#and apparently my body just fucking existing the way it does

[clingylilhoneybee]

Love how feeders see a body with fat or stretch marks and act entitled to associate it with their kinks

[xviruserrorx]

Why the ever living fuck does having endometriosis in your throat, lungs, and your general breathing space area exist!!!???

[cakelitter]

Kiss It Better

Older! Leon x Fem! Reader

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warnings: daddy kink, p in v, oral (f receive), breeding kink, spanking, dirty talking, established relationship

words: 3.3k

a/n: hi hi!! no summary for this one cause... idk, a surprise? Reader is attention deprived, but I'd always be demanding more if di Leon was my bf like hello? (never shutting up about him) anw hope you enjoy!!

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Your boyfriend is mad at you.

And how does he decide to punish you? In the cruelest way possible, a way that he knows you’re not strong enough to handle.

Ignoring you.

Robbing you from his attention and validation, treating you like how you’d probably get treated on a daily basis with a guy your age.  

He has never been the type to give you attitude, or even raise his voice, but that does not mean that you go unscathed when you mess up. Right now, he is living his life like he normally does, well his life before he met you apparently. No pet names, no kisses, no “I love you”, not even looking at what you’re talking about and just replying with the most unenthusiastic hum he can muster up at literally everything you say.

“Daddy, look at this cute dog.”

“Hm.”

“How was work?”

“Hm.”

“I almost got ran over by a truck on the highway.”

“Hm.”

It’s pissing you off, and that’s exactly why he’s doing it. Figured out which buttons to push to get on your nerves, and is actively pushing every single one of them. You curl up on his side, wrapping your arm around his neck and place your head on his shoulder. And in return his eyes remained glued to the TV.

You’re going to cry, rip your hair out, and throw yourself off the balcony.

Worst part is that you actually apologized, not once, not twice, but three fucking times, and yet, it all falls to deaf ears. Why is he acting like you kicked homeless puppies or set an orphanage on fire?

Daddy is supposed to be forgiving, and he always has been; pulling you into a hug after each argument, kissing your face and all over your body till you feel better. But apparently daddy is under new management now, following a new set of policies that are getting in the way of your dire need for his attention.

The first day you realized that he’s ignoring you, you’d talk to him and he won’t respond, and if he did it was short and dry answers. Treating you like a persistent fly that just won’t leave him alone, the smile on his lips that was always present when he looked at you is now hid behind his cold gaze.

You tried cuddling, cracking a few jokes, and even started a conversation that you just ended up having with yourself. All of those strategies were met with the same result, nothing. It’s like someone took the man your loved and replaced him with a brick wall, devoid from any capabilities of forming emotional connections or any sort of bond for that matter.

On day two, you tried to make it harder for him to ignore you. Wearing the skimpiest clothes around the house, putting on his shirt with nothing underneath and even went the extra mile of spraying yourself with his perfume. You practically threw yourself over his lap, nuzzling into him and peppering kisses all over his rough stubble.

Nothing.

Actually, he did say something. “You’re blocking the TV.”  

Felt like a slap to the face, you stare at him for a bit hoping that he acknowledges your existence. Again, nothing. His dick is half hard beneath you, aching for your wet heat, and instead of making you ride his dick till you’re crying, he remains still. So now not only is he ignoring you, he’s ignoring his cock as well.

Fine then, the shirt is now off, you are sleeping in your shared bed fully naked and bare like the day you popped out into this world. Figured since Leon is stubborn, maybe he just had a high ego and is too embarrassed to break whatever promise he made to himself to ignore your pathetic attempts of winning him back.

He’ll walk in the room, find you basically giving him an invitation to touch you, waiting patiently in case he changed his mind, and fall right into your trap. A fool proof plan…

The number of times you’ve gotten clowned are getting embarrassing at this point.

Not only did he not do anything, he didn’t do as much as touch you the whole night. Sleeping on his side of the bed and leaving you in the same position you fell asleep in. The arms that would wrap around you during the night are missing, same goes to the hot breath that would fan out on the nape of your neck as you drift off to sleep. Again, cruel old man behavior.

And so, today marks day three without attention. You’ve lost your appetite, lost smell in your left arm, eyelid keeps twitching, haven’t been sleeping well, and you’ve become much irritable. This is getting out of hand; this man has no mercy for your soul. He might as well just shoot you in the leg instead and you’d accept that any day over what he’s doing right now.

You’ve considered just getting on your knees, intertwining your hands together and begging him to talk to you again. Usually, you are never this desperate for a man to talk to you, except for him. Leon has showered you with love every day since the two of you got together, his best and only girl, the apple of his eye, the sole reason he keeps going. You’ve gotten so accustomed to being his baby that it has become an innate need.

In the midst of your desperate attempts, you reach plan C. If it doesn’t work you’ll just give up and actually start acting like a normal fucking person for once, but god forbid things need to reach that point.

This time you don’t say a word to him, ignoring him the way he’s ignoring you. No good morning, no pleading, nothing.

You hop in the shower and then begin to get ready to go out. Your hair is done with extra effort today, and makeup is on point. Not sure if the outfit you’re wearing could be even classified as “clothes”. Cleavage on display, and ass almost hanging out of the miniskirt you have on.

It’s probably illegal to walk out dressed like that, a hazard to public safety. You might as well wear lingerie and call it a day; but believe it or not, that’s what you’re aiming for.

You can see Leon’s eyes look up from his laptop momentarily as you walk past him to go grab something from the other room, but just as you expected he minds his own business, going back to whatever he was doing.

That’s until you see his figure walk into your shared bedroom, leaning back on the door frame, watching you add some final touches to your makeup through the reflection of your vanity. You pretend like you didn’t see him, directing all your focus onto lining your lips.

“Where you going?” Ah, there it is, the first proper sentence he’s said in the past three days.  An achievement that surely deserves a celebration.

 This is what parents must feel like when their child speaks their first word. The child being a man in his late thirties and twice your size, but you digress. With your eyes remaining glued to your lips, you speak coldly. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“There’s this new club my friend wants us to check out together.”

“Which friend?” The look plastered on his face is hilarious; his eyes moving back and forth between yours and your poor excuse of a skirt. He seems worried, more for himself than for you, watching his faux confidence crumble in front of him.

“Won’t be gone for long, don’t worry.” You reply, closing your lip gloss and putting it back in your makeup bag while rubbing your lips together.

“I didn’t ask if you were going to be late or not, I asked which friend.” This tough demeanor doesn’t suit him, he’s clearly out of his element. Fixing his posture, he crosses his arms waiting for you to respond. “Does it matter, Leon?”

You dropped the bomb, letting his name slip out your lips instead of the D-word feels weird, borderline painful, but it had to be done. He goes quiet, your eyes too scared to look back at him through the mirror which has been serving as a way of communication between the two of you.

Can’t remember the last time you addressed him with his name, took you no longer than two weeks to start babbling daddy; his name long forgotten and dust collected in the back of your mind. He liked it, a name only you get to call him by, a trigger you pull causing him to immediately slip into the protective mental space, a space only reserved for you.

“Leon?”

You’re going to shit your pants this actually not even funny.

“Um, isn’t that your name?” Grabbing your purse, you give yourself a one final look over before walking towards the door. Your legs feel wobbly, never the type to start any of these kinds of petty situations. Usually all you have to do is flutter your lashes at him and he immediately gives you whatever you want, this time however he brought this onto himself.

Walking past him, you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your scalp, his energy feeling heavy. You feign confidence, walking slow, posture straight and hips swaying from side to side. Truthfully, you are fighting the urge to just book it and run as far as these heels can take you (not that far) before he does whatever is running through his mind.

You don’t even get to make it two steps away from the door before a hand yanks you back into the room, and throws you over his shoulder.

“Leon, I’m already late, put me down!” A loud smack echoes through the room as a stinging pain overtakes your senses. You yelp out, blood rushing over to the red handprint on your ass, heat spreading on the area.

Your back hits the plush mattress of the bed and within seconds he’s on top of you. His hand grabs one of your thighs spreading them wider as the other goes for your neck. Crashing his lips against yours, a groan escapes your lips, as his hips thrust against your core, hardened dick rubbing against your panty clad cunt.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that ‘friend’ of yours would be pissed.” His breath feels hot against your lips with each word that leaves his mouth. “What did I tell you about lying, baby?”

Should’ve known that lying doesn’t work on him, never did and never will. Has you memorized by heart, starting from your actions, reactions, and every thought that crosses your mind.

Reality is, there is no friend, and there is no new club. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, and making up a whole scenario was the only option you had left. “I’m sorry.”

His hand lands on your ass once again with a loud slap, your body jolts in pain as you bite your lip to suppress a whine. “Sorry what?”

“I’m sorry daddy.”

“Atta girl.” He coos, his hand rubbing against the burning skin, rewarding you with a sweet kiss. “See that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The cold air hits your nipples as he drags your top down, revealing your breasts too him. He gropes one, moving over and giving the stiff peak a firm pinch. “Why’d you lie sweetheart?”

Him and those fucking questions, can’t the interrogation wait till he fucked you? His hips continue rubbing against yours, the gusset of your panties is soaked with your arousal. “Wanted daddy’s attention.”

“Of course you did.” He chuckles lowly, eyes focused on your tits as he plays with them. A smile flashes across your lips, maybe your plan did work after all, not fully the way you intended it to; but it worked nonetheless.

His hands are on you, he’s speaking again, and his cock in near reach. Maybe life’s not so bad after all.

“I wouldn’t call this a win, sweetheart; think I might just play with these tits and leave you like this.” The smile that was once present on your glossy lips disappears, your heart drops at the possibility of him leaving you to deal with the aching between your thighs, again. It’s been three long rough days without his dick, he can’t be doing this to you.

“No, no, no please daddy, I’m sorry.” You shake your head from side to side, knots forming between your brows, hoping that your pleading is enough to convince him.

“Was actually going to apologize for being so mean to you lately, but after seeing you act like this… I don’t know, baby.”  You whine, head falling back down on the mattress below.

Frustrated, tears begin to brim in your eyes as your hands reach over and grab his muscular forearm. “I’m so sorry, daddy. I promise I won’t do it again.”

His eyes stare into yours, he stays quiet for a moment before his eyes soften. Dropping down, he places a kiss on your forehead, his thumb caressing the side of your cheek. “Pretty girl, I’m sorry too, shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.”

He presses another soft peck on your cheek, smiling at you warmly. Your heart begins to thump faster, your sadness dissipating with each passing moment. He’s back, you can’t tell of you feel good because the two of you made up, or because his hard cock is still rubbing against your wet heat.

“I need you.” you whisper, rubbing against his hand like a kitten. Chuckling, he nods and kisses you this time on the lips and it feels ten times sweeter than normal. Rubbing your sides, his hand slithers down to your clothed clit, rubbing soft circles, causing your back to arch.

“Think it’s about time to makeup it up for you, sweetheart.” You hum in agreement, capturing your bottom lip in a bite, and spreading your thighs even wider, inviting him to continue. His lips connect to the tender skin on your neck, kissing and biting down on it, your hands tangling between his soft locks and closing your eyes in pleasure.

Moving back, he admires his work momentarily before dropping down to his knees at the foot of the bed. Unzipping your skirt, he pulls the fabric down before tossing it somewhere behind him along with your soaked panties. Calloused hands snake the inside of your thighs, gentle caresses along with some gropes here and there.

His fingers spread your lips open, in awe at the view in front of him, your arousal evident and dipping down from your core like a waterfall, down to the sheets below. “Missed you too, baby. Daddy missed you so much.”

Those words are not for you, but for your cunt, addressing it like it’s his. An open-mouthed kiss gets placed on your clit, his blue eyes staring deeply into yours as he does so. The scene on its own is enough to make you cum.

Teasing you, he places a few more on your thighs; eyes not leaving yours for a minute. He rubs his cheek against the soft skin, the stubbled chin feeling prickly. Giving it the love and affection that it missed out on.

You wait patiently, letting him enjoy and take his time, basking in the heart warming feeling of it all. Like always, good behavior never goes unnoticed, and so he rewards you by pulling the hood of your clit back, and sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves, a satisfied groan vibrating through it amplifying the pleasure.

His skilled tongue makes out with your pussy, licking and fucking itself into you. Your moans fill the room, gripping the covers below you for dear life. Feeling your orgasm around the corner, but as soon as you notice his hips subconsciously thrusting into the footboard of the bed below, groans coming out of his busy lips, the knot in your stomach snaps immediately, causing your thighs to squeeze around his head as he holds your hips in place.

Placing your foot on his shoulder, you pull away from your core, the uncomfortable sensation of overstimulation taking over your senses. He moves back, stubble glistening in the mixture of your fluids and his spit.

He looks into your half-lidded eyes for a moment, his hand rubbing your thigh affectionately before kissing the inside of it. “So pretty, such a pretty girl.”

Your heart flutters, getting high on each love filled word he says. Grabbing his hand in yours, you pull him up towards you, connecting your lips in a kiss much more tender than he ones before. Lust and desire dissipating, replaced with the warm feeling of adoration. He pets your hair, leaving a final peck on your nose, causing you to giggle in response.

The mood however shifts again when you feel the imprint of his cock through his sweatpants; the familiar aching between your legs ignites once more, begging for him. “Daddy.”

“Right here.”

“Want you inside” He captures your bottom lip into a deeper kiss, his hands assisting yours in taking his pants off. Breaking the kiss, he fully removes them, revealing his thick cock to your desire filled eyes; the flushed pink tip, and the dollop of sticky precum begin to drip down the side of it.

He wraps his fist around it, pumping himself a few times, earning a sharp inhale out of the sensation. The head bumps against your clit, slapping against it a few times before guiding it down to your entrance. The two of you moan at the stretch, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. “So tight, sweetheart. Fucking meant for this dick.”

Your eyes flutter close, trying to compose yourself before you feel him begin to move. You can feel every inch and every vein inside your velvety walls. The aroma of sex over takes your senses as his thrusts begin to pick up speed.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, his fingers intertwine with yours as he slams into you, deep and speedy thrusts causing the bed to creak beneath your masses. “Take it, baby. Take it so daddy can fuck you full of his cum.”

Your walls pulsate around him, your hand squeezing his. “Want it.”

“Fuck, might knock you up sweetheart. Make you a mommy as an apology.” Your back arches, his voice bouncing off the walls inside your mind. You nod, biting down on your bottom lip, head empty and pussy gripping his length.

“Like that? Mark you as mine forever, pretty tight pussy all mine.” You wail, gripping onto his shoulders tightly, leaning back your head in attempts to stop yourself from being too loud. “Gonna keep you here all night, make sure that this sweet cunt takes it.”

Pleasure blinds your vision as you let go, your cum coating his dick as he begins to chase his own high. Your head lolls emptily to the side as he continues to fuck into you relentlessly, the head board hitting the wall behind it. Your tits bounce with each thrust, the image of you getting pumped full of Leon’s cum still evident in your mind.

His hips shudder as he releases inside of you, hot and sticky fluid accompanied by some curses and words of praise, earning a satisfied hum from you. Thrusting in a few more times, he admires the sight beneath him, distributing your fluids evenly.

