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sincerelyneo · 2 days ago

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so high school | l.hc

“no one’s ever had me. not like you…”

📀now playing: so high school by taylor swift

❯ summary: Hyuck doesn’t care that high school was years ago; after learning his girlfriend’s experience was shitty, he’s determined to rewrite it for you. After all, he’s nothing if not smitten.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, fluff, eventual smut

❯ words: 6.4k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, swearing, fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, lots of gendered female terms, slight begging, brief possessiveness and jealousy bc it’s me, a brief cheating accusation but it’s stupid, hyuck being a cute boyfriend for 6k words.

an: did someone say haechan lover boy smut for valentine’s day? (they didn’t, lol. i wrote this for me, i love men in love)

“I fucking loved high school,” Hyuck says, placing down his yearbook on the coffee table.

It had to be a few years old by now, stuffed at the back of one of your bookshelves. You’d found it while doing an annual declutter and handed it to him on a whim. Knowing your boyfriend, you figured he’d find it nostalgic, or funny, or both.

You glance at him from your spot on the couch, eyebrow arched. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shifts, sitting up straighter.

“You were on the football team, babe. Voted prom king, had good grades, and probably never had to eat lunch alone,” you list off, counting on your fingers for dramatic effect. “I’d be shocked if you did hate high school.”

He laughs with a shake of his head, sinking back further into the sofa. “Okay, fine, maybe I was a little... popular.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out before you can help it. “A little? I bet you walked through the hallways like you were the lead in a drama or something stupid like that.”

He nods. “Damn right. I was the shit.”

You scoff, tossing a pillow in his direction. He’s such a cocky bastard—but you love that about him.

“Jealous?” he shoots back, smirking.

You try to playfully roll your eyes, but instead, a small frown pulls at your lips. You know he’s just teasing, messing around, but memories of junior and senior year creep into your mind uninvited. You’d never been outright bullied, but high school wasn’t exactly a highlight reel for you.

It was a blur of sitting in the back row, trying to make yourself small enough to avoid attention. Lunches alone in the library. No group of friends. No teenage dream. Dances you skipped, pretending you didn’t care when your chest ached from watching your classmates gush over photos the Monday after.

So yeah, you were a little jealous.

“Yes, actually,” you say finally, voice quieter. “High school sucked for me.”

His grin falters, posture straightening. “What?”

“I mean, it wasn’t all bad,” you rush to explain, suddenly self-conscious. “I got through it, you know? I just wasn’t... you.”

Hyuck leans back, studying you with a look you don’t see often on him—concern, worry. “What do you mean you weren’t me?”

“I wasn’t popular or cool or good at sports. I didn’t have a big friend group, and I definitely didn’t win prom queen…not that I even went.”

Hyuck doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally glance up, you find him staring at you with an expression you can’t quite place. There’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no cocky smile playing at his lips. He just looks... sad.

“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now. “You didn’t go to prom?”

You shrug. “Didn’t really have anyone to go with.”

He blinks at you like you just told him you spent your teenage years stranded on a deserted island, which for the likes of Hyuck, not attending prom was the justified equivalent.

“Are you serious?”

“Hyuck, it’s not a big deal,” you say quickly, waving him off. “High school just wasn’t my thing.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeats. “Babe, prom is like... the peak of high school. It’s the one night everyone remembers forever. How did no one ask you? I can’t wrap my head around that.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the tightness in your chest. “Not everyone peaked in high school, Hyuck. Some of us just... took it for what it was: school.”

His expression softens even more, guilt creeping into his features as he scoots closer, his thigh brushing yours. “You know you deserved better than that, right?”

“Hyuck—”

“I mean it,” he says firmly, cupping your face in his hands. “If I’d been there, you would’ve been my prom queen. Hell, I’d have skipped the whole damn thing just to hang out with you if you didn’t wanna go.”

The honeyed warmth in his voice makes your throat tighten, and you hate how easily he can do this—take the ache of old memories and replace it with something softer, lighter. Something you almost want to believe.

“Too bad we didn’t meet until after high school,” you say, forcing a smile.

Hyuck falters—but only for a moment. His gaze lingers on you as if a thought is forming behind his dark eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “Too bad.”

You don’t think anything of it when he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head as the conversation drifts elsewhere. But later, when he’s holding you close and you’re half-asleep, Hyuck is still thinking. Planning.

Because Lee Donghyuck might not be able to rewrite your past, but he’s damn sure going to be the best part of your future—trust.

Hyuck just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The coolest person he’d ever met—his girlfriend, his soulmate—hadn’t gotten to live the high school teenage dream. No prom, no stupid corsages, no dancing barefoot at the end of the night because the heels were too much. Nothing.

It didn’t make sense. You were too fucking beautiful to be treated as background noise by those losers. Hyuck remembers the day he met you—a fully grown man—and you made him a stuttering mess. He’s never asked Mark for flirting advice ever in his life, but fuck, he wasn’t about to miss his chance with you.

How could they just disregard you?

He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. How did no one ask you out? Were they blind? Or just stupid? What kind of idiot couldn’t see what he saw every day?

The thought of you sitting at home on prom night, like it didn’t matter, made his chest ache. He couldn’t picture it—because you were you, the type of person every cheesy teen movie was written about: beautiful, funny, and so damn perfect. And yet... those assholes in high school had somehow missed it.

And even though the sick, selfish, possessive side of him is so fucking grateful that he’s the only one that’s ever had you, and those assholes missed out, he still can’t help but obsess over it. He couldn’t change the past, no matter how much he wanted to, and that realization burned.

Hyuck groans, tipping his head back. “I’m losing it,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

But he couldn’t let it go. And because he was Lee fucking Donghyuck, when something got under his skin, he acted on it. Which is why, two days later, he finds himself standing in the middle of a small-town gymnasium, arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the scene in front of him.

