#Now they are chunky vines

[trashofire]

I bought my mom a jewellery set(?) and I decided to paint the top of the box ^^

Im not the best with paint but I think I did a decent job

[moonjxsung]

Lost in Translation

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

*

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

*

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

*

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

*

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

*

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

*

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

*

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

*

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

*

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

*

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

*

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

*

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

*

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

*

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

*

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

*

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

*

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

*

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

*

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

[schoenpepper]

Intro: You choose the correct answer. Obviously.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, photos aren't mine, too much simping, swear words, google translated German, does Vil in a dress offend you? then go fuck urself

A/N: My love my darling my sweetheart my cutie pie babygirl dearie honey my honeybunch sugarplum pumpyumpykin sweetiepie cuppycake snookums ookums my dommy mommy queen dominatrix babygirl please step on me please degrade me hurt me berate me love me adore me drive your six inch stilettos through my guts and kiss me

Masterlist

Your fingers toy with the item on your palm. A delicate gold ring with leaf motifs and small diamonds, a round purple crystal in the middle. You're not too sure what it is, but it reminds you of his eyes: sparkling and bright, bringing their own shimmer wherever they reach. It's breathtaking. He's breathtaking. You haven't even seen him yet, and you already know he'll be stunning.

It's a little nerve-wracking.

Vil Schoenheit is always at the center of attention.

(At the very least, he'll always be the center of yours.)

You look out the window of the carriage in an attempt to distract yourself from your own thoughts. The trees lining the path seem to stretch upward as they yearn for the sun. The wildflowers are slowly wilting with the oncoming blaze of summer heat. You catch a glimpse of a creature lurking in the depths of the forest, waiting for its chance to strike.

(He's still in your head.)

The coachman opens the door for you and helps you step off the carriage before riding away, leaving you to marvel alone at the marble steps that lead to your destination. If you enter now, can you say with full confidence that the shining star, that beautiful prince of the Elven Empire, is your date? Will they assume that you meant it in a friendly sense? Even you don't have the answers to those questions. Whether or not he thinks of you as a friend isn't important to you; what matters is whether or not he sees you as something more. Maybe you'll get your answer tonight. Maybe you won't.

But you'll take the chance.

You have to.

The party's just starting to fill up when you arrive, yet too many people that you don't know are around you. None of your friends are here yet. It's the moment of quiet you've been looking for. Maybe, in the middle of all these strangers, you can finally think. Alone. Crystal chandeliers reflect rainbow light onto marble tiles, while colorful flowers are held inside glass vases, perched onto tables and pedestals every few steps. The music is yet to unfold into a glorious symphony, missing a few instruments to complete its melody. Your steps are drowned out in the sea of people as you walk yourself into a corner. Think, then.

Where is he?

Again, you are consumed by memories of lavender-tipped blond hair and lilac eyes, of fair and flawless skin, and everything that's him. Your eyes are always searching for him, skin always yearning for his touch.

(Gods, aren't you just pathetic?)

Your query is answered today through a series of quiet gasps and heads turning in a specific direction. You walk back to the center of the ballroom to see if it's him (of course it is; would anyone else be so blinding?).

Pure black silk is draped over his lean figure like a waterfall, reflecting a midnight sky in its satiny shine, with black chiffon sleeves billowing like a cape over his shoulders. A gold belt, carved like crawling vines, cinches his waist and matches the gold wreath that sat atop his hair. Long legs and shiny gold stilettos peek out from the high slit on his dress; a chunky gold collar-style necklace sits pretty on his collarbones; a gold vine bangle climbs from one shoulder down just above his elbow; and chunky gold hoops are clipped on his pointed ears. When Vil's eyes meet yours, you almost fall to the ground. The dark winged eyeshadow and metallic gold eyeliner, the matte black lipstick, and the gold patterns drawn on his cheek that signifies his status as elven royalty—

Breathe.

ohgodsohfuckohshitohwhatthehell—

You're forced to avert your gaze as you bring your hands up to cup your warm cheeks. He looks like divinity incarnate, and it's driving you just a little crazy.

"Y/N."

Okay. It's driving you very crazy.

"Senpai." You hate that your voice is so quiet and meek, and you just know you look like a tomato right now. A quick glance at other people confirms that you're not the only one killed by his charm, so there's that for consolation, at least. "You look beautiful tonight." It's an understatement, but you can neither look at him right now nor conjure any words more fitting for the vision. You deal with what you can.

"Oh, are you shy?" Vil chuckles as he tilts your chin up with one manicured finger. "Look at me. It would be a waste of all my efforts if my date refused to even look me in the eye." You notice he's wearing a ring, just a simple band, but with a familiar purple stone embedded into it. When you look into his eyes, however, your brain activity reverts back to that of a neanderthal.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?"

You nod.

"Are you glad you chose me as your date?"

You nod again.

"Would you like a kiss?"

You no—wait, um, fuck, what?!

Soft lips press onto yours for an annoyingly short kiss. Just a peck, really. It's enough to scramble your mind and get you to blue screen, though. "There we are, potato. My, you look disgraceful." He rubs off the small smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth. "Did you not choose a smudge-proof product? You should have; it's always best to be prepared."

Prepared for what???

"Senpai, um, would you like to dance...?" Good job; you've managed to stutter out a near-coherent invitation.

Vil leads the waltz because you're not feeling too great right now. Looking into his eyes makes you accidentally step on his dress, looking at his heels makes you distracted by the way the fabric sways to show his legs, and not looking at your partner makes you unable to dance correctly. In short, you manage to make an utter fool of yourself in a three-minute dance that's taught even to four-year-olds. In your defense, you truly believe anyone dancing with a partner like this would be in the exact same situation as you. "Hm, perhaps we should take a break by the buffet table. Would drinking some water clear your head?" You follow him and thank him when he hands you a glass of water.

He's hot, fine, whatever. But why does he need to be kind and considerate too? Does he really want everyone to fall for him?!

You know your thoughts are stupid and unfair on his part. You take another sip of your water and try to look at him again. It's okay; the three minutes of dancing have desensitized you already. Really. "Is something on my face, dear?" And your eyes are back to the glass of water.

He called me dear! What the fuck?!

"After you've finished, perhaps we can go for a stroll in the gardens? I think we'd both enjoy a quiet moment together, mein liebe."

You take a deep breath.

May whatever deity that wasn't defeated in the wars millennia ago hear your plea and give you mercy

Try Again?

[bettyfrommars]

Heyy, I have a little optional request for the nightmare factory. Eddie could be located in an abandoned theme park or an abandoned place half submerged in water & loves how much this location freaks you out in the best way…

nightmareGuide!eddie x reader

another installment of The Nightmare Factory

masterlist

This is a collection of blurbs and short fics about Eddie falling for you, but only being able to communicate through your nightmares. 2.3k

This suggestion really inspired me, and I don't think it's exactly what you had in mind, but I will be using more abandoned themes throughout this series. This is a comfort write for me that I post as soon as I'm finished, so I'm sure there are plenty of errors.

18+ONLY, nightmares, terror, abandoned places

------

When you showed up to the theme park, you were the only one there. Strange also because you didn’t remember how you got to that location, and as you looked around you wondered if maybe you were at the wrong place.

Perhaps you were supposed to go to a different fairgrounds or theme park because this one looked like it was abandoned.  It was dark out, and there didn’t seem to be a single star in the sky.  The moon was bright, though, and it loomed comically big, as if it were somehow much closer to earth.  You were standing in the empty parking lot in front of the ticket booth and rolling metal arm entrances, which were all covered in graffiti; the pavement littered in shattered glass from the broken windows.  Ahead you could see the looming rides spread out over the vast park, each of them overgrown with moss and vines, rusted and frozen in time like a place where laughter goes to die.

Questions echoed somewhere in the back of your head as to why you were there, but all the same—your feet kept moving  

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a black mass with multiple spider legs crawling up the ferris wheel—but when you turned with a gasp, it was gone.

“You lost?” A deep voice called to you from between the fence and the ticket booth. You saw the plume of smoke first, and then someone stepped out.

It was a man, possibly in his twenties, with long, curly dark hair past his shoulders and bangs that covered his eyebrows.  He was wearing dark jeans with holes in the knees, white shoes, and some type of denim vest covered in patches over a leather jacket.  When he took a drag of his smoke, you noticed the chunky silver rings on his fingers.

Eddie wanted to contain his excitement, but it was hard to be normal about this.

He finally found a way for you to see him—-to really see him.  To talk to him.  You could even touch him, if you wanted to.

In dreams, there are people we travel with once in a while that are simply known as Guides.  Sometimes they pass knowledge on, sometimes they are there as a reflection of your needs, and sometimes—they are just there to hang out with you.

Usually, to be a Guide you had to be employed with the Nightmare Factory for a long time; it was the equivalent of slacking off for a few years before retirement.  But, Eddie had wormed his way into the Abandoned Spaces Simulation wing of the factory by flirting ruthlessly with Jean, the older woman who worked the front desk.  

And now, there you were—looking right at him.

“I think I came to the wrong place,” you said.  It never occurred to you to ask him who he was or where he came from—there was an instant familiarity.  You even wondered if he was the reason you came to the amusement park to begin with.

“Come with me,” he inclined his head, extending the crook of his elbow for you to take.  “I have something I want to show you.”

In a blink, you were deep inside the park, surrounded by the long-forgotten rides and a place along the fence where there were once games to win prizes like pop the balloon and bullseye.  A roller coaster loomed menacingly in the distance like a big, green, sleeping monster while a vendor that advertised cotton candy had what looked like mold growing all over bags of the sweet treat and bullet holes through the sign.  

Eddie guided you to the ferris wheel, and for some reason, now it looked brand new—as shiny as the day it was first erected.  

“Take a ride with me?” Eddie asked, enjoying the expression of awe on your face.

A gust of wind blew his hair back and you wrapped your arms around yourself, horrified to realize you were still wearing your pajamas.

“Oh shit,” you whispered, meeting his amused gaze with terror.  “I forgot to change my clothes before I came here.”

“It happens,” he shrugged.  

He took your hand to help you up into the metal bucket, and then he settled in next to you and pulled the safety bar down.  Your hips were touching and he opened his knees a bit wider so that your legs were touching too.  He arched forward to adjust his jacket, and when he sat back, he turned his head to ask if you were comfortable, and you had this overwhelming urge to kiss him.

Eddie felt it too.  He noticed the way your gaze fell to his lips, the way you swallowed hard and then sought his eyes with a childlike curiosity.

“Do I know you?” You asked. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

“Not here,” Eddie rocket the squeaky bucket as the ride started at a crawl. “But yeah, we’ve met before.”

Who was operating the machine? How was it suddenly in working condition?  You didn’t even think to wonder. When their seat finally made it to the top, it stopped and swayed there. Eddie lifted his arms up for a mock yawn and a stretch, and then one of his arms came down around your shoulders.

You heard the music first, and then the playful screaming and the buzz of conversation.

“Look down,” Eddie told you.

Below, the park was completely functional again.  There were no more weeds or mold growing on everything, and a sea of people made their way around to the various rides and games, enjoying the festivities.  There were bright carnival lights and people cheering and the smell of buttered popcorn.

Eddie was watching your face; basking in the way your eyes lit up.

“We should get a funnel cake after this,” you told him, forgetting that the place was ever abandoned. “With powdered sugar and strawberries.”  You put your hand on his leg so that you could lean further over to see the rest of the scene.  There were stars in the dark blue sky again, and they twinkled like jewels.

“Hey,” he brought his arm down from around your shoulders and took your hand to interlace his fingers with yours and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.  You were warm and soft and he didn’t want this to end; he could feel desperation tightening in the back of his throat.  “Can I ask you something?”

You met his gaze, searching for your answer.  “Sure?”

He looked down, rubbing his thumb along yours.  “Do you think you could try to…remember me? After you wake up, I mean.”

Your face offered the genuine confusion that you felt.  “Wake up? You mean, this is a dream?” Your attention returned to the swarm of people down below.  “Why does it feel so real?”

“I’m real,” he whispered. 

You turned to face him, to return the affection in his rich, umber eyes, and he squeezed your hand.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, deciding to shoot his shot.  “Listen, this is going to sound crazy, okay? But I work for a place called the Nightmare Factory and I was dispatched to scare you a few months ago, but I just…I don’t know…I really like you.”

As his mouth moved, his face began to distort; his eyes and nose vanished, and then they came back misplaced like a deranged Mr. Potatohead.  You watched it in awe, having trouble registering what he was saying.

“I mean, I’m not sure how this could work,” Eddie continued.  “Because we exist in different realms, but there are dreams that last for days, and I’m going to find one for us, so we can get to know each other better. If you want that?”

You nodded, even though his voice was garbled and there was an eyeball where his mouth should be.  You blinked a few times, and then his face finally went back to normal.

“I’d like to spend a few days with you,” you heard the words come out of your mouth and felt the response come from your heart, even though you didn’t think you had heard a word he’d said.  As you slept there was another very important part of you that stayed awake—and it yearned for this boy you were with.

Eddie coughed out a laugh, relieved, and then tightened his lips around a long exhale.  “Damn, that’s a relief.”

The lights all around the park began to dim, but you didn’t notice or mind, because Eddie brought his hand up to cup your jaw and ran his thumb a few times over your cheek.  The screams you heard coming from down below were different now—more blood curdling—but Eddie was pulling you close to press his forehead against yours.  

“I want to be your favorite nightmare,” he confessed softly.

“Are you supposed to be scary?” You asked, innocently, rubbing the tip of your nose on his. “Because you’re not very good at it.”

The bucket you were in began to swing aggressively as something made the ride jostle.  

“Shit,” Eddie hissed.  “There’s always something. But wait—don’t look!”

Before his words could register, you did, indeed, look down to find that what had once been a sea of regular people, had morphed into a horde of zombies.