He pulls out, flopping down next to you, as his arm wraps around your body, pulling your closer to his chest. Rough hands pet your hair, as he rests his chin on your temple, keeping your body warm next to his.

The two of you sit in silence momentarily trying to catch your breath. Your eyelids feel heavy, body completely worn out and satisfied as you start slipping away into a much-needed worry free rest, hearing your lover whisper something into your hair.

“Sorry for being mean, sweetheart. Daddy loves you.”

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divider by: @/floriseu

[howlsofbloodhounds]

The Killer species dysphoria is making me think a lot about the "your soul is becoming more like mine" line

Yeah! Gets even more interesting if you go with the idea how some characters in Undertale eventually start not seeing Frisk as human.

Saying things along the lines of, “Hahaha... you're not really human, are you? No... you're empty inside, just like me. In fact, you're Chara, right?”

“My brother would really like to see a human. So it would really help me out... if you kept pretending to be one.”

“The way you shamble about from place to place...”

“Human... no, WHATEVER you are. For the sake of everyone's hopes and dreams... I, UNDYNE, will STRIKE YOU DOWN!”

“What kind of monster are you? Sorry, I cannot tell.”

I’d imagine Killer heard many things similar to these things during his and Chara’s Genocides, although more along the lines of no longer being a monster and not being Sans. And perhaps this is something Chara reinforced.

And considering how Stage 2 was said to exist in the state that it does precisely because Sans is fighting back against Determination, that makes it neither human nor monster. Stage 4 was described as “Chara wins, feels nothing.”

And during the Stage 4 comic, the Chara in Killer’s head commented that Stage 4 was “getting worse.”

Perhaps Stage 4 is exactly what Chara meant when they said Sans’ soul was becoming like theirs—something not monster anymore, not human either, the way they are no longer human.

The way they’re apparently the demon that comes when you call its name. However, Sans’ soul was fighting back—creating Stage 2; who certainly is like Something New Chara in terms of mindset, behavior, and a bit of personality (also said to be similar to Flowey as well.) Rahafwabas did describe Killer’s soul as a war between two souls— a monster soul, and a Determination soul.

I’d imagine this really does fuck with Killer a lot; especially when his body doesn’t match up with his identity, and his self perception. Could very easily lead to a lot of species dysphoria. A lot of, “What am I?”

{ @justanidiotartist }

[harringtonstilinski]

Armageddon It - Eddie Munson (Smut)

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 6,537 Warnings: fluff, squint super hard for angst, mentions of a jealous chrissy, Requested: no | yes; i'm gonna say yes on this. it's really a challenge i'm doing with @stevesxyellowxsweater! Smut (Minors DNI): no | yes, 18+; oral (f receiving), protected m+f, let me know if i missed anything A/N: Hi, friends! After about 4 or so months of writing, SHE'S FINALLY HERE!! Also, The Upside Down doesn't exist in this, bye! If you like this, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

eddie munson masterlist

eddie munson playlist

“Edward Wayne!!”

A smirk crossed your friend's face, his eyes never leaving the neck of his Sweetheart, his guitar. “Yes?”

Your body stood in the doorway of his room, a boisterous laughter coming from the living room. “You’re in fucking trouble.”

“Why is Wayne laughing?” He won’t lie, it was nice hearing his uncle laughing like he was. Eddie hadn’t heard him laugh like that in a long time.

“Because you’re in fucking trouble.”

Chuckling, he set his guitar down. “Okay, sweets. What’s up?”

“Can you please tell me why the hell everyone at that godforsaken video store has asked me about your hips?” Crossing your arms, you gave him the most seriously stern face you could muster, leaning your weight on one of your legs, an eyebrow raised.

Wayne laughed harder, which made Eddie cackle, his head thrown back. “And how were my hips?”

“Eddie!” you chastised. “What the fuck?” Holding your arms out to the side, you scoffed. “Do you realize what people are insinuating?”

“That we’ve had sex?”

“Hey now!” Wayne said. “Let’s not talk like that.” You heard a small squeak before the front door opened. “I’ll sit on the porch if you wanna have that talk.” He chuckled on his way out.

Sitting on his bed with your back facing Eddie, you sighed and dropped your head into your hands. “Eddie! We can’t have people thinking we’re fucking. It’s not right.”

A sort of sad look crossed Eddie’s features, his eyes casting downward, looking at a random spot on the back of your shirt. “I’m sorry, sweets.”

Sighing again, you removed your hands, turning to bring your leg up on the bed, bending it at the knee. Looking at Eddie with a somber look, you took his features. Bringing up a hand, you cupped his cheek, his eyes casting up to look into yours. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting it. It literally took me by surprise.”

“Just so you know,” Eddie said, seriousness in his eyes. “I didn’t start that rumor. It had to have been someone else.”

Thinking it over for a moment, you wracked your brain about who could’ve started the rumor, coming to the conclusion with a sigh, dropping your hand to a hard but soft surface as you closed your eyes. “Fucking Cunningham.”

“Chrissy started that rumor?”

Standing from his bed, you started pacing the length of the mattress, hands in your hair. “Jealous fucking ex is what she is. God, I can’t stand her. We’ve been out of school for, what? Two years?”

“You’ve been out for two, I’ve been out for one.”

“Whatever! Gah- I can’t believe she’d want to spread a rumor like that! Who does she think she is?! Miss fucking Priss, is what she is!” You were ranting so fast and almost way too loud that you didn’t notice Eddie standing in front of you until you felt hands on your shoulders, stopping your pacing.

“Hey. Sweets. Calm down. She’s just jealous. She broke up with me because I was apparently spending more time with you than her, remember?” Eddie said, bringing up his hand to brush some hair behind your ear. “No need to freak out.”

“I’m trying,” you sighed. “It’s just hard because I’ve done nothing to her and she’s just… her.”

“Jealous.”

“Hey, kids!” Wayne called out. “You two hungry? It’s almost dinner time.”

Looking off to the side, you thought about it for a moment, realizing that you haven’t eaten in a while. “Yeah, I could eat.” You looked at Eddie, shrugging before turning to walk back down the hallway to the kitchen where Wayne was now standing. “What’cha cooking up, Wayne?”

“Oh, I was thinking of either some burgers or some tacos,” Wayne answered, looking into the refrigerator.

Lightly gasping, your eyes went wide. “Can I help make whatever? I mean, I can actually make whichever one for you.”

“Oh, darlin-”

“Nope,” you said, stepping up to him, placing a hand on his back. “You do a lot for Eddie.”

Wayne grabbed the pack of ground meat from the fridge, placing it on the counter. “You too, darlin’. Don’t forget that.”

“When I’m here. Let me help. Please? You can kick your feet up, watch some tv, drink a beer or two. Just relax, Wayne, please. For me?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes, bottom lip poking out.

The older Munson man just chuckled, reopening the fridge to grab a beer, tilting it at you with that Munson smirk. “You got it. Make whichever one you want. I’m good with either one of them.” Smiling, you said, “Okay,” as your eyes watched him walk to his chair, kicking the foot rest up and deeply sighing. “Eddie!”

“Yes?”

Jumping at how close his voice was, you turned to face him, hand up at your sternum. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” he quietly laughed. “What’s up, sweets?”

“Hamburgers or tacos?” Not waiting for him to answer, you turned on your heel to the cabinet where you knew the spices were kept, humming when you didn’t see any taco seasoning. “Shit. We need taco seasoning.”

“I was gonna say hamburgers, but tacos works, too,” Eddie said, Wayne holding up his beer to add, “I was gonna say the same thing!”

Grabbing your keys from the small kitchen table, you sighed, “You Munson men. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with you. Wayne, care if I go with her?”

“Nope. Just don’t get into trouble,” Wayne replied, eyes glued to the tv that was already on when you had arrived.

“Awesome,” Eddie smiled, turning his head to watch your retreating form move to your car. “Thanks, Wayne.” He quickly walked out of the trailer, calling out your name, your head turning at the sound of his voice. “Let’s take the van. I feel like a giant in your tiny ass car.”

Shaking your head, you snickered, moving around both your car and his van to reach the passenger side door, finding it already open for you, Eddie standing there with his hand out to help you in.

“M’lady.”

“You’re such a dork,” you softly laughed. Once he closed the door and moved around the vehicle, you buckled yourself in, looking at his collection of metal tapes lying everywhere on the van’s floor. When you found one you knew he bought for you, you picked it up and held it up.

“I’m not listening to Pyromania again.”

“It’s not that one. It is Def Leppard, though.”

Eddie sighed, taking the tape from your hand to read the title of the album, looking at you with small distaste. 

“Oh, come on! It has like three of my favorite songs on it!”

“Name them,” he said, turning the case over to look at the track listing on the back.

“Love Bites, Hysteria, and Pour Some Sugar On Me.”

He looked at you for a moment before sighing, “Fuck,” and putting the tape in after ejecting the Dio album he was listening to. Once the songs started to play and you were happy, he backed out of the small front yard to the small bit of road the trailer park provided to drive toward town. “So, I was thinking about something.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up,” he chuckled. “About this rumor. Maybe we should… I don’t know, put it to bed and make it true?”

If you were drinking something, you’d for sure either choke on it or spit it out all over your part of the dashboard. “What?”

“Let’s do it! Let’s make the rumor true.”

“Well, damn, Munson, now every time we hang out, I’m gonna anticipate it.”

“Good,” he said, smirking to himself. He pulled into the parking lot of the local grocery store, the both of you getting out and walking side by side into the store.

As you walked through the aisles, you picked up what you thought you’d need for your meal; taco shells, sour cream, tomatoes to dice up, green onion to chop for garnish and cheese. Once everything was in your arms, you both dropped them onto the conveyor belt at the checkout counter to pay.

Eddie insisted on paying for everything with his ‘business money’, but you told you got it and for him to not worry about it, that it was your treat. When you paid and got your paper bags from the cashier, you both loaded back up in the van and drove back to the Munson trailer.

“Wayne! We’re… back,” you said, looking at Wayne’s sleeping form. You felt Eddie’s chest crash into your back, a hand on your shoulder.

“Sweets, wha–” Eddie started.

“Shut up, Wayne fell asleep.”

Eddie looked at his uncle, seeing that he was indeed sleeping. He walked into the kitchen as quietly as he could, setting the bags down on the counter to take the items out of the bag. Just as you set the bag from your hands on the counter, Eddie had turned toward the fridge, taking the pack of protein from its spot on the cold shelf to set it on the counter.

“If you’re gonna be in here with me while I cook, I need your hair up and out of your face,” you said, taking half of your own hair to secure it with a hair tie you always had on your wrist. After tightening the hair tie, you gave Eddie a stern look as he perched himself onto the counter.

“Alright. Do you have an extra hair tie?” he asked, lacing his fingers together to rest them in between his knees.

“Eddie, you have a million floating around here.”

“Yeah, but none of them are yours.” He gave you a cheeky grin with a wink.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, turning on your heel to walk into the shared bathroom. Right there on the counter was the hair tie you had left a couple of days prior. Sighing exasperatedly, you grabbed it and exited the bathroom, only to be met with Eddie’s hair being tied into a low bun at the nape of his neck, the younger Munson man moving around the stove. “Wha– I was gonna do that!”

“Quiet, love,” he murmured. “Don’t wanna wake Wayne up.” At the mention of his uncle, you both heard a small snore coming from the living room, quiet snickers coming from both of you once you looked at each other.

“Okay,” you said, quietly. “We need to try and be quiet. Which is gonna be… a challenge considering that when you cook ground meat– Eddie!”

As you were trying to explain to him about being quiet, he went ahead and started cooking, the sizzle from the meat growing louder with every passing second.

“It’s okay, sweets. I do this all the time. He’ll wake up when one of two things happen; I wake him up by simply saying it’s ready, or he’ll wake up on his own accord when the noises die out.”

“So, you’ve done this before?” you asked, generously curious.

Eddie looked at you, his eyes softer than what you’ve ever seen. “Every night.”

“Wow,” you whispered. “I never knew that.”

“You always dip out before when I ask about you staying.”

Following your instincts, you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle, your cheek pressed to his back. “That’s amazing of you, Eds. But I like this side of you.”

He turned his head over his shoulder, letting you know that he was still engaged in the conversation. “What side?”

“Domestic,” you replied, slightly smiling. “Super kind, even though I knew that. Always thinking of others, putting them before yourself.”

“And how do you figure that last one?”

“Putting others before yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“You just… put their needs before your own. I can’t describe it. You’re just… not what people say you are.”

“A freak?”

“Well,” you said, moving to stand beside him, your arms still around his waist as his own arm went around your shoulders. “You are a freak, but… they say you’re mean and scary, but you’re just… not. You’re kind and thoughtful. You’re always willing to help those who need it, even if other people can’t see that. You have an amazing heart. You’re helping Wayne out with money, even if I don’t totally agree with it.”

Eddie snickered, neither of you realizing that your soft voices roused Wayne from his small sleep, the man unmoving as he listened in. “Yeah, well, I’ve had help in that department.”

“No, no. You’ve always done that, even before I came along.”

Hugging you tighter to his side, he slightly smiled at you, looking into your beautiful eyes that he always got lost in. “You’ve made me want to be a better person.”

You smiled and looked at the cooking meat in the pan, taking the spatula from his hand, breaking the meat up a little more while flipping and stirring it to make sure all the pink was gone from it. “Tell me more, Eds. This soft side of you is one of my favorite sides you show.”

“What’s the other?” He was more than curious about this turn of conversation.

“Your Dungeon Master side.” You reluctantly removed yourself from his hold to grab the strainer from the lower cabinet, placing it inside the sink before taking the pan from the stove to pour the meat into it. Waiting just a couple of minutes before putting it back into the pan, you gathered the other ingredients for the meal, mixing the seasoning packet with the amount of water it needed.

Eddie leaned against the corner of the counter, crossing his arms, watching you work this time. “You like it when I play Dungeon Master?”

Nodding in response, you placed the meat and seasoning mixture back into the pan, the sizzle sounding through the trailer once more. “Yup. That’s part of your element and I love seeing that. I love seeing–”

“Go to Benny’s with me.”

Looking at him with furrowed brows, you were utterly confused. “Now? Eddie, we’re cook–”

“No, no, not tonight,” he said, shaking his hands. “Saturday. Let me take you–”

“On a date?” you asked, your eyebrows shooting into your hairline. “You wanna take me on a date?”

“Yeah, why not? Let’s start putting that rumor to bed on Saturday.”

Thinking about what he said previously about putting the rumor to bed, your brows softened, a mischievous smile crossing your lips. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The both of you finished cooking the tacos, as well as cutting the toppings up in sync with each other. It amazed you how well you both danced around each other, almost as if you choreographed it yourself.

Once it was done, you told Wayne it was time to chow down, which he gladly but slowly got up from his chair to sit at the table with Eddie. You opted to perch yourself up on the counter that was closest to the table, being able to engage in their conversation, laughing when they said or did something that you thought was hilarious.

When the three of you were finished eating with absolutely no food left over, you told the Munson men to sit back and relax so that you could clean up, which wasn’t much. Eddie tried to help you dry the dishes, but you just smacked his hand away, telling him to sit his ass down.

