#the effort is gonna be much less for me though because I already have a list of all songs and got pictures I could use for them

[cannibalspicnic]

I've been wanting to organize my thoughts and theories about the trial, so I'm gonna try writing through them here. Honestly, one of my favorite things about this show so far is the endless potential for speculation so, here it goes....

I think the trial itself was mostly Santiago's idea, and it was the perfect power grab for him.

Lestat's presence at the trial, however, I think is pretty much entirely Armand's doing and the main reason Armand involved himself as deeply as he did.

Santiago didn't know Lestat, didn't seem to particularly appreciate Lestat's presence at the trial, and moreover, didn't need Lestat at the trial. As Claudia pointed out, it was never really a trial. It was a stoning. Execution was the foregone conclusion, and the trial was just a piece of theater. All he really needed were Claudia's diaries and maybe Sam's more poetic extrapolations. The "jury" had no idea what was happening anyway and were just doing call and response.

But Armand's got this whole love/hate obsession with Lestat, and I think the hate and resentment part of that obsession gives cause for Armand to want Lestat to be forced to witness in person the execution of his family. As far as the love part of the obsession, I think Armand hopes that once Lestat is left alone, he'll have no choice but to stay with Armand. Possibly there's a part of Armand that genuinely wants Lestat to see him as his avenger.

I do not believe Lestat was there willingly. I think, like in the books, he was imprisoned and starved to keep him weak, but he wasn't as completely incapacitated as he was in the books. Lestat agreed to read the lines and rehearse etc. because if he hadn't, they wouldn't have let him participate in the trial at all, and the trial was Lestat's only chance to even SEE Louis and Claudia, much less try to save either of them.

And once the trial starts, Lestat repeatedly tries to undermine it, but he's still walking a fine line because if he fucks with the coven too much, he might be removed and lose any chance he has to affect the outcome. I think we also might find out that he tried and failed a few other ways to save Louis AND Claudia.

Which brings me to the question of Lestat and Claudia. I do not believe Lestat ever wanted Claudia dead, though it's understandable to believe differently from what we've seen in the show so far. I do think we're going to find out that Lestat made one last ditch effort to save Claudia after Louis was dragged offstage, even if it was only to plead with Armand for her life. Armand's being the only version of that moment feels too juicy to not come back to it. That being said, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that Lestat prioritized saving Louis first, and that's one of the things that continues to haunt him after the trial about Claudia's death. Especially after all she says about it never being about her.

What I find really interesting is that when Louis is recounting the trial, he repeatedly insists that Lestat was there for revenge and that he believes Lestat helped orchestrate it. But in the flashbacks from Louis' memories, we also see Lestat is not having a good time and is somehow weakened, that something is not quite right with him.

It's one of my favorite examples of Louis reaching for the truth he knows is inside of him, inside his memories. That's why the revelation that Armand had directed the play and Lestat had saved him made such a huge impact. Those were the missing pieces of the puzzle, and they are what led him to recontextualize everything he already knew. Namely, if Lestat had saved him, he was never there for revenge. And his genuine contrition about the drop, his attempt to take some of the responsibility for Claudia's making, his unsteady and unhappy demeanor...they make sense because Louis realizes that Lestat was a prisoner during the trial, not Armand. I don't think Louis would have ever gone to find Lestat if he truly still believed that he organized Claudia's death or even agreed to it.

So back to Armand. I do actually think that Armand loved Louis. I've said before, when it comes to Armand, it's best to let go of reason and embrace the gremlin to understand his actions. I do think some of Armand's initial interest in Louis is specifically because he is Lestat's fledgling, but he did come to love Louis himself. And I think Louis came to love him. I know this is not a popular opinion, but hear me out.

First of all, I think Armand never let go of the idea that he was going to have to kill Louis. I think he always kinda saw his time with Louis as delaying the inevitable. But he did want Louis for himself, and so he kept buying more and more time. So when the coven confronted Armand, it didn't even feel to him like he was betraying Louis, so much as he'd run out of time to keep Louis alive. I think in Armand's mind, he genuinely didn't feel like he could prevent it.

As far as how Louis feels about Armand. I know I've seen people mention that the reason he can tell Armand, "I love you," is that he doesn't mean it. And I agree. I do not think Louis loves Armand during the events of "I Want You More Than Anything in the World." But season 2 takes place over several years, and I think Louis was able to find love for Armand.

However, because I love it when things are really fucked up, I think Louis only really started to let himself feel love for Armand after Armand left the coven for him after Louis turned Madeleine. Which is unfortunate because Armand was obviously lying his ass off about that.

But when we see them at the café, and Madeleine says she can feel Louis' love for Armand, we see a different reaction from Louis than in 2x04. He is more uncomfortable with the idea of it. I don't believe that Madeleine was misreading Louis or actually feeling his love for Lestat. I think Louis is uncomfortable because it is true.

I also think it's the first time Armand actually believes that Louis loves him. And because of that, I think that moment just before the coven descends on the café is the first time he even realizes that he had a choice in all of it. That he could have tried to save Louis.

If I'm right, UGH, so fucked up. I hope I'm right.

Anyway, I've rambled so fucking much. I don't even have a tl;dr because even *I* don't wanna have to read all that to summarize it properly. And I probably forgot some stuff, but let's all just be grateful for that.

Just to reiterate, this is all speculation. I could be very wrong, and I know there's stuff the cast has said that might indicate that I am, but I take stuff like that with a grain of salt, especially in this show.

[k3fanblog]

Given the domination of the original generation in the bracket (rip Mamasé, you will be missed), I was thinking it might be fun to do separate brackets for the other 3 generations, so that those songs also get a chance to shine. These would be much smaller but probably otherwise have a similar form

(I’m gonna need at least 10 people to say yes (or other) before I’ll do that because you can’t draw conclusions based on 3 votes)

[luveline]

Sorry if you’ve done this already, but if you’re taking Spencer Reid requests I would love to see one where his wife is struggling with morning sickness and he takes care of her. He has all the medical facts on deck and is the sweetest. 😊

“Morning sickness is super common.” A hand on your back. “It’s not known what the cause is, but they think it has something to do with low blood sugar.” He rubs your shoulder. Fingers spread, a slow side to side. “Because your hormones are changing rapidly, the body isn’t as efficient in processing your blood sugar.“ 

“Spence,” you say, breathing hard with your face in a toilet bowl, “that doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

“What about if I told you that it’s worse with twins?” 

It’s interesting.

You’re not having the most exciting of pregnancies. Some people get pregnant and feel that connection to the baby instantly, their foetus the size of a strawberry and somehow a whole world. 

So far yours just makes you sick. “I think there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Probably not.” 

Spencer hoists you back from the bowl. He clambers off of his knees to close the lid, flush, and turn to the sink where he washes his hands. You put a hand on the lid, not so sure you’re finished throwing up, but Spencer tends to know. He’s a good guess. 

“Here, dove,” he says softly, offering a face towel wet with warm water. 

He tried to wipe your face down himself last time and you couldn’t hide how much you didn’t want him to do that. He’s kind, and the gesture is sweet, but you’re feeling less human than ever lately. An in depth analysis of your face isn’t in the books for him. 

You hold the towel in both hands and drop your head. 

“Let me help you up.” 

“I’m gonna just live here, actually.”

“I don’t think so. You’re too cute to live on the floor,” Spencer says, not even slightly ironic, “you have to live in bed like every other adorable woman.” 

“I don’t feel adorable.” 

“You wouldn’t. Your organs are moving and your skin is stretching, and the valves in your veins are becoming fatigued.” 

“Awesome.” 

Spencer holds both arms out to you and helps you stand. Your head pulses, forcing you to rest your head against Spencer’s arm for a few seconds while you come around properly. 

“You’ve never been this beautiful, though,” Spencer says softly, “you really do glow.” 

“Thanks,” you say, your laugh muffled in his shirt. 

“It’s because your blood flow has increased all over your body. Maybe. It’s probably just because you’re you and you’re having our baby and…” Spencer lets his head drop gently atop your own. “You know. You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Even when I’m sick as a dog?” you ask. 

“At all times… you know what I said earlier, about your blood flow? You know what else that causes?” 

You bring your arms up to curl them protectively behind his neck. He takes your waist. “What?” you ask his neck. 

“Your heart doubles in size.” 

“That happened when I met you.” 

“I think being pregnant has made you flirt more,” Spencer says fondly. 

“Nope. Just a side effect of all these certified Reid facts.” You know what he’s doing, distracting you from your nausea with other things. It’s working slowly, and you appreciate the effort. You might not feel a big connection yet to your baby, but you never feel alone.  

[realcube]

— SAIKI RELATIONSHIP HCS

☆ very hesitant to hug you/hold hands bc he is afraid he might shatter all your bones. prefers kisses, less can go wrong

☆ except that one time he kissed you and was so flustered that a whole galaxy exploded

☆ but it was one of those really distant, useless ones so he moved on

☆ or that time you held his hand and he literally started levitating ??

☆ finishes exams in two seconds then spends the rest of the time annoying you

'i don't mean to disturb you but i noticed you put the wrong answer for question four' 'get out of my head!'

☆ i already wrote a drabble about this but he morphs into different objects to 'prank' you

☆ you always want him to shrink bc what's the point of having a psychic bf if you can't carry him around on your person like a polly pocket

☆ he's very apprehensive about it, however one day he finally agrees to it because you have a shift at work and you really wanted him to join you but it would be weird if he just showed up to your place of work unannounced so he shrunk and you carried him around in your back pocket

☆ that is until you almost sat on him!! and when he dived out to avoid being crushed, he fell onto the sticky work floor covered in dust

☆ still hasn't fully recovered 😿

☆ omg if you are insecure about a physical feature of yours , instead of using his powers to change you, he will use his mind control on the entire world so that your insecurity is now the beauty standard (similar to what he did with his hair)

☆ he doesn't use mind control on you though bc it's rude

☆ in fact he tries to avoid using his powers on you all together bc it would only cause trouble (with the exception of telepathy bc he likes to speak to you.. unlike he does with most people)

☆ and he's very strict with that ethic of his

☆ which is nice and all, and really easy until he does something super embarrassing in front of you

☆ like you see him scream at a cockroach or smth

☆ and he is SO tempted to use memory alteration on you so you could just forget that ever happened

☆ but he just can't bring himself to do it

☆ OR when your birthday was before his so he got you a present but didn't do that much else, but when it was time for his birthday and you went all out, he so wanted to either go back in time and do better or just alter your memory so you think he went all out too

☆ oh and passive aggression doesn't work on him ofc

☆ if you are ever mad or upset at him for whatever reason, you can't be like 'hmph i'm not gonna tell you what you did wrong, you just have to know :<' bc he can.. y'know.. read your mind

☆ and he also knows exactly what to do to make you feel better and forgive him, every single time

☆ plus you can never stay mad at him for long anyway bc he's just too cute!!

☆ too shy to admit that he wants to spend more time with you so he will use his powers as some sort of excuse

as you're about to leave saiki's room, he lies, 'wait. don't go. i have had a precognition that something terrible is going to happen to you if you do.' 'really?' you raise an eyebrow. 'and what might that be?' he wasn't really ready for any follow up questions so he stutters and thinks of the scariest scenario he can 'toritsuka.' ... 'toritsuka is going to do what? jump me?' 'no. just toritsuka.'

☆ for your birthday or anniversary he does something you call the 'saiki special' where he duplicates himself to give you a full body massage

☆ it's what dreams are made of !!!

☆ but yeah it's a lot of effort so he saves it for special occasions

☆ he would so love to watch trashy reality tv shows with you

☆ but he so uses it against you

☆ like if you are ever studying and are like 'why am i working so hard when you are psychic and can literally set us up for the easy life 😫'

☆ he'll be like.. you know who else never worked hard a day in they're life.. the kardashians!! do you really want to end up like that??

☆ and when you say yes this is the face he makes 😐

☆ dw though bc as i said before he will be in your head during exams so he can help you a little

☆ his love language is actually spoonfeeding you food and desserts

☆ and yes he actually uses his hands opposed to his mind to control the spoon, just to show you that being a psychic doesn't mean he gets to cut corners!

[retroaria]

boyfriend rin headcannon queen?

a/n: holy shit how have i gone this long without making rin bf headcanons??? thank you anon im gonna give you a kith 💋

˚｡⋆❀˖° BOYFRIEND RIN ˚｡⋆❀˖°

❀ Itoshi Rin x gn!reader | all characters aged up 18+ | SFW

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | requests are open! | enjoy 🐢 -aria

pre-boyfriend!rin who is much less intimidated by his feelings for you than people may expect. he understands how he feels and he accepts it, but no way in hell is he telling you about them. he tries to push them down as far as he can for as long as he can. doesn’t want the distraction and is a little insecure about how he’ll be as a boyfriend.

pre-boyfriend!rin who goes out of his way to introduce himself to you, help you out with stuff, get things for you that you need, but not without complaining (as if he isn’t giddy at the thought of just being around you). “Seriously, you can’t do this on your own? If you’re going to hurt yourself doing it then just let me handle it.”

pre-boyfriend!rin who gets jealous and possessive as if you’re already his partner. tries to get your attention on him instead of others without showing how he’s feeling. always makes it a little too obvious though, especially when he literally grabs your arm and pulls you away. “That guy’s a loser, just stay with me and he won’t bother you.”

pre-boyfriend!rin who invites you to hang out just to sit and talk in his room, invites you to his games and practices, gets defensive about introducing you to his teammates, and proceeds to act as if all that isn’t couple level interaction. rin finds solace in the thin line he walks between acting like you best friend and acting like your boyfriend. he likes the way he gets to act in regards to you without actually having to explain himself or his feelings. however, the thought that you aren’t actually his and could be taken from him at any time is enough to push him past his comfort zone and lead to his confession.

pre-boyfriend!rin who lets his feelings build up to an unbearable point and only then does he confess to you. his confession comes off a little passive aggressive. he isn’t sure how to explain how he feels without saying that you did this to him or you did that to him and he had no other choice but to fall in love with you. he unintentionally rambles on during his confession, drawing it out a bit too much because he isn’t sure when to stop, and he could honestly go on forever about how much and how deeply he feels for you. slowly but surely his tone becomes more affectionate and he shuts up in a moment of embarrassment awaiting your response.

boyfriend!rin who so quickly loses the tough guy act once you guys start dating. the beginning stages of physical touch and intimacy hit him like a semi truck and he can’t help but melt into a puddle any time he gets to be in your arms. he slugs over to you after practice and games, still sweaty and heaving, and plops himself over your shoulders. tries his best not to put all his weight on you but just enough for him to feel cradled. he swears laying in bed with you is some kind of mind control ritual that you perform on him because how else could you get him to so easily open up and share a piece of his mind with you? the stillness of the night, the softness of the sheets, the comforter, and your skin against his; it makes him feel so safe he doesn’t even let the words that come out of his mouth process in his brain first.

boyfriend!rin who takes you on very sweet and simple dates. likes sitting by the water with you, walking along the beach or at the park. he likes aimlessly kicking a soccer ball around with you in his backyard while you guys talk. dates with him feel more like hangouts, but sometimes he does like to put in a little extra effort to make it something special.

boyfriend!rin who has absolutely no wandering eye or intentions of being with anyone else. remember how difficult it was for him to just be with you? nah, no way is he doing that again. plus he’s got the best partner in the world so it’s not like he would ever want to risk that. because of this he would let you have a lot of say in his appearance. his haircuts, his clothes, even the body wash and cologne he wears. obviously he still wouldn’t let you choose something that he doesn’t like, but he wants you to like all of it too and he doesn’t mind catering to your preferences on him. you’re the only person he’s trying to impress and he wants you to feel confident about that.