Snarling, hungry, ragged zombies with bulging eyes and skin hanging off their bones.  

They were crawling their way up the ferris wheel to get to you.

You screamed and crushed in closer to Eddie. He wrapped his arms around you and put his lips against your ear so you could feel the sensation of his hot breath.  “They won’t hurt you, I promise. You trust me?”

A few of them were half way up, screeching and moaning as others joined the ascent.  You were thinking maybe you should crawl down the other side and run into the woods.  The last thing you wanted was to be mauled to death by the walking dead.

“Do you have a knife, or something we can stab them in the head with?”

Eddie chuckled at your exuberance to kill his co-workers.  “Baby, it’s okay, I promise. They’re just trying to scare you, they won’t hurt you.  Hey—” he took your face in his hands as the metal basket made a cracking sound at the hinges like it was about to break.

“Oh god oh god oh god—”

And then he pressed his lips to yours, softly, but with enough pressure that your eyes fluttered and you forgot to be worried.

The big wheel you were on started to move forward, chugging and jerking along at a labored pace.

Eddie pulled back to see you.  “Remember me? Please? Remember my face.”

All you could do was nod a few times.

The zombies were sliding off and falling to the ground as the contraption rotated on its axis, but the next problem was that you were about to be deposited right into the arms of the waiting horde; jagged teeth snapping at the air, eager to tear you limb from limb.  

“I promise I’ll try,” you told him, bracing yourself as you were lowered into the outstretched hands of your demise.

When the bucket was about to ground level, two of the zombies lunged at you from the side, and just as their fingernails clawed at your clothing and you screamed bloody murder, a wide, black hole with blue edges opened up in the atmosphere and you fell through, screaming.

You fell back to your bed.

Your eyes flew open as you gasped, feeling your arm and neck for bite marks.

“What the hell was that?” You said aloud to the dark room.

It was so vivid, so real.

There was a boy in the dream that you desperately did not want to forget, and a voice inside told you to write down what you remembered of him.  Even as you searched around in the drawer of your nightstand, the details of the boy you kissed were slipping away and turning to mist.  

Writing frantically in the dark, you recalled that he had brown eyes and he said he wanted to be your favorite nightmare.

But what did that even mean?

The abandoned theme park and the zombies—-those details were very clear.  But him…him…HIM.  Why couldn’t you keep him in your mind?

Why couldn’t you keep him?

When the ferris wheel came to a stop, Eddie pushed the metal bar up with a grunt.

“Thanks for nothing, you guys,” he told the group of flesh-eating zombies that were all gathered casually around him, mingling with clueless expressions on their faces.

“Sorry Munson,” Val—the one with a broken neck that made her head sit sideways and a missing eyeball—said with a helpless shrug.  “Kevin said we had to.”

“Fuck Kevin,” Eddie jumped from the platform to the ground, his wallet chain clapping against his thigh. “I suppose he wants to talk to me?”

They all nodded in unison.

“Are you coming to the potlatch this weekend?” Norman—the one with a skeletal face that looked like his skin had been burned off with acid and a bloody hole in his stomach—-asked with his wide, lipless mouth.  

“Maybe,” Eddie answered, shouldering his way through the rest as they mumbled their greetings. “If I have time before band practice.”

Marv, the Zombie with maggots in his rotten cheek, clapped Eddie on the back a few times.  “Kevin is on the warpath today, but don’t let him get you down, kid.  You do good work.”  

Eddie walked a bit and then stopped and turned around when he realized none of them were beside him.  “You guys coming?”

“Nah,” Val said.  “We’ve gotta wait around here for the next one. Our shift isn’t over for another hour.”

[mothmansbanker]

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap- Prologue

Mammon x Human! Reader

It was a wild night for you. It was only Wednesday and you were dead tired, having to work the next morning for the broadcasting station you recently applied for. Why did you feel so drained? So so tired and ready to drop, yet your roommate didn't care! Instead she dragged you out and about to her coffee shop friend's house 30 ish or so miles out of town and towards the more foresty areas of your small town. So…here you were.

With your head against the hot window that had your skin drenched with humid sweat and a gross icky feeling that made your skin itch adn want to crawl out of. "Hey uh,Gwen. Where exactly are you taking me? This seems..a bit far." You gulped down the gathering spit in your mouth, a feeling of uneasiness washing over you as you sat up a bit more in the passenger seat. The blonde woman glanced over before looking back at the road, a somewhat dorky grin tugging at her lips. "Oh come on, are you really that worried about it? Trust me! I'm not an axe murderer or something." Gwen rolled her eyes as she came to an intersection and singaled right…which lead into an even darker part of the forested area. There did seem to be some light, a small dull glow seemed to coat some of the lower branches of the trees.

The car crept closer to this decently well kept cabin that seemed spacious. Two other cars were parked in the front, the quiet noise filling your head with dred as the leaves crunched under the tires before Gwen parked terribly beside the two other vehicles. "Alright," she clapped her hands together before removing her seat belt and kicking open the car door, "Cmon! Out out. We're just going to head inside that front door kay?" She gave you her usually dorky grin before shutting the car door, heaving out a sigh you unbuckle yourself and take a deep breath in…to mentally prepare. Opening the card door you grab your bag and hurry out, slinging your bag over your shoulder and slamming the door shut. This felt like a bad idea.. Your stomach was rolling in its grave. Clenching and twisting in ways to make you wince. Was this a good idea? Going to a complete strangers house with your roommate to do who knows what! Remember your breathing exercises..

…1…and 2…1…and 2… You were okay for now. Until this was over and you can go back home and become your true slug self. Wrapped in blankets and binging some trashy reality tv. An uneasy feeling filled your stomach like lead as you walked into the crickety cabin, the wooden walls looking rustic and ready to blow down if someone even blew on them. Moss and vines kissed the stone path and the wooden logged walls, the door rickety and thumping against the doorframe slightly from the gusts of wind that pulled and pushed the wooden rectangle. You gulped down that residing fear, trailing behind your roommate who hurried up the three crickety steps and knocked obnoxiously. "BeccaaaaAAAaaaAA! Cmonnnn, open up, bitch." It was obvious Gwen and Becca's relationship was like that. Playful with mean comments and names, but honestly it was probably the best friendship anybody could ask for. Or even want! As you waited there on the first step while Gwen was on the first you could hear a quick patter of footsteps and then a thud and a loud meow that sounded like a smug cat...those smug bastards. Opening the door was a tall woman who looked like she had just woken up. Basket ball shorts, some overly baggy and ratted up shirt that had a cat on it, cozy socks with crocs...which was a crime in your opinion, but you decided to ignore that part. She had her hair in space buns atop her head, a bit damp but neatly placed. You stood there now on the second step watching as the two exchanged hugs and smiles, Gwen motioning you inside as she stepped inside, a overly chunky cat making it's way towards you. At least there was a cat! A orange tabby with no thoughts behind its eyes, eager to flick its tail and rub against your leg as if demanding for treats or pets. A tired smile made its way to your lips as you squat down to rub the cat and give it scratches...before it bit you half way through. Scurrying off to who knows where while you stand back up and look at the nibble mark left upon the crook of your hand.

"So....What are we doing? My plans for tonight were just gonna be to chill maybe..and well a new episode of The Girls is on and I was gonna finish that season-" Your rambling was quickly interrupted by the two other girls laughing, Becca wiping a fake tear from her eye.

"Holy shit, Gwen, you didn't tell me your roomie was a riot! God I love you already." Becca had a smile still on her face, but in a cute dorky way. As she wrapped an arm around your shoulder she brought you in close so you were nose to nose now.

"Listen. You're cute, but you seem VERRYYY boring. Have some fun! Ever try those shitty cringe challenges from middleschool?" Before you could even THINK about answering her question she placed both her manicured hands on your cheeks and squished them, "Gwen and I found one and we wanted to try! buuutttt...we needed a third person! Which is youuuu~ Isn't that fun?" The feeling of being overwhelmed washed over you as you just furrowed your eyebrows and looked confused as she was rambling about some 'spooky challenge' and it probably not going to work. What were they even talking abou- your swirling thoughts were quickly and once again interrupted as she started wrapping a piece of deep green fabric around your eyes.

"Wait- hold on!" Your frustration grew as you tried to get away from Becca's touches and grabs, "You haven't even told me what I'M doing!-" You felt a set of hands on the sides of your face, holding your cheeks as the scent of mint and cigarettes wafted over. "Cmonnn, babes! Just trust us! You trust me right? I'm your best friend!" "Gwen, you're my only friend." Was your only reply as you felt the same frustration, but diluted a little bit now. As the blindfold was snugly tightened against your face and blocking your vision, it felt as if your other sense were heightened. You could hear the slight creaking of the house and the small giggles between the two girls. You could smell the minty and menthol scented breath still of Gwen, and the light airy perfume that Becca wore that reminded you of an old woman at a thrift store. Suddenly you were pushed further into the room, the sound of a rug dragging along the wooden floor was loud in the depths of silence that was cascaded down on you. Shivers spiked along your spine as you tried to be calm, hearing the click and flicker of a lighter somewhere to the side of you as one of the girls sat you down on your knees, locking your knees and elbows together.

Trust them right? Trust Gwen? You knew Gwen since freshman year of highschool..So why shouldn't you trust her? But there was that feeling of doubt and uneasiness planting itself in the pit of your stomach, its seed sprouting and its roots planting itself inside of you more permanently. Your breath quickened as you tried to steady it, panic washing over you as a low hum was heard form the two. Then it began. The softly low mumbling of the two girls as a pouring sound was heard to the left of you, a liquid hitting the cusp of metal. A smell lingered, a burning smell. With a hint of rotten eggs and the smell of some burnt meat... An acidic feeling rose within the back of your throat before a weird smoke began spreading through out the room, filling your nose with a acidic putrid smell that was thick. Scrunching your nose the distinct sound of...a cash register was filling the air for a split moment? Then you heard it. The rough whiny sound of some angry Australian.

"Now which one of you fucking cunts summoned THE Prince of GREED to this SHIT HOLE?!"

[2smolbeans]

Yandere Prompt:

Instead of it always being the darling figuring out the yandere's obession, what if the darling's friend/lover were to figure it out for them? What if the obessor is so well mannered, so normal around everyone that even the darling themselves never detected the mentally deranged behavior from their stalker. Leaving it up to their friend/lover who just watches in horror as they begin to notice the subtle manipulative advances that this 'stranger' has made in order to comfortably wiggle themselves into darling's life.

Bonus point:

The yandere begins to slowly reveal themselves out of frustration, their perfect mask slipping away when this lover/friend is able to convince the poor victim that they aren't what they seem to be. Eventually leading to the obessor to leave 'small' threats to the lover/friend's darling.

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Just an extension writing under the cut!

(Tags: dead dove do not eat, mentions of mutilated vermin, breaking and entering, this is just overall me practicing horror writing based on this prompt ^^)

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Exiting the subway station, Angelia cautiously made her way back to her apartment. Entering inside from the front door, she grabbed her keycard, scanning it to let her inside. Entering the elevator and then stepping out, she walked down the empty narrow halls. Her apartment, of course, was the last one all the way at the end of the hall. Nervously, she grabbed her keys, her hands shaking as she unlocked her apartment door. Nothing, she looked at the dark apartment room and listened for any subtle noises. Nothing again. Laughing shakily out of relief, Angelia stepped inside.

Squelch.

She froze as she felt something squishy and mushy at her feet. She could hear the sound of small oozing coming from where she stepped. She could feel the slippery contents staining her sandals. Her heart started beating as she smelled the stench that was now infecting her apartment. The rotten, metallic, funky aroma that spun her head. Immediately gagging, she turned around to look for her lights, immediately panicking as she could now feel the chunky slime substance on her toes. Turning on the lights, she let out a scream as she gripped onto the wall.

Everywhere on the floor were dead, freshly killed, rats. Letting out repeated shrieks, Angelia cried out of disgust as she realised what she had stepped on. Shaking her foot to remove what filth she had stepped on, the orange juicy entrails wrapped around a part of her feet- she rushed towards the bathroom, avoiding all the dead rats that were littered on the floor. But upon entering the bathroom, she was hit with the disgusting stench of putrid vermin blood all over her painted walls. Looking at the bathtub, she couldn't surpress the automatic response to throw up as she witnessed what had been done. She didn't even have time to comfortably adjust herself somewhere as she hunched over, holding her stomach as she stood, spewing her stomach fluids all over the already rodent soiled floors.

It was almost comical as she looked at the amount of vermin that was stacked in the bathtub. A mixture of loose fur, flesh, and tiny paws all floated to the top of the tub that was filled partially with blood. With her eyes widened and adrenaline pumping through her vines, she clenched her chest as she looked at the wall that the bathtub was attached against. Clearly fresh and new, the letters dripped slowly against the wall.

"Next time, don't rat me out okay? Looove you Angie <3"

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(Pairing: Marco x Angelia x you)

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[kedreeva]

For the ST prompt: protective, cuddles, soft. the fruity four

(My askbox is open for ST prompts!)(Previous Prompts)

The call comes a little after 2am. There's only a few people that would call that late, and Steve's not asleep anyway, so he picks up.

"Can I come over?" Robin asks without preamble. They both know the answer is yes, of course, so Steve knows that's not the question she's asking.

"Yeah, gimme 15," he tells her, already plucking his keys off the hook.

They don't come straight back to Steve's after he picks her up. He does a loop around town, checking on all of houses of their group. Assured of their mundane condition, he heads out of town to cruise some of the long roads on the outskirts, letting the summer air run warm through the open windows. The stars shine so bright in the clear night sky it seems they mean to make up for the absence of the moon. Robin hangs her elbow out the window, fingers folded together and her chin on her wrist to watch them.