Eddie had grabbed himself a beer, as well as another one for Wayne, handing it to him before going into his room, laying down on his bed, his back resting against the wall behind him, watching as you walked in.

Trying to figure out where to sit, you looked around his room, seeing it was a little askew.

“Don’t you think about it,” he said. “It’s organized chaos.”

“But can you find the heavy stuff?” you asked, raising a brow at his silence. “That’s what I thought.” You busied yourself by tidying his room, putting his dirty laundry in a pile to be washed, folding the clean clothes and putting them in his drawers… after folding them up. “Am I gonna have to come over once a week and tidy up for you?”

Eddie chuckled, setting his beer down on the table beside his bed, the contents almost gone before he moved to the edge of his mattress, mimicking your position from earlier. “Come here,” he quietly said, holding a hand out for you.

Taking it, you couldn’t help but feel the sparks shoot through your arm, but you elected to ignore them as he guided you to sit in from him. 

“I just wanted to say thanks,” he said, softly. “For helping make dinner, cleaning up the dishes as well as my room.” He chuckled at his own statement, your own chuckle mingling with his. “You’re really the best person I could’ve ever asked to be a friend.”

“A best friend?” you asked, smiling wide with your brows raised.

“Yeah,” he lightly laughed. “A best friend.”

After that conversation, you and Eddie cuddled on his bed, something you always did after you stayed for dinner, the two of you talking about anything and everything for a couple of hours. At the sound of the shower running, you sighed. 

“I guess that’s my cue,” you whispered, subconsciously drawing random circles on his shirt.

Eddie held you tighter, groaning in protest. “Noooooooooo! Don’t go.”

Laughing, you balled his shirt in your fist, your cheek squishing on his clothed chest.  “I have to! I have to work in the morning.”

“Tell everyone that comes in tomorrow that you're putting the rumor to bed.”

You chuckled a little, trying your best to sit up. “Will do, boss.”

It was Eddie’s turn to reluctantly let you go, the both of you sitting up and getting off the bed. Like a true gentleman, he walked you out of the trailer and to your car. “Thanks for staying for dinner, sweets.”

“I enjoyed it,” you replied, looking at him with a soft smile. You could feel the tension between the two of you, wanting to just plant your lips on his, but knowing you couldn’t. “Well, I, uhh, I guess I should go.”

Eddie groaned in protest, making you giggle.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow after my shift for a little while like always.”

“It’s like you live here.”

“I might as well. We all know that my home life isn’t what I enjoy.” 

You grew up like your other best friend, Steve Harrington. Rich parents, big house, always by yourself. On those days or weeks that your parents were off with Steve’s, you’d both switch off between staying at each other’s houses.

Just like with Steve and Robin, you and him were strictly platonic, if not just as platonic as they were. You liked the relationship you and Steve held. No expectations held between the two of you, other than… being best friends.

“I know, sweets,” Eddie whispered, bringing a hand up to your cheek, holding it in his palm. “Call me and let me know you made it home safe?”

“Eddie–”

“Wayne’ll be fine,” he interrupted. “He’s working nights at the moment, remember?”

Closing your eyes with a squint, you remembered what his shifts were like; a few weeks on day shift, a few weeks on night shift. You felt bad for Wayne’s sleep schedule, the man getting sleep where he could.

As if he sensed his name being mentioned, Wayne walked out of the trailer, lunchbox in hand. “Well, kids, looks like I’m heading off for the night. You two stay out of trouble.”

“Eddie? Getting into trouble? Never,” you joked.

All Eddie could do was give you a deadpan expression. “Oh, ha ha ha. Very funny.” He looked at his uncle, softness in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Wayne. I’ll be fine.”

“Same words, different day,” the older Munson chuckled. “I’ll see ya in the morning, boy.”

Eddie just smiled and patted his uncle on the shoulder, watching as he got into his rundown car and drove off to work. He was always worried about his uncle and that shitbox he drove, but at least it got him from Point A to Point B. Sighing, Eddie looked back down at you, seeing the somber look on your face.

“He’s gonna be okay,” you softly said. “He’ll get there fine.”

“I know,” he sighed, again, wrapping his arms around you. “I just worry.”

Releasing a deep breath as you wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed your face into his chest, you responded, “It’s okay to worry, Eds,” before moving your head to the side, your cheek pressing where your nose just was. “But you’re gonna worry yourself to death. He’s a grown man, he can take care of himself.”

Perching your chin on his sternum, you looked up at him as he looked down at you. “I know. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being here for us. He’s not very good with words, but I know he appreciates it.”

“Who knows, maybe one day I’ll move in and cook dinner for you two all the time, and make sure your laundry is kept up.” You were joking, but something in Eddie’s mind told him that didn’t sound like a bad idea. “Listen, I would love to stay and keep you company, but unfortunately, my parents are home for the next few days. They’d be pissed if I wasn’t home to greet them.”

Eddie raised a brow at you. “Can I level with you?”

“Sure.”

“They wouldn’t be pissed, and I think… you’re just telling yourself that… to try and make yourself feel better.”

He had a good point. Steve had said the same thing about his own parents at one point when you all were at a party together.

“Okay, fine,” you groaned. “I really don’t wanna go home.”

“Then don’t. Come back inside. Let’s put–”

“I swear, if you say let’s put the rumor to bed one more time, I’m gonna pluck every single strand of hair from your hair.”

Eddie chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down your back. “I was gonna say, rude ass, let’s put on a movie… and if we happen to put the rumor to bed, we put the rumor to bed.”

“Edward Wayne, you might just be a genius,” you smiled. You couldn’t deny that you had a small crush on him. I mean, who wouldn’t! Everyone in town sees him as a freak, but to you… he’s just Eddie. Sweet, fun-loving, guitar playing Eddie who adores his uncle and Hellfire friends more than anything.

You were already feeling a little tired, so agreeing to Eddie’s offer of watching a movie seemed like the next best thing. As you walked back into the trailer, you set your stuff back down on the small kitchen table before walking to the couch, plopping yourself down while releasing a deep breath before yawning, “What did you want to watch?”

“None of that rom-com shit you like to watch,” he chuckled.

“Well, none of that horror shit you like to watch,” you retorted, smiling at the end to show him that you were joking.

He chuckled, sitting down next to you after he popped a movie into the player, the remote in his hand. Putting his arm around the back of the couch, he smirked, the trailers playing on the screen, the brightness of the screen lighting up his features.

Looking from him back to the tv, you groaned, a small bit of fear crossing your features. “Eddie. I hate this movie. Why would you pick this movie?”

“What’s wrong with this movie?” he asked, tapping his heels on the floor, his legs having been spread since he sat down.

“It’s fucking creepy!” you whined. “And I feel bad for the little piggie!”

“Well, I, for one, like the Horned King.”

“Of course you would. The Black Cauldron is right up your freaking alley.” Crossing your arms, you scrunch your brows, wallowing in your discomfort causing Eddie to lightly chuckle to himself.

Not ten minutes into the film, and you were burying your face into Eddie’s shoulder, your hands up by your cheek. “Oh, fuck!” you exclaimed. This made Eddie chuckle, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, making your face go from his shoulder to his chest, your eyes peeking out from between your fingers. 

“Turn it off, turn it off,” you whimpered as the Horned King spoke on screen.

“How I’ve thirsted to be a god,” the Horned King said.

“You’re fucking creepy as shit, man! You’re no god! You’re just a devil with horns!”

Laughing, Eddie tightened his grip on your shoulders. “That’s the point, babe.” He didn’t mean to use the nickname, it just slipped out. Not that it didn’t feel good rolling off of his tongue.

You looked at him, the movie long forgotten in your mind as you looked at his profile. Bringing your hand up to cup his cheek, you moved his head to cast his eyes down at you, which he did after seeing the screen from the corner of his eyes. “Call me that again,” you whispered.

“What? Babe?” he asked just as quietly.

Nodding, you sat up a little straighter. “I think I’d rather put that rumor to bed now.”

“It’s like you read my mind, sweets.” Without missing a beat, Eddie leaned his head down just as you were sitting up a little more, your lips connecting in a searing kiss that had fireworks and butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The kiss was everything you had dreamed it would be as you moved to straddle his hips, your hands cupping his cheeks as Eddie’s hands went to your hips. Capturing his bottom lip between yours, you let out  a soft breath before pulling back.

At the same time you moved your hands to his neck, Eddie’s hands moved from your hips to your cheeks, his big palms cupping your face as your foreheads pressed together. “Damn, sweets,” Eddie breathed. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about that?”

“Forever?” you asked, softly. Lightly rubbing your thumbs on his neck, you pulled back just a little to look into his chocolate brown eyes. “Because I’ve been dreaming about this for a long time.”

“Dreaming about what?”

Well, you can’t turn back now as you decided to just lay it all out on the table. “About you being slotted between my legs, your cock buried so deep inside of me that I could cum just from that alone. I’ve dreamt about your face between my thighs–” 

You felt yourself being lifted from the couch, your legs going around Eddie’s waist as the man in question walked towards his bedroom, making sure the door was locked beforehand as you continued, “- as your tongue and fingers work on my wet, aching core to the point where I have push your face away from how sensitive you made me.”

Eddie groaned as he kicked his bedroom door shut, laying you down on the bed to hover over you. “Keep going, princess.”

“I’ve dreamt of you fucking me from behind, me riding you, us laying on our sides facing each other, you buried to the hilt inside of me. Even me laying on my stomach with you hovering over me, making me feel so fucking good.”

“Shit,” Eddie whispered, working on the buttons of your jeans while his lips worked on your neck.

Quietly gasping at the feeling of his hand working its way down the front of your jeans, you kept up with your words. “I’ve dreamt about making you feel good, Eddie. My mouth around your tip, hollowing my cheeks as I take all that I can into my mouth, wrapping my hand around what I can’t fit - shit.”

Your words were cut off by the feel of Eddie’s finger sliding through your already wet folds, teasing your entrance. “So wet for me,” he muttered against your neck. “You always this wet when you think about me, princess?”

Moaning, you answered, “Yes. Always.” Burying your head into the mattress beneath your head, you moaned again, feeling a rush of pleasure surging through you at the feel of his slender digit finally making contact with your aching bud. Needing something to hold on to for the moment, you reached your hand up, lightly grasping Eddie’s curly brown tendrils. 

“Eddie,” you breathed. “Need you.”

“Need me where, princess?”

“Mouth. Core. Now.”

A light chuckle sounded from Eddie before a sad whimper through the air from you at the removal of his touch. Before you could protest, he placed a kiss to your lips, working on the button and zipper of your jeans. “Oh, don’t worry, princess. I’m getting there.”

Feeling his body being removed from your own, you looked at him, a pout on your lips as he sat up straight, taking your jeans with him. Eddie looked at you, a smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, m’lady. I’m getting there.”

A sigh fell from your lips as you watched him remove your panties from your hips, dropping them to the floor with your jeans with a soft thud. Gliding his hands up your calves to your knees, you closed your eyes, softly moaning with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

The next sensation had you gasping and looking down, seeing nothing but the top of Eddie’s glorious hair as he started his feast on your core. “Fuck, Eddie,” you whispered.

He leaned back just a tad to look up at you as he worked his magical tongue over your sensitive bud. Pulling off of your core for just a second, he brought his fingers to where his mouth was, softly working his fingers over your core to continue the sensation his tongue had brought. “You like that, babe?”

Nodding, you hummed your agreement, bringing a hand to his hair to thread your fingers through them softly. “Yes,” you whispered. 

Eddie leaned his head against your inner thigh, smiling up at you softly as he inserted one finger into your entrance. “Ready for your fantasy to be brought to life?”

“Fuck yes, Eddie, please,” you groaned before he chuckled. 

Without saying another word, he brought his mouth down on your clit, gently sucking on the bud as he worked his finger in and out of you at a delicious pace. Halting his sucking for just a moment, he watched himself as he brought another finger to your entrance, inserting that finger into you as well, your moans like music to his ears.

No words were exchanged as he worked his fingers in and out of your core and his tongue and mouth on your clit, groans coming from both of you; your groans and moans of pleasure, his groans at your sounds.

“Fuck, Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you said, using your free hand to grab at his pillow. He saw that and didn’t like it, so instead, he adjusted himself before reaching for your hand that was on his head and laced your fingers with his as you brought your free hand down to his head.

Your breaths quickened as Eddie worked his absolute magic, working you to your release. With your head digging into the pillows, you let out a loud moan as your climax hit. While it felt glorious, you wanted to see Eddie’s face and the smug grin that you were sure he was wearing.

When you looked down, you smiled and chuckled, seeing that exact look on his face. “Enjoy that, babe?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumbled. “I think you’ve got me tongue drunk.”

Chuckling, he placed a kiss to the top of your clit before moving his lips back up your body, taking your shirt with him. As he brought it up over your head, Eddie lifted your arms, holding your wrists in place as he looked down at your breasts, reaching behind your back to unhook your bra.

“Take it off,” you whispered, watching him push it up to reveal your skin to him, his eyes having landed on your perky nipples. Before you could say or even think of any other words to say, a moan escaped your throat, your head digging back into the pillows at the feeling of Eddie’s mouth around your nipple. “Eddie!”

With a soft pop, he released your perky bud, looking you dead in the eyes. “How do you want me?” he asked, reaching towards his jeans button and zipper, the latter sounding as he unzipped his pants, pushing them down his legs the best he could.

“Inside. Now. I can’t wait any longer. I need you, Eds.”

“Shit, babe,” he muttered, standing to rid himself of his clothes and to retrieve a condom. He started to climb back up his bed to hover over you at the same time you rid yourself of your shirt. Lining himself up after rolling the condom down his shaft, he looked at you. “Ready?”

“More than ready.”

He nodded slightly, looking back down at your entrance to guide himself to your aching core. As soon as the tip of his cock touched your pussy, it was game over. You both moaned at the feeling of him inserting himself.

You gasped and looked down at where the two of you were connected as soon as he buried to the hilt as he groaned in pure pleasure.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he muttered. “I’m not even sure I’ll last that long.”

“I don’t care if you last the next four milliseconds,” you said. “I love the way you feel me up.”

With that, Eddie slowly pulled out before all but slamming back into you before doing it again… and again and again and again and again causing you to be a writhing mess under him. Eddie did all he could to hold himself above you, his arm muscles growing the tiniest bit weak.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel so good, I might cum in the next three pumps.”

“Fuuu–” Your words were cut off with a small yelp at Eddie’s fingers rubbing your clit, your walls starting to flutter around him. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum! Don’t stop!”

And he didn’t. He didn’t stop rubbing at your clit until you came around his cock, and he in the condom. Eddie didn’t move for a good minute or two, panting above you. “Shit, babe.”

When he pulled out to dispose of the condom, the both of you hissed, your core feeling like he fucked you absolutely raw. “Don’t move,” Eddie whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Nodding, you watched as his form retreated from the room, calling out Wayne’s name just to be sure he didn’t come back home early. When neither of you heard his voice, Eddie looked at you and gave you a curt nod before exiting his bedroom, a small laugh playing on your lips.