boyfriend!rin who secretly wants everyone to know you’re his but also doesn’t want to make a spectacle out of you. he tells his teammates about you, occasionally will post about you, and he comments on all your posts. I can’t imagine him doing a hard launch, but he’s not afraid to mention in interviews or in conversation that he is in fact taken and in love.

boyfriend!rin who greatly appreciates the advice and support that you give him. he’s got some issues he needs to work through, and he feels so lucky to have you by his side. not judging him or scolding him for acting the way he does, but instead teaching him love in new ways and guiding him towards better understanding of others and behavior. he really starts taking things more seriously when you’re around, specifically in regards to separating his attitude on the field and off the field. he holds you like water in his hands and he wants that to help him learn how to show others and himself that same tenderness when necessary.

boyfriend!rin who is very possessive but not over protective. he lets you go out and dress up and look hot for the whole world to see. he trusts you with his whole heart and the idea of someone trying to hit on you while he isn’t there doesn’t scare him. he does hate when people hit on you while he is there though, it makes his blood boil. he goes into predator mode and literally forces you to cling to him like you’re his cub. he’s definitely the type to fight with other guys in your instagram comment section, would stop after you tell him that it’s kind of embarrassing though lol. god forbid someone from a rival team makes a comment after seeing you at one of his games, he’s literally devouring them on the pitch and then probably trying to beat the shit out of them after.

boyfriend!rin who purposely puts things on the highest shelves in your shared apartment so that you have no other choice but to ask him for help. he reaches up and grabs whatever you need, handing it to you with the stupidest smirk on his face.

boyfriend!rin who always needs to have some point of contact with you when you’re together. he isn’t big on pda at all and would cringe if you tried to be excessive about it, but he will admit he just needs your hand in his almost all of the time. if not that then he’ll opt for placing his hand on your lower back or on your thigh.

boyfriend!rin who is so whipped that he looks through your socials and his personal pictures of you multiple times a day when he’s away for games. he genuinely gets homesick for you and hates the feeling. calls you when he wakes up in the mornings and before he goes to bed at night, and of course is texting you throughout the day. he’s not a gimmicky guy but he loves getting you little souvenirs from the different countries he visits. his gifts are always tasteful and he knows what you like so don’t worry.

boyfriend!rin who is the best gift giver! he’s so doting and attentive that he knows you like the back of his hand and never fails to surprise you with items, trips, events, etc. that you absolutely love.

boyfriend!rin who is super freaking awesome and cute and im only writing this bc i feel weird ending the post on something random lol. all hail rin itoshi. the rin stans have convinced me!!

LOOOOORD forgive me i know it’s been like a week since my last official post but im a working woman, a single mom who works two jobs who loves her kids and never stops with gentle hands and the heart of a fighter im a survivor bro yall wouldn’t understand. anyways im trying to get back on my regular posting schedule bc i have so many requests to fulfill so stay tuned aria nation - peace out ✌️

[maidflowery]

Pinky Promise

Jiaoqiu x Reader

You have a bad day and Jiaoqiu is there for you. But unbeknownst to you...

An extremely shitty day.

That was the only way to describe it.

Where absolutely nothing went right. When you thought it couldn't get worse, but it did.

But at least now by leaning against the table, faceplanting it, you could forget your anger, sorrow, frustration, even if just a moment.

How you wish you could just disappear.

Just then, you heard the door opening gently.

"You forgot to lock the front door again."

A smooth, silvery voice rang.

You didn't bother to look up. You already knew who that was. Besides, he had sent you a chat informing his visit beforehand.

Just then, you caught a whiff of a sweet-smelling fragrance...

...Chocolate?

You peeked through the gap in your arms.

True enough, the pink Foxian stood there, with a porcelain cup in his hand. He was your neighbor.

You found him buried in the snow, injured, but that was a story for another time. After you saved him, he moved in next door, and even gave you his key.

Ever since you learned how much of a good cook he was, you'd pester him to cook for you. As such, you didn't really mind that he invited himself into your room.

Jiaoqiu was smiling, but when he noticed your gaze, he leaned in slightly.

"Well, despite my advice, it seems that someone went ahead and pulled an all-nighter anyway."

His kind tone bore soft admonishment.

Your puffy red eyes must've been a dead giveaway. Yeah, you weren't only sad, but tired.

Under normal circumstances, you'd have countered it with, 'Whachu gonna do about it, Doc? Feed me chillies?'

By the way, he was actually a doctor. He'd often give you health advice, which sometimes went ignored.

"...There was an important presentation today." You could only muster a weak reply.

"You've mentioned. How did it go?"

"...Well, I-I did my best, but..."

"Well done."

"...But I messed up. I couldn't answer the professor's questions, and he threatened to fail me. I'll have to make up for it by doing a bunch of assignments later..."

Even though some passed it for so much less. All that effort, down the drain because the professor felt like giving you hell today. But it is what it is.

"...Well done."

Was it just your feeling, or did his voice sound softer...?

And no, it wasn't sarcasm. You knew he was far too kind for that.

You finally looked up.

"!"

Jiaoqiu's gentle smile was unchanging as always, without a shred of disappointment.

"I'm sorry to hear about the unsatisfactory result. But I know how hard you worked for it. So, well done."

The smile of someone who never stopped believing you.

Suddenly, something hot trickled down your cheek. Realizing what it was, you immediately buried your face in your arms.

"W-what about you? You never told me why you were visiting!"

"I tried my hands at making something."

Clink.

You could hear the sound of a cup being placed down on the table, right in front of you.

"This is..."

Almost immediately, you were tantalized by the rich, sweet fragrance of cocoa, mixed with the bitterness of coffee.

"Ah, the cafe that had a wonderful Creamy Coco Frappuccino shut down... How I wish I can taste it again..."

Once, you had said that in front of him in passing.

Jiaoqiu's culinary expertise was Chinese cuisine, and more often than not, traditional. Most of the time, he didn't recognize the modern and trendy dishes you mentioned. For example, cafes and their stylists drink.

But ever since that day, you found new recipe books strewn around his place. Rather than messy, it just seemed as if someone was trying to pinpoint a certain recipe, no matter how long it took.

Afterward, he'd cook the dishes you mentioned, one after another.

Sometimes, you didn't even remember bringing them up.

Yet, he remembered, kept your words in his heart, and wholeheartedly cooked them for you, one by one.

"I'm experimenting with something."

"I cooked too much. Why don't you have some?"

"I tried my hands at this."

Every time, he'd say such things, probably to not make you feel bad.

This drink was also one of them. The rim of the cup was even coated with hardened chocolate, and sprinkled with rock sugars, like in those cafes.

"Why don't you give it a try?" Jiaoqiu urged you.

Without further ado, you took a sip of the drink.

Creamy rich chocolate, bittersweet coffee, and milky caramel flowed into your mouth, pampering your taste buds. Gradually, your broken heart was being mended.

You placed the half-empty cup down, silently staring at the swirling liquid.

"How is it?" He asked with a hint of anticipation.

"...Jiaoqiu, marry me."

"...!!"

Overflowing with gratitude, happiness, and warmth, those words just spilled out.

Your eyes were getting heavier for some reason.

...Right, you didn't sleep at all last night, re-reading the materials and all.

I'm so sleepy...

As your consciousness faded, you saw Jiaoqiu reaching out toward you.

"Promise me, then."

He presented you his pinky finger.

Under the dazzling sunlight, his pink hair fluttered, reminiscent of fallen cherry blossoms. He gave you a smile just as bright, if not brighter than the sun.

So, how could you resist?

Before you fell asleep, you remembered hooking fingers with him.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・

Jiaoqiu carried the sleeping girl to her room, before tucking her in.

Then, he peered into her face.

"...Jiaoqiu, marry me."

Even as he recalled it, his heart skipped a beat. It was a rare physical phenomenon for him, probably once in a lifetime. Jiaoqiu only recalled experiencing it twice. Just now, and when she nursed him to health back then.

"...Whether you spoke without thinking, sleep talked, or just joked, you've made a promise."

Golden eyes shimmered under the shadow.

"If you go back on your words, I'll chase you until the end of earth."

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・

Extra

After that, with the support, afternoon snacks, and midnight snacks of Jiaoqiu, you managed to finish all the assignments, and passed the class.

But somehow, the professor who ripped you to shreds suffered from severe diarrhea and had to take sick leave for a month.

All's well that ends well?

Sequel:

Good Night, Sweet Dream

[n-agiz]

HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHTㅤ boyfriend! fushiguro toji x fem! reader — smut [ 0.7k+ wc ] cws public sex + risky sex + exhibitionism + creampies + lots of bickering, pls don't take this too seriously bc i didn't either lmao ! MDNI

ㅤtoji's ideas were more often than not odd, but you had to admit that even through his craziness, the man knew how to give you a great time.

you avoided going out with toji as much as you could — not because you were ashamed of your boyfriend in any way, but because he had a chronic lack of common sense.

“toji stop for the love of god! there’s people around” you half whispered half screamed, pushing his built body as far away from you as the cramped cubicle allowed you to. they were designed for one person to stand inside them while trying on clothes, not for two people to be inside, and this was the first time where that fact became painfully obvious in your eyes.

“i don’t believe in god sweetheart, you know that” toji said through a grin, putting way less effort into trying to conceal his voice to a lower tone, especially when compared to you.

“that’s not the point”

“then what is the point?”

“that we can’t fuck with this many people around!”

toji laughed at your attempts to hide your hysteria, watching as you resigned to half shouting instead of letting your voice rise to the volume you would usually allow it to while reprimanding him, all while also having to focus on getting dressed and pushing your boyfriend away any time he tried to touch you.

“it’s more fun that way though, you know i’ve always wanted to fuck with an audience”

“today is not the day we’re gonna do that, i’m sorry to break it to you”

“you sure about that?”

and exactly because your boyfriend was most definitely the incarnation of some demon to at least some degree, not more than a few minutes were necessary before he proved you to be completely wrong.

“look at me and tell me this doesn’t feel good, angel. just try to do that”

your arms burned from holding yourself up with your palms pressed against the wide mirror in front of you, legs shaking and knees buckling all while your eyes grew glossy, their corners burning as you bit harshly into your lower lip, keeping in any moan that attempted to escape.

how toji managed to stay so put together all while making a complete mess out of you was absolutely beyond you — but one thing you were sure of, he was driving you insane all while so effortlessly making you feel as if you had finally found heaven on earth.

“not gonna bicker with me anymore? weird, you’re usually more feisty than this”

“shut the fuck up toji before i slap you and your naked ass out of this dressing room”

“really? i wanna see you try to do that” he replied, fingers digging deeper into where they held at your hips while delivering a particularly hard thrust, grunting lowly against your ear, eyes staying glued to yours through the reflection on the mirror facing you both.

“fuck you”

“you already are!”

toji’s enthusiasm and smirk annoyed you, but at the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully care, the snap of his hips into yours and the pleasure it gave you entirely too entrancing. the drag of his cock in and out of you was heavenly, and the constant reminder that you needed to stay quiet so you wouldn’t get caught was surprisingly arousing, more of your slick gushing out any time you reminded yourself that the only thing separating you two from complete strangers was a thin curtain.

how you managed to stay up long enough to not only reach an orgasm but also be able to feel toji filling you up was something you weren’t sure off — you just knew that by the end of it you were not satisfied like supposed, instead feeling greedier than you were at the beginning.

“aren’t you such a naughty girl” he grinned, one hand on your waist while the other found it’s place between your thighs, stuffing two fingers inside you to stop his cum from spilling out, humming as he felt you kiss down the side of his neck, pressing your chest into his.

“this is all your fault”

“it better be, wouldn’t want my girlfriend all horny in a dressing room over some random guy”

“just shut up toji, you talk too much”

“but also fuck you better than anyone ever could, so are you really gonna complain?”

N-AGIZ '23ㅤ REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED !

[displ3azant]

CURRENTLY ASK-ABLE: - Unpleasant - Infected (Plez oversees the questions, though.)

(Before cut is In-Character.)

Hiii! Helloooo!

Hello!!!!!! Hehe, thiz iz actually super weird trying to write an intro-- give me a minute.

So, HIII!!!!!!! I'm Unpleasant! That'z not a joke, that iz literally my name. There'z no "deep reason" behind it, it iz literally just what people refer to me az. But, if that'z too weird, I do also go by Unplez or Plez for short.

Uh, pronounz? I don't really care, actually. I don't have a set gender, I've never really met a gradient who doez. That being said, since I started hanging with Infected I have been called he and she specifically a lot... so if it'z easiest for you, just roll with the crowd.

Right, so... the blog. Thatz thiz blog, haha! Well, the easy answer iz I waz super bored, Infected can suck a huge ####, and I like talking about myself! But... I kind of suck at talking in general, so I guess I'll type and answer questionz about myself.

BUT KNOW MY BOUNDARIEZ BEFORE YOU ASK QUESTIONZ! 👇👇👇

(Below cut is Out-Of-Character.)

To those who know me: Good to see you're still stickin' with me! I promise I will make an effort to make this blog much less of a dumpster fire like the last one.

And to those who are only now coming across this blog: Hello! My name is Hex. You don't have to call me "Mod Hex", or anything, just "Hex" will do. I'm the only guy running this thing here. I'll talk more about myself soon, because oversharing is what I do best.

Blog-Context

So, if it wasn't obvious enough from the intro, this is an ask/rp blog for the Unpleasant Gradient from Regretevator, but specifically in the context of the plez-centric au I have created for him. Or, well, the "AU" in question is actually just some freaky amalgamation of all my fucked up headcanons, which means...

I AM NO LONGER DOING DIRECT BLOG ASSOCIATIONS! Really sorry about that, I love my friends with all my heart but if I wanna keep consistency, I'm gonna have to "write the story" on my own. However, I do want to give full credit to my friends @sk8tr1101 and @party-noob for some major concepts involving Unpleasant, especially Audrey who already has some awesome ideas herself. Go check them both out!

MAIN TAGS:

#unpl3zansw3rz - Asks

#unpl3zrambl3z - Non-ask related posts/reblogs

#unpl3zlor3 - Plot points and similar

#ooc - Out-of-character post

OTHER TAGS (to be updated):

(nothing yet, hehe)

Blog-Owner

So hiiii, I'm Hex. If I can be bothered, out-of-character posts will either have the #ooc tag, be in purple text, or be signed off with my name. I'd prefer if you refer to me using he/it pronouns, thnx!

I'd also like you all to keep in mind I am 17 years old, therefore a minor, and even if I wasn't 17 I do not appreciate NSFW/Explicit jokes towards me, ESPECIALLY if you don't know me. It's one thing when you're my very close friends or my partner, it's another thing when you are a stranger on the internet asking me things I should not have to answer.

My other accounts are: @hexexists - my main blog, if you receive notifications from this account, please know it is just me! @hexational - my regretevator blog @geometricgiovanni - a Jeremy ask/rp blog set in the same universe as this one! Please note, however, that in the context of this blog, Unpleasant is not aware of the blog nor would he like to be.

Ask/RP-Boundaries

Let's start off by reiterating that I AM NOT OKAY WITH NSFW/EXPLICIT ASKS IN ANY CAPACITY! Sick of getting them, they're repetitive and annoying. Asking safe-for-work questions involving Unpleasant's anatomy is one thing, but I am not responding to ANYTHING involving genetalia.

ALSO! I am very unlikely to respond to things that is either hard to make a unique drawing for or don't progress the story (unlocking "lore" and such). I'm watching your ass, Mango, I know what you like to do (/lh). Joke asks are still okay, you don't *have* to progress story, but please keep in mind my "criteria" for answering asks when sending them. A clean inbox gives me a clear mind. I do not like notifications.

