#glad bringing the 80s back

[adreamthatsworthkeeping]

Glad is promoting the Peppermint Bark recipe. I thought it look familiar and I realised I'd recently seen the B Dylan Hollis video with it.

https://www.tumblr.com/crim50n-r8er-reblogs/736915352698716160/peppermint-bark-from-1980

[asky22]

The way I love them so much!

Get me a guy who'll love me the way he loves her.

No but seriously this movie has been slowly consuming my entire being!!

[ghostofazalea]

started the year with enfer now im ending the year with her

[inhidingxoxo3637]

What do you mean early bird for Silverstone 2024 ends TOMORROW?????

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … HOT TO GO! ♡

5, 6, 5678!

the day had come — and of course, at the busiest hour of pizzadeliveryboy!popes shift. they still had this janky red landline phone from the 80’s in the kitchen of the restaurant, with possibly the most obnoxious ring one could fathom. like, really — it was no wonder these things weren’t household items anymore. the sound was ear piercing.

popes too busy sprinkling cheese to pick up — so you’re greeted with a disinterested thirty-something year old who barely got out his ‘you’ve reached HTG Pizza how can i help ya—” before you were blasting his ear off with—

“PUT POPE ON THE PHONE!”

you had broken up with your boyfriend. one year of toxicity, pain and torment all in the name of saving face. kook life was cruel, and appearance so often mattered more than feeling — and though your boyfriend treated you terribly… the life was safe and sweet.

maybe you were the cruel one for making pope wait. he’d been too patient for his own good— watching you try to uphold your perfect reputation whilst confiding in him on the side. he knew you were a sweet girl, simply making a bunch of not so sweet choices, and pope would never condone cheating — but soon the two of you started fooling around, which lead to you screwing around (which is just fooling around without dinner.) and just like that, he’d caught feelings.

he’d do anything to break the two of you up. no really — the term ‘praying on someone’s downfall’ was never something that the heyward boy was familiar with until he met you. it started off as petty things, reporting every instagram picture of the two of you together. this quickly evolved into sending you check in texts at angel number hours like 11:11, so that maybe you’d think some divine figure was trying to guide the two of you together. terribly enough, he even dragged kiara down to that crystal shop downtown so he could ask the nice lady with pretty feathers in her hair what crystal he could use to break you up with your boyfriend.

kiara told him in was bad karma to pray on peoples downfall.

but now he’s cycling to your house, your empty house might he mention and all but dumping his bike on your front lawn because for once it doesn’t matter who sees. hell, he even ripped off the uniform visor on his head and tossed it. you’re there at the door waiting for him under the warm porch light in just a skirt and bra like you’d already worked on getting your clothes off for him.

“i’m so sorry i had to finish my shift i obviously would have come as soon as—” he’s rambling before he’s reached you, but you’re shaking your head with a purely lustful look in your eye, breathing out a—

“— shut up.”

and as soon as he’s reached you you’re diving into his arms, legs round his waist — lips to his and you really, really didn’t care who saw. you fumble for the door anyway, the two of you bumping into things as you slam it shut behind the two of you. he takes his lips away just for a second to suck in a breath and whisper “i didn’t bring any pizza this time—” but you clearly didn’t care, stuffing your tongue back into his mouth. well, that settles that. it was never about the pizza.

every surface. pope heyward was doing you on every flat surface of that egregiously large house of yours — and soon, after much loud and bordering on aggressive sex, you’ve finally wound up on your back in bed, staring into eachothers eyes as he rolls his hips, little “ohhh, ah, ah…”’s leaving your sore and sensitive mouth.

“god i’m so glad to have you now. i can have you now, right?” popes brows furrow, looking desperate and urgent. the two of you had sweat so much he doesn’t even smell like stuffed crusts and garlic dip anymore.

“was always yours. m’sorry pope i’m so sorry!” you sob when the curve in his cock nudges your cervix because he can’t help but bottom out fully when you say it. he kept anticipating that he’d wake up to his alarm and this had all been a beautiful dream, reminding him to hang on just another day.

“you’re okay i— i’d wait forever for this. fuck.” he shudders, face dropping for a moment to press an earnest kiss to your collar bone.

“can i tell you something?” you grasp him, speaking in a hushed tone, saved for a vulnerable moment like this.

“anything!” he promises, back to eye level.

“i…i really don’t like the pizza you’d bring, i mean papa johns is just way better—”

“no yeah that’s completely understandable. i mean totally—”

you’re rolling him onto his back now. the undying urge to make up for lost time taking over and instantly you’re sinking down onto his length and grinding like your life depended on it.

“shit. oh my god.” he groans, dishevelled in your pink sheets. a hand comes to his forehead in disbelief at the sight of your naked body riding him like this, so different from your usual rushed encounters before anyone returns home or in the back of his pizza fan — and the other thumb grazes your clit, eyes glued to the way you’re swallowing him, leaving a creamy ring at his flushed base.

you follow his gaze, reaching down to spread yourself for him. quite the sight.

“who’s is it?” he presses your clit and you howl, clutching his wrist. “who’s baby? tell me please.”

“yours pope!” you cry.

“who’s?”

“s’all yours pope! it always was!”

perhaps he knew this already, but god did it feel good to hear.

[ddarker-dreams]

mini love report — giorno giovanna

relationship health diagnosis — 80%*

symptom one — intuitive

giorno's uncanny ability to read others got him far in life. it's a skill so interwoven into his being that it's as involuntary as breathing. from the instant he laid eyes on you, he started work on a mental profile. depending on what he wants, he'll make slight adjustments to how he interacts with you. he's hyper-aware of your likes and dislikes at all times. fortunately for you, his intentions aren't malevolent. the adjustments aren't drastic but you'd probably find it weird if you ever learned about this (you won't).

this information goes to ensuring you're comfortable around him. he finds intimacy a vulnerable, fragile thing that must be handled with care. you can feel the quiet intensity of his gaze most toward the start of your relationship, although it never goes away. he's searching for any sign of discomfort or unspoken cues to continue.

eventually, he'll come to trust that you'll voice misgivings if you have any and that he can ease up.

symptom two — resolute

once this man sets his mind on something, there's no stopping him. this staunch determination can be good, bad, or a discordant mix of the two. what differentiates him from other ambitious individuals is his patience and opportunism. he'll pursue you for years if need be. giorno doesn't want to conquer your heart, no, he longs to be worthy of having it. after all, if you've caught his attention, you must be special.

challenges may arise when 'determined' shifts to 'obstinate.' regardless of how opposed you are in a disagreement, he never disregards your perspective. the lone exception is when your safety is involved. should he believe you doing something imposes a risk, it's like trying to convince a brick wall. he'll still hear you out but you both know his mind is made up. he won't relent until you capitulate. he's methodical in dissuasion; never raising his voice or condescending you. he's well-mannered and considerate as ever.

you come around to his side faster than you'd care to admit.

symptom three — respectful yet sly

while mindful of your boundaries (thanks papa jonathan), giorno knows what mischief he can get away with (sorta thanks papa dio). for a man who has garnered the fearsome reputation he has, he's surprisingly impish. he'll quietly fluster you before getting your picture taken together, so that he can capture your expression forever. at dinners with important figures, when the conversation gets painfully boring, his hand will brush over your thigh beneath the table. he acts confused by your admonishment as if he hadn't instigated it.

occasionally, when thinking back on interactions from your teenage yours, you experience an epiphany. what you thought to be an innocent comment had flirtatious undertones! if you bring this up to him, he'll smile softly and say he's 'glad you finally noticed, even if it took a while...'

primary area of concern

he's what you might call 'morally flexible.' there are some lines he'll never cross — promoting illicit substances or harming children are the premier examples — yet he's still a mafioso. as the don of passione, he regularly engages in dubious practices. should you ever ask about his undertakings, he's honest up to a point. he knows how to make unpleasant subjects palatable. the thought of regularly lying to you makes his stomach churn.

giorno settles for misdirection and obfuscation. it's so subtle, so well done that you'll likely remain none the wiser. he masterfully steers you away from topics you're better off not knowing (in his view). he admits to lesser wrongdoings to satiate your curiosity.

no matter how he spins it to himself, however, this is still lying. it's just a fancy, roundabout version.

prognosis

giorno may have this debonair flair to him, yet beneath the polish sits a lonely heart. he's worried he'll accidentally spoil your relationship (especially if you're close friends before he confesses), or otherwise bring some harm upon you. he wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself. you're someone he can be himself around. the charm he always exudes changes shape in your presence. he's a bit less smooth, more prone to blushing and fidgeting. he's just really good at hiding it.

he'll be a steadfast partner (and hopefully husband) come hell or high water. he's gentle and kind in a way no one beside you can illicit. you make him want to be better so that he's never at risk of losing you.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-100)

[chanranghaeys]

watching “grave of the fireflies” with vernon

pairing: idol!vernon x gn!reader word count: 700+ tags: established relationship, movie night, comfort, some tears warnings: none (unless you count “grave of the fireflies” as a warning in itself)

a/n: in celebration of the news that this heartbreakingly beautiful movie will be coming to netflix soon yay. if you haven’t watched it like this fic vernon, please do watch it, it's beautiful, but maybe not alone if possible like this fic vernon haha

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“You, of all people, have never watched Grave of the Fireflies?”

Vernon is silent, his face mixing a pout, a scowl, and a side-eye you swear he got from Seungkwan. “I should have you know that it is not an easy film to watch, okay?”

“I know that. But Hansol Vernon Chwe, the film junkie, has not watched this masterpiece?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I know it’s a masterpiece! I just…can’t bring myself to watch it alone.”

You tilt your head curiously. “Alone? You don’t have to watch it alone, though. Have none of the boys agreed to watch it with you?”

”I mean…I guess I just never got around to asking it. And you know how busy we can get. Oh, I think Jun hyung has watched it.”

“And?”

“He never wants to see it again.”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, okay. Very valid point.”

“So do you see my dilemma? I don’t want to watch it alone, and no one will watch it with me.”

“I’ll watch it with you.”

His eyes widen. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure you want to watch it again?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll watch it with and for you.” You shrug nonchalantly. “Besides, I’ve been kind of meaning to watch it again just because it’s been years since I first did. I like rewatching Ghibli films.”

The right corner of Vernon’s lip quirks up. He looks down bashfully. You take his hand in yours and duck down to meet his eyes as you smile back. “Are you free tonight?”