As you heard the water in the bathroom running, you sighed and closed your eyes, content with how things were playing when an overwhelming thought crossed your mind; what did this mean for the two of you? Were you two together; like boyfriend and girlfriend, or were you two just now friends with benefits?

Those thoughts scared you, as did Eddie when he came into the room, a warm wash cloth in hand. “Spread ‘em,” he said, softly. You did as he asked, gasping at the feeling of him cleaning you up.

Once the cloth was discarded, he crawled up the bed to lay beside you with a smile on his face, but when he looked at the expression on your face, his smile immediately died. “babe, what’s wrong?”

“Just–” you sighed. “What are we now?” Looking at him, you couldn’t help but feel bad at bringing this up right after he fucked you into oblivion. “I just– I wanna be with you, Eddie, but that stupid, annoying voice in the back of my head is saying that you don’t want to be with me, too, which I know wouldn’t be the case if you just fucked me like a damn god.”

Eddie chuckled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “babe, I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Cupping your cheek, he continued his words. “When I saw you, I said to myself, ‘damn, I want this girl. She’s perfect, even with her nose stuck in a book.’”

Laughing, you covered his hand with yours, looking into his eyes with all the adoration in the world. “You still want me even though I still have my nose books?”

With a soft smile, he replied, “Always.”

~~~

As you walked into Family Video with Eddie a few weeks later, you spotted Chrissy in the rom-com section of the store, her head tilting up from looking at the second shelf. When her eyes locked with yours, she rolled hers and looked back down for a moment before casting her eyes upward, looking at you and Eddie once more.

Eddie saw this and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple before walking over to the horror section, which just so happened to be right behind the rom-com section.

As Chrissy turned to look at the shelves behind her, what she saw made her let out a deep, annoyed breath; you and Eddie were locking lips, not in a high school makeout session, but more of a sweet kiss.

The two of you only broke apart once you heard a throat being cleared. “Can you two please move this somewhere else?” Robin whispered. “You’re going to scare away our customers.”

“Remember that rumor from a few weeks ago about Eddie and I hooking up?” you asked, to which Robin nodded. “Well, Chrissy started that rumor, so Eddie and I put it to bed and… well, now we’re together!”

“Nice, but please, keep it to a minimum,” she asked, turning to walk back to the front counter.

Smiling, you shook your head and turned to look at the selection of tapes in front of you.

“Listen, I know horror isn’t your thing, but I brought you over here to just kiss you in front of Chrissy,” Eddie said, softly.

“So, does this mean I get to go look at comedies now?” you asked, looking up at your boyfriend with a smile on your face. 

Chuckling, he said, “Sure thing, babe.”

Walking away, you groaned, “God, I love it when you call me that.”

As Eddie walked behind you to the comedy section, he started humming one of your newest favorites songs off of Def Leppard’s Hysteria album. “Gimme all of you lovin’, Gimme all that you got, Ev’ry bit of you lovin’, Never want it to stop, Yeah but are you gettin’ it? Armageddon it! Ooh, really gettin’ it? Yes, Armageddon it!”

Hearing Eddie humming that song had you bursting out in laughter, head tilted back. The second, third, and even fourth time the two of you had rolled around in the sheets, that particular song played. Every. Single. Time.

So, Eddie being Eddie, hummed or sang it every time he wanted take in that particular activity, and you would always respond with a lyric from the song, just like you did now.

“Yes, Armageddon it!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! let me know what you thought! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: idk how i feel about writing for a non-henderson!reader, lol. i'm so used to writing henderson!reader, lol

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski​.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on August 23, 2024

[paegei]

UNIVERSE FACTORY

pairing - idol!woozi x afab!reader

summary - you often found yourself locked up in your boyfriends studio with him, trying to make the most of his hectic schedule. sometimes however, things take a turn for the... steamier side.

a/n - another long break guys... im sorry <(＿　＿)>

NSFW CONTENT ! MDNI !

SMUT warnings under the cut !

SMUT WARNINGS: voyeurism, semi - public, degrading, use of slut, choking, sex up against a window, protective sex ( lets go ! )

UNIVERSE FACTORY - your boyfriends second ( well... maybe first ) home. you often liked to come visit him during his working hours, seeing as you have to remind him to take breaks. he made it very clear, however, that when he is in the zone, to NOT DISTURB HIM.

listen, jihoon LOVED your company alright ? loved the fact that you could simply exist in the same room as him, no words having been spoken, but you and him both know that he cannot, for the life of him, resist you.

it was like any tuesday night. you were stuck up on the leather couch in your boyfriends studio, admiring how passionate he was about his work. you usually spent your time in Universe Factory simply lounging - listening to music, ordering take out, scrolling aimlessly. today, was different. there was something in the air tonight.

you watched as jihoons arm moved while making his creations. the muscles under them seemingly glowing in the LED blue lights he had on. he had been getting so buff lately, so really, it was his fault ! you were simply appreciative of his hard work !

apparently, your staring was too loud for his liking, as without turning around he let out a gruff "stop". honestly ? pretty contradictory of him because he is WELL AWARE of what his deep voice does to you.

you tried your hardest, you really did. but it's not your fault he's so insufferably attractive ! enough was enough, and you decided to approach him. sure, he'll get mad, but all that means is an extra rough night. win-win situation in your books.

you slowly walk towards him, placing your arm atop his shoulder before brushing it further down, resting on his biceps. a shiver delved through his body, yet he still didn't turn to acknowledge you. horny beyond repair, you pushed his chair away from his desk, spun him around to face you, before plopping yourself down on his lap.

the act in itself was risky, so, without letting him so much as utter a word, you rushed forward, smashing your lips with his. a yelp left his lips, muffled due to the barrier that is your mouth on his. he hesitates, contemplating on giving you an earful for distracting him, but he cannot deny that your boldness melts his brain. so, with a heavy heart, he begins to match your vicious kisses, placing his hands on your waist and squeezing.

the kiss is hot. messy, spit sliding down your chins. he had been just as desperate as you, if not more, he simply had more control. his hands began to wander, just as your lips did the same. with his mouth free, he was able to finally speak.

"that fucking desperate huh ?" the rasp in his voice had made the effect of your panties growing wetter, so, as payback, you began to ground your hips down onto his, enjoying the feeling of his cock growing firmer with you ministrations.

his grunts followed the movements of you grinding, one escaping his lips with every stroke. he strained his neck back, allowing you more room to continue your nibbling.

"couldn't wait 5 more minutes, hmm ? my slut just can't help themselves, is that it ?" a whimper was all he got back in return.

his fingers somehow found their way inside your underwear, his fingertips brushing over your bundle of nerves. your lips detached from his heavily bruised neck to let out a wanton moan. his fingers continue their journey down.

"fuck, so wet. just from watching me work ?" his smirk is evident in his voice, and you watch as it grows when you weakly nod your head. "mm, could probably just slip right in, fucking soaked." he follows this promise as two fingers slide into your pussy.

you squirm above him, finally getting the relief you craved all night. for the second time, your lips gravitated towards each other, the kiss nothing but heavy panting a whimpers.

you feel his fingers stop for a slight moment, before he withdraws them completely. you begin to protest, your fingers gripping onto his shoulders. his gruff voice next to your ear stops you.

"up." the command sends electricity through your spine, your body obeying before your mind can even catch up. you stand on your shaky legs, looking down as he quickly follows, grabbing your wrist and walking towards the window. the one MANY carats look up to, hoping to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend.

"if you want to act like a slut" he starts, pushing your front up against the glass, slotting himself behind you. "why not let the world see it, huh ?" he moves to nip behind your ear. "safeword ?"

a moan leaves your lips, brain unable to complete a sentence.

"words or i stop". he starts to untangle himself from you, and the desperation finally allows words to form.

"r- red ! red ! please hoon don't stop !"

he wraps around you again, stopping to place a quick kiss to your forehead, mumbling a quick "good job, baby". his hands begin to rake your body, one reaching up to play with your tits, while the other runs up and down your back comfortingly.

his hands leave yours as he leans back to grab a condom from his desk drawer. while the time it took for him to slip the rubber on was closer to a minute, the horniess clouded your brain and caused the interaction to feel like hours.

finally, you feel his body return behind you, one of his hands resting on your waist while the other guides his cock towards your heat. as the tip pushes pass your walls, your forehead rests upon the glass, while he nuzzles his against your neck.

he waits a couple beats before he begins to slowly rock his hips into you. each thrust growing in strength.

"this what you fucking wanted ?" his tone is rough, angry, and makes you mewl. the clenching of your pussy causes him to let out a small whimper, completely contrasting his tough demeanor. you would use this as an opportunity to tease the man, however he predicted this, reaching his arm up to squeeze your throat. the feeling of air being restricted felt heavenly. the slight dizziness caused you to push your ass back, trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

"just had to be a slut and throw yourself at me."

there was a small lull in his dirty talk, as he leans his head back, focusing on the heat of your cunt. his neck was flexing as he bites back his moans; he doesn't want any noise besides the fucked out gasps you are making. the sight alone causes you to arch your back and smush your face further into the glass, letting a multitude of curses and jihoon's name pass your lips.

his arm that had previously been choking you, moves to sit up against the glass, helping his body completely envelope yours. his front rests against your back, one arm above your head, the other on your waist, his cock is kissing your cervix; the two of you could not get any closer.

"fucking slut, anyone could look up and see you drooling for me" his words cause you to clench around him harder. "let carats know i'm taken, yeah ?"

you peer down from the window. you can see no one is actually watching, and for a moment that disappoints you. the thought of one of jihoon's fans attempting to see your boyfriend, yet being met with the sight of you getting your life fucked out of you... now that brought immense pleasure.

his pace quickens, he appears to be just as affected by his words. the sound of skin on skin grows harsher, and the grip your cunt has on him gains strength. the tip of his cock finds your bundle of nerves and begins to make you unravel.

"hoon- hoon- fuck- 'm so close"

"yeah ? wanna show everyone how gorgeous you look when you cum for me ?"

the squelching of your cunt was deafening. you could feel the wetness sneaking down between your legs. jihoon runs his hand down, making figure 8 motions on your clit.

tears had begun to escape your eyes. your body began to convulse. the noises you were making somehow doubled in volume, as you let your orgasm take control. all of your words got slurred together, completely intelligable due to the weight of your peak.

faintly, you could hear jihoon praising you, something along the lines of "that's my fucking baby" or "so good for me". his thrusts lost their rhythm, he starts mindlessly humping into you.

his face smashes into your neck once more and his whimpers fill the room. you could feel his cock twitching inside you, emptying himself into the condom.

attempting to catch your breaths, jihoon quickly redirects you to the leather couch you had previously been occupying. he lays the two of you down, dick still inside you. his hands rub up and down your body while he patiently waits for you to come down from the intense high.

he peppers kisses along your neck, only looking up when he feels your hands in his hair. he leans forward, redirecting his kisses to your lips.

"y' okay ?" the question is murmured into your mouth. you softly nod your head.

he eventually lets your lips part, looking down at you before saying:

"i really hope no one saw that"

not proof-read ! lmk if there's any mistakes (づ￣ 3￣)づ

[suzukiblu]

NaNoWriMo fic, day one: obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Tim Drake had absolutely no intentions of ever becoming anyone's sugar daddy when he met Superboy.

This would have worked out better for him if Superboy had ever had an actual legal identity or an actual legal guardian or just . . . literally anything whatsoever in life. Ever. At all.

Just a bank account, even.

"You're working for Cadmus," Tim says slowly. "Cadmus, as in the lab that stole Superman's body and cloned him without his consent. Cadmus, which you had to break out of so they couldn't put mind control code words in your head."

"Yeah," Superboy replies like that's not literally insane. Tim stares at him.

"Why?" he asks incredulously.

"Food and shelter?" Superboy shrugs. "And I mean, I dunno, where else am I gonna go?"

Tim is not okay with this situation.

"What did Superman say?" he says.

"Just to like, keep an eye on things," Superboy says with another shrug. "Make sure they're not up to anything shifty."

Tim stares at him.

"Superman," he says. "Told you to just . . . 'keep an eye on' the dubiously ethical cloning lab. The specific dubiously ethical cloning lab that tried to put mind control code words in your head. Specifically."

"Yeah," Superboy confirms.

Alright, Tim is actually even less okay with this situation than he thought, apparently. Like, impressively less.

"Okay," he says. It is absolutely no kind of okay in any way whatsoever, of course, but he doesn't want to put Superboy on the defensive. That'd make effectively interrogating him a lot harder, for one thing. Cooperative subjects are best in these situations. "What are they paying you?"

"I mean, like, they gave me my own room and they're feeding me and whatever, so I don't really need much money," Superboy says. "There's a discretionary fund I can use if I need to go on an undercover mission or anything like that? But I'm not really the undercover type anyway."

"Sure," Tim says. So . . . no way for Superboy to save up to move out and get an out-of-lab life, then. Great. That's not fucked-up or crazy or horrible at all. "Do you like it there?"

"It's okay," Superboy says, shrugging again. "Better than literally everybody in Hawaii yelling at me every time they see my face, yeah?"

Tim wants to set the world on fire, but he's trying really hard not to go supervillain before he's thirty and he'd hate to throw out all that hard work.

"They just let me do whatever, mostly," Superboy adds. "They don't really care as long as I'm around when they need me."

He'll go supervillain as soon as Bruce dies, Tim promises himself. Just–he'll give his share of the eulogy at the funeral and then he'll blow up three-fourths of Arkham and the entire GCPD while Commissioner Gordon is on his lunch break. He can time that out, that'll be easy. And then he'll go and personally murder the Joker with the very specific combination of a rusty crowbar and a shrapnel bomb, and then he'll just . . . well, he'll just go with the flow from there, he figures. Do whatever feels natural.

Seriously, the world as it is does not deserve to exist. It really just does not.

Tim figures he can probably convince the rest of Young Justice to tag along for the whole supervillain thing and hopefully Dick and Steph and Barbara too, and ideally also Alfred, in the unfortunately likely event that he outlives Bruce. He's got time to lay the groundwork with them all and all, and also everything really is awful and horrible and really does deserve to burn.

"Are they sending you to school or anything? Or tutoring you?" Tim asks with what little scraps of hope he has left. Higher education would be . . . well, something, at least. And actually it probably wouldn't hurt for Superboy to learn a bit more about genetic engineering from the same place he got genetically engineered, just in case anything goes wrong with his DNA again. Cadmus should at least be good for that much, right?

"Ew, no, thank fuck," Superboy says, making a face. "Like I said, they mostly let me do whatever until something needs punched."

So . . . no furthered education or learning any usable job skills or making real money or literally anything that could, again, lead to Superboy ever getting any kind of an actual out-of-lab life established.

Great.

Just great.

"I see," Tim says.

"It's a pretty sweet gig, considering," Superboy says, and grins brightly at him. It's a very nice grin. Normally being faced with that particular grin would make Tim need to beat down the highly unprofessional urge to kiss it.

Right now, though, he's a little bit more concerned with the fact that his teammate is just . . . living in and working for a fucking lab. As a matter of course. Just as a thing.

And Superman of all people thinks that's . . . fine, for some reason? Like, normal and ethical and okay? Somehow? In some way?

What the actual fuck, Tim thinks to himself.

"You said Superman told you to keep an eye on things?" he asks.

"Yeah," Superboy says, his grin widening. "He took me to his fortress and asked me to do it there. Showed me around a bit, too."

"That sounds really interesting," Tim says, wondering in vague disbelief if that means Superman had never taken Superboy to the Fortress of Solitude before. He must've, right? And just . . . inexplicably not shown Superboy around then.

Yeah. Sure.

"It was awesome!" Superboy says with more enthusiasm than Tim's seen from him since they met Nina Dowd's . . . endowments, seemingly forgetting the need to be "cool" for long enough to lean forward in his seat and outright beam at him. Tim is gonna need a minute to recover from the sight of that expression, probably. "It's seriously freaking freezing up there, but there's so much cool shit in the place. Like, from all over the universe, but from Krypton, even! The only thing I'd ever seen from Krypton before was kryptonite!"

Tim considers moving up his supervillain timeline after all. Like. Just possibly. Just a little.

Maybe he can convince Bruce to take an early retirement off-planet and just go from there.

What the hell is wrong with Superman?