Shipping content: Shipping content is okay, but I don't care much for romance personally and so will likely not play much into it. Please don't push anything, I guess, and nothing that promotes proshipping or any kind of literally illegal pairing. If you dislike any direction taken ship-wise for this blog, then block me and move on with your day.

Roleplaying: While I'd prefer to not be in direct contact with other rp blogs, I am totally cool with roleplaying side stories and stuff, interactions and such! Please keep in mind though, Unpleasant in this is not a very social person, so you're probably not going to get the reaction you want.

Also! I think OCs are super cool and am happy to respond/interact with them as well! However,

PLEASE DON'T SEND YOUR GRADIENT OCS TO THIS ACCOUNT IF YOU WANT ME TO DRAW THEM! Please instead send them to @hexational! A lot of people were sending me their Gradient ocs to the previous Unpleasant account, and as much as I love seeing Gradient ocs and Gradient sonas, I'd love to be able to draw them, and if you are just asking an opinion on them and not an in-character ask or a genuine question involving other gradients I'd much prefer you send them to the account previously tagged!

That's pretty much all I can think of! Sorry for the long post, I just have a lot to say hehe

Lots of love, - Hex

[forever-rogue]

hey honey! I hope you're having a good week 🫶 if your request are open, I have this little idea that I want to share with you (if not, you can ignore it and sorry to bother you). this could be with either Steve Harrington or Eddie Munson because I love how you write for them. so maybe you have a friends with benefit type of relationship that lately has been more romantic (less sex, and more let's take care about each other) and, obviously, you end up falling in love because you've always had a crush and this just made it worse. and because life is short, you decide to confess your feelings but in the moment you're gonna do it, he has something to say too. so you start saying how you are in love but he interrumpes you in that moment and he's like "hey! that's great because I'm seeing this girl and I think I like her so we should end with this" and you end heartbroken not only because it's not reciprocated it but because it also felt like he was leading you when in reality he was seeing another girl already. I know, it's really angsty this but I love angst and if you decide to give it a happy ending too, I will love it 🥺💖

thank you love, hope you have a nice weekend ❤

AN | I am a sucker for a love confession so here we are. It has a happy ending 🥺

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.5k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why are you looking at me like that?” your cheeks warmed up as you tried to hide your face in his pillow.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in turn, reaching over and gently brushing a few rogue bits of hair out of your face, “so beautiful.”

“Stevie,” you always felt like he could see right down into your soul with those honey caramel eyes, “stop.”

“Why?” there was a soft whimsy to his question that caused you to playfully roll your eyes, “come on, angel. Tell me.”

“You’re being too…sweet,” you tried to shrug him off as he put his hand on your cheek, “one might almost think you…”

“That I what?” you swallowed thickly at his innocent question. You didn’t know if he really was that naive or if he was playing dumb, “hmm?”

“That you have feelings for me.”

“I do,” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “you’re my best friend. I love you.”

Not how I love you. You wanted to say, but you swallowed it back down. Instead, you rolled on your back and pulled the sheet over your bare chest. A sigh escaped your lips despite your best efforts. 

“I know,” was all you managed to get out without giving too much of yourself away. 

“Angel-”

“I’m tired,” you whispered into the dark, “let’s just go to sleep.”

He was quiet for a few moments before you felt him shuffle behind you. You felt him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his warm body. Despite your best efforts you melded into him.

Soon, you promised yourself, soon you would tell Steve exactly how you felt. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You could lie and say you weren't quite sure when your situationship with Steve started but that would be a lie. You remembered the precise moment you went from best friends to best friends with benefits. 

It was at some party for a friend of a friend and the two of you had gone for some fun…and free drinks. You'd both gotten a little tipsy and it had been a while since either of you had gotten any action and so…you'd kissed and then had sex.

When coming to your senses the next day, neither of you truly regretted it. It was - if you were being completely honest - the best sex of your life. And because of that, the two of you didn't see a reason not to hook up again. 

So you did; happily and regularly. Despite your best efforts, you kept holding onto the hope something would change. Something would prompt him to want to make this official. You thought that maybe he felt the same way about you. You knew he loved you, that was never a secret. But you wanted to know if he loved you as more than a best friend.

You could have asked. You should have asked but you never worked yourself up to it. Instead you let things keep going as they were, hoping that something would happen. Maybe the universe would divine something into fruition.

But it became increasingly hard to hold back your feelings. You should have just ended things or came out and told him the entire truth but it was impossible. You couldn't quit Steve…you didn't want to. 

Steve, however, was smarter than most people ever assume. He could see that something was different - off. Whenever he'd try to bring up the subject and get to the root of what was going on, you switched the subject. 

"Here ya go," Steve held out your ice cream cone, a smile on his face, “your favorites.”

“Thanks,” you took the cone from him with a small, forced smile. His own pretty smile faltered for a moment as you ate some of your ice cream, “it’s really good.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly and offered him a shrug in response. You knew that he meant well and this was all because he cared but it didn’t make it any easier, “you’ve been so down lately. Talk to me, angel. Please.”

“Stevie,” you hesitated for a moment; you hated seeing the sad look on his face. You wanted him to be happy - it was what he deserved. You reached for his hand and put yours on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze, “nothing is wrong, love. I’m just…I haven’t been feeling great. That’s all.”

“Okay,” he flipped your hand over so he was holding yours. His touch was so gentle and reverent. You knew he could tell you were lying, but the thing about him was that he never pushed. He knew that you trusted him and would eventually go to him, “you know that you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you promised him, “you’re the one person I trust more than anything. You’re the most important person in my life, Steve.”

“Funny,” he teased softly  that almost brought a little smile to your face, “you’re the same to me. You’re the best thing in the world.”

“Steve.”

“I mean it,” he reached over and brushed his knuckles along your cheek, “I love you.”

And that was the most wonderful and hardest thing to hear, because you knew he meant it.

Just not in that way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Baby, baby, baby,” you sighed softly as Steve trailed his lips along your jaw and down your neck. He was softly nipping at the skin, leaving behind a lavender haze of soft bruises, “you’re so soft. So fuckin’ soft.”

“Steve,” you wanted him to stop but your body and heart were wanting him to keep going. You ran a hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He was slowly pushing up your dress, deft fingers dancing along your thighs. He paused for a moment before kissing along your collarbones and the tops of your breasts. His gentle touch caused you to inhale softly.

“I love when you make all those pretty sounds,” he nuzzled his face into your neck, overwhelming all of your senses, “you are everything to me.”

You tensed up for a moment before putting your hands on his shoulders and shaking your head. Steve stopped immediately and pulled back, looking at you in concern, “stop, please. I…I’m sorry.”

“Is everything okay?” his eyes were wide with concern as he pulled himself off you completely and sat down next to you. You felt tears welling up but tried to blink them back, “angel…”

“I just…I don’t want to do this,” you pointed between your bodies, “not today. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he insisted sweetly, “you never have to apologize for anything like that. It’s not an issue. Do you want to just watch a movie or something?”

“Actually, I think I should go home,” you pulled your dress down and shuffled off his bed. He nodded in response before handing you your sweater. You took it, hugging it to your chest as you inhaled the smell of him from it, “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Call me when you get home, okay?” he asked quietly as you nodded in response, “and be careful.”

“Always,” you promised before turning to leave his bedroom. You paused in the hallway for a moment, hesitating on whether to just leave or go back. After a few beats you left his apartment to go home. You missed him already. 

Steve had to battle between coming after you or letting you go. He knew something was wrong and he just wanted to fix it. He would do anything for you…he hoped you knew that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You separated yourself from Steve for a few days, trying to figure yourself out. It was hard but if you were ever going to move past the current situation something had to change.

The only real solution, you had finally come to terms with, was telling him how you really felt. It was going to be harder but it was going to be even harder if you never said anything at all.

The next time Steve picked you up for your normal Friday night hangout, you were ready. As ready as you ever would be. 

"Hey angel," Steve wrapped you up in a hug without hesitation and you allowed yourself to melt into his arms, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Stevie," you whispered as you took a moment to breathe him in. You pulled back and found him looking at you with soft eyes and an even softer smile. 

"I have something to tell you-"

The two of you spoke at the same time, always so in sync. You couldn't help but laugh lightly. You gave his arm a light squeeze and motioned for him to go first.

"So," he looked excited as your heart beat wildly in your chest. Was this finally it? Were you going to have your magic movie moment finally? He looked at his feet for a moment, stifling his smile, "do you remember Amber? The receptionist at my old job?"

"Yeah…" your heart was definitely going to burst out of your chest.

"She called me up the other day and asked if I wanted to go out with her," he looked almost shy as all you could do was stare at him, "so I figured why not? We're going out tomorrow."

"Oh," you felt your heart break as you blinked back your tears, "oh."

"Yeah," he nodded, trying to read your expression, "I was thinking too that maybe we should stop sleeping together. Just if we want to start dating people it might be best if we stop. But - what were you going to say?"

"Me?" you swallowed thickly, brain buzzing and heart in your stomach. You opened and closed your mouth a few times trying to figure out how to possibly tell him you were in love with him when he clearly wasn't interested in you that way. You were just a best friend and a warm body, "umm…nothing. Nothing important at all."

"Are you sure? It looked like it was something big-"

"No," you shook your head and took a step back from him, "I forgot but umm, I actually have a thing so I can't hang out tonight. I'm so sorry, I just remembered."

"What? But we always-"

"I'm sorry, Stevie," you turned around before he could say anything else. He was almost positive that you had some tears in your eyes.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After Steve broke your heart - unintentionally - you avoided him. Flat out avoided him and didn’t even make an attempt  to hide that little fact. He called, and came by, and even stopped by your work, but never managed to get a hold of you. It was starting to kill him slowly. He needed to know what was wrong, he wanted to fix it and make it all better. You were the best and biggest part of his life and you were just gone. He wasn’t sure if he could survive without you. 

Neither of you could live without the other. That was obvious to everyone. 

It was a few weeks later that Steve finally managed to track you down. He’d been waiting outside of your office, watching in anticipation for you to come out. It probably wasn’t the best idea but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be without you any more.

As soon as he saw you coming down the steps, he jumped out of his car and ran over you, calling your name at the top of his lungs, a desperate and hurried sound. You stopped dead in tracks and looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Steve?”

“Hey - hi,” he stopped in front of you, a nervous expression on his face. 

“W-what are you doing here?” butterflies were already fluttering around in your tummy like crazy. 

“You,” he stated simply, “I had to see you. I can’t wait any longer.”

“Oh,” that alone was enough to make your heart thaw just a little bit, “Stevie-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted you quickly, “I know I should let you talk but I don’t want another excuse for why I have seen you. All I could think about these last couple of weeks was you. And I think…I think I know what happened.”

“Oh?” your face warmed as you squealed at him, “I….Steve.”

“Are you in love with me?” he didn’t waste any time getting right to the point and it was the most wonderful and scariest moment of your life, “because I’m in love with you.”

You could have given him so many different answers, played this off in various ways but you were done. Done with running from him and ignoring what was right in front of you. Swallowing thickly, you nodded at him, “yes. I’m in love with you.”

He took your face in his hands, brushing his thumb over your cheek. He smiled at you, fully and sweetly, which you couldn’t help but return. Suddenly it felt like things were really and truly falling into place. 

“May I?” he asked softly and you knew exactly what he meant. You answered his question by leaning in and kissing him softly. If there was ever a magic movie moment, this was it. You’d kissed him many times by now, but it was never like this before. 

When you pulled back, he sighed softly and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’ve been wanting to say that for so long now.”

“Me too,” you confessed softly, “I just got scared every time. And I was sure you’d never feel the same.”

“Really?” he laughed softly, “here I was thinking I was being so obvious all this time. I should have tried harder, huh?”

“I thought you were being obvious but I talked myself out of it,” you admitted as you touched his face, “I never thought you’d love me like I’ve always loved you.”

“I always have,” he promised, “and I always will.”

“Do you really promise?” you felt a few tears run down your cheeks and Steve didn’t hesitate to wipe them away.

“I swear it on my life,” he peppered your face in kisses, “forever. I love you.”

“I love you,” a wistful little sigh escaped your lips as you melted into him, “forever.”

[lighteyed]

driving miss mayfield

steve harrington x fem mayfield!reader

[5.8k] steve gives you driving lessons, max gives you heat, you give yourself no time to daydream.

disclaimer- no mention of blood relation to max, no physical descriptors of reader, they are sisters in any way you want them to be.

     “What do you mean you don’t know how to drive?” The disbelief in his words is almost as emphatic as the annoyance in yours, but he seems to be more disbelieving than you are annoyed at him, who could ever really be annoyed at him, so you let Steve gape at you and blink rapidly instead of telling him to mind his business.

   You slurp down the rest of your soda from the general store in his passenger seat, shrugging, fighting to push down that urge to snap. Mayfield girls, you, Max, your mother when she wasn’t bogged down by a soul-sucking man-leech draining her lifeforce from her right before your eyes, had a less than lovely temper most of the time, and you tried very  hard to keep it contained, especially around people who didn’t deserve it. It just felt like a ridiculous question. “I mean, why do you think I’m stuck drivin’ with Billy half the time? You think I get in that car willingly? You think Max gets in that car willingly?”  You shake your head. “No way. If I had a license I would’ve been, like, halfway back to California the second you people started dragging me and Max into your science fiction monster crap.”

    “As if she woulda let you,” Steve scoffs with a similar head shake, a lock of his hair falling nicely into place in the middle of his forehead. He swipes at it quickly. He has this ridiculous urge to never be anything less than perfect in front of you, you, who is perfect without effort, leading him to put even more effort into holding up this front for himself. “Besides, you’d miss this pretty face, right?” He points to himself, smiles, and waits for you to laugh. You do. It makes his heart constrict.

   “Think you’d miss my pretty face, actually,” you snort, shoving your now empty shake in the cupholder.

    “Yeah, I would,” he teases, just a little, just enough to make further attempts at breaking all that ice you’ve got protecting you, and he swears, he sees it crack the slightest amount, even though you don’t answer. You smile and stare down at your hands in your lap, twisting a mood ring around your finger and making sure you don’t look at him. He’ll take what he can get. “Well, anyhow,” he says, dramatically blowing air out of his mouth, the subject change swift and, in his opinion, a flawless execution, “I can’t in good conscience let you keep driving with him.”

    “You already drive me and Max and all her friends everywhere, you don’t have to do anything else.” You don’t like being indebted to anyone. Even if it’s Steve, who insists on picking you up for school in the mornings and dropping you off in the afternoons and, if he’s free, taking you anywhere else you need to go. And he usually is free, because you, and the group of middle schoolers (almost high schoolers, to be fair) he’s adopted since he protected them from Billy and the Demodogs and the whole Mind Flayer debacle (you’re still fuzzy on the details, honestly) a few months ago,  are his only friends nowadays, so it’s not like his schedule is packed and there’s no room to fit you in there. There’s more than enough room. If there wasn’t, he’d make it so. You both knew that.

    “I love driving you,” he insists. “But the thing is, my dad’s cutting me off.”

    “He’s what?”