His gaze softens and he grazes a finger on your cheek. “Stop giving me more reasons to keep liking you.”

“Nope.” You stick your tongue out at him and he laughs at your cheekiness. He loves you so much.

“Fine, tonight it is. I’ll be there at 8.”

The credits start rolling and you blow your nose into yet another piece of tissue as you wipe the tears that just won’t stop falling. At this point, Vernon would usually automatically comfort you in a hug, but he was still honestly stunned by the whole ordeal he went through for the past 80 minutes of the film.

That was rough.

He was rendered motionless with so many thoughts running in his head, failing to come up with words for what he just watched.

“So,” you said in between sniffs. “How are you?”

He takes in a deep breath, and you hear a sniffle along with it. He wipes unshed tears from his eyes and just shakes his head. “Isao Takahata, may you rest in peace...but damn you. In the most respectful way, damn you.”

You let out a laugh in between your tears and you know it wasn’t you that needed comforting right now. You closed the distance and engulfed him in a hug, one he willingly folded in to be the little spoon.

“Thank you for going through that with me.”

You rested your chin on his shoulder and he moved his hand up and down your forearm that was wrapped around his chest. “I’m glad it was me, honestly. At least we both weren’t first-timers. We might be two blubbering messes by now if that were the case.”

“I’ll tell you right now,” Vernon breathed in deep. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to take care of you if that happened.”

“But it didn’t. So you have me here. I got you.”

“I love you.”

You wipe away a stray tear that escaped his eye. “I love you too.”

“Give me three business days to process all that.”

“Got it, boss.”

Silence. You knew that those three business days weren’t true, because you could almost see the gears working in his head as he looked ahead. In three...two…

“You know, actually, the way that the movie opened with Seita…”

You chuckled against his shoulder, disturbing his train of thought.

“What? What’s so funny?”

You shake your head, still smiling against him. “Nothing, nothing. Please continue.”

Vernon was so rarely the yapper, but not when it came to films. You absolutely adored this side of him. Despite both of you needing to wake up early for work tomorrow, maybe sleep could wait. You were both in for a long night of discussion.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: it's so easy to write fluff for vernon like i churned this out so quickly?? idk man i love him so much :( i feel like the man has so many facets to him but the overarching one is that he's just an all-around nice guy. in real life, he's someone i'd really like to even just be friends with *sigh*

might also make this into a series thing of similar "slice of life" moments with the other members but let's see!

[abbystanaccount]

My ratings and opinions on all of Abby’s skins featured in The Last of Us Part II Remastered! 

(An early review copy was provided to me by Playstation)

Abby‘s OG outfits are all cool and it’s nice to swap them out whenever! However, it’s not all her outfits. But they missed her long sleeve golfing outfit, which is a tragedy. 8/10

They fitted Abby’s younger outfits to her older body! This is exactly the type of tank top I wanted to see on Abby and it’s always been one of my fave outfits for her so I’m so glad they did this and it looks amazing. The little braid is also so cute. 9.5/10

But the polo just doesn’t fit good imo 4/10

The sunglasses are sick! I like most of the details added on the jacket, though some of the patches I’m a little meh on. LOVE that it says “Salt Lake Crew” on the back. I wish they changed up the jacket a little more but they get a +1 for using my favorite pants🙏 8.5/10

I’m mixed about this Badlands skin. I like that it uses her short hair, I like that it’s new models, but don’t really like the design of the outfit and the face paint. The skin is bad-ass dystopian looking, but it doesn’t really fit anywhere besides no return or the forest section. 7/10

80s. I love this outfit. I think it’s so cool and badass and all the details on it just bring the look together. It's not really something you expected but it just makes Abby look so damn good. I just wish it had new hair and some nail polish! Also love her necklaces are the Firefly tag and a bullet with "JOEL" on it. 9.5/10

Classic Naughty Dog tanktop. Idk, it’s boring SORRY. At first glance it looks so much like her og outfit with the colors. 5/10.

It’s nice to get some new colors out of Abby’s SB shirt. Some of the shirts look a bit nicer than others but I don’t like that they use her tan SB skin textures, because sometimes the arms and head get mixed up being tan vs pale 7/10

Overall, I was quite satisfied with Abby’s skins! There’s two especially that I love and other new options that I like a lot as well and look forward to using a bunch to take photos in! A couple things changed like a new hair would have really been a homerun but overall 8.5/10

[dancermk]

HELLO MY FELLOW TRAVELERS!

I, like many viewers, have been completely entranced by Hawk and Tim’s love story in Fellow Travelers. As a mature queer person, this show has been very emotional, and I am deeply invested. (I WILL riot if Tim doesn’t get to die in Hawk’s arms, and know that he is, and has always been, loved by Hawk.) But I digress.

Something that I have been fascinated by are the differing opinions that have surfaced about the characters, especially Hawk. I’m not looking for any arguments here, everyone is entitled to their opinion, and this is simply mine. To me, Hawk falls hard and fast for Tim. He breaks all his own rules for Tim - they topple over like a house of cards.

When we are introduced to Hawk, he’s cold and heartless with the men he hooks up with - they are nothing more than a body to fulfil his sexual needs and desires. He doesn’t do repeats and he doesn’t bring them home. But Tim, he instantly begins returning to, gets him a job, then allows him into his own apartment, etc. When Tim pushes back, Hawk relents further, letting him in emotionally, sharing parts of his past, crossing lines by introducing him to others in his circle, and so on.

Hawk is a traumatised man, carrying guilt and anger and shame, and a bucket load of fear! Yes, he has some internalised homophobia, but interestingly, he’s also extremely righteous about his homosexuality -and I don’t believe he thinks being gay is wrong in any way. (His response to his father is indicative of this).

I can personally say that I’ve never thought it was wrong to be queer, yet I spent much of my life hiding who I was and feeling shame. It’s an odd thing! Perhaps it is that the shame forms purely from what is outside of us, while what is inside of us can love another person of the same sex, knowing it is right and pure. Perhaps these contradictions between self and society are what causes so much pain and conflict?

But back to Hawk. Hawk is undoubtedly most affected by his teenage first love experience. A love that he fucked up through his own fears (fear for many men is unacceptable and a sign of weakness), and now carries the burden of believing he is responsible for their death. Hawk doesn’t allow himself to love again, until Tim. And we see many times throughout the show how much Hawk fears losing Tim. And in the end he’ll have to face that fear. I think that, in part, not attempting to have a life with Tim, is also fuelled by his fear of fucking it up and losing Tim - so it’s easier to just not attempt it! In episode 7, when he loses his son, part of that spiral is Hawk recognising that he can’t really prevent loss, and he wasted his life trying to be something he’s not - still losing his child and Tim along with it.

But Hawk is a survivor! And no one has the right to hate or judge him for it. I don’t think some young people truly understand what it feels like to live in a world where who you love can put you in jail, and destroy your life. I grew up in the 70s/80s and my experiences were bad enough, but I try so very hard to think about what it was like before that! When being queer was a crime and a mental illness! That’s pure terror! And for Hawk, he chose to survive the best way he knew how, and he wasn’t able to change because that’s fucking hard when all you’ve known is living in constant ‘fight or flight,’ and when have chronic trauma and experience collective trauma.

I think in episode 8 we’ll finally get to see Hawk grow - I certainly hope so - because he deserves to be free. Our beautiful Skippy has been free for some time, and while we mourn for the cruelty of a world that would take such a truly decent man, I am glad he got to live freely. Being closeted is the worst kind of suffering- a compartmentalised and fragmented existence where you are never truly whole, and therefore can never be the best version of yourself.

Before I go, I just wanted to also talk about being in a closeted relationship-which I experienced in my youth. I think that Hawk and Tim’s intense and toxic and exquisitely beautiful relationship, in part, arises from this. Because two closeted people in love live their relationship in secret, in a bubble, only in certain rooms, with none of the outside world reflected back at them. It becomes the two of you against the world. It’s so insular. Hawk and Tim literally live their 1950s relationship within two rooms - their apartments. All their memories are held within those walls. And it only belongs to them. They know each in ways that no other living soul does. It’s all-consuming and often unhealthy, but also stupidly romantic.

Anyway, sorry for this long winded post that no one will read and is likely full of grammatical errors because I’m tired! This atheist is praying we get everything we need from episode 8! Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding resolution, healing and a whole lot of love! ❤️

Cheers queers! 🏳️‍🌈

PS Matt and Johnny are exquisite on and off screen and I am so thankful to them for bringing these characters and this story into our lives!

[mamaestapa]

fluffy christmas morning with yoshi opening presents and watching movies ???

A Christmas Story|| Andrei Iosivas x reader

•pairing: Andrei Iosvias x reader

•summary: Spending a sweet Christmas morning with Yoshi

•warnings: none, just fluff

“Alright pretty girl,” Andrei said as he plopped down on the couch beside you, smiling as he looked at the matching pajama bottoms you wore, “you ready for your gifts?”

“Of course I am,” you said happily as you beamed at your fiancée, “are you?”

“Always.”

He leaned in and pecked your puckered lips, your nose scrunching up when he pulled away from you and smiled sweetly. Christmas morning with Andrei was always so special. You’ve been together for four years now, each year spending Christmas or Christmas Eve with each other’s families. However this year was different. You and Andrei got engaged in June, bought your own place in Cincinnati just a few miles from Paycor stadium in September, and now you were spending your first Christmas by yourselves in your own home.

The two of you were so excited to get to spend the holidays by yourselves this year now that you’re engaged.

You and Andrei took turns opening your presents from eachother, both of you being extremely grateful for all of the thought that was put into every gift. You had gotten Andrei a new pair of bose headphones, a chain with the number 80 on it, and his favorite cologne. Andrei got you a custom Bengals denim jacket that said “Mrs. Iosivas” on the back, a new kate spade hand bag, a black pair of Jimmy Choo pumps, and your favorite perfume.

After opening each gift, the two of you took turns taking pictures of the other holding up their gifts.

When Andrei opened the jewelry box that held his diamond 80 chain you swore you’ve never seen him smile that big before. He held up the necklace and grinned widely as you took a picture of him.

“Baby,” he gasped, looking at you with a smile, “I love this!” You chuckled softly at your fiancee. You loved how Andrei’s face lit up like he was a kid again each year on Christmas.

Andrei leaned in and gave you a sweet kiss. You hummed contently as he pulled away. “I can’t wait to wear this on game days. Thank you baby.”

“Of course,” you smiled, “I’m glad you love it.”

