#all this on top of the stress for Different Reasons of the past few weeks and the gifts I had to make because of Money and being furloughed

[landosjpg]

from my pov | ln

lando norris x fem!reader

word count: ~1.0k

warnings: heavily implied body dysmorphia, disordered eating, insecurities, COMFORT

note: based on this request. despite of the previous warnings and this being more of a comfort blurb, i feel the need to clarify that i am NOT encouraging these behaviors and, as some sensitive topics are discussed, please DO NOT READ if this could be triggering for you or have any kind of negative impact on your mental health. i am also writing this from my own experience with these topics; everyone’s experience is different, so please be respectful.

and last, but obviously not least, if you’re going through something like this (or through anything, really) PLEASE REACH OUT! and if you’re not ready to do so, for whatever reason it might be, reminder that my messages are always open for anyone who needs a little rant or anything i could potentially help with.

and lastly, i don’t know how i feel about this one (yes i’m insecure about everything i post, leave me alone) so please share your thoughts with me as always <3

it had started only a few weeks ago. summer was around the corner, and inevitably, your social media was filled with girls in tiny crop tops or “summer body” posts.

normally, you wouldn’t pay too much attention to them; you liked your body the way it was.

but this year it was different. the stress of the past few weeks had a bigger impact on you that you ever expected.

the first time you noticed you were trying your summer clothes on. the skirt you loved being a little tighter than the last time you had used it.

it was only a few pounds, no one could really notice. but you could.

you shouldn’t have give it a second thought, but insecurities got the best of you and that very same moment you had decided that you needed to do something about it.

you would just stop snacking in between meals. you had it all under control, and in to time you would feel good about yourself again.

that’s what you told yourself.

but your rule of no snacking soon turned into skipping breakfast quite often and trying to make your meals as light as possible.

but you found yourself checking your body in the mirror more often than not whenever you were left alone.

“i’m back!” you heard your boyfriend announce, followed by the sound of the front door closing.

you felt your heart skip a beat at the thought of lando finding you like that, so you tried to put on your clothes as quickly as possible and wiped your tears from your cheeks before walking out of the bathroom.

you slowly paced to the kitchen where you knew he was, one of his hoodies over your body and your eyes inevitably red and puffy.

when you entered the kitchen, you didn’t even need to say anything for him to knew you where there, even with his back turned to you.

“got us dinner,” he said, taking the food out of a white plastic bag. “your favorite.”

you could feel his smile even when he still hadn’t turned to look at you yet, and it broke your heart a little that you weren’t in the mood for some junk food.

when your eyes met his, his face softened at the sight of you. he knew you were feeling down, but he also knew better than to ask. you would tell him, eventually.

“go choose a movie,” he uttered, voice tender. “i’ll be there in a second.”

you nodded and walked to the living room, sitting on the couch and trying to find a movie that could lift your mood up. just a little bit, at least.

it worked, for the last half of the movie; it eased off your worries for some time, and you found yourself lying on top of your boyfriend, worries about your recent insecurities now gone for a while.

you heard him sigh, his fingers brushing your hair softly as you rested your head on his chest with your eyes closed.

“tell me what’s up,” he whispered. “you’ve barely touched your food.”

“i’m not hungry,” you answered, making him roll his eyes.

“don’t lie to me.”

despite his insistence, he wasn’t mad; his tone was still gentle, and one of his hands slipped under your shirt to softly caress the skin of your waist. the touch that normally would have made you feel instantly better, this time making you tense a little. and he noticed, so he squeezed your side, urging you to speak.

“i just haven’t been feeling good lately,” you mumbled after a few seconds, your voice muffled as you were hiding your face in the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

“hm?” he only hummed in response, kissing the top of your head and waiting for you to explain further, not really wanting to push you.

“i’ve put on a few pounds these past weeks,” your words were barely audible, voicing your insecurities was never an easy task.

lando heard you, though.

“that’s not a bad thing.”

“but it is,” you cut him off before he could add something else. his hand slowly rubbed your back as he took a deep breath. “you’re only saying that because you’re my boyfriend.”

he chuckled, “don’t be silly.”

lando squeezed you in his arms and planted another soothing kiss to your temple, trying to find the correct words to say.

“i’m not saying that just because i’m your boyfriend,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. he held your chin and made you look at him. “you’re gorgeous, baby. everyone can see that.”

your lips formed a little pout as you heard your boyfriend’s words, which he was quick to kiss away.

“and nothing will change that, ever,” his eyes met your teary ones, the corners of his lips perking up at your vulnerable state.

“but i…”

“nuh huh,” he cut you off immediately with a slight shake of his head. “no ‘buts’, love. you look perfect to me.”

he softly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear as he spoke, his eyes soft and his touch gentle when he then cupped your cheek.

“i wish you could see yourself with my eyes,” his whisper made you sigh as he nuzzled his nose softly against yours, comforting and sweet. “you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen, baby.”

“do you really mean it?” your eyes fluttered closed as you spoke, eyelashes resting on your cheeks.

“of course i do,” you could hear the small smile on his lips as he reassured you once again, the fingers that slowly creeped up the side of your body tickling your skin.

a sigh escaped your lips, your arms circling around your boyfriend’s neck as you pressed your lips against his in silent gratitude.

how lucky of a girl you were, you thought, for him to be just yours.

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris drabble #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #ln #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff

[phntmeii]

Slashers and Hanahaki Disease

[SFW + No Gendered Terms]

Hanahaki Disease: A fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies.

Characters: Poly!Ghostface(Billy Loomis, Stu Macher), PreMichael!Corey Cunningham, Hannibal Lecter(TV Ver.), Jason Voorhees, RZ!Michael Myers

General Warnings: Mainly fluffy w/ happy endings, Mentions of death, Mentions of vomiting/gagging

A/N: Half the listed characters will have Hanahaki disease while the other half the reader has Hanahaki disease. Some other notes, I sped up how quickly Hanahaki affects people to a few weeks at max and included what type of flower I think would best fit in these situations :) Most are related to heartbreak, loss, death/rebirth, unrequited love.

Poly!Ghostface - Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

Flower Type: Purple Hyacinth

You had taken some days off of class, feeling too sick to go. Your parents didn’t believe you but you looked the definition of ill.

And heartbreak was just the cherry on top for you. Whether you had feelings for Billy or for Stu was already confusing but on top of that, you felt like you weren’t either of their types.

You had seen the people they went out with over the years and you were just never like them. Your own love life was failure after failure but it's not like they were offering themselves up in their place.

You were just the bestfriend in your mind. That’s all. And soon enough, violet petals were being thrown up into the toilet bowl every few hours and you could feel your lungs filling, getting hard to breathe over time.

Both Billy and Stu thought it was weird you skipped class. You’d at least give a heads up beforehand. Billy was more worried than Stu was.

He visited through your window at night to check in on you just to catch you in a pile of violet flowers across your bed covers while you laid there, casually watching a movie while you occasionally coughed some more up.

“What the fuck is that? Are you okay? Me and Stu thought you up and died.”

Looking over, you gave a weak smile in response. “Feels like I am.”

Soon you heard some clanging from the window Billy came in from and found Stu stumbling in, nearly knocking some things down before he hopped back up.

Stu gave a goofy smile as he held up some bottles before Billy looked at him with unamused eyes and snatched the bottles out of his hands as if to say, “Not now.”

Sitting down with you, asking what was wrong. You tried to explain but it sounded so silly. Throwing up flowers? And for seemingly no reason.

“Well… There’s diseases that are caused by stress? You think it’s something like that? Come on. You’ve been acting like shit for the past few weeks.”

You sat there between them and could think of one main thing but… How stupid that sounded. You didn’t want to say it.

Stu shook your shoulders playfully before getting smacked in the back of the head by Billy. “Come on! Tell us! What’s so embarrassing~?”

You sighed and reluctantly explained. You had a crush on them—your bestfriends—and you were definitely not their type. You were completely embarrassed, covering your mouth as you coughed up a few more violet petals.

Billy and Stu stared at each other after you said that, as if silently communicating to one another. Billy slowly smirked while Stu started laughing and wrapped his arms around you from the side.

“Seriously?! Holy shit, dude! You seriously haven’t noticed we were totally into you too?!”

You couldn’t even process what Stu said with how tight he squeezed you with his hug. By the time you finally noticed, you were once again distracted when you felt two different hands holding your jaw as Billy leaned in from one side while Stu leaned in the other and kissed your cheeks.

“ We’ve been into you forever…” Those small words felt like they made room within your lungs again.

PreMichael!Corey Cunningham

Flower Type: Red Salvia

Corey had met you in passing and you didn’t mind becoming friends with him. He was an awkward nerd and it was a trait you found charming to be friends with.

But to Corey, it was hell when he discovered the petals that soon formed and flew out of his mouth.

He had developed a crush on you immediately when he met you. You were simultaneously his heaven and hell. Someone so nice to him and yet the reason he found it harder and harder to breathe.

He avoided you for a week or so. He was so used to self-isolating himself when something went wrong. Deal with it himself as he always did.

Corey figured it was connected to you. It started the day after he felt those feelings rise in him. To make sure, he visited the doctor’s and found the term: Hanahaki Disease. And it was because of you.

He didn’t want to say anything about it. His fate was sealed in his eyes. But… maybe?

He decided to send a text to meet up. Better to talk about it in person even if it made him nervous to.

“Hey… I- I really didn’t want to y’know bother you or anything-“ “Corey, you don’t bother me. It’s alright. What is it?”

Corey shyly looked down and smiled to himself. God, it hurt to think that you wouldn’t like him. You were so perfect for him.

“I know this is gonna sound weird and if I'm honest I thought it was weird too. I-I’m… dying. From uh… Not having requited love...” As if on queue, he coughed, revealing red petals flying out of his mouth to the ground.

You were obviously immediately worried. To hear such heavy words from Corey made your heart drop. You had to ask who. Maybe he could still convince them to share the same feelings.

Corey scratched the back of his head, looking away. He didn’t want to say it. Especially since he didn’t want to leave you with the news that it was because of you that he had an expiration date coming soon.

“It’s… you. It’s always been you.”

A few whole Red Salvia flowers came out of his mouth after the confession. He grew increasingly embarrassed, wanting to take back his words already. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Just let his life take its course and end quick without you knowing.

But then, those moments of silence were interrupted by you approaching and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. His lips were slightly chapped from nerves and his overthinking made him think he should’ve done something about them sooner but he was more focused on how soft you felt. His heart swelled at the touch while his hands went to your cheeks, deepening the kiss further out of pure need.

Hannibal Lecter

Flower Type: Red Spider Lily

Hannibal was not one to ever be sick. It rarely happened, if ever. He took care of his health perfectly.

When he started to feel himself grow ill, he immediately knew something was wrong. Coughing was one thing but it was a completely different thing to find himself feeling the urge to vomit and finding flowers fly out of his mouth.

Staring at the red flowers in the toilet bowl, he already knew it wasn’t something normal. In fact, he already knew what it was.

The knowledgeable man he was, Hanahaki was a term that came to mind but with a sense of confusion.

He didn’t necessarily care for people like others did. His “care” for other people was a mask of feigned empathy. Not real.

But if he had this disease, something was different. And it was love of all things? It complicated everything.

There was only one person that came to mind that could possibly fit the supposed feeling he felt: You. His patient.

He kept it hidden still. Suffering in silence because falling in love was not something he was interested in. It would cloud his emotions.

And yet, he began asking about your love life during your sessions. Previous relationships, expectations of love, etc. A collection of information to mold himself into what you wanted.

He invited you over for dinners more and presented you with flowers each session. Each bouquet with meaning and cleanly composed together.

You were his muse. The focus of his musical compositions and the focus of his sketches when he had free time.

His eyes even sparkled softly toward you sometimes if you looked close enough.

But Hannibal knew his days were numbered and he had to say something before the flowers filled his lungs and killed him.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it. His vomiting became more frequent and he could feel how difficult it was to breathe.

After one of your dinners with him and he was walking you to the door, he stopped you. Taking your chin between his fingers, he gently tilted your face to look at him.

“My dear… Please indulge me in my desire for you. It’s grown insatiable.”

He started to lean in toward your lips. He’d memorized the shape a thousand times over through his sketches by now. Each quick line put to paper was a written wish to feel them on his own. “I’ll grow mad without knowing what you taste like.”

His eyes met yours when he was centimeters away from your lips, breath mixing into one another’s. “Tell me you wish the same.”

His eyes looked to you with a slight desperation to them. Once he received the confirmation, that soft whisper of a “Yes…”, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours and felt like life had been breathed into him.

Jason Voorhees

Flower Type: Lily of the Valley

Jason hadn't thought about romance much in his life, not thinking he'd be fortunate to experience it. He thought he had a face only his mother could love after all.

Finding you, you were never mean to him. If anything, you were solely kind to him and he was happy at the treatment.

Then worry set in when he noticed you weren't coming to the cabin as often. You usually visited and left some meals for him and candles to dedicate to his mother.

He worried heavily. Jason automatically believed he was in the wrong. Maybe he had scared you or had done something wrong. He was never good at social cues or interacting with people.

He sat there, waiting for you to come back. You wouldn't completely leave right? Or maybe something happened to you? What if you were dead?

Jason could only find his worries settled when he heard footsteps and saw you again. He immediately rushed out and hugged you.

He signed, "Where have you been?? I was so worried!"

Jason noticed you seemed paler than normal and you looked exhausted. "Are you okay? Are you sick?"

He didn't know how to take care of someone who was sick. His mother always took care of him. But he was willing to try.

"I... Yeah. I'm sick, Jason. I've been sick for a week or so now. Vomiting and all."

You couldn't see his expression but he was certainly concerned. He placed a hand on your shoulder. "I'll take care of you."

Whether you wanted to or not, Jason was already dragging you inside and sitting you down. He didn't know how to help, only that he wanted to help.

That's when you coughed and small white petals flew out of your mouth and into your lap. Jason tilted his head at that. Flowers? He had never heard of someone coughing up flowers before.

Jason forcibly kept you in the cabin until you could get better. You were his only friend. The only one who treated him like a person. He didn't want to lose that.

Few days pass and nothing. Petals had become full flowers with stems needing to be yanked out. You gagged each time you had to rip out the flower by its stem.

You thought you might die. A sickness you had never heard of along with it getting quickly worse? You couldn't help but recognize where this was going.

You laid beside Jason at night. He was attached to the hip with you in your stay. You figured now was a better time than never saying it at all.

You took his hand into yours, something that made Jason give you his full attention. "Jason. I just wanted you to know that... I love you. I need you to know that."

Jason could feel his heart jolt at that confession. It was said in a more sad tone than a happy one but all the same, it was the words said that mattered. "Do you mean it? Are you sure?"

Nodding your head with a weak smile, you placed a kiss on the cheek of his mask. Jason could feel his face heat up at that. No one had ever treated him like that before.

He grabbed your hands, maybe a bit too strong in his grasp, as he signed rapidly in excitement. "I love you too. You're the only one who likes me. I want you to stay. Please."

You felt slight pain in your lungs as the stems that had begun taking root in them slowly retracted and dissipated. He was your cure.

RZ!Michael Myers

Flower Type: White Rose

Michael had inhabited your home for some time. He needed a home base to return to when he wasn’t stalking for victims.

You couldn’t say much against it, fearing you’d be next. And he wasn’t the worst guest?

Besides blood needing to be cleaned, he was silent. You could barely even notice him there if it wasn’t for his giant size.

Over time, you noticed how he grew closer to you. Literally. He loomed over you while you cooked or cleaned. You’d get jumpscared by how you’d turn a corner and see him standing there. He also started preventing you from leaving if he was there.

Michael would stand in front of the door, staring you down until you understood to stay home. Seeing you listen, he gave the most affection he’d ever show: patting your head.

And you grew an odd attachment to him. You’d worry if he was out for too long and worried if he ever came back injured.

You two were attached. In what way, you couldn’t answer that question but you didn’t mind being close to him. Even if he never showed affection or attachment, you knew he felt something. Otherwise, you would’ve been dead already.

Michael never spoke nor gave indication of what he was feeling ever. You could only ever notice the extremes. And when you noticed Michael in his room for longer than normal, you wanted to help even if he always pushed you away.

You knocked but no answer. Knocked twice and still nothing. You took that as a “no entry” and sadly turned away.

Right as you did, the door opened and Michael looked to you with his same deadpan stare you always knew. His hands littered with white rose petals. You didn’t understand until he coughed again, more petals coming out.

You didn’t know how to react to it other than to grow concerned. His hands dropped the petals and grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them. His eyes looked to you and for the first time, there was a slight hint of fear there.

It was odd to see such a large man who had survived hell and back to show fear now. You guided him to the couch, wanting him to feel comfortable.