"Oh, wow, really?" Tim says, simultaneously pretending he didn't already know what Superman has in his fortress and trying not to be screamingly obvious about the internal calculations he's running on figuring out how to weaponize red sunlight. Or like, maybe he could look into learning some magic. That's technically an option. Probably more time-consuming and harder to hide the process of, though. Still, it's on the table.

"Yeah. He showed me some of it. Told me some stories and stuff, even," Superboy says, and that excited grin turns just a little bit shy and soft and somehow even more distracting than usual. He ducks his head just a little, and then that soft grin is more like a soft smile, and Tim suffers. "And I, uh–and he gave me something, too."

"What did he give you?" Tim asks, praying to God that the answer is "an emergency contact number" or "an allowance that can cover a semi-decent Metropolis apartment" or "an offer to live literally anywhere but Cadmus, including in the thirtieth century or on a hostile alien planet or inside an active volcano". He's technically an atheist, so the praying thing is probably moot, but times of desperation are times of desperation.

"A name," Superboy says, and his smile widens helplessly. "Like, you know, a real one."

Tim might hate Superman, he thinks. That might actually be a thing now.

Yeah, he's definitely going supervillain after Bruce dies and doesn't need an emotional support sidekick anymore. Better start stocking up on the kryptonite.

"That's great," he says with a very carefully not-forced smile of his own instead of anything more along the lines of "wait, you've been alive and active as a superhero for all this time and no one ever actually named you?!" Superboy would probably take it the wrong way, not in the least because that genuinely never actually occurred to him as being a thing before. Like–he really did just assume Superboy was keeping a lid on whatever his real name was for personal reasons or Superman reasons or something. "Are you allowed to tell me it, or is that a no-go?"

"Oh, yeah," Superboy says with a sheepish laugh, rubbing at his arm. "It's like, a Kryptonian name? Not like a secret identity one. It's, uh, Kon-El."

Of course it's not even a damn secret identity, Tim thinks in absolute frustration and abject loathing. Of course not! Why would it be?! Fuck forbid!

"I like it," he says, because he lies to Batman and therefore there is no fucking way that he's going to let Superboy–Kon–see any sign whatsoever of the metaphorical 9.9 on the Richter scale that is currently happening in his psyche. "It suits you."

"You think?" Kon grins all the wider. Tim can't even calm down enough to want to kiss him, except in the sense that he always wants to kiss him.

"I do," he says, and smiles at him again.

Kon smiles back.

Tim hates everything. All the things. There is nothing that Tim doesn't hate right now, except maybe Alfred's snickerdoodles because he might be having a nervous breakdown but he's not, like, criminally insane or whatever.

Yet.

"Yeah, it's kinda cool," Kon says, straightening up in his seat and then leaning back, clearing his throat and slipping his sunglasses back on like they're not in a literal cave right now. Tim doesn't call him on it, because he has a supervillain timeline to work out and that's much more important.

Also because the teammate he has an inadvisable crush on is in a much, much shittier situation than he ever realized and he has to reconcile that with his worldview and also his opinion of Superman. Tim doesn't especially idolize the man except in the sense of knowing he's one of the greatest heroes on Earth and a very, very good man that Bruce thinks incredibly highly of, one of the best men on the League and maybe even on the planet, but . . .

But if he's such a good man, then why the hell is Kon living in a lab that tried to mind-control him and why has he only just seen the Fortress of Solitude for the first time?

Why didn't he have a real name?

"So do we call you Kon or Kon-El now?" Tim asks, which is a bit of a senseless question but also at least a bit of a distraction. He wants to say this whole situation is a horrible idea, who the FUCK convinced you this situation was a good idea?!, but there is no possible way that Kon would respond well to that. Ever.

Also, Kon had a point. Where else is he gonna go?

Clearly not the Fortress of Solitude.

Seriously, would it be that hard for Superman to give him a room there? At least a place to stay sometimes, so he wasn't exclusively relying on the mind-control cloning lab for food and shelter and basic comforts?

"I think just Kon?" Kon says, frowning consideringly. "'El' is like Superman's last name, I guess? So I think just Kon."

"Makes sense," Tim says, internally seething. Superman gave him the "El" name but not a secret identity? A name from a dead civilization with a bit of sentimental value, maybe, but nothing usable on this planet? Fuck, you'd think Kon didn't already know his secre–

. . . Kon doesn't know Superman's secret identity, does he.

Tim had thought he was lying, when he'd said that stuff about Superman not having one, before. Thought it was supposed to be a cover or a misdirection or something. But Kon actually thinks that, doesn't he. And Superman has just . . . kept letting him think that.

Becoming a supervillain actually might be an underreaction, in retrospect.

"Just Kon sounds less formal anyway," Tim says instead of so just in theory, do you think tactile telekinesis could trigger a heart attack or stroke in a full-blooded Kryptonian, if you could REALLY concentrate on doing it? like not FATALLY, just dehabilitatingly?, because he still has some groundwork to do before they get that far into potential supervillainy. There's steps to the plan. The steps need to be followed. They're very important steps. "You don't want Bart full-naming you every time he's looking for the remote."

"Like he'd even bother, it's faster for him to turn the living room upside-down than actually ask anyway," Kon says with a laugh, dropping his head back on his neck. Tim has some thoughts about climbing into his lap and figuring out if the TTK makes him hickey-proof, and then buries them. Not appropriate. Not professional. Just not.

. . . technically, if Kon wanted a hickey, he could just let his TTK down and ask for–

Tim buries his thoughts deeper.

Much, much deeper.

"Point," he says. "So what time does Cadmus expect you back?"

"Dude, it's a job, not a boarding school," Kon says, giving him an amused look. "I don't have a curfew."

Tim, technically, hasn't followed his own curfew any way but accidentally once in his entire life, but for god's sake, is Cadmus even pretending to be raising a teenager or are they really just being that flagrant about ignoring all the child labor laws they so clearly do not give a fuck about? Like, there must be something illegal about this. There has to be.

If there's not, Tim will be adding "burn down Project Cadmus" to his list of supervillain plans to set up in advance. In red pen. Underlined.

Twice.

God, why is the world like this. Why are people like this?

"I guess that'd be convenient," Tim says, internally ranking various methods of combustion. "Though I guess it depends on the cafeteria hours, too."

"It's whatever, I can always eat later," Kon replies with a shrug. "I think I've still got a couple protein bars in my room anyway."

"Just protein bars?" Tim asks, mentally upping the amount of explosives he was considering going with. Cadmus is going to be a crater by the time he's done with it. "Don't you need more calories than that?"

". . . well, sort of," Kon says, folding his arms and looking very briefly embarrassed. "Superman doesn't have to eat, apparently, but, uh, guess I'm not Kryptonian enough for that. Actually I kinda need to eat more than normal humans, it's weird. Like. A lot more."

"I'm ordering pizza," Tim says, upping his mental explosives count again. "What do you want on it?"

"We're the only ones here," Kon says, looking puzzled.

"More pizza for us, then," Tim says.

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

we adjusted my medication two weeks ago so the doctor was like "you might still get one more period bc there might be an ovulation in progress, but after tHAt we should really see an end to the periods"

and now 2 weeks on. when i'm getting a slight increase in the menopause symptoms after they finally started petering out....... guess fucking why?

yep. winter is coming.✌🏽🤪

the frequency of the nausea that i'm getting with this endo treatment is so irritating

and the head and muscle aches just keep returning when i think they're finally over

aaand now i've had 2 days of fucking cramps. i've been taking estrogen blockers for nearly 3 months !!!!!!!! i should not be getting fucking cramps anymore !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[veritas-scribblings]

attraction - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,067

In October, James Potter starts popping up everywhere. The library. The great hall. The quad, when Regulus is just trying to sit and read. The potions classroom, where James apparently left a textbook he needed. The greenhouses, where Regulus is trying to complete some homework. The quidditch pitch, because James is apparently spying for his house.

It’s like one minute, James predominantly exists in the periphery of Regulus's life as the boy his brother is attached-at-the-hip to (and the boy who makes Regulus feel a little bit funny inside), and then suddenly James is absolutely everywhere Regulus looks.

And it’s driving Regulus insane.

He says this to Barty, who offers to slip James something that will keep him out of Regulus’s hair. Regulus is almost tempted to take Barty up on his offer, and he would, but he can never quite know if Barty’s idea of the ‘something’ he’d slip James is innocuous (in the sense that maybe James will live on the toilet for a few days) or if it’s something…less innocuous (like James will need medical intervention to repair his spleen). 

The trouble is, every time James Potter shows up, Regulus makes an utter fool of himself. Like James has a force field of ‘stupid’ around him that draws Regulus in, scrambles his brain and lowers his general intelligence and co-ordination a few pegs.

Last time, when James turned up in the potions lab looking for his stray charms book, Regulus dropped his ink well and ended up coated in black in ink. And then James had laughed at him, because James is an absolute bastard, and Regulus had wanted to die a quick and sudden death.

Unfortunately, no Regulus’s had been harmed in the course of that incident (except perhaps for Regulus’s pride), and this is why Regulus is now standing in the back of the library staring James down. And James has a book in his hands that Regulus needs, and there is no way that he will be leaving without that book.

Even if it includes removing James’s lovely hands from the rest of his lovely person. 

‘That’s mine,’ Regulus says flatly. He reaches out to grab the book from James’s hands, forgetting the books he already has tucked under his arms. They fall to the floor in a series of thuds, landing on Regulus’s foot, causing him to curse angrily. 

‘Shit! Fuck!’

‘Language, Regulus,’ James laughs. ‘And it’s not. Your book. It’s the library’s book.’

‘It’s mine. I came here to borrow it, and what do you even need it for? Why are you here?’

‘I came looking for you,’ James says quickly, smiling in that way that he always does, the way that leaves Regulus feeling slightly weak inside. ‘I…just…go out with me?’

Regulus, who had been picking up the books he'd dropped, falters and frowns, uncertain that he’s heard James right. The cocky grin James had been wearing a moment ago has disappeared and he looks almost awkward in his own body. Which is unusual for James, who typically has that characteristic Gryffindor Quidditch Player arrogance about him. 

‘Go out with me,’ James says, more earnestly this time.

‘What? …why?’

‘Why?’ James repeats, surprised. He thinks for a moment and then, as though he’s giving a speech or a presentation, he says, ‘Well, I’m good at quidditch. Captain of the team! And I’m funny…I think. I think I have a good sense of humour. And I’m a nice guy! Mostly. Yeah, in general. Oh, and I’m a good student. I get good grades. Always turn in my assignments on time. Professors love me. And I’m a good friend. Sirius can vouch for me!’ 

James is shifting on the spot, scratching the back of his neck, watching Regulus like Regulus has him under a guillotine and all Regulus needs to do is pull that rope. ‘So…?’ he says. ‘Will you?’ 

Regulus grabs the book from James’s hands and slips it into the pile he has tucked back under his arm.

‘Why?’ Regulus hisses. ‘Is this a joke? One of your pranks? Is my brother going to leap out from somewhere?’ 

James genuinely looks aghast at this idea. ‘What? No! I—’ He pauses, mouthing oh like he’s had some sort of realisation. Reaches out to take Regulus’s arm, which Regulus yanks back, furiously. ‘No, I want you to go out with me because I like you. I like you. A lot.’ 

James’s smile is genuine. Earnest. Most things about James are genuine and earnest. And, Regulus thinks, maybe this is why James does funny things to Regulus’s insides. Things that make Regulus feel slightly dizzy and jittery, that make Regulus feel just a bit stupider, that make Regulus feel warm inside. 

‘I’ve been,’ James starts somewhat sheepishly. ‘I’ve been…following you around, maybe. Trying to work up the courage.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Regulus retorts.

‘Oh?’

‘…you following me.’

‘Oh.’

‘So, this isn’t a joke?’

James shakes his head vehemently, and smiles at Regulus. There’s such hope in the smile that it feels like Regulus’s world has turned on its head. None of this makes sense. None of it. Surely there’s a shoe on the other side of all of this that’ll drop, and Regulus’s traitorous brain will tell him, ‘I told you. I told you so.’

Or maybe it won’t.

‘Okay,’ Regulus says hesitantly. ‘Okay.’ 

James grins. The grin is wide and bright like the sun, and he practically bounces on the spot. Like Regulus has made his day. His week. Maybe his month.

‘Really?’ he says excitedly. ‘Really? Great! Okay, great! This is great! I’ll…um…we’ll. Hogsmede. This weekend. I’ll, um, we’ll go together. It’ll be great.’ He steps forwards towards Regulus, appears to reconsider this, and hastily steps backwards.

Regulus nods slowly, unsure what he’s meant to do with all of this. His heart is fluttering in his stomach, making him feel nervous and worried. That’s he’s going to do something stupid again, like break his ink well or drop his books on his foot. And James will realise that Regulus is stupid and this whole idea was stupid, because why is James even interested in ‘going out with Regulus’? 

But there’s also this other spark of hope in Regulus that James will not think he’s stupid. Maybe he’ll like Regulus and Regulus will get to spend more time around James, intentionally, and they’ll do it all over again.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

✨️1K Followers Celebration Day 2: NCT bias wrecker - Jaehyun✨️

In the a.m.

AN: I was originally planning to post another fic today but, it got too frustrating so, I scrapped it for another day. Fortunately, my brain seems to have plenty of ideas when it comes to Jaehyun. Also, yay to the first NCT fic on the blog :D

Synopsis: Some harmless scrolling on Instagram takes a turn you could've never seen coming.

Heads up: Jeong Jaehyun x Fem! Reader, friends to lovers, Reader going through it because of her feelings for Jaehyun, Reader mentions wanting Jaehyun to choke her one time, Jaehyun being a little shit, mentions of facesitting, dirty talk, video call sex, guided masturbation of sorts (f. receiving), mutual masturbation, praise kink (f. receiving) and Jaehyun calls Reader pet names a lot throughout this.

Word count: 2989

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

You don't expect much when you open Instagram.

It's been a relatively uneventful Tuesday night, all things considered. Your laptop sits on your desk, reminding you that you very much have work you should be attending to, but you try your best not to pay it any mind.

Your mindless scrolling comes to a halt when you notice a post from Jaehyun.

It's honestly embarrassing how much just seeing him affects you. Your heart stuttering in your chest as you take in his carefully dishevelled, dark hair and his handsome, almost apathetic expression. You're probably reading more into a singular picture than strictly necessary, but the way his face is angled makes it look like he's looking down at you, and that only causes you to spiral further. Insides squirming violently.

It definitely doesn't help that you wish his hand was around your throat inside of his phone, too.

You're honestly just speechless. You knew you were really looking for ways to procrastinate if you resorted to Instagram of all platforms but, it's a blessing in disguise since you were graced with this.

However, because you're an idiot and you weren't careful, you like the post without thinking. A post he made months ago.

Would it be too much to hope for the Earth to open up right now and swallow you whole?

Panic takes over then. Maybe you could just uninstall Instagram, and he wouldn't notice or get the notification. Maybe you could just unlike it really quickly and he'd never even know-

Luck is not on your side, however, because you notice a message from Jaehyun, and you've never wanted to cease to exist more than right now.

Maybe you could just pretend you magically passed out seconds after liking his post. That wouldn't seem too suspicious, would it?

However, because you're still an idiot and a curious one at that, you open his message.

Jae💕: See something you like?

The fucking nerve of this man. You resent the way your body betrays you. Your face heating up considerably as you just try to comprehend what the fuck is happening. Is he...flirting with you? It wouldn't be the first time. Jaehyun enjoys flustering you, and it works more often than you care to admit. However, flirting with you when you're pretty sure it's around 3 a.m. in Tokyo seems like a little much, even for him.

You: Shouldn't you be asleep? Isn't it like 3.am. there?

Jae💕: Couldn't sleep. Then I got the notification that you liked my post. Isn't it pretty late over there too?

You groan into your pillow. Jaehyun doesn't need to know about you lusting after him so late at night.

You: Yeah, I was doing some work but, I'm pretty much finished for the night.

Jae💕: And you were thinking about me after finishing your work? I'm flattered, baby

Jaehyun has called you baby before. It's nothing new. Honestly, the pet name would make you cringe if anyone else was saying it, but, as you're coming to discover, apparently anything and everything he says and does renders you a flustered mess.

You: No! I was just scrolling, and I accidentally liked it. Don't flatter yourself

Jae💕: Sounds like denial to me~

You: You're so annoying 🙄

What you don't anticipate, on this already fever dream of a night, is for your phone screen to light up with his name. You only hesitate for a few moments before answering.

"I'm annoying, huh? That hurts my feelings," he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice, and the mental image of his dimples hits you like a truck. Though he said he couldn't sleep, his voice sounds gravelly and, you feel yourself squirm instinctively.

"Something tells me your feelings aren't all that hurt," you retort, hoping against hope he doesn't notice the breathy edge to your voice. Talking to Jaehyun always left you feeling a little lightheaded.

"Now you're calling me a liar too? I was being serious earlier. I am extremely flattered that I was running through that pretty mind of yours,"

Yeah, you're definitely going to uninstall Instagram after tonight. You don't even want to begin to unpack him calling anything about you pretty.

With a heavy sigh, you respond, "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Nope," and he has the nerve to chuckle.