“Is this the best you can do?” he asks, unimpressed.

Mark, balancing precariously on a ladder while stringing up fairy lights, glares down at him. “Dude, shut the fuck up,” he snaps. “You gave us two days to put this together. Do you even know how hard it was to convince the principal? I had to name-drop you!”

Hyuck ignores him, his eyes sweeping over the room again. Mark wasn’t wrong—he had given his friends next to no time to work with. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it to be perfect. You deserved perfect.

A cheap speaker sits on the ground, currently blasting some old prom playlist Mark had found online. The string lights slowly started taking shape, casting a soft glow across the gym. There is a table in the corner with a bowl of something pink and suspicious-looking, and a few chairs scattered around. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.

Mark climbs down from the ladder, dusting his hands on his jeans. “I think it looks fine.”

“Fine?” Hyuck repeats, scoffing. “Mark, this is a high school prom. It’s supposed to be magical or whatever. This just looks like... a school event.”

“Because it is a school event,” Mark shoots back, rolling his eyes. “Look, man, if you wanted a five-star gala, maybe you shouldn’t have sprung this on me last minute.”

Hyuck sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, but he wanted, needed, to do this for you. You’d brushed off your high school experience like it was no big deal, but he could tell it meant something to you. Maybe not in a way you wanted to admit, but it was there.

And now it was his job—no, his mission—to fix it.

“Just... add more lights,” Hyuck says finally. “And maybe some balloons? Chenle, do we have balloons?”

Chenle, who was sweeping the floors, looked back with a shake of his head, scurrying off before he got caught in the crossfire.

Mark groans. “Hyuck, if we add any more lights, the entire gym’s gonna blow a fuse. And no, we don’t have balloons. You’re lucky I even managed to get lights.”

Hyuck sighs again, running a hand through his hair. He had money, sure—that was the only reason he’d managed to rent out the gym on such short notice—but even he couldn’t buy time.

Still, as he looked around the gym, he felt a flicker of pride. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He’d move mountains for you if he had to. And if this half-assed prom was the closest he could get, then so be it.

Mark claps a hand on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Hey,” he says, softer now. “She’s gonna love it, dude. Stop stressing out.”

Hyuck nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Your boyfriend’s acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.

Hyuck’s always been a little odd—but that’s one of the things you love about him. The endless hobbies he picks up and abandons in a week like juggling, the random facts he collects from late-night YouTube rabbit holes, and his never-ending need to one-up his friends in bets and challenges. But this? This feels different. Like it’s more than some dumb dare or fleeting obsession.

For the past two days, he’s been unusually secretive. You’ve caught him whispering with Mark on the phone more than once, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush whenever you’d walk into the room. And then there was yesterday—when you brought coffee to his rehearsal. You barely stepped inside before the entire group went awkwardly silent, and Hyuck practically herded you back out the door. Hyuck, who usually couldn’t keep his hands off you in public and loved showing you off, suddenly turning shy…suspicious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

And let’s not forget the disappearing act last night. He came home late, shrugging off your questions with a grin and the vague excuse of “guy stuff.” Guy stuff. That was the moment you knew something was up.

And so, you’ve been sitting on the couch, stewing, waiting for him to get home from rehearsal. The seconds drag, and with each passing minute, your frustration builds. By the time you hear the jingle of his keys in the door, you’re ready to burst.

Hyuck stumbles in, his hair slightly mussed, a garment bag slung over his shoulder. He looks exhausted but excited, strange. He barely gets a foot inside before you’re on him.

“Are you cheating on me?”

His jaw drops, the grin on his face disappearing instantly, eyes blinking at you like you’ve just accused him of arson. You’d honestly prefer it if he had. “What?! No! Why would you even—what the fuck?”

“You’ve been acting so weird!” you snap, crossing your arms. “The sneaky phone calls, the late nights, the whispering, the weird excuses—guy stuff? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

That makes him laugh and you swear you see red. He thinks this is funny? You’ll show him funny.

“If you wanted to break up with me, Hyuck, don’t insult me by sneaking around! Just—just tell me to my face!” Your voice wavers, hurt bubbling in your throat as you glare at him.

Hyuck’s expression softens instantly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Hey, hey, wait—babe, no. That’s not what’s happening here, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes, pointing at the garment bag. “Oh yeah? What’s that, then? Some outfit for your other girlfriend?”

His mouth drops open, and then he barks out a laugh, though he quickly smothers it when he sees your glare. “No! Oh my God, no. Look, just… this isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he pinches his temples “Could you just go upstairs and put this on, okay?” He holds the bag out to you, practically shoving it into your hands.

“Excuse me?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“Just—trust me, babe. Please. Go upstairs, put this on, and come back down when you’re ready.”

You stand there, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. Because he must have. “Hyuck, I am not—”

“Please,” he interrupts, his voice softer now. “Just this once. Do this for me. It’ll all make sense.”

His eyes meet yours, and for all the frustration boiling under your skin, you can’t ignore the quiet sincerity in his voice. Because even though his recent actions have been enough to make your paranoia spike, he’s still your Hyuck—and you trust your Hyuck.

With a sharp huff, you snatch the garment bag from his hands and stomp upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind you before he can say another word. Your pulse is racing, irritation curling hot in your chest as you yank the zipper down and pull the dress out with more force than necessary.

It’s beautiful. And that pisses you off even more.

Who does he think he is? Sneaking around all week, ignoring you for days, then showing up with a pretty dress and expecting you to put it on without question?

Annoying. He’s so annoying.

Still scowling, you step into the dress, the silky fabric gliding over your skin like it was made for you, and knowing Hyuck he’d probably ask someone to do that for him. It fits perfectly, hugging every curve, and when you catch your reflection in the mirror, your anger stutters—just for a second. It’s beautiful. You look beautiful.

Damn it.

