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cooliestghouliest · 2 years ago

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pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

plot summary: It’s Eddie’s birthday! He said no presents but you said fuck that. He’s getting two.

word count: 4k+

cw: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI; this is smut; porn with plot; Eddie being mean to Gareth; handjobs and blowjobs and Gareth unknowingly being a bystander of both; there’s some cum stuff in here, too.

notes: set in early 1990s. reader and Eddie are both in early/mid 20s. let’s pretend the PlayStation had co-op online gaming so this story makes sense. a part two may be in store. let me know what you think. 😈

Working overtime at The Hideout was not something you necessarily wanted to do, but with Eddie’s birthday coming up, it was something you had to do.

As much as you would have liked them to, bills wouldn’t simply pause just because you wanted to save money to buy Eddie a PlayStation. No, you had to use your math-inept brain to start budgeting, getting some help from Steve, who’d just recently been hired to work at a local accounting firm.

While you were hoping Steve would magically find money hidden somewhere in your finances, you were annoyed but not surprised at his only solution:

“You need to pick up more shifts.”

You and Eddie had moved into an apartment just outside of Hawkins after Eddie had finally graduated, you having helped him through that dreaded English class so you could both walk the stage together. That had been three years ago now. Money was tight, sure, but the two of you never went without the essentials. There was always dinner to be had, clothes to be worn, cable to be watched.

Between you bartending and trying to get a degree part-time, and Eddie dealing and working at the auto shop part-time, you both managed to make just enough to stay afloat.

Sometimes Eddie would score a few hundred playing a gig with Corroded Coffin, and he’d use that to wine and dine you like the fancy little lady you were. His words, not yours. You knew Eddie liked to spoil you. You knew he hated he couldn’t do it more.

Many stoned late night conversations had been had between the two of you where he fantasized aloud about taking you country to country once the band made it big, fucking you in soft, plush, expensive hotel beds, and spoon feeding you gelato while watching the sunset on a balcony, your bodies wrapped in silk, name-embroidered robes.

Eddie was a total lush at heart. The most broke rich man you’d ever met. You assumed this was because he came from virtually nothing. You didn’t need everything he wanted to give you, but he made it clear on more than one occasion that once money wasn’t a barrier, he would treat you like a queen.

You felt like he already did.

This is why you sucked up the hatred you had for The Hideout and told Roy, your boss, you’d work whatever shifts he could give you for the next few weeks. You endured handfuls of handsy truck drivers, pretended to flirtatiously banter with beyond drunk bikers, and held back the powerful urge to gag while stroking the egos of middle aged business men who chose to go through their midlife crisis in a seedy, dimly lit bar.

Seeing the look on Eddie’s face when you slid the wrapped package across the small dining table in your kitchen made all of the extra hours of rum pouring and forced salacious smiles worth it.

He had been mid-sentence, talking about a client at the auto shop who he’d spent an hour after hours with, the guy telling him all about medieval torture devices. This didn’t surprise you. Eddie’s fascination with the macabre was one of the things that had drawn the two of you together in the first place.

The first time you’d officially met was in English class your junior year, his third senior year. You’d told him you lived in a funeral home because your dad was a generational mortician, and that one day you’d probably own and operate it once your father retired. You also told him your mom was a self-proclaimed psychic who held seances for family members of the dead following their services. Eddie open-mouth stared at you for at least an entire minute in silence before telling you that was the creepiest fucking thing he’d ever heard, and that he would never feel fulfilled in life until you invited him over so he could experience it all firsthand.

The rest is history.

“What is this?” Eddie asked, brown eyes wide as he observed the gift in front of him.

“I know we said no presents this year so we can save for the new car, but... you know how I had all those late night study groups I had to go to this semester?”

He nodded, long fingers toying with the black parchment wrapping paper.

“Weeeeeell, actually, I was working overtime at The Hideout,” you admitted, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth. You knew he wasn’t going to be happy to hear you hadn’t been honest this past month, but you figured once he saw what you’d bought him (and what you’d had planned for the rest of the night), maybe he’d decide to let bygones be bygones. Not likely, as Eddie thoroughly enjoyed teaching you lessons as punishment for bad behavior, and you figured lying for weeks on end about attending study groups qualified as pretty bad behavior. You rushed out the next few sentences, smiling innocently and tilting your head to try and appear as cute as you possibly could, “It was so I could buy you that. For your birthday. Happy birthday, Eddie. Love you.”

Eddie’s brows lifted toward his hairline at your admittance, slow blinking a few times as your confession set in.

“We are definitely going to revisit all that at a later point,” Eddie warned, a ringed finger pointing at you. “Because that is so not okay. But -- ” he couldn’t help the excited, boyish grin that enveloped his features. “I really wanna open this and see what it is.”

You giggled in excitement at his eagerness, drumming your fingers on the table. “Okay, come on! Open it!” You would enjoy these few hours of spoiling him as he so frequently spoiled you, and you’d worry about whatever punishment he’d dole out when it came later.

And right now, the look of elation on his face as he unwrapped the PlayStation was worth however many studded belt spankings or denied orgasms you had in your near future.

“Fuck! Baby! No way!” he practically squealed, jumping up from the chair. It fell to the ground behind him with a clatter, but he paid no mind. He held the gaming console above him in awe. “You’re fucking kidding!”

“No, no kidding,” you answered, even though you knew his words were rhetorical. You could feel your cheeks growing sore with the smile stretched across your face, basking in his reaction. “There’s a real PlayStation in there, I swear.”

He laughed and protectively cradled the console under his arm, hurrying to you to slam his lips against yours in a kiss. No tongue, but plenty of fervor. “God, I fucking love you,” he muttered, placing small kisses on your nose and cheeks. “I mean, I’d fucking love you even if you got me nothing, or just, like, socks or something, but, shit, baby, this is -- I have to call Gareth! We can play King’s Field together now!”

A laugh bubbled out of your lips at his sudden change in direction, knowing Eddie was always at the whim of his impulses. You watched as he ran off to the living room to make the call. You knew Gareth would be waiting for it, as you’d told him to make sure he didn’t have plans on Eddie’s birthday, so the two of them could spend it playing the multiplayer game together late into the night.

It was all part of your grander birthday plan.

You waited until you heard Eddie’s voice rambling off to Gareth in the living room, the sounds of him unboxing the console to start to hook it up mingled into his conversation, before you disappeared into your bedroom to change.

Phase one, complete, success. Phase two, final phase, commence.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

It was about twenty minutes later when you reemerged from the bedroom, wearing nothing but a newly bought matching blood red bra and panty set. It was solid colored with black lace outlining the rim of both pieces, flattering against your skin tone.

Eddie was sitting on the edge of the La-Z-Boy, headset mussing down his wild curls, talking animatedly to Gareth about the skeletons they were currently fighting on the screen.

“No, no! Go left, go left! God damnit, Gareth, do you know what your left is?!”

Eddie was loud and mouthy enough as it is, but add in a game where he had the ability to lose and the whole apartment complex would be banging on their door come tomorrow morning with noise complaints. Hell hath no fury like a twenty-something man’s confidence in his pretend battling skills.

While some might find it annoying, you found Eddie’s unbridled passion for everything he was interested in endearing. He was someone who let himself be totally engulfed by the plot of a movie or a game or a story, attaching himself to the characters and their the ups and downs as if they were tangible and could be found in his own everyday life.

You were happy for his distraction as it gave you time to compose yourself and slowly stalk your way to the center of the living room, where the chair sat directly across from the TV.

By the time you made your way to the side of the La-Z-Boy, finally coming into Eddie’s peripheral vision, he was still berating Gareth for his poor sense of direction.

“I mean, what the hell, Gare, we learned our lefts and rights in, like -- oh, fuck.”

You’d brought you hand out to trail down the exposed skin of Eddie’s arm, watching it goosebump in your wake. He’d taken his shirt off at some point, much to your appreciation. Eddie’s attention was fully on you now, as was evident from his failed completed sentence to Gareth, who you could now hear through Eddie’s headset going, “Oh, fuck? What? What, oh fuck? You don’t even know how to talk, Munson.”

But Gareth went unheard by Eddie, who’s eyes were drinking in the sight of you in your lingerie set. His tongue darted out to lick at his lower lip, which he then pulled into his mouth to sink his top teeth into.

You offered him a playful smile, watching as his neck began to turn red, the color almost a perfect match for the satin set you had on.

Without a word, you dropped to your knees on the carpet in front of him, sitting between his legs.

“What -- what are you doing?” he managed to choke out.

Gareth’s voice through the headset: “What? Dude, I’m fucking going left like you told me to!”

“Shut up, Gareth,” Eddie warned, his brown eyes now full of fire for the sight before him.

He brought one hand to cover the mouthpiece of his headset, the other placing the controller on his lap to reach out and cradle your face. You leaned into it.

“What are you doing, baby?” Eddie asked again, but he knew. Especially from the wicked grin you were giving him now.

“Just play your game, Eddie,” you whispered, careful to be quiet so Gareth didn’t hear. You moved your head to rest your cheek on his thigh, staring up at him with big doe eyes as you brought the fingers of one hand to lightly trace the line of his zipper. “And don’t get caught. We don’t want Gareth to know what a bad girl I’m being, playing with your cock while you play with him.”

His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t believe it.

Not only had you gotten him exactly what he’d been wanting since it came out that prior winter, but now you were going to suck him off while he played it?

Jesus, how did he get so lucky?

“You are a fucking minx,” Eddie said, voice stern but his face lighting up in satisfaction as he readjusted himself on the chair, spreading his legs a bit wider.

He dropped the hand from the headset and picked the controller back up again just as Gareth was saying, “Eddie, man, are you still there? Your character’s been standing in the same place for, like, five minutes.”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Sucking dick was not only one of your favorite things to do, but it was one of the things you were best at.

You prided yourself on how quickly you could work Eddie into a panting frenzy, how easy it was for him to lose control in your mouth, thrusting his hips to force you to take what you could and to choke back the rest.

But tonight you were taking it slow. Slow and sloppy. And you weren’t letting him do any of the work.

You’d only pulled his cock from his jeans, leaving his balls in the confines of the tight denim. You’d used so much spit that the fabric of his pants was soaking through to his boxer briefs. You watched his face intently as one of your hands wrapped around the thickness of him, stroking upwards in long, drawn out movements. You could tell he was trying to jerk his hips up but was failing, as your other hand was pressed into his side, trying its hardest to keep his body weight back against the chair.

“Greedy,” you scolded, clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

He smiled sheepishly, eyes meeting yours over his hands which were holding the controller against his chest. He stopped the movement of his hips even though he felt as if it physically pained him to do so.

You’d been working him with your hands and mouth for the better part of half an hour now, releasing him entirely any time he came close to coming. He’d let a whine out at one point, to which Gareth asked, “Dude, you good?” and Eddie had to scramble out in his lust addled brain an excuse as to why that type of noise had erupted from him. He didn’t even remember what he’d said to explain it away.

All Eddie wanted to do was come. He wanted to cover you in him, drench your face and chest as you’d drenched his pants and cock in your warm saliva. He kept picturing it in his head, in alarmingly graphic detail, which was making this video game very, very hard to concentrate on.

Eddie got the idea that maybe if you neared your breaking point too, he’d finally be allowed to come. His cock throbbed at the thought, a bead of precum oozing from his slit. You sucked it away. He groaned and rolled his eyes back, controller wobbling in his hand and threatening to fall to the floor.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied his grip again, pressing a few random assortments of buttons to make Gareth think he was still coherent and definitely not getting a blowjob from his girlfriend right now.

“Will you please play with yourself?” Eddie asked, trying to put forth his best pleading puppy dog eyes. This was his big plan. Get you to get yourself off so he could sneak his orgasm in there, too.

He clearly had forgotten to cover the mouthpiece because Gareth’s voice was incredulous on the other end.

“What the fuck, Munson? What do you mean? I can’t play with myself! We’re almost at the end, man! Don’t give up now!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your head falling back for a moment at the exasperation in Gareth’s voice. Gareth was none the wiser, but just so you felt better, you made a mental note to buy him something nice or bake him those cookies you knew he liked, just for being such an unknowingly good sport during all of this.

Sticking your tongue out a bit, you bit down on the fleshy muscle in your mouth before rising more on your knees, leaning closer to Eddie. With the hand that was previously pushing his hips down, you covered his mouthpiece. “Is this a game you can win?” you asked. Your hand had stopped stroking now, and your fingers were instead running light pressured circles around the head of his weeping cock.

“Wha -- what? Uh, yeah... yeah, I can win,” Eddie stumbled, attention off the game momentarily to watch your hot little mouth move. “Just... fuck up a few more skeletons...”

“Okay,” you said, hand tightening on his member again, this time sliding it down slowly, twisting as you went. He hissed, trying to lean forward to capture your mouth with his own. You backed away, falling back down to your bottom as you continued playing with him in your hand. “Then win and I’ll let you come.”

Eddie huffed, trying to thrust his hips up for more friction but was stopped by your hand reclaiming its spot on his pelvis again, pushing him back down. If he wanted, he could absolutely overpower you. He could grab your wrists and pull you up into his lap, sliding the side of your panties over with one hand before impaling you on his wanting cock. He knows you’d let him. But he likes when you get like this, thinking you’re in control. It makes it all that much better when he finally flips the script and has you teary eyed begging for him to let you come.

“Gareth, I swear to fucking god, if we don’t win this game in the next three minutes, I’m never speaking to you again.”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

It takes longer than three minutes, and it’s not because of Gareth.

Eddie keeps screwing up, pressing X when he should be pressing O; spamming the start button to bring up the game menu when you take him particularly deep into your throat; accidentally stabbing Gareth’s character with a sword instead of the skeleton because his eyes keep rolling into the back of his head with the words spilling from your filthy mouth.

It’s all, “tastes so good, Eddie,” and “can’t even fit you all in my mouth,” and “I’m dripping on the floor, want you so bad.”

Evil woman.

Evil, perfect woman.

Eddie sees a light at the end of the tunnel. Literally. In the game, the hallway he and Gareth had been running down is opening into the brightness of a lit arena. It’s the final stage. One more fucking skeleton and he can let go. He can turn this headset off and grunt and groan to his heart’s content without having to worry about Gareth thinking he’s a fucking creep.

“I’m almost there...” Eddie’s saying, and he’s kind of talking about winning the game, but is mostly talking about the orgasm he can feel tightening in his balls, swirling in his stomach, clenching in his thighs.

“Yeah, dude! We got this!”

Eddie does not want to hear Gareth’s voice right now. He wants to hear you, pretty and whiny, loving the noises you make when you make him come. He loves how much you love it. You’re not even the one coming, but you’re always right there with him, moaning about how good his warm seed feels inside you or all over you, wherever he decides to finish. You’re not picky.

Just then, Eddie jolts forward in the chair. The head of his hard length hits the back of your throat and you cough a little, sputtering as you move your head. Looking back over your shoulder at the TV screen, hand moving up and down Eddie’s slippery cock, you see the words 'YOU WIN' in radioactive green.

“Fuuuuuuck, yes!” Eddie shouts, throwing the controller in the air. He rips off the headset without saying goodbye to Gareth, dropping it to the ground as he turns his attention back to you.