You grabbed his hand, forgetting how he was a murderer, forgetting how his hands were responsible for the deaths of so many. “Michael…”

He exhaled in response, looking at you through the strands of hair covering his face. He forcibly grabbed your hand, pulling you to him. Ending up in his lap, he held onto you, still silently staring. He buried his head in your chest, squeezing you tight. He didn’t want to let go.

You let your arms hold him to you, caressing the back of his head. You placed a small kiss to the top of his head.

“Michael… It’s okay. I’m here.”

Michael couldn’t take finally having an affectionate touch after so long. Restraint was something he never knew and letting himself have an ounce of it was like opening Pandora’s box. He pulled away and slammed his lips into yours. He pushed you down on the couch, placing his hands on either side of your face, trapping you there.

And yet, you didn’t deny him. You matched his desperate, sloppy kiss. And Michael could feel the air in his lungs return only to be immediately used from his kissing and grunting. And you knew where this was going when you felt his slight runting against your leg.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

#slasher fucker #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #slashers headcanons #michael myers x y/n #michael myers x reader #rz michael myers #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #billy loomis x reader #stu matcher x you #stu macher x reader #jason voorhes x reader #jason voorhees x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #corey cunningham x reader

[expectodragons]

The Art of Receiving || 18+ Oneshot

✦ Summary: The stress of studying for your final exams is finally getting to you and you're in desperate need of some relief.

✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female Reader

✦ Word Count: 2,230

✦ Rating: Explicit, 18+ only - minors do not interact.

✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, oral sex (f!receiving), PWP, reader is of age, slight power dynamics, student/professor relationship, vaginal fingering.

It was not often you found yourself in use of the bath in the Prefect’s bathroom. The place was a privilege for but a select few students, yourself included. Being a Quidditch Captain did have its benefits, after all. But rarely did you find the time, or the need, to traverse the many steps up to the hidden room.

Today, however, had given you every single reason to seek out the vast warm waters of the pool-like tub.

Exam season was upon the castle and your nerves, in particular, were due to fry if you spent another moment huddled over a dusty tome in the library with your group of fellow seventh-years. Between a series of challenging classes and the overwhelming air of expectation that was placed upon you by your professors, you were a step short of collapsing.

You had felt your eyes blurring together the words of Malinda Haddock and her many essays on the intricacies of advanced Transfiguration in the fifteenth century. Your head had pounded against the table, much to the concern of Poppy who had been working alongside you.

It felt like your mind could consume no more information – a sponge already seeping out water – you were at your fill of knowledge. And nothing the famed witch could say about the difficulties of transfiguring avian creatures into knitting needles could breach your mental walls.

So, with a weary pace, you had found yourself taking the long journey up to the top of the South Wing’s tower. Flicking the spigot on every faucet until the bath filled with technicolor soap and kaleidoscope-colored bubbles floated into the air. Time had passed without your awareness, so lost in the delicious sensation of warm water rippling over your stressed shoulders.

But, when you at last extracted yourself from the lovely bath and had dried and dressed yourself once again, you finally took notice of the time. Curfew was due to start in but a few minutes and dinner was obviously out of the question.

As you descend the spiral staircase, eager to pick up your pace in an effort to make it to your common room before the clock strikes the hour, you find yourself face-to-face with a particular Potion Master.

“Ah,” Sharp says your name in that slow sardonic tone. He peers up at you from his lower position on the staircase.

“Professor Sharp,” you say in polite admonishment.

If he held you up any longer, you would never make it to your common room in time.

Sharp takes a step, and then another. And even though he’s three steps below your position on the landing, he’s fully eye-level with you.

“You were absent from dinner this evening.”

Your chin juts out, ever so slightly, “I was. And if you’ll excuse me, I wish to make it to my dorm before curfew begins, sir.”

The professor gives an amused hum of consideration. You feel your cheeks become aflame with heat with the look he bestows upon you.

Resting a hand on the banister, he leans into the rails, as though he has nowhere to be in a particular hurry.

“How are your study sessions coming along? I believe the entirety of your year has taken over Scribner’s domain this past week.”

With a huff of annoyance, an impatience sending your feet rocking back and forth, you respond with a simple, “Fine.”

“And your classes? You’re keeping up with the workload I imagine?”

“Yes, sir. If you excuse me, please. I really must get going.”

Before you can so much as brush past him on the other side of the staircase, Sharp moves another step forward and takes a gentle hold of your right arm – your skin still radiates the warmth from your long bath and you know he can feel it between his fingers as his thumb begins to rub a steady rhythm against your hammering pulse point.

The two of you rarely appeared together outside of the safety of his office. Where he could lock the doors and cast a simple Muffliato upon the room. Your meetings were cherished, but increasingly rare as the days leading up to the NEWTs kept you away. But here, in the Faculty Tower – on the top landing of the tower, at that – you feel a familiar rush of desire pooling in your stomach as Aesop takes a final step forward.

Towering over you now, you can feel his warm breath upon your face. Smell the comforting aroma of sandalwood and musk that lingers on his robes. You can even see the beginnings of that familiar small smile of his that sends your heart racing anytime he shares it with you.

“You must be exhausted, my dear.”

The firm press of his thumb on your wrist has your knees buckling, lost in the weight of his heavy stare.

“It… has been rather stressful.”

“Hmm,” he hums in return. His charcoal-colored eyes bore into you as if undressing you here in the corridor before he seemed to make a decision – a sudden flicker of interest across his face your only warning.

“Perhaps you are in need of some relief, as it were.”

You gulp, feeling a flood of want surging through your chest. Your neck flushes with warmth and your ears begin to burn as you carefully turn your wrist in his hold until your fingers wrap around his thumb.

“Perhaps, sir.”

With a thin smile, Aesop leads you the few short steps up to his personal chambers.

This was one place you had never adventured before.

There had been two, and only two, separate occasions in your time with the potions professor, where a secret rendezvous occurred outside of his office. Once, in a hidden nook in the Bell Tower when the majority of the school was out on a Hogsmeade trip. And one very heated exchange in the changing rooms after a quidditch match when the rest of your team was headed off to the common room to celebrate your victory.

But this?

You allow your gaze to wander around the red-toned room. Taking in the small things that took up your professor’s private space. It was hardly as neat as you would have assumed it to be. Stacks of papers, bottles, and potion tools littered every available space. A lone chair sat before a blazing fire. A curious glance towards an ajar doorway nearly has your attention before Aesop’s hand cups your face.

“Now…” he intones. “What to do with you?”

Creeping up on your tiptoes, you lean into his touch.

“I could think of a thing or two.”

He chuckles, curling a finger through the damp locks of your hair.

“I imagine you could. However…” his gaze goes distant, seemingly transfixed by the droplets of water that travel from your hair down to his finger.

Giving an experimental tug, he brings you closer – holding onto but a single strand of your hair. You allow yourself to be pulled, pressing up to meet his curved smile as a kiss, almost too sweet, is placed upon your lips.

“Poor, poor girl,” he murmurs against your lips, tilted back just enough to keep him from making contact with your eager mouth. “Drowning under the pressure of your studies. Has no one shown you proper care these past few weeks?”

His snide remarks only have you leaning up to try and join your lips together once again, but he remains stubbornly persistent in refusing you further. Much to his own delight, apparently, as a wolfish grin materializes on his face.

And then his hands are traveling down your sides. Fingers pressing into the curve of your waist, the small swell of your stomach, the dip of your hips. As you wrap your arms around his neck, his head lowered to almost rest upon your shoulder, you feel the cool air of the room caress your legs as you find your skirt being pushed up.

“If only someone was willing to spare you a thought, hmm?” he crones.

Calloused fingers meet your bare skin, following the gentle curve of your inner thighs as they trail higher and higher.

“What have we here?”

You can sense the pleased smile on his face as his fingers delve into the wet heat between your legs – your eyes closing and your head tilting back in delight at the first brush of his knuckle across your lips.

Warm breath tickles your ear as teeth gently tug at the lobe.

“Eager indeed.”

At last, you lean against him, moaning a gentle, “Aesop.”

He smirks, removing his hands – allowing your skirt to fall back into place – as he pulls you toward the door across the room. Walking backward, he presses the entry open and leads you into a smaller room. Your eyes flash across an array of furniture, covered portraits, stacks of cauldrons, and books, before falling upon the bed.

“My darling girl,” he smooths, turning you slowly in his embrace until you find your knees backed into the crimson sheets of his bed.

A gentle press on your shoulder has you sitting down like a good student, while the man before you drops to a single knee. Your hands grip the sheets like a vice as your skirt is rolled up onto the tops of your thighs and two large palms press your knees apart.

Sharp settles there, in the V of your legs, as a hand lazily drags through the warm slick of your desire. Perhaps another clever quip could be said then, but his dark gaze has zeroed in on his own fingers now, and with a muffled cry parting from your lips Aesop leans forward and licks a warm stripe up your quim.

Pulling your fist to your mouth, you bite down on the flesh of your fingers as he repeats the action.

Heated breath grazes your cunt and the pleasant sting of his stubble scrapes the smooth flesh of your thighs as a deep moan rumbles across your womanhood.

His hands wind under your knees as he spreads you further open, his nose brushes against your mound, as he dips his tongue into your quivering hole – scooping up every bit of sweet juice he finds dribbling out of you.

“Oh god,” you cry out.

Your hand falls from your mouth to latch into the silky strands of his dark tresses. Pulling him closer as he starts to work a steady rhythm with his mouth. Buried between your thighs like he was meant to always be there, Aesop moans another gravelly sound as he begins to suck your clit between his swollen lips.

Like a man starved, he finds his fill in the juncture of your legs. Licking up everything you have to give him, his hold upon your thighs leaves crescent-shaped bruises that send another delicious wave of pained pleasure toward your core.

“Yes, oh Merlin, yes!”

Urged on by your desperate cries, the potions professor barrels forward, sucking your button in earnest as you tug his hair into a tight grip. You can feel it, the sweet desperate coil in your core. Soon it will snap and your release will paint your lover’s face.

Rocking your hips to meet him, you find yourself grinding against his lips, though that only seems to encourage him as he flicks his tongue over your clit and stares up at you with that glazed-over heavy expression in his eyes.

Sweat clings to his brow and his hair curtains his face, but all you can focus on are those gorgeous eyes. So drunk on you, your taste, your cunt. You find your bundle curling tighter and tighter, your hips rocking in a frantic pattern, as Aesop sucks down your sweet pleasure.

A rumbling moan sends you over the edge as he dives into you with a fervor.

His tongue, almost too rough now, laps up your desire as your hold on his hair loosens and your legs seem to become leaden underneath you.

Slowly, he pulls back – his chin a wash of cum and spit – as he huffs out a few raggedy breaths. His lips grace your thigh with wet kisses before he finally drops your legs back to the ground and carefully eases himself back up.

Taking a place beside you on the bed – where you are now lounged back, breathing several shuddering gasps – Aesop drags his hand across your torso, fingers snagging on the buttons of your blouse. He walks up your sternum before his thumb finds the curve of your bottom lip and tugs down upon the silky flesh.

“Feeling relaxed, dear one?” he murmurs, watching you with a transfixed sort of expression that spoke of feelings more than just casual fleeting interest and obvious lust.

Huffing a lofty laugh, you shake your head – lulling your head to the side so you can meet his gaze.

“So relaxed, I fear I might not be able to move again.”

His hand trails to the curve of your jaw, where he cups your heated flesh – a lone finger rubbing over the delicate skin of your cheek.

“That would truly be a shame if that were the case.”

“Wouldn’t it just?” you smile brightly. Feeling the ticklish tingle of your legs and the overwhelming sensation of undiluted happiness coursing through you.

Sharp hums once again in agreement before he leans down to place a lingering kiss upon your honey-sweet lips.

#aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp x reader #aesop sharp fanfic #professor sharp fanfic #hphl fanfic #my fic

[crownedghostprince]

"Please, rest your eyes with me.."

Loki x Stressed!Reader

Fandom: Marvel

(Y/N) had been working very long hours after being given a co-worker's workload for the week on top of her own work. Presentations, emails to important clients and sponsors, meetings, reports and all of that again, but for her sick co-worker. It's been a couple of days. No sleep, small and nutritious meals, and too many phone calls. Loki grew concerned with his lover and decided to make sure they finally rested for the night.

Requests: Closed. Requested: no.

Warning(s): Overly sweet. Pure fluff, no smut. There's a bathing together scene, but it's fluff. I repeat: fluff <3

Note: Reader is a woman :)

Word Count: 1,509

[Third Person Perspective]

(I couldn't find a source for this on Pinterest. But his expression is fantastic <3)

The sound of tapping and clicking was Loki's usual ambiance for the past couple of days now. Well, to be more specific, it was the sound of keyboard typing. His beautiful girlfriend had been working hard with no sleep and terrible take-out meals for a couple of days and Loki had been too busy to fully realize until now. The hard-work his significant other was putting in had simply been background ambiance as he darted back and forth between rooms trying to help Stark organize another party whilst Stark was actively fighting with Rogers.

So Loki being the newest Avenger was forced to run back and forth, helping the two to plan the party without a huge argument. This also meant that Loki had to keep the peace, write lists of different things both 'manchilds' wanted at the party, do some decoration planning with Natasha and keep his promise to Thor by spending an afternoon in town together. The past two days had been hectic, but Loki managed to survive - albeit very tiredly. Now he finally had a chance to settle down and enjoy a nice rest day. Except...he couldn't relax.

He had hoped his lover would take a few ten minute breaks here and there. Maybe take a break whilst eating. Perhaps not take her phone to the bathroom to continue working. Not only to have a small minute break, but for hygienic reasons as well. Loki made a mental note to carefully wipe over her phone later. Sadly, (Y/N) continued to work hard at her laptop, typing up presentations and then jumping to answer emails and then jumping back to the presentation. Yesterday, Stark said she had done a very long report on the many benefits of a small coffee shop that connects to the office.

Something as ridiculous as that seemed unbelievable to Loki. But considering how some midguardians loved their useless work and fancy little reports, he eventually believed Stark wasn't lying. To Loki it was simple: if a major corporation wanted a tiny, cheap, coffee shop? Then they would just build it with their vast amounts of money and make that quick profit. But according to Stark those mortals loved making sponsors pay for it instead. Millionaires that kept the business from using their own money on literally anything.

Millionaires that needed to be persuaded into putting a couple thousand dollars into a small project by fancy looking graphs, reports and who knows what else. Gosh, just sitting there thinking about all that had given him a headache. He checked the time and decided that 10:00pm was far too late for (Y/N) to be working. Loki stood up, stretched his aching arms a bit and headed straight to the kitchen. If his darling angel wasn't going to finish work and rest on her own, he would make her.

Loki made two very sweet, hot cups of tea, grabbed an advil and sat in front of (Y/N). "Here you go, my love. You've been working for so many hours you missed dinner tonight." He spoke softly.

"Oh, wow. The time sure went by fast." (Y/N) sighed out, stretching her arms a bit and accepting the much needed cup of tea. "Thank-you, Loki. This is delicious." She smiled and visibly relaxed from the soothing sweetness.

"I'm delighted to hear that. I was going to play some music and enjoy a nice bath. Would you please join me? I dearly miss your company." Loki did his best to sound suave and inviting in hopes (Y/N) would accept rather than work more. He just needed to get her away from the laptop for some rest for at least one night. At her current rate, she'd just faint from exhaustion and run herself into the ground and Loki wanted desperately to avoid that.

"Oh, Loki. You know I would love to join you, but I've got so much work right now...I don't know if I can afford to spend time away from these slides." She strained her eyes to look back at the blaring screen. She didn't even have a blue light filter on...or dark mode...she could be so silly sometimes. But Loki smiled fondly.

"Just for a few minutes, darling? Please? For me?" He tucked some strands of hair out of her face and met her gaze with a pout she couldn't say 'no' to.

"Oh...alright, you and your adorable face..." She sighed in defeat, "Just let me fix this up and save this and I'll join you." She returned to the screen one more time and Loki watched the clock with a mental timer of five minutes. He moved quickly and got the bath ready with warm water, a sleepy scented candle, he changed the bathroom light to a soft orange and grabbed the softest cloth he could find in the bathroom. Finally, he turned on (Y/N)'s favourite, calm songs and played them on low from a speaker in the bathroom.

Next, he went to her room and pulled out her most comfortable t-shirt and pants, grabbing her towel as well and then headed back to the bathroom after grabbing his own things. He returned after five minutes of setting up the bath and tapped her on the shoulder. "It's been five minutes, please finish that last graph and save, darling. The bath is ready and warm."

"Oh, already? Alright, I'll finish this and save." She promised. She worked on the graph for another minute and once it was finished Loki quickly intervened before she could move onto another unfinished graph. He gently placed his hand over hers, gaining back her attention, and he slowly dragged the cursor to the save icon before minimizing the screen.