You swipe at your eyes before anything ridiculous like tears can form and square your shoulders. Fine. You’ll wear the dress. But you’re not going to let him off the hook so easily. Throwing the door open, you march downstairs, irritation simmering beneath the surface of your foundation. “Lee Donghyuck, you better—”

But you freeze.

Because he’s standing at the bottom of the steps in an equally beautiful suit, rocking on his heels, with a small, nervous smile playing on his lips. He’s holding a corsage in his hands—delicate flowers wrapped in silk, matching your dress perfectly.

And then, all at once, it clicks.

That fucking yearbook you found. The conversation that came after it. The sneaking around. The secrecy.

Your breath catches in your throat, warmth creeping up your neck as a blush dusts his skin. He chews his lip, eyes flickering up to meet yours, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d swear he was nervous.

Hyuck never gets nervous.

“Do you wanna rewrite prom with me?”

And just like that, you break.

Tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them, and Hyuck’s smile falters just slightly as he steps forward, hand reaching out to you, as if he’s ready to catch you, to hold you close, if you were to fall. But you don’t fall. You just nod, because it feels impossible to do anything else.

How could you say no to him? How could you possibly deny the one person in the world who would do something like this for you—not because he had to, but because he wanted to, because he loves you to a point you never thought possible because he needs you to be happy.

“I love you,” you choke out through your happy tears, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

Hyuck’s worry shifts into something warmer, something softer. He steps closer, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek to wipe away the tear.

“Does that mean we’re not breaking up, then?” His voice is teasing, but there’s a tenderness underneath, a soft hope in his eyes that mirrors the love you just confessed.

Your heart skips a beat, and you nod through blurry eyes, a small smile breaking through. “Not even close.”

His face splits into the brightest grin you’ve ever seen, and before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you into his arms, rocking you side to side like he’s never going to let go. It’s overwhelming—the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne, the steady beat of his heart against your ear. And for once, you let yourself lean into it, let yourself feel just how much he loves you, because God, does he know how to show it.

“I love you too, you know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, meant just for you. “Like, stupidly. Like, I’m gonna remind you every day until you’re sick of me, because I never want you to think I’m cheating on you ever again.”

You huff a laugh, sniffling. “I don’t think I could ever be sick of you.”

“Mm, we’ll see about that.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, taking in the glassiness in your eyes, the heat in your cheeks. Then, with a smirk, he presses the corsage into your hands. “Your favourite colour.”

“Now,” he says, stepping back and offering his arm, “if we don’t leave soon, Mark might actually rip my balls off.”

It takes you a second to register what he means, and when you glance past him, you see Mark leaning against his car, arms crossed, exuding pure suffering. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, but you know your Hyuck can be very convincing.

“Are you two done?” Mark calls, exasperated. “Because I have better things to do than play chauffeur for your little rom-com tonight.”

“Liar!” Hyuck yells, dragging you toward the car. “If you weren’t here, you’d be playing video games with Chenle or something. Your life is boring and bitchless!”

Mark groans but doesn’t deny it.

“Wait! One more thing,” Hyuck gasps, stopping you just as you’re about to step into the car. Before you can question it, he’s already sprinting back inside. A few seconds later, he bursts through the door, holding up a letterman jacket that doesn’t match your old school’s colours, but his.

And when he drapes it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, his gaze catches on his surname stitched across your back. His cheeks flush that familiar shade of pink, and for once, he’s the one left speechless.

You clutch your hands to the jacket, making sure it doesn’t fall off and you can’t stop smiling. Because even though he was just being a fouled-mouthed menace to his friend. He’s clearly only ever sweet and soft with you. Hyuck opens the car door for you and he slides in beside you, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature, like they belong. You look down at your joined hands, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin, and warmth blooms in your chest.

The corsage, the letterman, the chauffeur to prom. It’s silly. It’s cheesy. It’s the kind of thing you used to roll your eyes at in movies as a teenager. But right now, with him, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because he’s rewriting how you feel about the cheesy stuff, giving you the giddy, reckless kind of love you never got to have.

Letting his hand rest on your thigh, making you stifle your sighs as it slowly crept up your flesh. His touch is heedless and uncaring as if Mark wasn’t inches away in the front seat. It’s compulsive, carless, and so ridiculously juvenile—it’s so high school.

Which feels very on-brand as you pull up to an old brick building. Mark cuts the engine, allowing Hyuck to round the car and open your car door before holding your hand tight and walking you towards the football field.

So many memories flooded back to you as soon as he opened the gate that led to the field. Heels on the grass, on the sacred sanctuary you never had the chance to belong on. Suddenly you’re sixteen again and Hyuck leds you over to the bleachers, climbing up several rows before taking a seat and pulling you down next to him.

"Are we trespassing right now?" you ask, slipping your arms into his letterman to ward off the winter chill. "I know you love me, but you don’t have to commit a crime for me."

Hyuck scoffs, a playful smirk on his lips. "Please, you know I wouldn’t think twice about committing a crime for you if you asked me to." He pauses, then adds, "But no, we’re not trespassing. This is my old high school, and since I'm such an outstanding alumni, I had some strings pulled. They left me the key for tonight."

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "So they did all this just for you, huh?"

“Don’t look at me like that, this is for us.”

"Uh-huh," you tease. "I must say, knowing how to ball in high school seems to have its perks. I was in the wrong clubs clearly. You’re basically the only person I know who managed to continue peaking after high school."

Hyuck’s smile falters, a flicker of something sad crossing his face. His eyes drift downward, and you catch that same troubled look he had when you found his yearbook—when he learned how different your high school experiences were. You don’t want him to feel like that, not when he’s trying so hard to fix it. But you don’t want him to fix it either, because as messed up as your teenage years were, they led you to him. No one’s ever had you. Not like him anyway.

You slide your hand over his, squeezing gently as you move closer. “You didn’t have to do all this for me, you know?”