    “Like, you know, he’s gonna stop paying for my shit. I’m not goin’ to college and he thinks I’m a useless sack of nothing-“

   “You are not a useless sack of nothing-“

   “You tell that to him-“

   “Take me there right now and I will-“

    “Alright, alright, easy.” As much as he’d love to see you go toe to toe with his dad, and you’d be able to, he’s sure, he doesn’t want to talk about it any further than the basic facts of the situation. He’s not going to college therefore his dad has no reason to pay for anything he does anymore. His car insurance is his responsibility now, anything else he needs is up to him to to get, food, clothes, gas, if he has to go to the hospital he’s sure his dad would shove the medical bills onto him, too. He was like that, unfortunately for Steve. But it was one thing he could relate to you on. You had him slightly beat, though. You had two dads to complain about, both terrible in their own ways. Sam Mayfield: emotionally distant, didn’t bother to call, didn’t ask you to visit, too busy when you lived with him to spend any time with you anyway. And then, of course, there was Neil Hargrove: controlling, abusive, cold Neil Hargrove. How he’d charmed your mother into marrying him was a mystery to you and to Max, but you supposed, for as much as you loved her on principle because she was your mother and you pitied her and looked up to her all the same, she was easily charmed by men. It killed you a little more every time it happened, but this was the first time she’d actually brought him into your family, integrating them together in a way she thought would be seamless, but you and Max despised your stepbrother and he despised you both right back. “Point is, I’m gonna have to get a job, probably at that new mall they’re opening up-“

   “Oh the horror-“ you feign a hand over your forehead and slump back in your seat- “Rich pretty boy Steve Harrington doing labor, at the fancy new mall, with those soft delicate hands of yours, whatever will you do-“

   “Shut it,”  he warns, but there’s a grin on his face anyway. “You just admitted I’m pretty, by the way.” He continues before you can dispute his claims. “I’m not gonna be around as much. So you need your license. Unless you wanna be stuck with Billy yelling in your ear all day long.” He pauses, thinking. “Which might make me kill him. So, actually, unless you want me to murder him in cold blood-”

   “Please? I’m begging at this point,” you joke back.

   “Let me get a word in would you?” He laughs and it sounds like music to you. You keep it to yourself. “I want you to be okay on your own. I don’t want him, y’know, hurting you guys, okay? So you need your license.” His words and his eyes go lovely and soft, all rounded ages, nothing jagged about them, just pure, undulated care and affection.

    It makes you soften, too. You spend a lot of time looking after Max, it hits you hard when someone takes the time to look after you, too. “I don’t know, Steve, I wouldn’t be getting a car right after or anything, my job doesn’t pay enough, and we can just take the bus or something. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

   ‘I’m teaching you to drive, and you can take my car wherever you need to go. I’ll come pick you up, we’ll go on over to wherever I’m working, drop me off, and then you go wherever you need to go and come back in time to pick me up.” He says it so easily, as if it’s the most obvious answer to your problems in the world. He doesn’t even fathom how much it means to you.

   “You’d let me drive this?” You brace both your hands on the dashboard, your turn to stare at him in incredulity. His car is nice. It’s beautiful, really, and you don’t know much about cars. It’s classic and shiny and new. And expensive. Expensive being the operative word. Billy’s car is nice, too, and it’s about the only thing he takes care of other than his physique, which he thinks about obsessively, but you don’t think it’s anywhere as nice as Steve’s. Not in your opinion, anyway. The fact that Steve is nicer in personality (and looks, quite frankly) might make you biased, though. “I can’t afford to replace anything if I scratch it or crash it or if it explodes.”

   “You won’t scratch, crash, or explode it, you’re gonna be learning from the best.”

   “And who would that be?”

   “Me, obviously. Welcome to your first driving lesson, I’ll be your instructor, Mr. Harrington, thank you for joining us Miss Mayfield.” He tips an imaginary hat toward you. You’re not sure what driving instructors wear hats but you let him have his fantasy anyway.

   “Right now?” You can barely process what’s happening before he’s popping open his door, lanky legs sliding right out. He raps the hood of the car with his knuckles, ducking his head inside to look at you.

   “Yes, right now, Mayfield, no time like the present.” He comes around to the side you’re on and opens door for you, ushering you out. He holds your hand to help you out of the car, entirely unnecessary but a smooth move nonetheless, and your hands fit together in a way that makes him want to keep them clasped like that forever. He ushers you into the driver’s seat with a quickness that almost gives you whiplash.

    Your hands prop up on the wheel, uneasy. Your palms start to sweat. “I don’t like this,” you tell him. You take your hands off and wipe them on your jeans. They immediately dampen again. You’re afraid of leaving sweat prints all over his wheel and leaving a car-shaped hole in the side of the now abandoned Benny’s Burgers, the parking lot almost empty, save for the car that you are now responsible for. It’s eight o’clock on a school and work night, so naturally no one else was around and Hawkins may as well have been asleep.

   “You haven’t even attempted to drive yet.”

   “My hands keep slipping off the wheel,” you grasp for his hand and press yours against it, raising your eyebrows. “Do you feel the sweat?”

   “Jesus, yeah.” He squeezes your hand with encouragement anyway. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m a much nicer driving teacher than anyone you could hire at the school. You’re in good hands. Great hands. The best ones. Perfect, amazing hands.”

    Your eyes flick down to Steve’s hands. You have to agree. “I don’t even have a permit. You could get in trouble.”

    “By who? Chief Hopper? Officer Callahan?” He nearly cackles at the notion. “You’ll be fine, don’t sweat it.”

    “Bad choice of words.”

    “Enough stalling, let’s get to the lesson.” He claps his hands together. His face retains a serious, focused quality to it. It’s very handsome (he’s always handsome and it kills you a little because you don’t have time to daydream). “Alright, hands here, and here,” he taps the wheel to show you the correct position. He thinks he might die if you connect your hands again. “That’s called the 10 and 2 position.”

    “Why’s it called that?”

    “I don’t know, it just is, doesn’t matter, that’s where they go so you have the best control for making turns and steering.” You do as he says. “Okay, so now, you have to relax.”

    “Girls love hearing that, Steve,” you grind your teeth.

    But your rigidity and discomfort is obvious, especially to you, and you know it can’t be natural to drive all scrunched up and tense like this. “You’ll be fine. You can’t be all stiff if you ever want to get comfortable doing this.”

    “But I’m not comfortable.”

    “Hence why we’re doing this, yeah?’

   “I thought we were doing this so me and Billy don’t strangle each other.”

    “That too. Can’t have my only friend dead. Then I’ll be stuck with all the kids by myself.”

   “Can’t leave Max alone, either,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You think about her most of all. While you spend all this time with Steve, you worry over her all the time. You constantly check in to make sure she doesn’t feel left out. You fret about her being left alone with Billy. She occupies almost all of your thoughts.

   “Never,” he agrees, even if you weren’t talking to him. You give him a thankful smile. His heart almost stops but he clears his throat to snap himself out of it. “Okay, now, let’s turn the key, turn the car back on.”

  “Turning the key,” you nod, licking your lips. You turn the key in the ignition until the engine rumbles to life. The car vibrates in response. You hate it.

   “Clutch pedal down with your left foot,” he says, pointing. You do as he says. “Move this,” he pats the gear stick, “into first gear, right here, left then up.” He watches you carefully, nodding back. “Good, okay, press down on the acceleration with your right foot now, gently,” he adds. He can tell by the furrow in your brow that you hate it. “You’re doing good,” he praises.

  “Yeah, yeah, continue.”

  “Now you gotta lift the clutch until you feel it vibrating, okay, then release the handbrake, keep slowly moving off the clutch until you’re moving with just the acceleration, okay?” He finds the deeply serious expression you’re wearing kind of endearing. “If it stalls we’re gonna start again, but don’t worry about it.”

But you don’t stall. The car moves as it should, with you controlling it, in the empty parking lot by the neighborhood park. “Great, great, almost perfect” he tells you, “we can probably go faster if you wanna try that-“

  “No, we cannot,” you say tightly, your shoulders hunched.

  The laugh he lets out makes your spine tingle. “You have to relax your face, I promise you’ll drive better if you’re not all… scrunched up,” he motions to your shoulder area.

  You try. You roll them back as you keep focusing on the road, trying not to furrow your brows so much. You’ll get a permanent forehead wrinkle at this rate.

   “See, there we go,” Steve reassures. Your let out a little huff, but your face goes placid, still. “Beautiful.” He’s not sure if he means to say it. If he should. He says it anyway.

  You look sideways at him as you drive through the parking lot. You’re driving slow. Slower than slow. You’re practically inching along. “You can’t possibly be flirting with me right now.” It’s not that you don’t like it. You do. It hurts how much you do. If he wasn’t freshly single and you didn’t feel so obligated to focus most of your time on taking care of Max, you’d flirt back. You weren’t new to it or anything. You knew your way around a guy. Even a gorgeous one like Steve. But he was only a few months over Nancy and you saw the grimaces he did when she and Jonathan crossed his path. You weren’t sure if he was over her. Or if Max was comfortable and secure enough here to be a little more independent.

  “I am not,” he scoffs. The blush creeping up his neck onto his cheeks betrays him. You shift your eyes to look at him again but he points, “eyes on the road, by the way.”

  “You were flirting, you just can’t help yourself, can you? King Steve, right?” You snicker, recalling the nickname from when you’d first met him, the one that had been rescinded just as fast. It’s easy to hide the fact that you liked the way he said beautiful, like a caress, like a kiss, behind your banter and snark. Maybe it’s one thing you and Billy could have in common. Everything’s easier when you hide it behind an attitude.

  “I wouldn’t say that stating a fact is… flirting,” he shrugs, flippant. At least, he hopes it appears flippant. You don’t give yourself much time to ponder this.

  “It is when you say it in that voice,” you retort.

  “Huh? What voice?” He balks at that. He does not put on a voice.

  “Like, low and sultry,” you flick some hair away from your eyes. It had been the way he said it, after all.  

     “You think my voice is low and sultry?” His ears practically perk up like a puppy’s. You don’t answer. It’s actually all the answer he needs. “I think you’re the one flirting with me now, Mayfield, not the other way around.”

  You scoff. You are scoffing and he is laughing away. “In your dreams, Harrington.”

  “Every night.” The joke registers with that one but it still makes your stomach clench. Every butterfly in the western hemisphere makes its way into your gut and builds a home there, an uncontrollable influx of new neighbors, fluttering madly, demanding to be seen and known and understood. You understood them, you just didn’t want to. “See, now that, that was flirting,” he says, satisfied at your quiet. “And you sound like your stepbrother when you say my last name like that, by the way. Excellent Billy impression.”

   You’re doing slow, lazy laps around the parking lot at this point, your nerves still present but for entirely different reasons now. “I do not sound like Billy.” You grimace. “And you probably shouldn’t be flirting with anyone when you just got out of a relationship, like, not even four months ago. I don’t think you’re ready to be flirting again.” You, again, are saying it more to yourself than to him. A subtle reminder of the predicament you’re in.  

  “Hence why I’m not flirting,” he informs you.

  “Uh huh,” you say, unconvinced.

 “But if I was-“

“Which you’re not-“

“Which I am not,” he agrees, “how would you feel? Just for, y’know, future reference.” He juts his lip out, wondering.

  “Let’s circle back to that when you’re not still reeling from the Nancy incident.”  

  “Well,” he shifts around in his seat. He wouldn’t say he’s still reeling. Still hurt, sure. But hurt sticks around longer than heartbreak does. You can be hurt by something someone did and not still be heartbroken over them. He wouldn’t say he’s still heart broken. Looking at you, his heart feels very much intact. Nothing broken here, no, definitely not. “That’s why it’s for a hypothetical future reference.”

  “Right, of course,” you slow the car to a stop. “Then I wouldn’t be opposed. Hypothetically.”

  “You wouldn’t?”  

  “I wouldn’t.” But, you remember, suddenly, that it’s not just you that you look out for. “Once Max is all settled, of course.”

   “Settled?”

   “Like, y’know, feeling better about being here.”

    “She’s got a massive group of friends she sees all the time.”

   “I know, but-“

   “You worry about her, I get it,” he places a hand on your knee, very light, not asking for anything. “Who worries about you? You should- you should be happy, too, is that crazy to say?”

   You place your hand over his.  “I’m happy. I’m happy, I promise. I don’t need you to worry about me, I’m okay.”

   “You should do more things for yourself.”

   “Like getting my license,” you gesture to the car.

   “Like getting your license, yeah.” Like going on a date with me. Like letting me show you how serious I am about you.

   “I’m okay how I am.”

   “I’m making it my job to look out for you, y’know.”

   You smile again. Very soft, almost embarrassed. You hated the attention being on you but you had to get used to it, being around him. “Yeah, Steve, I know.”

   He’s diligent in his effort to give you driving lessons. He takes you driving almost every day after school, Max in the backseat if she’s not with her friends, both of them encouraging and kind even when you hit the curb more often than not. You were a good driver, for all intents and purposes, even though your palms still sweat every time you got behind the wheel. It was a gradual comfort process. They were less sweaty than the first time, and that had to count for something. You even get comfortable enough to drive through Main Street, which nearly sends you into a panic and leads to a shouting match between the two of you while you furiously honk your horn at the other people of Hawkins on the road, Steve slumped in his seat to avoid eye contact with everyone, but after that, you’re a pro.

    A few weeks of this pass when he says to you, out of the blue as you drive aimlessly, “So, I set up your road test for you.”

   You’re still not used to this whole looking out for you thing he’s got going on. You almost stop the car short. “Did you really?”

    “I think you’re ready. You’re great, you’ll pass easily.”

    “You think?” You’re typically confident, strong-willed, but sometimes he sees those flickers of insecurity crop up and he attempts to smother that right then and there.

   “For sure,” he nods. “They’ll be begging you to be on the road.”

   “You flatter me.”

   “You deserve it.” His eyes, his smile, trained on you, always, is devastating. Maybe you do. Maybe you do.

    At your dinner table that night, you, Max, your mom, Neil, and Billy, Max does what she should never do in front of Neil or Billy, and that’s open her mouth.

   Billy had been going on about how he was sick of being the chauffeur, even though he really wasn’t anymore, and that if he was going to get a job this summer before college like Neil wanted you two would have to learn to get around on your own, because he can’t be responsible for two people if he also had to be responsible for a job.

   “She’s getting her driver’s license tomorrow,” she jerks her head toward you, a proud, beautiful smile on her face, and you want to drag her by the hair into your shared bedroom to ask why in the world she’d ever tell that to everyone and also give her the biggest hug for the evident pride she takes in the fact that you’re independent and doing things on your own and she looks up to you so, so much. You bite your lip as Neil’s fork scrapes noisily across his plate. “And Steve’s been driving us around anyway, so I don’t know what you’re going on about-“

   You interrupt her with a hard, socked foot coming down on her own. Your eyes go wide and your head tilts in her direction,  a please oh please stop talking expression.

    “Who has been driving you, exactly?” Neil asks, eyebrows raised.

   “My friend from school, it’s no big deal,” you answer, staring down at your plate and then back up at him. His cold gaze is fixated on you.

   “What happened to the agreement we had?” Neil turned his sneer to Billy, rendered speechless by Max’s unexpectedly bold statement. Billy then glares at you, and you really don’t want an argument, so you cut in.

  “It’s only sometimes, like once a week, and he doesn’t drive us to school, he drives us home. Rarely. Rare occasions. I promise.” A lie, flowing easily from your lips, and because Neil thinks you’re a smart, good girl, and his son is always up to no good and lying, he relaxes, and so does Billy, though you’ll get no thanks from him, not now, not ever.

  “Well, who’s been teaching you to drive where you feel ready to take your test?” Neil stretches across the table to get another helping of the meal your mother prepared from the middle of the table.

   “Steve, when we’re both free.” Every day.

   And because Billy can’t let you have anything, because he needs to instantly make you regret ever doing anything nice for him, he says, “I’m not a big fan of this Steve guy.”

   “Hm, and why’s that?” Neil continues eating.

   “It’s a petty high school rivalry,” you interrupt, narrowing your eyes at him.

   “He’s got a reputation with girls, you know. I wouldn’t want to see something bad happen to you.” Billy’s stupid grin eats shit. The feigned care makes your skin crawl.

   “What sort of reputation is that? You shouldn’t be hanging out with that sort of person,” Neil frowns. Again, with that feigned care. It’s not about genuine worry for you. It’s about control. Dominance. You won’t fall for it.