"Come, darling. Let's get you into some nice clean clothes that will hopefully be more comfortable than your work attire." (Y/N) stared up at him before slowly registering what he said and finally looking down at her clothing. She had completely forgotten she was even in her work clothes still. She simply nodded and followed Loki to the bathroom for what she thought would be a quick bath and then back to work. But Loki had other plans: making sure she slept.

His plan went exactly as he had expected. The soft, orange light would help her brain wind down from the constant blue light that definitely disrupted her brain's sleeping pattern. The soft music she would play to fall asleep with, the sweet tea settling in her stomach, the warm bath water and the sweet scented candle. He made sure to scrub the soap in gently and take his time.

She leaned back against him and sighed against his chest, feeling sore from sitting hunched over, but overall she was relaxed. Her eyes grew heavy and harder to keep open until they slowly drifted shut. Loki carefully carried her out of the water and wrapped her up in her fluffy towel whilst he drained the bath water and made sure to tidy everything up. She was still awake, desperately fighting sleep so she could get back to work. But her body wouldn't cooperate. She was exhausted.

Loki finished drying her and helped her dress. He brushed her hair back into a neat plait and made sure she brushed her teeth. He washed up as well and then lead her to the bedroom for a good night's rest. At this point, she was too tired to fight back. But she still attempted. "No....Loki..." She whined. "I have to get back to work now..." She groaned.

"Please, rest your eyes with me..." Loki hushed her stubbornness. "...Just for a few minutes, love. For me?"

"Fine...like...five minutes.." She groaned and stumbled into bed, almost falling asleep immediately.

"Thank-you, love. I've missed your company." Loki laid down beside her and pulled the covers up, turning on some rainy ambiance and pulling her into a cuddle - spooning her with an arm draped across her waist.

Hearing a soft groan and sigh, he smiled and kissed the top of her head. His plan was successful and he felt very proud of his lover for being such a hard-worker. He also felt very proud of himself for remembering how to help a mortal unwind after a long day. The orange light and soft music was all Stark's advice when Loki had first started dating (Y/N). Apparently midguardians brains worked slightly differently to Asgardians, and needed help to slow down to sleep.

Once soft snores and little bits of strange sleep talk drifted from his lover, he knew she was fast asleep. He finally allowed himself to sleep for the night as well. "Goodnight, love." He whispered, half asleep. "I love you."

"...Love you...too..." She spoke back - still dead asleep. Talking in one's sleep was still an interesting phenomenon to Loki, but he'll have to ask about that at some other time. For now, he was quite content to just cuddle his lover and drift off into sweet dreams.

#loki x reader #fanfiction #comfort #stressed reader #fluff #x reader #comforting myself #writing this fic made me feel better

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my dad's girlfriend about his Tinder? He doesn't use it when they're dating, only when they argue.

i (21 NB, closeted as F) currently live alone with my dad (57 M) while I study in college. My dad has been dating this person (52 F) for about 10 years. They met through work and started dating when I was around 12. They say they get along well, but they argue often, and have broken up multiple times in the past. They do not live together because her family dislikes my dad, including his girlfriend's children (20 and 15 year olds). I also have a bad relationship with him. He does provide good quality food, supplies, and shelter, and does favors (according to him) like cooking or not nagging me for staying up late to study.

The reasons I don't like him is because we share next to no political opinions, he constantly engages in toxic behavior such as harassing people over tiktok where he spends most of his free time, and holds really misogynistic opinions, such as that women should not talk to men unless they intend to engage sexually or romantically with them. He is also very racist (which is bad bc part of my family is indigenous!!) homophobic (i am closeted to him, he doesnt even know i had a girlfriend while my mother does), transphobic, and ableist (he has joked about doing harm or killing autistic children I worked with, has called my half-sibling with an ID a black sheep "jokingly", and i suspect i am autistic myself, to top it off).... These all probably sound like valid reasons to hate him. I just state them to be clear that I do have a negative bias. The only reason I don't rebel is because I want to study without many disturbances and,. He is just a pain in the ass and stressful to be around, but not actively harmful. He also denies every claim I make about him when I do call him out, so i have to confirm with my brother or bystanders to know I'm not making these things up)

Ok so. facts: Every time he breaks up with his girlfriend, he vents it all to me while they stay apart for a few weeks because he doesn't have other people to vent to. So, whenever they break up, he installs Tinder, matches with random women (he does not look at their profiles and just accept everything until a match happens), then shows me their photos to make fun of them. He usually does nothing serious about those relationships, except the one time he held a long distance relationship with a woman in a different country for a few months in 2018 and he expected me to advise him on that while the original girlfriend was making efforts for them to get back together.

I have talked to the girlfriend about my own problems with him and she validates them too. She is a sweet woman, but really non-confrontational. She insists that the two of them get along well, that he does respect her and love her a lot when they're together and she does want to be with him long term, but struggles because her children and family really don't like my dad and avoid him when he visits. I really do not think she deserves such a prick and if she doesn't know he uses dating apps when they break up then... I think she should know, so she can choose what to do about him.

I really DO wanna tell her, but I am afraid of the consequences for her and me for snitching, and while I dislike my dad for well established reasons, I do still need to rely on him, which is why i don't intend to give this info away. I guess more than anything I just want validation in disliking him and whether making this move would be too far. I'm willing to wait until graduating next year to pull it off from a safer distance.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

My EACON3 post is finally here... with all my photos.

I'll skip the trip and go straight to the con because I fear it's going to be a long one. I am not going into details about the panels and other things that went on, but mainly about my interactions with the guests as that's what the con is about, right? I am also probably forgetting a bunch of stuff, so I might add things later if I recall them again, and here and there I may remember things in a different order.

The con started friday evening, I had won tickets to the game night and let me tell you I was terrified and not prepared. On top of that I was exhausted from the trip and had shitty medication side effects too because I had swapped meds earlier that week. Yes, fuck my life.

To make all THAT worse, while I was waiting in line to enter the game room I got texts from my friends who were at the cocktail party with the guests and they told me Arnas had long(er) hair and some facial hair. It was over for me before it started (IYKYK)

Luckily his facial hair was minimal and his hair wasn't long enough for me to go insane, but still, the tone was set and I avoided him like the fucking plague for real

Let me first say that I didn't expect Arnas to recognise me to be fair, as it had been like, what, half a year since we met in Germany? We had a brief interaction on insta a few days before eacon tho and that had made me a little anxious that he might remember me, but I did not want to be delusional so I kept telling myself he simply wouldn't remember me (haha....)

For the game I was in a team with Eliza, Stefanie and Ossian. Eliza is the life of the party and made everyone introduce themselves in our group. For some reason people always struggle with my name, so I had to repeat my name like 5 times and the entire group eventually shouted my name back at me to get it right, which the whole room could more or less hear, and behold; I looked up and saw Arnas glanced my way and then I just knew for sure that he now knew it was me (and I stressed out)

The game itself was hilarious, we played the card game Werewolves and Eliza was simply so much fun, Stefanie was more quiet but so sweet and Ossian… fucking hell, me and Ossian became rivals real fast. He kept saying he didn't trust me (in the game) and felt I was suspicious, which led to him turning the whole group against me and being cast out (which was part of the game). Eventually it turned out that he was completely wrong about my character in the game and, well, I casted him out the next round in revenge. We were going at each other, lovingly, and he was 100% the biggest surprise of the weekend for me by how cool he was and I became an instant fan of him because of his personality. 10/10, cool dude!

Random note: at some part during the game I heard Arnas laugh so hard in his own group while our group tried to concentrate and I struggled not to burst in laughter because of that and it was rough.

When the game was over, Christian and Harry stopped by every group for a brief chat and wow; Christian, beautiful man irl?! He also photobombed my group photo we took afterwards. 10/10, lovely dude! and Harry was HILARIOUS. Did not expect, another 10/10!

After the game I left the room and literally walked past Arnas without looking at him because I just couldn't??? I was so nervous because of the stupid jokes I made to him since Germany, I just couldn't face him for some reason and my meds side effects made me want to hide (constant flushed cheeks, it's awful, even when I'm shivering cold) however, I felt bad about avoiding him because I worried then maybe he wondered why I didn't say hi when we clearly "knew each other" so to say but, well, I went to bed and called it a night.

Saturday morning was rough. I slept well, the meds side effects had lessened so I looked more decent (until later that day again ugh) and I had a selfie lounge ticket for 10am (that's no hour for selfies). I met up with @mrsarnasdelicious and we stuck together for the lounge.

James was the first to approach us, and he was incredibly lovely (and tall, wow). He asked us where we were from and was overall just super kind. We took a few photos and then he continued to the next people. 10/10!!

Then Stefanie came over and again, she is lovely and gooooooorgeous!! She told me she liked my dress as it had the shoulders cut out and she loved that it showed my tattoos. I can't remember what else we talked about unfortunately, but just know she was a pleasure to meet. 10/10, hope to meet her again!

Up next we had Mark! I was so excited to finally talk to him, because in Germany I only saw him during my duo photo op, and we couldn't really talk. I told him I was super excited about him being in the second season of Rogue Heroes and he was so enthusiastic I mentioned it that he rambled on about several things that happened on set when he was filming that season and my heart was so, so happy. I did truly have a hard time keeping up with him talking because of his accent. Mark also agreed that 10 in the morning was an ungodly hour for a selfie lounge and we felt both tired lmao. He's a whole 10/10!!

Eliza was next and she remembered me from the game night and I ended up telling her that I saw on her insta that she went to a Coldplay show in Sweden earlier that year, which I was supposed to go to as well, but I had to sell my tickets due to several reasons. We had a Coldplay fangirl moment and it was everything, I got to show her my several Coldplay tattoos as well and basically she's just a queen who hypes everyone up. Love her! We agreed that at the next Coldplay tour we'll be together at the show (I wish!) 10/10!!!!

Then we met Eysteinn!! My god!! No words. He is so sweet and shy and soft spoken, we absolutely vibed. We bonded over the fact that we both love to travel by train and really don't like travelling by plane. He loves to journal during his trips while I told him I love to read or just watch the scenery. Absolutely a blessing of a man! When I took our selfie I told him that I suck at taking selfies, and he said he has the same problem, so we just made the best of it together. 14/10, he's absolutely adorable.

The dreaded moment arrived…………… Arnas came up to us at this point and I had no chance of avoiding him anymore and all my bad jokes flashed before my eyes-

He greeted me with a happy 'Labas!' (Hi in Lithuanian) and he gave me a hug and I told him 'Laba diena' (good day) which he said was very good. Before I could say anything else he asked me where Danas was (long backstory to this, won't write that all here) I told him Danas did not want to join me to the con so he's back home. Arnas then went on a ramble about how he understood that, because he also wouldn't want to be in the same room with the guy his partner would have a crush on and also wondered why it's okay for women to have crushes, but boyfriends are not allowed to have crushes. I said 'I asked Danas several times who his crush is, but he always tells me he has none.'

Arnas was very pleased with himself here and said; 'haha, see, I totally tricked you into telling me I'm your crush, because I didn't know that.'

me: well *rolls eyes, lowkey shrug* (I believe at this point he "teased" @mrsarnasdelicious for a moment and girlie, you know you were rightfully flustered and it was cute, while I was left rather unphased by his remarks and I still believe that is why he began to rile you up hahaha)

Arnas then went on about the crushes problem in relationships and mentioned to me his gf would "not be happy" if he had a crush. He then somehow flipped the topic towards being obsessed with someone and I cut him off there saying; 'wow, but now you're implying I'm obsessed with you, and that is completely something else.'

Mans got put back in his place and apologised because he was totally blowing smoke up his own ass there (in his own words) and agreed that having a crush and being obsessed are two different things. And honestly the whole moment was chaotic and very surreal.

We also somehow ended up talking about other Lithuanian words and I told him I knew the word that means chicken, which he agreed was very important to know and we started saying 'chicken' in different languages, he then asked me what the French word was and we pondered for a second but I then remembered and it was rather wholesome and completely random????????

We finally got ready to take our selfie but then he wanted to record a video for Danas in Lithuanian. He started talking and I was like; 'what, no, I'm taking a photo?' He then said we could take a photo first but insisted on the video so yeah we made a video where he said some Lithuanian saying and yeah.. It was again very, very surreal. 10/10, still baffled he remembered me and Danas, who he has never met.

Up last we met Timothy and I told him I was very excited to meet him, because in Germany I was too broke to get a photo with him. We spoke about the German con and he said how surreal that con was because he had slept at the airport, arrived just in time, then at one point he went to the toilet and walked into William Shatner, which left him kinda starstruck, and he said 'it felt like I was in the upside down!' and then he apparently walked out of the toilets and walked into a Stranger Things cosplayer and he was about to lose his mind. Genuinely the most amazing anecdote of the weekend. Another 10/10!

Later that day I had polaroid photo ops, one with Eysteinn and one with Arnas. Eysteinn was once again lovely and asked if we should just pose cool, and well, see the result below.

The polaroid with Arnas was chaos again. For some reason he likes to say 'Sanneeeeee' when he sees me (vocal stim? perhaps. also he never struggled with my name, bless) so he did that, but I was exhausted from the whole day and couldn't hide it anymore while he was still high energy. He gave me a hug as I said I was so tired and we then cursed in Dutch at the same time. I asked if he knew anything else in my language and he proceeded to say in Dutch; 'what do you want?' and this left me shook: 'sleep tight, hot thing' (roughly translated). James then asked what language we spoke, we said Dutch, which James thought was cool and he got ready to take the photo. I asked Arnas how we should pose and he went 'should we do the Lithuanian anthem or is that too much?' I jokingly agreed it was too much and we both placed our hand on our heart and James said he loved the pose and told us to hold it. See the result below!

The panels I went to throughout the day were fun and I also met several super lovely people during the day like @whitedarkmoonflower, @bubblyabs (we hung out most of the con and again, bless you!) and also I met @sihtricsafin!

Later that day I was getting an autograph from Arnas and gave him the letters and art some people had sent to me, which he absolutely loved at first quick glance, and he said that his favorite con moment is actually after the con where he goes through the stuff that people have given him. He randomly told me he liked my necklace and I told him I actually got in in Vilnius at a fair earlier that year and he liked that, then asked me which fair it was but I told him I didn't remember. We then spoke a bit about Vilnius in general and it was great. When he saw the keychain that @thalygremlinsson made him (a gremlin with his mismatched eyes) he said he'd put it on his keychain and he also told me a random story how a firework flew into his home when he was a kid while he was playing with a gremlin toy??? I also have no idea besties. Anyway, we got to take another selfie again and…

Speaking about my friend @sihtricsafin… we joined each other in the autograph line for Arnas, and she had bought a recording of her autograph and asked me to film it, which I did, and well, the problems between me and Arnas then began. His handwriting was brought up and he remembered I messaged him as a reply to his story months ago that I thought his writing has not good enough to get tattooed (lighthearted) he agreed then and wrote he was happy I hadn't tattooed it, but apparently he was still "bitter" about that and we got it all on tape.

Also we found out he has never seen Nightmare Before Christmas and did not know who Jack Skellington was after asking my friend about the skull on her beanie (it was Jack), he then jokingly said something like that they didn't have a tv in Lithuania when he was younger. 

Also found out he thinks Muse is a great band and he played Otherside by RHCP on his speaker at some point (bass player!Sihtric confirmed???)

Aaaand that was more or less the end of my saturday at the con!

Sunday was rough. I was very tired from the days before but we pulled through. The day started with a group panel and later that day I had a photo op with Arnas.

Mans absolutely looked me up and down when I approached him at the op and ngl, I am not attracted to Arnas in real life (unless he has the SKMD/Masema haircut and the facial hair) but that split second 100% affected me and left me bewildered for a sec LMAO

I had no idea how to pose, and he said 'oh, classic, Sanne,' (someone was still petty (jk)) and then we both just posed as if we had no clue what to do, but it turned out to look like we are a married couple in the verge of a divorce and I love it

@whitedarkmoonflower gave me an autograph ticket for Mark (as I gave her two selfie tickets so we kinda swapped) and Mark gives great hugs btw! He signed my book but the marker fucked up so I got the cover and the inside page signed by him. bless.

Later that day I had a selfie with Christian and one with Harry because they weren't at the selfie lounge on saturday. Harry was so kind and I wished him good luck with all his future projects and he really really appreciated that. He's so sweet! When I took my photo with Christian he said 'oh, great camera! Or do we just look good because we are two beautiful people?'

Now, I usually ignore compliments bc I suck with them, but I just said 'both,' because in that moment we were just two beautiful people taking a selfie. He said he loved my skull tattoo and that he considered getting a skull tattoo himself (something along those lines) which was really cool???