Hyuck chuckles, that flicker of sadness vanishing as quickly as it came. “Don’t say that. You haven’t even seen what I’ve got planned inside yet. I had all the boys stressed over fairy lights and balloons all week.”

Knowing how much effort he’s put in makes you smile, your fingers drifting up to trace the curve of his cheek. He’s so beautiful. So in love. So undeniably yours.

“I’m excited to see it,” you say. “But right now, I just want to be here. Is that okay? I never really got to hang out on the bleachers.”

“Will you yell at me if I say that a sick part of me loves that you never cheered for other guys playing football?”

You shake your head with a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, undeterred. “Yeah, I wanna kill those assholes for never inviting you to a game, for not taking you to prom. But I also love that I get to be the one to do it with you. Even if we’re adults.”

You bite your lip, feigning hesitation. “Well, I have some information I think you might like.”

Hyuck raises a brow. “Oh?”

“I always wanted to make out under the bleachers,” you admit, heat creeping up your neck. “Call me cliché, but when I was a freshman, I imagined having my first kiss with Lee Felix under there.”

His nose crinkles instantly. “I don’t know who that is, but I hate him.” Hyuck scoffs, but his hands are already sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. “Still… this night is about me making your fantasies come true. So fuck that guy and let me kiss you, baby.”

And you do—let his lips capture yours, kissing you until they’re swollen and puffy, until they mould perfectly to his, like they were always meant to. Until there’s no doubt that they, and you, belong to him.

Hyuck wastes no time, scooping you into his arms with ease, carrying you into the shadows beneath the rickety metal frame. And then his lips are on yours again—hungry, unrelenting. It’s everything you ever imagined. No—better. Because it’s him and you.

His hand trails up your body as he presses you against one of the cold metal pillars, calloused fingers graze your thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Years of football have roughened his touch, but it’s the way he holds you—like he can’t get enough, like he never will—that really makes your breath hitch. And you almost want to laugh, because you’re pretty sure most people fuck after prom, not before it. But this is you and Hyuck. You’ve never played by the rules, never followed the scripted path. You never wanted to.

And that’s exactly why a soft, desperate “Please,” slips from your lips as his fingers venture higher, until they’re brushing against the hem of your panties.

“Cute,” he smiles and murmurs against your lips, grinning as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, his cool touch grazing your clit. You shiver, and it only makes him that more pleased—more proud. His other hand glides up your stomach, sneaking beneath your dress until he’s palming your breast, his thumb teasing over your nipple.

“You know…” he muses, voice dripping with amusement, “I paid good money for this dress. It’d be a shame to ruin it.”

“Please. You’d never buy me a dress you didn’t plan on ruining.”

Hyuck giggles, shaking his head, but before you can run that smart mouth of yours again, his finger slips so easily into your pussy, and you gasp, clinging to his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your ear, voice thick with need. “I love that you know me so well.”

His fingers keep working you, desperate and wild—because if you know Hyuck so well, he knows you even better. Knows your body like it’s his to worship. And when he adds a second finger, stretching you open, pleasure floods through you so intensely your eyes flutter shut, your head tipping back as a moan catches in your throat.

But that won’t do.

Hyuck likes to watch you. Likes to see the way your lips part, the way your brows knit together, the way your pupils blow wide with nothing but him. He wants you to know—no, needs you to know—that he’s the one making you feel this good. That it’s his touch unravelling you, his name you should be thinking about, whimpering, crying out.

So the second your lashes flicker, his fingers slow, teasing, withholding. You whimper, forced to open your eyes again, hazy and weak—just the way he likes them—just the way he needs them to be before he picks up his pace.

He’s meticulous, careful—determined to make you cum right here, right now. If your fantasy was just to make out under the bleachers, Hyuck is going to take it further, push it past anything you ever imagined. He’s going to make you cum here, again and again, until this moment is burned into your memory. Until you can never think about high school, about this field, about these bleachers, without thinking about him. About the way he touched you. About the way he made it perfect. He always makes everything perfect.

“Need you to cum all over my fingers, pretty girl. Come on,” he murmurs, pinching your clit as he tries to coax an orgasm out of you. And it doesn’t take long. The honeyed rasp of his voice, the relentless rhythm of his fingers, the way his eyes stay locked on yours—it’s all too much. You shatter around him with a high-pitched moan.

“Atta girl,” he breathes, watching you with nothing but admiration. “So fucking pretty when you cum for me.”

Your mind is fuzzy, his words melting into white noise as you come down from your high on shaky legs. If it weren’t for the pillar at your back, you’re certain you’d be a puddle on the floor. Hyuck holds you close, his hand stroking your hair as he murmurs soft praises against your ear—something about being so pretty, so good, so his. But all you can focus on is the growing bulge in his pants, the evidence of just how much he wants you. A bulge you put there. One you’re aching to take care of.

You start to drop to your knees, and he sucks in a breath, his eyes locked on yours.

“Stop,” he commands harshly, stepping back as if something’s shifted. It forces you to stand up straight again, confusion crossing your face.

“Don’t you want me to—”

“Oh, I fucking want you to, and you’re going to,” he growls. Then, he peels off his suit jacket and drapes it on the concrete floor between you two. “Now, you can get on your knees for me, Y/N,” he orders, his voice rough and commanding, but then it cracks, desperately. “Please.”

You lower yourself onto his suit jacket, kneeling before him, palms pressing firmly against his thighs. His erection is hard, straining through his suit pants, but he’s waited—waited until he knew you’d be most comfortable because that’s just who he is.

“Look at you,” he says, running his thumb over your mouth. “Puffy lips parted and ready for me. Big fucking eyes, so innocent, so needy.”

“Only for you, Hyuck,” you breathe softly as you start undoing his belt and his jaw visibly ticks.