  “It’s all rumors. He had a serious girlfriend for a year. And we’re not together, anyway. He’s my friend.”

   “Guys all want the same thing,” Billy says back.

  “How would you know?” You push, nearly slamming your hands on the table.

   “I’m friends with the basketball team, there’s locker room talk, you get the picture.” He continues smiling in that mocking way of his that makes you want to jump across the dining room and put your fork through his eye.

   “You don’t actually know anything, though, do you, considering you’re not friends with him?”

   “I think I know enough to know that this isn’t the type of person my sister should be associating with-“

   That gets you going most of all, which is giving him exactly what he wants, and you can’t help it. “We are not siblings-“ your chair drags across the floor with a loud screech as you remove yourself from the table, just as Neil is telling you both to settle down.

  “C’mon, honey, sit back down, you can hang out with whoever you want, I’m sure this boy is very nice,” Susan coaxes you gently but you don’t even look at her, too caught up with the fact that it’s all her fault you’re here in this place with these people, these strangers, that you hate so deeply it makes your bones ache.

  “’M done eating, going to my room,” and you don’t care how annoyed it makes Neil that you’ve gotten up before he’s finished eating, which has become practice in this house now, you can’t even celebrate the fact that you’re achieving a milestone, getting your license, God damn it, without it turning into the Billy Hargrove one man show. He makes everything, everything, hurt.

   Max comes in a little while later, her footsteps light and hesitant on the floor. She crawls into your bed even though hers is across the room and she hasn’t slept beside you since your first night here.

   “Are you mad at me?” She asks. Her eyes are big and blue, worried.

   “’Course not.” You smooth her hair back. You’re not mad at her, truly. It’s not her fault Billy ruins everything. “I know you were just trying to get back at him for his complaining. S’not your fault, lovie.”

   “I should’ve known it would turn into that,” she frowns, uneasy. “It always turns into that.”

   “You don’t have to know anything. You should be allowed to say whatever you want to our parents, that’s what they’re there for. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” You boop her nose with the tip of your finger. You’ve been sulking in your room because of him, not her.

  “Can I ask you something?” You’re face to face with each other, both your heads lying on your pile of pillows, hair fanned out behind you. Her expression is earnest and endearing.

  “Always.”

 “I thought you and Steve were dating already.”

 You hesitate. “That’s not a question.”

  “Okay,” she rolls her eyes. There’s no malice behind it. “Why aren’t you dating?”

  You crinkle your nose, dismissive. “Because, I’m- I’m, like, busy, with stuff, and he’s not over Mike’s sister and I just, I don’t wanna get mixed up with some silly boy.”

   She admires your dismissive attitude toward boys, and it might be why she breaks up with Lucas every other week in exasperation with his boyish faults. She just thinks it’s crazy that you have this attitude when a guy like Steve is the one following you around with shiny looks and dreamy smiles. She’s sure that you’d never deny Steve, who, when she observed you both from the backseat, did everything in his power to make you feel comfortable, safe, secure, was kind to her while also maintaining a brotherly banter, something she thought she was getting when Billy had been introduced to her, was funny, and generous. He was always letting you drive his car and buying you both food and making sure you had a ride somewhere if you needed it. And she drove her and her friends around everywhere even if you weren’t there, too. Steve seemed perfect.

   He was easy on the eyes, too, but it brought a hot flush to Max’s cheeks to admit that, so she never would. 

   “He’s not a silly boy, he’s Steve.”

   “A boy is just a boy no matter who he is, you know that.”

   “Yeah, but,” she huffs, indignant, “he really likes you. I bet he’d go out with you if you asked.”

   “I’m not asking him out, and he doesn’t like me like that. He’s a good friend. And I told you, I’m too busy for him.”

   “Busy with what?” She cries, exasperated. “Busy driving with Steve, busy doing homework with Steve, busy getting dinner with Steve, busy-“

   She’s running out of fingers to write her list on. You grab her hand to stop the count. “I get your point.”

   “You can’t be too busy for someone if you already spend so much time with them, is all I’m saying.” She has a point. You scratch your arm absentmindedly. “What’s the real reason?”

   “What real reason? You’re saying that’s not the real reason?”

  “Definitely not the real reason.”

   “Says who?”

   “Says your best friend.”

   You sigh at her, a loving sound. “Oh, yeah, her.” You run a hand through her hair again. The softness of it soothes you. “I don’t wanna leave you alone.”

    She pokes your cheek. “I’m not alone. I have my friends.”

   “Didn’t you hear that we’re best friends? I can’t leave you in the dust.” It’s more playful than you really feel. You don’t want to burden her by unburdening yourself, relaying all your fears about what would happen if you spent more time with Steve, things like her resenting you, something awful happening between her and Billy, her getting hurt, injured, killed, your brain delved into all sorts of dark, terrible places, and these spiraling thoughts led to one conclusion: you would never, ever, let your focus waver from her. “I take care of you, okay? I don’t have the time to think about anything else. Besides, he might not even be over Nance, remember?”

   “He is. He is over her. I promise,” she insists, placing her hands on your arms. “He looks at you like he’s in love, I’ve seen it!”

   “You don’t know what you’re seeing, babe-“

  “I do.” She shoves herself off your bed, your hand, where it was twined in her hair, falling back onto the covers. You sit up, confused, as she stomps off to her own bed.

  “Are you mad at me right now?” You ask.

   “I’d be happy if you were happy.”

    “Max, stop, I am happy-“

   “Not happy enough. He’s nice. You should just go out with him. Stupid to worry about me all the time.” She flicks off her lamp light and turns away from you toward her wall. You sigh. You think. Your stomach twists itself in a knot you don’t want to think about. Eventually, when her stubbornness about it overrides yours, you turn back toward your own wall and turn out your own light. Your eyes strain from trying not to cry, so eventually, you cave in to that, too.

   Your hands shake at your road test the next day. For a multitude of reasons. You look at Steve differently, with your head tilted toward him like the head of a flower tilts toward the sun, waiting and wanting. You’re running over all the ways it could go wrong. You resign yourself to never doing a thing about it.

    He notices your quiet, so unlike yourself, and attributes it to your nerves about the test. He rubs your shoulders, an attempt to hype you up. “You got this, okay? You’re gonna kill it. You’re gonna be the second best driver in Hawkins.”

   “Lemme guess, you’re the first?” It’s the first smile you’ve cracked all day and he takes it as the victory it is.

   “Well it’s certainly not Billy,” he rolls his eyes. “Seriously, how you feelin’?” He spins you around and the gaze he bores into you is too intense to bear. You look away fervently.

   “Fine, ‘m fine, nervous, but fine, should be good, my driving instructor was excellent.” He beams with pride at that, a blinding flash.

   “World renowned, I heard,” he brags.

   “Let’s see if I pass first.”

   “You will,” he says. Confident, assured. It makes you feel assured in turn.  

   And you do. You pass. By a hair, truth be told, but you pass. It thrills you, clutching the paper declaring your triumph in your fist, walking outside to greet Steve who leans against the hood of his car in his devastating way of his, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he taps his foot in wait. When he sees you come out, he brightens, straightening himself out.

   “What’s the verdict?” He asks.

   You wave the paper around. “I passed!” You can’t fake it for a second, your joy at this little bit of freedom absolutely inescapable. He lets out a loud, thrilled whoop for you, and his joy brings you even more of it. He picks you up off the ground and spins you in a circle, and when you’re back on the sidewalk, steady, he envelopes you in a deep, encompassing hug.

  When he hugs, his whole body goes into it, if that makes any sense. He throws his all into it. There’s no hesitancy, no timidity, he’s not ashamed of it in the slightest. He hugs you, hard. He’s that proud. And he likes holding you. You pull away first and he’s not surprised.

  “Proud of you,” he squeezes you arm again.

   “Couldn’t have done it without, Steve, really. You- you’re the best, y’know that?”

   He decides to push his luck. “Good enough to go on a date with?” He can see already that you’ll say no. That you want to say yes but you’re going to say no. He doesn’t care. He’ll wait until you’re sick of him.

  “You don’t wanna go out with me,” you squeeze his arm back.

  “You’re real silly, you know that?” His voice is warm and awfully fond.

  You can’t bring yourself to let him all the way in just yet. You walk with him back to the car and agree with him. Yes, you’re real silly, indeed.

[callsign-venus]

Put a Bow on It | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You find out that Bradley's present-wrapping skills are... less than stellar, so it's up to you to save Christmas.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: fluff, a few very light sexual references, incompetence of a grown man, fluffy fluff fluff

a/n: Thank you for the love on my previous posts — I’m really thankful to everyone who reads my silly little stories. Hope y’all enjoy this one, Merry Christmas!

“You can’t look at me like that,” Bradley says.

“Like what?” You ask, though you know exactly what he means.

It’s not that you mean to look at him with such pity, but who can blame you?

You weren’t exactly sure how he got himself into such a mess when you were only in the kitchen making coffees. Wedged between a stack of boxed Barbies and no less than 12 rolls of wrapping paper scattered across your living room floor, Bradley looks less competent aviator and more like an unsupervised 5th grader. Tattered strips of Santa wrapping paper curl around him, scraps of tape line both of his exposed thighs, and he’s so flustered he hasn’t even removed the bright red bow you tied around his head earlier. You both look down at the lumpy present sitting on the rug in front of him. For all his efforts, it wasn’t a spectacular result. 

“You did great.” You have to hide your face with a drawn-out sip of coffee because you know if he catches a glimpse of your expression, he will call you out for your bald-faced lie.

He can tell anyway. “I’m not sure lying is the best way to get on the nice list.”

You do feel bad. It was your idea to get involved in the neighborhood toy drive, and despite his protests, you pleaded for Bradley to help.

“It will be fun,” you said before kissing his pouty lips. “I’ll make us coffees and you can light a fire and it’ll be so festive.”

“I’m sure it will be,” he cupped your face with his hands, “but I’m not lying when I say I can’t wrap a present to save my life.”

“You’ll do great.” You gave him another quick kiss and considered the matter over.

So, he didn’t do great. Could you really blame him? He tried to let you know beforehand, and it’s not like his military career was spent doing arts and crafts. You take another sip of your coffee before setting both mugs down and padding over to sit on the floor next to him.

“Am I off the wrapping duties?” He gives you a lopsided smile and slides his hand around your waist.

“You wish.” You reach over his lap and undo his wrapping job. “Get ready to learn a thing or two.”

He laughs when you use his own words against him, as you have throughout your entire relationship.

When you two weren’t yet dating – but still very much infatuated with each other – Bradley used pool as an excuse to get close to you, though no excuses were needed. You were putty in his hands already.

“Get ready to learn a thing or two,” he’d murmured in your ear. It was a Friday evening and The Hard Deck was packed, so he had to get close — mustache-ticking-your-ear close — so you could hear him over the rowdy crowd of sailors. And he was teaching you how to make a combination shot, so he had to wrap his arms around you so he could guide you through the motions. And you were a receptive student, so you had to lean against him so he could feel the curve of your ass — just so he knew his technique was working.

Now, nearly a year later on the rug of your living room, you slide up behind Bradley like he did that Friday night, your fingers gliding down his thick biceps towards his hands. They’re huge under yours, earning a laugh from both of you.

“Sweet girl, I’m not sure this is gonna work,” he says as you rest your chin on his shoulder. The curled ribbon from the bow in his hair tickles your check.

“Well, I know how to play pool thanks to this little trick. I’m sure I can use it to teach you how to wrap a present.”

You guide one of his hands toward the pair of scissors and another towards the pile of wrapping paper.

“Since I’m a great teacher, I’ll even let you pick which paper to use,” you say.

He lingers over the rolls for a moment, ultimately choosing a cranberry red paper with prints of cars carrying snow-dusted Christmas trees.

“Ok, now let’s roll it out. Look at me, Bradley.”

He pulls back a little so you can make complete eye contact. Even after months of dating, his warm brown eyes undo something in you, leaving you feeling like you’re brushing shoulders with the clouds. How did you ever get so lucky?

“It’s very important to measure the paper before cutting,” your voice softens as you drop the strict teacher act. “Put the Barbie at the edge of the wrapping paper, then you kinda fold up the other edge and see if it’s long enough.”

He takes a moment to soak you in before he can bring his attention back to the present. Up close, he can fully appreciate the graceful curve of your lips, the exact shade of your eyes. In the weepy, late morning sunlight, you are radiant.

The fire crackles in the background. The only other sound is your synchronous breathing.

You lean in slightly. “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but I promised Cathy that we’d deliver the presents by 2, so you need to get moving.”

“You should boss me around more often.” He stares at you for a second longer before turning his attention back to the present.

You’re glad he turns around so he can’t witness the violent shade of red your face flushes — nearly as red as the wrapping paper.

Once the paper’s measured, you show him how to cut it with one swooshing glide of the scissors.

“It’s like I’m a professional,” he says.

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself.” You squeeze his hands gently. “We’ve still got to tape this sucker up.”

He groans as you peel the scraps of tape off his thigh.

“How did you even do this to yourself?” You collect all the tape into one big wad. “You’re a grown man”

He shrugs. “I guess my mom was gone before she could teach me.”

At the mention of his mom, your heart melts. What you wouldn’t give to have her here for him, to walk him through this process he should have learned years ago. To spend another Christmas with her boy. You run your fingers through his sun-lightened locks. One night when you two first started dating, you sat on your porch alone. Under soft-falling moonlight, you promised Carole that you’d be there for her son; promised her that she and Goose could count on you to make sure he’d always be ok.

Something in Bradley’s face makes you think you were doing just fine on your promise. You can’t help the heat that rises to your checks when you catch him staring at you.

Then, with a mischievous smile, he swipes the tape wad from you, aims it, and launches it right at your face.

You try to get mad, to lecture him about the children who will be let down on Christmas morning without their Barbie doll, but the grin on his lips washes away any amount of anger you could dredge up. He wags his eyebrows and you can’t contain your laughter as it spills out of you and fills up the living room.

“You can’t be trusted with this dangerous weapon.” You grab the tape dispenser and wipe a tear from your eye. “I’ll rip the tape for you so you can just focus on folding.”

He kisses the crown of your head. “I’m actually trusted with dangerous weapons daily at work.”

You roll your eyes, but to his credit, Bradley is willing to learn. You gently guide him through the folds, but he picks it up pretty quick given that he doesn’t have to juggle the wrapping paper and the tape.

“That’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.” He holds up the present, admiring the sharp folds and the perfectly festive wrapping paper. “And I’ve got the perfect girl to thank.”

You dodge his incoming kiss, instead patting his cheek and standing up.

His brows knot in confusion before he realizes what you’ve gotten up to retrieve: a roll of velvety green ribbon.

You hold it up triumphantly. “One final touch.”

The absolute pain on his face steals the grin off yours.

You sink back down to the floor and wrap him tight in your arms, sliding your hand up his back to rub circles between his shoulders.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs against your chest, “I really don’t have that in me.”

You kiss the top of his head. If Bradley draws the line here, you’re more than happy to finish the wrapping. Hell, you’d even lace his fucking shoes if it spared him the torture of tying any more bows. You are head-over-heels for Bradley Bradshaw, and you know he knows it. It’s a good thing he’s equally head-over-heels for you.

“Ok, Bradshaw, I’ll tie the bow, but I’ll need a little help.” You break away from him and begin unspooling the ribbon. “I know your mom taught you this.”

And he smiles because he knows what’s coming.

You twist the ribbon around the package, cross-crossing it over the top. You look to him, and already he’s jumping into action. He ceremoniously raises a finger and plants it perfectly on the intersection of the ribbon.

“Perfect.” You steadily finish the bow. It’s really good, you have to admit: entirely symmetrical, huge and bouncy like a cartoon.