After opening your gifts and thanking each other many times, you cleaned up the wrapping paper as Andrei took the breakfast casserole you had prepared the night before, out of the oven. He scooped two large spoonfuls onto the plates in front of him, one for him and one for you. Andrei topped off your coffee cups before bringing the plates of breakfast back out to the living room.

“For you,” he said softly as he handed you one of the plates. You thanked Andrei sweetly as he sat down next you. “This looks delicious.”

You took a bite of the casserole, letting out a soft moan as the mixture of egg, bacon, potatoes, and cheese hit your tastebuds. “It’s very good babe,” you praised Andrei, who just chuckled as you continued, “who knew you could play football and cook.”

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit,” he poked your thigh with the back of his fork, “you helped me too.”

The two of you laughed as you went back to enjoying each other’s company and the delicious breakfast. As you ate your food and sipped on your coffee, Andrei turned on your favorite movie that played all day Christmas day—A Christmas Story. After finishing your breakfast you cuddled into Andrei’s side and laughed along with him as the two of you watched the classic Christmas movie.

Andrei stroked your arm softly as he placed a gentle kiss to your temple, “Merry Christmas beautiful.” You hummed softly as you snuggled further into your fiancé’s touch, “Merry Christmas Yoshi, I love you.”

“I love you more Mrs. Yoshi.” He teased, making you grin widely. He was such a tease, and you loved it. You brought your hand up to his chest, letting it rest there as you spent the rest of the morning on the couch watching your favorite Christmas movies.

Your first Christmas morning with Andrei in your new home was definitely a success.



hi loves!

my first ever blurb about yoshi! i hope you all liked it. i thought it was a cute idea🤍 i’m sorry i wasn’t able to get this out yesterday (or earlier today), i just got so busy on vacation lol.

i hope you all had a wonderful christmas. as always, thank you for reading and supporting me and my work! i love you all🫂🤍

[chaosology]

bad idea, right?

— Sam Kerr x reader

based off Olivia Rodrigo's new song | masterlist

warnings: steamy, allusions to sexy times. it's a small fic, sorry! i feel it isn't very good quality lol

Haven't heard from you in a couple of months, but I'm out right now and I'm all fucked up

Your drink was spilling all over your hand as you stumbled through the crowds, pulling your friend's hands as they yelled over the music. There was no doubt about your intentions tonight. Sam was fresh on your mind and your friends were sick of you crawling back to her, with Robin going as far to call you a "slutty, lovesick puppy".

She wasn't wrong. Time after time you would wake up in her bed after agreeing to call it off, memories of the night before (and earlier that morning, let's be real) fresh in your head. They made you promise that tonight you'd quote "fuck it out" with someone else, as long as you didn't call her. You were about 80% sure it was doable, after all you hadn't spoken with her in a few days anyway.

The drink sloshes in your cup as you throw your hands up. Strangers are dancing up on you and you throw the cute girl across from you a wink. She's moving closer towards you as the song changes, her hands beginning to snake around your neck. As soon as you close your eyes and relax into it, they're gone.

"Damn, didn't know you were taken for the night."

You shoot her a confused look, and she motions over your shoulder at a figure standing by the door.

Fuck.

Sam's there. Right there - in the club where you're supposed to be finding a fling. She's leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She's got an almost amused, cocky look on her face as she stares you down. Her eyebrows raise as she nods, is she giving you her "blessing" to continue? Screw her.

"Don't worry about that." You whisper in the girl's ear, leaning down to bury your face in her neck. In what feels like an instant, you're being pulled away. There's no time to even utter an apology as you find yourself on the other end of the floor.

The lights are casting a purple glow over her face as she looks down at you. The tune of Troye Sivan's "Rush" is loud in your ears as you meet her gaze, a defiant look in you're eye.

"You really thought you'd get away with that?"

"Oh please, aren't we broken up Sam? Pretty sure it was you who initiated it."

"I wasn't the one at my door last week, begging for it." She fires back.

All resolve you had fizzled away as you looked quickly for your friends. Robin was making out with a guy at the bar and Georgie was nowhere to be seen. Perfect.

Her hands are on your hips in an instant, pulling your lower half into her. Your swaying your hips, hands moving to her neck as her chest presses against her back. She's murmuring in your ear and you pray the music is too loud for anyone to overhear. She kisses your neck, her hands running up and down your body as she sways with you. Tangling your hands in her hair, you bring her in for a kiss.

She grabs your thigh, lifting the leg to wrap around her waist as she deepens the kiss. You can't find it in you to care that you're going back to her once again, falling back into that same pattern you came hear to break.

And I told my friends I was asleep, but I never said where or in whose sheets

"Should we get out of here, baby?"

You only nod, letting her know you're off to let your friends know . You tap Robin on the shoulder.

"Fuck, I completely forgot about my lecture tomorrow. I've gotta be up early, I'll let you know when I'm home." A complete lie.

You're glad Sam is out of her line of sight otherwise you'd be in for it. She gives you a hug and you pray to God she doesn't notice your now smudged lipstick. As soon as you're in the taxi, Sam's hand is on your thigh and giving it a squeeze as she winks at you.

Maybe next time, you think. One more time with Sam can't hurt, right?

[pedroshotwifey]

Hungry Like The...

Pairing: Werewolf!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Smut, PIV sex, oral sex (f receiving), fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n, Frankie has a monster cock, im missing stuff but I want to go to bed so...

Summary: You and Frankie decide to attend an 80s themed Halloween party. Through all of the excitement, you must have forgotten what day the full moon falls on.

A/N: I'm gonna go ahead and say that I rushed the absolute fuck out of this one, but I think it turned out pretty good. I really kind of jumped outside of my comfort zone with this, so I'm kinda proud that I did that. That being said, please feel free to call me out on anything that might not make sense or anything that I should change at all because I'm half clueless with this kind of stuff. Please consider reposting and/or liking. Thank you for reading and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! <3

***

You have no idea where Frankie snuck off too. 

He claimed he was going to get the two of you more drinks, but that was about ten minutes ago. You’re well aware that it should have taken less than half of that for him to find his way to the refreshment table, pick up some drinks, and bring them back to you. 

Right now, though, you’re too blissed out to care—not that you have much to worry about with your loving boyfriend anyway. The lights are almost blinding as you spin around beneath them, but they transform into a nice glow thanks to the buzz you’re sporting. “Mony Mony,” is blaring through the speakers and you're in your zone as you swing your hips to the beat. 

You’re glad that Frankie had suggested that you two attend this party specifically. The only requirements were that you had to dress up as an 80’s character in order to fit the era the party revolves around. 80’s costumes, 80’s music, 80’s decor. Luckily for you, the 80’s is one of your absolute favorite decades, and you’re pretty sure Frankie knew that when he signed the two of you up. 

The dance floor is packed with people to the point where you can’t stretch out all the way without bumping into someone. Usually, that would irk you, but you can’t find it in you to mind tonight. It’s not like anybody else does. 

As you snap your hips to the beat, you look around at all the different costumes in the crowd. You see a handful of Star Wars characters, a couple of Freddy Kruegers, some Ghost Busters, and—of course—a shit ton of Madonnas. The rest, for the most part, are pretty original. 

You’re pretty proud of your own costume, to be honest. You had spent a couple of weeks configuring a custom-made Storm costume. You’ve been an X-Men fan for as long as you can remember, and it made you so happy to try on your costume for the first time a few days ago. It’s pretty damn spot-on. 

Frankie, on the other hand, had insisted on being a werewolf. Like turning into one once a month wasn’t enough already. You had simply rolled your eyes and asked him what he had in mind so you could make his costume. It was worth it to see the way he lit up, even though he’s cutting it close with the party’s theme. 

After the year he had, he deserves to be happy—even if it means you have to endure his stupid jokes every now and again. When he gets tipsy, his goofy humor always makes an appearance. It’s one of your favorite parts about nights out with your boyfriend. He never fails to make you laugh. 

Just as you begin to worry that he might have gotten lost in the crowd, you feel a hand spin you around. You’re getting ready to tell someone off until you come face to face with those irresistible brown eyes. 

“Hey there, Hermosa,” he says as he cuddles up to you, swaying you to the song. “Having fun, sweetheart?” 

You giggle as he bends down and nuzzles his face into your neck. Glancing down, you almost aren’t surprised to see that he doesn’t have any drinks. 

“Frankie?” You ask casually as you throw your arms around him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you find the drinks?” 

Suddenly, he stops moving and stands up straight again, a playful smile plastered across his face. 

“Guess not,” he says. “Found something to eat, though,” he winks and you playfully roll your eyes as he throws himself back onto you. As the song changes to “When Doves Cry”, he begins to dance with you. Frankie has never been the best dancer, but it's better this way. Neither of you take anything seriously as you push and pull your bodies together, giving eachother flirty kisses every now and again. 

You laugh as you bump into someone and flash them an apologetic look. Frankie really loves to bring out your careless side. You honestly didn’t know you were capable of being so care-free until you had met him. Sometimes he makes you feel as if nothing else matters but you and him. It’s times like these that you really realize just how lucky you are to have him. 

“Alright, baby,” Frankie says after a moment, bringing you out of your thoughts. “I’m going to go get us those drinks now.” 

Instead of answering him, you get up on your tip-toes and kiss him. He begins to wrap his arms around you again, but you gently push him off, giving him a faux stern look. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, baby, I’m going!” he says over the music before turning around to scamper away.

You have to suppress a giggle when he jolts as you deliver a light slap to his ass. He turns just enough to flash you a dirty look, and you give him one of feigned innocence in return, well aware he’ll get you back for that eventually if you continue to tease. 

“Hurry up, wolfboy!” you shout after him. 

***

Alright, you’re actually about to be pissed this time. 

There’s absolutely no way he lost you—or rather, you lost him—twice. He has to be playing with you, right? Whatever, if that’s the case, two can play at that game. 

You’ll just pretend like you don’t even notice something is missing. Maybe once he sees you where he left you, completely unaffected by his absence, he’ll stop being such an ass. 

Perfect. Perfect plan. 

You shake your head and dance as the song ends. You can have fun by yourself if your boyfriend wants to be immature. 

Well, it would have been a perfect plan. 

As if he could somehow read your mind—which you almost wouldn’t doubt at this point—you spot Frankie in your vision once again. However, this time, he’s not coming over to you. 