Steve mostly watches the road, content to let his mind fuzz to the comfortable emptiness of driving an open road, but even so he doesn't miss the flash of a big, chunky van parked off the road in the middle of a fallow field. Robin looks over when he brakes, eyes flicking up to Eddie's van as well. She doesn't question when they park on the shoulder, or when they get out and begin to trek across the field.

"How'd you find me?" Eddie asks from the roof, as soon as they're close. He's lying on top of a big blanket,

"Couldn't sleep," Steve says at the same time as Robin says: "Spying on you with satellites."

"Funny," Eddie says, holding up a can with a flick of his wrist to Steve, who passes it to Robin before popping the top on the beer Eddie hands him next.

Steve collapses into sitting up near Eddie's head, and Eddie shifts and wiggles until he can get his head on Steve's lap like an overgrown puppy. Robin waits until they're settled before she sits as well, and then leans back to lie with her head on Eddie's belly. She doesn't open her can, just sets it beside her and tips her head to look up at the stars again. Without the headlights, no streetlamps in sight, the dusty arm of the milky way spans in a slash across the sky.

"Wayne again?" Steve asks after a little while, fingers gently threading through Eddie's hair. Most of it is already splayed in a halo over Steve's lap from his fiddling, but Eddie never minds.

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. He always leaves the trailer when it's Wayne in his nightmares, when he gets skittish that the Upside Down is going to destroy everything they own again when it comes for him. Sometimes he comes to one of their houses, but Steve has learned that when it's bad, really bad, Eddie comes out here, to where he's not even really in town anymore. Where he won't endanger anyone if a gate opens and swallows him whole.

"Come over next time," Steve tells him quietly. "Call me."

"Or me," Robin says. "Or Nancy. That's what I did."

"You called Nancy?" Eddie asks, gaze flicking up to Steve's face as he smiles.

Robin rolls her eyes. "I called Steve.

"Russians?" Eddie asks, but lightly.

"Vines," she says, barely a breath, as if she can feel them around her throat all over again even now.

Eddie reaches a hand to her and she catches it, threading their fingers. "Hate that one." He hadn't even been caught by the vines, but the other three had described it enough times. "Steve?"

Steve shakes his head. "Never got to sleep in the first place," he admits. He does sleep, he just does it when there's daylight, when he can wake up without feeling like he's back in it.

"Steve..."

"It's fine, Robin," he assures her. "I swear I'm getting enough sleep." They've had this argument a dozen times since he fell asleep at work because he hadn't slept at all the night before.

"I can come stay for a few days, if you're having trouble," Eddie offers tentatively. "Wayne won't mind having the place to himself."

"You don't have to..." Steve starts.

"I know," Eddie says simply, no other explanation. They've also had this conversation more than once, and it always ends the same. Steve still hasn't won this kind of fight, with either of them.

"...Yeah, okay."

Eddie nods and returns to stargazing with Robin, Steve sipping at his beer until headlights slash across the dark down the field. He watches the little station wagon run the length of the road, turn, and come toward them slowly. It pulls up behind Steve's car, and even though it's too dark and too far to tell who it is, they all know.

Nancy drops her armload of blankets on Robin's head once she's climbed to the top of the van, and it might be a cramped situation if she didn't basically pile herself on top of the three of them, curled up around Robin with the blanket over both of them and part of Eddie. Steve smiles as Robin passes her the can she's protected.

They split the cherry Coke - Nancy's secret favorite, which she'd only admitted once in a game of truth or dare a few weeks ago - in silence for a little while. Steve finishes his drink and sets the empty can next to Eddie's behind him. No one bothers asking how Nancy had found them; they'd been to this field as a group several times, and even if they hadn't, Steve at least is convinced there's nothing Nancy can't figure out.

"Fire," Nancy says to the stars, when her can has joined the others.

"Vines," Robin says, and then nods to Eddie without taking her arms out from under the warm blanket. "Wayne." Then she looks at Steve and he knows what's coming even before she says: "Didn't sleep, again."

"Steve..."

"Oh my god," he says with a laugh. "Eddie already agreed to stay over."

"I'm sure that means you asked for help when you needed it," Nancy says. Somehow, a little bit of guilt flushes under his skin, even though he knows she's dragging him out of concern.

"You know he didn't," Robin says.

"I know he didn't," Nancy says. "He never does."

"Hey," Steve protests. "I'm trying, okay, Nance? It's just..."

"I know," she says, and she does. She knows he's never really had anyone to ask for help from, and that it simply does not occur to him. Layer that with his desire to be as little burden as possible, and his need to protect others... she knows. It's difficult to learn better.

"We should just... get a place," Robin says, offhand. Everyone turns to look at her. "Sorry! Is that weird?"

"Like, together?" Eddie asks, glancing from her up to Steve, as if Steve might've understood Robin better. Not the case. "A place together, the four of us?"

"Um... yeah?" Robin says, hesitant. "We hang out all the time anyway, and... y'know, then... we don't have to sneak anywhere in the middle of the night. We don't... wake our parents up screaming."

Eddie hums. "We just wake each other up."

"Or someone's there to wake us up before the screaming starts," Nancy points out. She does not at all sound opposed, which surprises Steve.

"Plus, if- I mean, it's not like I want any of this stuff to keep happening, but it does keep happening, and if we had our own place, like... we wouldn't have to worry about anyone walking in or catching us."

"Home base," Steve says.

"Yeah," Robin says, relieved. "It wouldn't- it doesn't have to be forever, but... it would be nice, I think."

They sit in silence. Steve can't honestly think of anything that's sounded better in his life; he hates living in his empty house, hates the pool out back and the woods beyond it, hates it more when his parents do come home and screw everything up. He can't even imagine the relief of coming home to a full house of people he actually likes. Of having part of his chosen family at hand, where he can see them, touch them, assure himself they are all safe at the same time.

"I'm in," Nancy says, after a while.

"You can bring Jonathan," Robin offers.

Nancy just shakes her head. Steve feels badly for her. She hasn't left him, but she's been angry with him for a while over his decision to keep things from her. She understands why- they all do. He'll be moving back soon, now that Hopper's back, and Steve's not sure he's looking forward to the upheaval that will cause. Or maybe it won't- maybe he'll just settle in where he ought to have been all along. That's a bridge to be crossed or burned later.

"Yeah, me too," Steve agrees quietly. "It'll be a lot easier to get a house with four of us."

"With that many bedrooms?" Eddie asks. "I haven't looked at real estate prices but-"

"You really think we need a bunch of rooms?" Robin says, twisting to give him a skeptical look. "Planning on spending a lot of nights alone?"

Eddie blushes, even by starlight, and mumbles something under his breath that even Steve doesn't catch. "That mean you're out?" Steve asks.

"No," Eddie says. "I mean, I gotta talk to my uncle, but I followed you lunatics into another dimension to fight monsters. After all that, house seems pretty domestic."

"Har har," Robin says at the pun, but Steve smiles when Eddie looks at him expectantly. "So... now what?"

"It was your plan, Buckley," Eddie says.

"Yeah, but I was just-"

"Now we get home before our parents notice," Nancy interrupts, gesturing toward the horizon where it has begun to turn a lighter shade of dark, heralding dawn. "And... we'll start looking. There's a lot of people leaving town, after what happened. We can probably get something bigger than we would have otherwise."

"I can start looking into financing," Steve offers, heart a little lighter at the prospect of being useful. "I'm sure my dad knows someone."

Robin's grinning full-on now. "Are we really gonna do this?"

"Sure looks like it," Eddie says with a smile.

[detectivemaker]

Angsty mind control story, or Crowley snake's tattoo takes matters into its own,  non-existent hands

I really am surprised by the lack of  mind control stories in the good Omens  fandom, give me more specific Crowley doing some mind f****** on our favorite chunky angel, so I've decided to write this story

It's day 88 of operation make heaven nice again, and Aziraphale is bored out of his mind

The only real success he's had so far is implementing walls for privacy, but other than that Heavens the same old s*** bureaucracy it always has been, he knows it now it's never been nice, maybe during the time before the great fall,  but the only demon he's acquainted enough with to try  getting back into heaven is absolutely against it

He  let's out a sigh and face plants into his desk  tears prick at his eyes and soon he silently sobs into his paperwork," oh Crowley, I'm such a fool"  he whispers

*if you were here now, I'd go anywhere you take me* he thinks to himself  but before he can start on another set of whimpering cries he feels something wrap around the essence of his true form, the slight feel of scales upon Halo sends him sitting up with a gasp

"w- what" he  stutters out then it's out a grunt when the scales tighten in a loop, to get deep breath he Miracles into existence is Halo and a mirror

His eyes  widen in Surprise when he sees the  ink colored snake rapping gingerly around his Halo,  raising a hand he presses it into the surprisingly scaly flesh of the pitch black serpent

" Crowley?" questions, but no this isn't Crowley, but part of him yes, but not the real him

This sad realization only affects him for a moment before it's cleansed from his mind like water cleanses dirt,   panics at the sun realization that he's no longer feeling sad,   he grasps at his Halo but before he can try to wrench the snake from it a voice rings in his head like Unholy church bells

" don't struggle little angel,  my master misses you greatly,  I'm just here to bring you back home,  now be a good little lamb and let me lead you" the voice that sounds so much like Crowley's since his hands to his lap and a dizzy smile begins to etch itself on his lips

yes that's right, he's been such a foolish lamb,   he has Mosey far from home, but this lovely serpent knows the way back, so he rises to his feet and his leg like the good little sheep he is

,,,

Crowley had been drinking himself blind for exactly 88 days, but still he is capable to see and he sees he is without an angel,   the salty tears spilling into his cup of whiskey make it taste bitter

" emm, Mr Crowle"  Muriel says interrupting the demon's second hour of day drinking this morning, the demons shaded eyes bore into her celestial form but a quickly directed to the person next to her

"an-Aziraphale, what are you... What are you wearing?"  he says slipping down his sunglasses to get a better look at the ugly dressed angel

" don't you like it, I put it on for you" the angel says voice dreamy and eyes hazy,  the angel Santos over and the Bells on his neck jingles as his sheep like tail wags in excitement as he presses a kiss and his lingerie junk on to the demon 

" angel!" Crowley sputters out  he's just about to hesitantly kiss the angel back when a chuckling hiss catches his ear

He looks up to see his tattoo wrapped Vine like around Aziraphale's Halo  and he Sighs in annoyance

"Get off him and get back on here" he orders and snakes slithers from  it's holy perch back to its usual place on the side of his head, the angel blinks and his eyes come back into Focus

" I really am sorry for that, you"  he pauses pushing up his sunglasses to Shield the tears from the Angels vision before continuing," you can go if you want"

" well" a pause from the angel it's only then that Crowley realizes his hands are stained with liquid gold," I don't think heaven would invite me back in after what I did"

"did you?" Crowley asks a mixture of amusement and horror lining his tone he lets out a laugh when Aziraphale  nods sheepishly

" God you're wonderful angel" his   Chuckles pulling the blonde into a hug and sighing into the man's neck as he returns it

" it's good to have you back"

" it's good to be back"

The end

[themeatpit37]

STARDEW VALLEY MONSTER AU!!!!!

HERE’S A MONSTER AU TAKE IT!!!! ALL MARRIAGE CANDIDATES ARE HERE AND A FEW NPCS!

Shane- Catboy (Has ears, tail, paws, teeth, eyes, and back paws. Ear has a bite mark and he has a few scratches on his body.)

Marnie- Cat (Straight up furry. Has brown and white fur.)

Jas- Angel (three sets of Large fluffy wings, Gold rings with eyes around the chest in an X pattern, halo near her head, Puffy white dress, extra eyes appear randomly, and baby fangs.)

Harvey- Ghost (Has a translucent and fuzzy look to him, but looks pretty normal for someone who died except for the fact his eyes look glossy and empty, his face has a slightly blue tint, there is scarring on his neck, and he has a little wisp-like tail on his backside that you commonly see popular media ghosts have.)

Elliott- Naga (Constrictor snake lower half, VERY LONG. Has long fangs, snake eyes fork tongue, and claws. His eyes glow when it’s dark.)

Leah- Deer centaur (Deer lower half, has ears, freckles, horns, and nose.)

Abigail- Draconic humanoid (Human with dragon horns, wings, tail, purple scales around hands/feet, claws, pointed ears, fangs, and eyes. She can also breath fire but also can learn elemental magic due to her mother.)

Caroline- Dryad (Tree Nymph, wants to return to the woods with the wizard but feels obligated to stay with her husband and child. Her body grows branches and various leaves but tends to take the form of either a tree or a human woman.

Pierre- Dragon (Reddish brown anthro dragon. Has large wings and tough scales with an ability to breathe fire.)

Morris- Kobold (Small, chunky, dragon-like anthro lizard. Has a stubby tail and lacks wings.)

Emily- Half human Half spider (Lower half of a tarantula, upper half of a human. Has vibrant blue hair on the spider body, extra set of eyes, and uses her webs to make clothes)

Haley- Also half human half spider (Same as Emily, but has no hair on her spider body. Instead, has a shiny gold colored body with thin and pointy legs.)

Maru- Harpy (Anthro crow body with the head of a human and lips with a hard edge like a beak. Has been working on making herself robotic arms and maybe some for her father.)

Demetrius- Harpy (Also has an anthro bird body but as a raven with the head of a human and lips with a hard edge like a beak.)

Sebastian- Goat Minotaur (Minotaur but as a goat. Head, hooves, tail, and horns of a goat. Has a tattoo of a pentagram on his thigh/bottom because he thought it would look sick.)

Robin- Minotaur (Average Minotaur; Head, tail, prosthetic horns, and hooves of a bull.

Alex- Chimera (Has the head of a lion, a second head of a ram, the tail of a snake with a head, large tusks on the Lion head, paw-like hands, and hooves instead of feet. The heads on the top both are Alex, it’s just now there’s two. The snake head is more like an animal and acts on instinct.)