You’ve sucked his cock before—of course you have, and you love it. And still, he looks at you like it’s the first time, nostrils flaring, pupils dilated, as he drinks in every detail of your eagerness. He’s so hungry to feel you, to get lost in you—so feral.

Using his forefinger, he lifts your chin, forcing your chin and attention on him. “I know, baby. Only me. Always me.”

You run your tongue over your lower lip, and he tracks the entire thing, looking like some kind of predator.

“Take it out.”

You comply, dropping his pants to his ankles and tugging his boxer briefs down with them. His cock springs free, angry veins visible and the tip glistening. The sight of his straining cock right in front of you pulls this desperate sound from deep in his throat. He traces every inch of your face as if he plans to paint it soon, and you’d let him.

His palm glides over your head again, fingers weaving through your hair, cupping the back of your skull to keep you anchored in place. Rough and dominant—just how he likes it, and just how you crave it.

“I need to fuck your mouth, baby. Seeing you cum in my letterman has got me so damn hard. I need this pretty mouth,” he whimpers as his palm rests on your scalp. “You’re gonna let me do that aren’t you? Because you’re such a good fucking girl.”

You nod and squirm in anticipation, using the tip of your tongue to lick a path over his slit, savouring the salty taste from the bead of precum. His eyes instantly roll back and you grip his shaft with one hand and lick a path from root to tip.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Just like that,” he hisses between his teeth as his entire body vibrates.

You look up at him, fluttering your lashes over heavy eyes. Because the only thing Hyuck craves more than his own pleasure is the sight of yours. You round your lips, sucking him in slowly. Your head bobs as you work your tongue in sync with your lips, but he’s so big, a fact you’ll never get used to. He hits the back of your throat and you hold him there, swallowing around his tip, tears welling at the corners of your eyes as your throat tightens with a gentle choke.

"Fuck—" He lurches forward, one hand gripping the pillar for support while the other tugs at your hair, pulling you off him just long enough to catch your breath—because he's nothing if not considerate.

Hyuck runs his thumb by the corner of your eye, gathering the moisture that pooled there.

“I’m ruining your makeup,” he muses, lips curling into a smirk. “I had prom pictures planned.”

A blush creeps on your cheeks, “We don’t have to take them.”

“We’re taking them.” There’s no question in his tone. It’s simply a statement. A demand. “Then I’m keeping a copy in my wallet, so next time I’m on tour, fisting my cock, I can think about you. About this."

You nod, breath hitching. "O-okay."

"Okay." His thumb drags over your lip again, teasing until you part for him, wrapping around it. He presses down, tugging lightly. "So agreeable. So obedient. Aren’t you?"

"Yes," you breathe.

His smirk deepens. "Good. So you'll keep sucking my cock, won't you?"

You don’t even bother with words—too eager to please, too determined to finish what you started. Your fingers wrap around him, stroking once before you take him back into your mouth, sucking deep before pulling off with a lewd pop. Then you do it again, following his cues, giving him exactly what you know he loves. A slow flick of your tongue along the underside of his head, a firm squeeze as you cup his balls, and then you’re taking him to the back of your throat. His entire abdomen tenses. His breathing turns ragged.

"Fuck." His curse is sharp as he pulls back, just enough to look at you. "I’m gonna cum. You gonna let me cum in your mouth, baby?"

You nod eagerly, mascara streaking your cheeks, spit glistening at the corner of your lips. "Please, Hyuck."

His smirk is wicked. "Are you gonna be a good little girlfriend and swallow it all for me?"

You nod—far too enthusiastically.

"Good. Now, take a deep breath, baby—'cause it’s the last one you’re getting for a while."

He runs a gentle thumb over your cheekbone before guiding your head forward. Your lips part instinctively, wrapping around him as he sets the pace, fucking your mouth with a steady rhythm. His palms cover your ears, his hips roll with precision—nothing but pure pleasure as he chases his high. And you let him. You take it, let him use you because he’s done all of this for you tonight. Because he deserves his reward.

Truthfully, watching Hyuck unravel beneath you—knowing you’re the one making him this needy, this desperate to cum—is your own reward. Because seeing him lost in pure bliss is the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Your fingernails dig into his skin, leaving faint crescents as he keeps his pace—steady, deliberate—but always mindful, always making sure you can breathe. He checks in with his eyes, just like you said—considerate.

You moan around his length, hips shifting instinctively, searching for friction. And of course, Hyuck notices. He always notices.

"Are you getting turned on from sucking me off, Y/N?" he taunts, through a tight restraint breath. "So wet, even after I already made you cum." He pulls out of your mouth, gaze dark. "Show me. Show me how wet sucking my cock has made you.”

Heat prickles your skin as you reach under your dress, the one he bought, and gather your arousal on two fingers. You bring them up, letting him see the proof, the evidence of just how much you want him.

“Fuck,” he growls, as deep brown eyes turn black as they lock on your fingers. “So fucking obedient.”

Hyuck leans in, grasping your wrist before guiding your fingers into his mouth. His tongue flicks over the tips, slow and careful, savouring the taste—the proof of how badly he’s wrecked you. Of how much you like him, love him.

He nods toward his cock, covered in your saliva, hard and twitching, ready to cum. "Make me cum, baby. Please."

You hold his eye contact, grip his cock, and bring your mouth back to cover him. He moans, head falling back, and you work his length with your mouth and hand, doing your best to take what you can’t handle. It doesn’t take long until his hips jerk in short, sloppy movements. His breath comes out in ragged gasps, moans soft but pitched, the sound of him unravelling.

“Y/N,” he cries out your name in a whimper of desperation. One hand finds yours, holding it tenderly, while the other braces on the pillar behind you. Then, he cums—hard.

He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, because that’s his favourite part, but the sensation overwhelms him, and he has to shut them. Every muscle in his body tightens as hot, forceful pulses hit the back of your throat.