I then went to Eysteinn to get my polaroid signed, and he said he liked the photo and that we looked like a death metal band. I said I'm up for that and told him I can play drums, he then told me he can play piano and I said we could make that work, to which he smiled (god… that smile). He loves to give hugs, so I got one, and it was great!!

Okay… so, very last minute I decided to get my polaroid with Arnas signed and it was a shit show (positive). It started with the fact he mentioned he didn't like the Beatles (he was playing his own music on speaker again) except for one song and he then looked at me and said 'or is it because I am a snob?' I shrugged and said 'perhaps.' Big mistake. He was "offended" and said he thought he was amongst friends here. I snapped back and told him I heard from my friends the day before that he told them that I trash talk about his handwriting to everyone (something like that). He got defensive and said it wasn't true blahblahblah, we both didn't give up and (lovingly) argued about it. He then finally signed my polaroid and messed up (obviously with that handwriting) and he said that it was my fault (man child) and wrote a petty ass message on the polaroid (toddler). We then told each other (more quietly) that he wasn't talking bad about me and I told him I knew that, but it was sweet of him to clear up that he truly never intended to make something sound bad and I in my turn told him I understood that, and there was this mutual understanding that everything was just a joke but that bickering was rather intense, and I think we both felt the need to make sure we both knew this was never serious, which truly made me love his personality even more.

We ended on good terms and a hug, I told him good evening in Lithuanian and then left. And with that, the con got to an end too.

When I got home the next evening I had only stepped through the door and received a dm from Arnas with a photo of the postcard I gave him, indicating he had read my message to him and it was honestly the most perfect way to end that entire weekend. The timing was insane and I shed a tear!

Well then… if you are still reading this, damn, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this mess of a post and here are the photos. also yes I know, I have like one selfie face, I already said I suck at selfies...

[bellabrady]

I need to vent this to someone and idk why but i just feel like you’ll understand me idk but….

I’m terrified about next week’s episode… like I feel like there is so much within the fandom that is hanging onto next week’s episode being a definite thing on whether or not buddie will go canon, and it’s been stressing me out seeing all of the discourse… I have so many strong feelings about the idea of Tommy (who has always pissed me off as a character from the Begins episodes) and how so many people just suddenly out of nowhere love the guy and compare him to Buck and Eddie when there has literally been barely anything comparable to the two of them as characters since he’s been back. Not only that, but the theory of Buck and Tommy being a thing as a potential for Eddie to come to terms with his feelings doesn’t make me feel comfortable— Not in a “omg i just want Buck and Eddie to jump into bed with each other and call it a day” because i don’t… I just know us queer people are still only seen as tokens half the time, and I’m worried that if they pair Buck with a guy (while Yay for bi!Buck) who is a character that A) is from his past, and B) is for some reason all of a sudden adored by a bunch of people (for reasons i will never understand)… I’m afraid they will just put he and Buck together and call it a day, and just keep Eddie and Buck as “brothers” when that is such a disservice to both of them… If Buck does become confirmed as bisexual, I have no issue with him exploring his sexuality with other men who aren’t principal characters because that won’t have any bearing on the finality of buddie as a ship, but I’m afraid that by putting Buck and Tommy together will somehow be ABC’s way of saying “Eh this will do” because of the way so many people have suddenly jumped onto the bucktommy train.

On top of that, the idea of getting jealous!buck would make me happy if it weren’t for the fact that it’s Tommy, and I am terrified that the writers are trying to wrap him up in this glittering duct tape bow and say “we’re not going to give you what you’ve been asking for for 6 years, but we’ll give you this cheap knock off” due to the speculation that Eddie will somehow reaffirm that he sees Buck as just a friend being the catalyst for Buck exploring his sexuality with Tommy.

It would be painful as a longtime buddie truther, but it would also be painful as a genuine fan of the characters because i feel like that would ruin everything they have built together over the past 6 years, and it would be a cop-out because they don’t want to go that route, even though they are the ones who have set up buddie in this context on so many different occasions…. sure a lot of buddie moments can be real things that happened in platonic relationships, but the framing and subtext has always been this will they/won’t they dynamic, and it feels so icky to me for them to make Buck Bi, and have him NOT end up with Eddie.

And I know people are quick to point out Ryan and Oliver in these recent interviews and everything as some sort of evidence towards buddie canon, but I would think a lot of us have been in this carousel long enough to know that if the possibility of a popular queer romance on a show is one of the BIGGEST marketing tactics that shows use. I’m not saying that Ryan and Oliver themselves are queerbaiting because of how much they’ve supported the buddie fandom over the years, but something in me feels like a lot of their PR appearances lately have been to intentionally cause speculation so that they don’t lose the buddie portion of the viewers when they rip the rug out from under us…. (again not blaming Ryan and Oliver AT ALL because they have no say)

idk if any of that makes sense and im sorry for like the novel i just wrote in your asks lmao but i just needed to get that off my chest and you are one of the few people I have seen who also seems to dislike Tommy’s character, and could maybe possibly see where I’m coming from with my anxiety on this whole thing because it’s been making me spiral lately….

it’s just this ship (as i’m sure it is to others) is really important to me and seeing the online support of a bucktommy romance as a means of getting buddie worries me that the writers will take that as people wanting bucktommy canon and just giving us that as consolation for not giving us buddie and that breaks my heart because i have such a deep connection to both Buck and Eddie in different ways, and i want to see them and their relationship done good service, and frankly none of the theories i’ve seen surrounding it have been anything i want to see with them because i hate tommy, and don’t want him of all people to be the reason we get screwed over.

hi there! you pretty much described exactly what i've been feeling and i 100% understand and feel your anxiety. most people have been super excited for the next ep but i truly feel like it won't go over well for us (though i'll gladly be pleasantly surprised). i even had to log off twitter for a bit because thinking about all the potential ways this thing with tommy could go was giving me legitimate anxiety (yes i'm aware that's not an entirely normal way to feel about a tv show, but sue me, i'm mentally ill)

i feel like i also haven't really been able to enjoy 911 twitter, tumblr, tiktok etc anymore because so many people, like you said, just jumped onto the bucktommy train and i hate it for so many reasons. i just wish everybody was as keen on ignoring that guy as i am.

so yes, i completely agree with you and i definitely relate. i'm glad you felt like you could vent to me and if you ever wanna DM me so we can share our anxiety a bit, please feel free! <3

#these are just my personal feelings #i'm not saying i don't like you if you don't completely ignore tommy or something #i'm just saying that would be my ideal reality lol #evan buckley #anti tommy kinard #anti bucktommy #buddie #eddie diaz

[dk-wren]

Not really sure if this is a hc, au, or something else, but random Spy x Family thought: To a native Ostanian, Westalians speak with an accent.

Something akin to people from a specific state or county having a distinct accent that does not necessarily apply to the rest of the country. Nothing drastically different, but noticeable. Like a NY or Jersey accent in the US, which itself is distinct, but not reflective of the way people across the country talk/sound.

So, Twilight has a Westalian accent. Except being the master spy that he is, Twilight has perfected what would be considered the "Ostanian accent" to the point where it is more natural for him to speak with the accent than without it.

Even within WISE's headquarters, every agent is cautious about dropping the accent, including when talking one on one with someone during a casual conversation. Not that dropping the "Ostanian accent" for a few minutes would diminish their efficacy, but these agents just don't want to accidentally/subconsciously drop their Ostanian accent and slip in to their Westalian accent while out in the field and be caught for that reason. Likewise, Handler, a top agent, rarely drops her Ostanian accent when meeting privately with Twilight at HQ. And Twilight would never dare to drop his accent before or unless Handler drops her's.

Fast forwarding to at least a post twiyor reveal life, I'd imagine as Loid gets more and more comfortable around Yor and in learning to face/deal with his past, while in private, Loid begins to drop his accent and talks to Yor in his natural, Westalian accent or dialect. And Yor loves it. She loves the way his voice sounds and the way he stresses or punctuates different syllables, but most of all she loves that he trusts her enough to show this part of his true self around her. The first few times Loid talks with Yor in his Westalian dialect, she feels so special knowing that she is one of the few persons he is willing to drop his Ostanian accent in front of.

Eventually, Loid and Yor start discussing how to let Anya in on this "secret," or how Loid should approach reintroducing his native accent into his daily, private life and make Anya understand this is a part of him. Loid and Yor had several plans or ideas in development, but one night, Loid gets home a little later than usual, Yor has just finished preparing the family's dinner, and she and Anya were just about to eat when Loid walked in, and the couple decide tonight is when they will talk to Anya about Loid using his Westalian accent around their home.

Anya's definitely reading their minds, but both Loid and Yor are being cryptic in their thoughts about what they want to reveal or what they want to talk to her about, so Anya's just lost and nervous she is in trouble (again). This is especially true since Anya notices Papa is not responding to her stories or asking her any questions, which Yor is doing all of instead. Towards the end of their meal and to Anya's relief, Loid finally says something in response to Anya's debrief of her day (like a short and sweet "sounds like you had a good day today, peanut" or "glad you were able to have some fun at school today"), which he does without his Ostanian accent. And Anya immediately picks up in the change of the sound of his voice, but takes a moment to realize this is what her parents wanted to reveal to her. Loid and Yor explain to Anya that around their home, Loid may sometimes talk without the Ostanian accent she is used to hearing him talk in. Anya also begins to feel very special and loved knowing that she too has been let in on this secret and thinks it is one more "cool" way her Papa switches into spy mode outside of their home.

While Loid initially drops his accent only here or there in front of his whole family in the following weeks, he continues to grow more comfortable and begins dropping his accent regularly, making it part of his routine at some point that once he walks in to their home, he just starts talking to them in his Westalian accent. I feel this is most likely something reserved specifically for when it is just him, Yor, Anya, and Bond, and not something he does at home while guest are over, including Franky (at least not right away).

The first few times guests come over to their home afterwards, Loid and Yor probably have to remind Anya not to mention anything about Loid and his accents, which results in Anya overcompensating and saying things like "Papa and his amazing Ostanian voice." At the end of the day though, Twilight/Loid is just so happy and perhaps relieved to finally be able to let the last bit of his fake self go by being able to talk without any accent other than his own while around his family.

#spy x family #sxf #random thoughts #headcanon #hcs #spy x family headcanons #the forgers #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #twiyor #agent twilight

[thesilvercup]

Oh! Lover Boy!

A Jake Seresin x Reader

Reader finds out she’s pregnant and tries to come up with the perfect way to surprise her husband. But not all things go to plan.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: none? If there are let me know!

Feel free to like, reblog, comment, not read, not like, or whatever your heart desires. Enjoy and happy reading! Find my master list here!

———————

Do you ever feel like no one has your back except for a few people? Yep, that’s exactly how I feel. Working as a painter while my husband is a naval aviator people always seems to paint me as the “trophy” wife or the dumb but pretty wife. Why won’t people see me for me? Even when I let them in their snide remarks push me further away from feeling worthy of any meaningful love or relationship. And trying to complain to people I get hit with “I wish that was my problem.” I feel so lost in life. That is until I see my husband.

Jake has always been there for me. He has picked me up when days got bad and he’s loved me for me. Not for my body or my looks like so many claim. That’s one of the reasons why I can trust him with my whole mind, body, and soul. However, I have a secret. A secret that won’t be a secret soon but a secret that makes the wait so much better. I, Samantha Seresin, am pregnant with Jake Seresin’s baby. The one catch is that he doesn’t know yet.

Jake’s had an extremely busy past few weeks at work. Which is awful for Jake and puts him under a lot of stress but ideal conditions for this secret. The long hours he has been working gives my gift more time to be perfected. I am painting a tiny little square canvas of us holding hands with me turned to the side to show a bump. Since this piece is so detailed yet really small I need the most amount of time I can get to finish it. Luckily for me, the painting is almost finished. As I paint my mind tends to wander so no wonder I just found out as I gazed upon the clock that I only have about an hour until Jake gets home. I put my painting products away and hide my canvas in a random draw in my studio.

Swiftly but carefully, I go about the house to pick up out of place objects and straighten crooked blankets. After that is done I head into our pantry. I bend down and push the start button located on the top of the roomba so I can focus my attention on dinner. Before I do any cooking in the kitchen I head out of pantry and into our living room. I turn on our record player and put on my favorite record of all time, A Night At The Opera by Queen. As the needle touches the vinyl and the music starts playing my body moves on autopilot. I walk through the doorway and into our kitchen where our defrosted chicken lay in the sink. I glance at my phone. Thirty minutes until he leaves work. Dinner will definitely be a time crunch because we live on base.

I rub different spices into the chicken breasts along with butter to crispen its skin. Along with buttered and salted asparagus i plop them in the oven to bake for 25 minutes. I then get started on the pasta I want to make. Although I follow social media I don’t worship celebrities. However, Jake and I both love Gigi Hadid’s vodka pasta. I hear the music stop so after I finish plopping the pasta noodles in boiling water I flip the record to side B. That’s when I hear my phone chime from the kitchen. Without looking at it yet I know that the text is Jake on his way home. Once I get into the kitchen I confirm that it is and rush to finish this pasta. He’s suspiciously 15 minutes early. I brush it off and continue cooking. 5 minutes later and the pasta is done as well as the asparagus with the chicken still cooking away in the oven, I hear the sound of keys dangling and my beautiful but tired husband walk through the doors. “Hey, Honey,” I call from my spot in the kitchen currently trying to take out our cute sea foam green glass dishes from the highest shelf. It’s evident that Jake can hear the slightest tense in my voice and he’s by my side in an instant, reaching up to grab the dishes but also reaching down with his opposite hand to grab my ass and give me a kiss at the same time.

“Hiya, baby. Missed you today,” he says as he sets down the plates on the counter and hugs me. I let my body relax into his and retort, “I bet I miss you more, baby.” He shakes his head and adjusts his hug to be tighter than before. “At work today, I couldn’t stop talking about you. Even more so than I normally do that everyone joked my call sign should be changed.”

“To what, Jakey?” I ask. I look up at him and his cheeks are tinted pink. “To Lover Boy,” he says sheepishly. I love the name! I start to giggle. “Well lover boy, I think it’s a perfect fit,” I say as I lean up to kiss him. Jake kisses back with extreme vigor but right as things started to get heated the oven dinged.

“Oh our dinner!” I exclaim as I go and get the hot hands from the island. Jake gets there quicker than I do. And manages to get the chicken out of the oven before I can even protest. I smile and kiss Jake as I turn off the oven and start packing our plates with food. As we start eating my mind keeps wondering from our conversation. Jake has to say my name a few times for me to snap out of my thoughts. I truly can’t help it. I keep thinking about the painting two rooms over. I want to give it to Jake so bad right now but I’m not sure if it’s the right timing. But will it ever be the right timing? Probably not. Maybe is should wait for him to shower? I assume he’s already showered before getting home. If not it might ruin the mood. How will he take it? We’ve been married for 2 years and I’m only 24 and he’s 30 so we are still quite young. Oh well maybe if I just rush and do — “Sam,” Jake states, “baby are you okay? You’ve been spacey all dinner?” Oh shit. “Yeah Jake I’m okay. It’s just this big project that I’m rushing to finish.” The concern from Jake’s eyes leave and for once I feel like I could actually lie and get away with it from my husband. Sadly, that’s not the case.

As fast as the concern left his face confusion trickled in. “I thought you weren’t completing anymore projects this month?” My face dropped and my jaw would’ve hit the table if it was connected any looser to my jaw. Trying to keep my composure I try a white lie. “Well actually it’s more of a personal venture than a business one.” The holds over Jake but it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. However, he doesn’t push me any further that evening. A few hours later we’re climbing into bed. With all these longer shifts, Jake hasn’t really had the energy or been in the mood to fuck. That’s okay though, I’ve been so incredibly exhausted having our tiny little love inside of me he barely notices how fast I fall asleep now. I pull the blankets up closer to my neck and snuggle in to Jake. His grip on me tightens and we drift off to sleep. With similar topics on our minds yet neither of us had a clue.

On typical weekday mornings, Jake would wake up first, have breakfast, and be dressed ready to go to work before I had even gotten out of bed. Yet today I woke up 30 minutes before Jake’s alarm. From the most awful and tight feeling in my stomach and my throat. I was going to puke! As the clock turned to 4:00 am I was up and in the bathroom spewing out the contents of dinner from the night before. Hearing Jake groan and step out of bed I hurry to come up with a good enough excuse. Should I say food poisoning? No because he’s completely fine and I was the one that cooked. Hmmm how about the flu? That could work I’ll go with that.