And then Bradley is on top of you, pulling you into his lap, smushing kisses along your jaw, working his way to your lips. His kisses are hungry, but not sinfully so. You’re hungry too. Hungry to share the rest of your lives together. To wrap presents for your kids on Christmas Eve while they pretend to be asleep down the hall. To savor early Christmas mornings in matching pajamas, sipping hot chocolate while a fire sings in the hearth. Late Christmas evenings where he pulls you into his lap on the piano bench and plays your favorite carols — a little sloppily from the spiked eggnog and having to reach around you. 

“I’m not in your way?” You would ask, already knowing his answer.

“No, you are right where you need to be.”

And he would play long into the night, celebrating the fact that he gets to spend Christmas with his sweet girl. No December 26th would pass without you waking up to find you had both lost your voices.

Your phone rings, rudely barging into your domestic dreams of the future. You’re tempted to ignore it, but Bradley accepts the call and brings it to your ear, leans his forehead against yours.

“Hey, Cathy,” you say.

“Is there any chance you can get the presents here sooner?” You and Bradley can both hear how harried the toy drive organizer sounds. “Sorry to even ask, you know I appreciate you, but some paperwork got messed up and —”

“Sure thing, don’t worry about it.” You break in to spare her the breath.

“Thank you,” she says. “And bring that sailor of yours, too. I might need help loading the truck.”

You laugh. “I’ll make sure to bring him along.”

“Thank you so much, sweetie. See ya soon.”

“See you soon.” You hang up your phone and toss it on the floor.

You peck Bradley on the check.  “Ok, ready to put those new skills to good use?”

“Ready.” He smiles and runs his hands through your hair. “Ready to do anything for you.”

You scramble out of his lap because if he keeps looking at you like that, you definitely won’t get the presents to Cathy on time.

You turn on the TV and fetch your still-steaming coffees from the table. Quickly, you and Bradley settle into an easy wrapping rhythm, the hum of a carol floating out of your TV, accompanied by the silent promise of all your Christmases — and many wrapped presents — to come.

[sp-by-april]

Yandere MBTI x Main Four

This is more of a breakdown I'm gonna use for reference when writing. I think this yandere fic is gonna go hard, so I'm gonna dig in.

The categories are cruel/reverent, aware/delusional, manipulative/honest and strict/lenient. Got this MBTI idea from @ddarker-dreams 💘

Cruel vs. Reverent

🤬 Eric Cartman: Cruel This is the most straightforward in this category. Eric will break you down and mold you in his own image. He's a sadist who will eagerly degrade you and then make it even worse if you don't put up enough of a fight.

🙌🏻 Kenny McCormick: Reverent Kenny worships the ground you walk on. He will drink your bathwater and ask for more. He thinks you're a fucking goddess and at his best, he will treat you like one.

🙌🏻 Stan Marsh: Reverent Stan's cruelty is all pointed inward for the most part. Stan is the guy who will write songs about you even though neither you or anyone else will ever hear them. Whereas Kenny's reverence for you is open and bold, Stan's is quiet. So much insecurity and self-doubt.

🃏 Kyle Broflovski: Wildcard, leans Reverent Kyle wants you and by his own account, you're worth having. He really does think the world of you. That temper though? He's prone to outbursts and will punch a hole in the wall if he's pissed enough. Cruelty for cruelty's sake? Never. But if you push him? His words will cut like a knife and leave quite the emotional scar.

Aware vs. Delusional

🃏 Eric Cartman: Wildcard, leans Aware Eric is a lot of things, delusional is occasionally one of them. Cupid me? Check. "You guys really think I'm cool"? Check. That said, I'd argue that Eric's scariest and most dangerous moments are when he is 100% lucid and clear-headed. When he first fixates on you, he knows you don't feel the same way, but that's immaterial to him. He'll get you regardless. Besides, he wouldn't be interested if you didn't present a challenge.

🤖 Kenny McCormick: Aware Kenny's a smart guy and for all his faults, he's still a clear-headed. He's nothing if not fucking aware of his lot in life and the states of his relationships. When you do come around to having feelings for him, he won't always feel worthy of your affection. He'll take it none the less, though.

🤡 Stan Marsh: Delusional Stan isn't delusional in the sense that he believes you love him when you don't, if anything, it's the opposite. He doesn't think he deserves you and he thinks you know it too. He'll reread your texts looking for any sign that you're upset with him.

🤡 Kyle Broflovski: Delusional Kyle can twist every glance from you into proof that you like him. Every coincidence shared between you is proof you were meant to be. He can get analytical to a fault, but he's also the most likely (other than Eric) to make emotion-based decisions. When those emotions trigger an analytical state? Watch out. He can convince himself of anything. You too, probably.

Manipulative vs. Honest

🤞🏻 Eric Cartman: Manipulative Do I really need to say more? Manipulative behavior is already a cornerstone of Cartman's personality, and here it's turned up to an even scarier level. Eric favors situational manipulation over emotional but he can and will use whichever seems more likely to get him what he wants.

😇 Kenny McCormick: Honest Kenny has no interest in manipulation for the most part. It's a waste of time and effort. He's not one to play games because he definitely doesn't appreciate it when people play games with him.

🤞🏻 Stan Marsh: Manipulative Stan favors emotional manipulation and unlike Eric or Kyle, he's not subtle about it in the least. He's an emotional guy, so appealing to your emotions is his go-to move. Definitely the type of guy to drop hints that he might hurt himself when things don't go his way. He is a master guilt-tripper.

🤞🏻 Kyle Broflovski: Manipulative Kyle doesn't just want you, he needs you. You can't be mad at a guy who'd do anything to fulfill his needs, right? So what's a little manipulation in the grand scheme of things? It's for the greater good. The ends always justify the means.

Strict vs. Lenient

🚫 Eric Cartman: Strict Eric has rules and you're gonna follow them come hell or high water. Trust me, you're gonna hate what happens if you don't.

🃏 Kenny McCormick: Wildcard, leans Strict He can be such a cool, laid back guy... Except when it comes to you. Kenny might not follow you around town to make sure you're where you said you'll be, but Mysterion sure will. He will be prone to making decisions on your behalf, but it's okay because it's really what's best for you.

🙈 Stan Marsh: Lenient Stan's only rule is that you pay attention to him. He just wants you so bad that he'd let you get away with anything as long as it meant you were still together.

🚫 Kyle Broflovski: Strict Kyle is a possessive guy, this means he wants to keep you under lock and key. Got any friends who are guys? Not for long, if Kyle gets his way. You belong to him and he'll stake his claim on you in any way that he deems necessary.

Final Scores

Eric Cartman: Cruel, Aware, Manipulative, Strict.

Kenny McCormick: Reverent, Aware, Honest, Strict.

Stan Marsh: Reverent, Delusional. Manipulative, Lenient.

Kyle Broflovski: Reverent, Delusional, Manipulative, Strict.

[bokutosmochi]

kinktober day six: cybersex!

I WANNA GET FREAKY ON CAMERA ♡ GOJO SATORU

fem!reader x gojo satoru 

ingredients: what's a girl gonna do when she misses her boyfriend who's a continent away?

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: satoru talks to your pussy, fingering, mutual masturbation, cybersex

sugar level: 2.9k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub

parlor's note: inspired by this fanart by the amazing @/3aem

p.s: the guitar solo referenced at the end is in the song i don't wanna be me by the band type o negative. i recommend checking out that song, or at least that solo. it's so good and definitely one of my favorites.

bon appetit!

the only reason why you're here is because you were peer pressured to go.

most of the time, you would totally be down to attend parties your friends hosted, but you haven't been feeling like yourself lately. gojo was assigned to a three month long mission overseas and you were missing him dearly. funnily enough, that was also the reason why you were forced to go.

"c'mon, it's halloween." shoko rolled her eyes at you. "you can't not go just because gojo isn't here. besides, you clearly need a pick me up. you can't just lay around your bed, eating ice cream and sniffing his shirts that you wear forever." she gave you a pointed look. in defiance, you rolled your eyes, crossed your arms against your chest and gazed elsewhere, not caring about how childish it may have seemed.

you had no idea how she found out your daily activities since satoru has been gone. perhaps searching around your house for secret cameras that she planted would be a good idea. regardless, you sounded pretty pathetic when she put it like that, but still. were you not allowed to miss your boyfriend?

if that wasn't enough, shoko still had more to add. "plus, didn't you already buy a costume?"

and that's how you ended up in your current situation.

you could see how much effort shoko put into the party. her house, usually decorated with a minimalistic and classy aesthetic in mind, was home to countless realistic cobwebs and fake spiders all over the little items she had, like her clock and picture frames. there was also something dripping down the walls, though you couldn't tell whether it was supposed to be blood or some form of slime because of the red lighting that came from the few jack o'lanterns scattered around the house. the lack of proper lighting gave the room an eerie feel, and the scented candle that smells of burning leaves did not help. it was expertly made, including the songs that played. the playlist included songs from bands like bauhaus, siouxsie and the banshees, and lebanon hanover, then halloween classics like thriller and monster mash.

you're dressed in a less than appropriate black dress with red details which satoru chose. it's a bit plain by itself, but you added a corset that pushed your tits together nicely. the outfit's paired with black red bottom heels, gothic necklaces, and a makeup look that tied everything together.

"you're supposed to be here having fun, not moping around the snack table." shoko nudged you with her hip making you huff at her. "i'm allowed to miss my boyfriend." you said stubbornly. "he's been gone for almost three months now, we haven't spent that much time apart until, well, now." you looked at her with a sad look in your eyes that conveyed everything that you were feeling.

thankfully, it made her sigh in defeat, seemingly understanding what you're currently feeling. "ugh, fine, fine whatever." she waved it off. "just stop looking at me like a kicked puppy and try to have fun or something." she walked away.

a part of you felt guilty. after all, she was trying to make you feel better when you obviously aren't doing the best, but at the same time, she's been tugging you along to do different activities to keep your mind off of gojo's absence for so long now.

you're tired and you really just wanna be whiney and act like a lovestruck teenage girl.

thankfully for you, you didn't have much time to dwell on the feelings of guilt because you got a new notification on your phone -- satoru sent you a photo.

you really couldn't open it fast enough. with how you're missing him, you'd be thankful for anything he sends you, be it a photo of what he's having for dinner, a puppy he saw in the streets, a restaurant that piqued his interest, or a photo of him.

you cannot lie, you did heavily prefer the message being a picture of him. nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you opened it.

nothing could compare to the sight before you. not a photo of the finest michelin star dish, not a photo of a puppy that's your favorite breed, not a unique looking restaurant, because it's satoru.

his face is turned from the camera, but it's definitely satoru. his soft white hair is the most obvious reason why you think so, plus why would he send you a sexy photo of another man. aside from that, you've spend hours tracing over the muscles of his back, his biceps, and even more hours grasping at the flesh, digging your nails into it as he fucked you.

you wonder if he knows you miss him, or if he misses you and the reason why he sent that wasn't to tease you and show off what you can't have, but to get a reaction out of you so you can set up a video call with him.

a gut feeling tells you that it's probably both. he knows what kind of reaction he can get out of you from flexing those muscles.

whatever the answer may be, the truth remains: you can feel the slick forming between your folds and there's a familiar ache between your thighs.

you quickly run to one of shoko's guest bedrooms. thankfully, because of your training as a jujutsu sorcerer, you're able to get there in record time without bumping into anyone in the process.

you look at yourself in the mirror there, fixing strands of hair that has been messed up in your haste as well as straightening out your clothing before setting yourself down on the available bed and clicking on the video call button on your phone.

and like you've expected, satoru accepts it without a second to spare, as if he's waited by the phone after spending the photo, waiting for your flustered call. he has a knowing smirk on his face, one you know all too well.

"hey there, baby." he drawls. "wasn't expecting to see you here this late."

"satoru," it comes out as a breathless gasp that was not caused by the running. "i've missed you so much." you wriggle on the bed, getting comfortable.

his answering smile was cocky, but you spot the hint of warmth in his eyes and longing in the way his smile is bigger than it usually is. he doesn't have to say it verbally, he's missed you too.

"aww, did you, pretty girl? 'm sorry for leaving you alone for so long." he coos at you. "i promise i'll be there in a week, kay?"

he transfers the phone from one hand to the other, but while doing so, he lowers the camera view a bit, giving you a heart-stopping peek of his abs, something he definitely meant to do to rile you up some more, as if your brain wasn't going a hundred miles an hour right this second.

you rub your thighs together to give you that friction that you so desperately need. "that's not enough though." your voice comes out painfully needy and you know satoru isn't going to let you live that down anytime soon. the moment he gets home and gets his fill of you - even before that, maybe - he'll hold it over your head for the coming months -- and knowing satoru, it's not a long shot to say the coming years. he'll keep on blabbering something or other about "remember that time i had to go on a really long mission and you were whining to me on the phone about how much you needed me?" but you couldn't care less right now. he would be right, you need him so bad.

"aw, does my sweet angel need me? 'm sorry, baby, but i just can't be there right now." he explains like you didn't know that already. "tell you what though, if you ask me politely, maybe i'll find a way to help you out a bit, then make it up to you when i get home, yeah?"

"please 'toru?" you pout at the camera and flash him your puppy eyes. you know that those will work already, but wanted to do more so that's what you did. you subtly pushed your boobs together, internally thanking shoko for forcing you to go to this party because if not, you wouldn't be wearing this dress satoru loved so much. "i need you so bad. can you please help me out?"

"that's a sweet girl." you see him look down and hiss. the camera moves a bit too and you wonder if it's caused by him freeing his dick from his gray sweatpants.

"i want you to play with yourself for me." he states. "start with pulling the neckline of that dress down and letting me see those tits." he breathed. you hear wet sounds from his side and now you know he's already jerking off to you.

you changed your position, getting on your knees and using the pillow you were using so you'd have something to rest your phone on. when that was stable, you did what he asked of you.

you let yourself get into the moment first, caressing the skin around your neck, your collarbones first, humming at the sensual feeling, louder than usual so satoru would hear you clearly before your hands moved to the straps of your dress and pulled it down.

the clothing was quite tight so you still had to pull it down to expose your lacey bra, but satoru didn't mind. as much as he wanted to see your body, he did love that tight dress on you, cursing whoever assigned this mission to him because he wasn't able to be with you right this moment. he adored seeing the quality fabric hug the shape of your body, adored seeing your silhouette.

next to come off what your bra, and you made a show of that too, albeit a short one because satoru was so loud through the speaker of your phone. to say your neediness increased tenfold would be an understatement.

"there you go," gojo said as he watched your boobs bounce out of the shed undergarment. his gaze was fixed on your body. the lust was pouring out of his intense blue eyes. "play with them for me, baby."

you took your hands and squished your boobs together once more, gave them a final squeeze, then paid more attention to your nipples, erect from your arousal. you rolled them between your fingers, noticing that every time your eyes fluttered shut while you pinched them, satoru would let a particularly loud whimper.

but "it's not enough, toru, wan' more." you whispered. it was something he agreed with, murmuring a small "yeah," under his breath.

"i want you to spread your legs for me, baby." he waited for you to adjust before saying anything else.

you could feel the beads of sweat forming on your forehead, but couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. you changed the way you sat, now sitting on your ass, planting your feet firmly on the bed while your knees were raised so satoru would have an unobscured view of your pussy when your legs are spread.

you lifted the skirt of the dress up and over your legs until it's bunched up at your waist, letting satoru see your crotch and the patch of wetness on your panties.

the view made him curse under his breath.

"touch your thighs, yeah, just like that." even the simplest touch had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. it's been such a long time since you've been touched like this, and that fact paired with satoru's breathy voice and the slick sound of him tugging on his dick was a combination that could make you come untouched.

your hips started to move back and forth though there was nothing there that could ease the ache between your thighs. his praises of good girl, and you're doing so well for me, baby had your cunt pulsing against the cloth of your underwear. "'toru, more, please." your not want, but need was palpable through the way your voice cracked at the last words. "need it 'toru, please, fuck."