“So pretty like this,” he pants breathlessly. “Mouth full of my cum.” The pad of his thumb traces down the line of your throat. “You’re gonna swallow it, aren’t you?”

It’s not a question, and you don’t hesitate. You swallow all of him, but it’s not enough. You need more—need him inside of you.

“Fuck me, please, Hyuck.”

He shakes his head, a teasing smile tugging at his lips and then he laughs. He uses the hand he’s had entangled with yours to pull you up to your feet, steadying you gently. “I can’t. Not here.”

You pout, disappointed, your body aching for him. “Why not?”

His smile widens as he adjusts your dress, pulling the fabric down to cover you properly, the moment feeling suddenly too sweet considering he was just fucking your throat.

“Because,” he draws out playfully, “I planned a prom, and like all cheesy teenagers, I don’t plan to fuck you here.”

You quirk a brow, crossing your arms across your body. But before you can say anything, Hyuck fumbles with his suit jacket, dropping to the floor to search the pockets. His hands hover for a second before he pulls out a room key, holding it up like some kind of trophy.

You scoff with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Very cliché.”

He grins at you. “I think we have pictures to take.”

#nct smut #haechan smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct x reader #haechan x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct hard hours #nct one shot #kpop smut

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feyhunter78 · 2 days ago

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Valentine's Day Fratboy!Miguel

Art cred: @/viva_sl o𝗇 Twitter

Description: It's your first Valentine's Day with Miguel, and he goes a little overboard.

First Fratboy!Miguel Fic here

You stare dumbfounded at the open black crushed velvet box in your hands, a large blue diamond encircled by smaller white diamonds on a silver chain nestled within. “Is this…?”

“The Heart of the Ocean? Yeah, pretty romantic, right?” Miguel says, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he leans back against your couch, his arms folded behind his head.

“Please tell me this isn’t real.” You say, panic coloring your tone.

His brows furrow, the smile sliding off his face. “I mean it’s lab grown, and my dad knows a guy, so I got a killer discount, and it’s not as many carets as the one in the movie, but it’s still real, ya know?”

Your brain stops going through twenty-seven different modes of panic thinking he spent millions of dollars on you, and finally you can breathe. Just in time for Miguel to panic.

“If you don’t like it, I can get something else, there were a ton of different necklaces, I actually had this idea to make my own, but Kron said that was beta behavior and would turn you off, so I—”

“I like it, I do, really, I was just shocked.” You tell him, closing the box and setting it on your coffee table, next to the bouquet the size of your torso. A heart shaped box of chocolates, and a pure white teddy bear holding a red heart that read Be Mine, also on the tabletop.

“But in a good way, right?” He asks, glancing nervously between the gifts and you.

You smile fondly and take his hand in yours, his Rolex catching the light coming from the heart-shaped fairy lights hung on the wall above the couch. “Have you ever celebrated Valentine’s with someone before?”

“I’ve always managed to get out of Valentine’s Day, never really wanted to do all the mushy stuff.” He says sheepishly.

“That makes sense.” You giggle, looking over at the cliché pile of gifts on your table.

Hurt ripples across his face. “You hate them, got it, y/n, I’m serious, just give me twenty minutes I can make this up to you.” He says, getting up from the couch, his hand slipping from yours as he searches for his car keys.

“Wait, Miguel, hold on a second.” You call, getting up too, and following him to the door of your apartment, your steps muffled by the Valentine’s themed fuzzy socks on your feet.

He turns, an apprehensive expression on his face, his hand on the doorknob. “Just text me what you want, I’ll go get it.”

You wrap your arms around his stupidly impressive arm, his muscles emphasized by the black long sleeve dry-fit shirt he’s wearing, and tug him away from the door. “You. I just want to hang out with you. I haven’t even gotten to give you your gift yet.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he follows you semi-willingly, retaking his seat on the couch.

“Okay, just wait here, it’s in my room.” You tell him, leaving him in your living room as you enter your room and shut the door behind you.

With the door shut, the world suddenly quiet, your nerves set in. What if he thinks your gift is stupid or cheesy? It’s your first Valentine’s Day together, you didn’t think he’d go so overboard! You pick the neatly wrapped gift up from your desk and contemplate changing into something prettier, hotter, sexier? You don’t really have lingerie, but you could definitely put on a black bra and matching underwear, that’s hot, right? Letting out a stressed groan, you toss the gift onto your bed and change quickly, cursing yourself all the while. Why didn’t you buy something cute? Miguel dates sorority girls, super hot, super fashionable and cool sorority girls like Kelsey and Emma from your Victorian Literature class. Why didn’t you ask them what to get him, or what to wear? They’re nice, they hang out with you at frat parties when Miguel is busy, they definitely would’ve helped you pick something out.

You look at yourself in the mirror, yeah you look good, but you’ve seen his ex-girlfriend Ava, she’s gorgeous, and has a killer body, next to her, you look frumpy and decidedly unsexy. You bite your lips and pull your clothes back on, pointedly ignoring the mirror. Now was not the time to get self-conscious, you could cry later when Miguel leaves.

Holding his present against your chest, you take a deep breath, and step into the hallway leading to the living room. The music you put on is still playing softly, the fairy lights are still on, the decorations are still cute, the cupcakes you made still look perfect, okay you can do this.

You reenter the living room to find Miguel completely naked with the box of chocolates covering his…intimate area. You don’t mean to scream, it’s not even the first time you’ve seen him naked, but it catches you so off guard, the startled sound just slips out, and you drop his gift, your hands flying up to cover your eyes. “Miguel, what the—why are you naked?”

“Why aren’t you? You said you had my gift in your room.” He says, and even though you can’t see him, you know he’s blushing head to toe.

“Yeah, it was on my desk, I had to grab it.” You explain, keeping one hand up to shield your eyes as you bend down to pick his gift back up.