As I lean over the toilet to let out more of my stomach contents Jake crouches down behind me and gently rubs my back. “It’s okay baby, let it out. Shhhh, Sammy it’s okay,” he whispers. After a few minutes I feel a bit better and go to clean the toilet and brush my teeth. Jake stops me from cleaning the toilet saying that he wants to help. I oblige, not really having the energy or the urge to fight him on this. Once we get back in bed it’s around 4:20, ten minutes before he has to wake up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, baby,” I croak out as he holds me in his arms. “Shhh my love it’s okay, I just want you to feel better,” he replies. “I actually feel so much better now,” I state as I hold onto him, the one person in the world that wouldn’t care that I just cost him 30 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “I’m so glad, baby,” he gently states. After a while of him hugging and rubbing my sides he works up the courage to say, “I actually liked that you got sick. It made me think of you being pregnant and how it would be like with me comforting you.”

“Hmmm,” I say, “that’s actually quite funny.” Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Why is that funny?” I croon my neck to look up at him. With a smile I say, “give me a second and you’ll see.” I toss the covers off of us and make my way down the steps. I turn into my studio and fish out the painting. Although it’s unfinished it’s close to being done. I also dig around another drawer to retrieve the pregnancy tests I had peed on yesterday, so that I didn’t give him old musty ones. I quickly glide up the stairs to give him his gift. It’s perfect! Impromptu yet cute. Before I enter our bedroom I call out, “Jake close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you too.” “Yes ma’am,” Jake calls back. I peak around the corner to make sure his eyes are closed and once I’m 99% sure I come into the room. “Ok baby give me your hands.” “Yes, baby,” Jake replies. I place the canvas in his hands first, while keeping the pregnancy tests behind my back. “Ok , Jakey you can open your eyes now.”

Once Jake does his eyes widen and he glances up at me. The biggest smile I’ve ever seen from him is plastered on his face. “You want to have a baby, too,” Jake questions. I burst out into a fit of giggles. “Jakey, no. I don’t want to have a baby, too. We’re having a baby.” I show him the pregnancy tests that were hidden from behind my back. I start to tear up, however Jake starts bawling his eyes out. He launches into me telling me how happy he his. “Baby I love you so much,” he manages to get out, “this is the best thing to ever happen to me.” I nod my head in agreeance. My eyes happen to catch the clock as it reads 4:45. “Jake!” I say concerned, “you need to leave for work soon.” Without leaving my side he whips out his phone and agrees that he needs to get out of bed.

“But I really don’t want to leave you,” Jake whines. “I know baby but we’ll be here waiting for you to get back.” Jake’s smile appears and he kisses me all over the face and then shimmies down to kiss my still flat stomach. “I love the both of you so much,” Jake says. “We love you too,” I beam at him. Jake quickly gets dressed and grabs a small bite to eat before heading out of the door. I follow him to it and call out, “Lover Boy! Maybe get off work early for a special surprise?” Jake’s head snaps towards me so fast and he frantically nods. “Will do, I’ll even break orders to get here.” We exchange love you’s as he pulls out of the driveway. Oh how I love my Lover Boy.

#hangman fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #top gun au #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin

[maddipoof]

Honest to god this is the fastest I've ever written anything, so thank you to Ivy (@inkluvs) for writing this, and inspiring whatever this is WC:915, Warnings: Reader is hella stressed and has split ends and picks their skin. No pronouns, and also he washes and does their hair, there wasn't much detail, but I don't want to seem uninclusive to anyone with a different hair type.

The past few weeks had been rough. To put it lightly. Work on top of school, on top of your family, on top of your friends. There was a lot going on. 

The one and only highlight of every day was coming home, and letting it all go, just to spend time with your favorite person. Steve. 

He was always so caring and gentle with you. Asking what you needed, giving you whatever you asked for, even if it was just some space or time alone. He was perfect.

You were…not at your best. The stress had really been getting to you. The split ends and dryness of your hair getting annoying enough, but with so little time you’ve just thrown it up in a bun every morning and hope no one looks twice. And it was the same with your skin. More than once, Steve has had to use his big voice he learned from Hopper when he catches you picking at your cheeks. 

“Hey!” You immediately put your hands up and sat back from the mirror, but still looked at him through it where he stood behind you in your little bathroom. “What’re you doin’? Why don’t you go get a facial or something, let someone else take care of that? Relax maybe?”

“Why would I pay to have someone do what I can do for free?” He walked over and put his hands on your shoulders so you rested your head back against his stomach.

“So it doesn’t get infected and scar.” He put one hand under your chin so he could look at you. Really look at you. 

“What?” You were starting to get nervous with the way he was looking over you.

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Your hair.”

There it was. “Yeah–”

“Not like that, I mean…Come on.” He pulled your vanity stool over to the tub with you still on it/

“Lemme do your hair.”

“You don’t–”

“I want to. I’ve tried the whole ‘letting you have your space and do what you want thing’ but clearly that’s not gonna cut it. Come on.” He put a folded towel over the side of the tub. “The Harrington Salon is back in session.” 

He gave you an amazing scalp massage with your favorite shampoo, starting with your little silicone one, then finishing with his fingers. He plopped it dry with the microfiber towel he got you. “Now this.” He held up a small jar. 

“Your super secret sauce?”

“Would you stop calling it that?” He combed through your hair first, then worked the mask through. “15 minutes.”

He had you sit back down and turned you towards the little counter with all your sea shells and typical beach-themed bathroom decor instead of the mirror. “Sit up straight,” he asked, then got behind you and pressed his thumbs into your shoulders just right. Maybe this was why he kept “reluctantly” coming with you to get your nails done, maybe it was the selfish reason of getting the massage himself, we may never know.

You made a wonderfully obvious noise of satisfaction, “Right there?” He asked you. “Mhm,” was the best you could respond.

The little kitchen timer he had went off and he brought you back over to the tub. He took the shower head down from its little hook and massaged his fingers into your scalp again as he rinsed it out. “You want the whole shebang?”

You were too blissed out on massages and his closeness and the sweet smells of whatever myriad of hair products he was using on you to overthink how much he was doing for you before you said yes. He sat you up slowly and got another towel so he could dry it off nicely. 

He did every step of your routine that’s become far too long to do after every shower with your ever-growing schedule. “Tilt this way…Now that way…Shake it out a little bit…Perfect.” He kissed the top of your head now that you were all dry. “Gorgeous.”

You put your hand on top of his that had found its way back to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

“Thank you for doing it.”

“Thank you for finally giving yourself a break.” Your smile broke just a little bigger with every back and forth and he’d keep going until he got you giggling. 

“Thank you for making me take it.”

“Thank you for having such tense shoulders, got a real workout getting out those knots.”

“Thank you for the massage. I almost fell asleep.”

“Good. That was my plan. Now if you’d please?” He stepped to the side and offered his hand to help you up.

“‘Please’ what?”

“Come take a break from whatever you’re working on for the night and come watch The Princess Bride with me.”

“But I–”

“But you can work on it and ruin your whole weekend yourself. I just want to enjoy my first Friday night off in weeks, with the love of my life, relaxing, on our couch. Is that so much to ask?”

You shook your head and stood up with him. He took your hand and led you into the closest thing you could afford to a living room. “Oooh, you said I’m the love of your life.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Stevie’s got a crush.”

“What else did you expect to be?”

#steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington hc #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurbs #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington stranger things #dell's fics

[127luvr]

Can i request a Doyoung x male reader where Doyoung is having a hard time singing before but then when he met y/n, it got a easier since he would just imagine singing to him.

From Home

Kim Doyoung x Male Reader

Doyoung is not a spiritual person.

He would consider himself to have most—if not all—of his beliefs to be proven scientifically true or possible. He’s sure he’s not the only one in the group, but everyone believes in something.

He tries to keep his skepticism to a minimum when Haechan talks about how him and Mark were destined to be. How soulmates must be real since they were the prime example. But he could never wrap his head around how two people could be destined for each other. How they could get through anything and meet regardless of how they got to each other. He could never have a mindset like that.

Until he met you.

The weeks leading up to your accidental bump in, Doyoung was stressed. He felt underwhelmed with his singing—as if he weren’t being challenged enough. But there he was, in the studio day in and day out as they recorded a repackage for their album before going out to tour. He just didn’t feel the passion anymore. There were no nerves that settled in his stomach as he waited for his turn to sing. No rush that coursed through his veins when he heard how the harmonies finally lined up together after singing the same line in different registers.

It’s late one night when he’s rushing down the empty hallways of SM—sporting a black baseball cap with a mask that’s under his nose. He wants nothing more than to leave the building—done with all of the music that’s put in front of him by higher ups. There’s a crash when he rounds the corner, his baseball hat coming off as he knocks the sheet music out of your arms. It’s cartoonish—really—the way that you fall onto the ground with an umph and papers flying all around you. You look up at the culprit, shielding your (e/c) eyes from the harsh lighting above.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry, let me help you up.” Doyoung’s voice is like music to you, his slim fingers causing electricity to run down your spine as he helps you up. He gathers the music for you, bowing his head apologetically as he holds it out for you to take. You look at him for a second, frozen to the spot. Surely he felt what you did. “I’m Doyoung.” His eyes scan you from bottom to top, a smile making its way towards his eyes as he sees your (f/c) plaid pajama pants paired with slippers. When he finally makes eye contact you, he’s stunned, lips parting as he almost lets go of the paper in his hands.

“I’m (Y/n).”

Doyoung feels silly. Mostly for letting his mind wander. For merely considering the idea that you could have been sent to him for a reason. The past few weeks of getting to know each other were some of the best weeks of Doyoung’s life. He feels inspired—a lot more carefree than he used to be.

You notice how as time goes by he is more willing to sing around you. Even quiet humming as he stands in line next to you—you can tell he’s grown more comfortable with you hearing his voice. But Doyoung is not known for being shy. He is confident in his voice regardless of his condition—he knows he will always deliver. He can’t quite put his finger on why he is so nervous around you but he feels the thrill of singing again. Of having someone watch your every move as you sing your heart out to whatever song.

Eventually the two of you get close enough to share music with each other. Some that he’s composed just days after meeting you—a lot of it alluding to you.

“(Y/n). Your love for music is so contagious, you know? You’re like a happy virus whenever you go, I wish we could keep your music just for ourselves—for memory sake. But I know this will be bigger than us.” Your studio is small—almost too small that it’s suffocating you as Doyoung suddenly confesses to you, his eyes wide as he has his sweaty hands on the coffee table in front of him. “You make it easier for me. You make me feel so at ease that I picture you in every audience I’m in front of just so I know I’m singing my best. You make me want to show of what I can do—because I always want to impress you. Every time I close my eyes, I see your own (e/c) ones looking at me, I can never describe what the feeling is behind them but it makes me perform to my best abilities, (Y/n).”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at your heart. Knowing that you could be of help to Doyoung—the biggest star you know is more than enough to keep you going. “Admiration, Doyoung. How I look at you—I mean. It will always be admiration and disbelief.”

So maybe this is where Doyoung finally learns that sometimes people are just meant to be. That the two of you came together when the universe finally believed it was time. How you were destined to be the moment you both laid eyes on each other—instantly becoming each other’s muses and igniting the love for music that was buried in the depths of your mind—and heart.

#kim doyoung #doyoung #doyoung nct #nct #nct u #nct 127 #doyoung x male reader #nct x male reader #nct u x male reader #nct 127 x male reader #x male reader #hiiii ty for requesting I really liked this idea #i love Doyoung and his voice so much it’s unbelievable #Omg #I’m so sorry I think I took it in such a different direction than you wanted #i hope you like it 🫨 #<3

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice [3/?]

I had a stressful week and was sort of considering dropping/discontinuing this fic, but then I ended up having fun writing this part last night :’) So here’s part 3—definitely a little different from what I usually write (and I was a little bold with certain decisions, haha). Enjoy! 

Part 3 ft. fake dating, a New Year’s celebration, drunken decisions, implied/referenced contagion (maybe)

You can read Part 1 [here]! (No additional context is needed aside from the previous 2 parts).

—

Margot’s decorated the bathroom nicely— a glass soap dispenser, tied with a singular golden ribbon that seems—intentionally or not—in theme with the decorations outside; a small, fluffy blue rug; a shower curtain lined with silhouettes of raindrops, and one of those scented reed diffusers, scented like bamboo and lemongrass. Neither of which he’s allergic to, to his knowledge, but with this cold, any small push is enough to send him over the—

“hhEH… hehh’IIZSCHEEW!”

The sneeze does nothing—or close to nothing—to relieve the tickle in his nose. Yves desperately hopes that the walls are more soundproof than they appear to be. He reaches blindly for the roll of toilet paper, if only to have something to cover the resounding—

“hEHh… hEH-hHEh-! hhhEH’iTSSCH-Eew! Snf-! hEHH… HEHh’iIZSCHEEw!” 

The sneezes scrape unpleasantly against his throat, enough that he coughs a little, after. He blows his nose into the handful of toilet paper and finds, even after, that his nose is still practically dripping. His excuse to Erika had been nothing more than that—an excuse—but he’s starting to feel as if this bathroom excursion was necessary in more ways than one.

The cold medicine from earlier is certainly starting to wear off, if the congestion settling in his sinuses is anything to go by. He’s tired, even though it isn’t especially late, and his throat is undoubtedly sorer than it had been before he got here. On top of everything with Erika, it feels like insult to injury. 

Erika. Where would he even begin with her? Now—knowing that she wants to be friends with him still—what can he do? Has anything she’s said tonight merited his forgiveness? Even if she hadn’t meant to cheat on him—even if she’d been planning to break up with him formally, even if she’d only made out with Brendon because she was drunk—does that make any of this permissible? She still lied to him. That night, when she’d gone to the party, she’d told him that she was just visiting a relative. The only reason why Yves had found her there with Brendon—the only reason why he’d shown up at the party at all—was because he’d been dropping something off for a friend.

She might not have chosen to cheat on him. But she’d still chosen to get drunk with someone she knew she had feelings for. Is that really any better?

And there’s this, too—part of Yves wants to forgive her. Part of him wants to move past everything, if only it means he’ll get to keep her as a friend. There was a point where she was everything to him, and maybe a friendship would be second best to everything if it meant he’d get to keep talking to her. That version of her that he remembers, walking with him through the 5am dark to crew practice, leaning into his shoulder.

Yves turns on the sink, lets the cold water wash over his hands for a few seconds before he cups his hands together to splash some water on his face. For reasons other than the cold water, his eyes sting. He shouldn’t have come here, he thinks. Seeing Erika again, after everything, feels like reopening a wound that had only started to close up.

Or maybe that isn’t right. Maybe he’s not over her at all.

From the other side of the door, he hears a sharp knock.

“I’ll - snf-! - be out in a sec,” he says. “I thidk Margot has adother bathroom if you need to go.” One that he hasn’t just sneezed in, notably.

“Do you need anything?”

It’s Vincent.

It occurs to Yves, all of a sudden, what an asshole he’s been. He’s the entire reason why Vincent is here in the first place, and here he is, locked in the bathroom, leaving Vincent alone at a party he wouldn’t enjoy to socialize with people he doesn’t know.

But what can he say? He’s far from presentable, right now—with the large, glossy bathroom mirror in front of him to confirm it—his face flushed, his hair a mess. There’s no way he can open the door, as it stands, and let Vincent see him like this.

“I could… hEHh… hEHh’iIIZSCHEEW! snf-! Ugh, I could use a dridk right ndow,” he says instead, which is more honest than he intends, except then he remembers he’s not supposed to be drinking. “Wait, fuck. I still have to drive.”

“I can do it,” Vincent says, “If you trust me with your car. I wasn’t planning on drinking.” 

“I do trust you with my car,” Yves says. 

“What do you want? Champagne? A beer?”

“Whatever you find that will get mbe idtoxicated the fastest.” It’s half a joke.

“So you can wake up tomorrow with a hangover to go with your cold?”

“Hodestly? I can’t think of a better start to the ndew year,” Yves says.

A pause. “If it’s what you want.” It’s an easier victory than he’d expected—he supposes he can’t complain. He listens as Vincent’s footsteps recede.

He shuts the water off. Runs a hand through his hair, fixes some of the strands back in place. Blows his nose again, for good measure. His face is a little flushed—probably a telltale sign that he has a fever—but if he drinks, who will notice?

Vincent is back a couple minutes later. He knocks with the same, curt knock as before, and this time, Yves opens the door.

He’s standing there, looking no less charming than before, holding a cocktail glass. There’s an orange slice on the edge, and an elegantly placed sprig of rosemary—Margot’s doing, probably.

“Vodka and orange juice,” he says, by way of explanation. “Margot said it’s called a screwdriver.”

“She’s really committed to the orange juice,” Yves says, and takes the glass from him. “Thadks, snf! I’m sorry for disappearing on you.”

Vincent looks like he’s about to say something more. Yves braces himself for the questioning, but instead, Vincent turns away. “It’s fine.”

