#if I do like one of these ridiculous things it’s a great achievement for me

[certified-public-asshole]

So I’ve posted on here at least in tags about how much I don’t like my job… and today I messaged back two recruiters on LinkedIn (shudder) that had reached out to me about different opportunities and it is scarrrryyyy. I haven’t even updated my resume yet. but I want out of public accounting and I have to start somewhere… so here’s to somewhere… and to getting brave enough to go after it for real.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

red wine | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you and finnick spend the evening together at a party in president snow’s mansion. hidden feelings reveal that things are much more complicated than they seem.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: alcohol use, mentions of alcoholism, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, minor angst

notes: i'm really proud of how this one turned out. someone better enjoy it.

word count: 1.3k

The entire room was buzzing, a party at Snow’s Mansion in full swing. People were chatting, laughing, and dancing, and yet all Finnick could focus on was you. Your rosy smile. Your sparkling eyes. Your laugh that rang like a perfectly pitched bell. He had never heard anything more harmonic.

Drunk on sweet red wine, your head fell back with every word that left his mouth. His natural wits and humour only seemed to heighten your amusement.

“…such a liar!”

“No, I’m serious,” Finnick urged, grinning. “Go look if you don’t believe me.”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn’t stop. After winning the 70th Hunger Games, you thought happiness was something impossible to regain. Many visits to the Capitol resulted in you meeting the famous Finnick Odair, who, over the course of many months, had gained your friendship and showed you that light could still be found in the darkness that was being a Victor.

“Fine, Finnick. I believe you—President Snow has cats dressed in little white suits running around his mansion.”

“Thank you!”

You weren’t sure how you ended up talking about Snow’s cats. You weren’t sure when the wine had seeped into your brain, making the subject so irrationally hilarious. All you knew was that it didn’t matter what Finnick was talking about. What mattered was that he was talking about it with you.

Throughout the night, all types of women had thrown themselves at him. Beautiful women. Old women. Women who were surgically enhanced to resemble animals. But he rejected them all to stay by your side. Another girl came swooping in, asking him for a dance. She was incredibly attractive, her eyes dark and sultry, her hair pin-straight and hanging at her waist.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline. You thought for certain he would whisk her away.

But once again, he proved you wrong.

His hand fell on your hip, pulling you into his side. “Sorry, honey. I’ve already got a dancing partner tonight.”

That sobered you up a little.

The woman pouted, her whisker implants drooping as she left in the opposite direction.

You glanced nervously at the large hand still cupping your hip before looking back up at Finnick. “I am not dancing in front of these people.”

“Why not? You’re a great dancer.” He smirked. “Remember that time I walked in on you dancing in one of the bathrooms? That thing you were doing with your hips?” He blew out a breath of air.

Warmth flooded your cheeks. That had been the first time you met Finnick. You were a borderline alcoholic back then, having just become a Victor and all. Still, dancing in a bathroom was tough. Having the Capitol’s heartthrob catch you was even tougher.

“You know, your face is almost as red as that gorgeous dress you’re wearing,” he teased.

Everyone at the party was weighed down with extravagant and obnoxious attire which, to Finnick, resembled aliens trying to impersonate human fashion. But not you though. You wore a simple floor-length silk dress that was the colour of blood. There was nothing remarkable about the gown, yet Finnick found it to be the loveliest thing he had ever seen—a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else’s ridiculous artificial outfits. Or maybe it was just the person wearing it that made him feel this way.

You hiccupped. “I’m just trying to achieve the monarchy look.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “You mean the monochromatic look?” Your expression morphed into one of puzzlement as if you were trying to figure out the secrets of the universe. Finnick chuckled, swiping his thumb across your warm cheek. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. You’re very drunk.”

“Only a little.”

He watched as your eyes closed, swaying on your feet. There was a small smile on your face, seemingly absorbing the lively atmosphere around you. The thumping music; the sound of laughter, and the warmth of alcohol buzzing in your brain. If the entire room weren’t swarming with his customers and the President’s guards, he probably would have kissed you. And if you were in your right mind, he probably would have confessed his feelings too.

Too many variables worked against him. So, instead, he cleared his throat and said, “Maybe you should call it a night. Before you end up in the bathrooms again.”

You laughed, eyes opening again. He laughed with you, but your drunken mind failed to notice the deep affection his gaze suddenly held. A lot of things had slipped past you that night. If only you had seen them; things between the two of you would be so much more different. Less complicated. More true.

Finnick helped you gather your things, shooing away every man who asked to take you home on your way out. Somewhere along the way, his hand had interlocked with yours. This you noticed. The wine only seemed to enhance the butterflies fluttering around your stomach. It sent sparks up your arm, beginning in your fingertips which rested between his knuckles.

Eventually, he had successfully assisted—half-carried—you down the palace steps and into the backseat of your ride home.

“Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair,” you said, looking up at him from your seat.

His dimples grew deep with a genuine smile, dishevelled hair blowing in the soft night wind. He rested a hand on the door. You wished he would step into the car with you.

Once more, he gently brushed his thumb against your cheek. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

A subtle confession. And then the door shut.

Finnick watched the taillights fade into the dark as you disappeared down the long driveway. Gone. Until the next party, that is. Or maybe even before then, if he finally gathered up the courage to convince you to flee Panem with him. Only then would he be free to pursue his feelings for you.

Johanna, who had been threatened into coming to the party by the President, found Finnick at the bottom of the palace steps, solemnly staring into the darkness. She stepped beside him. He didn’t seem startled; he barely even noticed her presence.

“You okay?” she asked flatly. When Finnick said nothing, she tried again. “You two looked friendly tonight.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. Was it that obvious? Who else noticed?

“Johanna,” he finally acknowledged her existence. “If I asked you to put an axe in my head, would you?”

“Not that I wouldn’t be happy to do so, but why, may I ask?”

His hard-set lips quirked at the question. Why? Shades of red flooded his mind like an open floodgate. Crimson of a silk dress. Cherry of painted lips. Pink of blushing cheeks. All of which flowed through his red-blooded veins and straight into his heart.

Laughter in the tune of a perfected melody echoed in his ears, the image of a beaming smile accompanying it. Then there was the voice, “Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair.” He hung onto every word that voice spoke. All the philosophical thoughts it had spoken aloud; the nonsensical wine-drunken babbling, and the gentle whispers that longed for a simpler life which he had the honour of being trusted with. Your voice. Your words.

Everything that made you who you were—that was the answer to Johanna’s question. The reasoning behind Finnick’s next words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Surprise briefly flickered across Johanna’s features, then returned to their usual monotony state. “Well… that’s not good.”

“No,” he spoke, his eyes lingering on the ominous white roses that lined either side of the driveway. “It’s not.”

part two

[merchelsea]

took care of your girl - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen + fem! driver!(charles' gf) reader

summary: charles is too busy celebrating his P2 to care about your home dnf, but max is not.

author's note: this is my first time writing for tumblr and im so excited!! i cant believe i actually came up with is.

word count: 4k+

PART TWO

"ugh, you're so boring." charles sighed.

he had been trying to convince you to go celebrate his p2 with him for the last five minutes, but you were just not in the mood for a party.

i mean, this was monza. ferrari's and alfa romeo's home race, but your home race too. you had big expectations for this one.

of course you didn't mind ending up 6th, like you thought you would 4 laps before the end. you just wanted to cross the line. but you didn't.

at lap 50, you collided with sargeant, who was trying to overtake. the williams got to the end, and you didn't. you thought it was so unfair, but there was nothing you could do.

you had done an amazing race, managing to go from 15th to 6th. it was more than enough after a terrible qualifying, and you couldn't understand how someone took that from you in a heartbeat.

you were so angry. all you wanted to do was cry. but you still got out there with your best smile and watched the drivers getting to the podium.

first one to get up there was lando, who once again did a great race for mclaren, ending up 3rd after an 8th in qualifying. he was a great driver and everyone could see it.

then they called charles. the man in ferrari red stepped into the 2nd place with the brightest smile. he was really happy, and so were you. you were happy for him, genuinely.

you smiled and applauded just like everyone. you were so proud of your boyfriend. of how he managed to get that thing they call a car from 13th to 2nd.

the tifosi were out of their minds proud, and so were you.

in that moment, just for that one tiny amount of time, all you felt was happiness.

and then they called max verstappen. you sighed and applauded when the men got to his place. your smile never fading, but growing wider. you were beyond proud, more than what words could ever achieve to show. so you just stood there applauding.

you knew it was boring to see the same person win race after race, always getting to step on that ridiculous number one. but he deserved it, and you were delighted to be able to see his dreams coming true. because he was talented, that’s something no one could deny, but he worked his ass off.

you didn't get to watch them celebrate tho. because, unfortunately, someone called you in the garage.

lewis was already there when you arrived, and he was the first to talk to you.

"hey listen, i'm sorry for what happened. you deseved that 6th." he pat on your shoulder and you smiled, thankful.

"it was a great race, just a bad outcome." you sighed after hugging him casually like you always did after a race. "you nailed it today, congrats!" he thanked you and toto arrived, wanting to talk to both his drivers.

"you were absolutely amazing out there today. every person in this team is very proud." he smiled. "of both of you." his eyes fell on you when he said that. he knew you well, and he could tell you blamed yourself for what happened, even if you didn't show. "the incident with the williams was a shame, but you two fought like hell. i am proud of you."

you faked a smile and thanked toto. his words were comforting but they didn't do much. you were still upset.

that's why the first thing you did when you were free was lock yourself in your driver room. letting your body fall into the couch you reached for your phone to focus your mind on something that was not the race.

but after a little, you heard someone knocking in your door.

"mon amour? it's me. can i come in?" you got up and unlocked the door, facing your smiley boyfriend. he greeted you with a wholehearted kiss, showing you how happy he was for his race.

"hey baby." you smiled to him. "you did so good today, i am the proudest girlfriend in the world." you whispered into the tight hug you pulled him to.

"thank you!" he said simply, not even acknowledging your race. you weren't surprised because he never did, but it was your home race. and somehow you thought that changed something. "so, does the proudest girlfriend in the world want to come and celebrate with her man?"

and that is just how you got into this 'fight'.

"i'm not boring. you know that i would go any other day." you tried to explain yourself. it was kind of embarrassing, having to explain that to the person who's supposed to love you and understand you. "i just dnf'ed, charles. in my home country. after a freaking perfect race. that´s not easy."

"aren´t you happy for me?" he asked, looking at you with a fake sad expression.

"of course i am. you know i am." how could you not be? the monegasque deserved this more than anything.

"then come. why don't you make an effort for me? you know how important this is. and i want you to be by my side." he begged.

he didn't understand you. god, he didn't even try to. he was the one who wasn't making an effort here. he never made, and that's what you've been realizing for quite sometime.

"i'm sorry charles. but not today. you go and enjoy for me." his fake expression suddenly faded to give room to a frown.

"fine." he sighed and left, slamming the door on his way out.

you stood in the drivers room, this time not trying to avoid any thoughts. in fact, you were analyzing the race. from the start to the moment you went out.

all of your overtakes were perfect, not once colliding with other cars. you knew that because you were in the car, but you were looking for something to blame, some other touch that could've damaged the car slightly. but you never found it.

so you cried. you cried looking at the roof of the room. you cried your heart out because you were this close to proving people wrong, you were this close to making your people proud.

you cried until you heard another knock on the door, this time around being the last mechanics in the garage, telling you they would go for dinner and would come back later, leaving you alone for sometime.

when they left, you went to take a look at the car. and observing it, you realized what went wrong. but instead of putting your mind to rest, you started to think about what you could've done to prevent it.

"what are you doing here?" you heard a familiar voice, and turned to face its owner. the dutch was looking down at you, who cried with her head between her knees, in front of her racing car.

max had changed into his normal people clothes, whilst you still wore your racing suit.

"it's my team's garage. what are you doing here?" you asked, highlighting the 'you'.

"i was on my way and saw you here. what happened? why are you here on your own?" he asked. genuine preoccupation in his eyes. you could recognize any expression of his. any and every.

"nothing happened. i just wanted to be alone." you lied. straight up lied into his eyes. that was not something you were used to nor something you liked to do. but you did. and you knew he didn't buy it for a second.

"oh yeah. you decided you wanted to be alone, sitting against a wall, crying, for three hours after the race without showering and changing, just for fun? sounds like something i would do." max ironically said.

"look verstappen, i just wanted to be alone. and i still do, so if you could go away i would appreciate it." you said, getting up to walk to your room.

"don't call me verstappen." he says seriously. you never call him verstappen. "and i'm not leaving you alone after today. i know better than to do that." he follows you, leaning in the door frame when you are about to close the door in his face. "where is your so called boyfriend?"

your left eyebrow shot up as your head turned to look at him. his face remained serious, waiting for an answer.

"celebrating his podium. aren't you supposed to be celebrating your win?" you asked carefully, trying to get him to leave.

"maybe." he crosses his arms in his chest as you turn off your laptop and put it in your bag.

"then go." you said simply, collecting your stuff to go home. you wanted to stay there, but alone.

"not unless you're coming with me." he changes his position again to be more comfortable as you sighed, making him know you were getting tired. but that didn't change anything for him.

"leave, max." you said firmly, looking at him. he mimicked a 'no' with his mouth. "why?" you tried to get out of the room, but just as you passed through the door, the dutch caught your arm, making you look up to face him. your height difference was not too big, but it was still noticeable.

"because i know you, and leaving you alone after a dnf here, is a mistake i don't want to make." he let go of your arm, but you didn't move. "a mistake i'm not going to make." you stepped back, and proceeded to pick up your stuff. "go shower and get dressed, i'll get your stuff. if you are going home, i'm going with you."

"no. i don't want you to come." he laughed.

"care to guess who doesn't give a fuck, darling?"

"do not call me darling. and you are not coming, i wont let you in." you threatened, knowing you would never do such thing.

"then i hope you have money for a new door." he was determined, and you knew he was damn serious about not leaving you alone.

"i hate you." you laughed and as soon as the sound got to his ears his mouth formed a big bright smile. oh, what that laugh did to him. it was even better than winning races.

"if that means i get to come, i'm more than happy. now go shower." you did as he said, going straight to the bathroom.

once inside, you never thought about stuff like not giving the interviews you were supposed to, or how charles never once said he was proud of you.

the only thing you thought about was max, in your room, picking up your stuff so that you could go home with him. and the fact that it wasn't strange nor weird, it was fine.

from the beginning, you two had a special connection with each other. that's why you became best friends so easily, and also why you fell in love with him.

but he never showed reciprocity, so you thought it was a one way thing. god knows that if he had gave you one minimal sign, you would've never ended up with charles. the thing his, he didn't.

since your red bull day's, in his eyes you were just friends. or at least that's what you thought.

cause it turns out that the world champion is a way better liar than you could imagine. or you are just blind. because the signs were always there, you just doubted yourself enough to be oblivious to them.

it was the little things. like you being the first person he talked to after every freaking race. or how he was always in his best mood for you, but only for you. how he always said he was proud of you after a race, it didn't matter if you ended up first or last. he always came to you, hugged you tight and whispered "you were amazing, i'm so proud of you".

that's the kind of thing you noticed but never payed attention to. and that's exactly why you are with charles now. because he, on the other hand, was direct and shoot his shot.

he didn't love you and you didn't love him, but you felt good with each other, and it was nice having someone. you both knew it from the start, even if you denied with every thing in yourselves. it was just so obvious now.

you got out of the bathroom with hair still wet, but already dressed in your black sweat pants and your light pink top. max had picked every single thing, leaving your room exactly how you found him.

"let's go?" he asked, after a couple of seconds observing and admiring you.

you nodded in response and tossed your car keys to him.

"you drive, i sing." he picked them and laughed.

"deal." you made your way to your, brand new, white mercedes in a comfortable silence. but when you closed the doors, he broke it. "i don't want you blaming yourself, williams got a 10 second penalty for a reason. you were amazing, i'm so proud of you."