He looks absolutely wrecked. Black bangs are clung to his forehead with sweat, his chest is heavy with labored breaths, his skin is tinged pink from being so worked up and then worked back down over and over for the past hour. He can’t believe he hasn’t accidentally came yet. He assumes it’s because his mind was preoccupied with the game, because now that his full attention is on you, remembering what you’re wearing, what you’re doing, and how you look so fucking good doing it, he doesn’t think he’s going to last.

“Baby, please, I wanna come,” he’s saying, bringing one hand to the back of your head, tangling it in your hair. He’s not guiding you or helping at all, doesn’t want to be in control yet, he just wants to touch you, needs to have his hands on you somehow. “I won, did you see, I won, I get to come, right? Please make me come...”

You bit back a self-satisfied look at his pleading, bringing both hands now to wrap around the length of him. It doesn’t need it, already soaking from being in your mouth, but you let a string of spit fall onto the head of his cock, making your hands glide even easier over the velvety hardness of him. You can feel him throbbing, his hips finally able to rock up into your touch.

“Are you gonna make me all messy, Eddie?” you ask, tilting your head down to look up at him with wide, faux innocent eyes.

He’s nodding, thrusts finding no rhythm, just trying to reach release. “Yeah, baby, you love it when I cover you in my come, get you all wet and sticky...”

“Uh-huh. Love when you help me clean it up, too.”

And that’s what does it.

Eddie let out a stilted moan, one that changed octaves, and he’s coming harder than he thinks he’s ever come before.

Thick ropes of white hit your cheeks, your chin, your neck, your chest.

You gasped at the contact, then let out a moan that made his toes curl into the carpet, licking your lips to catch anything that landed in tongue distance.

He watches it all. His eyes threaten to close but fuck no, he loves to see you get marked by him in the most primal of ways. Loves to watch his cock paint the prettiest portrait on you.

He brought his hand down to help you stroke him through it, wanting to feel your smaller fingers on his cock as he rode out his high.

Then he gave you what you love, helping you clean it up. He bent his head down and ran his tongue across your hot skin, scooping up as much of his release as he could. He grabbed you by the chin, pulling down until your mouth opened before spitting into your mouth, watching as you let it sit for a moment before closing your mouth and swallowing, your eyes heavy with arousal at his actions.

“Mmmm,” you sound, smiling dopily. You kissed at his lips, your hand still slowly stroking him as he softened.

He licked at your bottom lip before his tongue moved into your mouth and against yours, pulling you into his lap. You melted into his touch, becoming boneless flesh in his arms. He groaned at the feeling of your wet, clothed cunt pressed against his lower stomach. He hadn’t even touched you -- you hadn’t even touched yourself -- and yet you were still so slick for him.

That thought alone was enough to cause his cock to twitch, and he thanked the sex gods or whoever was in charge for gracing him with stamina tonight of all nights.

“Best,” kiss to your nose, “birthday,” kiss to your chin, “ever,” kiss to your lips.

You smiled against his lips, humming happily at his admission. This was exactly how you planned the night going. Surprise Eddie with a PlayStation and an explosive orgasm.

Then he just had to go and throw a curveball.

“I’ll be good to go in twenty minutes,” he conceded, fingers running featherlight down your bare back. “Then we’ll see what we’re gonna do about that lying mouth of yours.”

Damn it. The study groups. He remembered. Part of you hoped you’d sucked all the sense out of him, but apparently not.

“Mean,” you pouted.

Eddie’s eyes flashed wickedly, a lazy grin stretching across his face.

“Oh, I will be.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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blossomwritesthings · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader (afab)

genre: dark academia college au. nonidol!hyunjin. enemies to lovers // academic rivals. angst. reader pov. smut - MDNI, 18+ only.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. kindaa toxic relationship between hyunjin and reader since they're enemies in uni. ANGST!! reader comes from a poor background and hyunjin is the uni dean's prodigy son. smut warnings below cut!!

word count: 10.6k (enjoy you filthy animals 😈)

summary: ever since you started studying at korean national university of arts in seoul, hwang hyunjin, the other top student of the school and the dean's son, has been an absolute thorn in your ass. although, it turns out that not all thorns are necessarily bad.

18+ warnings: dom!hyunjin x sub!reader. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, friends). fingering. dirty thoughts/fantasies are mentioned. degradation (whore, slut, bitch, etc). pet names (baby girl, sweetheart, doll face, etc). LOTS of hair pulling. BIG ownership/possession kink. breeding kink!!!. overstimulation. orgasm control. nipple/breast play. lots of dirty talk. subspace. loud sex. manhandling. humiliation kink. exhibitionism (fucking in a public library).

a/n: first of all, i'd just like to give a BIG shoutout to my dear friend @ahactress, for giving me the initial prompt to this about a month ago haha- without your help, I wouldn't be here right now honey!! 🤭💙 also, i'm sending all my love to my beautiful bestie @h0p3l3ssromantic, for encouraging me with her pretty words and her endless love... girl, you RULE and ilysm!!! 😫❤️ I don't know if it's public knowledge around these parts, but my dms on all my sns platforms are ALWAYS open for ya'll to spew your ramblings about my work haha - hmu on twt babes, I'm always down to chat~ ✨

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). do not copy, spin-off, or write inspired work based off of this fanfic without full permission to do so. ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

The moment you saw the dark, heavy clouds swirling low in the sky as you walked to your Survey of Humanities class, you knew that the day was going to be a shitty one. Already, you had woken up with a raging headache from the all-nighter you had pulled the day before to finish all of your homework for the following week.

Besides, it was a Monday too, and you fucking hated Mondays.

For one thing, the start of the new week always meant being bombarded with loads of assignments from the four classes you were taking. Being a junior with a Liberal Arts major was not as easy as everyone thought it was — and you constantly felt like you could never catch up on all of the homework.

With two formal art classes, one on charcoal drawings and the other on watercolor techniques, and then two upperclassman Humanities classes, your schedule was packed with studying time. Sometimes, it was hard to even eat during the day, since you were so busy with your schoolwork.

But there was no way around it, no excuses that could be made.

You either continued to stay at the top of your classes, as one of the best students in your grade for your graduation year, or you didn’t.

Your mother didn’t sacrifice everything she had for you to fail so horribly at university.

So you were okay with the stress and deadlines. Because you wanted to make both her and yourself proud.

And yeah, maybe you also wanted to prove to your classmates that you could do it.

You especially wanted to brag about your success to a certain man…

Hwang Hyunjin.

He was slated to graduate in your same year and was studying Technical Art. And holy shit— was he an insufferable ass. Unfortunately, since the two of you shared such close majors, you had found yourself in one too many classes with him during your time at the Korean National University of Arts in Seoul. It also didn’t help that he was coined as one of the #1 students in the entire school, and did everything in his power to make everyone aware of this fact.

Especially you.

If he earned just two points more than you on an exam in the same class that you were taking together, he’d nonchalantly wave the white paper in front of you after the exam period, taunting you with his sly tongue and that cruel grin of his.

Most of the time, you managed to ignore his wicked teasing, sticking to yourself and your small group of study buddies. But on the rare occasion that he did get under your skin, you’d snap irrevocably and usually land yourself in the Dean’s office.

But of course, Hyunjin was also there because — news flash — he was the son of the fucking Dean of the university.

Usually, the meetings after your blowups were casual and spoken in soft voices, with Dean Hwang recounting the school’s long integrity policy to you, which you had already memorized in the back of your head after your third visit to his office. The entire time the Dean reminded you of how your ‘behavior was uncalled for in the situation,’ Hyunjin would be standing in the corner of his father’s office, arms folded across his chest and canting his head to the side as he studied you with a pleased little devilish sneer on his face.

After every single one of the meetings, he’d always try to catch up to you outside of his father’s office. This usually landed in you cursing him out under your breath and telling him to fuck off before you retreated into the shadows of one of the many hallways.

And as it just so happened, your Survey of Humanities class also had a certain raven-haired man constantly sitting in the farthest seat from the front of the lecture hall.

It was almost comical how good-looking he was, coupled with his genius brain. Because as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was incredibly smart… in both the arts and all other forms of academics. He aced every single quiz and exam he was given, got 100s on every technical art research essay he wrote, and was involved in practically every club there was on campus.

The girls of your grade fawned all over him, and even the freshmen were weak to his looks whenever he’d pass them in the hallway. He looked right out of an early 2000s fashion magazine, with his model-like physic, long, shaggy black hair that perfectly framed his face and curled at the nape of his neck, not to mention the expensive designer clothes he was always seen in.

You had never seen him dress like the other guys of his same age — had never seen him clad in a pair of baggy grey sweatpants and a worn oversized graphic tee. Instead, he rolled up to the curb of the university in his cherry red 2023 Rolls Royce, dressed to the nines in fitted coats, light-washed designer jeans, and crisp white button-downs.

Hwang Hyunjin had been the school’s ultimate heartthrob for as long as you could remember, and you had heard rumors of the kind of things he did with his lovers — taking his girlfriends out to expensive restaurants in the heart of the city, before bringing them back to his luxurious apartment and fucking them late into the night. Usually, you tended to ignore the dating and sex part of your arch nemeses' life, and instead just focused on beating him at his own game of academics.

And during that early Friday morning in the middle of October, as you strolled through the doors of the lecture hall and your eyes scanned over the students already seated, you caught sight of him.

Dressed in a casual, brown turtleneck and dark-washed jeans, he looked like he had just walked straight out of an autumn edition of GQ Men. He was seated in his usual place, legs crossed and hands busy scribbling away notes on his iPad. As you floated beside him and towards your seat at the very back of the hall, you caught the scent of him — a mix of earthy musk and dark roasted coffee beans.

He didn’t pay you the time of day as you flitted past him and took out your notebooks once you were seated down. Thankfully, he seemed to be choosing the route of ignoring you for the day, much to your relief.

Soon, the professor strode into the lecture hall and began the class. For a while, he droned on about the midterm that all of the students had taken the week before, and how he was impressed with the class’ results. “Although, two students in particular outshined everyone else,” he began, his eyes scanning the lecture hall until they landed on Hyunjin seated just two rows before you. “Hyunjin, excellent work — it’s quite rare that I see a student score a 100 on the midterm,” then his focus was floating upward and landing on you. “Y/N, you’re short essay for the midterm was superb, and your choice of art analysis was a very unique one for sure.”

Just as the professor was focusing back on the rest of the course material, you could sense someone’s gaze trained on you. Staring forward, you caught a glimpse of him shooting you a snarky grin. You glared daggers into his skull, just wishing that he’d get shot in the foot and keel over in pain at that moment.

He always liked to gloat when he got a higher score than you on the tests, and you both knew that he had done better on the test overall — since the professor only mentioned his 100 and not yours. But apparently, your midterm essay was a hell of a lot better than his.

Sticking out your tongue at him playfully, you rolled your eyes before folding your arms across your chest and turning your attention back on the slides that the professor was ticking through. Hyunjin got under your skin so much he sometimes felt like a fucking disease — burrowed so deeply inside your veins, it was almost impossible to cut out the hatred.

“For this week’s assignment, you guys will be paired up into groups of two to create a joint presentation on the topic of ‘The Descent into Madness,’” As soon as you heard the professor mention splitting the class into groups, you felt your heart leap inside your chest. You only hoped that you wouldn’t be paired up with him. “Using your textbooks as a guideline, I want all of you to choose one specific piece of art from any period you want and conduct deep research into the mad aspects of it — dive into as much detail about the formal elements as you’d like, but make sure to follow the grading rubric and cite all academic sources. I’ve posted the list of paired groups on the bulletin board up here near the projector, so make sure to check it before you leave class today.”

You tuned out all other information the professor gave about the week’s assignment, too focused on seeing who you were paired with. As soon as he dismissed class, you were shooting up from your seat and hoisting your heavy tote bag across your shoulder.

Flitting down the stairway, you made it to the bulletin board before all of the other students did. They were idling around because no one gave two shits about who they were paired with. No one except for you.

“Please, please, please—” You prayed in a whispered tone under your breath as your eyes scanned the matched columns of students. When you came upon your name and saw who was next to it, it felt like the ground at your feet had opened right up and sucked you in entirely. “Fuck my life.” Heart dropping into the pit of your stomach, your palm squeezed a little tighter around the strap of your bag.

“Oh shit— looks like the professor decided to give you a fighting chance by pairing you up with the best student in the entire school.” You heard Hyunjin’s silky voice say from somewhere behind you.

Swinging around on your heels, you caught a glimpse of his sardonic, wide smirk, as his eyes scanned the look of sheer anger on your face. Giving a dry, humorless chuckle, he shoved his hands into his pockets and canted his head to the side in a quizzical kind of way.

“We’re only going to ace this project because of me— and let’s be clear here, I’m the better writer out of the two of us.” You said in a low voice, pointing an accusing finger at him in utter disgust. You could feel your brows pulling together from the rage that was building up inside of you. And all from the thought of being forced to work with him.

“Yeah, but I’m the better test taker.”

“Fuck you.”

Hyunjin chuckled wickedly, the tip of his blush pink tongue coming out and wetting a corner of his plush bottom lip. “Oh honey, I’m sure you wish you could.”

Already, you could tell that he was egging you on. Trying to get your goad so that you’d explode and be dragged to the Dean’s office. So that he could stare down at you with that same smug look on his face as his precious little daddy rattled off the university’s code of conduct.

Well fuck that bullshit.

Seeing too much red, you decided to excuse yourself from the equation before you said something horrible that got you sent into the Dean’s office again or even worse — kicked from the class.

“I’ll see you on Monday night at ten in the library,” you said in finality, squinting your eyes up at him and just wishing you could wring your hands around his perfect little neck. “Don’t be late.”

“I don’t take orders from you, sweetheart.”

“For now you sure fucking do.”

Then you were turning around and pushing out of the lecture hall, practically running down the corridor as fast as you could, heart pounding in your chest because… what the hell were you going to do?

That entire weekend leading up to the Monday night that you planned to spend with Hyunjin, you just about lost your mind over the worry of it all. Would he continue to be an asshole to you the entire time? Would he work well with you and compromise on things? How would everything go?

You were so stressed about the entire thing that you practically drove your roommate Felix insane with annoyance. Late Sunday morning, when you were making circles around your living room couch as you stressed about everything, he finally burst out in a loud outcry.

“Y/N! You seriously need to take a chill pill, you’re going to run holes right into the fucking carpet!” He said in an exasperated tone, muting the show that he was watching on the large flatscreen TV.

Peering up at him with wide, guilty eyes, you offered him a meek smile. “I’m sorry, Lix— it’s just… you know how much I hate Hyunjin and I—”

Felix rolled his eyes at you, completely fed up with your bullshit at that moment. “Yes, yes, I know. You’ve told me about a million times at this point. But like… don’t let it get to you, yeah? Just go out there and do your very best,” his eyes flitted back to the TV as he un-muted his show. “I mean… how bad could working with Hwang Hyunjin really be? Besides you, he’s one of the top students in the entire school.”

But he didn’t know Hyunjin like you did.

No one did.

They didn’t see the cruel side to him, the mean side.

They didn’t hear the words he’d mumble to you with venom after a big test or the taunting he’d throw your way if you one-upped him in some way.

Others didn’t see the dark looks he’d give you after classes or the way he’d practically talk behind your back each time you passed him in the hallway — whispering to his groupies and making all the guys chuckle heartily.

So yeah, working with him was a pretty fucking big deal.