He has a familiar dark look in his eyes that immediately soaks you, despite yourself. You stop dancing because as quick as you see him, he’s gone again. You spin in a panicked circle as the song changes to one by Duran Duran. You almost laugh at the irony as “Hungry Like the Wolf” blares through the speakers. 

Your phone buzzes in the small pocket of your bodysuit, and you pause your quick search to look at it. Your brow furrows as you see that it’s a text from Frankie. What the fuck is he playing at? Quickly, you unlock your phone and open your messages. 

“Better start running, baby,” the text reads. You look up, your eyes frantically scanning the crowd around you. Maybe the song choice isn’t so ironic after all. 

“Don’t let me catch you… feeling hungry like the wolf tonight…”

You don’t stop to think before you make a mad dash toward the exit, your heart dropping to your stomach as you go. You get some pissed looks as you shove through people, your heart hammering in your chest and your eyes darting every which way. 

You have no idea where he could be at this point. Maybe he’s somewhere inside, having missed your exit. He could be trailing right behind you, ready to grab you at any moment.

Soon enough, it is revealed that he is, once again, always one step ahead of you. As soon as you step out of the doors, a large body is engulfing yours and carrying you to a secluded spot on the patio, though there’s nobody outside anyway. 

You would scream if not for the large hand that covers your lips when he grabs you. You know it’s Frankie, of course, but the exhilaration that comes from the scare really adds to the game the two of you just started. 

You ignore the heat simmering between your legs as he sets you down on your own feet and removes his hand from your mouth. Neither of you move, you don’t look up, he doesn’t crouch down. You just stand there, breathing heavily as Frankie embraces your figure. 

You can’t help but lean back into him, letting your guard down probably isn’t the best idea right now, but you can’t find it in you to care about that fact at the moment. 

The fresh air feels nice on your heated cheeks, but Frankie's front against your back feels even better. The music continues to play faintly behind you as you sway side to side, Frankie’s arms wrapped tightly around you, his head resting on your shoulder. 

You swear you could stay here forever. Actually, you could stay anywhere, as long as you had Frankie. But right now, you can’t imagine anything more perfect than this. As long as you have your boyfriend’s arms around you, you would do anything or go anywhere he wants to. 

Your body may be his, but you decided a long time ago that your soul belongs to him as well. He can pick it up and do whatever he wishes with it, and you know he could never do anything that would cause your trust or love for him to dull.

“Look up, sweetheart,” Frankie’s soft voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you open your eyes. You hadn’t realized they had slid shut in the first place. 

The sight of the full moon high up in the night sky confirms your suspicions. Frankie’s going to turn tonight. 

Fuck, you’re screwed, your subconscious automatically screams at you. 

You can't miss the way your panties dampen as the thought crosses your mind. Your body stiffens as you fight the urge to run, the adrenaline getting the best of you.

Frankie must feel the way you tense up because his arms immediately tighten around you. 

“It’s alright, hermosa,” he whispers into your ear. “Just means we’ll have a bit more fun than usual.”

You try but fail to stifle your grin at his menacing tone. Just because you know you’re screwed doesn’t mean you don't enjoy it. 

“Probably got less than ten minutes now,” Frankie says far too casually. “Let’s pick up on our little chase, yeah?” 

He lets you out of his grasp this time, and you turn around to give him a peck on his cheek, allowing your hand to brush past his erection as you pull away. The touch is just enough for Frankie to grit his teeth as he hisses out. The warning glance he gives you makes arousal burn deep into your core, only serving to make you more excited. 

“I’ll give you a head start, sweetheart,” he says, his tone giving you a warning, “I’d take it if I were you.”

With his word, you spin on your heel, ready to plummet into the forest, but you only get about a foot before he has a large hand wrapped around your wrist. Your heart beats louder in your chest as you turn to look at him, his eyes dark with lust. 

“Don’t let me catch you this time,” he says, pulling you close enough for his lips to flutter across your ear as he speaks. “I won’t go easy on you.”

You ignore the shiver in your spine as you pull back as much as you can. 

“Maybe I don't want you to go easy on me,” you whisper back, earning a slight growl from Frankie. He lets his hand linger on you for only a moment more before letting go, this time allowing you to back away. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard then, because I’m going to fucking exaust you when I catch up.” 

You smile before turning once again, pushing yourself into the trees without looking back. 

***

The sound of your heartbeat is deafening as you run through the otherwise silent forest. The steady pitter-patter of the organ combined with your ragged breathing and your frantic footsteps make a horrifying symphony. Even those sounds seem muffled, though, with the amount of pure adrenaline that courses through your veins and drowns out your senses. 

Frankie can’t be too far behind you now. You guess you’ve been running for about fifteen minutes. There’s no doubt that he has turned at this point; he proved it with the howl you heard bellowing through the woods a couple minutes ago. 

Since then, you haven't stopped to take a breath. There is pure fear in the fact that you have a beast on your trail, but also excitement in knowing what will likely happen once he catches up. 

For now though, fear is the dominant emotion. It’s prominent enough to keep you going even as your hair gets tugged by branches and your skin gets scratched and torn by twigs and thorns. None of it seems to matter right now just as long as you can keep your distance from the monster hunting you down. 

Suddenly, you hear a snap from somewhere behind you. The noise is sharp, a twig snapping beneath heavy weight. It reverberates all around you, sending a shiver down your spine. Soon after, You pick up on the steady thumping of what sounds to be an animal hot on your tail. 

The sound gets closer and closer even as you push yourself to run faster. Your entire body is shaking and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes. You can practically feel Frankie’s breath on your neck, the sensation almost more powerful than the ache overtaking your legs and abdomen. 

“Please, leave me alone!” You cry out the plea over your shoulder, your voice bordering a sob. Your gut is curling with a mixture of panic and arousal. The responding growl makes the tears you have been holding spill over and your knees buckle. 

For a second, you’re worried that you might fall, but you’re pushed into the ground before you have the chance to do it yourself. The weight of Frankie pouncing on top of you knocks the wind out of you, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your breath is taken. 

In the time that it takes you to get your breath back, Frankie has your bodysuit torn enough to pry off of your shaking body, and your lacy panties shoved–or ripped–down your legs. Luckily, the bodysuit was the cheapest and easiest to find component of your costume. You can feel a whisper of his claws against your skin as he drags scraps away from where he needs you most.

Your arms flail wildly, your fingers trying to grasp a handful of fur from the beast atop you. Frankie sees what you’re trying to do, and with a growl, he ducks down and slides toward your feet, away from your hands. 

Before you can question what he’s doing, you feel something thick, wet, and warm against your bare, soaked cunt. 

A high pitched moan tumbles from your lips as Frankie drags his tongue across your pussy before dipping it into your core.

The hot muscle digs deep into your cunt, curling once it's in all the way. You can feel his nose bobbing up and down against your ass as he starts to work his tongue in and out of your cunt.

“F-Frankie, fuck!” You scream, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly quickly.

The way his tongue swirls and scrapes against your walls is absolutely delicious, and that combined with the tip of the muscle prodding against your g-spot? You’re fucking done for. 

You’re writhing as Frankie brings his tongue out to swallow down the slick he’s collected, and you can feel the way a combination of your arousal and his saliva leaks out of your pulsing cunt, coming down to collect at your clit and make you shudder. You’re so close to coming, a warm feeling that can only be described as pure euphoria making a home deep in your lower abdomen. 

Almost as soon as he was gone, Frankie shoves his tongue back inside of you, meticulously prodding all the right places. You’re gasping and moaning so loud you have half the mind to feel bad for whatever critters might reside in these woods. 

That thought passes quickly, though, once you feel yourself returning to the edge. Frankie flicks his tongue one more time and you’re suddenly convulsing around him. The high seems to go on forever, your toes curling and your fingers grasping at the leafy ground in front of you. 

The beast doesn’t pull away as you come, instead, he allows you to rock your hips back and forth in order to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. You don’t even notice that you moved your arm until you feel one hand entangled in soft fur, your subconscious mind telling you to hold him to you. 

You hear Frankie whine from behind you and you have to suppress the urge to giggle. He’s always liked it when you tug at his hair, and apparently, being in this form leaves no room for exceptions. 

Your body goes limp as Frankie backs away from you, making it easy for him to nudge you to prop you up where he wants you. Hands and knees, of course. He wastes no time in getting into position behind you, crowding you in with his massive form. 

The tip of his cock feels massive against your swollen cunt, but it only takes a few swipes of the beast’s hips before he is notched into your entrance. With one more thrust, he’s pushing in all the way, making you scream as your pussy stretches to accommodate his girth. 

Frankie lets out a series of whimpers as he starts a brutal pace, not giving you a second to adjust. Your hands come up to grasp above his paws, which are positioned on either side of your head, and then up a little. 

“F-Frankie!” Your moan comes out more like a screech, the pain quickly turning into a sick pleasure as he rips you open on his cock. Each time he thrusts, it’s accompanied by a puff of breath which fans out across your cheek. 

The sound of his whines and ragged breathing mix with the squelching noises coming from your cunt and the panting coming from your lips, everything combined making the filthiest symphony you’ve ever heard. 

Your second orgasm starts to build rapidly, your cunt beginning to flutter around Frankie’s unforgiving length. With each punch, the tip of his cock touches something heavenly within you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling, but you find that every limb has turned to jelly, preventing you from bringing your hand up to check. If not for the monster above you impaling you on his length, you would likely be flat on the forest floor right now. 

Every thought that had previously occupied your mind is forced out of you as Frankie effortlessly pries another orgasm from you. He doesn’t slow or pause as you squeeze around his cock like a vice. If anything, it only spurs him on and gets him going faster, if that's even possible. 

With each slam of his hips, you feel your body being sent forward, only stabilized by your palms, which are somehow still firmly planted on the ground. 

‘Oh god, Frankie,” your voice sounds hazy to your own ears. “F-feels so fucking good, Francisco.”

You hear him grunt at the sound of his full name, something you usually only call him in bed—or in this case, in the middle of nowhere. 

It does feel good, his cock feels absolutely massive. You know that it is definitely bigger than when he’s in his human form—the size of which should be considered supernatural in it’s own way. Right now, though, he feels bigger than ever, thicker, longer. The only thought occupying your mind at the moment is how badly you want to suck his cock. 

How the fuck does this man fuck you so good to the point where you fantasize about giving him a blowjob while he’s already inside of you? Next time, you’ll have to get his dick in your mouth before he shoves it into your cunt. 