"you always say that." you smiled, looking at him.

"because it's true. i am proud of you."

"i know, and i am proud of you too. it's just that you always say the exact same thing." you noticed. max was sure you never took note of his words, but he didn't know how much they meant to you.

"i guess it became kind of our thing now." with now, he meant the past 3 years. you just nodded and smiled, searching through your phone for a good song.

"hey max?" you called, still unsure if you should mention it. he muttered something you didn't understand due to being focused on your words. "you know you don't have to do this, right?"

"do what, y/n?" he asked, fully focused on the car as he started driving.

"care because he didn't." straight to the point, we can see some improvements.

"omg, you can be so dumb sometimes." he talked, out loud, to himself. you didn't understand, so he might just be right. which is something you'll never say.

"huh?" you muttered, confused. he was indeed right.

"i care. i always do. i would have cared even if he had some decency in that shitty brain of his and had, at least, taken you home. do you actually believed i would have to go through the mercedes garage to get to my car?" he laughed, your face full of confusion, reflecting what was happening inside of your mind. "i was looking for you. i thought charles had took you home, or out, but i had this little thing inside of me telling me to check."

"oh yeah, that was me sending you telepathic messages." you joked. "thank you for coming, max. this is just a very important day for charles."

"whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n. and i would always come, any day and anytime." max took his eyes off the road to face you.

"are you saying racing is not important for him?" you focused on the first sentence.

"i'm saying he would do this on a regular tuesday. and i'm saying i would come after winning at zandvoort if you were needed me." he sighed. "you should stop lying to yourself." now was your turn to sigh. just as he layed his eyes on the road, your right hand went through your hair.

frustration, anger, sadness, loneliness.

"i'm not lying to myself, you don't know him like i do."

"i may not, but i know you. better than he ever will. you don't love him, and i bet my career you never even managed to lie to him about it." ding ding ding, max verstappen, the mr. knows it all was right once again. you are mad at him for knowing you so damn well.

"if i didn't, then why would i be with him?" you tried again. fooling max was getting more difficult by the day.

"we both know why." he said to your eyes, turning his head when he was done talking. damn, max.

the rest of the ride was completely silent, you wanted to say something but you couldn't. you simply could not. you couldn't even put on some music to relieve the tension.

all those questions coming to your head like gun shots "does he really know?" "why didn't he say something?" "does he see me the way i saw him? the way i still see him." every single one of them wounding you, creating a whole you couldn't close.

he was silent as well, his mind a little quieter than yours. that had been stressing his mind ever since you told him about charles, and now he couldn't keep it in.

not when the girl he loved was left alone by her boyfriend for a fucking party. he would've never do such thing, max would've been by her side, letting her know how proud he was, how loved she was.

the dutch was so angry, it took him everything to stay silent in that ride. but he did it, because it wasn't your fault. he was mad at charles, for not being a good enough boyfriend. he was infuriated because the monegasque couldn't make you happy. he was out of his mind because the greened eye ferrari driver took the place in your life that he wanted. that, in his head and heart, was supposed to be his.

the first glimpse of voice came from his mouth, when you were already in your apartment. monza was the only racing place you had somewhere to call home.

"come here." he opened his arms, when you looked at him. you expected him to talk, you wanted him to talk, but that was the only thing max said. the only thing he wanted in that moment was to feel you close, feel like he was protecting you from every bad thing.

of course you went, you would always go. his armes embraced you almost immediately and you closed your eyes, trying desperately to feel him closer. you could try to deny it but you missed him more than anything.

"i'm sorry." you apologized. none of you knew what you were talking about, yet at the same time, you both knew exactly what you meant.

max didn't respond, not with an "it's okay" nor a "not your fault". he simply kissed the top of your head while stroking your hair, and you knew it was okay. everything was fine between you two.

maybe not fine, but they were okay for now.

"break up with him." he half advised you half asked you. everyone knew that was the right thing to do, but he wanted you to do it for other reasons too, not just because it was right.

you chuckled into his chest, causing him to push a little just to face you.

"you talk like it's easy." he stepped back, separating the two bodies completely.

"breakups aren't easy, but yours, particularly, is. it's as simple as it sounds." he went back to the serious features.

"it's still a break-up."

"breakups only hurt when you love each other. do you love him?" you stood silent as he stepped closer. you watched as he brought his hand to your chin, caressing him once there's contact. "tell me. do you love him?"

"i don't." you let out as a sigh. instead of smiling, like you expected, max's face did the exact opposite.

"then why are you with him?" he asked in a low, tired voice. he was trying to find an explanation where he was not in the middle. he wanted to know that he was not involved in the why you weren't happy.

max knew, deep down, that you felt something for him. he always had that feeling. but, in his defense, you didn't make it easy for him. hiding it, locking the feelings in a deep part of your yourself, where no one could find them. bringing up some made-up-boy whenever you felt like you where being to obvious, constantly telling him he was like a big brother you could talk about that sort of thing. you had covered up the truth pretty damn well.

but even with all of that, he knew. something in him just knew. and all he could think about now was how he could've changed something, how you wouldn't be with someone who didn't deserve you if he had just done something.

he had tons of opportunities to ask you out on a date, or tell you how he really felt. it was just hard to believe you would feel something for him sometimes, so he waited for you. he waited until it was too late.

"i like him." you lied again. it was the second time you lied straight into his eyes in such a little time. that pissed him off. you should never feel the need to lie to him.

"bullshit. we both know that you're with him because i never risked losing you for how i felt. i never got to shoot my shot, and he did. that's why you are with him."

you lowered your head, both hands going to your face immediately. you felt like crap.

"what do you expect me to say?" you asked, raising your voice. your eyes finally fell on his.

"i don't expect you to say anything. i just want you to cut this thing you two have going on." his gaze never left your face, not even when you weren't looking at him. "you don't deserve this. you deserve to be happy. to be treated right. you deserve to be loved right."

another sight and then silence filled the room. no one could say anything.

"just..." he started, leading your eyes to look for his. "do you still..?"

"yes, max" you shot automatically, your voice sounded like a cry, but that didn't matter.

he sighed, relieved. and then stepped closer again, pulling your body to his, in a hug. he let you cry against his shoulder, while he cried silently against yours.

you pulled away to look into his eyes, smiling silently. even being like this, you had just found out that this was no 'one way thing', he felt the same.

"stop smiling. i'm fighting over here not to kiss you." you laughed, that was the best thing you could've heard that day.

"don't." you searched for his hand, taking it into yours once you've found it.

"i would love to, believe me. but as much as i want this, you have to be fully single first." his eyes were so bright that you were sure they could glow in the dark. you always loved his eyes.

"i love you, max." you whispered with the biggest smile on your face.

"i love you too." he whispered back. your smile growing impossibly wider.

max kissed the top of your head before leaving your room. it was a bit past 4a.m. and you had just finished watching a rom-com movie you liked.

it's fascinating how you two fit so perfectly. it's like you've been handmade for each other.

of course that, on his way out, max had to find charles coming. because that's just your life.

the dutch and the monegasque spent a little of time just staring at each other.

"what are you... what did you do in there?" charles asked breaking the awful silence that had been installed. you could hear everything from the inside of the room due to the paper thin walls.

"i took care of your girl." you would pay to see charles’ face that moment. "not so yours anymore, i guess." max said with his most serious face. he definitely won the idgaf war.

"not so mine anymore? mate, what are you talking about?" his confusion was deeply amplified by the alcohol in his system.

"i don't know man, figure it out." the world champion responded and walked out.

he knew that the moment he walked out charles would enter that room and lay in the same bed you were. but he didn't mind, he trusted you fully. and on top of everything, he knew that no matter what, he was the one you loved.

so when he closed that door, he had a smile on his face, knowing damn well he would open her soon.

[angelwhisp3rs]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ man like me

Pairing: RE!2 Leon x fem!reader

Summary: Leon has gone through so much training, life always made it look like he didn't luck out. Always the butt of the joke, he questioned if he would ever be a man. His partner seems to think he is man enough for her <3

Tags: Smut; bj; he cums in her face; slight sub!leon; leon gets called a fairy because he is not considered a "macho man" (i hate m*n)

Notes: First post! I'm so excited, i've been brainrotting for RE for years, and just now decided to add to the community. Love you all! Feel free to give me any tips for my writing or some prompts!

Also, please! If you are a minor, i don't feel comfortable with you interacting with my content, so no minors allowed ok?

Have you ever felt like you weren’t blessed? Well, Leon felt that every day of his life. His parents dying, his rough childhood in the orphanage, he had to work twice as harder than anyone of his peers to achieve anything. Now, as a cop, he believed that this was all in the past - he chose the manliest job of them all.

Oh, well. Turns out that stations were just an adult hangout spot for jocks that never grew out of their high school days.

The women would coo at him, calling him cute and adorable, while the older officers would sneak some comments about him being a “fairy”. Fucking idiots. 

After some months working with them, Leon managed to gain at least some respect among his colleagues - he was a great cop after all, and he even managed to tone down some of the ridiculous teasing (and plain homophobia, if you ask him). 

To the surprise of everyone there, a new recruit would be coming in, making Leon celebrate a little on the inside - maybe it would be his chance to stop being the butt of the joke and finally laugh along with the rest, not being the one laughed at.

He couldn't wait to finally turn his luck around.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

Turns out he is wrong. Of course things wouldn’t go his way once. The rookie was a girl - well, a woman, and a pretty one at that. 

The men there went ballistic. The single, desperate for attention, and the married, aching for an affair. Used to the calm and pliant women in the precinct, the men didn’t wait for even 5 minutes to let out their disgusting comments, calling her a hot piece of their ass, some even suggesting that they could ‘teach her’ the ways around there.

They were so wrong. Cutting their comments short, she looked at them in disgust, and distributed answers that put them back into their places. Hell, she even dared to ask how the deputy’s wife wasn't arrested for animal cruelty for sleeping with a pig like him.

Leon looked at her with stars in his eyes - she was different from him after all, not letting those idiots run through her. The bigoted idiots decided that as a “punishment” to her, she would be his new partner, matching their work hours and patrolling together. That fact made him excited, but not for long. Unfortunately, his intrusive thoughts began swarming his head: “Do you really think she won’t make fun of you?” and “A woman like her would eat up a man like you”.

The only thing he could do was stand a hand to her, offering a handshake “Hi there, partner. I’m Leon Kennedy”.

She had a predatory smirk on her face, looking at him up and down. “Hi, Leon. I think we’re gonna be great partners”.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

When Leon thought she would eat up a guy like him, he didn’t think it would be like that. It was way after the time they had to clock out, and they were the only ones left in the station. Leon was backed up in the evidence room, his pants on the floor as her mouth worked around his cock, drenching it with her spit. The only sounds heard were the man trying to drone out his moans with his hand on his mouth, and her gagging as she took him as deep as she could in her throat.

To Leon, this had to be a dream - no way that would ever happen. But as he looked down, her sinful eyes looking up at him, he knew that he couldn’t even dream of something as good as this. He had to be careful not to knock out the evidence in the surrounding files, choosing to rest his hand on her ponytail - quite convenient for the situation.

“You are doing so well, baby. Why don’t you come in my face, and show them that you are the only man able to do that, huh?” She taunted him as she kept pumping his cock his her hands, slick with her saliva and the precum that drooled on his tip

Her mouth returned to his member as she kept her hands going, thriving at his blushing face and his desperate whines. The man was going crazy, it’s been so long since something other than his hand touched his cock, that the 8 minutes of her mouth - which he believed to be 30, were enough to bring him to the edge. Soon, her mouth pulls back as she jerks him faster, angling at her face as he coats it with his pearly cum, hitting her cheeks, mouth and chin.

While he believed that his soul had left his body and come back, she stood up and grabbed some tissues there to clean her face. All cleaned up, she helped him put his pants back on and pressed some kisses to his jaw, whispering to his ear “Why don’t you come over to my place and show my cunt who is the only man to fill it up?”. After that, she left the evidence room with a smirk, looking back at him once and throwing a wink at him.

Well, it turns out that luck was a person, and it finally caught up to him.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Aerys II Targaryen being obsessed with Joanna and was commenting about her body and all that stuff, you know Aerys being a piece of shit towards Tywin.

Dream!Reader stumbles Aerys II and smacks him in his head: YOU HAVE A WIFE, DUMBASS! STOP LUSTING OVER A MARRIED WOMAN OF YOUR BEST FRIEND FOR F*** SAKE! YOU DAMN PERVERT!😡🤬👊

Yan!platonc! Aerys II: 🥺😭

Yandere platonic Rhaella, Rhaegar, Tywin and Joanna:😱😱🫢🫢

Dream!Reader turns around towards Lannisters: I apologise for King’s behaviour, I’ll try to deal with him. If something like that happens, please let me know.

Reactions from Targaryens and Lannisters?

Okay but Dream!Reader acting like a disappointed and disgruntled mother when any of the Targaryens act up is so funny and honestly the truth. They try to keep the peace, try to at the very least uphold some form of manners amongst their hoard of Targaryens but there’s only so much they can do to try and get their point across before the others pull rank on them or something outrageously ridiculous. Usually these scoldings backfire in some way, shape, or form on Dream!Reader. Either leads to an even bigger problem that inevitably leads to another war or battle of some sort, or it leads to even more intense rivalries going on. Both between other houses and inners house buffoonery.

(Also, I can’t help but imagine Dream!Reader repeatedly whacking Aerys with a rolled up newspaper. Or even a spray bottle, just spritzing the bad Targaryens when they act up.)

Aerys would feel absolutely embarrassed, not so much that he was openly scolded and berated for his actions but rather because it was Dream!Reader who saw him behave in such a manner with their own eyes to begin with. Usually he tries pretty hard to portray himself in a better light in the company of Dream!Reader but he foolishly slipped up this time. It’s not like he had Dream!Reader fooled or anything but in his head he did and now he just so blatantly jeopardized his image to them. Instead of apologizing and trying to make amends with the parties involved, Aerys would instead do so with Dream!Reader, at least he would try. In his mind he believes he’s made a mistake with them, not anyone else, so therefore he’s going to try to make it right with them and no one else.

Rhaella would be extremely grateful of Dream!Reader’s intervening, as are Joanna and Tywin. She knew she couldn’t do anything to stop Aerys herself otherwise she’d get punished for it later. Unlike her, Dream!Reader could get away with anything when it came to Aerys. Not only that but the Reader was also the only one who could make Aerys feel ashamed, even if it wasn’t necessarily for the right reasons, at the very least it was more than anyone else could achieve. Besides, Rhaella would be lying if she said she didn’t take any enjoyment out of Aerys getting put in his place, especially by the Reader who Aerys particularly adored most.

Joanna would be so very appreciative of Dream!Reader intervening as they did. Similar to Rhaella, there was nothing Joanna could do in the situation without consequences so for the Reader to defend her as they did was very much appreciated. I can imagine Joanna growing a fondness for Dream!Reader in her own way so to have the Reader come to her defense would really mean a lot.

Tywin would share Rhaella and Joanna’s relief and gratefulness for Dream!Reader in the situation. As much as he wanted to step in more to protect his lady wife he knew he would only be giving Aerys what he wanted and it irked him so. But to have the Reader come in not only to defend his wife but to also put Aerys in his place was more than Tywin could have asked for. It was great amusement watching Aerys look like a child getting scolded and Tywin was more than aware that Dream!Reader was the only one who could do such a thing as well as get away with it without so much as a glare from the King. Tywin would be more familiar with the Reader than Joanna so he isn’t surprised to see the Reader jump in to protect someone from Aerys’ unwanted attention/harassment, let alone any other Targaryens unwarranted bad behavior, he’s witnessed it before but still it never ceases to amaze him how the Reader has no fear for the repercussions of their actions. Then again he’s heard the stories of how the Targaryens have been with their precious Dream!Reader, how far they’ll go to protect them even from each other.