"You really are so annoying. You're lucky I like you and you're cute,"

You were wrong. Now, you've never wanted to cease to exist more. Why in the fuck would you ever say that? Especially tonight? Yeah, sure, some harmless flirting isn't out of the norm between the two of you, but tonight feels decidedly...different. You can't help but feel you're treading a very dangerous line here.

You're half-tempted to just hang up before he responds, "You like me and think I'm cute, huh? If you wanted to ask me out, you could've just said that."

"That's not- I wasn't trying to- I didn't mean to say that,"

"You don't have to get all shy, baby. If anything, the feelings are very much mutual,"

That stops all your higher order functions all together momentarily. What. Jaehyun likes you? Is this actually happening?

"W-what?" Your brain intelligible supplies.

"You really think I just call everyone baby and flirt with them. I'm a little surprised it took you so long to catch on,"

Now that you think about it, he has always treated you...differently compared to your other friends. Johnny and Mark had teased you about it from time to time, but you always thought they were just being little shits. Guess you should learn to take your friends' word more seriously moving forward.

"You could've just been direct with me,"

"Where's the fun in that?" He laughs, but his tone shifts to a more serious one, "I wasn't sure if you felt the same way. I know I joke, and I tease, but you-you mean a lot to me, and I didn't want to jeopardise the friendship we had. I was content to have you in any way you wanted me, even if it was just as your friend."

You were reeling. You couldn't respond to him even if you wanted to for a few seconds. Your brain trying to pull itself together enough to say something.

"You know, this isn't how I was expecting my Tuesday night to go,"

His laugh is warm and throaty and quiet, and all the months of pining finally boil over.

"In case it's unclear, I like you too. Like a lot. Um, yeah,"

"Well that's a relief. I was worried there for a sec," god, you wish you could see his face. You know he's probably grinning ear to ear. Well, you could...

"Jae?"

"Hmm?"

"Could we video call instead?"

"Sure but, do you mind me asking why?"

"I want to see your face,"

You're sure that'll inflate his ego for weeks to come, but you can't bring yourself to care.

You're already proven correct when you see him with the world's largest shit-eating grin and the butterflies in your stomach flutter more violently.

His hair is even more dishevelled than in the picture, and you can see his sleeping shirt cling to his shoulders in a way that heats the blood in your veins.

"Here I am, baby. It's nice to see you too, if I'm being honest," it only hits you when his usually mischievous eyes are heavy with something else entirely as he takes in the sight of you on his screen what you're wearing.

"You're such a perv. I was trying to be sweet,"

"I'm being sweet too! I just have eyes. Also, I saw that look in your eyes. Don't play coy with me,"

"I have no idea what you're talking about,"

"Really?" His grin takes on a more sinister edge, "because I definitely noticed you looking like you wanted to sit on my face as soon as I popped up on your screen."

You're sure you look stupid with how you're gapping at him. Too stunned to speak and your body, once again, betrays you when you feel yourself clench at his words.

He's not wrong but, he doesn't need to just say it like that.

"You can't just say stuff like that, Jaehyun," you whine, and you see his eyes flash so briefly you're wondering if you imagined it.

"Why not? We both know it's true. It's just unfortunate that I'm not there right now to give you what you so obviously want," he drawls, lidded eyes dropping to take in as much of your generous cleavage as he can.

The butterflies shift lower.

"You'd let me sit on your face?" Maybe you're finally learning to just embrace the unexpectedness of this night. You two like and obviously want each other. Fuck it.

He chuckles again, but his voice is already a few octaves deeper, and you feel yourself growing slick. Thighs rubbing together in a way you hope is some level of unnoticeable.

"Happily. I'd do a lot of things to you if you'd let me,"

You're finding it really hard to think straight right now.

"Really? Like what?" You're too far gone for him to even feel ashamed how delicate your voice already sounds.

"And you were calling me a perv earlier," You're not sure if you want to punch him for attractive that arrogant, dimpled smirk of his is or kiss him. God, you really wish he was here too.

He continues before you can butt in, "Well, I'd take my time with you." Your blood feels molten as his lidded gaze takes in every detail of your face, stopping briefly to stare at your lips, "I'd kiss you until your lips were bruised and all you could think about was me."

This time, Jaehyun notices you squirming, and he pounces.

"Aw, is my poor baby already getting all hot and bothered just from me talking about kissing you and letting you sit on my face?"

A desperate whine tumbles out of your mouth before you can help yourself. Between him calling you his fucking baby constantly, what he'd do to you and the gravelly quality of his voice, it's no wonder you can feel yourself begin to leak onto your panties.

"Jaehyun,"

"I asked you a question, baby," his tone is still mostly playful, but you can hear the command clear as day.

"Yes,"

"That's a good girl. Why don't you show me just how hot you are for me?"

Honestly, you should probably feel some semblance of hesitance, but the exhilaration that comes with his praise would likely make you do anything.

You angle your phone as best as you can, the low light of your bedside lamp illuminating the visible wet spot on your panties.

"Fuck, baby," he groans and your pride swells at seeing him just as affected by all of this as you are.

"Can you show me how you touch yourself?"

Your unoccupied hand flies to your panties without much thought, ready to slip a few fingers past the waistband-

"Wait, don't touch yourself directly yet. Touch yourself over your panties,"

"But Jaehyun," you whine, sounding a little pathetic to your own ears, "I'm so wet, and it aches."

He shuts his eyes for a few moments, jaw clenching as he tries to find his words.

"I can't wait to get my hands on you," he mutters, but you don't think he meant to verbalise that particular thought. Either way, the feeling is very much mutual.

"I know, baby, but if you're good for me, I'll reward you, okay?"

You nod almost frantically, and he tuts in response, "Words, baby. Don't make me remind you again."

"O-Okay,"

"Good. Now I want you to touch yourself how you usually would, but over your panties,"

You do as he says. Drawing slow circles against your clit. The brushes of the fabric of your panties and the pressure from your fingers making your eyes flutter. More and more of your wetness drips out of you, making your panties stick to you. Your hips jolt up into your touch sporadically, quiet moans falling from your lips.

"You look so pretty playing with your pussy for me, princess," Jaehyun breathes, his own hand slinking down his body.

You keen at the praise. Adding more pressure to your ministrations against your sensitive clit, "Jae-Jaehyun ah please. I'm so - it's so -" you whimper, your train of thought leaving you with each brush.

"I know, baby. I know. You're doing so well," groans, his heavy gaze intently focused on the mess you're making between your thighs. His cock throbbing in the confines of his boxers with every twitch of your hips and quiver of your thighs.

"Can I see you too?" You ask, clamping down hard around nothing when you notice his arm moving. Putting two and two together and coming to the realisation that he's palming himself.

"Well, since you've been doing so well. I suppose you deserve some kind of reward," he says after some faux deliberation. Angling his phone downwards. Your thighs squeeze your hand hard, never feeling excruciatingly empty as you take in the way his cock strains against his boxers.

Considering the menace he's been all night, you expect him to tease you. Touch himself over his boxers until you're begging to see him properly. However, Jaehyun loves to keep you on your toes.

The air is knocked out of your lungs when he haphazardly tugs his boxers down. His cock smacks against his toned abdomen, flushed and hard and looking good enough to make saliva pool in your mouth.

"Too bad you're not here to sit on it but, I guess we'll have to make do for now, princess,"

Jaehyun is trying to kill you. That's what this is. An elaborate plot to stop your heart right here and now.

"Jaehyun, please. Can I touch myself pr-properly please? I've been so good. Please," you whimper. Slick walls throbbing incessantly when you notice his cock twitch in his grasp.

"I don't know, baby. How badly do you want to?"

"So badly. Please, please, please, I'll do whatever you say. Whatever you want,"

His eyes glint at that, and nervousness and anticipation course through your veins. Maybe he was more calculating than you gave him credit for.

"Since you ask so nicely, go ahead. Take your panties off for me, and let me see you play with yourself properly,"

In a likely incredibly ungraceful display, you impatiently tug your panties off with one hand. Tossing them aside and shoving your hand back between your thighs. Your eyes shutting when your fingers finally come into contact with your poor clit. Whimpers and curses and moans of his name falling from your lips with every circle.

"Fuck, you look so fucking pretty, princess," he groans and, you open your eyes to look at your screen. Fresh wetness gushes out of you when you realise that he's stroking himself. His tip now broaching into an angry red territory, and he's slick with pre-cum.

"I wish you were here," you whine out, increasing the pace of your fingers in time with each stroke of Jaehyun's hand. The obscene sounds emanating from your phone's speaker going straight to clit.

His chuckle is even more gravelly than before, "Me too, princess. Watching you like this...fuck. You're driving me insane," he mutters, hips jolting up to fuck into his fist. You've never envied a hand more than in this moment.

"Th-the feeling is mutual. I'm so-so ah,"

"Are you close, baby?"

"Ye-yes," you whimper, your toes beginning to curl, and the knot that's settled in your core tightening more and more and more.

The moan that falls from his lips is low and drawn out. His hand picking up its pace considerably as he watches you begin to fall apart on your hand.

"You're going to be a good girl and cum for me, right?" Oh god. The whine that's ripped from your throat is desperate and pitchy, your wetness drips down your thighs and begins to pool onto your sheets.

All your brain can manage is a jumbled mess of what you think is his name and 'please' and choked noises of pleasure. You're so close you can practically taste it.

You're distracted from your encroaching release when you hear Jaehyun's own sounds of pleasure. It takes a considerable amount of effort to open your eyes and, you're glad you do.

You open your eyes just in time to watch Jaehyun cum. His cum spurting onto his toned abdomen, parts of his thighs and all over his pretty hand. Strained, breathy gasps flooding your ears and the soft blush on his face, all combining to send you over the edge.

You try your best to muffle your cries as your hips twitch away from your hand. Insides spasming sporadically and even more wetness gushing out of you. Smearing your thighs and adding to the mess on your sheets.

It takes you both very long moments to regain your higher order functions. The stickiness underneath you and between your thighs quickly becoming uncomfortable but, you can't bring yourself to care right now.

"This is probably the most unconventional way anyone's ever confessed to me and asked me out,"

The laugh he gives you makes the butterflies roar once more. Considering you just watched each other cum, you suppose you have no real reason to be shy anymore.

"It's definitely the most unconventional way I've asked someone out. Luckily, the Japanese leg of our tour ends in about a week, so I can take you out properly then,"

"A whole week huh," you pout.

"Unfortunately, princess. Hey, I'm not opposed to more calls like this until we're able to meet in person," he responds with a wolfish grin.

You resent the way your still sensitive walls clench at the suggestion.

[chvoswxtch]

oi, matt! can i get a macchiato? mayhaps over ice if that’s what the barista has to offer today….

matt x assistant!reader at nelson and murdock is one of my favourite flavours ever. i just neeeeed your take on it.

you know I had to kick off the celebration with this slut (works for you or matty) <3 also just so you know I could've kept going with this forever but tumblr told me to shut up bc apparently there's a word limit on answering asks but you get the picture ;)

as a reminder, over ice means it's spicy ! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

matt murdock is an hr nightmare

when foggy mentions that nelson & murdock could desperately use an assistant since karen is now at the bulletin, before matt even has a chance to speak, foggy is warning him to keep his dick in his pants

and when matt pulls that face (you know the one, the "she wanted to teach me" look of faux innocence) foggy reminds matt that not only is he a whore but he also has a history of being tempted by forbidden fruit (he probably fucked all the female interns at landman and zack, and then there's karen who he would've slept with if frank & elektra hadn't shown up but that's a different story for a different day)

matt does the lil "i cross my heart" thing and swears to foggy that he won't get involved with the new assistant

he also makes this promise to himself bc let's face it he's a human disaster who's life is constantly falling apart and the last thing he needs is drama that could've been avoided if he thought with the right head

but then the day of the interviews arrive and you walk in the room, and matt knows at that moment that he is completely fucked

your scent hits him first, something soft and subtle, a breath of fresh air from the stuffy office smell and the lingering assault of pungent perfume left behind by other candidates that had given him a dull headache

then it's your voice, god your voice, it's the most melodious sound he's ever heard. it's gentle but crisp, and your alluring intonation has him hanging onto your every word, especially his name that fell from your lips in greeting

touching your hand nearly does him in, bc getting to feel your smooth skin caress his rough palm makes it even worse. there's a an electric spark that tingles in his fingertips and shoots throughout the rest of his body, and he finds himself wondering if you feel it too, but then catches himself and quickly plasters on a professional appearance

it was one thing that every single thing about your existence drew him in, but the fact that you were also intelligent and well-spoken, deeply passionate and genuinely empathetic, while also quick to craft clever responses without your sharp wit coming off as ostentatious just made matt want you more

matt was uncharacteristically quiet while foggy asked most of the questions, to which you gave perfect answers, and occasionally chimed in with a few of his own just to redirect your attention where he wanted it: on him

by the end of the interview, foggy was sold on you, and so was matt, but for duplicitious reasons

matt tries so hard to keep his promise, but fuck do you make it (and him) hard. he makes a point to never be alone with you in the office. if a round at josie's is suggested, he makes sure foggy or karen will also be there. he tries to balance between being friendly while also being professional, trying to find the invisible line that crosses from innocent inquisitions to dangerous territory

he does his best not to initiate physical contact, which proves to be difficult, bc you're a hugger and always politely offering matt your arm to guide him whenever you go anywhere

you're so kind and thoughtful and treat him the exact way you treat everyone else and it makes him want to put his head through a wall bc every day that he spends with you makes this attraction worse and worse and he can't tell if it's purely physical or if it goes deeper than that

and then one day he just fucking snaps

matt has a really bad day. a lead he'd been working on for weeks ended up being a dead end, and matt had taken his frustration out on some petty thug in an alley, but it wasn't enough. he'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed, late at that, to a handful of voicemails from a pissed off foggy. it had been a grueling day in court, all of his senses were overwhelmed, and he had so much pent up tension in his body that he felt stiff

he was so wrapped up in himself that when he walked through the door of the office, he didn't realize he'd broken his own rule: never be alone with you

as soon as he realizes his mistake, he heads towards his office, returning your polite greeting with a grunt of acknowledgement. he hoped that you'd leave it alone, that you'd say something like you were just about to leave, and he'd be spared from you coming closer. but you being you, noticing every little detail and having learned to read matt, could tell something was off

you just wanted to help. you always just wanted to help, and matt loved that about you, but right now, it was only making this more difficult for him bc his self restraint was deteriorating

and then you gently touched his shoulder and matt let out a groan bc he could smell what you'd done the night previously. the scent of your arousal was still embedded in your skin even though you'd washed your hands several times, and the scent of soap was almost nonexistent as matt's nose focused solely on the delectable scent of your pussy on your own fingers

he'd made himself come many times to the thought of you over the last few months, but knowing that you'd fingered yourself last night possibly to the thought of him is what broke his resolve

matt didn't need his heightened senses to know you were attracted to him, that you felt something for him too. he knew it because he knew you, and sometimes you were obvious even when you thought you were being subtle for the sake of both your friendship and your professional reputation

before either of you could process what was happening, matt was devouring your mouth in a heated kiss, your blouse was halfway unbuttoned, just enough for him to pull down the cups of your bra to leave your tits spilling into his welcoming hands. your soft whimpers echoed around the empty office as he toyed with your nipples while assaulting your neck with his teeth and tongue

in record time you were bent over his desk, skirt bunched up around your hips, panties caught around your calves, and matt was pulling down his zipper to free his fully hard cock

the immense relief he felt as he sank into you fully from behind nearly brought him to his knees. he didn't know if it was the heightened allure of having something he wasn't supposed to, or how perfectly your tight cunt enveloped his thick cock, but he quickly got lost in your warm walls like a dazzling labyrinth he never wanted to escape

you were so fucking wet that it was obscene the noises your pussy made welcoming his cock as he pounded into you over and over and over again. but his favorite sound was you chanting his name, desperately pleading for more, which he was all too happy to oblige

you took him so well, your pussy enveloping his cock in a greedy manner, not allowing him the chance to slip out despite how soaked you were. he reached as deep as your body would allow and fucked you relentlessly like a madman on a mission