Nonetheless, you took Felix’s advice and tried to relax as much as you could before the start of the new week. You studied the material that you wanted to research for the project, deciding to focus on Hamlet’s Ophelia for your analysis.

And if Hyunjin didn’t want to go with that character, well… too bad.

By the time Monday night rolled around, you felt more prepared than ever before and stepped into the Library’s main doors with settled ease. The university’s library was your favorite place on campus and had been the location for many of your long night study sessions over your time in school. With its dark gothic architecture outside and its sweeping gables, it was a true sight to behold. Not to mention the cozy atmosphere of the interior — all of the cozy nooks and crannies of the place, filled with warm candlelight and large chandeliers and settees made everything feel so mysterious and relaxing.

You strode through the isles filled with books, noticing how it was almost empty of any other student. That’s why you liked coming to the place late at night because it was relatively devoid of life and incredibly quiet. And you liked the quiet — it made it easy for you to focus on your studies. Finally, you stumbled upon a spacious table tucked into the very corner of one part of the place on the upper floor, with a large bay window just in front of the wooden table.

With a glance outside the pane, you noticed how the darkening sky had opened up to reveal a sheet of heavy rain — it pelted down on the few students that were passing by the outside of the library on the sidewalk there, as they ran for cover. Methodically, you brought out your supplies — booting up your laptop and positioning your notebook and pens just so.

Checking your phone, the screen flashed that it was fifteen minutes past ten o’clock already. Was he not even planning on showing up? Was he going to completely bail on you and instead take you down by sabotaging the entire thing?

As you sat down in one of the cushiony, velvet-lined chairs, your mind began to race with all of the possibilities of what Hyunjin might be stewing up to take you down.

Then, almost like your thoughts had summoned him, you heard footsteps at your back and turned to see Hyunjin rounding the corner of the tall bookshelves that were lined on either side of your chosen table. With one glance at him, you noticed the soaked-through fabric of his tan coat and the way his dark hair curled around the nape of his neck with moisture. He must’ve gotten caught in the rain and that’s why he was late.

“I thought you were going to bail on me entirely.”

Giving you a swarthy look, he plopped down into the seat just across from you and threw his heavy book bag atop the table. “Good evening to you as well.” He grumbled, slipping off his coat and showcasing the wetness hidden just underneath there. His light, cream-colored button-down was almost sheer from the rainwater… highlighting his muscular shoulder blades and the tips of his pecks.

“Didn’t you know it was supposed to rain heavily tonight?”

Not even paying you another glance, he focused on pulling out his supplies. “I’m not the fucking weatherman, I don’t regularly check up on shit like that.”

“Well, you should— maybe you wouldn’t ruin so many of your precious, rich boy clothes if you did.”

At that, his hands stopped moving and he stared up at you with slitted eyes. Giving your own choice of outfit a long once over, the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Well damn— are you jealous or something?” You weren’t particularly dressed up, opting for a comfortable pair of black sweatpants and a warm violet turtleneck top.

“Let’s just focus on getting to work.” You shot back, hands typing away at your computer keyboard. “Did you figure out a piece you want to analyze?”

“Yeah, Hamlet’s Ophelia.”

His words were silky and smooth against your ears, but his answer is what got you shooting your gaze up to his again. Mouth dropping open a little bit in surprise, you cleared your throat from the sudden quietness between you. “Oh— uhm, I was thinking the same,” you began, opening up the Word document that you had already started working on that past weekend. “It would probably be a good idea to study Hamlet’s character too since he's the catalyst of her problems.”

“No, he isn’t. She already had them to begin with — he just heightened their outcome.”

You were so taken aback by his comment, that it took a few seconds for your brain to process everything. But when it finally clicked, you were gaping up at him in astonishment. “I’m sorry, what? You’re going to blame her for the fact that Hamlet was the sole cause of it all?” Your voice was steadily rising, as you began to get irritated by his suggestion.

Hyunjin shrugged nonchalantly, as he scribbled down a few things in his notebook. “I mean, yeah. She already had a history of mental disorders, her death was bound to happen anyway.” He matched your tone, words growing louder and ringing out across the small expanse of the library that the two of you were in.

“I seriously cannot believe you right now.” You began, shaking your head in anger as you tried to focus on your bright computer screen again. But his argument just rubbed you the wrong way entirely, and you found yourself speaking up again. “I didn’t realize how much of a fucking misogynist you were. But oh, wait— it’s perfectly clear now if the way you treat me is anything to go off of.”

“I’m not a misogynist, Y/N.” The way his tone curled around the sound of your name did something funny to the depths of your soul. He had never called your name outright like that, never addressed you head-on. And it was both weird and oddly satisfying. “All I’m saying is that her descent into madness was pretty warranted since she was in an already heightened state of emotions.”

You gave him a deep glare, tilting your head to the side in annoyance. “Just say you hate women, it’s okay, Hyunjin. I won’t bug you about it.”

“Like hell, you won’t.” He mumbled under his breath, long fingers typing out something on his computer.

And that was enough to completely set you off.

There were no other students around, no professors to tell you off, and no Deans to harp on you about correct student conduct.

“Seriously, what the hell is your problem?! You’re so fucking annoying and a total piece of shit. I honestly have no idea how you’re at the top of the school when all you do is belittle others!” This time, you were shouting outright. Throwing him an ominous glare and shutting your computer with a resounding thud.

Hyunjin leaned back in his seat, lengthy arms folded across his chest as the rain pelted against the misty window just at his back. “Oh, and like you’re any better? You always love to shove your accomplishments in everyone else’s faces— you ever stop to think how that makes others feel?” He was yelling now too, stroking a hand through his long locks that were steadily dripping with tiny droplets of rainwater.

Shaking your head in disappointment, you took in a resounding deep breath. “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew you’d be an asshole the entire time and I knew we wouldn’t get any work done,” as you said the words, you were already gathering up your things, shoving them into your bag, and leveling him with a cold stare. “So let’s just forget it - this - okay? Just… work on it by yourself and then we can compile our info together the day of and—”

“Sit down, Y/N.”

The way his command slipped out from between his lips in a low, gravelly voice shook something loose deep within your very being. For a moment, you almost felt compelled to listen to him. Like under a mystical enchantment, your limbs wanted to move on their own accord and seat yourself down again. But the rational part of your brain overtook all other thoughts as you stood your ground and hovered just next to the table.

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not your daddy— you don’t have the authority of the Dean.”

For the last few moments, he hadn’t been looking at you, eyes instead trained on his computer still. Almost like, the entire ordeal didn’t bother him that much. Like you were a minor inconvenience to him in the grand scheme of his rich, privileged life.

But all at once, he was tipping his head towards the high rafters of the library’s ceiling, stare catching with yours. The stormy look you saw there, dancing around in his brown irises, forced your heart to leap in the pit of your throat.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“I’m never going to listen to you, so tough luck, fucker.”

Taking in a deep breath, his entire body shuddering with the motion, he held your gaze and motioned with a tilt of his head to the seat in front of him that you had just gotten up from. “Sit. Down.”

And like a single crack suddenly appearing in a delicate vase, your mind was losing all conscious thought and you were moving without any other thought. His seething, low tone overtook your entire system, his focus on you sending a shock of shivers up the length of your spine again and again, unrelenting.

“What?” You asked, noticing the surprised expression on his face from the way that you had fucking listened to him once, seated in your chair again. “I was tired of hearing your stupid demands.”

Hyunjin flipped through a few pieces of paper in his notebook before he pushed it your way. “Give that a look over, it’s the notes I took on Ophelia over the weekend.” The idea of him studying for the project just like you had done forced your mind to run rampant with all kinds of thoughts. Like, was he also stressing out about the meeting like you had been doing?

“I already told you— we’re not working together.”

“For Christ’s sake, just give it up!” Hyunjin exclaimed in a loud voice, throwing his hands up into the air in mock defeat. “You act like this is the deciding project of our grade— it’s a fucking weekly assignment. All we have to do is our best, which will be pretty damn good if we’re both working on it.”

“So then you admit that I’m a good student.” You raised an eyebrow his way, fingers slowly taking ahold of his notebook and playing with the edges of the paper.

Taking in a deep sigh, he pointed at the notebook in front of you. “Just focus— okay? I want to get as much work done as possible tonight.”

“Fine, but don’t blame me if we get a bad grade because we rush it.” You said, finally raising the white flag of surrender and taking in the contents of his notebook. The notes were detailed and insanely good, highlighting certain formal aspects of Ophelia’s character and the overarching themes of her madness. “Wow— this is… really good.” You said in a quiet voice, almost hoping that he wouldn’t hear it.

Rummaging through your nearby bag, you pulled out a pink highlighter to take some notes, and your chosen lollipop for the night, mango flavored. You liked to reward yourself with a fun treat of candy whenever you did late-night studying sessions since the sugar kept your energy levels high and helped to keep you focused. Ever since you were a little girl, you seemed to concentrate better when your mind wasn’t entirely on the content you were studying.

“I mean, I’m not coined as one of the school’s top students for nothing,” Hyunjin remarked in a sarcastic tone. You chose to ignore his comment and instead focus on his neat handwriting and the way his words fit in perfectly to the columns of the notebook paper.

Everything about him was perfect — from his looks to his academic success to his damn handwriting. Hell, what wasn’t he good at?

For one thing, being a nice fucking person.

And he seemingly couldn’t grasp the idea of how not to be an asshole to people he didn’t like.

Unfortunately, you were categorized in his list of people that he hated.

As you flipped to the next page in his notebook, your tongue swirled around the lollipop in your mouth. The sugary sweetness of the artificial mango flavor coated your tongue deliciously, and it awakened all of your senses in the best way possible. The minutes seemed to tick by, as you began to make notes based on Hyunjin’s research from his notebook, turning away from the paper and typing into the Word document that you had started for the project.

Faintly, in the back of your mind, you could hear Hyunjin’s soft inhales and exhales, as he focused on his research. All else was quiet in the library, what with it being completely void of life on a Monday at eleven at night. You could distinctly pick out the sounds of rainfall pitter-pattering just outside the large window behind Hyunjin’s seat, as the night drew on in a heavy mist of dew and moisture.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Hyunjin’s words were faint and broke you out of your daze of thought. You had been frantically writing down some of your critiques about Ophelia as a character, and your head shot up from your computer to catch a glimpse of him staring back at you.

You didn’t know how long he had been like that, sitting back in his chair, long, raven hair a wavy mess around his face and eyes a little bleary from a mixture of sheer exhaustion and that… darkness that you could never quite pinpoint. You had only ever seen him direct such swarthy looks at you, and that fact disheartened you a lot.

“I think the real question you should be asking is what’s not to hate about you.” You deadpanned, giving him a deep frown as you poked your lollipop into the corner of one of your cheeks, tucking it away for the moment.

Folding his arms across his chest in that abrasive way that he always did around you, he tilted his head to the side with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, spill the tea.”

Taking in a deep breath to stave off your rising nerves and irritation with the man before you, you carded a few fingers through your hair. “To start with, you’re a complete and total asshole.”

“I think we’ve already touched on this point by now.”

His retort left you to stare daggers into his eyes, wishing someone would just come up behind him and slit his throat because you sure did want to at that moment. But you also supposed that the Dean of the university wouldn’t take a liking to you murdering his son.

“Secondly, you’re always stuck up and hard-headed and annoying and… and immature.”

Hyunjin blew out a deep, long whisper. “Damn, spare my ego some, will ya?”

But you weren’t planning on stopping anytime soon. He had started the engine of the train, and now you were rolling down the tracks of sheer rising anger and all of the pent-up rage that you had felt towards him for the past three years. “And you’re right okay? I am fucking jealous. I’m so jealous of you that I can’t breathe sometimes— you haven’t had to work a day in your life for your position, yet I’ve had to scrape by on my hands and knees, clawing— begging at life to grant me just one fucking break.” You weren't even yelling. Instead, the words just come out hushed and all too grave.

Like, if anyone else but him heard them, you’d crumble into a pile of ash and disintegrate into thin air, never to be seen again. Because it was fucking embarrassing, to be so affected by him still, even after all of these years.

He stayed silent, watching as you flayed your hands around in the air in your exasperation. You were fed up with your life and the hold that he had over it. You were finally at your breaking point and you had had enough.

And you think that at that moment, he had also seen and acknowledged that, staying silent to let all of the words spew out of you like an erupting volcano that had been bound to blow from the very start.

“But you? You get everything handed to you on a pretty, silver platter because your daddy is wealthy and you're drop-dead gorgeous and practically have the brain of a neuroscientist. Meanwhile, I was raised by a poor single mother in the slums of Seoul and the only way I got into this university in the first place is because I busted my ass throughout middle and high school to earn the top student’s place,” you pointed a finger between the two of you. Almost like, the tip of it was sharp enough, you could cut right through him. Blade tearing through sinew and flesh and bones. “And then you dare to come around these parts, acting like you own everything, trying to put me in my place. When in reality, you’re the one that needs to be put in your place. Someone needs to knock you down a few pegs, and I’ve always thought… why not me?”

For a moment, nothing else happens after that.

And irrationally, you’re suddenly afraid of him.

Of what he might do — what he might say and to whom — with this newfound information about you.

Hardly anyone at school knew about your personal life and struggles. You tended to stay to yourself and instead focus on your studies instead of going out to late-night parties or hitting up the local clubs. And you were an extremely private person, to begin with. You saw no point in pouring out your life's sob story to people you would never see again after four years.

But all at once, you wondered if Hwang Hyunjin was a dangerous man.

If he was someone who would use your personal information against you.

And if the last three years were anything to go off of, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“Fuck— I shouldn’t have said all of that,” you grumbled, jamming your fingers into your eye sockets and scrubbing at your lids. “Just… forget all of this, yeah? Forget I said anything.” Then you were standing up from your seat for the second time that night, heart leaping in the pit of your chest as you once again gathered your things into your bag. “It’s late anyways. I should head home and keep studying for my other classes. We can meet up some other time for this, it’s not due til, what… Sunday? That gives us plenty of—”

“Y/N.” Just like before, the sound of your name on his tongue caused you to pause entirely, limbs halting their movement of shoving your computer into your bag. “Just— shut up, yeah?” His voice came out softer than you expected it would, forcing a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call you what?”

“Y/N.”

“Why, because it makes you feel things?” He asked in a gravelly voice. You were avoiding even looking at him at that moment, hands a little shaky as you anxiously started to suck on your lollipop again, rolling it around in the corner of your cheek. “What are you so afraid of?”

“You, okay?! It’s always been you!” Your outburst was a lot louder than you expected it to be, ringing across the space between you and echoing in the far distance of the library’s upper-level floor.

A beat of silence lapsed between the two of you, and you trained your gaze on a corner of the room, studying the small dust bunny that stood there, completely still and lifeless. In that moment, you could relate to it quite a bit. Lost and confused. Wanting to move away, but not being able to for some weird reason.

Hyunjin’s old wooden settee creaked in the silence, as he shifted in his position. “To be honest, I’m scared of you too.” And just like that, your head was snapping his way and your eyes were widening in surprise. “For one, I’m scared of that stupid thing.” With his dark eyes, he motioned towards your mouth. To the lollipop that you were dutifully sucking on, in and out, in and out. You stopped altogether when you realized why he had been so quiet during your studying session. He hadn’t been studying — he had been focusing on you, on the candy in your mouth. Feeling self-conscious about it, you took it out of your mouth and laid it down on the table. “And I’m scared of how you make me feel— crazed out of my mind, all of the time. Like a sick fucking plague, you inhabit my everything… from the moment I wake to the moment I ease, you’re all I can think about, all I can dream about. And I hate it so fucking much that it kills me a little bit more every single day.”