George- Manticore (Lion body with a scorpion tail and wings, but his mane is terribly thinned out and his fangs are dull. He has a more human face though, unlike his grandson, and is noticeably weaker. He no longer can fly or walk after the incident in the mines all those years ago.)

Evelyn- Anthousai (Nymph of flowers. Her hair is made of vines where flowers grow and her body houses many plants, fungi, and sometimes even bugs who enjoy the nectar of her sweet flowers. She lets both her human form and plant form mix into one, not letting herself be divided.)

Kent- Demon (VERY LARGE. Has a mouth full of pointed teeth with large fangs, sharp claws, tall upright horns, skin around the hands and feet are reddened and rough, pointed ears, Devil’s mark on his back, and a pointed tongue.)

Jodi- Werewolf (Looks human in the morning but becomes a wolf at night. She looks more like a regular wolf but if it was wearing her clothes and walking on it’s hind legs. Very polite as a werewolf.)

Sam- Hell hound (Got traits from both parents. In both forms he has tall yet slightly curved horns, claws, paws, a tail, dog nose, dog ears, has, a mouth full of sharp teeth, his body is covered in fur, he has digitigrade legs, has the muzzle and head shape of a dog, and has a devil’s mark on his back.)

Vincent- Imp (Got more traits from his father. Has small horns, fangs, a tail, pointed ears, baby wings, and claws.)

Penny- Moth creature (Akin to moth man, but more similar to poodle or rosy maple moths. She has large wings, fluff around the neck, an extra pair of arms, solid color eyes, antenna, fluff around the wrists, thin fuzz over the body, a long thin tongue, and the abdomen of a moth.)

Pam- Moth creature (Like moth man, but as a grease moth. Has damaged wings which means she cannot fly you to the desert, has an extra pair of arms, body has a dusty, almost powdery look to it rather than the fuzzy look of Penny, solid color eyes, antenna, a long thin tongue, and the abdomen of a moth. She leaves splotches of a dusty looking residue on moist surfaces and on others.)

Clint- Gargoyle (Completely made of stone. Has wings, pointed ears, claws, and tusks. His body has cracks all over and a few chipped pieces can be seen.)

Mayor Lewis- Jackalope (An anthro rabbit with horns of a deer. His ears stick up high, his tail is short but very puffy, has buck teeth, and still has a distinct mustache despite being covered in hair already. Has unnaturally good luck, which he says is because of the lucky shorts but is actually due to a jackalope’s natural luck based magic.)

[missamyrisa2]

Hiya Miss Amy! I'm a huge fan of your teases, but how would you break a bratty spy you caught who is *definitely not* devastatingly ticklish on every single inch of his upper body, and *in no way* has a death spot on his bottom-most rib??

Such a silly escapade, trespassing in Amylicious's lair. Sillier still, that you failed to recognize the decoy relic on the table. Lifting it sets off an alarm, not the usual wailing sirens or klaxons, but a blaring shock of playful music. The ground trembles and an x-shaped frame slides upward. Flowers bloom from nothingness at the points of the frame, an enchanting little garden and a perfect distraction for the vines to sprout, first stripping away your clothing one article at a time, and then snatch up your wrists & ankles. You hang and struggle on the frame for what feels as an eternity until the door creaks open and a long shadow falls over your held form.

"Tsk tsk tsk. What do we have here?" I stroll in and chuckle. The harsh light gleams on the metal of my chunky bracelets and flower-shaped belt buckle. My belly twitches visibly in excitement from its place under my cropped black top and tiny shorts~ "Why, it's a cute boy, come to play~" My fingers glide up, wiggling in the air. "What's your name, sweet one?" Before you can answer my fingers are probing along your waistline in tiny strokes. "Uhh huh. Mmhmm. Yes, I almost believe that." I smirk and dance my nails around your belly in spidering circles.

"And you thought you'd make off with some of my treasure mmm?" One hand digs into your side with a squeeze as the other taps the flower to summon a fluffy makeup brush. "Ooh what a story, tell me more. How's that feel? Does it tickle? Are you just so very ticklish?" I flutter the brush up under your arms, twirling and fluffing up the little piles of hair while my fingers trace the shape of your chest. "Tickle tickle ~ tell me a good story now while I tickle your helpless body, about your name and why you're here, I love a good lie~

I tap a petal on my flower and produce a pair of q-tips. Your sass at such basic tools makes me smirk brightly, putting a hand on my hip as I start probing around your tummy. "Keep running those pretty lips ~ before you know it you'll be begging me to stop while whimpering for more~" I poke around with the soft tips, tracing your belly from your navel outwards carefully observing every reaction. I toss my long locks of blonde hair back and move in closer, my breath scattering on your twitching midsection. "Mmmmhmm. Yeah. Oh yes, give me all that sass. You're almost free by the way, just pull a little more~"

I can't help but squeak a giggle when I graze my probing tools up to your ribs and find that spot you've been trying to hide. "Ahh yes, there we go. Every one has that one spot huh? Yeah, that's your spot, right on this ribbie? Yeahh? Oooh look at that face ~ you should see yourself, not so tough now huh? Just poking here? Tickled by a q-tip!" I grin and move in, first stroking my tool along the length of your hyper ticklish rib back and forth. "Tickle, tickle. Now we'll get some answers out of you sass boy~"

My lips graze along your tickle rib, brushing and leaving tingly purpley streaks. I muah muah muah all over it, making tiny nibbles and kisses and raspberries while my fingers trace at the edges tauntingly. "Tickle tickle tickle tickleeeee~! You can't resist the tickles! You can't not laugh!" I taunt and chuckle, wiggling my nails along your ribbie and occasionally skittering along your bouncing giggly belly. "Awww tickle boy, does it tickle so much? Yeah? Well stop being ticklish then~! Stop being so cute!" I relentlessly attack your midsection, steading with one hand so I can nibble and raspberry around while keeping a thumb rubbing at your side nonstop~

Once I have you sufficiently worn down, it's more taps and I smile wickedly as I take a shiny whartenberg wheel over your pinkened belly. "Let's here it now, spill it all out tickle boy~" I interrogate and wheel the spikes ever so lightly in long strides, starting at one side going over around your navel, then up to that death rib~ "don't lie again ~ I'll pump you of every answer, I promise, and you'll be calling me mommy when we're done." I watch your reactions carefully, taking in your gasps and giggles and sounds ~

"Ahhh. Ooh, such a naughty thing. That sounded almost believable~" Tap tap tap on the flower and now I'm holding a purple magic wand. "Guess we're gonna do the deep pumping. Ooh yes, gonna milk every giggle from you until all we have left is the truth~" I snicker and gather up your princely part, holding it steady and putting the wand under the head. "Let's start on low, shall we?" I turn up the buzzing and hold you there, letting the tickle vibrations seep in. "Everyone tries to fight it." I gradually raise the vibration speeds and delight in your growing reactions. "But no one ever wins against the wand~"

Once I have good and worked up, I reach over and start tickling your rib with rapid strokes. The wand stays steady under your royal part, moving slowly up and down to edge you along. "Mmmhmm. Oh no, we're not talking yet, sass butt. You don't get that chance again until you're melted and gibbering. We'll try again when you're good and helplessly overloaded~until then, tickle tickle tickle tickle!" I hold the wand steady, my fingers never leaving your death spot, and my form grazes on yours occasionally just to tease a little further with material sensations.

Whether you give up your secrets or not, there's no doubt you will be tickled to absolute babbling ticklegasmed exhaustion once you've entered my domain ~<3

[im-captain-basch]

What would be your voice fancasts for your version of Donkey Kong/Donkey Kong Country franchise?

Fun fact: the reason I never answered your DM to me with this question is mostly because I was trying to figure out who would be best for who, but also because I was trying to decide if I should make this a public thing or not, so thanks for helping make that choice. XD

I know this says fancasts for my version, but I went more of a "general voice headcanon" route for most of these. Some also have the actual fancasts, or at the very least the people I wouldn't be upset about having be the VAs even if the voice winds up different from what I hear in my head.

I could really only figure out the Kongs, so uh... Ye. Also, all the underlined names are linked to pages to see more of the stuff they've done!

DK: Mark Fischbach. Zero rhyme or reason, other than I spent a full year drawing practically nothing except DKC characters set to GMOD moments, mostly Markiplier's, so now it's all I hear. However, I would not be mad if Richard Yearwood reprises the role (or even Sterling Jarvis).

Diddy: Ben Schwartz. My Diddy is more teenager-adjacent than most people's probably is (around 14), and I'd be lying if I said my hyperfixation with DuckTales 2017 a couple years back didn't have anything to do with that.

Cranky: This one is surprisingly hard to pin down. Here recently I've been imagining him more with Keith David's voice, but in the past I've also imagined David Tennant, Bernard Cribbins, and Aron Tager (his VA in the cartoon), the latter two of whom have both sadly passed in the last couple of years. I'll also happily take Bill Farmer, tho. For me it all depends on the tone and other factors of the situation presented (eg, an AU, the actual game series, others' interpretations, etc).

Funky: Gotta still be Damon D'Olivera, his VA from the cartoon, but I wouldn't be against Phil LaMarr or Greg Eagles voicing him either.

Candy: I do not hate Joy Tanner's voice for her in the cartoon at all. In fact, like Funky, it's mostly all I can hear for her. If I had to choose someone else to fill the role, it'd probably be Jennifer Hale.

Dixie: I think I had the most trouble with her surprisingly. I didn't necessarily like or hate her voice in the cartoon, but I have to go with Mae Whitman on this one. I was thinking along the lines of how Amity from The Owl House sounds, if you wanna know the thought process.

Wrinkly: Wendie Malick is the only voice I've really actively pictured for my specific version of her. The second I heard the line "Wait---those are MY dumb kids!" in The Owl House, my brain has never let the idea drop. However, if there ever actually is a show version of the DKC series that included her, I would not be against Tress MacNeille being her VA.

Swanky: Will Arnett is just how I hear him by default (I blame DK Vine in part). IDK, similar reasons to Diddy in that it has to do with other fixations of mine colliding into my brain. However, here recently my brain has also been tickled by the idea of James Monroe Iglehart being his voice in a version of the show that actually uses him.

Kiddy: OK, so y'all know how my brain runs. Sadly, sometimes I forget about him. However, I feel like Dee Bradley Baker is a safe bet.

Lanky: Rob Paulsen. IDK, even his normal voice just works.

Tiny: Kristen Schaal, solely because sometimes there's moments of her that cross my mind that make me go "Oh that's Louise Belcher (or Mabel Pines) vibes."

Chunky: Of all the actors, voice or otherwise, I've dug through today to find voices for characters I otherwise couldn't picture... I'ma have to give Chunk the monk Richard Horvitz. It also helps that this is literally one of those VAs I grew up hearing, so I can imagine the role working well, although other VAs mentioned throughout this list could potentially also work well.

Originally the Kongs from the actual DKC series proper is all I was gonna do for now, because it's late and brain hurty, but y'all know me a little better than that. I've got at least two bonus people for y'all.

K. Rool: Similar to a couple of characters above, I'd love it if Benedict Campbell could reprise the role, as he's literally the only voice I've been able to hear for him for years. However, that being said, there are a few others I will accept in his place, being Mark Hamill; Keith David (mentioned above); Clancy Brown; and Alex Hirsch.

DK Jr.: You said it was a fancast for my version, so while I know some people think Junior and our DK are the same person, in this instance I don't. I've racked my brain for a while trying to figure out who I best hear as his voice, and I had songs from a certain Disney animated show playing on loop last night and anyway, long story short, Jeremy Jordan is the headcanon voice for my version of him.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

"he's gotta have it"

I had been such a bad boy up to the point of the day before Hanukkah, and I knew Alex had been a naughty boy as well. He had come along like a spider on a drain pipe begging for something to eat, and he got it good and he knew it. At some point, he began to lounge there on my couch with his hands tucked behind his head and let his belly hang out without an iota of shame to be found. He knew he was a prince. He knew he had it well from that point onward.

He let his eyes wander unto me from there like a crowned prince awaiting his bunch of grapes and then some. There was a part of me that wanted to make it more than grapes, so much more than grapes. The thought of a vine instead, the way one would curl itself around a lanky little metal pole, a lanky little guy like him. He may have put on a few but he was still a slender boy in my eyes.

I was a bad boy. The whole thing with me and him left me feeling like such a bad boy. I was giving him everything he could ever ask for in terms of all the food he could ever ask for. Giving him everything to eat and I had not a single care in the world about it all.

I was a bad boy and there had to be a way to bump it up a notch or two. He was starting to go over his borders with the passing of Thanksgiving, and I knew he was only going to go further overboard with Christmas and Hanukkah upon us. I still had yet to make him the sufganiyot as well.

There was that one evening prior to Thanksgiving when he and I had gotten down to the floor together and I was twisting his dick like I was trying to twist off the cap of a pickle jar. I was never going to forget the way that he parted his lips and arched his neck and back when I did it. I had no clue as to where the idea came from with me, but I had opened something up with him with that.

He liked being under me, and it was just one of those things that I saw right before my eyes: the panting, the gentle little moans that emerged from him, the way that he guided my hand down to the space between his legs, everything. He liked being encapsulated and trapped under the grasp of my hand, as chunky as it was, and I kept on seeing him all swaddled up with something long and elegant and lanky, like a grapevine.

I had invited him over for dinner about a week before Hanukkah and he seemed utterly ravenous the very second he strode into my apartment. He had that look to his eyes, as if he hadn’t had anything to eat in quite some time up to that point. The way that his long hair seemed to spread down over his shoulders like that of a mane. He looked like a little lion man standing there in my kitchen with one arm behind his back and his other hand pressed to his hip.