[coltishcaterpillar]

Unmasked / Platonic!Father Alastor x Teen!Daughter Reader

Chapter I: Introduction

Summary:

Two days after the Extermination, a bored Emily reads through private records of Heavenly residents and sinners alike.

During her mindless scrolling, she comes across a vintage diary smelling of old paper, from the late 20s-early 30s. It details the life of the teenage adopted daughter of the Radio Demon; up until her death at aged 16 on January 11th, 1934.

WARNINGS: Mentions of Racism

April 4th, 1932

Have you ever seen a top hat, what one really looks like on a person?

Neither have I, until today. At the end of Merritt Street, there’s a small accessories store that sells jewellery and clothing alike.

I used to frequent there, but I’ve never been a fashionable girl. I’m a larger fan of browsing; just admiring the beauty of art from afar, rather than acquiring it.

I never realized how much I missed the little establishment until I saw my favourite businessperson; Anne Brewster. A short, tout woman she was. Her skin had a grey tinge to it, a pointy nose that popped out her features; bright brown eyes and hair as white as pearls, short and thin as straw.

I greeted her with my usual demeanour. Quiet and curt, a straight wave and a superficial smile. The woman has a tendency to chatter; most of the time I don’t have time to interject, so I just listen.

I went in the shop with Elbert Graves; a fellow classmate of mine in mathematics. He’s not my ideal source of company, I’ll admit. I get along much better with other girls, but this helpless boy is always on my tail, and I can’t bare to tell him to get lost.

We came across a jet-black top hat with a golden ribbon wrapped around its rim. It was on display, but there was no glass so we assumed we could sample it. Elbert looked utterly ridiculous in it; far too flashy, and way too gigantic for his pea-sized head.

I managed a small laugh, as that’s the reaction he would’ve wanted from me. Ever the jokester…

I took a seat on the cushioned chair in front of the store’s entrance. Whilst Elbert was fooling around with other gadgets, Anne took to speaking with me.

She spoke a great deal about her grandchildren, and then inquired me about Papa.

Pa doesn’t usually wander about these places, but he knows Anne from university; they attended the same one in Shreveport, in September of 1908. Pa wanted to become a broadcaster post-secondary (to which he achieved) and Anne wanted to edit the local newspaper part-time; she was getting old, but didn’t want to stop working. She didn’t end up pursuing it, however, she dropped out her third year to take care of Rachel (her eldest grandchild who was 5 at the time.) Then, she inherited this business when Mr. Brewster, her father, died. He owned the shop.

She asked about his job was working out for him. Pa never speaks about work when he arrives home; usually he’s more interested in my daily activities. I don’t listen to Pa’s radio channel anyways, because the subjects he covers doesn’t appeal to me.

I just told her he was thriving; because in a way, he was. Pa was rarely in a sour mood. Of course, he gets moody when I do something out of line from time to time, but his attitude is always uplifting.

Elbert excused himself to the restroom at the back of the desk; that’s when she started talking about adolescent things. Boys…..

“Elbert is a such a handsome boy, don’t you agree?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“His chin is too long, and his head is too small for his broad shoulders. Not to mention his personality isn’t to my tastes. He’s far too extroverted and cheeky.”

“Oh, come now, my lovely. Surely, we can’t all be picky! What ever will you do when you grow into a young woman? Who will be around to take care of you?”

“Pa will, no doubt.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Your father will be far too senile to care for you when you’re in your prime! You need a strong man!”

“Too senile?! Surely, you jest. Pa may be lanky, but he’s very capable. He was only twenty-five when he adopted me, he’ll only be middle-aged by the time I’m an adult.”

“You say Elbert is cheeky, but I see a lot more cockiness coming from you than I ever have with him.”

“Only an outside observer can properly assess my personality. Perhaps you just see my persona differently than I.”

“Is that so?”

The bell hanging from the door rang; in came a man, dressed in a business suit, a large briefcase held in his right hand. He had been more wrinkly than I had last seen him: Anne’s partner, Mr. Devereaux.

He has a very thick Yorkshire accent; Anne and him met while she was on vacation in London; Mr. Devereaux was studying photography. When they first met in late 1864, they weren’t sure whether or not they could ever be together. Anne is a very brown woman, you see. Very. Mr. Devereaux is about as white as a sheet. People often look down on….colourful couples…? More harshly. They aren’t allowed to be married, so they had to improvise.

Forgive me for not mentioning this sooner, but Anne is actually good friends with my Grandma. Pa is half-Creole, you see, and my Grandma’s roots come from there. So, the Brewsters are actually well-acquainted with my family.

Mr. Devereaux sat his briefcase beside the door, across from where I was seated. He flashed me a toothless smile; quite literally, since they all rotted out of his mouth due to age.

I gave him a curious look back.

“Back from business, old man?” I tease.

He chuckled; giving me an affectionate pat on the head.

“Oh, well, look at you! Already at it with the nosy interrogation, I see! I’ve missed you, sweet girl.” He smiled.

I narrowed my eyes. He didn’t answer the question….

He turned his attention to Anne quite quickly. Leaning over the desk, he planted a kiss on her forehead.

“The trip went smoothly,” He told Anne, “Janice sent you a letter. It should be in the mail soon, my darling.”

Janice was their daughter.

“Lovely.”

He turned his entire body so it faced me, with an inquisitive look on his face. He then turned and whispered to Anne,

“Al is out late again?”

“I don’t know, my sweet. I’ve seen her out and about all day with Elbert, he must be. It’s nearly nine.”

“I thought his radio shows were done by four?”

“Perhaps the schedule’s changed, dearest. Let’s not be nosy, it’s not our business.”

I let out a deep breath through my nose, standing up. Pa likes to hang around a few stores after work, so I tried my best not to let their observations get to me. Perhaps he was already home!

Anne leaned over from behind Mr. Devereaux.

“Could you go check on Elbert, hun? He’s been in the restroom for quite a while.”

I sigh. Without a response, I head toward the back desk, into the small hallway that had the restrooms.

I knocked on the door, firmly.

“El?” I addressed him by nickname.

“Mhm?” His hun echoed off the door.

I raised an eyebrow. “What have you been doing in there these past fifteen minutes? It was eight-forty when you went in, it’s five to nine already!”

Within seconds, he came out of the door, an awkward smile plastered on his face. A blush dusted his cheeks as well; I narrowed my eyes at him. Did he have the runs?

“Finished?” I asked him without judgment.

“Yes.” He said, curt.

I lead him back to the entrance of the store, passing Anne a smile. I turn my gaze back to Elbert.

“I’m going to be leaving now. I hadn’t realize how late it was. Will you be alright on your own?” I asked, a tint of concern in my voice.

“Of course. See you later?” His tone was hopeful.

Without a pause, I said, “Yes, I’ll see you later.”

I said my goodbyes to Anne and Mr. Devereaux, and sent my regards to Janice.

When I exited the store, it wasn’t as dark and drab as I thought it would be; I still heard birds chirping, and I could see my way almost perfectly. Just another perk of springtime, I suppose.

When I arrived home, Pa was indeed on the couch, his legs crossed, with a newspaper in hand; black coffee was situated on the side table.

“Home at long last, my dear!” He put his newspaper down; and I ran over, kissing him on the cheek.

“Sorry, Papa. How long did you have to wait?”

“Oh, not long at all!” He chuckled heartily.

I turn over to the rounded wooden table in the dining room; a large cloth bag sat on it; my eyes lit up in curiosity.

“Now, now,” Pa waved his finger, “I know that dangerous gaze. Don’t go peeking around my things, dear.”

I put on a thinned-lipped smile, leaning on the armrest.

“What, do you have something to hide, Papa~?” I leaned in, teasingly.

It was meant to be a joke. A rhetorical question. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice his fist clench up, if only for a moment. His body language was saying something different than what his mouth was.

“Is it really too much to ask to keep yourself out of my business?” He bit his lower lip.

When Pa took that tone with me, I knew it was time to pipe down. I decided to change the subject, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Elbert and I took a stroll around the avenue.” I said, tracing along the armrest.

I could FEEL Pa’s eye roll without even looking.

“Out with that wretched boy again, are we?” He took a casual tone as he sipped his coffee, but I knew the mere thought of Elbert irked him.

Pa has never interacted much with my friends, so I thought El would be another drop in the ocean. I think his hatred of him has something to do with that one time he came over here.

Everything was alright until dinner time.

The few hours earlier, Grandma treated us with a generous amount of Jambalaya. She always makes the best, after all.

Elbert made an….observation? While we were eating and it made Pa freeze.

“This is some slave food! Who made it, a peasant?”

All I remember was Pa’s grip tightening so much on the fork. I leaned over to where he was sitting and rubbed his arm a little.

I disliked the comment too. That was my Grandma he was speaking about….

After El left, I noticed Pa staring at the wooden spoon on the shelf. I know that blasted piece of cutlery all too well….

Pa is good at discipline. Even when my other friends came over, he’d always make an effort to chastise them if they didn’t say please or thank you.

Long story short, I think Pa wanted to beat El. That’s probably why he was showing such immaculate restraint at the table. I can’t imagine another person disciplining somebody else’s child would go…smoothly, anyway.

He had valid reason to hate him, I suppose. I’m not fond of Elbert either, but…how do you find it in your heart to say no? I suppose I’ve never really had a backbone, but…it seems that he’s really fond of me.

“How was work?” I asked with a smile.

“It held all of its classic theatrics! You should find it in your soul to listen to my shows, my dear.” He beamed.

I was deep in thought.

“Don’t I hear enough of your voice already?”

Pa chuckled his little chuckle that always made my chest warm.

“You can never have too much of your father!”

Time went on as usual; a few moments later I decided to pack up for bed; Pa went upstairs to get his radio ready to listen to. He always does before he sleeps.

I took that as an opportunity to ponder; I turned my gaze back to the bag on the table. Pa notoriously hunts, but it was far too late for food, so it made me wonder.

I slid toward it with my socks against the hardwood. I breathed in deeply; perhaps there was a certain scent? All I could smell was the dusty fabric; nothing more.

With a sigh, I decided to leave it for now. Maybe it’s….best that I don’t.

Y/N

——————

Emily blinked once. She recognized the background; that this child of one of the hotel staff in Hell.

Taking the historical piece of literature to St. Peter, she inquired,

“St. Peter, hi! I was just wondering if there is a girl here in Heaven named Y/N L/N?”

St. Peter smiled in delight, getting out his holy book, scanning through all the people with your name; going roughly by last name. His face fell as they came to an end.

“Unfortunately not, Em! It’s…strange, considering the circumstances. Sixteen is very young for a person to end up in Hell…but she isn’t in Heaven.”

Emily frowned, eyeing the diary in her hands. Perhaps she’d find the answer in there….

[mesetacadre]

So, like, have any of you actually ever had a conversation with a fascist offline about what they believe? I have.

To be clear, this wasn't a sit-down-let's-talk conversation. He (the only one) tried to start shit, and we (me + 2 comrades) confronted him in the act and regrettably got into a 30-minute "conversation".

Fascists, individually, are very mentally feeble. They are cowards who always seek to start conflict while trying to make themselves out to be the victims. This is, of course, until they gain enough popularity and canon fodder to throw 20 unstable fascists at anyone they don't like. But until this exaltation occurs¹ and their organizations enter a relatively stable cycle (in contemporary liberal democracies, they last between 2 and 7 years before disintegrating), there remains a contradiction between their aggressive desire to seek confrontation and their individual and collective insecurities. Fascist ideology is mostly not rooted in reality (more on this later), and it also has an important component of self-hate. They are an inferior specimen, unable to achieve what the fascist martyrs before them achieved (in Spain, Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera usually occupies this position), and to add injury to insult, it's those who they perceive as weak and undeserving who rule over them. They ignore this perceived inferiority by joking about being chads, the superior race, or non-degenerates. But behind their rhetoric and "humor" there is usually a tinge of insecurity and hate against anyone who doesn't fit their increasingly narrow standard, including themselves.

This fascist we talked with kept referring to Jewish conspiracies, to the freemasons in every position of power, to old Falangists, to fascist "theorists", to some kind of esoteric spiritualism within the bounds of Christianity, somehow, and hyperborea. He talked about communists, how they were already in the government (referring to the social-democratic PSOE), how we were degenerates, how the day will come, etc. He attempted to scare us by saying that he was an ex-member of this more notorious fascist party and that they were looking for him to beat him up, which isn't something you admit to people you're trying to start conflicts with. After a while of his ramblings, one of my comrades couldn't help but laugh at him. It was all very ridiculous; I don't remember exactly what he said that made my comrade laugh. He got slightly more agitated, and the conversation ended in ~5 minutes.

Individually, fascists are also not the brightest people you'll encounter. For somebody to internalize fascist beliefs, they have to be unconsciously willing to never dig deeper about their beliefs, to contrast them with one another, or to contrast them with other fascists. They'll read a text (they may be stupid, but a lot of them do read more than you'd expect) about, say, the concept of race, and never really address the fact that it contradicts their own beliefs, or a fellow fascist's beliefs about the nation or about Europe.

And a really interesting thing is that fascism is far from a monolith. It's more akin to an entelechy². The specific contradictions of fascism manifest themselves much more between individual fascists than within a single individual. Like I mentioned before, there are contradictions when it comes to race (racialists like the nazis vs anti-racists like Falange Auténtica), to Europe (the idea of a Great Europe vs every idea of Nationality/Empire, which generally coexist poorly), to the nation (its intersection with race and/or Europe and how it interacts with these), to the reaction against progress (a conception of fascism as progressive, reactionary, or neither³), to science (a realist position based on scientificism such as race science and Kameradschaftrecht (nazi feminism) vs metaphysical conceptions, such as esotericism or the Thule society, reliant on aesthetics and mysticism), or to the economic policy (bourgeois positions, corporatism, vs workerist positions such as Strasser or Bombacci).

These contradictions aren't unique to the contemporary fascist situation of fragmentation and the peculiarities of social media either. Back in the 30s and 40s, there was a lot of disagreement on who counted as fascists. On one end, during the rise of the NSDAP, there was a small cadre of orthodox fascists who narrowed fascism "a la Italiana", and did not consider nazi-fascism to be fascism because of its differences on the scientificist conceptions of race. The Nazi party repressed this small wing. On the other end, it was a prevailing position in the USSR to not consider fascism to start with Italy's fascii di combatimento, but rather in Russia's Black Hundreds, having a broader conception of fascism.

This fascist we talked with considers himself a Carlist⁴, while another member of his groupuscule considers himself a national-socialist, while being Moroccan, and a third is a run-of-the-mill reactionary concerned with the 2030 agenda, globalism, immigrant invasions, the great replacement, that sort of thing. When fascist groups are relatively small and lack any form of inertia and/or formalized structure, their activity is extremely sporadic. There is no discipline to be found, no real planning or broad strategy, they are, rather, a group of similarly-enough-minded friends who sometimes like to do some vandalism or threaten/agitate leftists of any stripe. Their only method of growth is to generate controversies, fights, have a provocative tweet go semi-viral, to generate noise. When it comes to agitation for the fascist, concrete ideology is not relevant. They appeal to both rage and the satisfaction of, for example, seeing x annoying leftist org get their posters ripped off. Discussions of fascist theory rarely, if ever, influence their pragmatic activity, sometimes it's more similar to a circlejerk to see who has the most esoteric, exaggerated and offensive positions.

This is not to say fascist infighting is irrelevant, far from it. Fascists have their own petty disputes between groups, periods of extreme fractionarism, inter-fascist and intra-fascist violence. But when it comes to the philosophy of action, to how they apply all these beliefs, you'll be pressed to find meaningful, material differences. Some might be more or less aggressive, more or less esoteric, more or less contrarian, more or less effective. But they all rely on building that momentum, that controversy -> confrontation -> growth -> controversy cycle. The moment fascist groups lose that momentum, or one too many campaigns fall flat and fail to garner attention, they'll start to turn against themselves, to deteriorate their own structures in the permanent search for conflict that their beliefs demand. There is no way to hold the belief that, for example, race is a scientific category that makes the white/national/aryan/european/whatever race constantly threatened to disappear without exhorting you to seek conflict, whether it's against immigrants or other fascists who don't place as much importance on race.