Your eyes droop as your second orgasm morphs into a third, your body growing weaker with each movement from Frankie. You ignore the shaking to spread your legs wider to allow him better access, which results in him getting to a deeper spot with the new angle. 

Your mouth drops open as you begin to come again, a silent scream getting stuck in your throat. This time, as you constrict around his monstrous cock, you can feel his hips stutter. He’s getting close, which is probably a good thing considering you’re about to pass out from both pleasure and exhaustion. 

“C-come on, Frankie, f-fill me up,” you command through moans. It very obviously eggs him on because before you know it, he’s stilling inside of you, howling into the trees, and blowing his massive load deep into your core. 

The feeling of his cum painting your walls is fucking heavenly. Spurt after spurt of his warm seed fills you to the brim until it eventually starts to seep out around the base of his cock. If you thought you had felt full before, that was nothing compared to now. 

Frankie gives you a few minutes to calm down before he starts to lower himself to the ground, laying on his side and tugging you with him. Your body and mind are equally compliant with his request. 

As your eyes shut once again, you can feel Frankie starting to shift behind you, probably making his transformation back to his human form. Try as you might, you know you won’t have enough energy to wait for him to be done, so you make the most of it and snuggle into his soft fur. You know that you’ll wake up safe and sound in your bed, tangled with your kind, attentive, and very much human boyfriend.

[superblysubpar]

A/N: for @newlips #newlipsmilestoneoflove event! congratulations cece - you're truly so talented & inspiring - thanks for always working hard to bring the community together. And thank you for bringing personaltrainer!steve into my life, I hope this version of him lives up to the hype! To my lovely girls - thanks for literally holding my hand and forcing me to post this, it wouldn't have even been written without your constant encouragement & hive brain help.

I Want It, Can't Have It

personaltrainer!steve x fem!reader

Summary: Your co-worker Steve and you refuse to admit defeat in a game of who will give into their suppressed feelings for the other first. | masterlist | steve's music | NSFW 18+

WC Range: 5k-10k

Warnings: use of Y/N, Y/L/N, and too many petnames / talk of jealousy & comparison / a woman showing too much skin in the 80s?! Good heavens! / smut (unprotected piv - creampie, ass slapping and teasing, asking to cum, & public - locked bathroom door but people def know)

The smell of chlorine and lemon disinfectant, flickering fluorescents overhead and the record breaking ton of body spray wafting down the hall are making the tiny men with jackhammers inside your head work overtime today. 

Hearing him before you see him, you shake out a second pain reliever - taking preventive measures for the headache that was only about to be made worse.  

Whistling a top forty track, blazer’s squeaking against the tile of the hall - because he refuses to pick up his feet when he’s around you, and the thwip of a towel smacking a coworker’s ass as they banter all fall to your ears as he rounds the corner. 

Steve fucking Harrington. 

Unsure why, the two of you quickly agreed on one thing and one thing only upon your very first introduction: you positively hated each other and would do everything in your power to make sure the other never forgot.  

Eyes trained on the staff clipboard you’re filling out for taking medicine from the first aid kit, you choose to ignore him as he grows closer. Pen scratching against the paper, your senses try to focus on writing out your full name instead of how good he smells. A hard thing to not notice when it’s compared to the hazardous waste for sweat from the teenage boys you’d been forced to endure for the better part of the last hour. 

Of course, he can’t help himself and has to ruin the one thing that brings you semi enjoyment when in his presence, clearing his throat and nodding once, without even looking at you, “Jane Fonda.”

The use of one of the nicknames he refuses to let up with has your teeth grinding as you clench your jaw, “Bite me, Harrington.”

Steve spins, toned and tanned arms folded on the desk above you as he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, hazel eyes peering down at you with contempt, “Oh good, glad to see you’re in a swell mood as always.”

Shoving the clipboard back into its slot, you push back in the rolling chair, relishing in his clenched jaw when the wheel squeaks a little too loud - two can play at the causing a headache game. An exaggerated pout forming on your lips as you force a bubbly and higher tone, “Oh. I’m so sorry. Let me go curl my hair, pop on a bright pink lip, and add an extra little perky bounce to my step so you can ogle my ass in bright blue spandex.”

“Could ya?” Steve’s lips shift up into a lopsided smirk at you.

Huffing out a breath and crossing your arms, you can’t even get another jab in before his twelve o’clock bounces through the door. To neither of your surprise, she’s dressed exactly as you had just described - blonde hair piled high in a ponytail on the top of her head just like Barbie and just like you knew it would be. Watching Steve train her for the past several weeks has been nauseating to say the least. Her leg stretched up and over his shoulder, their smirks and less than subtle flirting, and her slaps and squeezes of his biceps in an eye twitch inducing sort of way. 

“Hi Steve,” her voice sugar and spice and everything you’re not as she blows a bright pink bubble with her gum. You’re surprised Steve doesn’t pop it for her as he leans in close enough, one elbow still on the desk.

“Well, don’t you look cute today,” his voice deeper and full of a charm that’s very lacking from the way he talks to you. 

Twelve o’clock Barbie beams and he gestures down the hallway, hand on her lower back as she brushes past him. Steve lets her trail ahead, tilting his head with a sigh as he watches her ass jiggle in all the right ways. 

Scoffing at him, you chuck a rolled towel directly at the side of his head and hiss, “You’re such a fucking pervert!”

Steve spins backwards, clutching his chest and groaning through a wide grin, “I love it when you talk dirty to me babe.”

Eyes narrowing at him as he high fives one of your coworkers as he turns back around, arm wrapping over the shoulders of Barbie. Her bright and bubbly laugh trails all the way down the hall back to you, “So, did you catch the game last night?”

Steve hums, “I don’t think so…which teams were playing?”

“Oh…uh…the Cubs?”

Rolling your eyes with a snort at her question of a response. 

Baseball. 

It’s fucking February. 

Randy, your co-worker, snickers and then looks at Dylan who rounded the corner as well, shaking his head, “Five bucks he pretends he did watch the game and does her in the locker room?”

Dylan laughs, sticking out his hand for a deal, “Ten if he gets her to tell him details of the nonexistent game too.”

The boys look at you laughing and don’t even try to hide their conversation or amusement with Steve the manwhore Harrington. You’re just one of the guys here, and something about this fact that’s never bothered you before, this interaction you’ve had many times already, is burning your blood a little more than you’d care to admit. 

Their words about her perfect hair, the curve of her ass in the spandex, and the low cut of the leotard are only flashing spotlights to your exact opposite features you can see in the reflection of the glass windows. Dull and sweat matted hair shoved under a baseball hat, dark and muted tones of your joggers and sweatshirt - which now has a stain on it from lunch. Curves don’t exist, your footwear is sensible, and your skin doesn’t have that perky glisten or glow - it’s sweaty and flushed in all the wrong ways. 

Yanking your whistle down from the hook, you push past the boys. You could care less about 12 o’clock Barbie and you’re happy with your life. Confident you don’t need someone like Steve Harrington in it to make you feel fulfilled because you are independent and have a clear and level head atop your shoulders. A man staring at your ass isn’t what you want, you want to be appreciated for your brains, personality, your interests - screw pretending to like baseball to get a guy to sleep with you. You want the one who knows you like it and genuinely wants to talk to you about it, baggy sweatshirt and all. 

But when you hear a giggle and see Steve and 12 o’clock Barbie sneaking into the bathroom your stomach somersaults and something in you snaps, shouting down the hall, “Harrington! Nobody’s paying you to sleep with clients!”

Steve freezes, his strained muscles and vein in his neck visible even at a distance and his face reddens. He’s pissed.

But he turns with a bright and forced smile as Barbie dips into the locker room with an inflamed face as well. Steve walks down the hall towards you, arms crossed and head tilted, “What the hell is your problem?”

You have a lot of problems. Number one being you don’t understand what possessed you to do that, but you can’t tell him that, obviously. Queen of thinking on your feet though, you cross your arms and cock your head, “Wouldn’t want you to lose your job for not being able to keep your dick in your pants is all, buddy.”

He scoffs loudly, stepping closer to you until your back hits the wall, “Really? I would’ve thought you were the first person wanting me out on my ass, Mary Lou.”

Rolling your eyes at the new nickname, you try to side step and get out of there but his hand pushes to the brick over your shoulder, caging you in. 

Steve towers over you, faces close together and he smirks as you squirm under his insistent gaze. Steve leans closer, “Oh, I get it,” he whispers, nose almost touching yours. He’s close enough for you to see his lashes, the gold flecks in his eyes, and the freckles that dot his nose. His breath mint and charm fanning across your cheeks as he continues, “You’re jealous.”

“As. Fucking. If,” you hiss at him, nose bumping his just barely as you lean forward and narrow your eyes. 

Steve and your shallow breaths mix and amplify in your ears, everything else muffled like it’s underwater. Fingers clenched into fists at your sides, Steve’s tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip. Yours part involuntarily, his eyes glint, the mossy color deepening to a mix of dangerous forest and stormy sea and god fucking dammit, you sigh. 

Someone, somewhere in the universe, slaps you in the face in the form of Barbie dipping out of the locker room and pulling both of your attention in a blur of turquoise. Steve’s arm drops and he steps back, a smile on his face again as he turns to her, “Hey babe, ready?”

He leaves with her and it isn’t until you see them disappear around the corner and you count to five that your muscles start to unfurl, fingers uncurling from where they had been pressing crescent moons into your palms. 

Your head falls back against the brick, “Shit.” 

Snapping the palette closed, you stare at the contents littering the counter of your bathroom, untypical for a weekday. 

No. You will not wear eyeshadow to your job at a gym. 

With time to reflect on what happened with Steve on Friday, you’d only stewed and steamed more about Barbie. Steve calling you jealous? Of what? Her perfect hair and skin and body and that she was the one who got his eyes to linger?

Please. 

Steve just loves that you’re not drooling and falling over yourself for him - a challenge, a toy he can’t have. You’ve worked with him and the boys long enough and they’re all the same. They love having a pretty thing wrapped around their arm, a token to remind them they’re a winner, because it’s all just a game. They live for the rush of the chase and the high of someone screaming their name like a stadium full of fans. And you know without a doubt, Steve calling you jealous and the incident on Friday was his tip of the ball to his side of the court. He wants you to beg for it. And you’re not going to do that, because you know that it’s actually Steve who wants you. 