“Hyunjin, I—”

His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull, head tipping back in delight as his lips parted just slightly. “Yes— fuck, say it again.”

“Say… what?”

“You know.”

Heart leaping wildly in your throat, and broken butterflies waning in the depths of your stomach, your mouth was moving on its own accord. “Hyunjin.”

Like a trigger being pulled back from a gun and flitting the weapon into action, the bullet was shot across the distance between the two of you. And the bullet was your words — you calling out his name.

In an instant, he was a flurry of motion before you. All designer clothes soaked from rainwater and long, wavy hair that still had droplets of water at the tips. He was a flash of milky skin hidden underneath a sheer, wet button-down. The faint, waning moonlight shining through the window pane cast an ominous, angelic-like halo around his tall, built frame.

And by the time you could breathe again, he had you exactly where he wanted you. Pinned up against the nearest tall bookshelf that reached up into the height of the library's ceiling. One strong hand pinning your two hands against the wood above your head, while the other was positioned just unearth your chin, holding your jaw bone and stroking the flesh there with a gentle thumb.

“Now tell me you feel nothing at all, tell me you fucking hate me with your entire being, that you’ll always hate me, and that you think I’m a deprived cunt who needs to be murdered ruthlessly in front of everyone I love.” His words were hushed, their meaning brutal. His face was so close to yours, that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. Leaning into you, he drove his middle a little closer to the part of your legs.

Breath catching painfully between your windpipes and the lump in your throat, you stared up at him with blurry vision. Your attention was growing fuzzy at the edges, as you could do nothing more but hone in on… him. Subconsciously, you could feel the mango sweetness of your lollipop coating your tongue again and again as you swallowed.

“I—I hate you so fucking much, Hwang Hyunjin.”

He pressed into you a little further, breathing in your scent and closing his eyes as his head tipped close to one part of your neck. Mouth hovering over the shell of your ear, he whispered, “Say it again, sweetheart, with a little more passion this time.”

“I… I hate you so much, I can’t function with the thought of you existing in the same lifetime as me.”

You felt him moving against you then, hand moving away from your jaw and coming around one of your hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your black sweatpants. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, sweetheart…” He started, mouth hovering over that space just behind your ear, warm breath fanning against your exposed gooseflesh there. “I won’t hurt you— it was never my intention in the first place. It was… just a fun game to me, to toy around with you. But I never wanted to actually fucking hurt you.”

You could feel your mind and heart racing in tandem, going a mile a minute, as you took in all of his words. Because what, the actual fuck? What was he saying? And why was he saying it? And why did you feel yourself crumbling from it all, your resolve breaking down into dust and getting whisked away to the future of Neverland?

“I never meant to make you cry,” He said slowly, pulling away from your face just a tiny bit to gauge your reaction to his confession. You gaped up at him, completely speechless in your unadulterated wonder. “Sure, I wanted to make you cry— but not in the cruel kind of way… not in the way that most people would like to do.”

His insinuation, his innuendo there, jumbled something around deep inside of your spirit. And you could practically feel your knees buckling underneath you from the reality of it all. From the fact that he was never truly set out to cause you permanent damage. And so far, he hadn’t. All he had done was make an ass out of himself and be a continual thorn in your side. But he wasn’t necessarily entirely cruel, and you never truly suspected that he’d do something catastrophically damaging.

“But all you have to do is tell me— tell me you never thought about me or dreamed about me or wondered about me, and I’ll be gone forever. You’ll never hear, or see me again. It’ll be like I never existed in the first place and I—”

“I can’t fathom a life without you in it,” you suddenly blurted out, already feeling the hint of crimson blooming beneath your cheeks and at the tip of your nose. You peered up at him, staring into those depthless, chocolate-brown eyes, reading the dancing emotions there. “Sure, I might despise your guts at times, but… I also think you’re a pretty amazing guy. And… I have to admit that sometimes, I do think about you when I’m alone, at night, and laying in my bed.”

His hand clutched a little tighter at your hip then, his fingers intertwining with yours and continuing to hoist your arms up and above your head. “Oh yeah? What do you imagine when you think about me so late into the night?” He rasped out, the sound of his voice grating against your ears and sending flames to burst across the entirety of your veins.

“Your face, mostly— how your lips would feel and how you’d taste and what you’d sound like if—”

After that, you didn’t even get the chance to finish your sentence.

He was honing in on you like a vulture to its prey, moving with such swiftness — like a phantom in the night, like a monster hidden underneath the bed, like a selkie in the depths of the ocean.

As it turns you, your dreams about him were accurate.

Because his plush lips did feel like pure heaven.

They pushed against yours, his mouth fitting atop yours like something that was carved into the universe — something that was almost meant to be. He was devouring you whole — heart and mind and soul and body.

And with each press of his silky lips, you fell down the hole of darkness and heat just a little bit more. Then the tip of his tongue was poking out and tracing the line of your mouth and you fell into him, fingers clawing at his that still had your arms held up high above your head, desperately searching for purchase as your legs threatened to give out underneath you.

When his tongue plowed into the small part between your lips, you let out a breathless moan. The kind that had been hidden deep, buried, and un-satiated for so fucking long. By the time he was tasting you, his hands had released your arms and you were scrambling for something to hold. Desperately, in your haste of arousal and temptation, you were clutching at the cool, wet fabric of his cream-colored button-down, holding on for dear life as his hands tightened around your waist and hoisted you up against the bookshelf further.

Your spine crammed into the wooden shelves there, as you wrapped your legs around his torso, yanking him closer with each passioned kiss that he gave you. Again and again, he drew those same, sinful sounds out of you. Just like all of the times before, he was playing a sick kind of game with you. But this time, it wasn’t all that bad. This time, you were quite enjoying yourself.

As your parted legs held his hips close to your frame, you could feel the hardness there, in the center of him. Just aching to be released. And suddenly, you came to terms with the fact that the wetness between your legs was rapidly growing with each kiss that he gave you.

He sucked on your lips like they were his lifeline — and you wondered, in that moment, how he’d treat the rest of you — how much attention he’d offer the rest of your body.

“J-Jin, I—” The shortened nickname slipped out between your lips when the two of you parted to catch your breaths. And when you noticed his swollen mouth, you were almost positive that yours looked just as bad, if not worse.

“What, baby doll?” He hummed, mouth moving away from yours entirely and coming close to the line of your jaw. You blushed wildly at the pet name, liking the way it sounded in his silky voice. He moved aside the thick fabric of your violet-colored knit turtleneck with his nose, lips attaching to the skin of your neck and suckling like a vampire drunken on the crimson of his lover. “What is it that you need right now?”

Your hands were scrambling for him, finding purchase in his dark roots and pulling just a tad bit there. The abuse to his scalp made him hiss out, warm breath painting across the heated flesh of the column of your neck brilliantly. “N—Need you t—to—” But your words were cut short by the way one of his hands was moving away from your waist, traveling under the hemline of your sweater, a long, nimble finger dancing across your belly button and rising to the center of your stomach.

“You need me, hmm?” He mused lowly, mouth having journeyed down to the skin closest to your clavicle, leaving violet-hued marks that would surely survive into the next few days. “Need me to fuck you, right? Need me to take you so irrevocably well right here and right now… can’t wait any longer, yeah?” As he spoke the words into existence, his naughty hand was already finding its way toward the lace of your bralette, skirting across its edges. Then, a single finger dipped underneath the elastic there, skirting up the length of your breast until it was resting against your pebbled nub. “Such a naughty little thing… who knew that the university’s prodigy just needed a good fucking, huh? That all she wanted was to get fucked open against the library bookshelves.”

You were gasping out in pure bliss, fingers digging in a little harder into his long wisps of hair as his hands began to explore your chest. Brushing, twisting, pulling. Then doing it all over again with the other mound. “Y—Yeah,” you managed to spit out, trembling underneath him, legs wounding tighter around his waist, bringing him ever closer. “Can you do that… fuck me? I need it so bad right now, I can’t handle it if you just leave me like this…” You were practically begging out the words, so desperate in your pleas that you were almost certain your groveling was boosting his already inflated ego.

“I only fuck good girls. Girls who don’t call me an asshole and don’t say they hate me.”

At that, your eyes were tearing open in a mix of surprise and despair. But the way that his hand didn’t stop touching your breasts, still playing with them, told you everything you needed to know at that moment.

You wiggled your hips slowly, grinding into the hardness between his dark-washed jeans. “Stop touching me then— stop kissing me and stop looking at me,” you began, taunting him with your movements and the way that you spoke in a velvety tone, all soft and delicate and innocent. When what the two of you were doing was anything but innocent. “But you can’t, right? Can’t get the thought of me out of your head— of what this pussy would feel like clenched around your cock, squeezing you for dear life as you fuck into me for the hundredth time in a single day—”

He was cutting off your words with his quick hands, shedding off your sweater and bralette in one go. Then he was bending down slowly, hands coming up to cup your chest. He stared up at you from his crouched position, watching the feelings rove across your face as he blew hot hair against one of your nipples.

“Just fucking shut up already bitch,” he said in a low grumble, as his hand came over your tit, mouth melding onto the warm skin there effortlessly. His other hand was busy playing with your neglected breast, squeezing there a little bit harder when his teeth grazed one of your nipples, tongue lapping at the bud. “You’re only to speak when spoken to, you understand me?” He asked, pulling away from your breast and making a crude, wet sucking noise as he did so.

Glaring down at him through lust-filled eyes, you sneered his way. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, asshole.” Hands gripping onto his hair a little bit, you pushed his face closer to your chest as he began to work on your other breast, leaving a ring of wetness as he went. “And don’t call me bitch.”

You could feel him smirk against your skin, his low chuckle vibrating against your gooseflesh and sending ripples of energy to course through your veins. “Mhm— why not? Your pussy sure seems to love the name.” He mused sadistically, completely unlatching from your breast, hands finding their way back at your hips.

“What are you even talk—”

But he didn’t leave any more room for questions, one hand ripping away from your waist and covering your covered centre. “This, right here,” he said in a low whisper, fingers cupping your warmth there, and you could practically feel the essence dripping out of you, just behind your thin panties and sweatpants. “Bet you’ll get even more soaked when I call you it again.”

“You know nothing about me.” The words came out garbled and wobbly, as he maneuvered your sweatpants down and off of your legs entirely. “Y—You don’t know my body.”

He threw you a sardonic kind of smile, leaning into the side of you, lips caressing the shell of your ear as he spoke in soft tones. “Yeah, but I’ve done a hell of a lot of observing over the years…” At his words, you could feel his hand nearing your middle again, and you involuntarily parted your legs in want.

When his fingers came in contact with the lace of your panties, you had to pull out your biggest bout of self-control to hold in the moan that wanted to escape from you. His movements were expert level, as he pushed the fabric off to the side, running a single finger up your lips, feeling for that small spot at the very top. Circling his thumb around there, his other fingers worked at your entrance, and before you knew it, he was pressing two long digits into you.

“F—Fuck—“ You groaned at the feeling of it all, falling into him and clawing at his shoulders that were still covered in that damp button-up shirt. “Hyunjin.” You were moaning out his name before you even realized it, hips jutting up slowly against his hand, your head getting thrown back as his fingers searched and found that warm, gooey spot deep inside of you.

“See? I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing,” he muttered, lips coming around the side of your neck and suckling violet marks into the skin there. “So be a good bitch and shut up for me, yeah? Take it like a good girl— like the good whore that I know you are.”

You couldn’t even protest against him using the name again, because, in all honesty, you did like it. It felt dirty and wrong but so very fucking right at the same time. It caused your walls to spasm against the three fingers he had stuck inside of you, as he pumped in and out with a rabid kind of pace. The sound of his movements forced shivers down the length of your spine, as his thumb pressed into your clit a little more.

“Y—You gotta fuck me now, Jin—” You mumbled, already reaching the edge of orgasm from the way that he was steadily working you up with his hand alone. Half of his fingers were buried deep inside of you and the others were desperately clutching at your hip bone to bring you closer to him. The sounds he was pulling from you, both wetness and moans of pleasure, were other-worldly. “N—Need to feel your cock inside of me, right fucking now.”

In your daze of lust, you found yourself clasping at the buttons of his shirt, quickly undoing them and sliding his damp shirt off of his frame. What lay underneath was a chiseled chest — a muscular abdomen, biceps that rippled with each breath he took, and a dark trail that led towards his dick. You ran your fingers down the milky expanse of his chest, marveling at how soft and chiseled everything felt.

Sighing out quietly, you stared up at him with pleading eyes. “You’re so fucking hot… always knew you would be.” That made Hyunjin smirk with satisfaction, as he tipped into you for a breathless kiss.

While his lips captured your own, you could feel his hands working at your panties, sliding them off your legs and leaving you completely bare. Then you heard the clanking noise of a belt coming undone, as he unmistakably rid himself of his pants and boxers.

Then he was parting from your mouth, focus turned down to where the centers of your bodies met together. Your mouth fell open at the sight of… him. All seven-and-a-half inches, long shaft curving upward in arousal and precum leaking out of the pretty red tip. A single vein ran down the side, bulging from his unchecked want.

“Need you to be nice and loud for me, yeah?” He growled in that low tone of his, as he guided himself near your entrance. “Let the entire school know who you belong to— scream my name, bitch, and tell everyone who fucking owns you.”

His words jumbled around inside of your mind, making you feel lightheaded as he slowly began to slide into you. You widened your legs a little bit for him, wrapping them around his waist as he quickly bottomed out. The stretch was only slight and left you hissing with relief when he was fit into you at the hilt.

Without any warning, he was sliding out almost completely, before thrusting back in, hitting into you so roughly, that your spine jammed into the wooden bookshelf at your back. And just like that, he was setting a hellish pace. One that was sure to make you crumble before him — fall apart at the seams.

“Mhm— fuck!” You screamed out in a guttural voice, throwing your head back against the bookshelf desperately as his hips snapped against yours feverishly. You were gripping onto his shoulders so hard, running your nails down his back, that you were sure you’d leave red marks later. “Holy shit- feels so good!”

One of Hyunjin’s hands traveled away from your waist, long, nimble fingers digging into your scalp, yanking at the hair there. “Louder, bitch— take it all like the filthy slut that you are.” He shouted, voice coming out raspy as he pounded into you roughly.

In the very back of your mind, you distinctly heard the pitter-patter of rainfall against the nearby windowpane mixing in with the sounds of the two of you — skin slapping against skin and wetness squelching. It was straight out of a porno and made your head swim with so many dirty thoughts. Breath catching in the center of your throat, you found your lips opening up and releasing a blood-curdling cry of pleasure.

Your noises of ecstasy seemed to compel Hyunjin forward with drive, as he rutted into you in a manic kind of way, thumb tracing figure-eight symbols into your inflamed clit. Almost like, if he didn’t get it out of his system, he’d never be able to live afterward — wouldn’t be able to breathe or think or speak. The tip of him hit up into that warm spot inside of you, and you clenched a little harder around this throbbing cock every time he teased you right there.