If you find yourself in the context of a few small fascist groups festering and seeking conflict, it is a strategic error to confront them outright. Unless you're willing to downright kill them or injure them severely enough (with the bigger threat of legal repercussions that entails), fascists will be able to turn your explicit opposition against them into ammunition to attract more reactionaries to their own ranks. The best you, as an organized communist, can do in the period before exaltation, is to quietly collect information about them, study their patterns, and exert as much opposition as is possible without letting them turn it into a visible confrontation. If you're going to cover up their symbols and posters, do it when they can't film you or try to start a fight. If they're threatening someone to provoke them to then cry and hue about the rabid leftists, use the fact that they have low numbers, record them, and intimidate them without physical violence. Even if you can leave them writhing on the floor in a fight, they can use that as ammunition, but they can't use a video of them putting their tails between their legs and running off. You can't debate with fascists, this much is clear. You also can't just use violence to scare them away, because they'll use that violence to gain momentum, and then you can end up with an actually decently-sized and consistent fascist organization.

This is how we have been opposing these small groups of fascists attempting to grow through controversy. We opposed them non-visibly, effectively and professionally. When this group of about 15 fascists total (they never appear with more than 4 at a time because of their inconsistency) encountered this, they were at one point scared enough to stop all activity for about 2 months, and after that have yet to appear again. Meanwhile, other, more infantile orgs, overreacted by opposing them with full force and very publicly, which only encouraged the fascists to keep going and wasted energy in a futile back-and-forth, as well as putting their members in unnecessary risk by engaging in unplanned situations.

¹ Throughout this entire post, all analysis of the behavior of fascists offline assumes this exaltation has not occured

² Entelechy here means an impossible ideal, built entirely in the imagination, or with an unstable and shoddy manifestation.

³ Fascism often positions itself as a revolutionary movement, while other times it places more importance on the opposition against progress.

⁴ Carlism is a Spanish political current originating in the rejection of Isabel II as a legitimate heir to Fernando VII, it became very intertwined with Franco's dictatorship and the Falange during the Civil War

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters Imitate Hoid

As requested by anon :)

I recently fulfilled another anon's request about Hoid imitating various Cosmere characters. This, I suppose, is a sort of sequel: now other characters must imitate Hoid. But don't worry! Hoid himself (or sometimes Design) is here to help.

[It's Hoid. There's SPOILERS for like every book in here but I'll mark which book is involved in case that helps]

1. [From Mistborn Era 1] Vin imitates "informant Hoid"

Hoid: Okay! There are three important rules for being a beggar informant! Hoid: One: look kinda gross. That way, people won't pay too much attention to you. Hoid: Two: pretend to have bad eyesight, so that they won't worry that you're paying too much attention to them. But don't pretend TOO hard, so that if they catch on to the fact that you're just acting, they'll feel superior and lower their guard. Hoid: Three: have actually good information so that you can push the pieces exaaactly where they need to go. Hoid: Any questions? Vin: Do you realize that I literally lived on the street for years? Hoid: Yes, yes, so you actually know how to BE a beggar, but do you know how to pretend to be a beggar? That's a much different thing! Vin: I understand why Kelsier steered me away from you.

2. [From Mistborn Era 2] Wax imitates "beggar Hoid"

Wax: I'm sorry; I have to drink WHAT? Hoid: Oh, so you'll drink metal-infused-whiskey all the time but you draw the line at drinking a little perfume? Wax: ... Wax: Yes?????

3. [From Stormlight] Kaladin imitates "storyteller Hoid"

Kaladin (in his best "Wit" voice): Do not fret young man--you may be hopeless and depressed, but I will tell you a story and that will fix everything! Kaladin: And by "tell you a story" I mean that you'll tell ME a story because you'll have to fill in my blanks like every three seconds! Kaladin: Oh and also! Here's an instrument you don't play. Don't lose it or else I'll guilt you about it later! Hoid: Hmmm...not a bad start, but it lacks...subtlety. Hoid: ...Also that was a really nice flute, you know.

4. [From Warbreaker] Siri imitates "storyteller Hoid"

Siri (throwing an enormous amount of colored sand into the air]: Whooosh! COLOR SAND Siri: [grins] How'd I do? Hoid [very serious, with colored sand plinking down onto his head]: So...that was the main takeaway, Princess? Susebron [clapping delightedly]: You're an amazing storyteller!!

5. [From Yumi and the Nightmare Painter] Painter imitates "coatrack Hoid"

Painter: So I just...lurk in the darkness over here? Perfectly still and brooding? I can do that. Design: Weeellll....it's not really "lurking" so much as "standing still while people put coats on you" and it's not "darkness" so much as it's "well lit so that people can find their coats." Painter: Can I at least strike an intimidating pose? Design: No, that's not really in the spirit of things. Hoid looked more "vaguely surprised." Painter: So I just stand there while people treat me as an inanimate object? Design: Yes! Exactly! Now just imagine that you're TRAPPED like that and try exude a sort of "sad but philosophic resignation." While also holding these coats. Yes! You're doing GREAT! Hoid: ...I thought this would help me see the humor in things but honestly I'm getting even more depressed.

6. [From Tress of the Emerald Sea] Tress imitates "cursed Hoid"

Tress (wearing the most ridiculous outfit she could find): It's me! Cabin boy Hoid! Tress: I may be wearing shoes on my hands, but I am actually trying really hard in my own way to achieve my own goals and help you achieve yours! Tress: No curse can steal from me my ability to make it through with the help of my new friends! Tress (in her regular voice): How'd I do?? Hoid (slightly choked up): F-Fine...

7. [From Elantris] Sarene imitates "beggar Hoid"

Hoid: Okay! There are three important rules for being a beggar! Sarene: You don't need to continue. It's obvious. Sarene: One: look gross so that people don't dare look at you too carefully. Sarene: Two: affect a harmless air--perhaps seem slightly mad or slightly blind--so that people will not worry that you might turn them in or otherwise betray them. Sarene: Three: position yourself so that you can achieve whatever aims you have in pretending to be a beggar in the first place. Sarene: How did I do? Hoid: I KNEW I liked you!

8. [From Secret History] Kelsier imitates "corpse-rafting Hoid"

Kelsier (singing in a mockingly off-tune way): Oh I'm float-float-floating on a coooorpse! Kelsier: Off to bully a ghooooost! Kelsier (in a normal voice): Wow! That ghost guy over there looks like he's having the absolute worst day of his life! Kelsier: I think I'll make it worse! Hoid: I'm not sure corpse/ghost could even be called a slant rhyme. Hoid: And in point of fact, I wasn't coming TO bully you; that was just a little side bonus that occurred by chance. Hoid: So I think your song is slightly misleading, and also bad. Kelsier: ...I can't wait until I have a body again so that I can punch you.

[notelcol]

A rivals desire 🌹

Non gender specific rival/lover✨

A little story inspired by the Wanderers ‘about us: rivals’ voiceline. In this story, reader is studying in Vahamuna with the Wanderer and is his only true academic rival. You and he are the only ones able to really challenge each others work. It will, of course, be set in Sumeru post it’s archon quest.

Mildly edited, apologies for mistakes🫶

——-

“So, you're still stewing over our run-ins from before? Huh. Well, what are you going to do about it? Take your time. I'm in no hurry.” The Wanderer scowled at you, referring to the time you helped thwart his plans to become a god.

“For the last time. No!” Your voice became faster and louder as you continued. “Unlike you, I can let things go!” You glared at him.

“If you aren’t out for revenge, then why would you rebuke my paper?!” He leaned closer as he waved your latest paper around. “Why else would you make a point of disputing every paper I submit?” His voice became quiet, full of venom with a touch of vulnerability.

“I rebuked your paper because it was short sighted. Same as all the others.” You told him. “Your takes on history and society are factually correct and full of potential, yes. But, you always fail to see the true story.” You say, slightly distracted by how close you stood to him. “You miss out the heart of everything by only focusing on the tangible parts. True insight comes from mixing the facts with the feelings that follow in their wake.” You explained, eyes flicking to the ground as you finished talking and realised how long you’d been maintaining eye contact.

When he didn’t reply, you returned his gaze again. He seemed to be lost in his mind, you could almost see the churning of waves behind his blue eyes.

“So you’re telling me, that to reach academic greatness I must tap into my emotions to find the heart of things?” He asked incredulously before scoffing. “You realise I don’t have a heart right?” He folded his arms and raised a brow as he spoke. His words made you chuckle.

“The heart just pumps blood around a body. The brain is where all thoughts and feelings lie….surely you have one of those don’t you?” You smirked.

“Yes. Very funny.” He deadpanned. You rolled your eyes.

“Well, if we’re done here?” You gestured to the path you were on your way down before he interrupted your journey.

“Wait!” He grabbed your wrist as you began to turn away. “If you think you know so much, then show me. Show me how to achieve ‘true insight’.”

You deliberated his request for no where near long enough, given the task it would be to get this man to view society in a sympathetic way.

“Fine. Lesson one. Tell me one emotion you are familiar with feeling.” You looked expectantly, assuming he would give you an immediate answer. After mulling it over he opened his mouth..and then closed it again, before finally speaking.

“Desire.”

“Good! That’s good, you can tap into that. Think of something you want and go after it. Study that feeling. Then when you succeed, focus on how you feel when you get whatever it is you want and it will lead you to another emotion to study.“

“This is ridiculous. Talking about feelings to better writing, how warped.” He grumbled.

“You sound like Azar.” You shook your head at him, remembering the former grand sage.

“Don’t compare me to that old fool!” Offence tainted the Wanderer’s words. “I am nothing like that failure. I am better.” His breath fanned your face as he argued with you.

“Then stop acting like him and prove it! I wouldn’t ‘make a point’ of challenging you all the time if I didn’t believe you could be brilliant.” You exclaimed. His eyes darted around your face as he seemed to freeze. You watched him wade through his mind, slowly you could see his soul becoming clearer in the distance. You had lost yourself in his eyes and possibly would have stayed that way for eternity if he hadn’t grabbed your cheeks, shocking you back to reality. He almost looked as confused as you, before pressing his lips to yours.

Your eyes widened as the space between you closed, but when his fingers started stroking your cheek as he kissed you, you couldn’t help but melt. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and you let yourself fall into the kiss. You swore you could feel him smile right before he pulled away.

“Peace.” He spoke as he rested his forehead on yours. “The fruition of my desire leads to peace.”

——-

Thank you for reading 🌹

[yellowocaballero]

Reading 'Solo Leveling' (a webtoon/webnovel about a guy who uses a game-like interface to level up and fight monsters and become ridiculously OP and the coolest and hottest guy in the whole wide world) really proves something to me that I've thought about.

The goal of a story is to achieve what it wants to achieve. Different genres have different certain marks the story should achieve. If it doesn't hit those marks, it's not a good example of the genre. In a lot of was it's not even a good story - it doesn't entertain the audience in the way that they want to be entertained. A romance novel isn't a bad story because it doesn't feature great action scenes, but neither is it a bad story because it doesn't delve deep into the sociopolitical implications of neocolonialism. Does it make the reader feel happy? Is it cathartic? Is there a happy ending? Then it's a good romance story - even if you think stories shouldn't need happy endings.

The 'satisfaction' of stories like Solo Leveling is the fact that is very entertaining to watch a guy be super powerful and mow down bad guys and have everybody around him go "WHOAH that's a cool guy". Maybe it's cool because you're projecting, or maybe you like great action scenes, or because you like 'underdog gets powerful' stories. It's a power fantasy. That is the goal of Solo Leveling, and so long as I'm going "WHOAH COOL", then it's a good story. And Solo Leveling is the example of the power fantasy video game dungeon OP protag. It does those elements, it executes them competently, it's a good story.

This is the third of these types of stories I've read more than 5 chapters of. The first was Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint. And baby. This is no ORV.

ORV a big reaction to Solo Levelling in a lot of ways, since Solo Levelling was very genre defining and influential, and it's hard to write these OP stories without having a relationship to Solo Leveling. It's like the most popular webtoon out there. The OP hero, the gaming interface and rules, the gods fucking you up, power fantasy - they're all checked off by ORV. It doesn't subvert them much. You watch kdj pull one over on a shmuck and you're like HEY YA BABY and you watch him utterly decimate some schmuck and you're like WHOAH COOL. You like ORV, basically, for the same reasons you like Solo Leveling. They're the same genre and in a lot of ways the same story.

But ORV has driven me nuts and after a while Solo Leveling has gotten boring. Because ORV has a fantastic supporting cast that puts the MC's OPness in relative perspective. Because there's cool action scenes with different teams, of different dynamics, giving freshness to each chapter. Because you get to see kdj slowly implement some nuts gambit of the course of the entire arc and when we finally hit the end point where it all comes together it's FUCK YEAH. I'm leaving out the actual depth here. But ORV and Solo Leveling do the same thing, except ORV has a great deal of other story elements that build into the main 'point' and escalate the satisfaction, joy, and intensity of those points. You don't read these OP hero novels for the supporting cast. You read it to watch a dude be cool. But ORV's supporting cast - and, like, the fact that they're actual characters, even the women - gives us a lot of other smaller 'hey yeah!' moments, gives it buildup, makes the OP moments meaningful, and gives a grand climax and huge satisfaction when kdj does what the SL guy did by himself. And the supporting cast is only one example of this. A story is a good story if it accomplishes its point, but a story like SL will never really deliver its promises nearly as well as ORV could. Not because ORV is deep and has """themes""" or fucked up shit like that. The 'WHOAH COOL's are just better. Because ORV knows why stories are good and what makes a good story.

Anyway I'm fucking begging you I have tears in my eyes this is why your fic needs more than the hot ship of the day I promise it won't detract from the ship it will make the ship BETTER but you have to get WHY you like these homosexuals so much and it's NOT just because they're CUTE sometimes there's OTHER REASONS THAT ARE IMPORTANT LIKE THE WOMAN YOU'VE BOOTED AND -

[justlemmeadoreyou]

Unfulfilled

Ok so this was something I wrote a month ago, a simple idea that just popped up in my head. I kinda wanted to make this a series, and I still have the whole story, but I didn't think you all would like it, so tell me if you do! xoxo

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: fluff, cursing

Pairing: nerd!harry x nerd!reader

YN was stressed.

She had a physics exam tomorrow, and the constant flaunting by Harry wasn’t helping.

“I’ve revised thrice. And I am solving previous years’ papers for like, 2 hours now. I still don’t get this.” He sighed, listing up a plethora of achievements that YN was nowhere near.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. You’ve finished the syllabus and are way ahead of me. I am far behind and you’re solving questions. Happy?” YN replied, head pounding from the strain in her eyes.

“What? No! Who said I was listing all the things I’ve already done? And that you’re way behind?” He smirked, and she wanted to smack his face.

“Shut up” she finally said to him, and he started to pout.

“Hey, I was just teasing. Do you want me to help you?” he asked, now feeling a bit guilty.

“No, I’ll do it myself. I just feel a bit stressed.” you replied, placing a hand over your head.

“Let’s go for some coffee. I’ll get you a muffin too” he offered, and who were you to refuse free coffee?

“Sure” you smiled, and he dragged both of your chairs out, pushing them back in after you got up. You exited the library and he followed behind.

“You know you don’t have to worry so much. You’ve studied. I know you have.” he smiled reassuringly, and you could feel some of the tension slipping away, looking at his ridiculously cute dimples.

“Thank you. You are the only person who would say that and I would actually believe it.”

You entered the small cafe, ordering two decafs. You drank it on the way, and went back to studying at the library.

You and Harry were academic rivals, for as long as you can recall. Since high school to senior year, and then here you were attending the same grad school.