Smirking, you pull out an outfit you’ve yet to wear to work, a little giddy from the plan that’s slowly formulating. Steve isn’t the only one who knows a thing or two about playing games, and it’s time to show him who he’s up against. 

As typical with Steve, he shows up after you to work that day. He’s always balancing a gym bag on his shoulder, jacket slung across only one arm like he couldn’t bother to finish putting it on, hair in disarray (spending the first half hour of his shift fixing it in the bathroom) and a bagel hanging between his lips, dropping sesame seeds across the floor. 

Normally, Steve won’t even blink twice in your direction upon arrival. If he does, it’s only because you’ve gotten in his way, demanded he pick up the bagel crumbs, or you’ve done something else in the minute you’ve been in each other’s presence to annoy one another. Enough for him to remove the bagel and actually banter with you verbally instead of a grunt. 

Today though, his blazers squeak to a sharp stop and much to your delight, the bagel falls out of his mouth and hits the floor, egg sliding out and splatting and echoing in the quiet entryway. 

Grabbing your whistle and heading towards the gym for the morning meeting, you brush past him, looking over your shoulder as you call, “You better clean that up!”

A smirk still sits on your lips as you enter the gym and the conversation of all of the boys stops. Rolling your eyes at their lack of subtlety in analyzing your new look, you take your normal seat and start peeling a banana. Clearing your throat loudly, before small conversations pick up again. 

“You look nice today, Y/N,” Dylan, who’s sitting next to you mumbles. He picks at a loose thread of his joggers, eyes flitting up to yours and back down to his pants. 

Really, your outfit is not that crazy. It’s still in your color palette of cooler tones, you’re not even wearing spandex for crying out loud. A little bit of midriff showing has these boys blushing more than they ever have around you, and it’s hard to hide your amusement at how easily your plan is being implemented without barely lifting a finger. 

Humming, you blink up at him innocently, “Thank you Dylan.”

He coughs into his fist, “Ye-yeah. Did you…did you do something different with your hair?”

Tilting your head at him, you time your laugh perfectly to Steve walking in, “No, nothing different with my hair…”

Dylan watches you, eyes eager on your mouth as you lift the banana up to your lips. Slowly taking a bite, you keep eye contact with him. Fluttering your eyelashes and humming around the fruit, his mouth falls open a little and it takes everything in you not to snort. Especially when a hand makes contact with the back of Dylan’s head and Steve’s bored tone falls directly behind you, “Are you twelve?”

Dylan’s cheeks turn pink and he turns sharply to the front of the room and you nudge his knee with yours, reassuring him it’s okay, before turning to face forward too. A small smile sitting on his lips and you relish in Steve’s sigh behind you. 

Unfortunately, Steve seems to realize what you’re doing far sooner than you anticipated. 

As your boss begins the meeting, hot breath fans across your neck, his voice low and barely audible even with his lips just brushing your ear, “Nice try.”

Your body betrays you and a chill runs down your spine, causing a shiver despite the embarrassed and irritated heat trying to reach every corner of your skin. You know if you turn around you’ll be face to face with a smug look and crossed muscular arms, so you don’t put yourself through the misery. 

Steve is better at this, you hate to say it, but it just means you have to think of new ideas for your playbook. 

Your clothes only get tighter and expose more skin each day. You’re playing dirty: leaning over him to grab a clipboard so your chest brushes against his arm, bending down to tie your shoe right in front of him, and at one point you tugged on the whistle around Dylan’s neck right in front of him before swaying your hips as you left him standing there shaking his head. But Steve barely broke, a tough competitor with a good defense and even better offense. Steve’s hand found your lower back in passing, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek, and his flirting with Barbie and other clients only got more obvious which you didn’t think was possible. 

A week of going head to head with Steve in these little games all to prove that you weren’t jealous and it was him that wanted you. But, he was still determined it was the other way around, waiting for you to beg, to wave the white flag and just let him win. Today was your final straw, pulling out all of the stops - black spandex biker shorts and a black sports bra with, much as you hated to do it, a face full of makeup and hair styled. 

When you arrive at work on Friday, you have to actively focus on keeping your composure around Steve because it seemed he was taking a final stand in this war as well - black baseball hat, shirtless while playing basketball, his shorts slung low on his hips. 

You hate him. 

Friday’s were slow though, thankfully, and had Steve and you basically switching jobs, you with clients and him in the gym - away from each other for most of the day. Or at least, you should be away from one another for most of the day. 

Filling out a form while leaning against the counter, Steve’s voice draws your attention, “Hey, Muscles.”

A smile twitches on your lips and you look up to see him pulling a gray shirt on as he approaches, eyes lingering on the lines of his stomach, the trail of hair leading to a black elastic band peeking out of his shorts. 

Turning your body towards him, you relish in his own lingering gaze over you as you tilt your head, “Muscles? That’s a new one. And, dare I say, a compliment?”

Steve leans against the counter, squeezing water from his bottle into his mouth, some dribbling out, and you hate that you want to lick the small bead of water directly off of his skin. He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and turns his hat backwards before facing the counter. Drumming his fingers against it aimlessly, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and sighs before admitting, “Well, you have been showing them off a bit more this week.”

Rising onto your toes, you drop the pen on the other side of the desk and risk a glance back at him. But he’s too busy staring down at your ass and you whisper, “Seen anything else you’ve liked this week?”

Steve’s eyes dart up to yours quickly, licking his lips as his hands land on top of his hat, his arms flexing as he breathes out a quiet laugh that ends in a groan, “Fuck.”

A smile worthy of a championship victory fills your face and he rolls his eyes. Before either of you can say anything, the voice of your boss hollers loudly across the room, “Y/L/N!”

“Yes sir?” turning to face him, you stand up a little straighter at his tone and quickly forming scowl.

He sighs as he approaches and glances at Steve who attempts to keep himself busy with a clipboard a few steps away. Your boss is nice, stuck in that sort of manly man kind of world and opinions, but nice nonetheless. You do good work and you’ve never had this sort of look opposite of you. He rubs his temples and he sighs, “I need you to find a change of clothes.”

Snorting before you realize he’s serious, he crosses his arms and you match him, your mouth dropping open as you ask, “Are you serious? Why?”

“Listen, just, this is a professional work environment and you’re showing a lot of skin and I need you to-”

Holding your hand up, you interrupt him, “That is absolutely ridiculous. No.”

He groans and grabs a stack of clipboards, “Don’t get upset, please. You’re a good worker and I don’t want to write you up but-”

Your laughter is loud and you throw an arm out to Steve who’s failing to pretend he’s not listening, “So Harrington can basically have his dick in a client, but I can’t show my shoulders and stomach?”

“Y/L/N! Enough! Get a sweatshirt. This is your only warning.” He walks away with the clipboards and you’re left seething, kicking the counter with a grunt. 

Forgetting that Steve was even there to witness all of that, you’re reminded when a piece of fabric brushes your shoulder. Eyes snapping to his, you glare at him, yanking it from his outstretched hand and stalking away before he can give you any sort of pity. 

Fingers brushing under your lashes, you refuse to cry about any of it, screw this place, screw your boss and screw Steve. It’s his fault you changed how you looked. It’s his fault your boss doesn’t take you seriously now. It’s Steve’s fault that you let a “victory” over something so stupid and juvenile cloud you from your work and your values. You changed your clothes, your appearance, and your attitude, and for what? To prove Steve likes a different version of you? Does it even feel good knowing you got his attention?

Pulling the sweatshirt on, you hate that you recognize that it’s his from the smell filling your senses. Hands shove themselves inside the pockets and they brush against a piece of paper. A folded sheet from a notebook with your initial on the front, you pull it open to see ‘Meet me. Bathroom. -Steve’.

Scoffing, you shove it back in the pocket and storm off towards the staff bathroom. He’s so full of himself, probably expecting to swoop in and comfort you and still score. You slam the door open and he jumps, grabbing at his chest before resting his hands on his knees.

“Jesus Christ, could kill a guy with an entrance like that.”

Closing the door and leaning against it, you cross your arms and hiss, “What do you want, Harrington?”

He stands and mirrors your stance, leaning against the sink as he shrugs, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine. Thanks for the sweatshirt. Anything else?” you don’t make any movements to leave despite your better judgements.

He leans his hands back on the counter, smirking, “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear you’ve been thinking about my dick.”

Pushing yourself off of the door, you snort, “Seriously? Do you really think I still want to sleep with you?”

Steve’s smirk widens, lips upturned slightly higher on one side in a signature lopsided grin, “Still?”

Your hand points at him, stopping any sort of thoughts from running away, “No. Listen. Steve, you only started to give me the time of day when I dressed differently, when I acted like those other girls and I hate to break it to you, but I am and never will be like Barbie.”

Steve takes a step closer, toes of your shoes touching and he reaches for your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin tenderly in a way you never expected from him as he shakes his head, “You’re crazy if you think I wasn’t staring at your ass before this week, Florence.”

Heart thrumming at his admission, you tilt your head at the new name, “Florence?”

Steve’s fingers brush up your forearm, gliding under his sweatshirt, “Griffith-Joyner? Flo-Jo?”

Breath hitching, you’re starting to wonder if he’s looking up these women on purpose. Thoughts of Steve researching or deciding new names to call you outside of work sends electric jolts straight to your heart. He can’t know, and you can’t let him think you’re falling for any of this and you start to pull away. His fingers are on your shoulder now and he sighs. From how his eyes are peering directly into your soul, you know he already knows that you’re hooked - line and sinker. 

He pulls you closer, fingers on the back of your neck, the other hand reaching up to cradle your jaw and his nose nudges yours, “Say you want this.”

Your hands work on their own accord, pushing up his chest to around his neck, head craning to arch back, rising on your toes slightly as your lips catch his barely as you breathe out, “You first.”

His hand on your neck squeezes lightly, laughing a little into your parted lips, “Fuck, you’re so stubborn.”

Steps falling backwards, your shoes are being kicked off your feet, “Wh-what time is it?”

Steve blinks at you, barely pulling away, his body pressing you against the door now, “What?”

Your hands find his hips, fingers dipping under the elastic waistband, “I have a 2 o’clock appointment.”

Steve breathes out, bottom lip catching your top one, “Shit, yeah, I’ll be…I’ll be fast.”

Laughing, your hands push at his shorts, “Is that supposed to impress me Harring-”

“Fuck, just shut up,” he commands, mouth swallowing the end of your sentence in a kiss. 