his rough hands gripped your hips in a bruising manner, and he was completely lost in a fog of lust. it didn't take long for either of you to come undone and it finally clicked for matt that he wasn't the only one that had been depriving himself for the sake of not crossing a boundary when your cunt tightened around his cock before flooding him with your release

matt waited until the absolute last possible second, swiftly pulling out with a hiss as he replaced your pussy with his right hand, stroking his cock at an inhuman speed just a few times before coating your ass in ropes of his come

he collapsed in his chair, but not without wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you down with him. the sound of heavy panting filled his office, and the air was humid and drenched in the scent of sex. matt nuzzled his face into your neck, hugging your back to his chest while the two of you attempted to catch your breath

he's able to pick up on the fact that your heart is still racing not bc of the incredible spontaneous sex, but also out of anxiety about what happens next, so matt decides to break the silence first

"I uh...know this is kinda backwards but, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner?"

in conclusion, he's a fucking menace

[yuri-is-online]

Random JadeYuu scenarios because I also have no self control:

Earth and Twst have completely different species of mushrooms and Yuu tells him about earth mushrooms and then they try to cross breed different types of mushrooms to get this One Really Cool Mushroom from Yuus world

Similarly, Yuu tells jade about the Himalayan mountains and Mt Everest (I know a weird amount if Mt Everst lore)

Jazz band! Maybe there's a style of jazz that only exists in twst or on earth and they just combine them to get a whole new jazz! Like cyber jazz or something (That's actually a newly invented genre irl)

Visiting the coral sea and Yuu just starts trying to find old ocean fossils like a fucking nerd

Visiting the coral sea and Yuus trying to figure out why Jade is glowing like the fish equivalent if a glow stick

They go to a rave. Idk they just do shrooms and go to a rave in scarabia. Ft high clingy Jade

Silently courting Jade and watching him flip out

Teaching him how to drive (he cannot)

I love jadeyuu, getting random jadeyuu brainrot increases my lifespan... probably... i think...

I think this is such a cute idea. Apparently our world has deep sea mushrooms so I think it would be very cute of JadeYuu to go diving looking for Twisted Wonderland's equivalent. I also really like the idea of them trying to research how to crossbreed mushrooms for completely wholesome and mundane reason but ending up with a bunch of information on how to grow psychedelics. This is fine by them too.

Jade would have such a silly painfully in love face while Yuu talks about the mountains of their world. He memorizes every word you say and kisses you painfully slowly afterwords, he really loves when you tell him things about your world that make him want to see it. (Mt. Everest makes me sad because all I really know about it is how tourism has been fucking things up for it.)

I really love jazz music ( ˘▾˘)~ and the idea of music evolving in a different way in different worlds is not something that I think is too far fetched, music is influenced by the culture around it and the Coral Sea is super different from anything in Yuu's world. Jade would really enjoy playing music with Yuu, I think he would feel like it would help him understand them better.

Floyd would find this so funny. He already makes fun of you on the log in screen for collecting random junk, and now you are grabbing random sea shit too? This is hilarious. Even funnier that Jade gets super defensive of you and tries to help you pick out the nicest things to bring back to the surface. Don't listen to him pearl there really is no accounting for taste these days.

( ` ꒳ ´ )✧ hehe Jade can control his facial expressions but he cannot control his body's mating signals. He's literally glowing with happiness at having you here, under the sea, all to himself, and so... soft looking. Vulnerable even, so why is he the one breathing heavy and feeling faint? You're unbearably close and so painfully gentle with him as you trace the light down from his shoulder to his chest... come on now, be a bit bolder and go deeper, won't you? (his smile is all teeth and he's literally shaking, which is only worrying Yuu more)

I'm just picturing Jade glued to Yuu's side, really touchy and so honed in on you he's forgotten that you are technically in public. He's saying absolutely filthy things... at least you think he is. He's kind of mumbling and the music is really loud, but you know where his hands are going... maybe you should get out of here before Jamil kills you.

You hand Jade a handmade bracelet and watch him have the most stressed out smile as he tries to determine if you want him or want him while he tries to not make it too obvious which one he wants. You know. You know which one he wants everyone does he is so not slick.

Yeah he refers to something as a "dilly of a pickle" his ass can't drive. I bet he gets horrible motion sickness when riding in cars, similar to how he is with roller coasters in the Playful Land event. He still wants to learn how so he can helpfully insist on driving Azul somewhere (he wants to watch him throw up.)

[randombush3]

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken? 

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible. 

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier. 

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.” 

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.” 

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?” 

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.” 

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.”  You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.” 

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to. 

“I am always on your side.” 

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be. 

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase. 

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

… 

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted. 

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you. 

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad. 

And… you, apparently. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door. 

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.” 

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously. 

“Of course.” 

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence. 

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft. 

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.” 

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?” 

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this. 

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration. 

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection? 

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor? 

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility. 

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.” 

“Maybe she only likes men.” 

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.” 

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.” 

…

You are more than a little confused. 

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend. 

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much. 

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you? 

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world. 

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar. 

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?” 

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.” 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.” 

“I cried for months.” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.” 

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes. 

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself. 

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.” 

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving. 

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said. 

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone. 

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.” 

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.” 

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy. 

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more. 

Do you regret it? 

It’s unclear. 

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here. 

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become. 

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date. 

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official. 

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face. 

There are many reasons why you go out with him. 

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied. 

He’s not Ona. You know that. 

That's the whole point. 

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care. 

But you just… don’t. 

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head. 

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself. 

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago. 

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them. 

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.” 

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday. 

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona. 

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger. 

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?” 

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country. 

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.” 

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited. 

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially. 

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming. 

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it. 

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun. 

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced. 

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything. 

It won’t. (It does.) 

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight. 

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden. 

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun. 

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible. 

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk. 

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up. 

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore. 

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit. 

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom. 

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’. 

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right. 

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier. 

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.” 

It’s not true. 

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again. 

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done. 

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit. 

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill. 

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents. 

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again. 

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam. 

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off. 

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams. 

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.” 

“Why?” 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.” 

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona. 

She picks up. 

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.” 

“Are you back at home?” 

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.” 

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles. 

“Need me to show you around the city?” 

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no? 

…

Your visit goes very well. 

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend. 

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life. 

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery. 

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.   

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement. 

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?” 

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa. 

“Who do you care about, then?” 

“You.” 

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day. 

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend. 

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter. 

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before. 

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back. 

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly. 

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.” 

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers. 

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her. 

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh. 

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?” 

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly. 

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.” 

Ona blushes. 

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless. 

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on. 

And that’s when she whispers it. 

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering. 

It has taken years but it does not matter. 

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home. 

[batsplat]

which motogp rider do you recon would fuck their bike if they’re could?

there's an easy answer here and it's valentino, but luckily he's retired so you can't just go with that cop out. like he definitely wanted to fuck that bike and tbh I'm not sure the 'if they could' caveat even applies here. I fully believe he has fucked that bike

my sense is that he has passed this on to his proteges, who to varying extents do seem like they have all considered fucking a bike. the furthest along this spectrum is bez, who as I understand it has in the past even given his two bikes separate names that can be combined to give the bike's compound name ("I didn't want two different names as that would be like having two girlfriends, which is weird"). this is metaphysically fascinating in many ways, but is also a clear case of someone overthinking things. like, I think if you believe you are in a committed relationship with your racing bike, you do need to treat your bike's 'soul' as something that can transcend the specific bike you are currently riding. when valentino talks about his relationship with the m1, obviously he knows it's not literally the same bike year-to-year, but spiritually it's the same bike. whereas bez is performing odd mental gymnastics here to establish that his two bikes have a unitary soul rather than just, like, accepting that all these bikes have the same soul anyway if he wants them to. bez is the type of guy who wants to fuck his bike but is so hung up on the various philosophical bike-fuck-cuck implications that he never actually manages to fuck it

riders do generally have very weird relationships with their bikes, but it would be too easy to assume they all want to fuck their bikes. with some, there's clearly more of a spiritual identification with the bike, where they see the bike as an extension of themselves. marc is the poster child here: that man does not want to fuck his bike, he thinks he is his bike. both his bike and his body are frequently treated in a distressingly utilitarian manner, where in his mind they exist to fulfil a single purpose, aka 'winning races'. this is how you get him talking about the mechanics fixing the bike and the doctors fixing the body and all that other stuff. it's only been in recent years where, for obvious reasons, he's become a little more aware of how he does actually need to treat his body like a precious resource... but like with the bike, he does still seem pretty ready to repeatedly chuck it in the gravel. despite this apparent lack of care or basic self-preservation instincts, the riders who identify with bikes - who see their souls as one with the bike - don't necessarily have an entirely non-sensual relationship with their bikes... but it's a little different to wanting to fuck their bikes. the sensuality is still there, but the bike and the rider are not distinct units where one can fuck the other. whether you take this to mean that they want to be the bike who is fucked or that there's more of an autosexual situation happening here is up to the reader's interpretation

another interesting question is whether there are some riders who want their bikes to fuck them. I feel like this has to be a thing, though it's a little harder to find explicit evidence here. in some ways, if you set aside the literal order in which bike and rider are arranged, some of the dynamics of riding a bike would lend itself to an interpretation that being attracted to a bike is more about being fucked by the bike than fucking it. this raises another interesting question - and it's whether it's the process of riding a bike in itself that is arousing, or whether the attraction comes from something different. now, to return to our best case study: my sense is that for valentino, he primarily does want to fuck that bike... and it's not necessarily the riding itself that's really doing it for him. it's a very romantic connection, it's about being enamoured with this partnership they've forged and the mutual promise and potential therein. he's in love with winning on that bike, he's in love with what the two of them can achieve together. this isn't about the literal process of approaching a corner on an m1... valentino is at his most attracted to his bike after he has just won on it. here he is stroking his bike after phillip island 2004 (where he sealed his first yamaha title by beating sete in a last lap duel) and laguna 2008, and also him kissing his bike after catalunya 2009

yes, he wants to fuck the bike, but he is a romantic. riding the bike to victory is the wining and dining; the fucking comes later

the last metric I wish to bring in is the need to feel desired by the bike. this is an ego thing, right... the partnership with the bike at the point of victory flatters the ego. the harmonious and productive relations between rider + partner reflects well on them; it bags them a bunch of lovely things from everyone around them like 'appreciation' and 'affection' and 'praise'. thus the bike also reflects on the rider... both in terms of the attractiveness of the bike to the world at large (making it function as a trophy spouse of sorts) and in terms of the quality of the bond between rider and bike. being wanted by the best bike is particularly flattering - but the most important thing is to be wanted at all. I would posit that this is part of what's going on with jorge martin's whole deal, a man who desperately needs to be praised and wanted. the aprilia's no ducati, but at least he's its first choice, y'know. my belief is that jorge martin wishes to be wined and dined by that bike

in conclusion, I would like to propose a basic way of assessing what flavour of sensual relationship the rider has with the bike:

my belief is that most (if not all) riders fall somewhere in this triangle. you have the freaks like marc who are very close to the top and you have the freaks like valentino who are very close to the bottom and probably skew hard left. others are perhaps a little more versatile in their preferences. I don't feel like I have sufficient information to sort all the riders to the correct spot of the triangle, but I hope the general construct holds up. that is all

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Henderson

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 1.8k || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