Here too, you fought like children. The competition was a bit tougher now, though, since you both wanted to get good placements, and keeping constant 9+ cgpa was a tough task.

Nevertheless, you had become friends.

Good friends, actually. You both gave the valedictorian speech together, and you had to spend a lot of time with him for it. It was then that you realized that he was not so bad after all.

He was quite caring. He constantly checked in on those around him, making sure they were okay, and letting them know that he was there for them. Even right now, he would make you drink water, shared his food with you, and gave you a head massage. He took you for coffee, so that you would get up from the depressing library and get some fresh air, before going back and diving back in.

He was quite balanced too. He was extremely good at studies, and managed everything else along with it.

Everything, which was almost annoying.

He went for a run every morning around the uni, and was ridiculously fit. He was tall, and had great hair. He played occasional basketball too, and there was a plethora of girls who attended the game just to watch him get hit in the balls with the basketball.

He would go to parties too, unlike you, who preferred to stay in and burn your eyes out on a new movie on your laptop. He drank beers, and looked better than you in the morning.

He was so perfect.

How did he manage to do that?

>>>

The exam day had arrived. You had been biting your nails since morning, and had to stop before you drew out blood and had trouble writing. He sent you texts throughout the morning, wishing you luck and encouraging you.

“Love, you’ll do well”

“Yeah, but not as well as you. How many times have you revised now?”

“Four. But-It dosen’t matter!”

“Yeah. Right.”

As if a stressed-and-not-even-revised-once head could compare to a i-revised-five-times one.

Turns out, it did.

On the day of the result, you had managed to bite through your skin, and drew out blood. Your roommate, Lizzy, had put band-aids on each finger, and scolded you for doing it. She wanted to tie your hands to the side even, so they won’t reach your vampire teeth.

As the professor was handing out the papers, you felt nervous. Everything you had written in the paper was coming back to you like an attack, and making you think you had done everything wrong.

Meanwhile, Harry was relaxed.

So relaxed.

He had his arms behind his head, and was leaning on to the backrest, looking like he owned the world. You did not anticipate the change in expression when he saw his score.

“What-?” you could hear the surprise in his shreik, and he pouted like a baby when the professor shushed him.

He was looking at the paper like it wasn’t his own, and as if he had been somehow betrayed.

You managed to walk down to his sheet while the rpof was distributing them to the last benches, and quickly grabbed his sheet to see his score.

“95. Are you mad?”

“Just 95”

He groaned and frowned, trying to take your sheet and see the score.

“What did you get?”

“Oh. I didn’t see” you were so engrossed in his score that you hadn’t even taken a glance at your own paper.

You pulled out your sheet, and glanced at the big red circle.

98

Holy shit.

“What the-” you stopped mid-sentence, and your expression now matched Harry’s.

“Fuckin’ hell” he snatched the paper from your hands, and frantically started to go through each question. Every question of yours matched his, except one. It was a 3 marker, and you had gotten it right.

“I solved this in like, 30 seconds. It’s ridiculous-” he held the paper up, reading the question, “-Is it easier to pull, or push?” he put it down, and said “ Pull. Obviously.”

“That’s not true. It actually depends on the situation. Plus, you had to give an example.”

“What did you write?”

“It depends on the situation. If you were to move a lawn mover, pull would be easy. If you were moving an almirah, push would be easy.”

“Shit” he looked sad and confused, and to be honest, you felt bad for him.

“I can’t believe you got more than me.”

“Yeah. Suck on it, Styles’”

“Hey! I helped you!”

“Well, you couldn’t even answer a push n’ pull question. Next time, I’ll help you” you couldn’t stop the big smirk that stayed on your face throughout the class.

And honestly, even Harry couldn’t stop the warm glow spreading across his face from seeing you happy.

(next part)

perfect dividers by @firefly-graphics

any feedback, like, reblog is very appreciated! xoxo

let me know if you like it! // my masterlist

tip me here if you feel generous!!

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @avalentina

let me know if you want to be added or removed!

[jacevelaryonswife]

After Dark | Part Two

As the week went by, an important achievement fell on Sihtric and tormented him completely: you didn't get out of his head.

pairing: sihtric kjartansson x stripper!fem reader | small appearance of finan

warnings: plot? no honey, porn! tiddy sucking, p in vagina sex, fingering, sligh dom!sihtric x slight dom!reader (yeah dude). English is not my first language. 4k of words

after dark masterlist

As the week went by, an important achievement fell on Sihtric and tormented him completely: you didn't get out of his head. It was ridiculous, totally, why would he think of a girl like you?

He was a man with physical needs, of course, but besides being a stripper it was not as if you were the only hot lady in the city (unfortunately the only one who gave him beer in the mouth wearing lingerie), and yet you haunted him in the most erotic way possible since the night of Osferth's birthday.

That was a shot in his ego, obviously. A shot? No, it was a real massacre against his pride. You see, he was not ashamed of your profession or of being attracted to you but with the idea of paying to have sex with a lady. He didn't need it, he never needed it, and he intended to keep not needing it — even after the conversation with Finan that night while they were waiting for the birthday boy.

"I'm not against strippers or anything like that, I just don't like the idea of paying to have sex," he said.

“Ya don't have to pay to sleep with someone, just in case you choose a lady of the night because - don’t tell me, it's her job to charge for sex,” his friend said bluntly.

"I know, but it's not real you know? I don't want to see a girl pretend to fake like in bad porn," the Dane replied low when he saw the waitress approach with another ale.

"Aye, she will only pretend if you don't treat her properly," Finan commented in a tone of obviousness. "You're overthinking about it, see Osferth, he was almost a monk and is being devoured at this moment by a ferocious fox."

And the same ferocious fox was being devoured in his thoughts at that very moment. He wanted nothing more to devastate the fuck out of you.

And that's what Sihtric intended to do by dismissing his mates at the typical pub and going to meet you. Things from work, he justified, driving to the club while continuing to fight the battle against his pride, asking what he tought being some employee if there would be a performance of the dancer whose artistic name — recently discovered by him — was Aura. The confirmation cheered him up to the same intensity that created a small focus of nervousness beneath the stoic and well-constructed feature of his face. Would you remember him?

No, of course not. How many men did you see in one night? How many passed by your bed? He was just another forgettable idiot who paid your bills.

It was informed that that night you would only be on a private stage (damn premium girl), which would make him pay obligatorily for dance and sex — something he obviously wouldn't do. Even though he received enough money to have a comfortable life, he knew that you were not a cheap girl and it was more than absurd for him the double payment. That's why he preferred to ask when you would be available on the other stages again.

Sunday on the main stage, they informed, and he waited restlessly for another day.

A great deal of shame warmed his body as he passed through the door of the club until the moment of sleep. What the hell was he doing? Waiting so long to have an uncertain moment with a girl who could reject him for a larger amount? That you would certainly do that. Where did his pride come from?

He was sure you had bewitched him. Damn Aura.

The rest of Friday night, the whole day of Saturday and the day and afternoon of Sunday were passed in great doubt as to how it should proceed, with rational peaks of not going to the club that night. But then, there he was in the same place last time waiting for the main show to start. (He wasn't proud of it).

Scarlet lights illuminated the center of the stage and you appeared covered with a red overcoat and gloves this time, hair stuck and walking in the direction of the central poledance right from the start. Your gaze ran along the audience from the left end to the right, quickly landing on it with a subtle smirk before the music started.

Standing there with your red coat on

French perfume looking vulnerable

Black widow girl you sit and wait

Till I climb into the web you made

Your performance was different this time, with so many layers covering your body that it limited your movements to the most simple. Until the glove was removed from one hand and a red smoke spread across the stage, with you distancing yourself a little from the poledance and throwing the piece in the direction of the audience anxious for your nudity.

I'm an animal, you got me losing control

The first button on the overcoat has been opened.

You got me losing control

The second came next, revealing some of the crimson lacy bra.

You got me losing control

The third exposed your skin even more, but not enough.

It's not right

Your hair was dramatically revealed to the audience and your head turned in the momentum of the music, taking on poledance with precise and sensual acrobatic movements that impressed him considerably.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room girl

I'm hypnotized by the way that you move

It's the way that you move

You were upside down with your thighs attaching your body to the structure, undoing the other glove and throwing it again towards the audience, who howl like hungry wolves. In the mismatched eyes of Sihtric your performance was more provocative and impersonal than the previous one, so far, creating a certain discomfort in him, placing him beyond what he had fantasized. That was your job and his sexual desire, nothing more than the basics.

Your position exposed the provocative garter that connected the bottom of the lingerie with the transparent stockings that made up your look, making you even more sensual and domineering especially when maneuvering the vertical bar so well and standing up effortlessly, facing the audience with while playing with the fourth big button of the piece that covered a part of your body.

You looked at the men who made up the audience, a great mix between businessmen, apparently normal men and visibly failed men. Your choice was obvious and rational as you approached a cunt who was proud of the Ralph Lauren suit and the shiny Rolex on his wrist. No word was said by you when collecting the roll of money and releasing the penultimate button with a satisfied smirk, putting the notes inside your bra.

You call me out at your beck and call

Set me up just to watch me fall

Twist and turn bend and sway

I move in then you push away

Sihtric held his breath for some seconds when your gaze found his, maintaining the connection by slowly approaching him like last time. But he was not Osferth, his cheeks did not turn red when you bent down to face him directly, nor when you signaled with the index finger so that he approached to the point that your sentence was audible only to him.

"Did you come back to see me, dear? That made me very happy. I hope you want to follow in the footsteps of your sweet friend too,” your voice was soft as velvet in his ear, not expecting an answer when you got up and continued to face him. "Unbutton the last one, sweetie."

His heart missed a beat when he was remembered by you. Damn it, he felt pathetic for his inner reaction but mirrored his fierce look, without the twinge of fun. Sihtric liked boldness and insubordination in his women and that made him truly truly fucking aroused, he wanted to fuck the shit out of you and wanted to see you fuck him like a real lady of the night.

“Good boy,” your superb smile sent a gust of heat to his cock and he hated how easily he was affected as a teenager at puberty.

I'm an animal you got me losing control

You got me losing control, you got me losing control

It's not right

No, it wasn't certain at all.

Now, without the thick layer that hid your soft curves from the hungry pack you moved more easily in poledance, curling up acrobatically like a cat in a tree. Sihtric got drunk with his sample body and rubbed his palms on the side of his pants to soften the tingling that took them, enjoying his performative and sensual show.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room girl

I'm hypnotized by the way that you move

It's the way that you move

Upside down again, you looked at him a few times as you moved your arms, crossed your thighs technically against the metal bar and changed position, always subtle and discreetly, but not for him.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room the room, I'm Hypnotized by the way that you move

It’s the way that you move

Yes, he was fucking hypnotized, so absorbed that he didn't hear the desperate appeals of the men asking to see more of your body. Idiots. All of them, idiots. You would be his lady that night.

I can't tell you the future, I may promise the moon.

Cause every time that you walk in the room girl, I'm hypnotized by the way that you move.

It's the way that you move

What happened when you withdrew from the stage was very fast, Sihtric got up at the same time as the previous idiot and followed the same dark corridor that Finan had gone. The security guards who were willing along the way went unnoticed by the determined focus of the Dane in his fervent steps, contrasting with the calm (excess of security) of the other man who also went looking for him. He waited to go to some administrative or security employee to get to you, not to your own person who arrived at the door of one of the rooms.

“Aura! Aura,” he practically screamed in your direction, watching you turn to face him with a satisfied smirk.

“Good to see you, big boy, I figured you were coming,” you purred as you faced him. "Would you like to come in so we can negotiate?"

Before his confirmation, the other man was opposed to what was being suggested. “Common babe, you won't waste time with anyone having a gold mine right here in front of you."

Fortunately your answer was satisfactory enough that Sihtric did not hold that cunt by the lapel of his ridiculous suit and crush him against the wall. The guy was nothing close to him physically speaking, but the weight of the wallet certainly made him believe that he could have anything he wanted, including you.

"I like to draw my own conclusions, sweetie, especially with those who arrive first." That's all you said as you held Sihtric's hand and guided him inside the room under the asshole's protests. He was probably right to call himself a gold mine and the Dane knew that. That worried him like hell. "Don't call him, guys like him are in droves out there with full wallets and bad sex. It's not my type."

"And what's your type?" He asked emotionlessly in his voice, seeing a malicious little smile form in your features.

“Handsome men like you; good boys, bad boys who need a lesson... it's a long list,” you replied bluntly.

The previous anger felt for him dissipated considerably with your response, recalling the reason for being there in the first place, but still keeping a small fraction in case he needed it.

"What if you're the one who needs a lesson?" His tone was intense and low, entering in your little game.

"Do you think I've been a bad girl?" You purred as you leaned on it, leaning your hands on the deliciously defined chest.

“I think you need a good lesson, babe,” he circled your hips with one hand, holding firmly on to his soft skin, enjoying the warm course the situation was taking. But there was still a small problem. "But before that I need to know about the price."

"... see, I'm an expensive girl but I get very well only with the dance, which makes sex an activity done only when I want and with whom I want," your explanation was categorical, but the sensuality remained in your manners. And then you revealed how much you normally charged and Sihtric was sure that his pressure dropped for long seconds and his eyes widened more than he wanted to show. At the same time that his world overturned furiously, your explanation did not stop.

"But I can always make exceptions for guys to make me cum nice and easy, which I hope is your case, handsome, someone with such beautiful eyes could not be disappointing."

The new suggested value thawed his blood and pumped it directly to the stick. It was still high, but less atrocious than the previous one. It was promising.

"And I have restrictions on certain fetishes, so I need to know what you like to do."

Ah, he really liked to please the ladies. He liked to fuck good and strong beautiful things like you, but he also liked slow and sensual sex.

It was natural for Sihtric to take control of sex, but there were no problems when the lady took the reins of the situation. In fact, he found it extremely aroused to see a girl in a position to take what she wanted from him. Although the dane appreciated a certain versatility, he preferred dominance. And that's almost what he answered.

"So, how do you want me, darling?" You asked as you leaned all over it again, shortening the distance between your lips. “Because I have some ideas, including knowing your name,”

"Mm," he buzzed satisfied only to practically growl next: "It's Sihtric, and I also have some ideas."

"Good," you surprised him with a warm and overwhelming kiss, wrapping the back of his neck with one hand and leaning the other on his shoulder. Sihtric devoured your mouth with an even greater ferocity, circling your back and squeezing your arse and claiming your body for him and only for him.

There was no fear or shyness in the way your lips moved against each other, tasting, biting, sucking, confronting each other. He squeezed your soft flesh and brought you impossibly close during the hot make out, grunting when you pulled the sensitive hair from the back of his neck and pulling your lower lip with your teeth.

"Bad girl," he growled, pushing your body to the edge of the bed and breaking the kiss reluctantly to say, "Take off your clothes for me, slowly."

You bit your lower lip and looked at him seductively, smiling with menace and leisurely lowering the straps of the bra before leaving your breasts in full display. His hands immediately met your warm flesh, holding firmly, squeezing and massaging vigorously.

"Did you like them, babe?" You sighed when he turned both halos between his fingers.

“A lot. You're fucking gorgeous, lady."

The lower part of the set was the next to be removed, slipping between its soft thighs with ease exhausted.

Not even in the most explicit daydreams would his mind have projected anything close to your magnitude. You were completely ravishing and he wanted nothing more than to devastate you. The Dane attacked the soft skin of your neck with kisses and incisive licks that made your body soften below him, your scent touching on all his senses.

Reluctant to move away from you, his clothes were then discarded and your hands flewed to explore the defined abs marked with some scars. He was a fucking view, especially all hard with pre cum leaking from the tip of his huge cock, holding the condom in his hands.

"Damn, handsome, we're going to have a lot of fun today. But this brand sucks, let me get a better one.”

The dane's answer was a proud smirk, diving over you when pushing you in bed, not wasting time in claiming every little piece of your body with his hands, lips and tongue. First kissing your, neck, collarbone to reach your velvety breasts, turning the halo before licking them and wrapping them around your lips, sucking and bitting like a hungry man, making you moan pleasantly.