I had always loved the way how his hips looked, in particular the way that they began curving out more with his weight and the way that I would get lost in the way that he looked below the belt, too. If anything, I found myself more and more drawn to his legs the more that time went on.

But then again, there was his little belly and the way that his shirt had grown a bit more snug on him, especially now following Thanksgiving. I had this inclination to wrap something snug around him there, something that of a grapevine and then I could go from there with something flat like plastic wrap. Just wrap him up tight like a little piece of kreplach and have fun with him from there.

I had began to try my hand at kreplach all for him, simply because he had mentioned it over Thanksgiving and I looked into making it for him at some point, at least before Hanukkah. There was so much Jewish food that I wanted to make for him, more so after he had talked about how it was so warming for him and how it always filled every inch of his belly, too: the sufganiyot especially was on my list for him. But I had to give him what I knew about kreplach.

Alex followed me into the kitchen like a hungry house cat, and he hung there by the counter so as to watch me. He propped up his chin up on his palm like a schoolgirl waiting to hear gossip about the latest thing, but his eyes were fixed on me and the pan on the stove.

“Forgot to tell you, Chuck's in the hospital,” he told me in a single breath. “Something going on with his heart.”

“Oh my god!” I gasped, and I brought my hands up to my mouth. “Is he okay?”

“We can hope that he is,” he confessed to me with a shrug of his shoulders. “I talked to his girlfriend and she said that he wasn't feeling well, that it had something to do with some weird feeling in his chest so she drove him to the hospital.”

“When was this?”

“Just this morning. Last I heard from her was he's okay. He just needed to be taken to a room and they were running some tests.”

“It's probably just stress,” I said as I poured in the ground beef into the skillet, to which it made a low sizzling noise on the oil. I gave it some salt and pepper, followed by a good clockwise stir. He never moved from his spot on the counter as I opened the fridge and took out the pastry wrappers made the day before.

Just a few minutes with the meat, at least until it was slightly browned, and then it was going into the wrappers, followed by the skillet for a few minutes. It was always so meditative with me.

Indeed, once the meat was ready, and I began spooning it into the wrappers, he leaned into me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the edge of the counter pressing against his soft belly. There had to be some kind of rope or something lying around my place, or I could possibly go next door and see if Lou had any himself.

I had whipped up about fourteen of those bad boys before I heated up the oil again and placed them into the skillet for a good frying.

“You really sure you wanna fry those?” he asked me in a low voice.

“Yeah. It's almost Hanukkah, so I figured why not.” And he showed me a little lopsided smile at that.

“When I was a kid, my grandmother would always make them like spring rolls for Purim. She would make them with apples, too.”

“With apples, really?” I couldn't resist the smile at that.

“Oh, yeah. I always loved the sweet dumplings in particular, especially when they came out of the oven. The potato ones at Rosh Hashanah, too. I remember those always came with a side of soup.”

“Maybe after I tickle your appetite a little bit, I'll bust out a pot and make us some chowder,” I suggested to him with a wink.

The dumplings cooked in the skillet for a few minutes on one side, and then when I turned them over, he cleared his throat and shifted his weight again as if he wanted to tell me something else.

“You know what I've been wanting us to do?” he asked right then.

“What's that?”

“I want you to tie me up and feed me,” he said with a straight face, to which I raised my eyebrows at that.

“Tie you up and feed you?” I asked him, slightly taken aback. He then pursed his lips and shook his head.

“I know, that was... that was stupid,” he quipped.

“No, that was... where did that come from?” I asked him as I turned the last kreplach over and put a lid on top of that.

“I'm not sure. But it's something that I thought about a while back and I've been so reluctant to bring it up to you, too. I kept on thinking, 'god, this is so stupid, there's no way Eric is going to want to do that even if I asked him nicely and I was practically on my knees and begging for it. If it was already kind of an event to get us both in the mood for feeding each other, I just wonder how long this would possibly take.' Add to this, I've just been finding the right courageous moment to say it.”

“And courageous you are,” I assured him as I wiped my hands on a dish towel. “You know, it's funny, I've actually been thinking about adding rope to our whole thing here. Thing is I don't know if I have any.”

“Doesn't hurt to look, does it not?” he suggested in a near whisper and with a slight bow to his head. Maybe it really was something heavy for him.

I then rubbed my hands together and turned down the heat.

“Keep an eye on these, I'll be right back,” I told him.

“How long do they take?”

“About two more minutes. I'll just be real quick—” Before he could get another word in, I bowed out of the kitchen and to the hallway linen closet. Something told me that Lou had a spool of rope that I could play with for a bit, but then I took a look down to the bottom shelf, right below the soaps and boxes and things there, and I recognized those smooth fine white strands that made up some good rope. Really good rope and the kind that I only dreamed about as well.

I picked it up and slung it over my shoulder, and I returned to the kitchen and right as the kreplach was ready.

Alex stood up and held before the edge of the counter with his hands pressed onto the tiles as if he was expecting something. I looked on at the soft way that his belly curved out from over his belt, and it was right then I had an idea.

With the rope over my shoulder, I plated us seven kreplach each, and I knew he was going to want a bowl of soup. But for the time being, I had to work with those meaty little dumplings the size of apricots.

It was as if he read my mind, and he held before the kitchen counter with his hands planted on the edge of the tiles.

“I want you to do it while we're standing up,” he quipped as I handed him a fork.

“You want me to tie up while we're standing? Can we at least do it in the living room?”

“Of course! I know how much of a hearth the oven is and how tricky it is to be around hot oil, too.” He flashed me a wink as he picked up his plate and led me back into the living room. I hoped that we could help ourselves to the kreplach all the while because there was no way I was going to let it grow cold with whatever it was we were about to carry out right then.

“I'm thinking...” he began as he set the plate down on the coffee table and reached down for the hem of his shirt and peeled it off. He stood before me with his bare chest out in the open and his little belly hanging out like the belly of a puppy: he had those little sprigs of dark hair all over his chest and I thought about running my fingers through it once we were done with all of this. He picked up the fork again and scooped up one of those little dumplings.

I watched him eat it before I indulged in my own. I never realized just how filling these were once I had a couple myself, and I knew it was because of the oil. But he ate all seven of those, one right after the other and at a slow, deliberate pace to boot as well, and once he was done with them, he set down his plate and rested a hand on his belly.

“Those were perfect,” he confessed to me.

“You're going to want soup, aren't you?” I suggested to him as I picked up my sixth dumpling.

“Oh, you know it,” he said in a low voice. I then ate up my seventh dumpling and set the plate down on the table next to his so I could handle the rope. He put his hands behind his back and let his little belly hang out in the open: I definitely wanted him to be full of soup as well.

“So what were you thinking?” I started as I stood behind him with the rope in hand.

“Thinking I'll just hold still right here and you can feel your way with me with this thing,” he quipped. It was a smooth rope, and thus, I knew that he was going to like this. I decided to begin with his hands first, and then I was going to let the rope do its thing all around the rest of his body.

“So… you just hold still like this?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Just—like this. At least at first, anyway.”

“This is going to be somewhat of an art of sorts,” I said as I thought about the Japanese way of going about with bondage. Once his hands were linked up, I moved the ends of the rope around his body. I held the ends up close to his bare chest, and with a quick peek over his shoulder, I could see myself make something of an elongated knot.

“Ow,” he blurted out.

“Sorry—here, let me get your hair.” I nudged his hair out of the way of his chest to make it easier on both of us. I then rounded his body so could make the knot better: it was this long braid of a knot that reached the top of his belly, to which I moved the ends of the rope behind his ass again. There was a part of me that wanted to give him a good squeeze there as I wound the rope around his hips and thighs. I reached the ends of the rope, and I left a knot right in between his knees. Once I had finished, he sank down to his knees as if he was about to blow me without a second thought.

“Wait right here,” I told him, and I ducked back into the kitchen to quickly whip up a pot of soup. I was eager to see him all full of this chicken soup, even if I had no eggs or matzo meal so as to make the matzo balls, but I knew that he was going to like it one way or the other. And I knew I was going to have to get eggs and matzo meal for Hanukkah dinner as well.

I served him a big bowl of it, and right as I had given it a quick shake of some salt and pepper, I noticed that he had somehow climbed back up onto the couch, still bound and tied down with that fine silk rope.

“Want me to suck in my belly?” he offered as I showed him the soup.

“Please do,” I commended. Alex slouched down a bit so the long knot was brushed against the top of his belly: I squatted before him and spoon fed him some soup. I fed him slowly as well, just so his belly would expand at a slow pace. At one point, I set down the spoon just to nudge the rope down a bit more to better accentuate his belly as he finished the bowl. I fed him the entire bowl of chicken soup, right on top of those hearty kreplach, and at that point, I could tell he was quite full.

He sat upright with a delirious look on his face and a slight look of strain: he was pushing up against that smooth rope, and I knew he was ready. I set down the bowl on the table next to me, and I guided him down to the floor.

“Down on your knees… just like that.”

He was bound and hog-tied with no way out, which meant he was ready for his dessert. I undid my pants right before his face and I showed myself to him. He licked his lips as he gazed up at me, those eyes dark and serious. He had to have it first, however.

Never taking his gaze off of mine, he opened his mouth and put his lips around the head. I held still as he moved in closer to my body. The boy knew how to deep throat as if it was a bodily function.

He slithered his tongue around my shaft, especially as he moved back and suckled on me as if it was going out of style. It tickled me so much. It got me moving so much that I could hardly hold still. There was a part of me that wanted to have chicken soup as well, just so he could see what I was seeing from there, but I was loving this too much.

He knew how to do it. He liked it as much as me.

I could feel myself already beginning to come inside of his mouth, and I hoped that I would as well.

“Good boy,” I whispered right into his ear. I then reached down for a gentle stroke of his hair, but then he went in deep again, that time towards my nuts and the base of my shaft.

“Good boy!” I grunted out as I could feel myself rising. I was going to come right in his mouth, and I did. He coughed with his lips still around me, but then he let go of me so he could breathe. I let the little white pearls dribble out onto the carpet, but it was nothing I couldn't mop up afterwards. He coughed and breathed harder, and more so as he landed down onto his knees. He then gazed back up at me with his hair still mostly tousled over his left shoulder.

“A little bit of sugar before it goes on the donuts,” he sputtered out, and then he showed me that lopsided playful little grin

“You wanna do me next?” I offered him.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he teased me. I was about to untie him when I realized that he had come in his pants. It was going to be tricky to get him to come next, but I knew in my heart of hearts it was going to be worth it.

Once he was undone, he shook his hands about and showed me his tongue. I watched him go into the kitchen to fetch me some soup as well, and all the while, I stripped off my pants all the way.

My heart skipped a few beats once he returned with it in hand and the look of determination in his eyes.

He did similar to what I did, except he bound my hands before my crotch and wrapped the rope all around my body: I could feel him binding me in the back and down over the seat of my bare ass and in between my legs.

“You ready for this?” he offered me as he spooned me some of the soup.

“I was born ready,” I confessed to him as I opened my mouth for him. We locked eyes, and we kept our eyes locked all the way down to the bottom of the bowl. The rope pressed against my own belly as he coaxed me down to my knees on the floor.

He unzipped and I could see he was already hard as a rock.

But I put my lips around him regardless, however. I moved in gradually on his shaft: I wasn't an expert on going in deep but I could at the very least try it.

I moved in close to his body right as the tip hit the pad of my tongue. It was tricky to keep it together, but when we locked eyes again, I did it. His lips then fell open and he treated me to a low moan.

I could feel him on the pad of my tongue. I swallowed and let go.

He ran his fingers through his black curls and let out a low whistle. He then showed me his tongue and chuckled.

“That was good, wasn't it?” I asked him.

“Phew, you have no idea,” he confessed to me. “When he gets released, we should bring up some things to Chuck.”

“He's got a girlfriend, though,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but... have you seen him, though?” he asked me.

“Seen him how?”

He never said anything, but he did show me that smirk again. And then it hit me.

“Oh, really?” I couldn't resist smiling, either, to which he nodded his head.

“Yeah. For real.”

“Wow. Well, can I get out of this rope before we do anything else first?”

“Of course!”

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 15*

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You finally meet Leah!! Also, IT'S CLOBBERIN' TIME. (picture some fireworks, maybe some sick guitar riff blaring, party streamers, maybe some confetti...)

Author’s Note: Word count go BRRRRRRRRRR. (almost 7k!!!)

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

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I finally finished the farm’s “blueprints,” after several weeks of trying and failing to get ‘em done.  Didn’t get to try growing those parsnips — definitely will next spring — but I can at least get some corn or something to experiment with. Probably gonna be a lot of trial and error, with the severe lack of farming experience that I have. I just have to clear a few more trees before I feel confident that debris won’t fall onto and ruin the crops.

It’s still early in the day, and I really don’t want to get back to chopping yet. I could just hire Robin to give me a hand with that, no? I’m sure if I let her keep the wood, she’d help. Maybe. 

Either way, I’m gonna procrastinate by going exploring today.

I’ve only ever been up to the mountains and into the main parts of town, so I have no idea what the woods past Marnie’s ranch are like other than the path that led us all to the Flower Dance.

After gearing up accordingly, I trek south, ready for adventure... or something. I doubt it’ll be that eventful, but let me dream, damnit!

Once I pass Marnie’s farm, I notice another home hidden between some trees and bushes. It’s a cute, small cabin, just like the ones you see in fairy tales. There’s a small vegetable garden next to it, and a basket of berries sitting near the river just ahead, alongside a sketchpad and a blanket. Those look like the type of fruits that can be found around the town — whoever lives there must’ve foraged them themself. I’m super curious about its resident(s), but don’t wanna be a creep by waiting around until they come back.

I weave my way through the trees to the right of the river, and spot a tower atop the hill. Despite its immense height, it’s well hidden by the foliage of the area. 