“And sorry about Erika,” Yves says. He thinks he sounds a little less congested now that he’s blown his nose—at least, for the time being.  “It’s just—it’s been awhile since I’ve seen her. But that doesn’t mbean—i mean, I don’t wadt you to have to worry about all of this.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” “I just want you to edjoy the party,” Yves says. “Well, as much as you can, adyways. I can handle myself.”

“I never doubted that,” Vincent says.

“That’s why you’re the perfect pretend boyfriend.” Yves tips his drink back, takes a couple large, indulgent sips. He doesn’t catch Vincent’s expression as they take their seats again at the dinner table.

“You’re back,” Erika says. “I was starting to think you were planning on camping out in the bathroom for the rest of the night.”

“Yeah, it’s quite the complicated bathroom,” Yves says. “Thankfully Vincent was there to show me the way out.”

The rest of dinner is surprisingly uneventful—or maybe Yves is too tipsy to pick up on Erika’s passive aggression. Either way, he finds himself actually enjoying himself through the haze of the screwdriver and a few glasses of champagne. It helps that Erika hasn’t brought up the whole friend thing again, and it helps that Margot stops by a few times, whenever the conversation lulls, to change the subject to something utterly unrelated to his breakup. Yves isn’t sure how much of a role Vincent has to play in that. At some point—halfway through another sneezing fit—Vincent wordlessly gets him a stack of napkins, and Yves is not embarrassed enough to pretend he doesn’t need them at all.

After dinner and dessert (which Yves would usually help with, on the many occasions when he doesn’t have a cold, but which Margot does a perfectly impressive job with), everyone disperses again. Yves catches up with everyone he knows from college, introduces Vincent to them (“Don’t tell Vincent I said this,” he says, “But I think he’s way too smart to be on our team,” and Vincent laughs and modestly denies this), and wonders what he’ll tell them all when, inevitably, Vincent doesn’t show up to any of their future meetups. At some point in the future, Vincent will find someone, presumably, who he’ll spend every subsequent New Year’s with. Yves is a little too drunk to think about the slight pang in his stomach when he considers this.

It’s only when it’s nearing midnight that he finds himself out on Margot’s balcony with Vincent.

It’s a nice view of the city, with its rows and rows of glittering skyscrapers. Yves leans out on the railing. 

The alcohol has done its job of making him feel pleasantly warm indoors, but it’s too cold outside for it to have the same effect. He doesn’t realize he’s shivering until Vincent says, “Are you too cold?”

“No,” Yves says, crossing his arms in an attempt to keep himself from shivering. “It’s… ndot that… cold out—hh-! hHehh’IIZSCHh-EEW!” Ugh. Very convincing.“That was bad timing, snf-!, I swear.”

“Bad timing, I’m sure,” Vincent says, his tone soft. “We can go inside if you want.”

“No,” Yves says, rubbing his nose. “It’s nicer out here, snf-! Also, I’m sure there will be fireworks at mbidnight. Which is soon.”

“So you’re taking the best vantage point all for yourself,” Vincent says.

“Yes, I— hHh-hHEH-!” He thinks it might culminate in another sneeze, but the tickle in his nose dissipates, very frustratingly, at last possible moment. “I got here first,” Yves says, sniffling. “Finders, keepers.”

“In that case,” Vincent says. Then—in lieu of finishing that sentence—he unbuttons his blazer and drapes it over Yves’s shoulders. 

Yves stares at him, disbelieving. The blazer is still warm—indulgently, comfortably warm—from Vincent’s shoulders. “There’s no way you’re not cold wearing that,” he says, gesturing to Vincent’s button-down shirt. It’s long-sleeved—a small consolation—but with fabric that thin, there’s really no chance he’s dressed warmly enough for this weather.

It’s starting to snow again—lightly enough that the snow melts into water when it hits the ground.

Vincent shrugs. “I grew up here. I’m used to it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Yves says, pulling the jacket closer. “Thadks.”

Inside, almost everyone who hasn’t left has gathered in the living room. Someone—Mikhail, maybe—is telling a story to the crowd, to raucous laughter. Then, after a bit, Margot says something, lifting her glass of champagne, and everyone joins her in counting down. Ten. Nine.

“Erika’s watching,” Vincent says, after a beat. Eight. Yves turns and sees that he’s right—he spots her somewhere in the crowd, in her sleek blue dress. When she catches him looking, she waves. Seven. Six. “She’ll probably be expecting us to kiss.”

Yves looks away from her to look at Vincent. Vincent, who’s here just because Yves asked him to be, who looks unfairly attractive even in something as forgettable as a white button-down shirt, who Yves will probably never have another chance to spend a night with again. The question is out of his mouth before he can think twice about it.

“Can we?”

He almost bites his tongue after. What is he thinking? It’s a ludicrous request—something absolutely unfitting to ask from a coworker, especially when he has a cold—and he’s certain he would never have asked it if he were sober. He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain himself, but—

Two. One.

Vincent leans in, briefly, and kisses him.

Beyond them, fireworks shatter into the sky. There’s the sound of cheering in the living room. 

The kiss lasts only a moment before Yves is wrenching himself away, taking a couple hurried steps back before his head snaps forward with a sudden, spraying—

“Hhehh’IIDSCHiiEW!”

—which, despite his efforts, almost certainly mists Vincent’s collar. It’s enough of a warning for him to lift his hand to his face and twist away to cover the subsequent—

“hHEH… Hheh’yISSCHEew! Snf-! Heh… hheh-!! Hheh… HEHh’iiDDZSChiEw!”

He feels heat creep up into his cheeks.  “I’mb so sorry,” he says, and means it for everything—for the untimely sneeze, for the kiss, for inviting Vincent to the party in the first place. “That was… I’mb really sorry. Oh, god, I really hope you don’t catch this. I would feel awful if you caught this.” His head swims, and he finds himself grabbing the railing to steady himself, muffling a fit of harsh, grating coughs into his hand. Usually, it would be his sleeve, but given that the sleeve he has on now belongs to Vincent’s very nice blazer, his options are limited.

Yves leans his weight onto the railing, sniffling, and shuts his eyes against the dizziness. He might be drunker than he’d given himself credit for. 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Vincent says. Yves doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to see what he might be thinking. He really, really owes Vincent for all of this. “Are you tired?”

“Just a little drunk,” Yves answers. “We should probably head home soon.” 

“Okay,” Vincent says.

The apartment is indulgently warm when they step back inside. Yves hands Vincent back his jacket and lingers in the living room to say goodbye to Margot (he has the pleasure of watching her hug Vincent for the second time tonight) and to the handful of college friends that he recognizes. It’s a short walk to the car through the snow—just a few minutes, except he finds it to be more of a tedious walk than expected, and Vincent has to grab his arm a couple times to keep him from stumbling.

“Careful,” he says sternly, the first time.

Yves stares at him, tries to think about what sober Yves would say. He’s always been a little too honest when drunk.

“You are a godsend,” he says. “Thanks for coming todight. I kdow you hate parties.”

“I don’t hate parties. Are you always like this when you’re drunk?”

“Like what?”

Vincent laughs—a short, soft laugh which Yves wishes he could hear more of. “This is the fifth time you’ve thanked me.”

Is it really? “Ndo, I just am… hEH-!” Yves twists away from Vincent, just in time to let out a barely covered— 

“hehh’IZZSCHH-iIEW! Snf!” The sneeze jerks him forward, harsh—and loud—enough that he feels a twinge of pain in his throat. Luckily, Vincent won’t be here tomorrow to see him lose his voice. 

“Bless you,” Vincent says, reflexively.

“That’s definitely ndot the fifth time you’ve blessed me,” Yves says. “It’s more than that for sure. So I’mb allowed to thadk you more than once.”

“If you put it that way.”

Vincent drives him home. Yves directs the GPS to his address and tries to stay awake so he can talk to him, until Vincent says, “If you’re tired, you should sleep,” which Yves wants to protest. It seems rude to fall asleep in his own car when he’s supposed to be the one driving in the first place. But maybe Vincent is tired, too, from having had to socialize with strangers all night, and maybe silence would be preferable to him now. So Yves leans his head against the passenger seat window and shuts his eyes.

It feels like he’s only been asleep for a minute before Vincent taps him on the shoulder.

“We’re here,” he says, pulling the keys from the ignition.

“That was fast,” Yves says. He muffles a small cough into his sleeve. “Thadks again for driving me. I’mb sorry we stayed out so late.” He checks his watch—it’s close to 1am. It occurs to him that he has no idea if Vincent is a morning person, if this is considered late by his standards. If he’s tired, too.

“It’s no problem,” Vincent says, stifling a yawn into his hand. Well, that answers his question.

Yves unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the passenger door, and gets out. It��s brutally cold out, cold enough that he has to fight back a shiver. “At least wait inside as I call you an Uber?” “You don’t have to do that.”

But Yves is already pulling out his phone, scrolling through their messages for Vincent’s address. It’s the least he can do, after everything.

Vincent waits inside with him for a few minutes. It’s a bit of a wait for his ride—probably everyone’s trying to get back home from their New Year’s parties at this time—so Yves makes them both some hot chocolate (nothing fancy, given the time constraints—just hot cocoa mix with some cinnamon and steamed milk—but Yves says “You should come again some time, I promise I can actually cook when I have more than three minutes”) and sits with him in the living room. He finds himself almost disappointed when the cab finally arrives.

“Get home safe,” Yves says.

“Thanks,” Vincent says. “I will.”

“And Vincent?” Vincent turns.

There’s a hundred things Yves wants to say to him. He wants to say, you didn’t have to do this. He wants to say, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. He wants to say, how can I make it up to you?

“Happy New Year,” he says, instead, and Vincent smiles.

[ Part 4 ]

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #also thank you to anyone who took the time to leave nice tags on the first 2 parts 😭❤️ #it really means a lot to me #and i really really love seeing people's thoughts #my fic #i was planning to be so much meaner to yves but this chapter happened instead #(yves's 'hypothetically i'd be fine with kissing' line from part 2 was there to set this chapter up) #'what is there left to write now that the party's over?' vincent's tur- 🔫 #yvverse

[matt-imagines-popcorn]

Hello! How are you doing? May I please have some HC's for Vega and a female reader who Vega sees as perfect in every aspect, so he admires from afar until he musters up the courage to ask her on a date? If you're uncomfortable with this request, you can just ignore it! No pressure!

I’m doing alright!!! Schools kicking my ass but that's nothing new! And I hope you don’t mind me taking longer on this! Vega is like, one of my top five favorites in the series and I accidentally went ham on this. So I guess you're getting a little treat to your request! I hope that's alright :]

Warnings; Stalking,

Vega with a crush + First Date HCs [Fem! Reader]

As you can imagine, it's pretty rare for Vega to like-like someone. Sure, he can admit when one’s looks are above average, but he never had a crush on someone. In his eyes, no woman nor man could even hold a candle to beauty - his perfection. Never had he experienced that soft warmth that runs through one's body when they're in love - never had that wondrous feeling of pure delight when that one, special person walks past them. Not until he saw her.

You never thought of yourself as anything special, just someone trying to make a living. But to Vega - you’re flawless. Every little thing you did made his throat go dry. If he was ever so lucky to be in a conversation with you he gets so excited! On the outside he seems to be fine - even able to shoot back some flirtatious comments - but on the inside, he can feel his heart pounding - practically begging to be closer with you - to call you his. He hates the feeling. He was supposed to leave you a flustered mess, not the other way! It just leaves him wanting more.

Soon, seeing you occasionally wasn’t enough to fill his hunger - he wanted to follow you around, watching what makes you click. The more he watched you - the more he found himself longing to be with you. Every time he saw you smile Vega could only wish to be the reason for your smile one day. Even a small giggle from you was enough to fully intoxicated him - and may God show mercy on any poor souls that dared cause even an ounce of stress on you.

You may not have noticed your obsessive stalker right away but you noticed right away that your world had changed - it became weirdly nicer toward you. It started small at first. Roses left in your mailboxes (Perhaps a kind neighbor had given it to you?), your favorite treats in stock at the store - little things like that. It became weird when rude customers at work would either disappear forever or come back a few days later begging for forgiveness at your feet. Then it becomes downright bizarre when you find items you swore you never bought around your own home. The shampoo you should’ve run out of two weeks ago, your snacks never doubting down in volume (actually, it seems to only be growing unless it's just a trick of the eye). Were you going crazy? Did you buy these and forgot you did? Or was it something more sinister?

The day Vega finally mustered up the courage (not that he needed the courage, he argues, he was just trying to figure out your personality before he confessed to you is all … Liar) and asked you out. It was the first in a long time he felt nervous - at least in this kind of situation. The so-called butterflies happily fluttered around in his chest as he asked for a simple date. (Well … would you?)

Perhaps you caught instantly he wasn’t all he seems out to be. Sure he was charming in a way but you can definitely tell something was off about him. Plus you only talked to him once or twice before, clearly not enough for you to decide to go out with him. Vega, as he took your rejection in pride out in public, was devastated you - a being of perfection and beauty that rivals his own - rejected him. Sure, Cammy and Chun-Li have both denied his advances but that is because of their stupid morals. You, unlike those two, have no idea of the blood he spilled and you still said no …

Now, I see it going in two different ways. One way is that he believes you're playing hard to get. So he ignores you for a time before going back to obsessing over you. Then repeat the cycle till you finally admit you love him. The other way - he just makes your life a living hell before disappearing from it forever. Just so he doesn’t leave completely empty-handed. Either way, it's a nightmare.

Or perhaps you found yourself deeply enchanted with the man. For the few times the two of you talked, he made up for making each conversation memorable. Possibly, you noticed that it wasn’t a good idea to tease his wrath by rejecting him … Either one, you accepted his confession. How great! Cause he already set up a date at a lovely fancy restaurant not too far away later that week! He already knows it won’t affect your schedule so it’ll be perfect!

The night of the date, you’ll find a gorgeous dress/suit that you had no idea of buying hanging in your closet. A gift from a friend maybe? Either way, it was too lovely not to wear! Vega upon picking you up immediately notices the outfit you wore - the one he picked out for you and a sense of pride ran through him.

The date itself - from start to finish - was great! Sure a fancy dinner date was a bit cliche but Vega didn’t mind, you surely didn’t. He loved hearing you talk more about yourself. He may already know a few things about you such as your family or work - but it's so much better hearing it coming from you! He actually gets a bit nervous when you ask questions about his own life. He’ll rather not tell you of his upbringing, or his work. But it all worked out as he tells you about his bullfighting lifestyle - which you thankfully found interesting.

Overall, the date was a success! He even walked you home, as a gentleman would. Continuing to sing his affection till he dropped you off, telling you of his plans for your next date. You couldn’t wait.

#Street Fighter #X Reader #Street Fighter x Reader #Vega #Vega x Reader #Imagine

[elementary-my-dear-daddy]

Earning Your Keep - Chapter 4 "Take My Hand and Come With Me"

Analogical (Virgil and Logan)

Read the previous chapter here or on AO3!

Chapter Summary: Virgil and Logan escape to Virgil's penthouse and chat.

When they arrived at Virgil’s home, Logan hadn’t expected the lavish penthouse. As the elevator stopped at the top floor, he carefully stepped into it alongside the other man, feeling slightly embarrassed for no discernible reason. The living room had a wide couch that looked extremely comfortable with throw pillows and blankets strewn across it. An entertainment system complete with different gaming systems and a large television against the wall. There was even a fireplace off to the side.

“Here, let me change and I can grab you another shirt since I kinda spilled a bit on you.” Virgil said walking straight past the space towards what Logan assumed was his bedroom. He nodded, gladly giving Virgil time to do so so he could take this in.

As he continued to look, he noticed the patio overlooking the city lights. The view was absolutely stunning from this height, and Logan felt a twinge of jealousy at how Virgil had this all to himself. He didn’t want to snoop around, but from where he stood waiting he could make out the modern looking kitchen, a dining area, and a hallway opposite of where Virgil headed, likely containing more bedrooms. 

It wasn’t long before Virgil emerged with a new look, suit and tie being replaced with a Paramore t-shirt. Another piece of fabric rested in his hands as well.

“Here,” Virgil tossed the item to Logan, who managed to barely catch it, “Figured you’d want to change too. It might be a bit big, I had to guess the size, but anything’s better than wet clothes right?.”

Logan looked over what he now realized was another shirt, “Oh, well, thank you. Is there a place I could change…?”

“Oh, yeah, that hallway, first door on the right. Sorry.” Virgil nodded in the direction of the guest bathroom. He didn’t even think anything of Logan changing right in front of him. He became nervous at the thought- Logan shirtless. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment just in time for Logan to return.

“Are you alright? You look unwell.” He said, analyzing Virgil. The other immediately paled in contrast seeing Logan in his shirt, as a dark thought of possessiveness swept over his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. He barely knew him. He just averted his gaze and started walking to the kitchen.