“Mmm,” you purred with a smile and caged him between your legs, rubbing your warm intimacy against his thigh.

"Do you want more, babe?” He asked close to his skin.

“Yes Sihtric, give me more!”

“Mmm,” he lowered his attention down your stomach, kissing all the way until he reached your wet heat, groping from the bundle of nerves to the wet entrance. "Fuckin' pretty," his mouth watered in the vision of your perfect body and pussy, longing more than anything to taste and fuck you with his fingers.

Before Sihtric could ask for permission to do that, you took his hand and sucked his index and middle finger, leaving your eyes more open throughout the act. "I'm glad you liked it, darling, because at that moment I need to know what these fingers can do," your velvety voice made his cock squirm and his fingers tingle to satisfy you.

He didn't think twice about inserting a finger into his soft, wet walls, moving slowly to prepare you, biting your lower lip with a soft murmur.

"Hmm," you moaned with the delicious intrusion that came along with the thumb of the other hand on your clitoris, "just like that, babe."

"Are you enjoying it, darling?" He purred with a confident smile, leaning to kiss your stomach and tits.

“A lot,” you massaged his head and brought him closer to your skin, closing your eyes in delight and moaning slyly when he wrapped his fingers. "But I just want to cum on your dick tonight."

He let out a short, nasal laugh, removing his fingers from your walls and rubbing your fluids into your nipples. "What a shame, I wanted to feel you squeezing my fingers like you were doing just now."

"You'll prefer to feel my tightness somewhere else, pretty boy, let me ride this impressive big cock," you groped his chest with your fingers and captured his lips in a short and sloppy kiss, taking control by turning it to climb on his lap.

Allowing you to pick up the condom thrown on the bed, the Dane watched with a low grunt as you laid out the material along his length, pumping a few times to provoke him before taking your position by taking him inside your warm, wet and soft prison slowly. "Damn it," you closed your eyes and stopped halfway, "I need some time to take everything, you’re so big and good."

He held your hips and leaned his feet on the bed to contribute to your movements. “Take your time little lady.” Sihtric was really struggling to let your body adapt, but the delicious tightness of your cunt left him yearning for more.

Your hips got closer and closer to his groin, moistening the entire stretch until your finally reached the base with a long sigh. Sihtric's hands smoothed the sides of your body and handled your tits with dexterity while contemplating you and your body with admiration and lust. Finally.

His weekly torment was being solved and he would do his best to prolong it.

Your initial jumps were smooth, leaning your hands on his chest to establish a constant and light rhythm that made him grunt low in contentment. Although...

Although he was appreciating how your movements intensified, it was not the way he wanted you that night, but he could deal with it for a while, especially when he started hitting his hips with your own. Fuck.

“Hmm, just like that,” you moaned and leaned over to take his lips, which gave him the chance to wrap an arm around your back and hold your body against his, holding your arse with a big hand to fuck you in that position. “Fuck, you're so damn big,” you whined with pleasure on his lips. “It feels amazing,” your head fell into the crooked of his neck.

"Let me know when it's too much, lady, I don't want to hurt you," he wandered with strong breathing before turning your body in a quick and fluid movement down, taking over the top, rubbing his groin against yours.

There was no reluctance in the rhythm he established, reflecting on the way your legs caged him and your arms brought him even closer, making him more intimate than he thought you would like. But who was he to displease with such?

“Sihtric! Keep going!” You sang sweetly, contrasting with the previous dominating attitude, melting and releasing juices on his cock. He grunted in a particularly strong grip followed by a soft tow. “More!”

He hit that spot again and again and almost growled when your nails scratched his back, beating relentlessly at a maddening pace. He was mortally proud of the idea of taking an orgasm out of you so fast that his mind led him into an inconvenient trap: what if you were pretending?

No, he couldn't accept that.

Pressing his thumb on your pearl and sucking the sweet place in the conjuncture between your neck and shoulder, Sithric kept his movements focused on getting your pleasure, taking your breath out and making your body arch violently against his with a loud moan, squeezing him in every way for dear life, leaving him almost painfully motionless throughout your high.

You were a damn sight with eyes closed and mouth between open, then staring at you with a satisfied and open smile. "Fuck… if I had known it would be like this I would have let you fuck me in the middle of the stage... in front of all those idiots," you laughed and smoothed his face, "keep going, I want you to cum for me."

If the glorious connection between your bodies leading him to madness was not enough, your dirty words made it difficult to postpone the weight on his balls with each intense and deep thrust on your velvet walls. He was on the edge of the apex when he sank his face into your neck and grunted loudly, making his folds vibrate. It was too much to deal with.

His senses failed when he came strong and hot, filling the condom and your ear with idle and guttural sounds while squeezing your hip with a force that would be felt for days. Sihtric leaned on the opposite forearm so as not to deposit all the weight on you during the climax, delighting in the newly formed sweat where your breasts and his chest were.

"Fuck," the Dane slowly withdrew from your cozy interior and removed the used condom, visually looking for some disposal point inside the room. When you signaled the nearest dumper he drove quickly before falling to your side with irregular breathing and eyes momentarily closed. He was a fucking view.

“I hope it doesn't take long to recover because I need you to fuck me again,” you said after a short moment in comfortable silence.

A quick nasal laugh was his first reaction. "Mmm, you're a needy girl, aren't you?" His mismatched eyes shone with sensuality when they found yours, "don't worry, I intend to make good use of time."

An open and satisfied smile was the preceptor of your answer. “Good. I have more ideas."

═════════════════════

— taglist: @gemini-mama @lexwolfhale @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @tssf-imagines @chompchompluke

[utapri-translations-uuuu]

Loneliness and Despair - Translation (孤独と絶望)

Please do not repost/retranslate without permission.

I have also made a version which includes the members' notes found in the script.

[Human limitations - Faust’s house, nighttime]

He is sitting in a chair in his dark, dusty room.

Faust bites his nails while clicking his tongue. A habit of his.

Faust: … How cruel life is.

He is overcome with despair.

Faust: It is far too short a time for a person to live…

Faust holds his head between his hands.

Faust: I’ve spent my life's precious time studying. I have gone to great deals to master every possible field from philosophy to jurisprudence, medicine, and theology. I spared no effort, doing anything in my power to achieve this.

He slams on the desk.

Faust: And yet! I couldn’t discover the truth of the world. None of it…

He violently sweeps the books off the desk.

The books fall off the desk with a clatter.

Faust: Professor, Doctor, scholar…? Being called by such titles means nothing. Even if you achieve a certain level of success, it becomes a responsibility and puts pressure on you. I was pushed even further into learning, and I was unable to escape from that cycle…

Looking at his trembling hands.

Faust: Learning left me nothing… As an old and decrepit man, there is nothing left for me to do. My wrinkled hands tremble weakly, and my eyes, which have lost their sparkle, reflect a hazy world.

A longing for death that comes from loneliness.

Faust: How much time do I have left…? Until I cease to exist… There is no escaping death. It comes equally to every human being.

He hugs himself and endures his loneliness.

Faust: Am I going to meet my end in solitude…? With no one to mourn my death, and no one to watch me draw my last breath.

Faust is beset with remorse.

Faust: If I had spent more time on other things, would my life have been different…?

He stares into nothing and mutters as if imagining it.

Faust: Having a warm home and a happy life with a loving partner and our children?

He smiles self-deprecatingly.

Faust: … That would be hoping for too much. I wanted at least someone who I could call a close friend with whom I could share my heart with.

He speaks while thinking back to times gone by.

Faust: Ha… I can’t find an answer to the question of what I should have done. If I had been able to do that, I probably wouldn’t be having regrets now. I keep thinking ridiculous thoughts. It’s pointless, all of it. Just near-death dreams…

His hand finds the vial of poison in the medicine cabinet.

Faust: Let’s end this already… Taking away the pain and going to sleep. Permanently…

[The suffering of successful people - Downtown, daytime]

***

Faust’s recollection

A conversation between Faust and his disciple, Wagner. On the way back from buying chemicals to make poison.

Faust: …

Wagner waves his hand in the air.

Wagner: Doctor! Doctor Faust!

Wagner runs up to Faust, who then turns to face him.

Faust: … It’s you, Wagner.

Speaking with great enthusiasm.

Wagner: Good day! You’re certainly carrying a great load… Those are all chemicals…? … Oh, I see. Are you planning to do some new experiments in pharmaceutical science?

Faust: … Yes, something like that.

Wagner holds out his hands to take the package.

Wagner: Shall I carry it for you…?

Faust smacks Wagner’s hand away.

Faust: Don’t treat me like a senior citizen!

Wagner: P-Pardon me… I apologize for overstepping. However, all of these materials seem to be very expensive. I wouldn’t ever be able to afford them. I’m really envious.

He scratches his head in embarrassment.

Wagner: Well, I still have much to learn, so even if I were able to get them, I would probably be unworthy of them…

Faust: Envious…? Material things are of no value at all.

Looking into Faust’s face.

Wagner: Is that so? With great materials and your knowledge, you are sure to discover something new, Doctor! There absolutely is value to them!

Faust quietly shakes his head.

Faust: … You still don’t get it. The knowledge gained in life is only a small part of it. Rather than mastering it, the more you know, the more desperately you want to learn more.

Wagner: What can you, someone beloved by God, say? You have exceptional talent and have achieved many successes. From my perspective, you seem to have everything you could ever want…

Faust: What really matters in life is not talent, wealth, or fame. All of those things will be of no use at the time of the Last Judgment.

Wagner: Even someone as great as you feels that way… I'm still inexperienced and haven't reached that level yet. I must work even harder!

He clasps his hand tightly, enthusiastic.

Wagner: I will do my very best to follow in your footsteps and continue your work!

Faust seems to have resigned himself.

Faust: Yes… You still have a lot of time left. That’s right, the world is full of possibilities and hope… Go ahead and pursue your dreams as you like.

Wagner: Yes, sir! But I am sure that I, an ordinary person, would not be able to accomplish that alone. However, I have a trusted confidant!

He gazes dreamily into the distance.

Wagner: I have an intimate, close friend who is pursuing the same dream as me. He saves me from despair and getting discouraged…

Faust bites his nails while clicking his tongue. A habit of his.

He’s quite annoyed.

Faust: … Close friend…?

Wagner reports happily, as if talking about his own achievements.

Wagner: Yes! He’s a genius! Not only is he clever, but he's also pure, beautiful, and flawless. He's a talented friend I'm very proud of!

Faust bites his nails while clicking his tongue. A habit of his.

Faust: How cruel life can be.

Envy towards Wagner. A desire for youth and popularity.

Faust: … You're completely different from me. There isn’t anyone who will listen to what this old man has to say, let alone be my close friend. That's just how popular I am. I don't even have anyone who will be by my side.

He gently pats Wagner on the shoulder.

Faust: It's a lonely life. Knowledge has not filled the loneliness. Wagner, don't go astray. Don't lose sight of what is truly important. This is advice from an old man.

He gazes at his clenched fist with regret.

Faust: No amount of wealth or fame can buy you eternal life. And you can't turn back time...

Faust smiles with a look of resignation.

Faust: Do you know what the ultimate dream of the masters is? Immortality… I was never able to fulfill that dream.

Wagner approaches Faust agitatedly.

Wagner: Immortality…? Eternal life…!? What are you talking about!? That means stepping into the realm of the divine!

As if reminding him to be careful not to let anyone hear him.

Wagner: You will incur God’s wrath! How blasphemous… Such dangerous thoughts… are not allowed.

Faust: You'll understand when you're older. Right now, you're young, so you have the luxury of time.

Wagner is shaken. He can’t deny it completely.

Wagner: Is… that so…?

As he expresses his genuine gratitude, he comes up with the idea of leaving him a keepsake.

Faust: Wagner. Thank you for listening to this old man’s rambling. Oh, that’s right… About the documents you wanted, feel free to take as many as you want.

Wagner: Eh! Really? Thank you very much!

Faust: … I don’t need them anymore. Come get them sometime... See you.

Wagner feels a little uncomfortable.

Wagner: Doctor Faust…? Doctor Faust…!

Faust ignores Wagner and walks away.

***

[sweetkpopmusings]

minho coworker headcanons <3

a/n: how could i ever even describe how fond i am of minho ?? he is so silly and weird and i'd protect him at all costs <333 as my job has been less than desirable for a long time, these coworkers hcs bring me soooo much comfort, and i hope they provide the same kind of serotonin for you !! pics not mine~

content: fluff, nonidol!au | wc: 0.9k | warnings: none! | pairing: coworker!minho x gn!reader | requests: open

almost everyone in the office is scared of him

you two never crossed paths because you work in different departments, so the only things you knew about him were what coworkers told you

the first time you saw him was when you went into a quiet place in the office to watch some videos and take a mental break from work

he was hiding in that very place because he had been reprimanded by his supervisor for a project (his partner on it was the one who dropped the ball but just so happened to be “sick” that day) and minho needed to collect himself before going back to his desk

that’s how you caught the scariest guy in the office looking at pictures of his beloved cats

when he noticed you, he tried to play it cool and act annoyed, but you saw the tips of his ears turn red as he realized you saw him being super soft for his precious cats

reading the room, you asked “rough day?” and the genuine concern in your voice completely melted minho’s scary facade away

he scoffed, rolled his eyes, and answered “yeah. gotta love being someone else’s fall guy”

that sparked a conversation that included him showing off his cats to you, and you showing him the silly little videos you were watching to boost your mood 

slowly but surely, minho would seek you out whenever he wanted a friendly conversation 

you were the only person in the office he didn’t try to intimidate, and everyone else was in complete awe of this

especially when they saw you two doing word/logic puzzles at work during your breaks

he even bought one of those massive puzzle books so you two could use it

whenever your lunches didn’t line up, you’d leave each other teasing and/or encouraging notes in the margins of the pages 

that book became a conversational record between you two

he’d never admit it, but, sometimes, when minho was feeling sentimental, he’d look through old pages and laugh at how your notes got more and more ridiculous as you two got more and more comfortable with each other :,-)

you become the minho translator because you just know him so well uwu

like if you two are sitting together during a coffee break and a coworker asks about weekend plans, minho would give a vague answer about interdimensional travel

before your coworker’s brain goes into overdrive trying to decode the statement, you’d explain, “he’s going to the animated film festival this weekend”

your coworker nods and silently leaves after getting their coffee, completely unaware of the snort minho let out at your translation

minho, despite befriending you, does not let go of his scary persona

in fact, because he’s so fond of you, he’ll use it to protect you

if someone bad mouths your quality of work or makes a snide remark about you in general, minho responds in a way that gives them nightmares for weeks

he never tells you that he does that, but you do catch him smirking whenever one of the perpetrators is nicer to you in the office >:-)

he’s super supportive of you at work too !! 

he’s your number one advocate when it comes to asking for a raise, applying for a promotion, etc.

minho thinks you deserve the best, and he’ll fight tooth and nail himself to get that for you, even though he knows you are more than capable of achieving greatness yourself

he thinks so highly of your skills and talent, and he wants to make sure you recognize your own potential <3

if he’s feeling insecure or down because of work or poor interactions with coworkers, he’ll turn to you for support, even if he doesn’t directly admit that something’s bothering him 

he could make a joke like “ah, how’re you going to solve this crossword if i get fired?”

obviously, you’d know exactly what he means by that and say “if you’re getting fired, i’m quitting because firing such a smart and competent employee is a major red flag”

he’d tease, “wow,  you’re really dedicated to crossword puzzles”

you’d nod, and he’d smile softly because he knew that you were always going to be his rock at work, and he’s eternally grateful for that

minho is so selective with the people he lets close to him, and, since you passed the test, he wants you two to be close outside of the office too

it takes him a while to work up the courage to invite you to hangout after work

but, when he’s throwing a casual dinner party with his friends, he knows it’s the perfect time to see each other without being bound by work schedules

you of course accept his invitation, but you also admit you’re a little nervous to meet all his friends

minho reassures you by telling you that he, a perfect and extremely cool person, has curated an impeccable group of people, so you have nothing to be worried about

and he’s totally right because all of his friends are not only super funny and kind, but they also love you !!!

and, more importantly, soonie, doongie, and dori love you <3333

every single one of his friends exposes minho for talking about you constantly lmao

minho gives them death glares but they refuse to miss out on the opportunity to tease him <3

especially chan because he thinks it’s so cute that minho is trying to act cool to impress you <3

by the end of the night, minho’s smiling ear to ear because you mesh so well with his friend group :,,,,-)

you two reference funny moments from the dinner party the next time you meet at work, and you’re both just bubbling with happiness because you can’t believe how lucky you are to have met each other by chance in a quiet corner of the office on a random afternoon <333

[blushy-tigerrr]

Saved By The Bell - Naruto Tickle Fic

Fandom: Naruto Shippuden

Summary: During the second bell test, Naruto makes an interesting discovery about his Sensei.