"write my name over those pretty little panties, baby."

little did you know, he was so close to coming. even closer than you were. he knew he couldn't come though, not yet. he'll bring you to the brink of pleasure first so you can do it together. it's the least he can do after leaving you along for so long, so he slows down his movements.

he didn't plan to start touching himself so early on. he wanted to start doing it at the same time you sank your fingers into your pussy, but he couldn't help himself after seeing you in that pretty dress he picked out. upon seeing that dress on the rack for the first time, he already knew you would look gorgeous in it. he thinks that you can wear a garbage bag and he'd still be itching to put his hands all over you, but god, did you look absolutely irresistible in that versace dress. and to think that you discouraged him from buying it at first because of the price.

it's worth every single yen.

it took everything in him to not speed the motions of his hands up when he saw you spell out g-o-j-o s-a-t-o-r-u along with a couple of hearts on the crotch of your already wet panties. he constantly had to repeat "slow down, slow down, slow down," in his head before he completely loses focus.

he decides that it's enough teasing, at least for today when you're both so desperate for one another.

to you, his next words are like a life line.

"take your panties off, baby. show me that pussy i love so much."

you breathe out a sigh of relief and delight and it seems like you can't take the lacey undergarment fast enough. you toss it somewhere in the room, too intoxicated by satoru's presence to care where it lands or if you'll still be able to find it later.

"there she is." he moans, gazing at your cunt. "missed my girl so much. look at how wet she is, bet she missed me too, huh?" his eyes flash to your face for a second, before returning to your pussy.

"missed you so much." you replied, touching yourself without needing instructions from satoru.

you started with your clit, drawing gentle circles on it with your index finger, then slowly pushing your middle and ring finger inside you.

you and satoru moaned each other's names at the same time for the first time in what feels like forever.

your digits moved fast inside you, pushing in and out of your gummy walls at such a pace where you could hear the wetness and feel little splatters of the sticky liquid coating your thighs.

"fuck, you're so wet." satoru hisses, and you don't hesitate to tell him the truth. "it's all for you 'toru," you whine, throwing your head back with your back arched. you imagine that it's his fingers inside of you instead of yours despite the way he can stretch you out in a way that your fingers never could.

"satoru," he was addicted with the way you said his name; like it's the sweetest prayer that could cleanse you of all your sins.

the coil in your belly winds and winds, continues to get tighter with every stroke of your finger. it clouds your brain, letting you forget about every single thought you could ever have, like how there's a party right outside the door and shoko, armed with the key, can walk in at any moment. the only thing on your mind is the way that satoru sounds as he fucks his fist, pretending that it was you, and the way your fingers feel as they pleasure you.

it's so overwhelming, the way you feel. you can't even hold yourself up anymore, having to scoot up the bed so you can lay against the headrest while one of your hands stroke your clit and the other thrusts in and out of you.

you're shaking now, as you address satoru once more. "'toru, 'm close. s' fuckin' close. can i come? please. fuck! ah-need it so, so bad." you're almost at the brink of tears as you plead at him.

"go ahead sweetheart, i'm right behind you."

thankfully for you, the sound of an electric guitar solo drowns out the sound of you screaming satoru's name, and you make no noise other than pants as you struggle to catch your breath.

satoru recovers a few seconds before you do.

"fuck," he runs a hand through his sweat slicked hair. "we need to do that again."

"no," you disagree with him, but too tired to glare. "i don't wanna go three months without you again."

"this was so hot though, baby. i'd pay good money to hear you beg like that again."

i get: reblog

you get: a personalized gojo selfie

[frownyalfred]

i LOVED the new eye in the sky chap! of course, you have the soul-crushing rage-inducing angst pile on bruce's end, but i also really appreciated the duke-hal moment; he's so level-headed about the situation that you don't really build up too much stress over him, but then you brought in a different kind of heartbreak with the realization that he's been in this position enough times to know that the least provoking thing he can do is to do nothing at all.

and the FUTURESPEAKING jesus CHRIST — it’s a different type, but your time manipulation fuckery is almost equally as hard to wrap your head around as the stuff in tenet (the nolan movie), it's genuinely so impressive. (sorry, i'm just gonna run my mouth here for a minute, but the idea really caught me and now i Have to share all my thoughts just to get them out of my brain, though i hope that you'll be generous enough to weigh in as well😅) i'd imagine that there's actually relatively very few people, in-universe, who can do this so that duke hears it correctly, because you have to be able to focus your mind and put enough intent into the idea that you're about to say something that it "registers" as the imminent future—which means that you have to, at the same time, be completely repressing your knowledge that you're NOT going to actually vocalize whatever it is, because that intention would obviously counteract the first. and THEN, to make what's already quite a tough mental exercise even more impressive, bruce is: thinking of a futurespeak-response, putting enough focus/intent behind it for that future to crystallize (and again, it's a double-headed task, because of the repression required as well), and then cutting that off in order to think of and say something completely different, *all in about just the same amount of time a normal person would take to respond naturally in a conversation.* (also, slightly less mind-boggling but still quite impressive to me and i want to give him his props: duke, in that last bit at the end at least, is maintaining both his awareness in the present and the mental effort of using his powers to see the future, in order to hear the exact same voice say two different things at the same time, and is able to not only maintain the background effort needed to hear both things, but is taking in enough detail to see/hear/notice "both" bruces' tone and body language. ...i mean, maybe that's not so impressive to people without auditory processing issues lmao, but as someone who's constantly asking people to repeat themselves, or really having to focus on the sounds when somebody's speaking to me, even in one-on-one conversations, it certainly impressed me!)

anyways, yeah, this just inspired a lot of interesting trains of thought for me and i wanted to share lol. your fics are always such great reads, can't wait for your next update! Hope you're well💜

Thank you so much!!!! You absolutely nailed what I was trying to get at with Duke’s powers. I really didn’t want over explain it and have people roll their eyes, but I also didn’t want to leave readers mystified as to what he was doing.

Duke and Bruce are supremely well matched in this fic for that reason among many others — Bruce has a freaky brain and understands time/intention well enough to be able to think, speak, and re-speak that quickly.

He can compartmentalize like no one else. I am not obviously that smart, but the way I thought about it was playing competing melodies on the piano with two different hands - once you find the rhythm, the way they work off each other, you can maintain both easily. Where they gap, where they overlap, where they compete for your attention.

Duke is good at glimpsing a few seconds forward/back but definitely not for long periods. Like Bruce said, he’s going to need help to train that and avoid burning himself out! Luckily he’s just listening and not double speaking like Bruce is.

Someone on ao3 left me this in the comment section and they’re so right lol:

I feel bad for Hal, just a little, just like Duke does. He was tortured by Kal essentially, and where he does want to hurt Bruce (a lot) there are still some lines he won’t cross. I don’t know if that makes him redeemable or just not entirely beyond redemption. I think Bruce seems to know this too — teasing him with that moral code he used to hold so tightly to.

It was definitely a fun space to play around in! Writing this fic is difficult for me (agh worldbuilding) but whenever I try I’m pleasantly surprised by how much fun I have. Thank you so much for reading!!

[inaflashimagine]

lo mejor (i)

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader (can be read as reader being latine)

summary: nueva york had no shortage of places that sold empanadas. unfortunately, that didn’t equate to all of them being good.

but he continued to find himself going to your restaurant, a few of the other spider-people less than convinced that it's just for your food.

a/n: as a latina who also eats empanadas to cure their hanger, i just needed to get this off my chest. will be a multi-part fic!

3k wc. no warnings for this chapter, other than a litany of english + spanish curses

masterlist | one | two

–

“I’m in hiding. He’s angry at me…again…”

As much as the kid was growing on Jess, she sent an unimpressed look at the flickering hologram. “In other news, water is wet.”

“But seriously, how can he expect me to write a report only 5 minutes after I finish a mission? He’s worse than my AP Lit teacher, and Ms. O’Connor was—”

“Gwen, I’m gonna stop you right there. Because we’ve been through this before. You know how to fix this.”

Though her face was covered by her mask, the widening of her goggles before her shoulders sagged in defeat showed Jess that Gwen knew exactly what to do.

“But can’t you come with me? What if I mess up the order?”

“Are you kidding me right now? Didn’t you want me to ‘chill with the hovering’?”

Gwen sighed, already starting to swing her way through Nueva York to get to her destination. “I know, I know, I’ll go. Do you want anything?” 

“No need, it sounds like you might have to buy the whole store to be in his good graces again. Good luck.”

Her mentor logged off before hearing her star pupil groan in frustration—what was supposed to be an effortless day was quickly becoming a pain in her ass.

Like countless times before, Gwen quickly changed into her set of ‘futuristic’ civilian clothes to blend in with the rest of the long line at the tiny, but packed, restaurant. If it weren’t for the enticing smell of freshly baked dough, Gwen wondered if this would all be worth it. She’d have to cancel the jam session with Hobie if this plan didn’t work, lest she face the wrath of the villain of the week, Miguel O’Hara.

But when she finally saw a familiar smile and a warm pair of eyes greeting her behind the counter, she realized that Jess was right—she knew how to fix this.

Or rather, you did.

“Mi gringa favorita! It’s been a while. How many empanadas does el jefe need?”

–

Miguel was having a bad day. 

It started with the usual suspect: Peter B., un pendejo who believed that Miguel and Jess actually wanted to hear about his daughter’s bowel movements.

Not to mention the impromptu comedy club Miguel had to break down so everyone could get back to doing the jobs they forgot they signed up for. (Nothing was more irritating than being surrounded by unfunny people who genuinely thought their endless quips and corny jokes landed. Every. Single. Time.)

Then for the umpteenth time, he had to tell Gwen to turn in her reports on time. Yet that was nothing compared to her latest efforts in convincing Miguel to let Miles visit HQ and gently explain (gently because, “He doesn’t know any better!”) that he’s the biggest threat to the multi-verse. These poor attempts, unsurprisingly, fell flat. O’Hara warned Jess that the girl would be a liability, and each day he grew closer to sending the kid back to Earth-65 if she decided to pull any tricks. 

But the worst part of this dreadful day was when a nervous, slightly cowering Chef Spidey told his boss there were no more empanadas. 

“What?” Miguel’s brows furrowed in confusion, indifferent to the uncomfortable silence that enveloped the cafeteria at the sound of his incredulity. “What do you mean, there’s no more empanadas? Who ate the last one?”

“He promised me not to tell you!” 

And with that, Miguel stalked to his office where he was currently sulking in, seriously considering changing Peter B.’s portal watch to a day pass as punishment for apparently eating over a half dozen empanadas.

Just as he was about to give Lyla the command, his associate in the heart sunglasses suddenly appeared. “Gwen Stacy will be here in a minute, might want to start lowering your platform.”

“Maldita sea, didn’t I tell you to not let anyone in?” He pinched the bridge of his nose—he’d much prefer for his ears to be rattled with Peter B.‘s ramblings and even Ben Reilly’s moping over Gwen’s incessant whining about how crappy the current Spider Society establishment was. (She was spending way too much time with Hobie.)

“Hey pal, that’s not a nice word, and she comes bearing gifts that you’ll like.”

“Oh really?” he remarked dryly, arms crossed as he began his descent. “She finished the ten detailed reports she owes me?”

Yet Miguel caught the heavenly smell of beef empanadas before seeing Gwen’s sheepish face. And did he also catch a whiff of chorizo and cheese?

“Hi, Miguel. Heard you haven’t had lunch yet, sooooo…” Shaking off her nerves and avoiding that terrifying gaze, she held out the two large boxes as her apology. “And I’ll submit those reports by tonight, I promise.”

An eyebrow raised, he webbed the boxes toward himself and held them even more tightly when he saw where they came from. 

His eyes glossed over the mascot of Mama’s Empanadas, a smiling and waving empanada that almost seemed to assure him that his hanger would quickly be cured. But it was the words hurriedly scribbled at the bottom that displaced the rage he’s felt all day with a weird pang in his chest:

“Buen provecho, Jefe :)”

Miguel quickly turned away, hoping he seemed more composed than he actually felt. As the floor to his office slowly began to ascend, he said, “I’ll give you one more day to finish those reports. But don’t think it’s because this bribe worked.”

“Of course.” Gwen hoped the amusement wasn’t clear in her voice, smirking at the shoulders of the tall man lose their tension as he began eating the ‘bribe’. Would Hobie even believe her if she told him what just happened? 

“Thanks, Miguel. See you tomorrow!”

He didn’t even register her last words, eyes closed as he savored the explosive taste of smoked chorizo and finally allowed fond memories to flood his brain.

— 

Nueva York had no shortage of places that sold empanadas. Unfortunately, that didn’t equate to all of them being good.

It’s not that he didn’t know how to make them–he’s sure that he could follow his abuela’s recipes that his ma once gave him–but he just didn’t have time. After all, nothing was more convenient than cashing in the perks of the suit to cut a long line and grab free food. But once Lyla finished the goober she was working on (“It’s not a goober, Miguel, it’s a gizmo!”), he’d have even less time to do anything other than jump into different dimensions, some of which would certainly not sell empanadas.

This explained why after changing into sweats following a grueling shift, he found himself staring across the busy street at Mama’s Empanadas, the hunger in his growling stomach overwhelming. The small restaurant was engulfed by flashing neon lights and signs boasting the quality of their food in both Spanish and English. The place was always swarming with people whenever he swung by, but as closing time approached only a few stragglers remained. 

And so did you.

Miguel hoped that you were the owner of the shop rather than an overworked employee, considering that he couldn’t remember the last time someone else took your position behind the counter. But even from this distance, he could see your cheery smile while you welcomed new patrons and the regulars, almost as if you were genuinely happy to be serving them on a late Friday night. 

With all the running around he’s been doing lately, he couldn’t even remember the last time taking on the Spider-Man mantle gave him the same joy he spotted on your face miles away.

O’Hara felt his phone vibrate as he saw the latest message from Lyla illuminating his screen.

“Got some news to share! Might want to deliver the bad stuff in person though.”

“Que chingada,” Miguel cursed, rubbing tired eyes as he contemplated whether to reply. How could the news get even worse after Earth-1610 lost Peter Parker, their only Spider-Man?

Raising his head, he watched you approach the storefront to activate the electrified gates that would close the shop. 

And for reasons his brain would never be able to explain, he felt himself panic, almost as if his body jolted awake as he deftly weaved through honking cars and found himself in front of you, the only barrier being a pesky glass door that would take a millisecond for him to break.

Yet he was surprised to see you hold your ground, and even more shocked to see you flash him an annoyed look he’s never seen you give to any other customer. Shoulders tense, he was ready for you to begin berating him for being a nuisance and to leave the fuck off the premises. 

“Eres un idiota? ¡Casi te atropellan!”

Miguel blinked, not sure he heard you correctly. Sure, calling him an idiot is warranted, but he was not almost run over by those cars. Even if he did get hit–which, again, he wouldn’t–then the car would be hurt, not him. 

Instead of explaining himself without implicating his alter persona, or at the very least say something remotely coherent in English or Spanish, Miguel found himself even more gobsmacked when you opened the door and ushered him inside, frantically asking him questions in a random jumble of Spanglish as you tried inspecting a man seemingly twice your size for any injuries.

“¿No hablas español? Should I call 911, mierda, is this guy catatonic? Should I have moved him? Are you hurt?”

Feeling your hands shake his shoulders finally snapped him out of whatever funk he was in, confusion washing over him as he tried to piece together what just happened in the past minute. Heeding your obvious concern, he sighed and did his best to ignore the absolutely embarrassing predicament he put himself in.