Steve’s thumb brushes against your jaw as your mouths move with each other’s quickly, like that first sip of water after hours of sweating. Steve kisses you like it’s the first and the last, somehow tender and forceful, fingers tangling in your hair while his tongue pushes against yours. 

Pants shed quickly, his other hand rubs against the front of your already wet underwear and he moans into your lips. Breaking away, you finish pulling his boxers down and bite your lip as the swollen red tip of his length twitches under your touch. 

Steve’s fingers tug your underwear aside, finger running up and down through your slick in a way that makes your legs buckle. His breath is shallow against your skin, foreheads touching but you can still see his smirk, “Think you can handle it, pretty girl?”

Fingers wrapping around his length, you roll your eyes and ignore the way the ‘pretty girl’ makes your stomach flutter alive with a swarm of butterflies, “Please, it’s not that big.”

Steve laughs, a little too loudly, and your other hand slaps over his mouth. His eyes sparkle above you, gold flecks that seem like your own little personal spotlights, lighting you up in a way you didn’t dare dream of. 

You are fucked. 

But he can’t know that, he can’t win. Because despite the way his fingers dipping into your entrance suddenly has you gasping and your eyes rolling, the way your thumb swipes over his leaking tip has the same effect on him. It’s an even playing field and you’re determined to make him sweat a little more. 

Your hands move around his neck, pulling his mouth to yours, “You have five minutes to prove me wrong, Harrington, think you can handle the pressure?”

Steve’s hands find your hips and lift you, your legs wrapping around his waist like you’ve done it hundreds of times before and he looks down at them with raised eyebrows, “Have you done this before?”

“Four minutes and forty eight seconds Steven,” you catch his bottom lip and he moans. 

His fingers hold your underwear aside as he rolls his hips, coating his dick in your slick with a few swipes through you, tip catching your clit before sliding back down and pushing into you forcefully and without warning. He catches your scream and gasps with his mouth, nodding against you as he slowly continues to push into you. Your fingers grip the back of his head, causing his hat to fall off, as your head smacks into the door behind you, back arching away from it. Steve’s hands on your hips hold you steady, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as they caress down and cup it. 

Once he’s fully inside of you, and your breathing seems to slow again, he pulls his mouth away just enough to whisper, “Knew ya could handle it.”

“Four…fuck…minutes” his hips roll against yours and a moan echos across the tiles and the distinct sound of a click of the lock as his hand reaches below you. 

Your body heats with embarrassment, you hadn’t even thought about locking the door and Steve knows it. Your fingers tug at the back of his head in an effort to gain control again, yanking it a little too forcefully and he growls as you hiss, “Gonna move or not?”

Steve’s hands move back to your hips after giving your ass a harsher squeeze, pulling out of you slowly, “Are you ever not bossy?”

Before you can reply he’s pushing back into you, smirking at the way your mouth falls open and no sound leaving it as he hits the deep spot inside of you quickly. He continues his slow pulls and forceful pushes, the muscles of his shoulder tensing, able to feel each twitch and move under your hands through his shirt. His fingertips bruise your hips, dragging your slick walls back and forth across his length at an agonizing pace. Your legs locked around his waist, you glance down to where your bodies connect, the sight of your slick coating the rough patch of hair at his base making your walls clench around him tighter. Steve’s breath hits your neck, squeezing your hips even harder as he gasps out against your temple. 

Smirking at his weakening defenses, you hide your own insatiable desire, teasing, “Harder, Steve.”

The boy whimpers, nose pressing into the sweat slick skin of your neck as his hips pick up their pace. The sounds of your shallow breaths mix with the sharp slapping of your skin, and he groans, “Fuck-I can’t…I can’t-”

“Come on, Steve, this is the best you can do? I thought you do this all the ti-”

He’s had it with your teasing finally it seems, and he pulls out of you harshly, arm wrapping around your waist to spin you before yanking you back against his chest. 

Wet lips brush your jaw from behind, arm squeezing in a warning around your stomach, “Tell me what to do again. See what happens.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you don’t trust your voice to not give away the tidal wave of arousal that’s threatening to crack the dams you have in place. A breath out through your nose before you whisper, “Don’t be mean.”

He laughs against your neck, lips dragging down and awaking a sea of goosebumps to rise across your skin. He speaks into the sweat kissed dip of your shoulder, “So, she dishes it out, but can’t take it?”

Before you can even respond, Steve’s pushing your back, chest falling to the counter in front of you as his hands find your hips. His voice is stronger, deeper, rougher as he commands, “Open.”

Your head falls forward, eyes squeezing shut at his tone, thighs sticky and pushed together tightly from the arousal that’s reached its breaking point with barely any touching and a simple word.  

The swollen and wet tip of his cock presses into your ass as he squeezes your hips, “Baby, don’t make me say it again.”

Every time he’s called you a name other than an athlete has you seeing stars already, wanting to keep playing the game to see how many more you can collect. Pressing yourself against him, you arch your back as you pout, “A please would be nice.”

His hand connects with your ass, a sharp smack that echoes and stings as he mocks, “Please?”

Legs falling open easily, he slides himself through your slick, dragging and coating his tip in your arousal even more, you know you’ve lost, because he’s the one with the power now. His hand pushes between your shoulder blades, the other gripping the dough of a cheek, slapping it again as his tip bumps your swollen nerves with a precision you know is one hundred percent on purpose and stupidly accurate. 

Without warning again, Steve pushes into your entrance, a cry stopped by the press of your teeth into your bottom lip as your fingers grasp for purchase on the flat surface beneath you. 

Steve’s agonizing pace from earlier is gone, slamming his body against yours in a brutal and bruising speed. Your hands start to push against the counter and Steve’s hand drags down your spine, pushing on your lower back gently in contrast to his forceful command, “Don’t move.”

Walls tightening around his cock at his tone, the sounds of him pulling and pushing into your dripping center mix with the quiet bump of your knees hitting the cabinet in front of you rhythmically.   

His fingers not on your back knead into the plush skin of your ass after smacking it lighter than before, but still hard enough for you to tighten around him again. He moans, huffing a long breath out of his nose, “Fuck, like being told what to do, huh?”

Hips never stopping their harsh thrusts, your breath sticks in your chest as you keep your moans stifled, threatening to bubble up and past your lips as he smacks the same spot again, the sting coating your lashes in wetness as he whispers, “I asked you a question babe.”

It’s a breath, and if you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror in front of you, you may not have even realized you admitted it, “Yes.”

Steve’s fingers trail from their soothing kneading against the red skin, to your hip, brushing down your thigh and back up. His hips roll and he picks up his pace, humming out a content sigh at your admission. His eyes lock on yours in the mirror and he smirks, “So good for me, being such a - shit,” his eyes close as you push your ass back against him, slipping him in deeper than before, fingers dragging on the cool counter. He grunts through the rest of his sentence, “You’re so mean to me, but this is what you wanted all along, yeah?”

Moaning at his question, your eyes squeeze closed, the coil inside of your stomach pulled tight, body vibrating and chasing that breaking point until you have to release. He leans forward, brushing his lips against your shoulder, hands back to your hips as he hits that deep spot inside of you repeatedly with bruising accuracy. Steve smiles against your skin, “You act all disgusted by me too, and turns out,” his lips and nose glide across your muscles, warm breath fanning across your skin and his fingers brush back up to your hips as his mouth opens more against you, trailing to your neck. His breath shoots the tightening in your stomach into overdrive and a whine falls from your parting lips as his fingers adjust on your hips, whispering, “You’re just as much of a slut as I am.”

Eyes fluttering and breath hitching at his comment, your back arches up again, but not far enough before he presses his weight against you. Pushing himself faster and to a spot that feels like you can feel him rearranging your guts and you both moan loudly, his breath hitting your neck in a way that has your fingers searching for purchase beneath them, whining louder and your knees aching to collapse. 

Steve gasps harshly, sucking in a deep breath he can’t quite finish, the sound directly in your ear and before another moan can break past your lips, his hand is coming up to press over your mouth. Your eyes rolling back as he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Be good baby. Wouldn’t want anyone to get fired for not keeping their dick in their pants, right?”

Nodding your head as he slowly lets his hand go. Your sighs quiet until his other hand wraps around your waist, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your swollen button. You jolt at the stimulation he had yet to reward you with, knees losing their battle and buckling, Steve holds you up, grunting as you cry out quietly, “St-steve.”

Somehow quickening his pace, his thumbs circular motions match perfectly to the rhythm of his hips, “Quiet, come on, babe, thought you were good at following instructions.”

Whimpering as he thrusts into you harder, your body fully collapsing against the counter, cheek pressed to the cool of the stone underneath it. Steve’s swirls to your swollen nerves are the breaking point, the added weight that breaks you from pushing it any further, unable to do another rep and your lashes wet, “Steve, I’m gonna - fuck, I-”

He can feel you tightening around him, his own hips stuttering but the game isn’t over yet. His mouth drags down your neck and another shiver runs through you as he smirks into your shoulder, “A please would be nice.”

And with your own sentence thrown back at you, he’s won.

Eyes opening, you see his own watching your body swallow everything he gives it eagerly. Standing back up fully, his cheeks flushed pink, hair sweeping across his forehead. His fingers dig into your hips as his bottom lip pulls between his teeth. His head falls backwards, breath huffed out of his nose. 

“Please.”

Unsure if he says it again or it’s you, both of you collapse into the feeling of releasing. His thumb continues its circling as his hips stutter un-rhythmically. Both of you gasping out for breath as your walls milk his release and your body relaxes into its own. Muscles unfurling, fingers flattening to the counter, back arching as his hand caresses down your spine in buzzing tenderness. Meeting gazes in the mirror again, his chest heaves in time with yours and your rolling eyes are met with a widening grin on his face. 

A loud knock comes from the door and you both jump, your hand slapping over your mouth as Dylan’s voice calls through the closed door, “Y/N! You in there? Mr. Conners has been out in the lobby for ten minutes!”

Steve leans forward, grabbing your hand from across your mouth. He presses it down, covering it on the counter with his large one. His other squeezes your hip as he stays buried inside of you. He nips at your neck and you squeak out, “Uh-I, I’m not feeling well, can someone else do it?”

A huff on the outside of the door and Steve’s mouth starts sucking a bruise into the skin below your ear and you smirk, calling out more confidently, “I bet Steve could! He’s not doing anything today!”

Steve pinches your waist and you yelp, walls tightening around him and he moans loudly at the feeling, still sensitive from his release. Reaching up awkwardly from your still bent position, you flick the side of his head. 