Content Warning: mild language

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: it has been SO LONG since i last wrote a fic so i'm v nervous about posting this, but i am pretty proud of it! i hope you enjoy!

Naruto and Sakura ducked behind a tree, breathing heavily as they tried to recover some energy from all of the failed attempts at retrieving the bells from Kakashi. Their brains were moving a mile a minute, trying desperately to figure out a new tactic. It’s been about three years since the first time they had tried to do this, and as strong as the two of them have gotten in that time, it was still incredibly difficult. It didn’t help that the pressure was up this time as Lady Tsunade, the Fifth Hokage and Sakura’s mentor, and Jiraiya, Naruto’s mentor, were watching and evaluating their fight. With the extra amount of pressure they were feeling, the two of them couldn’t help but wonder if they had even progressed much at all.

Kakashi, however, felt the amount of growth his students had achieved. As opposed to last time they fought him like this, he wasn’t daring to let even a little bit of his guard down. He knew how much stronger Naruto and Sakura had become, and because of this, he knew he’d be defeated easily if he relaxed for even a second. Even so, he couldn’t fully keep his mind away from his new “Make-Out Tactics” book that Naruto had brought him. He’d never dare to start reading while facing opponents like these, but the desire was there, and it was strong.

Naruto sighed, his breath becoming steadier. “Man, that Kakashi is ridiculously strong. I mean, he’s smarter than Shikamaru, he has a better sense of smell than Kiba, his Sharingan is better than Sasuke’s, his Taijutsu is better than Lee’s… and he’s got way more experience than us.”

“You’re right, but even so…” Sakura interjected curiously, “even he must have a weakness.” She squinted her eyes as if to see the possibilities written out in front of her. “We just have to think about it…”

“A weakness, huh?” Naruto wondered aloud, joining Sakura and becoming deep in thought. He cycled through every fight he’s seen Kakashi in, trying to figure out what his weakness could possibly be. It was hard to find the answer with an opponent so strong. Maybe, his weakness wasn’t a physical thing, like a blind spot. Maybe… Naruto gasped suddenly. “I’ve got it!”

Sakura’s head whipped towards Naruto in surprise, her brow slightly furrowed. “Really? You know Kakashi’s weakness? Tell me!” She leaned in, prompting him to whisper so no one would overhear their plotting. Naruto stifled a giggle, playing out his ridiculous plan in his head.

“Sakura, think about it for a minute. If you really look back at all of Kakashi Sensei’s actions, you’ll know what I’m thinking of.” Naruto smirked, waiting for Sakura to think of it, too. She did think very hard, in fact. Alas, she wasn’t able to see it the way that Naruto did so clearly. He beckoned her close to him and whispered his plan into her ear. As the words left his mouth, her face switched from a confused expression into a wide, scheming smile.

“Oh, I get it now! Naruto, that’s a genius idea!” She exclaimed, feeling her hands begin to shake in excitement. “You really are the most unpredictable knucklehead ninja I’ve ever met.” Naruto growled, lightly smacking Sakura in the arm, making her laugh.

“Hey! How dare you call me a knucklehead when I just came up with that amazing plan! You said it yourself, it was genius.” He smirked, crossing his arms in a playfully arrogant way. Sakura rolled her eyes at his actions.

“No matter how many great plans you come up with, you’ll always be a knucklehead to me, Naruto.” She teased. Naruto copied her eye roll, still smirking.

“Whatever. Let’s just go before Kakashi Sensei starts getting suspicious.” He began to move noiselessly in Kakashi’s direction, Sakura close behind him. They both focused on their movements, making sure to draw no attention to themselves while also making their way through the trees as quickly as possible. Before they knew it, they were crouched behind a bush about thirty feet away from Kakashi.

Kakashi couldn’t sense their presence yet, but his guard was very much up, anticipating a sneak attack from a direction that wouldn’t be expected. He would never admit it to his two students, but he started to feel a bit nervous. He couldn’t place exactly why. All he knew is that he should be expecting the unexpected. But then he wondered, what could be so unexpected that it warranted him feeling this nervous? When he saw his two students appear from behind a bush, that was when the nerves really started to kick in. They couldn’t possibly think a head-on attack would work, could they?

“Huh… attacking me head-on like this. Are you sure that’s the best course of action?” Kakashi questioned his students, keeping his voice even as he readied his defensive stance. The two stood before him, and Kakashi couldn’t miss the eagerness in their stances. What on Earth did they have planned?

“Now, Naruto!” Sakura’s sudden exclamation prompted the two of them to jump into the air, diving slowly towards Kakashi. He couldn’t help but gain a confused look. All three of them knew that Kakashi could destroy them easily in a frontal attack like this. He stood, still ready to attack at any moment, but he watched them closely, analyzing every movement down to the tiniest muscle twitch.

“Alright, Kakashi Sensei…” Naruto started to speak as they continued to descend. Kakashi cocked his head to the side slightly, surprised that he’d use a moment like this for conversational language. “At the end of ‘Make-Out Tactics’…”

Oh. Oh.

Those words sent a chill down Kakashi’s spine. There was no way Naruto was resorting to such a dirty trick. Spoiling the ending of the book he had just received that day? What kind of a monster did he train?! Kakashi covered his ears out of instinct, preventing himself from hearing any more of Naruto’s words. He kept his eyes locked on their movements, but then he realized…

“As it happens, the main character…” No! He could still read Naruto’s lips because of his Sharingan! His eyes clamped shut, determined not to find out any spoilers that Naruto might have known. He was also Jiraiya’s student, and he’s the author of these books, after all. It was more likely than not that Naruto knew exactly how this book went, and Kakashi would rather lose this fight than have his favorite series spoiled for him.

Kakashi felt a sudden jab at his right side, close to his hip. His eyes shot open with a gasp, as his hands flew down to protect himself from… that. Much to his dismay, the jabs kept coming one after another. He felt his face begin to flush in embarrassment as he choked back the laughter that was about to come out of his mouth. There was no way he was letting his students learn both of his weaknesses in the same day.

“Damn it, where the hell are they?!” A familiar voice mumbled to no one in particular. Kakashi looked down to see that the culprit of the pokes was none other than Naruto. He was obviously searching for something… wait. “Where are they? Where are the bells?!” Naruto’s hands kept searching as Kakashi felt his defenses begin to crumble. He inhaled deeply and held his breath. He could not, would not let this happen. Not in front of the Fifth Hokage herself.

When Naruto’s hands reached the bottom of his ribs, Kakashi felt himself involuntarily move away from the poking. This made Naruto stop what he was doing and stare curiously at his teacher. Kakashi stared back, his eyes a little bit wider than normal. His heart rate began to increase when he saw a devious glint in Naruto’s eyes. Naruto reached out to land another poke into Kakashi’s ribs, eliciting a quiet yelp from the older.

“Say, Kakashi Sensei…” Naruto’s voice was lower than before, almost a growl. Kakashi swallowed, his face growing more flushed the closer Naruto gets to him. “You wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you?”

Kakashi felt his breath catch in his throat hearing those words. “Now, Naruto…” His voice had a slight tremble to it, but he tried to keep his tone calm and level. “Is this really necessary? You would have defeated me just now. We don’t need to resort to such tactics.”

Naruto chuckled, stepping even closer to Kakashi with his hands reaching out in front of him. “If you’re hiding the bells from us, then I have no other choice.” He leapt at Kakashi suddenly, attaching his fingers to his sides and digging in mercilessly. Kakashi gasped, putting his hands over Naruto’s in an attempt to push them away. He gritted his teeth to prevent any laughter from slipping out of his mouth. He was determined to keep up his stoic facade for as long as possible.

“N-Naruto, this isn’t necessary. C-come on, stop this.” Kakashi’s voice came out a bit more strained than normal as he held back his laugh. As ticklish as he was, Kakashi was able to handle this spot pretty well. As long as Naruto didn’t get any other ideas, that is. Not satisfied with the reaction he was getting, Naruto furrowed his brow in deep thought.

“I think it’s very necessary, Kakashi Sensei! If you’re unfairly hiding the bells from us, I have to find them by any means.” Naruto moved his hands up to Kakashi’s ribs, scratching each finger between each of the bones. Kakashi let out a strong exhale, still holding his laughter in, but just barely. His hands still stayed on top of Naruto’s, trying to detach his fingers from his ribs. The feeling of all ten of Naruto’s fingers wiggling in between his ribs was almost too much to handle. Naruto grinned mischievously, noticing Kakashi’s face becoming more red as the tickling continued.

“You’re really not letting up? Man, I guess I have to do it, then…” Those words from Naruto made Kakashi’s stomach do a backflip. He started to squirm underneath the tickly touch, wondering what on Earth he could have possibly thought of to escalate the situation.

“Well, as I was saying before, the main character in ‘Make-Out Tactics’…”

Kakashi gasped, covering his ears and clamping his eyes shut once more. Damn, Naruto was much better at finding his weaknesses than he’d like to admit. “N-no! I’m not listening!” Kakashi exclaimed in a panic. What he failed to consider, however, was just how vulnerable he had made himself in this one motion. Naruto chuckled, taking the chance that was given to him. He shot his now free hands up into Kakashi’s underarms.

Kakashi’s arms came crashing down as his entire body curled in on itself. The laughter that he was fighting back finally bubbled to the surface in the form of soft, hysterical giggles. His face flushed even deeper than before, feeling embarrassed about reacting in such a way, especially in front of the people that were around. As Naruto’s fingers scratched in the sensitive spot, Kakashi couldn’t help himself but squirm even more than before.

Naruto was shocked. He had never heard Kakashi laugh like this. He didn’t even know if he’d heard Kakashi laugh at all before, so to see him reduced to a giggling mess was a hilarious sight. “Wow, Kakashi Sensei! You’re way more ticklish than I would have thought!” He continued to scratch his nails in Kakashi’s underarms, causing his teacher’s laughter to slowly get louder.

“N-Narutohoho, plehehease! This ihis soho childihihihish!” Kakashi cackled, trying half heartedly to bat Naruto’s arms away from him. Could he have gotten the kid off of him easily with one swift motion? Absolutely, but to be honest, he couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed his guard to drop this much. It had to have been years since he felt himself laugh even a little bit. As embarrassing as it all was, a bigger part of it felt refreshing.

“Oh, you think this is childish? I’ll show you childish!” Naruto taunted, throwing pokes all around Kakashi’s torso, making his laughter spike up an octave. “Childish is hiding the bells from me when I beat you, fair and square!”

Kakashi’s eyes were still squeezed shut due to his loud laughter. All of a sudden, the tickling sensations increased rapidly. He felt so many different spots being targeted all at once. While the scratching in his underarms continued, he additionally felt fingers wiggling against his stomach and his ribs. Then, there was a pair of hands scratching behind his knees, forcing a surprised squeak out of Kakashi’s mouth. His legs began to shake due to the new spot being targeted. How was this even possible? He forced open his eyes and finally realized: he was being attacked by Naruto and three of his Shadow Clones.

Once he found out what had happened, Kakashi’s body surrendered to the sensations. He let unfiltered laughter flood out of his mouth as his legs finally gave out, making him end up on the ground. All four Narutos followed him down, all of their hands staying attached to the spots they were targeting. Kakashi was almost in tears laughing, completely unable to get away from the eight hands that were attacking him. “Nahahaharutoho! Plehehease, stohohohop!”

“I’ll stop as soon as you tell me where the damn bells are!” The real Naruto yelled, his three Shadow Clones laughing along.

Jingle.

Hearing that soft, familiar sound ring through the chaos made both Naruto and Kakashi freeze. All of their remaining chakra was focused in their ears, listening intently for the sound of the bells.

Jingle.

Their heads whipped around to see Sakura standing a few feet away from them, holding both of the bells, one in each hand. Kakashi felt his face pale at the sight as Naruto bolted over to grab one of the bells out of her hand with a satisfied chuckle.

“Y-you had them the whole time, Sakura?” Kakashi stammered, slowly gathering himself and getting to his feet. Sakura had a small smile on her face as she blushed a bit.

“Yeah… I’m sorry, Kakashi Sensei! I just thought… you looked like you were having fun, so I didn’t want to make you guys stop so soon.” Sakura explained sheepishly. Kakashi couldn’t help but smile at her statement, his face remaining a deep shade of pink.

“Well… you aren’t necessarily wrong.” Kakashi admitted, making both of his students stare at him in shock. He shrugged as he continued his thought. “I mean, I can’t remember the last time my body was able to relax like that, and I don’t even think either of you had ever heard me laugh before.” Naruto and Sakura looked at each other, knowing that to be true. Kakashi smiled at them before looking around the area. “Now, I have one thing to ask, and this goes for everyone here, so listen up.” As Kakashi spoke, Tsunade and Jiraiya poked their heads out of the trees, their grinning faces focused on him intently.

“What is it, Kakashi Sensei?” Naruto asked, his eyes shining with glee. Kakashi sighed, directing this statement mostly at the two Sannin.

“Please, do not tell Gai about this. He will never let me live a peaceful life with this information.” Jiraiya snickered as he and Tsunade shared a mischievous glance. 

“No promises.” Tsunade responded with a scheming smile. Kakashi sighed even deeper this time, holding his face in his hands.

“Don’t worry, Kakashi Sensei! We’ll protect your honor!” Naruto exclaimed, positioning himself in front of Kakashi, using a defensive stance.

Sakura giggled and mirrored Naruto’s actions. “Yeah! We’ll protect you no matter what!”

Kakashi smiled, grateful for the incredible Shinobi his students had become. “Thank you. Now, what do you say I treat you two to some ramen as a congratulations?” His students let out a yell of excitement, racing each other back to the village. Kakashi followed close behind them while Tsunade and Jiraiya lingered for just a moment longer.

“You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?” Jiraiya asked the Hokage.

Tsunade chuckled. “Oh, I absolutely am.”

[sexybabystevie]

Hi! I just saw you reply the Steve comparing hands as flirting and I had to also then check that your requests are open, they are 😂 so could I please request that one? I had a boy flirt with me in grade 7 by doing that with shoes/feet (mind you I was oblivious 😂) and that reminded me of it and I had a giggle.

A/n: Okay so first of all, thank you for this request! It's SO cute, and I planned on this being maybe 1k, but it turned into a bigger fic, which I'm not mad about lol. This is seriously one of the softest things I have EVER written and I adore it. Like seriously, this has my heartbeat skipping down sixteenth avenue type shit 😭 Anyway, enjoy some soft Stevie, Family-Video-loserboy-with-a -crush style!

Small Hands, Big Heart

Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: No Warnings, Pure Fluff, Soft!Steve Harrington, Semi-Shy!Reader, Flirting, Steve Harrington is a Major Dork, Family Video!Steve Harrington, Crushes, Hand Holding, Tooth-Rottening Fluff.