“Estoy bien,” he assured you, his relief matching yours as you let go and immediately exhaled. “I really am fine, I just wanted to try the empanadas before closing.”

There was that exasperation again, your deadly expression sufficient in asking him ‘Are you serious?’ that your high-pitched words of “En serio?” were quite unnecessary, in his opinion.

“Was running across a congested street not serious enough?”

You scoffed before glaring at him for a few more seconds, though he could see the uncertain shift in your eyes. “This isn’t some twisted joke to rob me, right? Last thing I need is having Spider-Man beating you up and breaking my new glass counter.”

Miguel couldn’t hide the wry twist of his lips, fully aware that he could be thrown out at any minute but still curious to hear your opinion. “Not a Spider-Man fan?”

“As long as he doesn’t destroy my property, I wouldn’t even mind defending the dude on J. Jonah Jameson’s stupid podcast.“ You shrugged casually, already beginning to make your way behind the counter after deeming Miguel to be harmless, despite looking like he could crush you with his pinky. 

He didn’t know how to respond, still perplexed about why you hadn't kicked him out yet. 

He soon brushed those thoughts to the side when his mouth watered upon seeing you point at the remaining golden-brown pastries. “Well, these will be on the house, since you almost died in front of my restaurant. We only have 3 chicken left, 2 guava and cheese, and 1 chorizo with potato.”

Miguel felt his phone vibrate again–no doubt it was Lyla. 

And for the first time in a long time, he turned off his phone, not even bothering to view the message as he chose to look at you instead.

“I’ll take them all.”

–

When you first decided to take over your family’s restaurant, your tía taught you how to handle rude customers while also giving you advice on how to treat the nice ones so they always returned.

However, there was nothing in her playbook on how to treat the weird customers.

And Miguel O’Hara was the weirdest by far.

You took a light sip of your café con leche as you stole a glance at him starting his second empanada, the sight of such a quiet, large man sitting in a tiny seat and restraining his urge to inhale the food in one go quite comical. Much like how he ate the first one, he attempted to seem unaffected by the taste of the meaty filling. 

But after doing this for so many years, no one could ever hide their reaction from you. Especially the pure happiness one got from eating a toasty, savory empanada. 

And seeing the dark red-brown eyes of the intimidating man briefly widening and softening in amazement only made you want to find more ways to recapture that fleeting moment. To lengthen it and bask in its warmth, even if that meant countless hours of mincing, seasoning, kneading, and baking. 

“¿Entonces? The only thing you’ve said these past five minutes is your name. ¿Que dice el juez?” you teased, leaning back and smugly folding your arms as you already knew what his verdict would be. 

It was a choice you instantly regretted, almost falling out of your chair as he stopped looking at his half-finished empanada and focused all of his attention on you, a gaze so intense you briefly pondered if you left the oven on with the sudden swell of heat suffocating you.

He pursed his lips and rolled those impossibly broad shoulders, yet another action that made the room feel uncomfortably stuffy for no good reason. “It’s one of the best empanadas I’ve ever had in my life.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised, expecting to hear a ‘good’ or maybe even a ‘great’, but not the highest of praises. 

A pregnant pause ensued before a hearty laugh escaped you.

It was impossible to suspend your disbelief–all of this coming from one of the hottest guys you’ve ever seen enter this shop? Only when pigs fly, or as your abuela preferred to say, “Solo cuando los cerdos vuelan.”

“¡Mentiroso! Lo dices como si fuera la última Coca-Cola en el desierto.”

He had to know that his half-glare really was just him smoldering. There was no way this man was oblivious to the effects of that gaze. 

“I don’t think I’m a liar or particularly funny. Though I actually would appreciate a Coca, si la tienes.”

You desperately hoped that your immediate sigh sounded one stemming from annoyance rather than relief–having an excuse to get up and look for a can of soda rather than the brooding dude a mere foot away from you was the only way you’d stay sane through this strange night.

“I do appreciate the kind words,” you said after recollecting your composure, the cool air blasting from the fridge reminding you to retain at least some semblance of professionalism, “but these aren’t even the freshest batch. No way they’re the best you’ve had.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow as you handed him the can. “I didn’t say the best. And you don’t have any with a glass bottle?”

You rolled your eyes before plopping back into your seat. “If I did, I would’ve hit you in the head with it quite a while ago. And especially now, after your challenge.”

“It’s not meant to be taken as a challenge–”

“Ah, but I’ll take it as one because my family’s reputation is riding on this. Or else mi abuela, que en paz descanse”–you pointed to the framed picture of the sweet, old lady right above the cash register–“lanzará sus chanclas poderosas, and I don’t want to get hit by those, they’re stronger than that car that was about to run you over.”

The roll of his eyes was obnoxiously overt, but you barely caught a glimpse of the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, masterfully hidden by taking a sip of his coke. 

“How would this so-called challenge even work?”

“You’re asking the wrong question because that’s an easy answer. The next time you come, I’ll bake you a fresh batch of your favorite empanadas, no matter what kind and even if you come 5 minutes before closing.” Listing the types with each finger, it’s hard to contain your excitement. “Baked, fried, sweet, savory, you name it.”

“¿Y si no me gustan?”

“¡No seas tonto! Yet another dumb question, because you’ll not only like them, you’ll fucking love them. The right question is whether you’d think they’re the best.”

You swore he inched closer, the once faint smell of sandalwood from his cologne now overpowering your already-fried senses. “And what if they’re not the best?”

“I’ll get two more attempts afterward. If they still don’t meet your palate’s expectations, which honestly isn’t a worry of mine, then you’ll get free empanadas for the year.” It’s said without hesitation, with confidence you have no idea how you mustered all of a sudden. 

Out of all moments to be driven by pride, you choose to do so while tightrope walking on a straight razor.

And you wondered if Miguel read your mind because, for the first time, you heard his laugh. It’s a sardonic one, but its deep timbre was as attractive as his face and meshed well with his incredibly dry sense of humor.

Maybe the walk wouldn’t be as bad as you imagined.

“You’re either extremely arrogant in thinking you’ll win, or too trustful in people to believe they wouldn’t scam you with this deal.”

“But you’re not just some normal person,” you reply simply, amused to see his shoulders slightly stiffened, “and I believe you when you said you’re not a liar. Call it a gut feeling.”

“What do you even get out of this?” he asked, puzzled at how you just weren’t setting yourself up for failure. He didn’t need Lyla for him to visualize the thousands of ways you could lose.   

Your wolfish grin showed a lot more than your words. “Nothing, other than making my family proud. Anddd perhaps receiving a five-star review on Yelp wouldn’t hurt either.”

Running a hand through his hair, he shrugged before lifting his soda can toward you. “That’s the least I could do. But don’t think I’ll make this easy for you.” 

You gently clinked his can with your cup of coffee as your eyes locked with his, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

–

translations (please lmk if you need more):

Mi gringa favorita - my favorite white girl

El jefe - the boss

Un pendejo - a dumbass

Maldita sea - goddamn it

Buen provecho, Jefe - Enjoy your meal, boss

Que chingada - what bullshit/wtf

Eres un idiota? ¡Casi te atropellan! - Are you an idiot? They almost ran you over!

No hablas espanol? - You don't speak Spanish

Estoy bien - I'm fine

Que dice el juez - What does the judge say?

¡Mentiroso! Lo dices como si fuera la última Coca-Cola en el desierto - Liar! You say it as if it was the last coca-cola in the desert

Una coca - A Coca Cola

Si la tienes - If you have it

Que en paza descanse - may she rip

Lanzarla las chanclas poderosas - she'll release her powerful flip-flops

Y si no me gustan? - And if I don't like it?

No seas tonto - Don't be silly/dumb

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week - sweet talk // missed connection

I'm so so so excited to have participated in @ghostgazweek this year! It's the first time I've done an event like this and it's brought me so much joy. To everyone who has read and commented on my work this week, thank you! I'm so excited to play with some of these concepts some more.

CW: Relationships between coworkers, mutual pining, front of house/back of house relations, Phillip Graves (derogatory), kissing, a taste of dirty talk

“Takin’ my ten,” Kyle tells his manager, pulling his phone from his pocket. Price nods, waving him off and assigning Kyle’s tables to Alex and Nova. He swings into the kitchen with an absent wave as he checks his messages and steps out back.

“’M no’ sayin’ ye have’ t’ declare yer love in front o’ the whole bloody team.”

Kyle perks up at the sound of Soap’s voice, but back-of-house gossip is going to have to wait while he tries to figure out what his off-again situationship is complaining about now. Or not - the meltdown in his messages is not worth dealing with. Just as he’s about the round the corner though, the growl of Simon’s voice freezes him.

“That’ll do, Soap.”

Kyle has to bite his lip to keep from gasping. Simon isn’t the head chef - that’s Farah - but he might as well be her right hand. He’s the glue of the weekend dinner rush. Level headed no matter what, rarely raises his voice above a raspy muttering, huge hands that Kyle has seen split an apple in half without a hint of visible effort. Whoever he dates is going to be envied by the entire front of house. Partially because he’s bloody gorgeous. But partly because he’s just the perfect man.

“Nae, yer gonna listen t’me,” Soap insists. “I promise, ‘e’s interested.”

“’E’s not,” Simon says. “Already tried flirtin’ wit’ ‘im. No dice.”

“Leavin’ a note wit’ yer phone number - in a pile of other notes with phone numbers - is no’ flirtin,” Soap says, and Kyle can imagine the despair on his face just from the tone of his voice. “Do you ken ‘ow many o’ those damn notes ‘e gets in a night?”

“Exactly. And he’s got a bird.”

“They broke up last week,” Soap hisses. “She’s shacking up with her ex.”

Kyle would snicker at how close he sounds to pulling his hair out but…

Kyle’s situationship ended last week. Because she moved in with her ex and Kyle doesn’t want to go through that roller coaster, again. And Kyle’s the flirt on shift, so he gets the most notes and phone numbers on receipts…

“’E’s got better prospects,” Simon says. Kyle hears the flick of a lighter. “Gorgeous, competent, charismatic? Kyle could have anyone.”

“And ‘e wants you, ye daft fucker,” Soap groans. “Steamin’ Jesus the two of ye. Just fuckin’ tell ‘im.”

“Tell you what,” Simon grumbles, muffled by his cigarette. “If he comes out here before my break’s done, I’ll tell ‘im.”

“Then ah’ll go in an- Oh you mother fucker! 30 seconds?”

Simon sounds amused when he says, “Tick tock.”

Kyle probably couldn’t ask for a better dramatic entrance, so he rounds the corner with a, “What’d I miss?”

Soap yelps and clutches at his chest like an old woman. Leaning against the wall, Simon looks about as surprised as he ever does, which means there’s a hunted look around his eyes, but he mostly looks tired and resigned. He settles into his thousand yard stare and takes a long drag.

“Gaz-bear!” Soap exclaims. He circles behind Kyle and shoves him forward. “Simon has something to tell you that is of a very personal nature. Do not let him distract you with talk about the kitchen! I love both of ye and ah’m tellin’ Price to fire both of ye if ye don’t talk!”

And then he’s slamming back into the kitchen, leaving Simon and Kyle alone in the alley.

He could play coy, but Kyle’s a bit giddy. “You like me, Simon?”

Simon grunts, contemplates his cigarette as he says, “Wondered ‘ow much of that you ‘eard. But don’t worry, I’ll keep professional.”

“God no.” Kyle can’t imagine anything wants less. “Tell me when you wrote me that note.”

“Dunno," Simon shrugs. "6 weeks after that shit with Graves?”

Two years ago, before Price took over, Phillip Graves had been the manager. He’d been a nightmare, harassing hostesses and firing anyone who dared to point out he was bad at his job. After the tenth straight day of a front of house person running into the kitchen to cry, pursued by Graves himself, Simon had had enough.

“I c’n make this a much more hostile working environment if tha’s what we’re aimin’ for.” The big beautiful bastard had shoved his knife a good quarter inch through a cutting board. The reverberation of the blade had rung through the painfully silent kitchen. All of the back of house looked to Farah for direction. She'd looked at Simon. Kyle, Nova, Alex, and the girl they’d been consoling by the fridges had all held their breath.

“I could fire you,” Phil spat.

“You won’t. You fuck with this kitchen, you’re losing your job,” Simon had answered. The fact that he had looked and sounded bored had scared and aroused Kyle in equal measure. “So ‘ere’s what’s going to happen - Keller and Garick are supervisors now. Pay them like it. You got a problem with front o’ house, you talk to them. Another girl comes runnin’ in here, then I‘m coming out there an’ you and I are ‘avin’ words.”

Graves had sputtered, looked around at everyone gathered, then spun on his heel and left.

Three months later, he’d gone missing. Two weeks after that, Price had arrived, greeting Farah and Simon like old friends and preparing to make the restaurant the best Kyle had ever worked at.

What did it say about Kyle that rumors that Simon had gotten rid of Graves for good only made him more attractive?

“That was more than a year ago,” Kyle says, sidling his way under Simon’s arm and leaning into him. Kyle’s not a short man, but Simon is tall and broad and warm under his work tee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Simon takes another drag, and looks down at Kyle out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not exactly dating material. And you had a bird.”

“I would have dumped her in a heartbeat,” Kyle admits, startled when Simon barks a surprised laugh. “I would have! Fuck, I could have been sneaking out here with you for seven months? I’ll break up with her again right now.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon laughs, smashing his cigarette into the wall and dropping the butt into flower pot turned butt bin. He doesn’t move his arm from around Kyle’s shoulders.

“We’re dating now,” Kyle declares. “We’re boyfriends.”

“Movin’ kinda fast,” Simon points out.

“I’ve been in love with you for more than a year. Catch up,” Kyle dismisses. “My lease is up in four months, and I’m movin’ in with you. Now kiss me.”

Simon doesn’t hesitate. His lips are just the slightest bit rough. He smells like cigarettes and spices, and he turns to bracket Kyle against the wall. One large hand finds it’s way to the small of Kyle’s back to pull him in and press their hips together.

“Fuck,” Simon growls when Kyle moans against his mouth. “Pretty, pushy thing. Gonna be this demanding all the time, Gorgeous?”

“I have a lot of time to make up for,” Kyle groans, nibbling kisses along his jaw. “You should let me blow you.”

“Oh, should I?” Simon’s rumbling laugh sends shivers down his spine. “Should let Farah and Price catch you choking on my cock?”

Well, if Kyle was half-hard before, he’s rock hard now. “God, yeah, let me.”

“Not yet,” Simon growls, and that yet sends sparks flying through Kyle’s veins. His next kisses are just this side of too rough, tongue and teeth making Kyle’s lips so sensitive. Finally, he pulls himself away to pant into Kyle’s ear, “Let me take you on a date, huh, Gorgeous? Let me take you out, wine and dine you. Wanna know all about you, wanna talk about something other than work for more than five minutes. Then I’ll take you home and lay you out. Kiss you all over, suck that gorgeous cock of yours, yeah?"

“Jesus,” Kyle hisses. He tries to rock his hips into Simon’s, but strong hands hold him back. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Kiss me again.”

Simon laughs, dips down to give Kyle another closed-mouthed kiss. “Gotta head back in.”

“No,” Kyle pants. “Kiss me again.”

Simon growls into the next kiss and shifts to press his whole front into Kyle. When he pulls back, he presses a thumb against Kyle’s lips. “Be patient, Gorgeous. Gotta get through work tonight.”

He knows he’s pushing it, but, “…kiss me again.”

Simon’s lips are achingly gentle for a moment and then they’re gone as he takes a step back. “’M goin’ inside, now.”

“Thai food after work?” Kyle pants.

Simon chuckles and adjusts himself. “Yeah.” He swoops in for another brief peck. “It’s a date.”