“Fuck— I can’t… I’m gonna…” You groaned out loudly. Your eyes flittered into the back of your skull from the way that he pulled at your hair at the same time that he fucked up into you.

Hyunjin grunted out lowly, hips snapping against yours with each thrust. “J—Just a little farther, doll face…” From the way that his domineering tone was slipping away, you could tell that he was also creeping near the edge of release.

You could feel the slip and slide between your legs, your essence coating every surface of your inner thighs and making everything feel silky and smooth. The intensity of his movements slowed down somewhat, the frenzy of his rocking leveling out as he chased your guys’ highs.

“Yes… right there!” You mewled out breathlessly just as the tip of him hit so far into you, that entire galaxies were cast against the expanse of your closed eyes. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire — the flush creeping down the column of your purple-marked neck and into the depths of your soul as he continued to circle your bundle of nerves.

Walls clenching around his cock that was buried deep inside of your warmth, you could feel the moment Hyunjin found that blissful space of his release. “I’m gonna come— fuck—” He rasped out, his voice on the quiet side as he lost all semblance of control.

Hips stuttering against yours, he made to pull out of you completely. But you found yourself shaking your head, eyes shooting open, and giving him a serious frown. “N—No… want you to… come inside…” Your head was empty of all thoughts, as you could do nothing more but focus on the way that he felt so close to you - so far deep inside.

At that, Hyunjin was offering you a tiny, satisfied grin. Then he was seizing up inside of you, cock stretching against your walls as he met his high. It overtook his entire system, overruling all other obstacles and forcing his head backward in pure, orgasmic bliss. The prettiest sounds fell from his plump, crimson, kiss-swollen lips, as he let himself slip down the cliff with ease.

The feeling of his release painting your walls in warm whiteness caused your entire body to convulse with pleasure, as you finally found your high. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before… perfect and whole and so fucking hot. Bursts of rose and topaz and turquoise splashed across the inner workings of your mind, as your insides fluttered around Hyunjin’s cock that fit perfectly between your legs.

“Holy shit, that was…” You said breathlessly after you had begun to come down from your high. Cracking your eyes open you noticed the darkness still there in Hyunjin’s gaze, and the way that his eyes slit shut with want. The sound of the rain outside lulled your mind into a perfect state of peaceful limbo. “What?” You asked, raising an eyebrow his way in question. “What is it?”

He shrugged slowly, eyes coming away from your connected middles and locking with yours. “Nothing, just… I can’t fucking believe you just let me cum inside of you— with no protection.”

You could feel his cock softening inside of you, and finally, your legs stopped shaking around his waist. “Why? You don’t like the idea of that?” Beginning to pull away from him, you tried to yank as far away from his cock as you could. “If you didn’t like it, you should’ve—”

Hyunjin’s mouth was coming onto you in the next beat, capturing your lips up into a heated kiss, stealing the labored breath right from your lungs and sucking on your puffy bottom lip. “Just shut the fuck up, alright. I fucking loved it… it was so hot— you’re so hot. Makes me wanna come in you every single day.” You could feel him move between your legs then, as he began to fuck his seed back into your aching walls. In the back of your mind, you could feel his hand lazily working at you, pushing a single digit back into your entrance between his cock, thrusting in the cum that was splattered across your thighs.

Groaning out softly at his words, you placed your hands on his bare chest and pushed a little bit so that you could get a look at his face again. It was filled with so much lust and want and adoration, the sight of it all almost overwhelmed you entirely. “Well, I suppose I could allow that…” Your voice trailed off, as you dragged a single finger up the center of his chest and towards the sharp line of his jaw. “If it’s with you— then yeah, you can fuck me raw every day.”

Hyunjin let out a low noise, which sounded like a mix between a moan and a cry for help. “But we can’t, baby doll— it wouldn’t be smart and I’d never want to put you in any kind of uncomfortable position.”

You found yourself shrugging off his concerns nonchalantly, as you drove your hips a little forward, meeting his shallow strokes. You loved the feeling there, of wetness and silky essence. “Yeah, but… the good thing is, at least we’d know who the father is.”

At that, he was flashing you a wicked smirk, pearly white glinting against puffy, red lips. His tiny smile was the last thing you saw before he was tipping into you and fitting his mouth around yours again. “Oh, you devilish little minx… I think I’ll keep you for a very long time.”

In the back of your mind, you could feel him moving against you, cock already stiffening again just from your words and insinuations alone. But at that moment, you weren’t too worried about what he planned to do with you for the rest of the night. Because right then, all you wanted to focus on was his face, and the way he let you ring your arms around his neck, pulling at the hair at his nape as he pressed kiss after impassioned kiss to your mouth.

It turns out that your roommate Felix had been right after all. In the end, working with Hwang Hyunjin hadn’t been that horrible.

It had been quite… nice.

Despite all of the bickering and shouting.

After a while, the rough bumps and edges of your rocky relationship seemed to mellow out between the tall bookshelves of the library. And before you knew it- he had you completely bending at his will — practically groveling at his feet for his love, attention, and care.

In the end, you supposed that that’s what you had always wanted from each other, and that’s why you had been so horrible to one another. If you couldn’t garner each other’s attention with regular conversations and friendship, the next best thing was to be rivals in your academics and throw insults at every opportunity you were offered.

But the thing about trying to hate Hwang Hyunjin — trying to hate such a smart, caring, passionate man — is that eventually, one’s willpower always breaks down, and they’re left in a pile of mess and limbs as they search out his affection.

Fin.

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yim-writes · 21 days ago

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heyy I was curious if you could write about some of the Hashira men X a reader who is from a foreign country? Or speaks another language?

thank you!!💗

A/N: OML MY TWO DS OC'S ARE ACTUALLY FOREIGN ((I would love to rant some day about my ds OC'S)) also, I haven't wrote a full finished story since I was in junior high ((holy shit I'm old)) [[all the others are wip's]] so this is probably gonna be some shitty hcs!! ♥️

Some Hashiras x Foreign GN Y/N Shinobu, Rengoku, Mitsuri, Tengen, Giyu, Sanemi,

SHINOBU KOCHO:

She gives curious vibes

I think she'd wanna learn about your culture

She'd probably wanna learn the language if she hasn't learned it already that is

I feel like she is very bilingual ((did I spell that right?))

She would be willing to do your culture's traditions

I imagine you're doing something and accidentally hurt yourself and you curse in your language, and she just smiles politely and mends your wounds

KYOJURO RENGOKU

Loves your culture's food!

Especially loves your culture's special seasons/holidays

Wants to learn how to make traditional food from your country

I'm thinking if you forget a word in Japanese, he would try to help you remember it

He would want you to teach him some phrases from your language

I personally think he'd struggle learning your native language

but he'd try tho!

He'd tell all his friends your different!

MITSURI KANROJI

She would absolutely want to try your culture's food!

She would wanna learn the recipes to try to cook as well

I think she'd be quite interested in your culture's fashion trends and such

If you're culture has types of dancing I think she would LOVE to learn them!

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

I think he'd be interested in learning about your culture's fighting styles if it has any

I think he might be interested in the history

He'd wanna learn all the curses and slurs in your language😈

He'd be... Off put by your culture's food, but I think he'd give in and eat some

GIYU TOMIOKA

He'd be... intrigued to say the least

It wouldn't really matter to him that your different,

But I think he'd be interested in learning your language

I think he'd very much want to learn your culture's manners

So he doesn't offend you or your whoever

Because it might crush him if you got pissed off at him 🥺

TENGEN UZUI

He would find it extremely flashy to have a special partner!

He would brag and show you off

He would love to learn about your language

He would absolutely love to dress up in your native clothing

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

A/n: so sorry this was short and shitty, It's been a while also i've never written for Tengen before ((rlly sorry it wasn't all the hashiras, I'm not quite sure how to write for them yet T_T))

~yim

#Demon slayer #sanemi x reader #Sanemi #Rengoku #Rengoku x reader #Giyu x reader #Mitsuri #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #Shinobu #Giyu #Tengen #tengen x reader #too lazy to add more tags

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mousemannation · 22 days ago

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The Demon is igniting a new era for the next generation🔥 Introducing the #DeMinaurJuniorTour 😈 | @/alexdeminaur @/tennisaustralia [x]

here is the tennis australia article about it. The crux of it is that The Australian Junior Tour, which is the national tour for 12/u and 14/u players, is being rebranded the De Minaur Junior Tour!! As part of this rebranding Alex is also "working with Tennis Australia to establish a scholarship program designed to support high-achieving juniors, ensuring they have the resources and mentorship needed to excel."

The two winners of each age group (one boy and one girl from the 12/u and 14/u age group) will automatically win the De Minaur Junior Tour scholarship. One other athlete will be given a scholarship to the program, named the Alex De Minaur Spirit of Tennis Scholarship, awarded to the player who displays key values and behaviours throughout the tournament.

From what is said in the above video, this scholarship consists of a four week trip to Europe. The first week is a training week with Alex, and the rest will be the chance to compete in three tournaments in Europe. Throughout the year they will also continue to be mentored by Alex!!

and here are Alex's quotes from the article!

“The vision for this whole scholarship is to try and give a pathway to junior athletes and try to help them transition and improve their careers,” said De Minaur. “For me it was very important as a young kid to come out to Europe and see the competition abroad. It taught me a lot of lessons of all the things I had to work on – the routines, the work ethic, the professionalism – that ended up helping me through my whole career and shaping who I am today. “Mentorship is super important, and I’ve been fortunate to have learnt so much from my mentors over the years. I want to pass on the knowledge I’ve gathered throughout my journey and help young Aussie athletes to improve and become the best version they can be.”

#alex de minaur #mouse man #mouse man national gazette #tennis #atp tennis

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extremlynerdyfairy · 8 months ago

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Someone call me Dimension 20’s MatPat, cause I have some INSANE theories to share!!

‼️⚠️Spoilers for Fantasy High: Junior Year (Mostly Ep. 13 and back)⚠️‼️

❤️‍🔥🔮🌹Theory #1🌹🔮❤️‍🔥:

Cassandra is in the court of stars?!

When Adaine goes to the court of stars, I found something peculiar in Brennan’s description of the interior of the place. He mentions how in the center of the room, there’s a MASSIVE rose that is surrounded by shimmering, indigo-purple energy. Who in this entire franchise has been associated with those colors and Brennan ALWAYS described their magic/aura having that same vibe?

CASSANDRA!!!

WHAT IF the timeless rose in the court of stars is one of the few remaining items that has some of Cassandra’s essence?

But that’s not the end of it. The rose is described a huge rose, right? You could even say it’s GIANT sized. If my phrasing wasn’t obvious enough, I think the rose might’ve had a deeper meaning/connection for both Ankarna and Cassandra. I googled it, and it’s said that roses usually bloom around early spring and late autumn. This means that PEAK rose blooming season could possibly be summer. Ankarna’s domain.

So there’s a possibility (or better said a hunch) that a possible old gift amongst these two forgotten and corrupted deities is in Fallinel. But considering the fact that a monument about the wedding is in Fallinel, I wouldn’t be surprise if the flower in question is what remains of a bridal bouquet (roses are traditionally associated with love and are a popular bouquet options for weddings…👀). But we’ll see if anything will from this crazy observation of mine.

👹🔥👨‍👩‍👧Theory #2👨‍👩‍👧🔥👹:

Who’s Fig’s REAL daddy, really?

I know this might seem like a bit, but I think it’s one worth thinking about. Usually Tieflings are just descendants of one mortal being and an infernal being. To my knowledge (and I encourage any DND buffs to fact check me on this), Tieflings can pop-up in a family tree as long as ONE of the bio parents has infernal blood or ancestry in them.

Now, why does this have to do with Fig’s bloodline? Gilear even stated in sophomore year that him and Sandra Lynn weren’t having bedroom fun before fig came along. Well I’ll bring you this question as a rebuttal: If Gilear was always aware to some degree about Fig not being his, how did Sandra Lynn get away with that lie for MANY years?

My theory is that Sandra Lynn originally didn’t know WHO fathered Fig since (and I’m just spit balling here) she probably had adult fun with Gilear shortly after Gortholax (probably due to guilt and making sure Gilear didn’t catch on to the cheating) and basically decided to wing it and after Fig started growing her horns didn’t hesitate to consider Gortholax the father. BUT WHAT ABOUT GILEAR’S DEMONIC BLOODLINE?! We recent learned Gilear is a descendant of Backur and we know that the curse attached to the Feith family is past on to the eldest of the family to the oldest of their children.

What if Gilear IS Fig’s bio dad AND that Fig being a Tiefling was because of Gilear being a descendant of Backur?!

Tbh this is a theory I’m only 65% sold on, since I’m not sure my DND knowledge is correct or if Brennan’s world even operates under those same rules. But it’s fun to think about.

🐀🤓😈Theory #3😈🤓🐀:

Kipperlilly, the rat grinders, and Ankarna?!

I know that the season is leading up to a final confrontation between both of these adventuring parties, but here’s the fun question to ask:

WHY? Why the FUCK are these nerds SO determined to have the Bad Kids eat shit?

Very simple answer. Conquests. ✨ACADEMIC✨ Conquest. We know the rat grinders are basically exp farmers and (in many ways) are dark parallels to many of the Bad Kids own party members (Buddy and Kristen, Ruben and Fig, Oshin and Adaine, etc.). And we’ve seen how salty they are (Cunt-head Bitch face, especially) at how the Bad Kids (despite many of them not taking their academics seriously) are able to achieve things the Rat Grinders think THEY deserve. And who was recently revealed as a goddess of Conquest? Ankarna.

But HOW would the Rat Grinder’s know about Ankarna?! Well… remember Lucy?

Lucy’s death is very much hinted to be caused by the other members of her party (tho, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s revealed that it was someone else, most likely Kalina). But WHY did Lucy die?!

What if Lucy was trying to pull a similar stunt that Kristen pulled in sophomore year? After all we know Lucy wanted to switch gods and the name on the paper for that switch within the school was blank. Kinda like the god’s name wasn’t found or couldn’t be said…like Ankarna. I 1,000% believe that Lucy was trying to bring the uncorrupted version of Ankarna back (similar to how Kristen brought Cassandra back from her Nightmare King form). How she found out about Ankarna is a whole entire debate (maybe from her original goddess or through research, we’ll find out what more episodes released) but we are left with one MASSIVE question:

WHY DID THE RAT GRINDERS KILL LUCY?! What could they possibly gain from killing their friend?! Well…what if the rat grinders didn’t want Ankarna uncorrupted?

Afterall, Ankarna’s corrupted domain (that of conquest, rage, and dominating over others) fits better with Kipperlilly’s need to be the best at the school. I wouldn’t be surprised if the rat grinders’ end goal is to use Ankarna’s corrupted domain to help them (mostly Kipperlilly) win the elections.

After all, Cunt-head Bitch-Face did make it VERY clear from the beginning that her goal is to see the Bad Kids get what they deserve (which is expulsion) for their lack of academic integrity; and, for her party (the group that has been doing things by the book this entire time) to get what THEY deserve. Absolute power over the school.

Those are all my theories! PLEASE share your thoughts. And remember, it’s Just a theory… A DIMENSION 20 THEORY!!!