“I was gonna grab a snack, w-would you like anything? A drink at least?” Virgil offered, trying to cover up the nervous shake in his voice with a cough.

Logan shrugged, “I’m partial to whatever you happen to make.”

“How much have you eaten today?”

“Um, enough?”

Virgil poked his head out of the kitchen, “Define: enough.”

“I’ve met the minimum caloric intake that a person of my size should have.” Logan said. His stomach, however, growled otherwise.

“Yeahhh, I don’t buy it. I’ll make you something.”

“Virgil, that’s not necessary I’m-”

“Too late, the stove's already on!”

Logan huffed and rolled his eyes. His own mother didn’t even dote on him this much. He had to admit, however, Virgil’s help this past week made all the difference. His stress headaches weren’t gone, exactly, but with his car being fixed and a few meals being offered they came less frequently. Normally at the end of the day, all he wanted to do was sleep off his worries, but he felt like staying up all night with Virgil. He wrote it off as adrenaline from the event and a new environment, but a nagging voice in his head and swirling feeling in his stomach let slivers of doubt find purchase in his mind.

Virgil tried to distract himself from his embarrassment earlier by whipping up some grilled cheese for the both of them. It wasn’t long before they were cut and put on a plate for them to share. He headed back out to see Logan sitting on the couch and looking out the window to the patio, his chin resting on his palm. Virgil cleared his throat and watched as Logan snapped out of it.

“Apologies, I didn’t hear you come out.” Logan stood up like he wasn’t supposed to be sitting down, sheepishly crossing his arms.

“No worries, you can sit, if you want.” Virgil walked over and sat on the couch, patting the spot next to him and setting the plate with the food down on the table in front of him, “I figured grilled cheese would be ok. If it isn’t I can make you something else-”

“It sounds great, actually.” Logan took the spot beside him. “I failed to mention it before but you have a lovely home, you know.”

Virgil handed him one of the halves a sandwich, before taking a bite of his own, “Thanks, it’s a little much for just me, but y'know, plenty of room if I have guests and stuff.”

They both ate in silence for a while until Logan spoke again, “I take it you’re a music enjoyer?”

Virgil shrugged, “I guess. Why do you ask?”

“The band t-shirts, and is that a record player?” Logan gestured over to the entertainment system by his TV, which seemed to have a turntable with a box of records beside it.

“Yeah, what sort of stuff do you like to listen to?” He stood up and went over to look through the various vinyls he had.

“It varies depending on the setting. I enjoy jazz, classical occasionally and some contemporary music.” 

“Hm,” Virgil frowned, “I don’t really have any that fit those genres but- oh! Here, have you heard of Postmodern Jukebox?”

Logan looked over the cover that Virgil held up, shaking his head.

“Here, let me just- put that there and…there.” Virgil placed the record on the table before turning it on and placing the needle on the edge. He turned up the volume to a reasonable level before coming back to the couch and sitting with Logan.

“Oh, wait, I believe I know them, this song feel’s familiar.” Logan said, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to recall where he’d heard the song.

Virgil laughed softly, “That’s because this is actually the song ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl’ by Jet, Postmodern Jukebox does jazz covers of pop songs.”

“Oh, well, I don’t mind it.” Logan hummed, listening to the tune. 

“Good, I’m glad.” Virgil laid back on the couch.

“If not this, what do you normally listen to? If you don’t mind me asking.” Logan inquired.

“Look at your shirt.”

Logan gazed down at the print on the shirt Virgil had given to him, “My Chemical Romance?”

Virgil nodded, “Objectively one of the best bands ever to walk the planet earth.”

“Actually, multiple studies have shown that we rarely hear music in the same way, based on our own tastes and the context we hear it in, making music an extremely subjective topic that I don’t believe one could objectively define.” Logan stated.

Logan’s rant caused Virgil to let out a giggle, “I know, I was joking. But I do really enjoy their music. I imitate them a lot in my own style.”

“You write music?”

“Not in any serious way. I just play some stuff as a hobby.” Virgil looked towards his bedroom, “Do you wanna see my stuff?”

“Sure.” Logan’s own curiosity got the better of him. Who was he to deny a chance to look at more of Virgil’s home?

Virgil led them to the back of the penthouse where he usually kept to himself, curled up in his bed just scrolling his phone or being on his laptop. There was a nook wedged in the corner that overlooked the city, with fluffy blankets and pillows strewn over it. A couple wall mounts held guitars and basses, with a small keyboard beside his desk. His bed lay in the center of the room, covered by a large purple duvet and the stained suit he threw off earlier. Logan took it all in, wondering if he would ever be able to go from his small one bedroom to this.

“It’s… quite large.” He said flatly.

“Yeah. Like I said, a little much for me, but it’s nice.” Virgil slid over to one of the guitars hanging from a wall mount, a sleek matte black electric model with a grey leather strap. He slung it from his shoulder and plucked out a few notes.

Logan listened, taking everything in still. He noticed that Virgil had all sorts of framed posters around the room from different bands and movies, some even signed. He waited until Virgil finished what he was playing and put the instrument back on the wall, “Pardon me if this is too forward of a question, but how did you come into such wealth? You’re young and don’t seem…well…”

“Like a nepo baby?” Virgil snickered and went to sit down on his bed, “Because I’m not. I, um, I don’t really tell many people because they try to use me for my money, but about half a year ago, I got this lottery ticket from my grandmother for my birthday. And I won. So I stopped working my shitty paying jobs and moved out. Helped out the people I could, paid off my bills, got a couple things I’ve always wanted but could never have, and now I’m trying to use the rest of it to give back and help out others who were in my situation.”

Logan followed him over, “I’m sure that puts pressure on a lot of your relationships.”

“Most of my family was extremely, I don't know, accepting? Didn’t ask for anything, y’know.” Virgil explained, “It’s hard to make decent friends and find people though. Everyone rich is an asshole, and everyone else uses me. It’s-”

“Difficult. I can imagine.” Logan gave a smirk and sat beside him, imagining what people would do for that kind of money. 

“There’s a few good ones though. Like Janus. I met him in college and we’ve been friends through this whole thing. He’s a lawyer but quit to help with the charity.” 

“He seems sociable.”

“Yeah, he’s good at talking to people.” Virgil agreed, sighing, “There’s you, too. Every time I do something for you, you refuse to accept it.”

Logan looked at Virgil, “It would be rude to not do something in return, at the very least.”

Virgil met his gaze, “You don’t like to be spoiled every now and then?”

He shook his head, “I don’t enjoy being unable to return the figurative gesture.”

Both of them sat, staring at each other for a moment. Logan felt that twinge of adrenaline again, growing and shifting throughout his body as he became acutely aware of the passage of time. Seconds passed like hours between them, their breaths synced up momentarily. Virgil, contrastingly, felt a cold shiver run down his spine, the hairs on his arms rising. It was a feeling close to a panic attack, the same sense of urgency washing over his mind as he studied the glint in Logan’s stare.

Virgil was moving, not quite commanding his body to sit up and lean over to Logan. It was as if the ghost that was his subconscious took over and let his hand rest against the other man’s cheek in order to inspect every detail of his face. His mouth opened with no mandate to do so, and he spoke in a low whisper.

“Logan, can I kiss you?”

Logan was frozen. Not out of fear, like prey caught by its predator, but out of obedience, as if he were waiting for Virgil to make the decision for him. The stirring feeling throughout his body focused into a single line of thought that launched from his lungs, shot past his lips, and dispersed into the little space between himself and Virgil.

“Please.”

#jamming out #not safe for sanders #nsfs analogical #earning your keep #fics

[hargrove-mayfields]

Maybe three weeks before the beginning of the holidays is a little early to start, but if he doesn’t do it now, it’s not getting done.

See, the Harrington’s are kind of known for the food they bring to Holiday parties, be that the Christmas celebrations with his fathers side, or Chanukah with his mother and her sisters family, but Steve’s been the only Harrington around for the past few years to do the preparation baking. His folks show up for the first day of Chanukah, stay for the week until Christmas Day, and then it’s back to work, whether or not the week is even over.

It’s lonely, lighting the shammash and menorah on his own. They used to have one for each of them, even though it was always a stressful event to get his father to light his candles at the right time, but now it’s just one lonely symbol of how far apart he’s grown from his home.

Especially now that he’s in his own place, just the tiny first floor of a run-down duplex apartment, he’s got to pick up the slack and do what his parents are too busy cruising in the Bahamas to do if he wants to be allowed into the Christmas Eve party at his aunt Shelley’s, or at tante Reyna’s party on Shabbat during Chanukah, just like every year.

Regardless, and of course this would be the case, he has to be the only one to make six different types of cookies, two pies, and sufganiyot, which he thinks taste horrible frozen anyways, but he’s got to do everything in advance if he doesn’t want to get off schedule. Not that his baking is ever going to get finished on time anyways at this rate.

He’s just not patient enough. He doesn’t take the time to make sure no pieces of egg shell fall in the dough, or to remember the difference between teaspoons and tablespoons, or to let things rest when they’re supposed to rest, or to not just beat things that are supposed to be folded, or to not just preheat the oven too high and pull the cookies sooner.

Somehow, his treats always turn out fine enough that nobody throws them out, and he hasn’t set the house on fire yet, so he doesn’t see a reason to change. Except for the fact that, as he had attempted to convince himself so many times to beat this apathy he’d developed for it, if they’re good when he messes them up, they’d be perfect when he actually tried.

That isn’t the point though, the point is that currently, in his little kitchen barely big enough for more than one person, there’s a mess that would have been enough to make the housekeeper, when he still had one living back at his parents house, quit on the spot.

His stove top is covered in a pile of old bent up baking sheets he’d stolen from his mom, the marble counters covered with rows of cooling cookies. There’s a card table against the wall with a mixer full of dough and even more baking sheets lined with still raw cookies, while the sink is full to the top in both sides with dirty pans, mixing bowls and beaters. Thanks to all this mess, the entire front of his torso, protected by an apron with silver snowflakes and golden coins printed on dark blue material that his grandma gave him years and years ago, is covered in powdered sugar from an unfortunate incident with the mixing bowl.

Steve’s a little.. disheveled, to say the least.

Before, he never could say he was very organized, but lately, he’s been struggling with some other things that make it all worse. It’s like, there’s a constant swarming fog in his brain, that only sometimes gets clearer, or more cloudy, depending on the day. Today is a cloudy day.

It’s while he’s trying to sweep up a baking soda accident off the floor, watching the little kitchen timer to make sure it doesn't ring while he isn’t paying attention, that he’s pulled, rather abruptly, from his mangled up, tangled up whirlwind of thought.

Someone bangs on the front door, from the sound of it, with their whole fist, and quite urgently too. He drops his broom and it knocks over a bottle of vanilla, thankfully with the cap still on, onto the floor.

But Steve is too frozen in place to pay any of that a piece of his mind.

For just a split second, he filters through other options. It could be the neighbor asking him to move his car off the street again. It could be Russians tracking him down to finish the job. It could be his dad coming home early to drop off twenty-two years of forgotten Christmas presents.

He creeps to the door, cautious about creaking floorboards as if the Christmas tree he wrapped in silver and blue tinsel isn’t bearing enough white light to reveal in its glow that he's home, or that the radio isn’t blaring old holiday songs he’s heard a thousand times loud enough to be heard from the door.

Maybe he should shut that off. He flips a switch to cut the power to the radio, just in time to hear the doorbell ringing now, its chime cut short by itself as it starts over, again and again. Whoever is out there is smashing the button in.

Steve’s tension-wrought shoulders sag with relief, without even having to peek through the window, he knows who it is now. That annoying energy, the roughness and the impatience.

Yeah. It’s Billy.

The same that, after spending far too long in the hospital, had moved in just a few months ago in place of Robin, who herself had left behind being Steve’s roommate for a better break living with her girlfriend a street over. Billy, who uses a custom wheelchair to get around now, while breathing in artificial oxygen stored in a tank underneath his chair, and taking a thousand pills a day to keep the holes in his lungs from opening again.

That damn Billy, who Steve loves dearly and with all of his too-big-for-his-own/good heart, though that part is just for him to know.

Steve, confident that he’s not in danger now, opens the door and steps aside, holding it wide open so Billy has room to get his chair and himself in. It’s a tight squeeze, but after many times skinning his knuckles off the door frame, he has it down and practiced to get into the living space. There’s a path just for him, crafted by shifting all of the furniture into tight spots to give him plenty of space to move freely.

Steve locks up behind him, “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I live here too, you know. Not my fault I need a hand with the door.” Billy snickers at himself, takes humor in playing up the whole, ‘almost died and did become paralyzed from the chest down by saving Steve and everyone else’s lives’ thing.

He stops moving forward and Steve bumps into the back of his chair, his reaction times to sudden changes much slower now. They both mumble a sorry, before Billy explains, through a sort of snide comment anyways, what made him stop so suddenly, “Woah. And it was my kitchen too, if you could even call it that anymore.”

Oh yeah. It’s still a pretty big disaster in there, visible even just a few rolling steps into the adjoining living room. Steve forgot already. Blame that on the brain-fog.

“Well if it bothers you that much, you could help me.” Steve tried to play Billy’s game, but he immediately regrets it. Somehow demanding your wheel-chair bound, barely held together by always-never healing pins and stitches best friend help out with chores crosses the line into plain asshole territory, “I-If you’re alright to, I mean-“

Billy shakes his head, playing it off as no sweat. He likes to do that, make Steve feel like he’s doing everything right, so they can keep the peace after their first month living together was spent viciously arguing over their admittedly shrinking differences. So Billy bucks up now, and volunteers himself to Steve’s original request, even if it hadn’t been serious, “What do you want me to do?”

Steve himself had learned through many tears and screaming matches never to tell Billy he can’t do something. He gives him a manageable task to start with instead, while he tries to figure all this out in his head, “Wash your hands.”

“I literally just got back from the hospital.” Billy argues, clearly sarcastically, because he’s already taking himself over to the sink, waiting for Steve to reach the faucets for him. They really need a more accessible place, but they’re already damn lucky that this is the only apartment for miles that doesn’t have steps up to the porch. Fuck Indiana and it’s never updated infrastructure or building regulations.

For now, Steve will have to do just fine to turn the water on and put two pumps of soap on Billy’s hands for him. They know how to make it work.

Even if they still act snarky, like Steve isn’t carefully adjusting the water temperature to be comfortable for Billy as he speaks, “That’s worse then. Wash them twice.”

Instead of waiting for a hand towel though, Billy just flicks the warm water off of his hands onto Steve, who’s so thoroughly covered in baking ingredients even while wearing his special Chanukah apron, or he might’ve complained otherwise.

He doesn’t have time to though, before Billy is demanding, “Now what, Stevie?”

Immediately after he asks, and before Steve even needs to, Billy folds his hands in his lap, the agreed upon silent signal for, ‘Hey, you have full permission to push my wheelchair.’ Steve touches the handles and waits once more for Billy to nod, the second clarification before he moves Billy’s chair over to one of the card tables he had set out, at chest level so Billy can reach his work.

Leaving room behind his chair as he flutters around the kitchen, always a mass of nervous energy, Steve rearranged little pieces of his earlier baking disaster until he has a bowl of dough, an empty, but lined cookie sheet, and a set of measuring spoons laid out in front of Billy, to demonstrate the answer to his question.

“I need you to make tablespoons of this dough, and put them onto this- baking sheet.”

Billy reaches to start doing his part, but Steve interrupts him again, “Not before you get in uniform, though.”

He produces a second apron, this one Christmas themed, as it’s patterned with little felt gingerbread men and gumdrop beads. Usually, it gets left in storage, since it’s not really the one that suits Steve, but for this, for Billy, of course he’ll make an exception.

With a hand on each of the aprons' shoulders adorned with jingle bells, Steve holds it up in front of Billy’s work space.

Billy turns his head, deadpan, despite a glint of humor in his eyes, “The hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“Put your arms up so I can put it on you.” Steve directs simply, when met with Billy’s stubborn defiance, putting one of his hands on his hip instead of holding out the stiff fabric, “Please? It’ll save us time when we clean up later.”

Billy laughs like the suggestion is funny somehow, and honestly, yeah. It is. But that’s not the point. He’s trying to share the festivity with his friend who spent last year sleeping through Christmas, barely remembering a thing about himself, let alone the holidays.

Steve tries to make a convincing pleasing face, but again he’s met with a traditional stubborn Billy response, “I’m not wearing your grandmother's dish rag, Stevie.”

It’s with light humor, or at least, Steves pretty sure it is since Billy called him by his nickname, so he argues back, “C’mon. My kitchen, my rules.”