A louder sigh from the other side of the door and a groan, “Man, fuck you Harrington. I know you’re in there with her!”

Steve and your laughter is hard to keep quiet as Dylan kicks the door, his voice trailing off as he walks away, “You just can’t let anyone else win can you? You two deserve each other.”

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

Steve Tag List: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @edsforehead

[antimatterz]

Hello! Can i request Blade x gn!reader? (i like your self-aware au)

What if on the first day of his banner, when you got him, he is already leveled up to 80, his signature cone too, his traces maxed out, have some decent relics on him and put as an icon on account very very quickly.

And while the other characters are not even fully maxed out. Only him. (Cause i will do the same with my Bladie, hehe)

How would he react?

(Can i be Anon K?🤪)

i'm your priority?

blade x gn!reader

summary: it's barely been a minute since he came come and you're excitedly maxing out all his stats – how does blade react?

cw: humor, self-aware au, blade being smug about it

enyo's note: aa this was such a fun request and i'm glad my self-aware au posts are appreciated lol. and yes of course! welcome to the anon gang!

content under the cut | masterlist

oh, he would be so amused at first.

he only just joined you, it hasn't even been a minute, and you're eagerly throwing ascension materials and character xp materials at him, instantly raising him to the maximum level.

"oh? someone prefarmed for me, hm?"

his smirk.

but his amusement turns into amazement when you slap a near-perfect set of relics on him, complete with planar ornaments. and no, not just any relics, but ones with godly (sub)stats, on-stat.

barely five minutes after coming home to you, he's fully leveled, with fully enhanced relics that boost all the right stats.

blade is taken-aback but tries to keep his cool.

"looks like someone is into me," he remarks.

"don't get me started," your previous main sighs. "they made us farm for you for weeks." just wait until your prev main finds out that blade also replaced them as your profile icon.

he glances at your other characters, noticing that none of them are fully leveled, only brought to the minimum that was necessary to get through battles on your world level.

oh, he's so smug about it.

tosses a loose smirk in their direction because it's so clear who you like the most.

but you're not done yet... by far not.

that's when you equip his signature light cone, already leveled to the max, maybe even superimposed a couple of times.

now he finally takes a moment to observe you, watching how you're utterly focused on improving him. his stats grow and he feels himself getting stronger.

he's very appreciative but doesn't show it.

"y/n..." he begins, but for once blade is at a loss for words.

then you open his traces, spending all your prefarmed resources to bring all his traces to the max level.

blade watches in awe how your credit count goes down, how your inventory shrinks, now void of all the expensive materials you've gathered in the weeks prior.

for once his smirk vanishes as he makes a promise to himself; he would prove himself worthy of all your effort, resources, time and trailblaze power you've spent on him. he'll be strong for you, carry you through the toughest battles the game has to offer.

his gaze is on you as you sit back, seemingly done with everything. but then you crack your knuckles and say...

"now it's time to get your eidolons, bladie."

[pluckyredhead]

☕️ what if I want the rant about ollie cheating now (or whenever you're up for it)

Oh good, because I mentioned it as bait and I'm glad someone took me up on it. 😂

CW: Sexual assault.

Yeah so here's the thing: Ollie has definitely canonically cheated on Dinah at least once, maybe twice depending on your definition. But the idea of Ollie as a serial cheater and womanizer comes from a story where he is raped. Which uhhhh is absolutely NOT cheating.

So for nearly 30 years, Ollie had exactly zero love interests. The closest he came was Miss Arrowette/Bonnie King (Cissie's mom), who appears in exactly 3 stories in the early 60s where Ollie only regards her as a pest...but in a 1969 issue of JLA where all the Leaguers bring dates to a carnival, he brings Bonnie because up to that point, she was literally the only woman he had interacted with besides Wonder Woman.

Also in 1969, he meets Dinah. Within a few issues, he's declaring his love:

Note that there's nothing to indicate that Ollie knows Bruce is stalling for time. He's just down bad.

Anyway, Ollie and Dinah are soon in a committed relationship and remain that way for over 20 years. Starting in the 80s, various writers introduced a couple of brief relationships with other women in Ollie's pre-Green Arrow past, but that's not cheating either - he dated them before he knew Dinah.

Then in 1987, DC introduced Shado, a Yakuza assassin and the best archer in the world, better than Ollie. Ollie and Shado have an immediate and intense emotional connection, but he is in a committed relationship, and neither Ollie nor Shado even vaguely hints at him leaving Dinah for her.

But then Shado shoots Ollie (long story), and then nurses him back to health through his injury-induced fever and delirium. And a little while after that, she turns up with a son, Robert, who looks a lot like Ollie. Dinah is suspicious, so Shado tells her that Ollie didn't cheat on her: Shado had sex with Ollie while he was delirious and thought she was Dinah, and Ollie has no memory of it and has no idea that Robert is his son.

To be clear: this was rape. The story doesn't treat it like rape, and it's clear the writer didn't understand that it was rape. To this day, no comic has acknowledged that Shado raped Ollie. In fact, when Ollie finds out about it years later, he's happy, because he wanted a biological son (this was pre-Connor).

(My feelings about Shado are complicated. I think she's a really interesting character, and I'm loath to discard her because of this one incident that was not intended to be interpreted as rape, but I also think it's really important that we acknowledge that it was rape because our culture is not good about consent. I think we can hold multiple ideas in our heads at once, like "Shado is interesting and cool" and "this is a fucked up story and male survivors should be supported and believed.")

The original comic also didn't treat it as cheating, but subsequent writers did. It didn't help that in the early 90s, there was a scene where Ollie (canonically in the back half of his 40s) is kissed by a college-age girl named Marianne who has a crush on him, and kisses her back. Dinah caught them and eventually broke up with Ollie over it (among other reasons). I think this is one of those things where some people would consider it cheating and some wouldn't, so YMMV.

Ollie was then killed off and replaced by Connor, and Connor's book was written by Chuck Dixon, who really hyped up Ollie's legacy of sluttiness (citation needed, Chuck) in contrast to Connor's virginal but definitely totally heterosexual purity. (Lollll sucks to suck, Chuck.)

Then Ollie was brought back. And as much as I love Quiver, the story that brings him back, it absolutely depicts what happened with Shado as Ollie cheating, which: NO, KEVIN SMITH. IT WAS RAPE. (Interestingly, Dinah seems to consider what happened with Marianne to be cheating, while Roy does not.)

This was also at the start of the post-9/11 era, where there was a real preoccupation with depicting heroes as deeply flawed, dishonest, and generally harmful, with feet of clay - just generally fucking up and being assholes pretty much all the time. (See Identity Crisis, Civil War.) And so Ollie then definitively cheated on Dinah, having sex with Black Lightning's niece Joanna, who was almost immediately murdered by a supervillain afterwards which was also largely framed as Ollie's fault because superheroes ruin everything. (And because Joanna was a triple threat of female, Black, and sexually active, so she HAD to be fridged.)

Dinah dumped Ollie again, and the way Ollie was talked about in the comics - and outside of them - rapidly escalated, with basically every character constantly describing him as a cheating horndog who couldn't keep it in his pants. This dovetailed with Ollie being portrayed as worse and worse in flashbacks around Connor's conception and birth - originally he didn't even know about Connor, then he knew but lied to everyone, then he was actively cruel to Connor's mother, etc.

I think the peak (or nadir) of all this for me was when Dinah told Babs she was marrying Ollie and Babs shrieked that she couldn't because Ollie was a CHEATER who had "fathered Connor with that Shado woman!" Um, Connor's mother is Sandra Hawke, Connor is a good 15 years older than Robert Jr., Ollie had not even met Dinah at that point, and I don't remember who wrote that issue of BoP but if you can't tell the difference between two entirely different Asian women, you're a racist hack.

Thanks to the New 52, this is all pretty much in the past (the New 52 had entirely different Green Arrow problems, including him being raped again but a completely different woman).

But in conclusion: yes, it's canon that Ollie has cheated on Dinah. However, he only cheated after getting a reputation as a cheater when he was in fact a victim of rape. Before that, he was a horndog, but specifically for Dinah and Dinah alone, and he was faithful. And I'm glad that the discourse on this has shifted so much in the past decade or so, because Ollie has done plenty of things we should blame him for, but this wasn't one of them.

[mamimiou]

We’re probably not going to see anything spiderbit / guapoduo related until April (we already made it to day 98, I think we’re aiming higher, gotta lock in) and that hurts me omg. I wonder if they’re waiting for something to happen to bring back the lore, and if they do will they be coming with the murder husbands. Will they even be murder husbands? It all depends on Q!Roiers reaction to being gone and realizing that his husband has not been looking for him. But I hope they talk it out because Q!cell is so insecure right now, there’s just so many questions and not enough answers.

I’m glad that they’re all chill and playing the game but it’s just so empty. I genuinely think that them not building a home together pushed me over the edge. I try not to think about it so much because then I get so upset over Purgatory coming in and disrupting a lot of crap, but Quackity did say that the old part of the island would come back soon. Would that be when Q!Roier comes back? Since hypothetically his mind is in that machine on THAT part of the island.

Also who would even save him? Would he save himself? Would Q!Cellbit save him? Someone unexpected? After Q!Quackitys conversation with Cucurucho and the Rabbit it makes me wonder who that important someone close to him is. Q!Roier was on his list of most important people besides other people who shall not be shamed, and the eggs. I know a lot of people say Q!Luzu or Q!Arin, but he wasn’t on the list. Q!Roier does check off the box for everything the Rabbit listed.

Would Quackity and Roier be combining lores or is Roier going to keep it with Cellbit? I personally think that it would be cool for Q!Roier to be the person that they have under close watch (literally, he’s with them btw)

What made me feel worse about it is when Pepito told Q!cell enough information for him to be suspicious, but he’s in such a bad state right now. It makes me feel bad for the kid because he might actually break when he realizes that his birthday wish did NOT in fact make his father smile again.

Purgatory has taken so much but it has personally given me so much, like new duos and the eggs are such sweethearts… I just wish the lore wasn’t disrupted so much. It makes me wonder if the lore will take long to resume because they feel discouraged about their lore being interrupted.

I know that spiderbits return will probably have angst, but I would take anything atp instead of having this emptiness of nothing happening. Just a few thoughts I had about everything. I’m mostly just going insane with Q!Roier being trapped in a rat for more than 80 days now. I just want anyone to save him.