(Note: I went back and fleshed out a bit more theory #3 because I was writing it at 2am and forgot to add a few of the important details of that theory 😅)

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #theory #rat grinders #the bad kids #brennan lee mulligan #fabian seacaster #fig faeth #kristen applebees #adaine abernant #gilear faeth

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rexecutioner · 2 months ago

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So this is Jo!! (They/He) (no i’m not projecting what r u talking about)

They are a Werewolf who currently lives with his buddies Louise (Meifwa, made by @amnesiaskulls) and Max (Human /j made by @h3r0b0y) in a small apartment on Meuvia, a small street/neighborhood in Phoenix Drop.

Jo is very friendly and extroverted, and somehow doesn’t get drained by customer service. They have a slightly muscular build thanks to natural Werewolf genes mixing with their daily runs and escapades. He likes to people watch and go fishing, and finds comfort in hot beverages and writing. They like listening to rock music (specifically a band that their friend Nigel plays guitar in) and can be rather reserved when around closer friends.

Jo’s family consists of his mother, father, and older brother Fenrir (im cringe but free). Their father is pretty judgmental of his children and as a result Jo usually doesn’t go to family gatherings unless he is absent. They have a good but weird relationship with their mother (Ylva) and brother.

Both children are secretly praying for their parent’s divorce in the near future after their father became extremely arrogant and selfish over the years, though Fenrir still wants him in his life while Jo wants absolutely nothing to do with him. They never talked much in high school thanks to Fenrir’s weird popular boy phase not mixing well with Jo’s reserved nature, though they reconnected during Jo’s junior year after Fenrir had graduated.

Jo went to PDH during Aphmau’s junior year, and although they never actually met Jo knew of her from the other Werewolves. He started out his Freshman year not really knowing anybody but soon found friends in the LGBTQ+ club, which is being ran by a Senior named Annie and a Junior named Carter for the year. (Annie is the Werewolf Vape Stealer and Carter works the ocean slide at LLP)

They met more people through the club and other classes, such as Max, Dani, Nigel, Niko, August, Marie, and Jasper. (and more people but I haven’t given them names yet) and slowly his social anxiety died down and he became more social and friendly and he got a job at a tiny convenience store with amazing pay even though its run down and shitty with one other employee (the old lady who runs the place has an employee of the month bulletin board with both of their pictures pinned on it)

During his post highschool years he met Louise (he met Max in PDH) and they became very close, eventually after highschool they all moved in together in a small house in a neighborhood called Meuvia, where most of their other friends coincidentally moved as well.

Feel free to send asks about Jo or anyone else mentioned in this post! There is so much angst that i left out (they also have an mcd counterpart 😈)

#aphblr #mystreet oc #aphmau oc #mys oc #mcd oc

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last-starry-sky · 1 year ago

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Girl's Night Out - ch. 1

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pairing: Ghost x shy!goth!f!reader

rating: M

summary: A full rewrite of this idea I posted last week. Read that if you want to be spoiled. Shy reader is pulled out for a girl's night by her two friends. They run into Gaz, Soap, and Ghost at the same bar. The night develops from there.

word count: 9.6k

warning: mdni, not beta-read, reader is painfully shy, like socially anxious levels of shy (i'm not projecting at allll), drinking, smoking mention, touching and kissing but mostly sfw (the good shit will be in the next chapter i promise. it's already written. 😈). This is also about 90% exposition (i'm sorry).

Also, I have committed the ultimate, unforgivable sin in this: Ghost is maskless. So if that ruins it for you, sit this one out.

snippet:

“If you’re interested, that guy hasn’t stopped looking at you since he walked in.” You set your drink down with a clunk. You were going to kill both of them. Your friend giggled. She picked up her glass and took a delicate, almost coquettish, sip. “No,” she said setting it down so lightly you almost didn’t hear it. “All of them have been staring over here since they walked in.”

“GOD, this week has been complete shit!” your friend shouted as soon as the two of you were far enough away from work to be out of earshot of your other dispersing coworkers.

She stretched her arms up, a few cracks audible through her heavy coat as she groaned. It was true. It had been a hellish week. You hadn’t even had time to have lunch with each other. Most everyday for her was either a “lunch meeting” or just working straight through her usual lunch hour. You had started just giving her your packed lunch and running out for a bite to eat when you could. She was thankful for it. She was a junior partner. Every extra billable hour and little bit reflected back on her, helped her future career.

You weren’t privy to exactly why all the partners were so ungodly busy, you were just a receptionist. Not even a secretary. Your days were busy in a different way: greeting and checking in what felt like the same ten faces, answering the phone with a greeting that was worn into the foundation of your brain at this point, answering emails, moving meetings around. There was also the bonus (if you could really call it that) task of covering for one of the senior partner’s secretaries when they took their lunches. It was nothing you weren’t used to. The only thing you disliked was that one slimy junior partner that seems to always conveniently hang around the front desk while they’re away.

Your friend wound her arm around yours. Her face was still scrunched from her stretch, not yet ready to relax.

“What do you have planned?” she asked.

“Oh, the usual,” you sighed turning your face away, watching the pavement pass by as you walked, “laundry, cleaning-”

“So, nothing?” she interrupted you sarcastically.

A cold wind whipped down the street, mussing both of your hair.

“Yeah. Nothing,” you mumbled. You broke your arm away to push your hair back behind your ear. “Do you still want to stop for groceries?” you asked, desperate to change the subject. You wanted this week to end in it’s usual, boring way for the both of you.

She hummed back in agreement, distracted with rearranging her long, curly hair back into place.

“God, I need a drink,” she said with a huff, giving up on her hair. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, looked back over to you and said exactly what you did not want to hear. “We should go out tonight.”

You spent your whole shopping trip feebly fighting off your friend’s attempt to make plans. She was begging you by the time you pushed your trolley out of the store.

“PLEASE,” she had begged, pulling at your hand while you tried to take out your bags. “Please! Just a few hours! Just you and me and we can go to this cute little bar that’s out of the way! No guys! A girl’s night!”

Your silence had been your answer.

You felt a bit guilty, walking away, leaving her there to beg to no one in the middle of the parking lot. The farther you walked, face into the cold wind, the worst you felt. It was the wind making you cry, you lied to yourself. The desire to turn back and just give in to your best friend, to make things right despite your own feelings grew stronger with every block. You tightened your grip on your bags. No, you told yourself. You don’t want to go out, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to.

You repeated it to yourself until your little white apartment building filled your hazy vision. You set down your bags on the stoop and wiped your eyes as you shuffled through your keys. Your eye wandered forward, looking through the two tall bushes that flanked the fenced-off area in front of the bay windows. The sun was pooling bright and yellow on the hardwood inside. It took you a second to connect that your were looking into your own apartment, mess cluttered across the floor on full display to the street. You had forgotten to close your curtains again. You let out an exhausted sigh, pushed open the door, and gathered your bags. If there was anything to be thankful for, it was that there were only seven other tenants and none of them seemed the voyeuristic type. Or at least you hoped so.

Safe inside, you put away your food. You puttered around, looking over the mess you had let accumulate all week (at left on display) as you raced to and from work, only having enough energy at the end of the day to heat up some food, wash yourself, and pass out into your unmade bed. You sighed sinking down into your couch. You would definitely have enough to occupy your mind for the next couple days. Your friend had enough other friends, you told yourself, wrapping up in a blanket you had left stuffed over the side of the couch. She would find someone to go out with, blow off that steam she needed to.

Your eyes were about to close, cuddled up in your blanket in the sun-warmed pool of late-afternoon light from your front windows. The street was mostly quiet, just the wind and branches from the bushes and trees against the building. It was pleasant white-noise to fall asleep to. You heard your phone buzz. You almost ignored it. Then it buzzed again. You groaned. Someone was texting you and you had a feeling you knew who it was. You pulled yourself out of your blanket cocoon with a groan and angrily went to find your purse where you had dropped it in the entryway.

It wasn’t who you thought it would be. It was your (only) other friend. She just so happened to be your friend’s cousin. You had known her for about as long as you had your other friend. They looked very similar, most of the time getting mistaken for sisters, but they could not have been more different in personality.

Your friend was a solicitor, through and through. She was quick, witty, and tough with a beautiful face and sensuous body she knew how to use when either softening or enhancing a biting comment. No man stood a chance against her, most women, too. You admired her strength. The way she took no shit, stood up for herself, and got what she wanted from life.

Her cousin, on the other hand, with almost the same face and body, was sweet. She loved to hear other people talk. She had a talent for putting people at ease, for getting them to open up and tell their tales. She would laugh with their funny stories and softly hold their hands through the sad ones. It had to be something in her kind eyes, her genuine words, her warm smile. You wished you had her warmth. How she could give so much, make people feel loved and wanted and safe.

You opened your messages.

You okay?

Heard you got in a fight?

You huffed looking at the pair of messages. You wondered what she had been told. You tapped out your reply.

I’m fine. Not really a fight. Your cousin wanted to go out but I’m just not feeling it.

You watched the line of dots bounce as she replied.

Glad you’re okay. ❤️☺️ Take care of yourself!

You smiled. She still had that ability to make you feel better, even through the phone. You took the time while you were there to tidy up your entryway: organizing your shoes back into a line on the rug next to the door and hanging up your jackets. You were thinking about grabbing your mop to get rid of the stains and dirt that you had tracked in when it had rained for a few days this week when your phone buzzed again.

Did you end up buying that shirt you liked?

You blushed thinking back to last weekend. Both of your friends had managed to pull you out for a day of shopping. You were usually against buying anything for yourself, used to squirreling away your money for when you really needed it. Moving internationally had done that to you. Your nice friend had called it “self care” but your lawyer friend had taken you by the shoulders and very directly told you that you could not keep showing up to the office in clothes from ten years ago. So you three had made a day of it, a nice day at that. You had bought mostly clothes for the office: black skirts and slacks, button up shirts and cardigans.

Toward the end of the day you had given in and finally let yourself go in the store you had wanted to explore the whole afternoon. A little, dark store specializing in gothic fashion. Your friends had not made fun of you, and actually encouraged you! They kept pulling down things for you to try on, much to the annoyance of the two employees, cooing and squealing every time you came out of the dressing room. You had wanted to buy everything, and your friends did too, but you were realistic. You knew you hated going out, and none of these clothes were appropriate for your office job. You had sighed, coming down from your retail high, and sorted out a few shirts and skirts you felt you would actually wear day-to-day.

Your friend’s text was about the hardest choice you’d had make: a black velvet, lace trimmed, cropped tank top that came with a matching, long sleeved, lace over-shirt. The lace on the tank was beautifully ornate and pointed. It made you feel like a cathedral window. The over-shirt was wide necked, hanging just enough off your shoulders to let the lace below peak up. What made you self conscious about it was what your friends had exclaimed when you did a turn around after walking out of the dressing room.

“It shows off your tattoo so well!”

You clamped your hand over your right shoulder now as it had then. It had shaken you then. You felt exposed. Who were you pretending to be? Some girl who goes out to clubs to show off her body? No way. Were you going to display your tattoo just so some stranger could leer at you, dig into your personal life? No. Your tattoo was yours. You didn’t have to tell anyone about it if you didn’t want to.

You had hardened your heart as you paid for your other clothes. You didn’t need that shirt. But once you were home, and your friends were texting you, just like they were now, you had caved. You had thought about it for two days. Despite your busy week, you had ran back to that shop after work on the third night and bought it. You had told your friend at work the day after.

You replied:

I did, actually.

She texted back quickly.

Can I see it on you again???

It was still sitting on the floor of your bedroom, in the bag with the receipt because you were definitely going to return it after the honeymoon phase passed. Phone in hand, you pulled it out again. You dangled it between your hands by the straps, lace fluttering, more nothing than anything. You sighed. It was still as cute as the day you first fell in love with it.

You threw your phone on the bed and stripped off your warm sweater from work. The cloth was cold against your body, and the lace did nothing to hold onto any heat. You swiveled back and forth, looking yourself over in your mirror propped in the corner of your room. With a necklace and the right pair of pants, or a skirt, it would be really cute. You found yourself thinking about what color lipstick you would wear with it.

You grabbed your phone off of your bed and quickly snapped a picture for your friend. She replied back almost immediately.

!!!!!

SO CUTE

Then, your other friend texted you.

GIRL. YOU HAVE TO WEAR THAT OUT WITH US TONIGHT.

You could have strangled the both of them. Of course they had worked together again to get at you. Of course. You texted her back.

You two are going out?

Yep!

You tapped the side of your phone. She seemed in a better mood than when you last saw her. That was good. It was also good that your other friend was going out. Even if you bailed, she would at least have her. You let yourself be bitten by curiosity and texted:

Where?

She texted you the address for a bar. You clicked on the link. As the website loaded you sat down on your bed, running your hands over the lace on your stomach. You swiped through the pictures. It was just as your friend had described it: small, dark, intimate, out of the way. Not a place you felt you needed to worry about being interrupted by jackasses trying to hit on you or your friends. Another text pulled you back to reality.

It’s cute.

soooooo

you wanna meet up with us later? 👀 Just for a drink or two? Just us girls?

There it was. A question you didn’t want to answer. It was selfish, but you really wanted to ignore your friends, curl up in bed, and let the night pass alone. You fell back onto your bed and stared up at the ceiling. You tapped at the sides of your phone. You also really didn’t want to ghost your friends. They had been gone out of their way to do things with you, to include you though the worst and most stressful years of your life. You ground your heel against the hardwood floor. A little smile crept over your cheek.

You could do it. You could do this for them.

What time?

Your friend’s reply came not a second later.

See you then!!!!

You thought the hardest part of this night was going to be getting ready. You only had an hour to decide what to put on. The problem of how to combine the various pieces of your all black wardrobe into something cute enough for a girl’s night out but not too cute to attract unwanted attention, that was a struggle. Your floor was filled with tights, leggings, and skirts as you tried on every piece of clothing you had with the shirt you had set your heart on. Finally, with time running out, you put on your high waisted leggings and, after a quick once over in the mirror, you decided it was this or nothing. You actually liked how the waistband almost met the bottom of the crop top, giving your outfit the illusion of being one piece.

You had gone back and forth in your head over what color lipstick you wanted to wear. You could have softened the whole look with a dark red or even purple. There was something rebellious in you though, maybe it was the fact that you still didn’t want to be doing this, that made you pick out the matte black. If they wanted you to come out they would get the full you. The rest of your makeup was minimal: lashes, liner, brows. You wanted your lips to be the star. Not that anyone would care besides your two friends.

You quickly pulled together the rest of your outfit as you walked out the door: a lace choker around the middle of your neck, short black boots, and your black motorcycle jacket that you had stopped wearing to work after too many pointed stares.

The hardest part also wasn’t walking alone the five or so blocks to the bar. The dark didn’t scare you, even in the city. It was Friday night and the weekend was just staring: everyone was heading out, rushing by just as you were. No one paid you much attention, even dressed as you were. Head down, you blended into the bustling crowd and quickly made good time to the bar.

No, the hardest part so far was just walking in the door. It was an old door, like one that the traditional pubs from the old section of the city had. There was only one, antique looking, lantern style, light illuminating the brass plaque with the bar’s name on the outside. The one large window was tinted so dark you couldn’t even peek in to see if your friends were inside. They had texted you about five minutes ago, saying they had arrived and had a table. It still scared you that they might not be inside, that you would just have to trust them.