It’s got medieval vibes, and it’s kinda creepy, but in the best way. It’s made of mossy stone, covered in vines and cracks that indicate old age, and there are some tiny white flowers growing through the crevices. I’m too much of a baby to go investigate that alone, at least for now… but something feels familiar about it. I have to quite literally urge my body in the opposite direction, to avoid making a beeline into possible danger.

Walking further south, I find out that this whole area is placed on the edge of the cliff. Below it is a long-unused beach, unfortunately covered in littered garbage. I wonder if it connects to the community beach… kinda hard to tell from up here. Maybe I’ll clean it up a bit if I can figure out how to get down there. I plop myself at the edge of the land, opting to take a small water break and bask in the scenery. 

God it is so fucking hot outside.

I peer around, and the only other noticeable features near me are an abandoned yellow house, and a real chunky tanuki, minding his own business by the entrance to the sewers. Fucking hell, I’ve never seen one of those around here. 

We lock eyes, and although I should be scared, I give the big guy a smile. Animals are friends. If I die being mauled by a tanuki, I guess that’s ok. There are worse ways to go, right?  

Fortunately, he doesn’t approach me. He simply goes back to munching on whatever he’s holding. I squint to get a better look — Is that… a whole platter of pepper poppers? I understand that it coulda been rummaged from a garbage, but like, how did he find a plate?

He’s looking off to the Gem Sea, content as ever, so I mirror his actions, my gaze eventually trailing up to the clouds. Nothing dark, which is a change of pace from the weather lately, but it’s no clear skies either.

I didn’t take my phone with me, in an attempt to ~be one with nature~ or whatever, but I forgot how bored I get with my own thoughts. At least when I wasn’t on meds for my mental health, I'd had something going on in this thick skull of mine. Usually sad, because obviously, but still. Blah blah blah, rather feel pain than not feel anything, etcetera.

As if Yoba themself heard my subconscious complaints, I hear a small “hello?” coming from behind me. When I turn around, I see no other than the friggin’ goddess Leah herself. She’s so fucking pretty. Her cropped tee fits her just right, and her overalls and boots just look so natural on her… like she belongs in some cute farmwear of sorts. 

Oh my god, please stay cool, (y/n).

I shake my head a bit once I realized I zoned out on her — the faint blush, lopsided smile, and furrowed brows being an indicator that she caught me simping — before shyly waving back to her.

“Leah, right?”

“Mhm,” she proudly hums. “It’s about time we had a chance to properly meet!” 

Her voice is like honey: thick and smooth and soothing, yet with a light rasp, as though her words are being crystallized by her vocal chords.

“I’ve been meaning to say hi, but never really had the chance,” I admit, sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck. 

Once she’s closer, I pat the ground next to me with a subtle eyebrow wiggle, hoping my invitation to hang around is clear. She grins and obliges, placing the basket of herbs she was holding on the dirt beside her.

“No worries. I’m sure taking over that old farm has been pretty hectic for you.”

“Tell me about it,” I groan. “I’ve been working so hard, yet I’ve barely scratched the surface of what needs to be done.”

“God, I feel that.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

“I’m an artist,” Leah responds. She almost looks embarrassed to say it. “Not a successful one, but I’m scraping by.”

“That’s sick, though! I’d love to see your stuff.”

“It has its perks, but ‘starving artists’ are the stereotype for a reason,” she says, shrugging. After a beat she goes, “Y-you wanna come take a look at some of my work? My house isn’t far. I’m sure you passed it on the way down here.”

“Hell yeah, let’s do it!” I think to myself how obvious it is now that the super aesthetic cottage I’d passed is hers. It’s so fitting for her. While getting up, I spot the tanuki from the corner of my eye. “Do you know what’s up with that fella over there?”

“Oh, he is great.” Her eyes sparkle as she continues, “I came across him while foraging last spring, when I first got here. He was still small, so I practically raised him from then on, with Marnie’s help of course. You probably know how she gets with animals.”

I nod when she looks to me for confirmation. I’ve been hearing a faint sound of something tumbling along the ground since we started walking, and I just noticed now that it was a stone Leah’s been kicking along.

“He’s a friendly lad,” Leah beams, “I named him Tony! Tony the Trash Bear.”

I laugh at the name, “I get the trash bear part, but why Tony?”

She shrugs. “I just think he looks like a Tony. Doesn’t he look like a Tony?”

Eyeballing him, I see exactly what she means. “Totally looks like a Tony.” 

“Thank you!” She rolls her eyes, “My friend Elliot thought he looked more like a Remington.”

“That’s so… proper.”

“Too proper.”

“Far too proper... But, a good middle name, maybe?”

Leah beams. “Oh my god, you’re so right!”

She surely seems strong and confident, but has a clear softer and more nerdy – maybe even nervous? – side that’s absolutely adorable to discover. I wonder if she’s just like this with strangers. Maybe some more self-assurance comes once she gets to know a person. Or, maybe she’s just great at presenting herself to be a fearless, rustic queen. Maybe I’ll find out the truth someday…

For fuck’s sake. I sound like an alien trying to discover how humans work for the first time. 

Getting to Leah’s house from our spot took less time than I’d expected, being that she guided me through a bit of a shortcut I hadn’t noticed earlier: A bunch of wooden platforms strung across the small islands within the river, supposedly put there by Robin. When we arrive at the destination, Leah scoops up the berries, book and blanket in her front yard, bringing them indoors with us.

Upon stepping inside her abode, I’m wafted with the scent of freshly cut timber, and what smells like a soup. God, I’m hungry. 

There’s crumpled papers and splatters of various colored paints littering the wooden floorboards, and her walls are lined with both finished and unfinished paintings. Off-centered to the west side of the room is a wooden figure of sorts that stands about as tall as Leah is. The whole place is exactly how you’d expect an artist in the middle of a forest’s cottage to look.

“Sorry about the mess,” she apologizes, “It’s hard to keep a studio tidy when it’s this small.”

“Don’t worry about it! It’s cozy in here.”

I want to ask what she’s cooking, but don’t want to intrude too much — luckily, she heads to the right, waving me to follow along into the small kitchen. Leah turns on the sink to rinse dirt off the herbs she had with her, opens a slow cooker, and begins plucking, ripping and crumbling some leaves into the mixture below her. 

“My mom mailed me her old Crock Pot the other day, and it is so rad. Have you ever used one of these things?”

I nod eagerly. “I miss having mine so much. I sold it before coming here so I’d have less transport, but when I was in Zuzu, I’d leave it running while I was at work almost every day.”

“It’s so good for that sort of thing!” she replies. Such a mundane adult topic, being hyped over kitchen appliances… but she’s gleaming with an infectious, childlike excitement. “I didn’t realize you were from the city too. I moved here from there about…” she thinks for a short moment, before it dawns on her, “A year ago this month, actually!”

“Oh, seriously? Which area?”

She grinds some black pepper in as she answers, “My ex and I rented a place together Uptown. It was a bit too bustling for me, but she was covering most of our rent, so I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, I totally get you. My office was there, it felt like a fucking war zone coming and going.” I roll my eyes as she knowingly chuckles. 

We continue to reminisce on our crappy times in the city as Leah adds some new spices to her food and gets started on cleanup. She didn’t always live in the city, having moved there from East Scarp in her late teens for art school. Missed the countryside the whole time she was gone, which makes total sense. I could never see her as a city gal.

Leah grabs a clean spoon from a nearby drawer and dips it into her concoction, giving it a taste. She moans at the flavor, naturally bringing a blush to my face. She still hasn’t looked up, and is dipping her spoon back down for more, so I don’t think she’ll notice it — that is, until I’m met with the spoon coming towards me, and an excited “You absolutely have to try this! Are you allergic to anything?”

I’ve gotten better with people since moving to the valley, but my timid habits still creep through sometimes. The idea of some really cool and pretty lady who I barely know, reaching out to try and feed me, is bringing out those old jitters.

I shyly shake my head “no” and take the spoon from her, hoping she doesn’t mind that I rejected her more… direct approach. Holy moly this stuff is good. I don’t even notice the heat on my cheeks anymore as I melt away alongside the spices, veggies, and legumes in my mouth, accidentally mirroring Leah’s earlier reaction. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she winks, taking back the utensil. I slowly, firmly nod my response.

If she saw me blush, she does me a favor by not commenting on it. I notice some red on her cheeks too, but chalk it up to the heat from standing over the hot stew.

“I’ve been trying to perfect this recipe all week, I think I’ve finally got it down.” I nod in agreement, she lowers the device to a lighter simmer, and she directs me into the other room. 

“C’mon, I’ll show ya some of what ya came here for.” Leah carries herself towards the wooden sculpture, giving it a hearty pat when she arrives. “Honestly, I’m in kind of a rut. This is all I’m doing at the moment… It’s not much, but it’s getting there.” 

Closing the gap between myself and the sculpture, I reach up a hand and look towards Leah, seeking permission to touch the art. After a sparkly-eyed look of appreciation and nod from her, I run my fingers along the grain, amazed at how smoothly she’s carved each bend in the piece. 

The wood’s been stripped in most spots, leaving its age visible to all. The divots and rings within the lumber tell a story as old as time, one that no human can quite understand. I can’t really understand the form she’s carved out either — it’s a bit abstract — but I’m sure there’s more meaning to it than what meets the eye. 

“It’s beautiful,” I mutter. Smiling in her direction, I’m met with her gaze, paired by a gigantic grin plastered across her face.

“I’m glad you think so,” she admits, “I was starting to lose hope on this damn thing. My ex was never too supportive of my art, and nobody out here really gets it either, so it’s nice to— shit I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m rambling.” She laughs, but refuses to meet my eyes.

“You could, like, hold an art show or something,” I suggest. “I’m sure the locals would be more supportive if they could see more of your stuff.”

Leah looks at her sculpture, seemingly in thought. “That might not be a bad idea…”

With a little more encouragement, Leah decides to go and talk to Lewis about the concept right away — “Before I chicken out,” she declared. First, she packs up a small tupperware of her stew, and insists I take it.

_________________

I shamelessly whip out a spoon from my kitchen and dig into Leah’s cooking as soon as I enter my farmhouse. I grab my phone off its charger and take a seat on the bed, right next to Cannoli, who’s sound asleep. I’d planned on scrolling through social media for a bit, still not really being in the mood to be productive.

Fortunately, it seems I’ll be having more exciting plans, as long as I’m not too late!

Sebastian > yo

Sebastian > Victor’s on his way to visit, and we were planning on playing some Solarian Chronicles but Sam isn’t around to be our 3rd

Sebastian > you in?

He sent that over an hour ago. I wouldn’t blame him for not waiting up.

< sorry, just saw that

< what time? 

Sebastian > be here at 3ish?

< okヽ(´▽｀)/

I have this binder full of OC’s that I’ve designed over the years. Started it when I was, like, 12, and I’ve kept it going ever since. I dig it out of the box it was in, underneath my bed — it’s just filled with miscellaneous shit that I couldn’t really store anywhere else — hoping I have some for Solarian that aren’t too embarrassing. 

I flip through, and pick out one character sheet for each class, just in case. I usually like being a healer, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.

I opt to head out with more than enough time to spare, making up for that by taking the long way to Seb’s house. If I go into town and up past the community center, I’ll have some new scenery to look at instead of the usual forest around me. 

When I get to Seb’s, Robin isn’t around, but Maru makes eye contact with me from her lab. She’s a nice girl, but way too smart for easy conversation. I give a quick wave in response to her’s, and escape right down to the basement.

It sounds quiet… too quiet. Maybe that Victor guy isn’t here yet.

I knock, ya know, as one does. 

And almost immediately, Seb opens the door and quite literally pulls me inside, prompting a squeak. 

After quickly shoving the door shut behind us, he nudges me back against it and hungrily chases after my lips. This is super unexpected, but I happily go along with it. I’d very obviously be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the hell out of this.

The only noises in the room are our heavy, uneven breathing, and the sound of our lips smacking together. When his tongue swirls around mine, I feel like I could fucking faint. Yoba, I’m already worked up. I take his face in my palms and push back a little, desperately needing oxygen.

“Hi,” I laugh.

“Hey,” he lilts, sounding completely unaffected. That bastard.

We stand there for a sec, our eyes roaming the other’s face as we both catch our breath. I giggle, he smirks, and I throw my belongings onto the couch, not wanting to lose sight of the view. I reach my face back up to his to close the gap once more — the only acceptable time to not be looking at the beautiful man in front of me. 

His hands roam down to the outsides of my lower thighs, and he cups and squeezes around them, hinting for me to jump. I oblige, and wrap his legs around his torso while he repositions into a better grip, pressing my back against the door with his whole body. 

“Vic’s train doesn’t get here ‘til like 4,” he utters between kisses, “I hope y’don’t mind.”

I smile against him, “Felt greedy for my time, huh?”

“Well,” his lips trail down to my neck. “You’ve been harder to resist with every passing day.” He bites lightly, earning a moan in response. I feel him smile against my skin, before kissing it better and lifting his head to meet my eyes. “So if you don’t mind, (y/n),” he kisses the corner of my mouth before pulling back again. “I want to feel, and kiss, and taste every single inch of you while we finally have the time.” 

Shit, I think to myself, feeling goosebumps coat my body. I just know I either look like I’m in shock, or like I’m about to unravel from his words alone. Maybe both? Fuck, the basement feels hot today.

“Please,” Seb adds. He grins, widely, his beautiful eyes glimmering with innocent hope.

Completely contradictory to the matter at hand.

I chuckle and shake my head, blushing madly, and rub my thumbs across his cheeks. “Such a gentleman.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Impatient, too,” I tease.

He rolls his eyes and dips back down to my lips, kissing me roughly for a few moments. 