~~~

This has been the worst week of Steve’s life.

Not only does Nancy think he’s bullshit, he found out she never actually loved him, she cheated on him, and she partially blames him for Barb’s death.

He was almost eaten alive by alternate dimension monster demodogs, almost died at the hands of Billy fucking Hargrove, almost died in the backseat of Billy’s car, and then almost died again in the tunnels. 

He’s pretty sure he has a serious concussion and a broken nose. The stitches on his forehead are starting to itch. He’s had a migraine every day since, and there’s ringing in his ears.

Steve honestly thought he could put all of this Upside-Down shit behind him. Pack it away in a tiny box and move on. Yet he was dragged into it once again, forced to protect kids he barely knows from both monsters and humans. 

He deserves to get paid for this shit, to be honest. 

He’s got no friends to sit with at lunch, no girlfriend to love him, and no parents at home to take care of him.

After spending the week at home alone, wallowing and recovering, he found himself thinking of the kids. It was the first time he felt anything other than misery and physical pain. But they were big, complicated emotions that he’s still untangling. He’s been able to pick out fear and anxiety, annoyance, exasperation, and– surprisingly– fondness. When he thinks of the kids, he’s hit with a surge of fierce protectiveness and devotion.

He’s got nothing to show for his life and no one to spend it with. Those kids, though, needed him in a way he’s never felt before. It was life or death, and they trusted him to keep them safe. Now that it’s over, even If he isn’t necessarily wanted, maybe he could at least continue being useful.

Which is how he finds himself pulling up to the same curb as he did a week ago. At least this time he’s not here about the Upside-Down; although, knowing Dustin, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Steve!” Dustin’s running out the front door and down the driveway in just a t-shirt and sweatpants despite the chilly November morning. He plows into his chest at full speed and almost sends them both toppling over. “Steve, holy shit you’re here! Oh shit your face.”

“Hey man, language ok?” Jesus, the mouth on this kid. “Relax twerp, ease up on the hug, you're killing my ribs.”

Dustin immediately drops his arms and backs away, looking cowed. Steve’s going to have to work on his approach, apparently the kid’s sensitive. Or maybe Steve’s still a bit of a bully, another part of himself that needs to be fixed.

“It’s ok, Dustin, don’t worry about it. Just a little sore still.”

He perks back up again, bouncing up and down on his heels. The little gremlin’s toothless smile is so damn cute Steve wants to give him a noogie. 

“Ok then,” Dustin replies, “so why are you here?”

“Uhhh, actually I’m here to talk to your mom.” Feeling suddenly awkward, Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair. He hisses as it pulls on his stitches.

“My mom?” he asks, incredulously. “Why? What’s going on?”

Steve supposes he should’ve thought of this. It makes more sense to talk with Dustin before actually asking his mom for permission, but he hadn’t practiced this part. Now here he is, facing down an over-dramatic middle schooler and he’s actually nervous about it.

“Yeah, I kind of noticed you’re an only child, and you don’t really have a dad around.”

Dustin’s face falls, morphing into a scowl. Shit, Steve’s barely said one word and he’s already messing this up.

“Not all of us have rich parents who buy us whatever they want,” the kid huffs, crossing his arms and kicking non-existent rocks.

“No wait, ok look I’m sorry Dustin, that’s not what I meant. I’m not really great at talking about stuff like this. The important stuff anyways. Let me try again. Please?”

The kid’s still scowling, but his body relaxes a bit and he nods.

“Ok I’ll start over,” Steve continues. “Even though we were dealing with all of the Upside-Down shit and it was literally the worst week of my entire life, I enjoyed having you around. I’d sleep better at night if I knew you twerps are safe and I know you don’t really have anyone around other than your mom and the other gremlins–”

“The Party.”

Steve stares at him, mouth hanging open as he’s cut off mid-sentence. He’s in the middle of pouring his heart out to this mouthy ten year old and he’s got the audacity to interrupt him.

“The what now?”

“The Party, Steve.” The little shit’s tone is overflowing with condescension. “The group. We’re called the Party. You know, like in DnD?”

“What the hell is a dandy?”

“You, kind of,” Dustin mutters under his breath. Steve doesn’t really know what that means and coming from this kid he probably doesn’t want to. “D and D stands for Dungeons and Dragons, Steve. It’s a role playing game.”

“Whoa, alright I think you’re a little too young to be playing role playing games.”

“I’ve literally been playing for three years.”

“You’ve been roleplaying since you were seven?”

“I’m thirteen Steve!” He’s pretty sure Dustin’s screeching can be heard from the other side of town. “What are we even talking about right now? Why are you here, at my home, looking for my mom?”

“I want to be your goddamned babysitter!” Steve screams back. He takes a deep breath– in and out. This kid’s going to be the death of him, he just knows it.

He looks down to find Dustin’s eyes wide and mouth formed in a perfect oval. The kid’s shocked, either from what Steve said or that he literally shouted it in his face. Now it’s Steve’s turn to kick rocks. He shuffles back and forth, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them from tugging his hair again.

“You guys almost died, man,” Steve says softly, avoiding eye contact. It makes this part easier. “You almost died, and if I hadn’t been there, I have no idea what would’ve happened. Maybe you all would’ve been fine, I don’t know. But it was my job to keep you safe, and you don’t have anyone else around except your mom and the grem– I mean the Party– to look out for you. I had to quit basketball thanks to Billy, and Nancy broke up with me. My parents are literally never home, so I’ve got a lot of free time on my hands. Figure I could use some of that time keeping you out of trouble.”

Dustin’s face hasn’t changed, still devoid of any emotion other than shock. God damnit, Steve really messed this up. He looks around and rubs the back of his neck. His skin’s prickling with nerves as he starts to sweat and he takes a step backwards towards the safety of his car. 

This was a stupid idea. Why would any of these kids want anything to do with him? He’s nothing like them: smart, nerdy, can save the world without taking a beating. Steve thought he could be useful, worthwhile to someone– to Dustin. He should know better by now.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just going to go,” Steve says. But as he turns to leave, Dustin slams into him once more. Steve’s breath whooshes from his lungs and a lightning strike of pain travels up his back. He thinks he’s shaking from the pain, except his crewneck is starting to feel damp against the kid’s face and he can see Dustin’s shoulders practically vibrating. “Hey, Dustin. Hey it’s ok, are you alright? What’s wrong man, talk to me.”

Dustin doesn’t look up, just keeps his face buried in Steve’s sweatshirt and grips him tighter. It hurts and it aches and it pulls at all of his injuries. He still lets Dustin hold on for as long as he needs to. 

There’s a slight movement out of the corner of his good eye, and he glances up towards the house to see a small, curvy woman smiling at them through the window. Not wanting to dislodge Dustin, he slightly lifts his hand to wave. He’s surprised when she honest to God clutches her heart and wipes what he assumes is a tear from her eye.

Steve’s already worried he screwed this whole thing up. He definitely didn’t think it would happen in front of a goddamned audience. 

The kid’s still holding on, but the shaking has subsided and he’s breathing easier. Steve smashes his hat to ruffle his hair, and Dustin backs off with a shriek. His face is covered in red blotches matching his bloodshot eyes. Steve looks down at his sweatshirt to find a tears-snot-spit wet patch stained into his chest.

“Dude, gross,” Steve huffs. At least he’s wearing an undershirt. Dustin just chuckles. 

“Like friends?” Dustin asks, still wiping at his face. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, hanging out. Whenever you’re not busy, I mean.”

It’s Steve’s turn to feel a burn behind his eyes. Relief fills him with warmth as his growing anxiety is washed away. Dustin wants him around. He wants to spend time with him and Steve never really thought he’d get this far. All he had was a half-baked idea to serve himself up for the one thing he knows he’s good for. And he was wanted.

He reaches out and pulls the kid back in for a hug, holding him tight despite the pain. Dustin starts trying to push off, so Steve flips him around under his armpit in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles roughly into the top of Dustin’s hat as he starts to screech again. He huffs, straightening out his hat, still sporting that iconic toothless smile. 

“Now,” Steve says, “all I have to do is ask your mom.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Dustin replies, turning around to lead Steve towards the house. He sees the curtains pulled roughly shut and the silhouette of the woman heading toward the front door. “She already knows all about you. I told her what happened. Well, the government version.”

“You told your mom about me?” Steve asks in awe.

“Duh, why wouldn’t I? Sure, you got your ass handed to you, but it was totally awesome!”

“Right,” Steve scoffs. He’ll let that one slide for now. “You’re sure she won’t mind?”

“Mom’s going to love you. She’s been asking about you all week.”

If she’s anything like her son, then hopefully Steve’s got nothing to worry about. And maybe if he can watch one kid, he can talk to the rest of their parents– look after the whole Party of gremlins. He can host after school hangouts and movie nights, sleepovers in the living room and pool parties in the summer. There’s the beginnings a plan forming in his head, which parents and kids he needs to talk to next. 

When he’s met with Mrs. Henderson’s warm smile, he thinks maybe the rest of this year will be alright.

[tootiecakes234]

Warnings: cheating Katsuki (not on you tho, but with you, eventual smut next part)

Bakugo’s POV

I hate her. I hate her, yet she’s always around. She’s raccoon eyes’ best friend so that means she at every party, every hang out, and every sleepover. I can’t fucking escape her.

She’s so goddamn annoying. Always starting up conversations with me about shit I don’t care about. She laughs at the shit I say, but I’m not being funny, I’m being deadass serious. And don’t get me started on the way she laughs. She does it with her entire body and it’s loud too. Pisses me off so bad.

She’s a problem for me because the more I hang out with her, the more I can’t stop thinking about her.

I have a girlfriend. A great fucking girlfriend. She’s sweet, too sweet to be dating me, and kind. Probably the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met, so explain to me why when I’m with her and I’m thinking about Y/N. She’s literally invading my waking thoughts as well as my dreams.

I’ve tried distancing myself from her and being more of a jackass hoping she’d get fed up and just leave me the hell alone but nothing works and I’m running out of options.

We were having a movie night at Kaminari’s apartment tonight. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner, by myself, the way I prefer it.

“Heeey. How’s it going Kit Kat”, she was all cheeks and smiles

“I told you to stop fucking calling me that you idiot.”

“But it’s the cutest nickname I can think of. You have any other suggestions??”, she looked at me like she was being serious.

I turned to her, giving her my full attention so she knew I was being serious, “Bakugo. You can call me Bakugo like everybody else.

“Your friends don’t call you Bakugo, they all call you Katsuki.”, the insane woman still had a warm smile sitting on her lips. There was also a really shiny lipgloss on them too. Did it have sparkles in it? Why did her lips look so-

“Hello?? Are you ok?” She started walking towards me.

“I’m fucking fine. I’d be better if you got the hell outta here.”, why the hell was she even in here. “ and yea my friends call me Katsuki, you’re not MY friend. You’re Mina’s friend. Speaking of which don’t you need to get back to her.” The last part came out more grumbled than firm the way I meant it to.

“No, she’s flirting with Eiji rn and I don’t wanna be a third wheel. Well I guess a fourth wheel cuz Denki is third wheeling.” Apparently she thought that was funny because she started chuckling to herself.

Her hair was all wild, framing her face and her cheeks… fuck me I don’t know what it is about her cheeks plumping up when she smiles or laughs.

“Well then go be a fourth wheel or whatever the hell. I’m cooking and I don’t like other people in my kitchen.”

“Your gf usually sits with you in here. Speaking of where is she? I haven’t seen her in forever and we need to catch up . She always gives the best gossip on you.”

“She had other shit to do and what kind of gossip does she tell about me???!”

“ oh nothing really”, she leaned over on the counter and her fucking tits were smooshed in between her arms.

“For the love of god can you please just get the fuck away from me?! How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like you. I don’t wanna be your shitty friend or listen to whatever the hell it is you constitute as jokes. Just get the fuck out!”, that last part was a hell of a lot louder than I expected it to be.

That’s when the tear fell. What the hell had I done?

She reached up quickly and wiped it away.

“Hey, why are you yelling at her like that you jackass? Y/N are you ok?”, Mina was the first one in the kitchen. And the rest of them followed suit. All asking question I didn’t have answers to.

“You guys I’m fine. Really. We all know how he gets when he’s cooking. Let’s just go back in the living room and let him finish.”, she smiled again but it didn’t reach her eyes. Damn it all to hell I felt like worst person to ever exist.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”, Mina asked her again as everyone started retreating the the living room.

I wasn’t able to hear her answer. I tried to put the whole thing outta my head and finish what I was doing but I couldn’t. It kept replaying in my head.

My phone brought be back to the present. Who the heel was calling me? When I looked down at the contact my girlfriend’s name was sitting there. Perfect fucking timing.

“Hello”

“Hey baby. What are you up to”, she sounded giddy.

“Im finishing up dinner, where are you?”

“On the way back my friends house. We are having a slumber party.”, he words were a little slurred.

“So I guess you guys have already started drinkin.”

“Haha yep.”, I heard someone in the background telling her to get off the phone. No boy calls at girls night. “Well I gotta go doll. My friends are getting upset with me. Love you!”

She hung up before I could even say it back. Women.

I had everything ready to go now, so I went out to tell the idiots it was time to eat.

She was gone.

“Is Y/N in the bathroom or something??”

Mina looked at me like she was ready to murder me, “ no she left. You yelled at her and hurt her feelings and she didn’t wanna stay. We tried to convince her.”

“Yea bro I think she was about to start crying. Why’d you yell at her like that?”, Eijirou said.

“She’s so cool. I don’t know why you don’t like her. You’ve been mean to her since she started hanging out with us.”, Denki chimed in

“Mina send me her address.” I grabbed my keys and started heading for the door.

“Why would I do that when she’s upset with you? You gonna go over there and yell at her some more cuz let me tell you-“

“I’m going to fucking apologize, so just send me the goddamn address.”

I got in my car and started driving. What the hell was I doing? Why am I going over here? I could give a rats ass about hurting someone’s feelings but here I am with my GPS on looking for her apartment building.

I got up to her door and paused because I knew that I should turn around. I knew I should just let the whole thing blow over but like the idiot I am, my hand starts banging on her front door.

I hear muffled through the door, “coming”

She opened the door and looked at my face. Had my foot not been in the door, she would’ve slammed it close.

“Move your foot before I stomp the shit out of it.”

I could feel the smirk pulling at my lips, “these are steal toe boots. I’d like to see you try.”, I told her.

“What do you want Bakugo? Why are you paying unwanted visits to my house? How did you even get my goddamn address?”, she looked disgusted with me. That’s fair. Also didn’t miss that she was calling me by my last name.

“Mina gave me your address. I’m coming to bring your back.”,

Part 2