You can hear the rustling of clothes as Miguel redresses, and you wait until he clears his throat to remove your hand. He’s smiling awkwardly at you, fully clothed, his hair a bit ruffled. “Sorry about that, usually that’s my gift, birthdays, Christmas, Valentine’s, you name it.”

You laugh nervously, all confidence gone, and force yourself to walk over and join him on the couch. Definitely should’ve bought cute lingerie, hopefully the black pairing will be enough. “No, no, you’re good. I can see how that would be confusing, me going in my room and shutting the door and all that.”

He’s still blushing, but he zeros in on the gift in your hand. “That for me?”

You all but shove it at him. “It’s dumb, but I thought you might like it, and if you don’t, you won’t hurt my feelings or anything.” Complete and utter lie, you’re pretty sure if he doesn’t like it, you’re going to burst into tears right in front of him.

“I’m sure it’ll be great, as long as it isn’t like a portrait of Dantell or something.” He jokes as he unwraps the gift, revealing the deep blue muscle shirt that reads Nueva York ENG Dept Boyfriend in Garmond style font across the front. As he pulled it out, two tickets fluttered from the folds and into his lap.

“It’s kinda stupid and silly, but Haley made one for her boyfriend and I just thought it might be cute for like around the KA house, or the gym or—you don’t have to wear it at the gym, or the house if you don’t want to, you can do whatever you want with it.” You explain, overexplain probably, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “And the tickets are for this after-hours tour of the fine art museum downtown. It’s super private, and you get to speak with the curator, and get a little souvenir. I just thought maybe you’d want to do that, since I know you like art, and you’re really interested in the history. I’ll stop talking now.…”

Miguel is silent, staring down at the shirt and the tickets, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest.

You toy with the fringe of the throw blanket on your couch, waiting for him to say something.

“Y/N this is…”

“Cheesy and stupid, I know, I’m sorry.” You say, covering your face with your hands, trying to ignore the urge to throw yourself from your balcony.

He pulls your hands away and kisses you, hard. Hands cupping your face, sliding into your hair, his movements heated and insistent as he pulls you closer, practically devouring you, tongue and teeth clashing with yours. The taste of red velvet from the cupcakes you baked melding with something that is so uniquely Miguel. He pushes you down onto the couch, his ridiculously jacked body covering your own, dwarfing you, his forearms bracketing your head as his lips still on yours, and your head spins. Kissing Miguel is a trip, not that you’ve ever used hallucinogens, but every time he kisses you, you imagine it must be what a really good trip feels like. Especially when he breaks the kiss, and looks down at you with pupils blown wide, and pure adoration practically spilling from his warm brown irises.

“I love it, I love you, fuck I can’t even explain how much this—no one has ever—” he shakes his head smiling brighter than the sun, his curls falling into his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You reply breathlessly, heart racing in your chest, your face flushed, your lips tingling. Did he just say he loved you?

Miguel dips his head back down, reconnecting your lips, one hand ghosting down your side to grip your thigh and wrap your leg around his lower back. “I’ll get you a better gift, like you got me, but first let me show you how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“Miguel, you really don’t have to.” You tell him, though you have no idea where you’re ever going to wear a giant ass diamond.

“Oh, but I want to dulzura, I really, really do.” He says, removing your clothes faster than you can blink, and pressing himself against your black cloth covered core with an appreciative groan, eyeing you like he’s a dying man and you’re his last meal. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhale-blog, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho, @chooalvina, @reader-1290, @beezusvreeland, @planetxella

#meg's writing #college!miguel #fratboy!miguel #college!reader #college au #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n

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mmkclarkey · 2 days ago

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We have a spare room- Part 4

When all goes wrong, moving in with three guys will help?

6 months. Half a year living with Chris, Arthur and George.

According to Chris, it was a cause for celebration, one that just insisted that you had to have a party. That’s why your weekly trip to B&M had turned into a 2 hour trip, all three of them picking out party cups and plastic shot glasses and literally anything you can find for a party.

“Whats the colour theme?” Arthur asks with a large smile on his face, looking like a child in a sweet shop, Chris following not too far behind with the trolley.

“We don’t have one, why the fuck would we have one?” George replies, laughing at Arthur’s excitement, while Arthur pulled a face at George, making his way towards him to slap the smiling man around the back of the head.

George winced and began to chase Arthur down the aisle, making you and Chris giggle while rolling your eyes.

“God can you two get any more childish?” You said quietly as they caught back up to you minutes later trying to avoid people around you knowing that you lived with these morons.

You finished up shopping, and after a fight with Chris over who was going to pay, him winning, you got back to the flat. Flopping down on the sofa had become a regular thing for all of you, normally trying to see who could do it first, and for once, someone other than you won.

Not that you were happy about it, but Arthur’s smile as his head hit the soft cushions was too priceless to be annoyed, even with George and Chris shouting profanities at the brunette sprawled on the sofa, legs hanging over the top, shoes still on.

A few hours later, you were lay on your bed after getting ready, lay carefully as not to flatten your curls at the back, or allow the short (too short) dress you were wearing to flash any of your roommates when they come into the room, which would not be the best idea if you were honest.

You hear a knock, faint on the door, making you question whether you actually heard it, but then it comes louder as you jump, saying a monotone “come in”.

Arthur comes in and dramatically flops down on your bed, making you giggle as you question why the man was in your room, not that it wasn’t a common occurrence, it’s just normally all of them together not just one roommate.

“I need your help” he chokes out, grabbing one of your pillows and screaming into it, making you chuckle, fully aware of the dramatics that came with your brunette roommate.

“Whats up? You seem cheery” you laugh sarcastically as he shoots you a glare, making it so that you fly your hands up in self defence, a shit-eating grin still on your face.

“There’s this girl yeah, and she’s coming to the party, because she got a random invite, but I might have a little crush on her, like on social media and stuff” he rambles out, looking as if he’s about to cry from whatever pickle he’d gotten himself into.