You gathered your courage and pushed the door open. It was truly a tiny place. The horse shoe shaped bar took up almost a third of the space. There were four little round tables pushed toward the walls that filled the rest of the pub. It was too dark for you to see very clearly into every corner. The brightest light hung like a pendant above the middle of the bar, which was empty save for the bartender. Your heart clenched in a panic. You were alone. You looked desperately around for your friends.

The bartender: a young, dark haired guy with a curled mustache who was rather cute, greeted you. He called you over, casually leaned against the bar and asked what you wanted to drink. Before you could say a word your friend, like an angel from heaven, came snaking around the bar toward you. She was just as dolled up as you: a flowing, long sleeved, red shirt shifted off her shoulders, tight, dark jeans, and bright red heels.

“You came!” she said pulling you into a tight hug, leaving you breathless. Your lungs filled with hairspray and perfume. You heard the bartender chuckle as she pulled away, leaving her arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your friend turned to him and smiled flirtatiously, her red lipstick accentuating her wide smile. You saw her gold earrings sparkle out from her dark hair. “See? I told you she would come!”

You blushed as the bartender now asked your friend what he should get started for you. You we about half sure that he assumed you were her girlfriend. “This round’s on me,” your friend said squeezing your arm, letting you order for yourself.

“Vodka Cranberry, please,” you told the bartender, avoiding his eyes by unzipping your jacket.

He quickly made your drink and, as soon as it was in your hand, you were whisked away by your friend. A dim, hazy light hung above your table. It was enough to clearly see the drinks on the table and your friends faces, but not much else. No wonder you hadn’t seen them when you walked in.

Your other friend’s soft smile greeted you when you got to your little round table. She was more casual that the two of you, wearing a tight sage-green dress with a square neckline. Her sleek, black hair fell in neat waves to her shoulders: not as short as yours but shorter than her cousin’s. A small, silver necklace hung down over her clavicle, setting off the tone of her skin brilliantly.

“You wore your new shirt!” she said sweetly as you shuffled your jacket off your shoulders. You threw it over the back of the chair. “You dressed it up so well!”

“Thanks,” you said hopping up into your chair and stirring your drink, trying not to sound too proud. You did feel cute though.

“So,” your friend said slumping over the table, her red sleeve flowing over the bottom of her martini glass, “what’s new with you guys?”

Your other friend took a sip of her wine. “Nothing,” she said with a sigh.

“Nobody cute at work?” your friend goaded, resting her face on her fist.

She shook her head. “Not even anyone interesting. Same doctors and researchers as always.”

Your friend picked up her glass. “A toast to the single life then,” she said sarcastically.

Both you and your friend picked up your glasses in unison and, with a laugh, clinked them against hers. In the middle of your drink, your friend rolled her eyes and set her glass down without taking a sip.

“Guys! I don’t WANT to be single!" She reconsidered her choice, eyeing the last bit of alcohol in her glass, and picked it up again.

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy . . .” your friend suggested, swirling her dark wine.

“Ugh, if only,” she replied setting down her glass after a long drink, olives rolling at the bottom. She looked at you with a wince of sympathy and said, “We’re in for a long couple weeks.”

“Really?” you asked, hoping for her to elaborate, but your voice was drowned out by the door opening and another group walking in.

It was a group of guys, if you could guess by their voices as they passed by to sit on the far end of the bar. You didn’t bother to look back. They made small talk with the bartender as they ordered. The bar equalized back to it’s quiet state, indie-rock barely audible through the speakers. You couldn’t help but catch your friend’s wandering eye as you picked up your glass for a drink. She was looking at them, fingers tapping across her lips.

You rolled your eyes. She had promised this was a night out for friends, just for you girls.

Your other friend, sensing the tension, reached out and patted her on the arm. “It’s hard to keep a relationship when your work life is so busy,” she said softly.

“You would know,” she shot back.

Your friend’s hand flinched back, shocked by her words. You hadn’t been involved but you felt like you had been punched. Now you were both staring at her, more than a bit angry. What had gotten into her? Your friend sat back in her chair, a sad look creeping over her face.

“Sorry,” she apologized softly, “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” your friend said finishing her glass of wine. She hopped down off her chair, the heels of her boots clacking against the hardwood. She pointed at the two of you. “I’ll get the next round.”

Your other friend plucked her skewer of olives out of her empty martini and bit one off as she pushed the glass toward her cousin.

“I’ll have another.”

She collected the glass with a hard, neutral face and clacked away, needing to cool off away from the two of you. Maybe a conversation with that cute bartender would help. Your friend next to you, however, didn’t seem phased. She was running her wooden skewer over her lips, a glazed look in her eye. You followed her gaze to the group of guys standing at the corner of the bar. Something she was only able to do because your other friend had left. You snapped your eyes back to the table as soon as you saw them. You stirred your drink and tried to think of something to bring your friend’s mind back to your table.

Your other friend, thankfully, returned with your drinks then.

“You two sure are quiet,” she observed, sliding her cousin her drink.

Your friend bit off her other olive, holding it with her teeth as she pulled it off the stick more than a little seductively. Her eyes were still trained past your friend. You gulped your drink, too afraid to say anything. You stared at her over your glass, pleading she would read your mind.

Eventually she looked at her cousin’s blissed out expression, as her position hadn’t changed since she had left and with a little smile said, “If you’re interested, that guy hasn’t stopped looking at you since he walked in.”

You set your drink down with a clunk. You were going to kill both of them.

Your friend giggled. She picked up her glass and took a delicate, almost coquettish, sip. “No,” she said setting it down so lightly you almost didn’t hear it. “All of them have been staring over here since they walked in.”

Her cousin, with her back to their eyes had the most freedom of expression. Her mouth dropped open in surprise and shock and then formed back into a smile. You could hear her hum with excitement. There was the same wicked glint in both of their eyes.

Oh no, you thought.

“What do you want to do?” she whispered, leaning forward to her cousin.

Her eyes broke away from the man she was staring at across the bar and met her cousin’s, a shameless smile still painted her face.

“I’m going to go over there and ask him if he likes what he sees.”

You felt the pit of your stomach drop. You weren’t even halfway through your first drink and she was already acting like this. Your friend was just as stunned into silence as you were. She was true to her word though. She spun out of her chair and walked around you, more hairspray and perfume wafting off of her, to the group of men lurking in the shadows.

Your other friend grabbed your arm.

“What’s going on? I can’t see!” she whispered excitedly in your ear.

You very slightly turned your head, blush creeping over your face, and tried to make out what was happening. You could see your friend’s bright red shirt as she leaned against the bar. There was nothing you could make out of the guy she was talking to, just that he had a well-muscled arm holding a bottle of beer.

“How many did you say there were?” you asked your friend in a whisper.

“Three,” she answered, “Why?”

“Because I can’t-” You were squinting into the corner trying to make out the other figures when your friend turned quickly around, spraying out her hair in a heavy curtain around her as she bounced back toward the table. She had a small smile on her face and the man’s hand in hers.

You both sat up straight and pretended you hadn’t been spying and gossiping the whole time as she walked him over to your table and around to her chair. You could smell his warmth and cologne as he passed behind you.

“Guys!” she gushed pulling the mohawked man close to her. Her hand pressed into the front of his white shirt as if he was already a friend. “This is John, but you can call him Soap!”

He tipped his beer at the two of you and you both politely greeted him.

“Hope you don’t mind my friends and I joining you ladies. Promise we’ll behave,” he said in a Scottish accent with a sparkle in his blue eyes. As much as it was irritating you now, your friend had a knack for finding interesting guys.

Wait, your brain stopped mid-drink as you tried to hide your nerves. Friends? Plural?

A hand, and then a face, and then a body broke in between you and your other friend. He smelled shower-fresh, minty fresh even. She looked up at the tall, dark, and handsome man in a sky blue t-shirt that had appeared, with eyes blown wide and was instantly smitten.

“Hi,” he said softly. His London accent familiar to your ears. He set his beer on the table between the two of you. “I’m Kyle, Soap’s friend.”

Your friend didn’t say anything, her brain must have short-circuited when she saw the cute little mustache above Kyle’s mouth.

You heard Soap snort into his beer. Everyone turned to look at him.

“Kyle,” he said sarcastically.

Kyle laughed back, toying with his bottle. “Real name’s Kyle, but you can call me Gaz, like my friends do, if you want.”

“Kyle’s a nice name,” your friend said sweetly. He looked over to her and they both smiled, a soft ‘thanks’ trapped between them. You almost missed him throwing his coat on the back of her chair, the smell of leather fanning out as he did so.

That’s two, you thought. Where’s the last one?

You felt a hand land on the top corner of your chair. The vibration it caused sent a shiver down your spine. You clenched your hands in your lap, wishing yourself to disappear. A large presence walked behind you as you heard the arm drag across your leather jacket. You let yourself look at his hand as he set his glass on the table. You blushed, eyes wide. Damn. He had big hands.

“Ghost!” Soap greeted his friend with a little nod. “Nice of you to join us,” he said bring his beer to his lips.

“Bartender took ‘is sweet time,” he said gruffly.

Oh god. He had a deep voice too. It’s normal for a bigger guy to have a deeper voice but goddamn is his an octave deeper than it has any right to be. And he wasn’t local, just like Soap. You would have to ask your friends later where he was from. They at least grew up here.

“Oh?” Soap said with a quirk of his expressive eyebrows.

Ghost took his glass off the table. “Not too happy with this,” he said gesturing to all of you around the table, “Think we ruined his plans.”

Your friend next to Gaz groaned, her hand covering her face as everyone turned to look at her.

“He . . . didn’t charge me for our drinks,” she admitted shyly.

You couldn’t help but join in the laugh over that. The poor guy, your poor friend, you thought. Kyle soothed her, telling her she didn’t have to worry, as she let her hands fall in his. It was almost too sweet to watch.

“Right then, guess the next round is on me then,” Soap said guiltily pointing his bottle toward himself. Several glasses and bottles were immediately pushed his way and he deflated with a sigh. Your friend giggled at that.

As he left, you relaxed back into your chair. You had thought the worst when your friend had pulled those guys over here, but, for once, it turned out okay. They seemed fun. The air around you was filled with soothing scents: their hoppy beer and sharp whiskey mixed with your fruity cocktails and wine, musky cologne and soft leather over floral perfume and hairspray.

“Hope we aren’t interrupting your night,” Gaz said leaning over to talk to your friend.

“Oh no,” she said urgently shaking her head, “it’s no problem. Actually, we had all just been talking about how boring our lives were lately.”

“Boring? Really? What do you all do?” he asked.

“I’m a lawyer,” your friend said proudly.

“Shit, really?” Soap said returning to the table, hands full of drinks. “Smart an’ pretty, eh? Some girls have all the luck.”

She smiled, basking in his compliments. She looked at you across the table, fresh drink pushed in front of her.

“We work together,” she said proudly pointing to you. You buried your face in your glass.

“No shit,” Soap said looking back and forth between you two, “Both lawyers?”

You wished you could die, right there. Your mouth was full of alcohol, but you shook your head. Your friend took pity on you and, with a laugh, said, “No, she’s our receptionist. Keeps me organized and on time. The whole office, really.”

Your eyes silently thanked her for going easy on you. Your heart slowed back to normal. She could have said so much more, so much more that was very personal to you, but she didn’t. You thanked whatever deity was out there that she wasn’t a rambling drunk.

“That’s cool,” Gaz said turning to the woman next to him. “What about you?”

“I’m a speech therapist. I work with the university mostly and the hospitals when they need me,” she said sweetly.

“You’re a doctor then?” he asked.

“No, not yet,” she said with a shake of her head, reaching for her wine, “Maybe in a few years, though.”

“And!” your friend said reaching across the table to grab the woman’s hand, “we’re cousins!”

“Really?” Gaz said as him and Soap looked over their two faces. “Could have passed for-”

“Sisters?” they said together.

Another laugh rang out around the table as you quietly finished your drink. You set it down in front of you, not ready to ask for another. Even the thought of asking for one of them to buy you a drink was twisting a knot in your stomach. You rarely drank, even out with your friends, so you planned on having a water next. The man behind you didn’t miss it though. You saw him point and Soap was quick to swipe it from you. You tried to protest, but your friend had started a conversation with Gaz that grabbed your attention.

“How did all of you meet?”

“Military,” he answered quickly and less warmly than he had before. His eyes met the man’s behind you as he turned to sip his beer.

“Ooooh,” your friend cooed. Soap had just returned with your drink, which you quietly thanked him for, as he took his place back by her side. “Soap, why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Didn’ ye’ see my tattoo?” he said holding out his left arm.

You and your friend across the table got the first and best look. She was babbling to Gaz as your friend pulled him around to get a look for herself. She was cooing again as she smoothed her hands up his arm.

“What is it?” she asked, head cocked to the side.

“It’s the crest for SAS: Special Air Service,” he said softly, her fingers still massaging over his skin.

“You fly?” she asked excitedly.

“Not personally,” he said with a chuckle. “Been in enough helicopters to fill a lifetime, though. Right Gaz?”

Gaz scowled into his beer. “Got that damn right,” he answered wearily, clearly bringing up a bad experience.

“So you all work together?” your other friend said to Gaz, “Like as a-”

“Team? Yeah,” he answered.

“That’s so cool! How long?” she asked.

“A couple of years now, give or take,” he said looking over at Soap, who shrugged in response.

You listened to the conversation ping-pong back and forth across the table. No one seemed to mind you just sitting there listening as you slowly sipped your drink. Gaz and Soap told more stories about their shared experiences, your friends fawning over their every word. You leaned over your glass, checking out of the conversation. You were more interested in the man behind you. Why wasn’t he saying anything? He couldn’t be shy like you, not a military guy, surely not.

“But no, really. How did you guys find this place?” your friend asked Gaz. Soap had his arm fully wrapped around her and she was leaning back into him.

“I’ve been coming here for a while, back before it was sold. When we all got back into the country I thought-”

“It would be a great place to get this guy out for a night.” Soap interrupted, pointing at the man behind you.

“I said the same thing about her!” your friend burst out.

You wanted to sink into the floorboards again.

“We’ve got more than one thing in common, then,” you heard the man behind you comment darkly into his glass.

His voice sent tremors down your spine. It was low and gravelly. Probably just from his drink you tell yourself. No one else noticed what he said.

Your hand flexed on your glass, still mostly full. What did he mean by that? More than one thing in common? Ghost leaned in just a bit to set his glass next to your hands. A slip of the amber liquid still sliding around the bottom. Oh god, you can smell him. He’s got this natural, understated, manly smell. It’s probably just soap and laundry detergent but he made it musky and dark, notes of copper and grease and fire crinkling around the edges. It’s making your head spin. You wished you had been braver before, when they had first came over, and gotten a good look at him.

A loud giggle from your friend in Gaz’s arms pulled you out of your thoughts.

“I don’t believe you . . .” she said through her laughter.

“No, for real, ask Soap!” he said pointing with his beer across the table.

“Wha’s that?” Soap asked pulling his face away from your friend.

“Gaz says you like to dance. Is that true?”

Soap’s face lit up, a manic energy possessing him. “Oh hell yes I do! Same as Gaz,” he answered, “D’ you ladies like to dance too?”

Your mind kicks into overdrive. Dancing? This was not a part of the plan for the night.

“There is this club I've wanted to go back to. . .” your friend said melting into Soap’s chest, eyes pleading.