“I refuse to take this any further…” He lightly wraps a hand around my neck, lips brushing mine as he speaks. I tighten my thighs around him to help hold myself up. “…until I know that you want this.” 

Seb presses his forehead to my own, his eyes boring into mine as he closes his hand just a bit more. I mewl softly at the sensation, closing my eyes to prevent any further embarrassment from creeping up on me.

“Seb, please.” God, I sound like such a loser.

I lower one of my hands from around his shoulders and clasp the wrist that he's holding to my neck, using it to push more of his weight onto myself. I open my eyes, but they only trail as high as his mouth — the smirk he’s wearing is enough to indicate that I can’t do eye contact right now. No way in hell.

“Please what?” He feigns innocence as he eeever so slightly grinds against me. I shudder out a weak breath.

Then, I groan, frustrated, and struggling to formulate full sentences apparently.  

“Just fuck me already,” I whimper, forcing myself to meet his eyes.

“Naughty little thing,” he smugly stabs before rushing back to my lips. I don’t mourn the lost opportunity of a jab back at him. There are more important things to be doing right now.

Without separating our kiss, his hand moves from the front of my neck to the back of my head as he carries me away from the door. When we get to his bed, he lets us fall together to the mattress, his body still slotted between my legs. 

Seb pins my hands above me to absolutely ravage my neck and collarbone in love bites without interruption. My right mind is telling me to make him stop, so that I don’t have to waste as much makeup covering it up. The adrenaline coursing through me and heat spreading to my lower body are screaming at me to let him keep going though.

I mentally thank myself for wearing a skirt today as he releases my wrists and hikes it up, allowing himself access to my panties. They’re plain — just some black cotton with white stitching along the edges — but at least they’re not ugly. 

Without removing my underwear, Seb slips his fingers under the part of the waistband that’s hugging my hips. I think he’s just testing the waters, until he roughly grips a fistful of my soft flesh in each hand, kneading my sides. I instinctively follow his touch, rutting my hips against him, only stopping when he forcefully holds them down. 

“Nuh-uh,” he sings. 

“You’re no fun,” I rebuttal.

As if out of spite, he scoots back and tugs me towards the edge of the bed. He then moves his dominant hand from my hip and pushes my panties aside. 

“Yeah?” he questions, lightly grazing my clit, and then way too easily sliding a finger inside of me. My eyes roll back at the sensation as I choke down a moan. “Looks to me like you’re having a blast.”

“D-don’t ruin this, nerd,” I pathetically stutter out.

By the time our mouths have met again, he’s already sliding in a second finger. “Fuck,” I breathe out. He’s driving me completely insane. I whisper and curse Seb’s name against his lips, my eyes screwed shut.

“Doesn’t sound like I’m ruining anything.” 

As I lose myself in bliss, he lowers himself down to directly face my core. His breath on my inner thigh is the only indicator that slaps me into reality again.

I look down through dazed eyelids, watching the hand that was holding me down stray to my thigh, and eventually out of view. In the process, Seb continues working his magic, peppering open-mouthed kisses everywhere but where I want him. His fingers are still pumping away in me, although they’re stuttering a bit now. 

The next thing to rush my senses is the sound of Seb’s belt unclasping and his zipper being undone. Feeling flushed with embarrassment, but also like I’m going to melt into a puddle on his sheets if I keep watching, I lay down fully and cover my face with my arm. As if to reel my attention back to him, Seb finally puts his mouth to use. He slowly — so painfully slowly — swipes his tongue from my entrance to my nub, eliciting a guttural whine from my fucking soul that’s only muffled by my arm.

As his tongue dances around me, he satisfactorily hums. The occasional purr as he studies my reactions reverberates through my body, making it harder to maintain a… decent? composure as he works his fingers into my sweet spot. I need him badly, but when I try to tell him that it comes out a jumbled mess.

“I, fuck, I nee—,” I desperately try to plea for what I’m craving as I lean onto my elbows. “Sebash— ahh, fuck!” 

Seb knows exactly what I want, and I can tell by the heated, smug gaze he’s boring into me. Everything about this is so hot. His absurdly beautiful face between my legs is possibly the greatest thing I’ll ever lay my eyes on. A genuine work of art. 

He chuckles against me, and I notice that the other hand still isn’t in sight, but it’s definitely moving. ..

Holy shit, he’s touching himself while touching me, isn’t he? 

That’s so cool!

I try to ground myself by weaving a fist into his hair, originally planning on pulling him away so I could use my words. To tell him how badly I want him to just stuff the cock he’s touching inside of me until I can’t think straight. But, the slight moment of added pressure sends a chill down my spine that I can’t resist, and I press him down harder, trying to make as close contact with Seb’s fingers and mouth as I possibly can. 

Subconsciously grinding my hips onto him, I grip the sheet with my free hand and let my head and eyes roll back while my spine arches, my little death hitting me like a fucking train. I’m not sure what nonsense I’m sputtering, but it’s enough to signal him to finish the job. On the come down, I simply lay limp. Breathing heavily. Having just had the best orgasm of my life, courtesy of the sexiest person I’ve ever met in my life. 

With a cute, swift kiss to the lips he’s been tending to, he comes back up to meet my face, kissing those lips too. God… I’ll never get tired of all the kissing we do, no doubt. But there’s something far more exciting about tasting myself in a kiss from someone who I’m this head over heels for. 

I assume his dick is out, so I trail my dominant hand down from his neck to his covered chest, and finally to his exposed groin. He just barely pulls away from the kiss, his smile ghosting just above my lips.

I still have yet to see him without pants on, so I had no idea how groomed or un-groomed he is down there. Feels smooth, but a little prickly in some spots. Must’ve been a rushed shave, or maybe a day-old one. Or maybe he just needs a new razor. I don’t go for the gold yet, just teasing my fingers around the general area first. 

“Fuck, dude,” he laughs. Sounds breathy. Good.

“What’s up?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he playfully commands. “Tease…”

I look down between us, curiosity getting the best of me. For fucks sake he is huge. Long? Sure, but I already knew that from the picture he sent me. But Yoba, he’s packing width-wise too. 

Without clasping my hand around him just yet, I softly touch around the base, right where it connects to his body. I can’t help but admire him, the whole damn thing is as pretty as he is. That’s definitely a rare find: an attractive dick.

I must’ve gasped audibly, or stared too long, or done something embarrassing, because Seb softly and menacingly sings my name to grab my attention back. Feeling myself blush, I meet his eyes. I wrap my hand around him, fingertips just barely out of reach of one another, holy shit. Is he even going to fit? He inhales sharply through swollen lips.

A stupid thought comes to mind. “Heheh.”

“Hm?” he questions, sucking in his bottom lip. 

“I get why you’re so cocky now.” I’m hilarious.

“Wow, I hated that.” Booooo.

“Oh, you know I’m funny.”

I remove my hand to gather some of the wetness from myself, utilizing it to glide my fist along Seb’s shaft more smoothly. I’m tempted to look down again, wanting to see what my hand looks like wrapped around him, but my eyes don’t dare to leave his face. 

His cheeks have been tickled pink by my touch, his pupils are blown wide, I can feel the unevenness of his breath against my lips. I’m totally bewitched. I find the sensitive vein just below his tip and lightly rub my thumb against it, and Seb hums with pleasure in response. Holy shit he’s so hot.

I nudge his shoulders a bit, prompting him to lay down, which he quickly obliges to. I’m about to lean down to return the favor he gave me a few moments ago, but he pulls me atop him instead. 

The moment I’m straddling him, Seb begins lifting my skirt off of me. I let him, taking my top off just after. His hands wander from my hips-upward, eventually stopping just outside of my boobs.

Before he can get permission to feel — which would be redundant because of fucking course he can, he can touch me in any way he wants at this point — I remove my bra. I don’t have the nads to make eye contact, being more exposed to him than I’ve ever been, but I coax his hands to my breasts, yearning to know what his hands feel like around them.

Seb takes the back of my neck in one hand and pulls me down, forcing me to look him in the eyes as he kneads me. I kiss him hard to overpower my nerves, and because I’m just desperate for more of him. He goes right for my nipples in response, pinching and twirling them between his fingertips. I know some people don’t have much feeling in that region, and I thank Yoba above that I wasn’t cursed in such a way, because this feels so fucking good. 

I grind my clothed core against his cock, teasingly humming, and studying his reaction beneath lazy eyelids. He tilts his head back, whispers a curse, and halts my hips again.

“Take those off,” he orders. 

Without leaving my spot, I follow Seb’s instructions, finagling my underwear out of the way. It’s far less than graceful, but I don’t care. Once I’m fully undressed, I don’t fully lower myself straight away. I tug at the waistband of his pants and boxers instead. He’s exposed, but I want to see all of him.

“You too.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

He — also ungracefully, might I add — kicks off his bottoms, as I help him remove his tee. I trace the barely-there abs on his tummy with my fingers while I hover over him. I wonder if he works out when he’s not coding or whatever. Oo! He doesn’t have any new scars, at least that I can see, which I smile at.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mutters, snapping me out of my trance and sliding his hands up and down my form.

I’m flustered by the sudden attention put on me. Seb practically worshiping my body is making me painfully aware that I, in fact, exist. I don’t really know how to respond, and my innate reaction is to laugh nervously and turn my head to the side. As if that’ll hide me and my bare body adequately. I see Seb tilt his head a little from the corner of my eye.

“I mean it, (y/n),” he whispers, gently pulling my upper body down onto him, our faces just barely separated.

“You,” he removes a hand, and I feel him rub his tip against my cunt. I whimper at the contact, still overly sensitive from before.

“Are so,” he nudges himself just barely inside of me, forcing a deep breath from us both. 

“Perfect,” he shakily growls, as he lowers my hips down onto him. Slow enough that I can adjust to his size, but not too slow.

Mother of Yoba. 

I’m shocked he fit inside in one snug squeeze, but I couldn’t be more satisfied with it. I ride him slowly for the first few pumps, getting myself familiar with what I’m working with here. Then halfway back down, I stop moving, feeling my hips tighten. Fuck, already? I subconsciously grimace as I continue stuttering my way down.

“Everything ok?” Seb asks in a hushed tone. 

“Yeah. Uh, I’m actually not like…” I take a sec to think of the best words for this. “Super… mobile when it comes to this.” I stuff my face in the crook of his neck to hide my shame. I can’t believe a ridiculously sexy guy is inside of me, and I can’t even throw it back for him. Feels like such a wasted opportunity…

Plus, he’s fucking laughing. Yoba kill me now.

“Fuck you,” I mumble into him. 

“Already working on that,” he chuckles. I’m fully lowered now, doing nothing more than cockwarming at this point, but I’m too nervous to move again. “Hey.”

I groan in response. I feel his hands move from my body to my warm cheeks, and he pulls. 

Looking into his eyes as my own are threatening tears, I notice that he seems cool as a cucumber. Doesn’t help my raging insecurities one bit. But then, without any warning other than some slight repositioning of our bodies courtesy of Seb’s hips, he pulls out almost all the way and immediately rams himself up into me, full force.

“Ahh!~” My eyes widen, still staring into his as I moan, loudly. The tears that were forming from prior embarrassment escape my ducts with the new sensation.

Keeping one hand on my cheek, Seb lowers the other down to my butt, propping me up in a comfortable, kneeled squat as he continues thrusting. He keeps it there for support.

“Just lemme take care of you then, ok?” he asks, although it comes out as more of a statement.

I can barely process his words, simply nodding before resting my forehead on his.

“Are you comfortable?”

I nod, a desperate “Fuck, yes” escaping my lips to reassure him. I think that he tries to respond, but it comes out as more of a growl instead. 

Clearly not planning on slowing down unless I say the words myself, Seb continues to fuck into me hard.  My knuckles whiten as I grip the sheets on either side of him for dear life, barely able to fathom how… enlightening of an experience this is. The sound of his hips slapping my ass is embarrassingly loud but Yoba I do not care about that right now. I never knew I could feel so full.

“Fuck, Seb, you’re so big,” I strain out. “S-so fucking good.”

“And you’re taking it so well,” he praises after slipping out a cocky laugh. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, tugging my hair so that I meet his eyes. 

I didn’t even notice that my head had drooped back down to his shoulder at some point. A whimper slips out of me as I listen to his sweet words, struggling to keep my eyes from rolling back shut. A few wordless moments pass before Seb slows to a halt, and taps his knuckles against my ass. 

“Lay on your back.” 

I do as he says, like a good girl. I’m a little upset to have the previous position taken away, as it was pure fucking bliss, but I’m excited for the change of pace. Once I’m in a comfortable spot against the mattress, I urge him down to me, feeling needy for his lips. He indulges. Like a good boy. 

Not seeming to want to break away from the kiss just yet, he grinds his dick along my folds. I reach down, desperate for more, pressing him closer to me to cover more surface. I take further control of the situation, gripping him fully and caressing his tip on my clit.

We moan in unison, but Seb is the one to deliberately break away from my mouth so he could let it all out. Music to my fucking ears. A shit-eating grin plasters me as I giggle with pride, but a hauntingly beautiful glare from my partner shuts me up.

He props my ankles up on his shoulders and slams back inside of me, all in one fluid motion that comes so suddenly. I shout, surprised by the sudden contact to a new angle, and he strongly cups a palm over my mouth. 

Sporting an evil grin, Seb leans down, hovering his face over mine while pounding into me. My unnatural flexibility might be the direct cause of why my joints are so rickety at the ripe ol’ age of 26, but god it comes in handy sometimes. I’m basically folded in half.

“What’s so funny, darling?” 

I shake my head as if to wordlessly answer “nothing, oh my god, just keep doing exactly what you’re doing.” I roll my eyes back with a stifled mewl, intoxicated by the 180-switch from soft dom to completely taking control of me.

“Thought so,” he lilts. 