“Not yours. I still pay for half of it too.” Billy reminds him, apparently very insistent about his stake in the apartment, but his body language doesn’t add up to his words. He puts his arms on the braces and pulls himself away from his wheelchair back support as far forward as he can, so Steve can reach to tie a bow on the apron around his back.

He fumbles as he wraps it around, just because his hands aren’t as accurate as they used to be before he hit his head another dozen times and got drugged with whatever, but eventually he gets it tied securely behind Billy’s back.

Then, and only then, he realizes it’s tied over top of Billy’s oxygen tube. Not very convenient if they want him to have any mobility at all.

Steve mutters an apology and starts over, carefully placing the apron against Billy’s chest while he moves the thin tube out of the way, realizing that he’s closer to the other than is maybe necessary when he looks up to do the second tie around Billy’s neck, and his nose almost bumps Billy’s.

While he’s there, to avoid doing something he regrets,

“You should let me put your hair up too.”

Billy pushes away suddenly, swiping his hair, grown out long since he’s been out of the hospital, over his shoulder so Steve can’t touch it, “No way! M’not your dress up doll.”

Even Billy, in all his defensive glory, is smiling about it. Maybe they have to do everything in this roundabout way, but at least they can have fun with it now, instead of the painful tension that used to settle over them. That’s gotta mean more than just the holiday spirit.

Steve laughs, “Would you rather wear a hairnet?

Not even giving a second to really consider it, too proud of his hair and all the growing he’s done, literally and metaphorically, Billy shuts down that idea faster, “No fuckin’ way! Go ahead and do your shit, Harrington!”

Using just a movement of his neck, he flicks his hair back over to the middle. The long, ringlet-like curls from the new care routine he’s gotten into, hang down to his mid back. It’s going to take a minute for Steve to get it put up nicely, so they’ve learned from many failed attempts at doing ponytails and buns and what have you. Steve’s most successful is a braid, so that’s what he goes with.

He’s delicate with Billy’s hair, as he sections it into three slightly tangled sections of gold. It’s probably been a few too many days since Billy detangled his mane. Steve wishes he’d tell him when he needed a hand, but that’s why he’s doing this right now instead of letting Billy try to do it on his own later when he’s exhausted and sore.

His silent acceptance is all the confirmation Steve needs to keep going, because Billy wouldn’t let him hear the end of it otherwise.

So they have a moment of peace, while Steve carefully uses his fingers to pull apart knots, or brushes them against the soft hairs at the base Billy’s neck gently as a tender apology for pulling too hard. Billy sniffs his nose while Steve goes slow braiding each piece over the other, one at a time, his tell-all sign that he’s starting to doze off in his wheelchair just from Steve playing with his hair a little.

So he’s pushing himself too hard again. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to help with these cookies though. And that’s what’s so worrying.

Steve wishes he had the spine to tell Billy not to do that. Not to worry. He’ll take care of him just fine.

To tell Billy that he loves him.

Reaching the end of functional pieces of hair, the length of Billy’s hair choppy and uneven enough that the braid only holds just over half of his hair, the rest trapped in a horses tail at the bottom, Steve ties it off with a hair tie he keeps in his apron pocket just for this.

This happens a lot, needing to get Billy’s mane of hair out of the way while he tries to participate. It gives him time at the start to prepare and assert his promise to himself to complete whatever task is laid out in front of him, while it gives Steve time to try to subliminally talk him out of it.

Maybe they need to use their words more often. Only then, would Steve have the guts to say just how much he wants to tuck the curly pieces of hair at Billy’s temples, the ones that always fly away and don’t stay tied back, away behind his ears, and just hold his face for a while. How much he wants to kiss him, after they sit and look into each other’s eyes, and feel that warm feeling that isn’t coming from the oven.

Oh shit, the oven-

Steve, more suddenly than he’d ever want to, breaks his connection with Billy. Right now, he’s grabbing one of the oven mitts that hang from the cabinets on little magnets, and setting to taking the cookies out of the oven, which at first only produces a cloud of white smoke.

Steve burnt the damn cookies. He completely forgot he’d just put a batch in before Billy got home.

It’s a moment of chaos with Steve swatting at smoke with the tray of blackened cookies balanced on the other hand until it’s too hot, and he drops it down too hard on the counter. Cookies burnt into stones scatter between piles of ingredients and a few onto the floor. Billy’s laughing so hard at the slapstick scene he breaks into a coughing fit, while Steve scampers to collect the fallen remains of his treats, falling on his ass when he gets dizzy from looking up too quickly to check on Billy’s deep, rattling cough.

It’s another disaster, to say the least.

Once Billy catches his breath again with the help of switching out his cannulae for a concentrated mask for a few minutes, and Steve has most of the smoke from the disaster cookies, which are now in the trash, funneled outside through the barely open window to avoid too much cold getting in, Billy reignites the conversation, “So what are those anyways?”

Steve stares blankly for a second. He realizes Billy’s referring to the cookies only once he actually points at the burnt pan in the sink.

“Oh. They were snickerdoodles.. I think.” His doubt isn’t a quip. He can’t really remember. Billy smiles patiently while he tries to bring the knowledge back, but it doesn’t come to him yet. Too many other distracting things in his head.

Moving on, Steve wipes his hands on his apron roughly, though nothing was even on them, and comes back to the prep station where Billy is still awaiting instruction, “This should yield like, two dozen or so more, and then we have to start the kichel.”

Steve demonstrates, using two spoons to scoop out just the right portion, so Billy, with the plastic ones instead of metal, copies him, and they both plop little balls of dough onto the cookie sheet, industrial sized because this one was taken from Steve’s parents, and could hold a whole dozen to bake at once.

It’s exactly what Steve described, but Billy still looks at the slowly filling tray in front of them with doubt, “Damn. How many cookies d’you think we’ll need?”

“Enough for the Christmas party where literally every last one of my dad’s relatives will be- And which you are going to by the way.” Steve reminds him, expecting Billy to argue and call his multi-faith celebrations lame or something.

But they’re thankfully beyond that now; way, way beyond it. Billy knows the limits of his teasing. He’d only like to point out, “Sure, whatever. M’pretty sure we won’t have enough room in the freezer for these though.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to laugh, because he’s right, and they’re going to have to deal with finding places to pack away all these treats later. That’s exactly it though. A later problem.

“Quit your complaining and just roll me some more cookies.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy rolls his eyes, and keeps tossing sticky dough between two spoons, just going at his own pace.

They work as a team to get through a few more batches, and when Billy gets too exhausted to keep going, Steve lets him be the taste tester for his jam fillings instead.

It’s getting pretty late by the time they’re finishing up. They locked the windows after the sun went down, for Steve’s own peace of mind, and it’s been at least a few hours since then. Lately, that’s become the norm. When Steve’s been with Billy, he’s been losing track of the time. Just enjoying what they have together now that they’re a part of one another’s adapted rhythm.

The kitchen is mostly dark except for the soft glow of the tree from the next room, and the light inside of the oven. Billy looks like he’s about to doze off in his chair while watching Steve pull the very last tray of cookies from the oven and start the clean up. Right now, that’s just getting all the dozens and dozens of piles of cookies on his counter into plastic containers and small baggies to freeze. They’ll deal with all the dishes and powdered sugar messes tomorrow.

Right now, once everything they need done is put away, Steve takes the reins of Billy’s chair, after another moment of silent communication about if that’s okay, and brings them both into the equally dimly-lit, but just as warm and fuzzy and safe living room. In just a few weeks, the room will glow brighter with the light from his menorah, and maybe one for Billy too, depending. He still has the abandoned extras of his other family members. Maybe this will be they’re thing.

Billy interrupts his spiraling daydreams, “Hey. Thanks for including me.”

“You do pay for half.” Steve answers light-heartedly, remembering their earlier banter. He suspects that’s what this is too.

But Billy’s expression stays serious, and while he’s smiling, this one is gentle, a lot different from the shark-toothed snicker he wears when he’s playful.

“No, I mean like, making me feel normal.”

Steve, knowing the sting of being othered, called an idiot and a dim bulb and a thousand other things by his used to be friends since his brain started working a little different, rushes to assure him, “You ar-“

But Billy isn’t interested in listening.

“Don’t. It’s not normal to be like this.” Billy’s eyebrows knit together, deep in thought about something, and he starts again, choosing his words more carefully. It reminds Steve of the frustration of trying to explain his own experience to Billy, when he accidentally forgot to refill his medicine. The balance of guilt and pain, and self-acceptance and daring, “Hell, maybe it is, but it’s not my normal. I’m still not used to it anyway.”

Steve tries to help Billy, since he thinks he relates, “Tell me what I need to do to make it feel normal again.”

And, well, an interfaith, autistic guy with short term memory problems and a whole array of physiological stuff going on, maybe isn’t the one who should be offering up anything about lessons in normal, but he’d still like to be there for Billy.

“Ain’t your damn problem.” Yeah, even the Billy who shut him down almost instantly, out of the same fear that Steve understands far too well.

“Sure it is. I told you when I asked you to move in that I’d do anything I could. So.. you could at least stop asking your step-mom to take you to appointments..” Steve even gives examples, because he wants Billy to know how much he means it.

Maybe this is about how in love he is with Billy.

If only Billy understood that, instead of making excuses against Steve’s offer, “You were busy. It’s fine.”

“I could restructure though.” Steve’s upping the deal, choosing every word like a promise right from the heart, “You can be a part of my busy.”

Billy stares at him, processing, but then his expression crumbles like one of Steve’s burnt cookies. He hangs his head, “Damn it, Steve.”

Instant panic. Steve is back to searching his brain for whatever he said last, worried his stupid broken brain let something bad slip- “What? What’d I do?”

“I wish I could stand up and grab you by your adorable face and kiss you, right now.” Billy answers instead of explaining whatever cruel thing Steve might’ve done, and suddenly it’s all clicking into place. It wasn’t a mess up.

This is a really, really good thing.

A kiss. Steve wants that too.

He leans over the arm of the couch, and closer to Billy’s wheelchair. That’ll do a number on his neck, but he just wants- “Is it okay if I..?”

He’s never done this before. Not like this. Anxiety makes bubbles in his chest, that he has to shake his arms to work all that bad energy out. Except the movement makes him lose his balance, and he almost faceplants right into Billy’s lap. He scrambles to sit back up, but somethings still not perfect.

Billy chuckles warmly, and explains what he wants Steve to do, their role as the one with confidence switched, as it does in many situations thanks to their respective navigations of life in this new this way, “Just sit facing me. You’re tall enough. We can meet part way.”

“Okay.” Steve feels like he has to answer before he pulls away, and sits back, crossing his legs one over the other. He watches Billy reposition his wheelchair at an angle, and they’re actually face to face this time. It takes more than he's used to to get here, but so did remembering all the recipes and baking cookies.

He finds he doesn’t really mind taking the extra steps, “Like this?”

In the face of all that nervousness, Billy just looks at him all soft, like the gooey caramels before they burnt to the stove top, “It’s just a kiss Steve. We don’t have to get it right on the first try.”

“Right. So- Here goes-“ He nods, but he doesn’t lean in and kiss Billy it even move at all. He’s frozen with the distance of just a few inches apart, while he’s there, at least taking in every detail of Billy’s features.

The pale freckles on his nose, perpetually a little pink from the tubes going past, and the dryness it causes. Permanent oxygen therapy is rough on him sometimes, but it’s better than the suffering his coughing fits earlier gave just a glimpse into. Steve observes the old scar on Billy’s cheek and how it healed a dark, red-ish color. Just like Billy’s lips. Steve’s searching eyes meet Billy’s, and finally the stretching silence is broken.

“You’re still worrying.”

“Sorry, I-“ Steve automatically starts to apologize, but Billy interrupts it, with the press of his lips against Steve’s.

They’re both tense. It's painfully awkward for a first kiss. But it’s nice.

It’s like.. the cinnamon and the vanilla. Warm and sweet and subtle. It’s a craving he wants more of.

As gently as he can, he shifts places, and draws one hand up to hold the side of Billy’s face. Billy’s own hand comes up to reposition Steve’s where he won’t press down on his oxygen tube, but he doesn’t push him away. He holds him there.

Slowly, they ease into each other enough to shift, and start the kiss all over again. Still gentle, still new, but this time filled to overflowing with all the things they’re feeling along with it.

They’re going strong for a few minutes, and Steve just wants to keep pressing closer more and more, and channeling all the feelings about love too big for shaking out into this new outlet. He wants to taste all of Billy and see if he’s sweet enough to soothe his craving.

But Billy pulls away too soon. Tipping his head forward so his forehead, and his messy bangs, press against Steve’s. His breath comes out in short puffs, “Needed to breathe.”

Steve rushes to apologize again, flushed for two reasons now, “Sorry.”

He only chuckles softly, sounding almost tired in comparison to the howling laughter that filled the air just earlier. Like he’s relaxed now. Finally safe after sharing a kiss with Steve.

As if to demonstrate his gentle sweetness, Billy assures him, “It’s good. You're probably the best way to suffocate.”

Now Steve’s the one who laughs, unsure what that even means, but finding it makes his heart beat a little faster anyways, “Um.. Thank you?”

“No problem.”

It’s such a casual exchange, Steve would hate to interrupt it, but-

“Oh- I just remembered something!”

It was probably too sudden. Probably rude. Steve doesn’t even have the time to filter through every degrading comment he’d received in the past before Billy is distracting him with an inquiry into what was so important to ruin their moment. Genuine curiosity too.

“What’s up?”

“The whole house isn’t decorated yet.” Steve really had noticed out of the corner of his eye, that the tree is decorated with handmade Chanukah ornaments and, conversely, store bought candy canes, but beyond that, nothing else is ready. He won’t have time if he doesn’t do it now, even though it’s late and Billy’s getting tired, and oh!

Billy’s talking!

Steve’s panicking in his head long enough to tune back into the ending Billy’s denial, “-I just don’t do this Christmassy shit well.”

Like Steve’s doing much better with silver and blue baubles and miniature dreidels hanging on the damn Christmas tree. “I don’t either, that’s why I need your opinion. Please?”

“Alright, sure. What is it you need help with?” Well. That was easy. Billy’s got a soft spot.

Only, Steve has no idea what he needs. He just wanted to get his decorating done, and talk to Billy some more. He’s so in love with Billy, just thinking about him derails all the thoughts he has of tinsel and festive table runners and snowflake wreaths.

He forgot again.

Billy’s patience, in his round eyes and his dimple-showing smile, never falters, but Steve feels more panic, for just a second, until he finally remembers at least something.

“Oh, oh, I got it!”

There’s a sprig of mistletoe inside the candy dish out in the kitchen. He wanted to hang it up before Billy got home earlier, and he’d forgotten it when it got lost in the mess of all his baking tasks.

He’d wanted it to be for their first kiss, but, that already happened, the memory of those few seconds with his lips pressed against Billy’s making each step Steve takes, as he goes to fetch the mistletoe, bouncier, and squeaking a small noise of delight past his lips.

He’s just got to come up with an idea for it now.

A roll of tape and the small branch in hand, he goes to the small hallway, which leads to every room in the apartment, and picks the primary doorway into the living space where Billy is, holding it up,

“Is this a good place for this?”

It takes Billy a moment, after being turned to face the furniture Steve was sitting on for their kiss, to turn back round in the small space between the sofa and the coffee table. Steve understands how patient Billy is being with him and his foggy thoughts, so he honors the same temper for his love.

Billy finally observes, his half-tired smile growing across his flush-warmed face, “You do realize we’re gonna cross through there like, at least ten times a day.”

Steve just shrugs. That was kinda the point. He liked kissing Billy so much, he’d like to do it all the time. “So I’ll get some practice in.”

“You need it.” Billy snarks, only playful, which Steve can detect because Billy told him what to look out for after a misunderstanding about the other boy calling him silly. He sees the raise of Billy’s eyebrows and the curl of his lips over a suppressed smile, so he plays along too.

Taping the mistletoe up against the molding anyways, Steve juts out his lower lip in an equally as unserious pout, “Hey! Now you owe me two kisses!”

“Fine. Come redeem ‘em.” Billy doesn’t waste his energy moving himself all the way over to Steve and his two working legs; he just opens his arms, and that’s all he needs to.

Because now that he can, Steve is always going to go running for that warmth, and, just like before, he crashes their lips together in a kiss slightly less delicate than the first, but all the more reflective of the light of their mutual feelings, an even better motivation than the cheap plastic version of the iconic berry to kiss Billy.

Or to love Billy. To celebrate his holidays with Billy, and bring some light back into both of their lives.

#harringrove #my writing #ej writer #disabled! billy #autistic! steve #disabled! steve #jewish! steve #pure holiday fluff featuring interfaith traditions #like last time #shout out to my friend george for being my jewish culture consultant <3 #another first kiss fic #also on ao3!