“I’d go!” Soap said looking down into her eyes. She’s in heaven, in her element, loving it.

“Me too!” your other friend said excitedly, pushing her wine into the middle of the table.

“Sounds like a plan then,” Gaz said with a little duck of his head.

All at once, the four of them turn around to look at you and Ghost.

“What about you, Lt?” Soap asks the man behind you. You’d never heard that abbreviation before. You wonder what it stood for. His initials?

You held your breath.

“Gotta keep an eye on you two,” he said flatly, a lint of exhaustion or boredom in his tone. Soap’s smile was practically blinding.

Your friends take a different approach to convincing you. They each grab at your hands and beg, actually beg, you to come with them.

“Please?” your friend pleads “It’ll be so much fun! We don’t have to go out for long!”

You look at the two of them unsure what to say. You weren’t mad about how things were turning out. It was interesting, if anything. It was annoying that you didn’t get to stay home or have a night alone with your friends, but drinks and dancing with some handsome military men was hardly the end of the world. At least you were slowly convincing yourself of it. They are so lucky that you’ve had just enough alcohol to make you feel light and happy.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied softly.

They both jumped out of their chairs to hug you, squealing that you wouldn’t regret it.

Everything happens very quickly around you after that. Soap and your friend are at the bar closing out their tabs. Gaz is helping your other friend into her jacket, talking about which way they should walk. Going across the bridge would be colder, but safer, he says.

You took one last, long, swig of your drink, finishing half of it. You rubbed the imprint of your black lipstick left on the rim. You touched your bottom lip. You probably should have ran to the bathroom to touch up your makeup at some point, but there’s no time now. As you shifted forward to hop out of your seat, Ghost handed you your jacket. You said a soft “thank you” but he was walking away as soon as you took it from his hands. You don’t even know if he heard you. It shouldn’t have, but it crumpled your heart just a little bit.

Business at the bar cleaned up, you all gathered at the door and headed out. Your friends and their guys, their arms gently around their shoulders and waists, took the lead. The walk itself was refreshing. You watched the laughter and conversations dance in the cool air in front of you, too far back to listen in and not really interested anyway. You blow a puff of air out to watch it trail behind you, reminding you of the smoke you can’t have, that you don’t need. The night air is cutting into your buzz, but doesn’t make you forget the tall man walking behind you, bringing up the rear.

It made you wonder how tall he actually is. Soap and Gaz seem to be of average, if a bit taller, than normal height. The man behind you: Ghost, Lt, seemed taller. Roughly a hand or so, if you can judge by how both of them needed to look up when they looked behind you to talk to him. Good lord, you clench your hands in your pockets, your knees suddenly feel like jelly.

And what about what he said before, that you “had things in common”. It stuck in your brain, repeating over and over. Soap had been talking about how Ghost didn’t go out, just like you. So he was a loner, like you. That wasn’t hard to imagine, given his career and all that. But what else? You had no earthly clue what he saw in common with you. You sighed, another vapor trail winding out of your lips. Maybe he was just that much more observant.

One thing you do know is that, eventually, he’s going to get sick of you. A familiar knot forms in your stomach. If he’s pursuing the same thing his friends are, with their hands roaming more boldly with every block, he’ll either shoot his shot or wander off once you reach the club. You know it. You haven’t even said a word to him tonight. That's how these things usually end for you. The guys you like never seem to like you.

You reach the club just as your feet start to chafe in your boots. You can hear the music pulsing from outside. As you walk in, it’s loud and crowded, but it’s not terrible. You usually hate this: big crowds, smoke, a hundred tightly-packed voices yelling, loud music, the floor sticky and the lights strobing through the darkness. For what reason you can’t say, but tonight you actually can’t wait to cut loose, to feel normal like your friends do. You’ve come this far, drinking and spending time with strangers, you might as well dance to some awful techno music and shake off this stressful week.

You have a small hope that the big guy, Ghost, will shoot his shot. Maybe it’s all the small things he’s been doing thought the night. Having Soap get you another drink, handing you your coat, walking protectively behind you, he even took your coat from you to give to the coat-check.

The building is a large box, an old industrial space converted into a trendy night club. A bar on one end, DJ booth on the other, and the dance floor filling everything in between. The floor and the bar are equally packed tonight with only a sliver of empty space separating them from each other.

You all snake along in a single file line until Soap and your friend reach the bar. You watch as they lean against it together and order a couple more outrageously overpriced drinks. They turn around, backs to the bar, and usher everyone to join around them. Gaz leads your other friend to stand a little beyond the other couple, next to a steel column they can lean against. Left to find your own space, you form the last leg of a triangle between your two other friends, your back to the dance floor. Ghost, of course, hovers just behind you, protecting you from the other patrons as they push their way to and from the bar. You’re silently thankful for it. Even in heels, you’re very easy to knock over. Ghost didn’t have that problem. Everyone settles in and relaxes again, heads and legs bopping to the music.

Soap and Gaz make conversation with your friends, which you can’t hear. The pounding bass makes talking to anyone not immediately next to you an effort. The song ends and another starts. You see your other friend excitedly start to sing along to the lyrics.

Dancing in the moonlight, gazing at the stars so bright. Holding you until the sunrise, sleeping until the midnight.

Gaz smiles at her, joining in. It’s cute. It keeps your mind and eyes off of Soap slipping his hand around to palm your friend’s ass.

There’s a shout behind you, which you almost ignore as just another part of the song or ordinary club sounds. Ghost’s hand on your shoulder, pushing you into the middle of the space you had carved out, to safety, is what scares you. Before you can turn around, Soap is launching away from the bar. A scuffle had started on the dance floor right next to you. You watch as Soap hauls a guy about to throw a very drunken punch back by his collar. You can tell they’re not just friends but a team by the way Ghost catches him from Soap, turns him around and boots him towards the door.

Gaz slams a palm to the chest of a guy that peeled out of the crowd to defend his buddy. He barks an order at him and he obeys, throwing his hands up and turning away. You wouldn’t have believed it came out of soft, funny, Gaz if you hadn’t seen it. Those two guys must have been the main cause of the fight, because the bouncers show up not long after and clean out the rest of the rabble peacefully.

“Nice work: Lt, Gaz,” you hear Soap say to his teammates, patting each of them on the shoulder before cozying back up to your friend.

If she wasn’t seduced by now, that little display sure as hell had her. The music is too loud, but you swear you hear him say something to her about “protecting their girls”. She leans over and whispers something fiery into his ear, if you can guess from her enunciation. From the look in her eye, she’s not playing coy anymore. Not a beat passes before your friend is shoving her beer into your hand as Soap pulls her onto the dance floor, her eyes never leaving his. They shove their way into the crowd, disappearing from view.

Wasted, sippin’ on that liquor, you can taste it. Girl don’t touch that drink I know you laced it. I don’t know what to say except your mine mine mine.

You sigh listening to the music and take a sip. It’s warm and tastes horrible, too hoppy for your palette. You wince at the sour taste, but knock back the rest of it anyway. Anything to keep your mind off of Gaz and your other friend practically making out against the bar not two feet behind you. She breaks away from him, probably not wanting to continue being so intimate right next to you, and heads for the dance floor. Gaz doesn’t think twice before following her, his hand quickly winding around her hip, hers joining. A signal to everyone around. He’s mine. She’s with me. Back off.

You sigh into the empty beer bottle. Yeah, you miss that. You set the bottle on the bar, leaning forward against it for support. The optimistic mood you walked in with crushed. You’re ready to cut your losses and just leave. Only the thought of the cold, lonely walk back to your apartment tempting you to stay.

“Wanna join them?” Ghost asks you, back to the bar where he had slid up next to you, him arms crossed across his broad chest.

His voice is right in your ear, easily able to cut through the music and a thousand other noises. You’re absolutely positive he saw you shiver. You look up at him, finally, and it’s too much all at once. Your stomach clenches and you feel the bile catch in your throat. Your hand flies to your mouth. You’ve drunk too much. You’re not used to it. That’s why, you try to convince yourself. You’re a terrible liar though.

The first thing you see is his sleeve of tattoos that warp around his left arm, mostly skulls and flames from what you can make out. They’re large, well muscled arms. He’s not just tall but thick too. It finally clicks together in your head. Oh, that’s what he meant when he said you had things in common. He must have seen your own skull on your shoulder.

Could have been staring at it all night.

You tear your wide eyes away from his arm to his face and it’s the worst mistake you’ve made all night. He’s too fucking handsome. He has short, natural blonde hair and dark, hooded eyes. They’re staring at you like they’re just so tired, they just want a place to rest. His whole face is littered with long-healed scars that you can barely make out. You can see a deep one running through his right eyebrow. He has a typical English face: long, with high cheekbones set against a long, crooked nose. And his mouth. Oof, you catch your bottom lip in your mouth.

He’s only asking you to dance to be nice, to stay next to his friends. There is no way, absolutely no way, he’s interested in you: just standing there, blushing like a fool, staring at his mouth and nodding your head like an idiot. He’s too hot. You’re too drunk. Your brain can’t pull a sentence together, but yes, you do want to dance.

His right hand gestures for you to lead as a whining, grinding beat starts to scream out of the speakers. Maybe you are drunk, because you feel like you’re wading through jello trying to walk away from him under his gaze. With him behind you, however, you’re able to part through the crowd to your friends. All you have to do is follow the flashes of bright red, blue, green, and white of your friend’s clothes through the jostle of the sea of bodies.

Soap and your friend are pressed against each other, chest to back, locked into a battle for dominance. They're goading each other, a slid of a hand here, a press of a leg there, neither willing to give in to the other. She pulls away, shimmying her hips so tantalizingly close yet so far away, and then he’s pulling her back. He’s mouthing the lyrics to the song as you and Ghost stop next to them.

So just when you think true love’s begun, it goes off at any second like a loaded gun.

Gaz and your other friend are more languid in comparison, not kissing anymore but pressed chest to chest, hands sweetly holding onto each other as their hips and legs flow to the beat. You see them smiling and talking to each other, but you can't hear through the music. Ghost took his usual spot behind you when you stopped. He seemed to like that position, the watchman of your little group, of his friends and yours.

You know I can take you straight to heaven if you let me. You know I, I can make your body levitate if you let me.

Your friend screeches out your name. She untangles herself form Soap to step over to you and pull you into a hug.

“So happy you came to dance!” She yells in your ear before pulling away.

Soap’s arm is possessively winding right back around her waist, resting on her stomach. His other hand pinches her hip to pull her attention back to him, a devilish gleam in his eye. You can’t hear her, but she motions for you to cut loose, start dancing, before grabbing behind her to pinch Soap’s ear.

Ghost touches your arm. You look back at him. His deep voice is in your ear again. Fuck, your faces are right next to each other.

“This okay?”

His hand is hesitantly resting on your waist. You can feel his thumb pressing against your back, reaching almost to your spine. His fingers splay from the bottom of your rib cage to your hipbone. Fuck, he’s got big hands. Of course he does, he’s a big guy. You feel like you’re going to combust.

You nod, your heart pounding in your throat, guiding his hand to rest lower on your hip. It isn’t long before his other hand does the same. You rest your hands on his and start to sway your hips to the beat. You feel the warmth from his chest bleed across your back.

Your bodies together, you guide him to move to the music with you. Funny, you think, he’s been the one guiding and watching all night. Now is your chance to do the same for him. You zone out, join the jostle of the crowd, the beat of the music. You close your eyes against the bright pulse of the lights and melt back into him. A bubble forms in your chest and it makes you want to cry. Your head rests back on his chest. You feel so protected.

The song changes and your eyes open. It slows to a remix of something more intimate and the lights follow, growing dimmer until they barely cut through the smoke. You can't even see your friends in front of you. You absently stroke Ghost’s hands to the lyrics.

Mirror on the wall, tell me all the ways to stay away-ay ya, away-ay ya, and stay away-ay ya, away-ay ya, away-ay ya.

You whine as his hands curls around to your stomach, his strong fingers pressing you to him. He can’t hear you, so your hands on his are all the communication you can give him. You wind your fingers in his. It’s your consent, your plea. Your head is swimming with emotions. Please stay. Please continue. Please touch me. Please show me that I’m just as worthy of human contact as anyone else. Please please please please.

You feel his breath rustle the hair on the top of your head. It’s a sweet feeling. The two of you are hardly dancing anymore, barely shuffling back and forth. He presses his face into your hair, right above your ear, and you swear you hear him groan as you grind your ass to his pelvis. The friction of his rough jeans against the plush of your ass in your silky leggings is deliciously addicting. It shoots a spark right through your core.

If I could paint the sky would all the stars then shine a bloody red?

Boldly, you snake your hand up and touch his face. You feel the light stubble across the bottom of his jaw. He immediately stills and melts into your palm. You assume the worst until he sinks his head back to your ear.

“Wanna get outta here,” he mumbles in a voice that makes you clench.

The way he says it, it’s not a question. He’s leaving. He’s letting you know. If you want to follow, that’s your choice.

You nod your head again, almost ashamed how quickly you’re letting this happen. You can feel all of the excuses you want to say bubbling in your head: I don't normally do things like this. Go out drinking. Or dancing. Hook up with guys I just met. Guys I’ve barely talked to.

He presses a kiss you your ear and then he’s pulling away, his hand trailing across the lace on your back as he turns. You’re ready to move immediately, all lazy, lusty haze gone. Your hand finds his again and you press close, afraid to lose him in the dark as he parts a path through the crowd.

You grab your coats and you’re back out into the cold night air. It punches at the butterflies in your stomach. You both shimmy fully into your jackets as you walk out the door, his pace leaving no time for you to do so inside. Once you’ve followed him past the flock of people hanging around the entrance: smoking, yelling, trying to hail a cab, he pulls you to his side, hand protectively wrapping around your shoulder.

Once you’ve put a block behind you, you realize how quiet it is, how quiet you both are. Your heart starts to pound. God, you’re about to go home with a guy you haven’t spoken a word to! You don’t even know his real name! You can’t help but look up at him a little afraid. This is how all those sensational murder mysteries start, isn’t it?

“Wanna go back?” He asks stopping, his hand dropping off your shoulder.

You shake your head, finally saying something. “No! I just-” you can’t help but get caught up in the moment. What a guy, he would really walk you back to your friends if you wanted. You pull your hands around yourself for warmth. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Simon” he says nonchalantly.

You smile. Simon. The bubble expands in your chest again. You tell him your name, and, almost as a force of habit, you hold out your hand to shake. He grabs it softly. You can feel the rough skin of his fingers and palms across the back of your hand as he holds it. You can feel yourself blushing.

He pulls you into his chest and gives your butt a pat with his other hand.

“So,” he rumbles into your ear, “who’s place are we headed to: mine or yours?”

Songs referenced:

Dancin’ (KRONO Remix) - Aaron Smith SPIT IN MY FACE! - ThxSoMch Levitate - Hollywood Undead Black Out Days - Phantogram

a/n: Feel free to tell me what an ancient, cringe-fail, writer I am for not only putting lyrics in my fic but for picking these songs specifically in the tags. 😅 I also had too much fun writing reader's friends with Soap and Gaz. Maybe more of them in parts 3 and 4? 👀

#starry writes #mw2 #ghost/reader #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #second real and polished fic ever! 🥳#part two next week maybe? i literally just have to edit it

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