Word Count: 3581

Summary: Steve Harrington has a massive crush on you, but his recent lack of luck in the romantic sense has him stuck on how to make a move. Plus, something about you makes him nervous in a way he's never been – in a way he likes.

His simplest solution? Flirting via the old 'comparing hand sizes' method.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

There’s an air about you – something laid back and relaxed, comfortable and familiar – that strikes Steve Harrington every time you walk into Family Video. Hair perfectly styled even on the days when you’re in sweatpants, gliding around the store like some kind of celebrity on the red carpet, he can practically see the golden, glittering stars surrounding your body like an angelic halo. You don’t even notice though, he can always tell in the way that you smile at him as you shyly ask if there’s a copy of Pretty in Pink available, like you might somehow be imposing upon him by asking him to do his job. Like he wouldn’t set his entire workplace on fire for you if you batted your pretty eyelashes and asked him to.

Okay, yeah, he’s in deep. Deeper than he should be for some enchanting stranger, that’s for sure.

But you’re cool. Yeah, that’s it, cool, and what’s he supposed to do? Just not think about slipping a paper with his number inside the case of the latest movie you decide to rent? Not have Robin point out how he gets lost in romantic fantasies while staring at you, completely forgetting to tend to the other customers in the store? As if.

No, Steve thinks he’s not about to let this go, even if it means eventually messing things up by accidentally saying his favorite genre of movies is boobies – massive apology to Rachel Moore for that disaster, although at least Robin found new reason to start up another You Rule, You Suck chart on one of the fancy sticky notes embellished with the Family Video logo. Yeah, that was great.

So far, he’s losing zero to twelve, a score that’s humiliatingly worse than anything he ever achieved – or didn’t achieve – working at Scoops Ahoy, and he doesn’t even have to wear that stupid hat anymore. His self-proclaimed best quality is flawless and in full view of anyone around, a little messier than his high school days but stylistically so, and yet he still can’t work the charm like he could just a few years ago. If it wasn’t the ridiculous sailor uniform or the hat that covered up his hair, then did he just lack game entirely?

No, absolutely not. He still had it, and he was going to prove it. He would find some way to talk to you – really talk to you, not just the small conversation he’d make while searching your name into the computer system to charge your account – and he would pull it off. He was going to get a perfect grade from Miss Professor Robin, doctorate in the study of loser and non-loser romantic interactions. So much so that she would have to give him a million You Rule tally marks, something totally achievable and normal to want, he was certain.

Were you out of his league? Absolutely. Did that deter his persistence? Not at all.

He was going to do this, even if it turned out to be a dumpster fire. Even if his hair wasn’t looking exactly the way he wanted it to be. Even if Robin was jokingly preying on his downfall in that long-time-best-friend way that she did. Even if the doorbell was ringing right now to signal your superstar arrival, and even if you were flashing him a smile that literally made him forget how to breathe for approximately forty-seven seconds.

Shit.

Steve’s leaning forward, his elbows plastered to the countertop, almost falling over it because he’s so glued to watching you. You give him a little wave that nearly sends him toppling backwards into the floor – now that he thinks of it, are you sure you aren’t a god with some kind of wind powers? You certainly are pretty enough to be one – before beelining straight to the romcom section. Like usual. He can’t help but smile to himself, definitely the lovesick puppy look Robin said he had mastered recently.

As you peruse the movies in stock, his mind does its typical wandering. Romantic-comedy seemed to be your favorite movie genre, but what was your favorite type of music? Favorite food, favorite color? Were you more into pop music, sweet vanilla cupcakes, and various shades of lilac, or did you prefer the darker hues of colors, savory cheeseburgers, and something a little more lyrically intense? Or were you a mix of both, maybe even neither?

Everything about you was addictively unknown; you were a package of silly little mysteries he wanted to unwrap bit by bit, saving the more intimate and personal details for later. The best for last, right? Thinking of the possibilities was driving him wild, though, because how could he not know your all-time favorite song yet? And, god forbid, your favorite ice cream flavor? Now that was something he was skilled in – he’d probably never forget the sweet but slightly nutty scent of pistachio ice cream ever in his lifetime – and maybe he could show you that. Would it impress you if he let you try the mean banana split he could conjure up? It was good enough to be the primary thing Erica Sinclair ever ordered from the ice cream parlor, even demanding that Steve be the one to make it himself instead of the other workers. Poor Robin – or maybe lucky Robin, knowing the sass of the young girl all too well. Yeah, lucky Robin, for sure.

But maybe Steve could be lucky too. He knew the moves other guys his age made, flirtatious comments that were borderline crude – and yeah, okay, he admits he has occasional conversations about boobies – but he doesn’t want to play that kind of game with you. He doesn’t want to be like all the other guys, expendable and almost disrespectful in his mannerisms and language; no, he wants to treat you right. He wants to be good to you, to treat you with all the care and love and wonder of a da Vinci painting, and if he’s finally lucky then maybe you’ll let him, because, really, what did the Mona Lisa even have on someone as beautiful as you, anyway?

Robin’s elbow crashes into Steve’s side a little too forcefully, which she seems to be aware of since she gives him a slightly serious, apologetic grimace before her eyes become knowing in that way that he sometimes is afraid of. Her head jerks to the leftt and she leans in to whisper, “Incoming, ten o’clock. Shoot your shot, dingus!”

It takes him too much time to realize that she means ten o’clock as in the direction the little hand of a clock makes, though, and he doesn’t have time to prepare his lines before you’re at the counter with a VHS tape between your fingers. He doesn’t even have time to properly wipe away his token furrowed brows of confusion, so when he turns to look at you, there’s a moment where his face is half grimace, half giant smile. Your eyes narrow a bit, undeniably trying to understand what that face is about, and Steve internally face palms. Great start, Harrington, you probably look like a total nutjob.

He quickly shakes himself out of it and relaxes his face into a kind smile, leaning off of the counter to make room for you to slide your movie on top of it. You do, but he’s too busy staring into your eyes – has he ever seen eyes as magnetic, as charming as yours? – to really notice.

“Hey,” he says, just like he’s talking to any other pleasant customer, except his voice is softer, more gentle. “How are you doing?” Unlike with any other customer, he genuinely wants to know the answer.

The way your eyes light up as he asks… he didn’t possibly think he could find them more adorable. If asking about your day did that, then how would you react to him actually making moves?

“Good,” you reply, tone matching the care in his. You then glance around the store briefly, giving Steve the chance to admire the soft curve of your jawline. He pretends not to have been staring when your gaze falls back onto him. “You must be pretty bored today. This place is empty besides me.”

Was there a hint of something teasing in that last remark of yours, or is Steve imagining things?

Either way, it’s only now that he realizes you’re right – they haven’t really had any other customers. Not very typical for a Tuesday night, but he couldn’t care less, really. Not when you’re here.

“Don’t worry. You’re my favorite, anyway,” he says, heart thudding with an annoying intensity. He resists the urge to wink at you – god, he really is a loser, isn’t he? – and his hand moves to rake across his head, fingers nervously tangling in his brown hair.

You don’t answer, eyes wide with a hint of surprise. Your smile grows more bashful, something that makes Steve’s mouth grow dry, and you look down, a few strands of your own hair moving to cover your eyes. The sight of you – so shy and cute – standing right in front of him, only separated by a mere old countertop, sends his mind reeling. So close, but there’s an island between you – literally.

Seeming to overcome your brief embarrassment, you look back at Steve and smile again, this time a hint of your teeth showing behind the tiniest gap between your lips. Noticing all the small details, wondering what other little things he could find out and memorize about you, he almost feels like he’s drowning in emotion.

Get it together, dude! he thinks to himself, the voice in his head sounding suspiciously like Robin.

He’s snapped out of it by your hand meekly pushing the tape further up the counter, undoubtedly trying to get him to do his actual job instead of being ridiculously distracted by you.

Like he could help it, though; you were practically his dream. Hell, he hoped that he had dreams of you each night, that he could spend time with you even if he managed to screw it up in reality. Dreams were less intimidating, despite the fact that he had no control in them. Reality was where he held the cards, where he could choose what to say and do. Somehow, that thought’s empowering enough to bring him back down to earth.

Steve takes one look at the movie you’ve chosen, though, and laughs to himself as he reads the title. Instead of staying in his mind this time, he can’t help but speak his thoughts aloud.

“Christine, huh?” He can’t fight the amused little smirk that takes over his face even if he wants to. “That’s quite a shift from your usual, isn’t it?”

You just give him a simple shrug, unapologetic aside from the way you cheekily bite the inside of your lip. Now there’s definitely a hint of that same playfulness that he thought he saw earlier, and Steve could scream out in joy as he notices that gleam in your eye. Maybe he really didn’t lose all his charm.

“Thought I might switch it up a bit, you know?”

Steve nods and turns to the giant computer next to him, tape in one hand as his other slowly and loudly types away at the clunky keyboard. He finds Christine in the film catalog and quickly flips over the tape to type in the exact product number before his deep brown eyes glance back at you. It’s like you’re a golden statue shimmering in the sun, the only neon sign in a pitch-black forest. His gaze just naturally gravitates towards you, not that he’d ever complain about it.

“You didn’t strike me as the type for Stephen King,” Steve remarks, unable to keep his true thoughts to himself.

“Is that a bad thing?” You let out a soft giggle, head tilting in a way that reminds Steve of a parrot learning how to speak. Have you been waiting to learn more about him like he has about you? You did always seem to stop by Family Video when he was on shift, making sure to have small conversations with him about your movie choices while he added the rented tape to your account, making sure that you always were in his line to be checked out, even if there were lots of other customers…

“Oh no, not at all. It was just a little surprising,” he says, shaking his head and letting out his own small chuckle. He makes sure to look you in the eyes as he says, “I’m the kinda guy who likes surprises.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t like the more world-ending, Upside-Down-related surprises that seem to haunt him and his unusual friend group. No, that’s more of a fourth or fifth date kind of thing to bring up.

Steve relishes the more prominent curl of your lips – oh god, don’t look at them, don’t think about how soft they would be, don’t do it! – and the way it makes you look a bit smug as you say, “Noted.”

He could think of millions of ways for that to come back into play, each one making his chest swell in an almost delightful way, but instead he continues adding Christine to your Family Video account. He finally gets to the webpage where he has to type in the customer’s name, and you must be familiar with the process because you open your mouth, the first syllable of your name escaping your lips, before Steve cuts you off. He says your name before you can, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself for the way your mouth parted in shock.

A little cockily, he says your name again as he types it. “I remembered.”

You’re only left gaping for a few moments, your expression then changing into a smile that’s even brighter than any from before, if that’s even possible. Looking at you out of the corner of his eye as the computer processes your name, Steve Harrington feels like he’s hit the jackpot.

A part of him can’t believe that you’d be so stunned at him remembering you. As if he didn’t spend far too much time thinking about you, as if he didn’t somehow end up telling everyone around him about you despite barely knowing you. As if everyone else who knew him didn’t know he was utterly infatuated and bewitched by you and your pretty little smile.

The computer finally processes the movie with a ding! and Steve reaches under the counter for a plastic bag. He takes some time packing the tape, a tiny thread of dread sewn into his heart because, while he’d certainly done a little bit of vague flirting, he still hadn’t made his real move yet, and he was running out of time. His fingers fumble with the handles of the bag as he racks his mind for anything that can help him – any line or gesture that might seal the deal.

It’s when he reaches out to pass you the plastic bag, and it’s when your knuckles brush against his that he gets a last-minute idea. With no time left to lose, he goes for it.

“Woah, you have really small hands!” he exclaims, and he’s not wrong, which is part of why it works. The other part, unbeknownst to him at the moment, is that you’ve got just as much of a silly crush on him as he has on you. “Here–” he raises one of his hands, palm facing you, “–put yours against mine and you’ll see what I mean.”

You search Steve’s eyes for a minute, a glimpse of a knowing smile on your lips, and he doesn’t even have to worry about you disagreeing or getting upset. He can just tell that you’re catching on, and that you may even be up to something when you lift your hand and press it to his.

Skin meets skin, and Steve feels dizzy. Nothing could have prepared him for how soft, how warm, it feels to have his palm against yours. It’s barely anything, an action that could be casual or friendly with anyone else, but it still makes his fingertips tingle.

He’s never felt like this with anyone else, never been quite this flustered at such a simple movement before. Not with any of the girls he knew or messed around with in high school, not with anyone else that he had few fleeting moments with working at Scoops Ahoy or Family Video. Not even with Nancy Wheeler.

He was always the cool one, always unbothered and rarely found himself blushing, never ever swooning. But here he was, feeling like he could fly over the moon because your palms were flush against each other, and despite everything, the anxiety and nerves were welcome. He likes the butterflies that gather in his stomach, that being around you puts him a little on edge, but in the best possible way.

If this is what it feels like to have a genuine, no-bullshit-attached crush on someone, he thinks that maybe he can get used to it.

He was right too; your hands are small. With the heels of your palms level with one another, your fingertips end where his finger pads begin. It’s cute, only making Steve’s heart race even faster – and if he really thinks about it, he can feel the vague vibration of your heartbeat in your thumb. He doesn’t even have to wonder if it’s pumping far too quickly like his own, he already knows it is.

His gaze moves from your hands together to your face, flickering to try and see what expression will be on that gorgeous face of yours. It’s a timid, happy smile and eyes that are staring right back at him, soft and doelike. The expression is so gentle, so special, that it makes his breath catch in his throat. He silently hopes that he’s the only one you’ve ever looked at like that.

“Told you,” he says quietly, to match the intimacy of the moment. “Small hands, but… they’re cute.”

Seemingly an instant after he says that, you shift your hand around and position your fingers between his. Before he can ask any questions or really even process it, you intertwine your fingers to hold his hand.

Luckily his body responds before his brain does, curling his own fingers and moving his thumb to rest on top of yours. Heat rises to his cheeks as he stares, and he can feel the dopey grin hopping onto his face before it’s fully there.

You giggle again, a bit louder this time, and for once his goofiness isn’t something he wants to internally chastise himself for. You actually think it’s cute, maybe even silly. He can be cute and silly for you, if that’s what you want.

Something in your eyes tells him that it is exactly what you want.

“You know,” you start, pursing your lips for a split second. “I’m used to watching all these fluffy, silly romance movies.”

You pause, eyebrows slightly risen as you wait for him to catch on to what you’re implying. He doesn’t, though; you can blame his heightened state of absence on the warmth of your skin. He’s far too caught up in that, in the fact that maybe he still does have game – thank god – to process anything you’re trying to hint towards.

The trance he’s in is visible – eyes spaced out on your face, his lips left parted so he can breathe out of his mouth slowly, and his hand gripping yours with more strength than before, like maybe you’re too good to be true and will disappear if he blinks. It’s all too much and you laugh – a real, genuine, hearty laugh that Steve immediately loves with every ounce of his heart. He’s certain that your laugh could cure anything that ails him.

“What I mean is,” you start again, taking a deep breath to recover from your short bout of joy. “I might get scared watching a horror movie.” Your eyes focus on his, giving him a little wink as you continue. “I might need someone there to keep me safe, Steve.”

The gears click in his brain, everything falling into place, and he becomes the embodiment of smugness with that signature smirk of his.

With a chuckle, he shakes his head and replies. “Well, what kind of guy would I be if I denied you that?”

The smirk fades down into a heartfelt smile, and his voice softens as his hand gives yours a brief squeeze. He can tease, but he also wants to make sure that he is being serious. “I’d love to.”

Half an hour later, after a little more conversation, you leave Family Video with a movie, a Family Video sticky note with Steve Harrington’s phone number on it in swoopy penmanship, and a promise to meet at his house tonight for a movie date.

Robin makes a reappearance from the back room, smirk on her face – Steve doesn't even have to ask her if she was watching the whole scene on the grainy security cameras, he knows her too well to already know that she was – as she marks a line and writes ‘You did it!’ under the You Rule portion of her notepad in congratulations. “Maybe you can be pretty lucky sometimes, Harrington.”

Steve can’t help but agree.