Seeming to take note of my reactions, Seb strengthens his grip in the hand on my hip, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks for sure. I laugh again under his hand, this time with hysterical pleasure. And oh my god, he loves this. He’s cracked the code. He knows damn well that his dominance over me is something I welcome, and the pride he feels as he succeeds to indulge me is written across his features. 

As he straightens back up, he removes his palm, only to replace it with a forefinger curled under my chin and his thumb against my lips. Gazing up at him with clouded vision, I open my mouth and he slips the finger in, allowing me to suck and moan around it. He looks absolutely thrilled.

“Oh, that’s so hot, holy shit.” He’s keeping his composure well, but I can see in his brows that this is breaking him. 

My next orgasm is rapidly approaching, and if his stiffening cock inside of me says anything, so is his. “M’gonna cum,” I gasp around his finger. He moves it out of the way, cupping my cheek sweetly instead as I beg him not to stop. 

Seb chuckles at my desperate pleas, but I don’t even care. Too blissed out. He opts to comfort me while I tighten around him, “I’m not stopping baby, I’ve got you.” 

My back arches as I accidentally claw at his torso, gripping onto anything I can. Feeling like I’ll float away if I don’t. I can tell by the soreness in my throat that I’m being loud, but all my ears can hone in on is the soft, satisfied “Mmmmfuck, that’s my fucking girl” that Seb murmurs to me. As if his reassurance is my green light, I absolutely crumble beneath him.

“S-shit, get on your knees?” he grunts just after I finish.

A sighed “mhm” is all I can manage. I thought you’d never ask, I think to myself as I promptly kneel onto the dark rug below his bed. His own hand is doing all the work as he grips some of my hair for support, so I simply open wide, push my boobs together with my arms, and try to look pretty. Well, as pretty as I can, being sweaty and out of breath from my own climax.

It must’ve worked, because—

“Fuuucking hell, (y/n),” he moans, his warmth landing mostly on my tongue as he rolls his head back and spews out some more curses. Some of it gets on my cheeks and chest, but that’s fine by me. 

It’s like I’ve been personally baptized by Yoba. And Yoba is Sebastian’s cock.

I swallow once he’s finished, lean forward to kiss his well-worked thighs, and pick myself up. My legs don’t know how to move, so I promptly fling myself back down onto the bed.

“Holy shit,” I mumble, staring at the ceiling while he searches for a rag. He flicks on the light in the attached bathroom, and I hear the water run. Guess he found one. 

God, I could die right now. I’ve never been positively railed like that in my life. I close my eyes and just wait patiently for Seb to come back, hoping I don’t fall asleep. Hoping I can get my shit together by the time Victor gets here. 

“I’m glad I could deliver,” he muses, laying beside me to help me clean up. Leaning into his touch, I just nod. He presses a kiss to my forehead. 

“I’m gonna go out on a whim here, and admit that I never doubted you.” I tell him. “In terms of like… you know. Fucking.” Obviously.

“So supportive.”

“Yeah, whatever, ya wad.” I curl up beside him, and he wraps an arm around me. I let out a deep sigh. “How much time ‘til Victor gets here?”

“Already thinking about other guys?”

“Sebastian I swear to fuck—“

“Not long.” He grins as he's cutting me off. “We should probably start trying to look presentable. I told him we’d pick him up.”

Ugh. I just nod, planting a smooch on his wrist before standing up. I make my first attempt post-fuck to walk. I think I’m managing, until I hear snickering behind me.

“What, Seb?”

“You're looking a little wobbly.”

Knowing he's right, I flip him off, before continuing my endeavor of pretending I didn’t just get fucked out of my mind.

[fuctacles]

Demon!Eddie - the encounter [3/?]

previously on | read on Ao3

Steve was stumbling between the vines on the ground, his surroundings uncharacteristically quiet. Not like the Upside Down was buzzing with life at any point, but right now everything seemed to withdraw, air tense after whatever balance this hellscape might have had shifted into unfamiliar territory, confusing the creatures inhabiting it.

Vecna was… gone. At this point, Steve wouldn’t let himself hope there was a permanent solution for the horrors underneath Hawkins. He would be glad to just fully recover before shit goes down again.

That’s why he wasn’t surprised when an unfamiliar shape caught his eye. And wasn’t it fucked up to be familiar with a place like that?

He reached the place where Dustin and Eddie were fighting off demobats, which was his destination as soon as Vecna went down. He had to see if the little dipshit was okay. Nancy and Robin were trailing not so far behind him, limping from their wounds and supporting each other. He heard them stop as soon as he did, surveying their surroundings.

A humanoid creature surrounded by piles of small carcasses (that Steve assumed were demobats), was hunching over something. It must have sensed his approach because it shifted and Steve’s breath got punched out of him when a familiar figure came into view. 

“Dustin!” he yelled, his grip tightening around his bat, his legs already charging in the direction of the monster at full speed. It straightened up at the sound, proving to be of similar size as a Demogorgon, but to Steve's utter shock, it had actual eyes.

The hollow, black gaze turned towards him and almost made him stop in his tracks. Almost, because Steve knew Henderson needed him right now. 

Or so he thought until a high-pitched voice yelled,

“Stop! Steve!” 

He had a millisecond to slow his momentum before tumbling into the small body that jumped in front of him. He instinctively curled around Dustin and braced himself to take the majority of the impact, when something propped him back up. There was a hand on his back. Twice the regular size and scorching hot.

He swivelled around, dragging Dustin away and behind him, putting space between them and the monster. His head was spinning, his muscles screaming in pain, but he could hear Nancy and Robin running up to them and he would do whatever it took to protect his friends. He reached down for his abandoned bat but a pair of clammy hands held him back. 

“It’s Eddie! It’s Eddie!” Dustin screeched right into his ear, making him wince. 

There was a beat of tense silence as the older teens and the monster eyed each other. Dustin’s fingers painfully dug into Steve’s arm, preventing him from any offensive moves.

“Holy fuck,” Robin said breathlessly behind him, breaking the tension.

The monster, to Steve’s utter horror, raised its hand in a small wave.

“Munson?” Steve breathed out in disbelief, his eyes roaming through recognisable features. The unruly mane of hair, the chunky rings and the leather. The dimpled smile, albeit much sharper and revealing the canines of a predator.

“In the flesh,” the monster bowed dramatically and as if that wasn't proof enough, corrected itself in a familiar rambly way: “well, not exactly, I’ve lost my luscious tan and gained some muscles, but it’s still me.” The voice was deep and rumbly like a distant earthquake, but still recognisable as Eddie’s. 

“How?” asked Nancy, her voice still on edge.

“Why?” added Robin.

“What?” breathed out Steve. Sensing there was no immediate danger, his body sagged heavily against his younger friend, who propped him up with an annoyed huff.

“Long story short, my parents sold my soul in exchange for some drugs,” Eddie waved his clawed hands dismissively. “I’ll take questions after we leave this forgotten realm of hell, how about that?”

Steve nodded numbly, but Nancy behind him piped up.

“Should we let you leave?”

Dustin let out an indignant sound and Steve turned towards her, similarly scandalized.

The girl looked at them like they were the ones who just proposed to leave one of their friends for death in a different dimension. 

“What?! He looks like Vecna!” She pointed towards the Eddie-monster, her other hand clutching the rifle. 

“No he doesn’t,” Dustin bristled at the same time Eddie said:

“Rude, Wheeler.”

Steve didn’t know who to agree with. Eddie clearly looked more like a monster than a human but he still felt like Eddie. His skin was pale and sickly looking, the muscles underneath shaping it unnaturally. He had horns, surrounded by long wiry hair matted with blood and gore. His hands and feet were large and clawed, his canines sharp, his eyes black and his clothes seemed to be morphing with his skin. And was that a tail?

Eddie then rolled his eyes and sighed. His face twisted in concentration and he began to shrink. 

To everyone’s horror, the pale skin crawled away, followed by strings of muscles, retracting back into Eddie’s body. It was accompanied by a wet squelching that made Steve feel the bile rise in his throat. But he’s seen terrible things and he was too stunned to avert his gaze. Eddie shook out his limbs and stretched like he was just stepping out of a car after a long drive. He blinked away the blackness and he was fully himself now. 

“This better?” he asked in his normal voice.

“I still wouldn’t hit that but yeah,” Robin joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Eddie laughed, warm and familiar and the tension finally melted out of Steve’s body. His ass hit the ground as soon as Dustin felt him relax and stepped away. 

“Your tastes, Buckley, are irrelevant.”

Steve’s gaze snapped towards her and they exchanged a panicked look. Nancy and Dustin didn’t seem to notice anything amiss though. Henderson strutted to Eddie’s side and Steve stood up, now with his trusted bat back in hand, and he glanced at Nancy, who still eyed the metalhead with suspicion. 

Robin nudged her arm.

“Let’s go. Eddie’s right, we can grill him later.”

Nancy nodded stiffly and he knew she’s gonna need more convincing. But for him, the sight of grinning Dustin raising his hand for a high five and delving into a heated rant about Dungeons and Dragons was enough to settle his nerves. It felt normal, as far as Hawkins’ standard of normal went. 

They followed Eddie and Dustin towards the gate.

[dawntheduckrb]

I know I said I wasn't posting art but I'm like dying to share something I've done in my traditional art classes, since I've been mainly only drawing unshareable work

I don't really want this in my portfolio since it's copied either, so this ended up being perfect to share on my alt. Fun treat for myself for chilling out on personal work for a whole month now :D

I had to do a master copy study for my figure drawing class (no tracing allowed), and while I might have a few small adjustments to do, I'm gonna consider this one done :D

This isn't exactly right; my strokes are a little more smoothed out and slightly less sketchy. I'm thinking the original was wayyyyy smaller than the paper size I had to work on, because my lines just couldn't match the width of the original. In order to fill out the same amount of space, I had to use a blending stump (except for the shadow; to match the line width, I was able to use an oddly chunky piece of vine charcoal I found on the floor in the art building lol). Regardless, I think I hit the big parts, so I'm happy with turning this in ^-^

[saunne]

10 Self-Love Things

because it's sunny outside, I feel happy and self-love is good sometimes

I love my eyes. Even when dysphoria was hitting me like a truck, my eyes were the part of me I was never able to hate. They have a really clear and piercing green-blue color and when you look up really close, they have a bit of brown-yellow-orange (?) around the pupil. I'm starting to learn a little bit of makeup to highlight them even more.

I love my ability to be introspective. A lot of things are somewhat difficult to grasp for me, especially my emotions and those of others. This capacity for deep introspection and just deconstructing/analyzing myself and the world around is what helped me the most to stay in tune with the people around me growing up. I don't know where I would be if not for that.

I love my legs. I never thought I would be a "leg person" cause I had a lot of problem with that while growing up but, I do love my legs. I like their shape, the curve of my calves, the thickness of my thighs, my knees scarred from falling on them so much as a child, the few scattered moles there. I love that these legs allow me to walk because I like walking more than I like taking public transportation, and how they ache slightly at the end of a long walk in the woods. I love how they look long and graceful when I'm wearing heels but still chunky and androgynous when I'm wearing flats.

I love my fashion style. It was a long way to get where I am now, but it was worth it ! I'm still slowly hauling my whole wardrobe, donating what I don't wear anymore to the queer center's free shop and 95% of what I buy now is from second hand, thrift or clearance stores. I like neutral tones, like beige, cream and brown, associated with either pastel or jewel tones. I like flowy and comfy clothes, culotte pants and light blouses. I like tight but soft sweaters, even more if they have shoulders or back openings.

I love my beard. It's quite funny cause before starting testosterone, I was never that fond of facial hair and all, until I got my very own beard and gain what seemed to be 5 points in charisma. Also, having facial hair is a great help for my whole genderfuckery thing, since it breaks the usual feminine style I have with something more commonly "masculine". I need to get more informations on how to trim it and take care of it correctly however 🤔

I love my writing style. It's something I worked a lot on and I think I deserve to be proud of it. English isn't my native language and writing in English was a real challenge at first, but I'm now at almost 3 years of practice and things are going well ! I'm always happy when I receive comment on my style, like my use of metaphors, the more or less subtle poetic feelings I try to weave through the text or that my pacing is good. It always makes me really happy.

I love my imagination. "Damn your BRAIN" has to be one of my favorite things to hear when I share my brain vomit about characters, situations or general ideas about something. I love making people full of awe with how my brain work and produce things, particularly when it comes to my OCs, since I really love dearly all of my OCs... despite having quite a lot of them.

I love my scars. This is quite recent since I'm talking about my top surgery scars but damn it's so beautiful. I'm literally obsessed with it and I don't count the number of time mom walked on me admiring my torso in the bathroom's mirror. I love how they feel under my fingertips, slightly bumpy and gnarled like vines where where they thickened. I love seeing the change in color, how they were so brightly red and how it's now fading in a soft dust rose and in one year or two, how it will be white and less noticeable but still here, always here. There is something really comforting in the simple gesture of oiling it morning and evening, massaging it tenderly, seeing them and think "this is my chest".

I love my singing voice. Which can be quite surprising cause I can't sing for shit, like, I'm incapable of not sounding false (not for lack of trying). But I like humming little little melodies and songs, humming under my breath along to songs I love even though I only know half the words. I love my singing voice, because it always sounds more emotional than I usually do.

I love my hair. It was a bit hard for me to start losing so much of it when I started testosterone and when I got my burnout but I'm making them grow again and they're now a lot more healthy. I have really thick and heavy hair, and a lot of it. I hope I'll be able to reach my growth goal this year cause after that, I'll dye them again. I want to make an underlight, tho I still don't know if I should try platinum at least once or stay on the either wine red or caramel gradient 🤔.

Won't tag anyone but please, feel free to reblobs with things you love about yourselves ! I love seeing people happy 😊

Since I feel a little vain, here is a pic of said eyes I guess 😂