movement of his throat. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Oh,” you say. He’s glad? Okay. That’s new. You clasp your hands, let go, re-clasp them. You think about his big hands. What do you say to that? “Well. I’m glad.”

Leon seems to be satisfied with this answer. He tilts his head back and looks up to the sky, the starless expanse above saturated with light pollution. His chest expands with a deep breath in. You’re tempted to press your palm to the center of his chest, just to feel the movement. God, how dare he be attractive.

“I haven’t been relaxed like this in a long time,” he says. You shiver. “What, still cold?” 

“No,” you reply, “your jacket is really warm.” 

“Would be warmer if you used the sleeves.” 

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” 

“And if I do?” 

You blink at him. “If you do?” 

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

This, somehow, delights you. He’s got jokes. You’ve got banter. It’s the closest you’ve felt to another person in a long time. You think of Elsie, probably sucking face in the bar proper, and you’re reminded that it’s okay not to want that—to want this, instead, learned easiness—or something like that. Maybe you’re just being hypocritical. After all, you don’t really know Leon. 

But that’s okay too, isn’t it? 

You’re not really making sense. 

“Not much for me to do about that,” you say. 

“You could laugh.” 

You let out a half-hearted, obviously fake laugh. 

“Ouch.” 

“Oh, did that hurt?” 

“So much. I’m wounded.” 

“Get better jokes, then. I’m waiting.” 

Leon’s face scrunches up in thought, like he’s shuffling through joke ideas in his head and not liking any of them. “You can’t put me on the spot like that.” 

“Mm. Sounds like an excuse.” 

“Hey.” 

You’re about to say something else—something you hadn’t thought through, as always, but that you hope was funny enough—when Elsie stumbles out of the bar. Her heels clang against the metal of the balcony. You and Leon both turn to look: her lipstick’s smeared across her mouth and her eyeliner is smudged. 

“Didn’t go well?” you ask. 

She greets you with a cheeky grin, at odds with the state of her. “It was fucking fantastic,” she says. “I’ll never see him again.” 

“Let’s hope not,” you quip. “Daniel's a good kisser? He goes to the fucking racquet club.” 

“It’s a perfectly nice place to hang out.” 

You make a face. 

“I’m being serious. And anyway, I didn’t kiss Daniel.” 

Elsie wobbles over to stand next to you at the railing. Leon tenses minutely. 

“Who then?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. Some guy. Don’t remember his name.” 

“Sure. Fair enough,” you say. Elsie leans her head on your shoulder. “Think it’s time we go home.”  

“Ugh. I don’t want to.” 

“And yet, you came out here anyway.” You wind your arm around Elsie, who is a disaster in very different ways than you, but you’re all she’s got and vice versa. Leon’s jacket shifts around you, and you clutch it to you with your other hand. “We should get going.” 

“Fiiine,” Elsie whines. 

You release her and shrug Leon’s jacket off. Immediately, your arms erupt in gooseflesh, missing its warmth. It takes all of your willpower to hold it out to him. “Thanks for keeping me company, Leon.” 

“Sure,” he says. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open. “You got a pen?” 

“For what?” You pat down your nonexistent pockets. You do not have a pen. 

“Oh, found one.” He scribbles something on the back of a receipt, then takes his jacket from you. You blink and he’s swinging it back over your shoulders. Elsie retches behind you. 

“What—” 

“Keep it,” Leon says, “until we see each other again.” 

“Huh—” 

He takes the receipt and gently pushes it into the chest pocket of the jacket. “Get home safe.” 

“Leon—” He’s already left, retreating back into the bar with a little skip in his step. 

How rude of him to keep interrupting you. You wind your arms through the sleeves and are immensely, all-consumingly grateful. 

“Home,” Elsie says. 

“Geez, you’re so impatient.” 

When you get home, you tuck Elsie into your bed and lay out a blanket on the couch for yourself. It’s then that you take the receipt out from the pocket of Leon’s jacket. It’s all crumpled up, and from a few months ago—a purchase of ABBA vinyls. This makes you smile. 

On the other side, Leon’s scribbled his number, his name, and a Call me in cursive. Cursive. You’re obsessed. 

You fall asleep, clutching the receipt in your fist, “American Pie” echoing in your head.