#u don’t get the gasp i was holding back from gusping

[karinasbaby]

rereading the first paragraph of my work and seeing a grammatical error literally made me feel like i just got ran over by a truck oh my GOD

[yanandreckless]

Everybody Likes Kyle 5

New Kyle! What on earth could be in that thick, handsome head of his?

They are drawings, alright. Extremely intricate technical drawings of spaceships and suits of armor. As you look at page after page of wings, exhaust pipes, engines, and various other bits you can’t even guess the names of, you don’t know what you expected. A tiny voice in the back of your head supplies that any woman would hope there would be some fanart of herself, you huff in embarrassment despite being alone. Carefully, you put everything back where you found it and allow the scent of bacon to drag you out and into the kitchen. 

Kyle is shirtless and the sizzling in the pan hopefully disguises the gasp you gusped as you take in his continent of a back, only the red straps of his apron tied around it. Like a gift, waiting to be unwrapped so you could sink your nails and teeth in all that rippling muscle and all that pale pale skin. The tattoos that otherwise adorn his body sprawl across his back, too, black outlines seeking to be colored in. “Mornin’ princess. How’s your head?” Kyle tosses over his shoulder as he transfers a batch of fried bacon to a sheet-covered plate. 

“Only ever got compliments on it.” You snicker before you even remember you’re not shooting the shit with your best friend at the moment. 

“I don’t believe anything I can’t personally verify.” Kyle is in front of you before your brain manages to process this, setting down a cup of coffee and crouching so he’s almost eye-level.

“Why are you barefoot?” His eyebrow is raised at you and you look down to confirm what you already know. You are, and it’s cold. 

“Because someone took my socks off!” 

“Oh that! Yeah, the footsies page I run got a bit stale.” Kyle laughs and you push at his boulder of a shoulder in mock offense. 

“Seriously, darlin’, are all your undergarments so ill-fitting? Those socks were cutting off half your blood flow. But look what I got for you.” He reaches for a small silver cardboard box on the counter. It boasts a label in cursive that says Under World and he theatrically flips it open on your lap: 

“I got you three pairs for starters. I’ll get you more if you like them.” He stands up and returns to his pan, cracking some eggs into it:

“Now put them on and help me set the table, will you? Can you reach the glasses up in the cupboard?” 

They are cashmere socks. Fully black and plain, two thinner shorter pairs, and one thick, almost buttery-feeling. You put them on, feeling their warmth and the unassuming, non-constricting bands envelop your ankles like clouds. 

“You really shouldn’t have, Kyle. But thank you, this is so kind of you.” 

“I’ll have none of the “shouldn’t have” niceties, darlin’.” He grumbles playfully and you hop off the chair and open the cupboard he gestured at earlier. 

“Kyle.”

“Yeah, beautiful?” 

“I can’t reach the glasses. I doubt anyone but Shaq could.” 

Instead of a reply, Kyle sidles by your side, crouches, and lifts you onto his shoulder standing back up, all followed by a surprised squeak from you:

“Better now?” 

“U-uhhhh…” You briefly risk a look down at the floor, feeling like you’re on an amusement park ride. “I suppose…” 

Your heart is pounding. Kyle is holding you tightly, securely, and you wish he would toss you onto a counter and have his way with you right next to that crispy bacon and a pitcher of orange juice. If only the TikTok girlies could see him, he’s so book-coded and-

You hope they never see him, otherwise they’d all want him! Those bitches better keep their grubby paws to themselves if they don’t want to catch ALL these hands and-

“As much as I love manhandling you, darlin’, the eggs will go to shit unless you grab those glasses soon.” “R-right!” As he sets you down, two gigantic glasses now in your hands, Kyle smirks at you: “What were you thinking about so hard up there?” You huff, embarrassed. “Come on, spill.” “You’ll laugh.” “Oh yeah, I probably will, but I still want you to spill. And before you shoot back a bratty “why would I”, because I said so. Come on.” “You’re insufferable.” You hide your face in the coffee cup, taking a long sip of the strong, warm liquid. He put in a bit of milk and no sugar, just how you like it. 

“Come on.” He coaxes, the eggs now also safely on plates. One got slightly charred on the edges and he puts that one on the plate closer to him.

“I was thinking about how your entire… thing… Is very… book-coded.” You murmur and you fully expect him to laugh but he takes the cup from your hand, sets it on the table, and backs you into the nearest wall, caging you in between his forearms that lean onto its cool surface. 

“Oh really?” 

You can barely breathe. There’s a five o’clock shadow on his face, his hair pulled up in his regular ponytail, a strand falling over his eyes and he’s still just wearing that apron and black sweatpants. He smells of bacon and that deep scent of whatever cologne or shampoo or whatever it is of his, the scent that’s always the same and always there that makes your teeth itch to leave some mean hickeys all over his tree trunk of a neck. 

You wonder how much longer will your knees keep obeying in holding you up. 

“What happens in the books I’m apparently coded for?” He purrs, voice low.

Oh lord, may lightning strike you down right now! He’s not seriously asking you to spell it out! 

“Am I the main character? Do I get the girl?” 

He’s leaning in as you try to remember how this super complicated thing called breathing is supposed to go. 

“And once I get the girl, do I do some things to her that would make the book not really… a coffee table display, hm? Is it that kind of book?” 

You squeal helplessly. He chuckles, leaning even closer, closer. You close your eyes. And then you feel his lips on your forehead, leaving a soft kiss. 

“Come on, let’s eat breakfast.” His voice is still low, raspy. You grab at the fabric of his apron, for purchase, or maybe for not wanting him to pull away yet. 

“What are you doing, Kyle…” it’s a whisper, you’re not even sure you’ve even said it out loud at first. He locks eyes with you. A second, two seconds… And then he pulls away. Clears his throat. Turns his back on you as he hastily takes his apron off and reaches for a T-shirt that’s thrown over a chair’s backrest.  “The food’s getting cold.”