“Oh my god!” You laugh out, clapping your hands in excitement. “You are 100% taking your chance tonight I swear arthur!”

“I can’t, she won’t like me like that”

“You’re a stupidly oblivious man Arthur Hill, do you know that?”

“Fuck off”

The party was in full swing, people funnelling into the flat every 10 minutes or so, you greeted everyone as they came in, naturally gravitating towards the girls of the friend group, as Sabina, Chip’s fiancée reminded you of how good you look, and how half the guys there are staring.

You look across the room and spot arthur talking to a blonde girl, blushing harder than you have seen him do. Ever. The girl was smiling, laughing along with all his jokes, it was refreshing to see two people so completely enamoured by eachother; almost seeming as if there was no one else around them.

There was a clearing of a throat next to you as you turn your head to the side, George standing next to you looking at arthur and the girl. He spoke up after taking a sip of his beer.

“He looks like he’s in love”

“I know”

You both spoke at the same time.

“It’s cute” you spoke.

“It’s sickening” George laughed.

For a moment you looked at eachother, taking in your opposing views on the situation unfolding in front of you. And then you look back to arthur, letting out a little chuckle.

“You know, one day you’ll find a girl who will make you think love isn’t weird George, and that day will make every girl in the UK cry”

George looks at you, his expression unreadable as he lets out a little hum, walking away from you to go talk to Isaac, avoiding his eyes meeting yours as you shake the feeling off.

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

A/N- oh I’m so sorry for how long this took! I love you all I swear, and hope you like this one, might have a cheeky couple more coming tonight x (what do we think about hill and his mystery girl, hint: mystery girl is Caitlin, cos she’s amazing x)

Taglist- @loveheart-123 @ooostarwarsfandom501st @rougetv @le-le-lea @onlinesuzie @44-ilton @pretendyoucantseeme @theresglittleronthefloor @raekensluver @viagracex @neivivenaj @authortelevision @kneelforloki @m3l0vesu @deepestlovefromspace @hiatus-xix

#arthur frederick #george clarkey #arthur hill #italianbach #chrismd #george clarke x reader #uk youtubers #newgirl

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reomikagekin · 2 days ago

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Hi! I loved the shidou oneshot u wrote! I was wondering if I could ask for another one. Otoya x reader, where reader is staff at blue lock and he tries to make a move on her all the time but she is annoyed by it, but after the u20 game she realizes maybe she might like him.

Going with the Flow

The first time Otoya Eita hit on you, you thought he was joking.

The second time, you realized he wasn’t.

By the fiftieth time, you were exhausted.

“You know,” Otoya mused, leaning against the equipment rack as you went through inventory. “We should get dinner after this.”

“I’d rather eat nails,” you deadpanned, checking the roster for missing items.

“That’s hardcore. I like a girl with edge,” he replied, not missing a beat.

You sighed, shooting him a glare. He only grinned, unfazed as always. Otoya was relentless—not in a desperate, overwhelming way, but in that frustratingly effortless manner that made rejecting him feel useless. Every quip rolled off his back, every cold shoulder met with an amused smirk.

It had started the moment you were hired as Blue Lock’s staff, tasked with coordinating training schedules, managing equipment, and ensuring that the program ran smoothly behind the scenes. You were good at your job—great at it, actually—but you hadn’t anticipated him.

Otoya Eita. A problem in the shape of a man.

He was, objectively speaking, insufferable.

Flirty, cocky, and way too smooth for his own good. But what really made him unbearable was the fact that he was so relaxed about everything. No matter how much you ignored him, rolled your eyes, or shut down his advances, he took it all in stride, like it was some never-ending game.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even serious about it. You knew his type—the kind of guy who flirted for sport, who never got too attached, who always had an easy escape route. You were just another source of entertainment to him.

And yet.

After the U20 match, something changed.

---

Post-U20 Match

The energy in the stadium was electric. Blue Lock had just defeated the Japan U20 team, and the entire place buzzed with adrenaline, triumph, and disbelief. You’d watched from the sidelines, gripping your clipboard so tightly your knuckles turned white.

You weren’t sure when, but at some point during the match, your eyes kept landing on him.

Otoya, who was always so laidback, so effortlessly cool, was serious. Focused. Sharp.

He wasn’t just some guy who coasted through life. He was a striker, someone who had clawed his way to this moment just like the rest of them.

And for the first time, you found yourself wondering—was the guy who flirted with you daily actually as carefree as he pretended to be?

After the match, the players were exhausted. You made your rounds, checking on them, making sure injuries were documented and equipment was accounted for. The locker room was chaotic—cheers, exhaustion, and pure adrenaline. You almost didn’t notice when Otoya slipped out of the crowd and leaned against the doorframe beside you.

“Told you I was cool,” he said, voice tinged with victory.

You snorted. “I don’t remember you telling me that.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “Maybe I was trying to show you instead.”

You rolled your eyes but, for once, didn’t shut him down completely. Maybe it was the rush of the game, or the way he was standing there, sweaty and tired but still wearing that obnoxious grin. Maybe it was the way he had actually impressed you today, something you never thought possible.

“Hey,” he said after a pause, quieter this time. “So about that dinner—”

“…Fine.”

His eyes widened slightly before he let out a laugh, genuinely caught off guard.

“I—wait, really?”

You crossed your arms. “Yeah. But don’t be annoying about it.”

His grin widened, all lazy amusement. “See? I knew you liked me.”

You groaned, already regretting it. “Don’t make me regret this, Otoya.”

“No promises,” he said, voice warm with something softer than usual. “But I will make it fun.”

And, for the first time, you believed him.

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk headcanons #otoya eita #otoya eita x reader

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deezy1478 · 2 days ago

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happy valentine's day! here's some husbands shooting the shit on their honeymoon:

“Was this the dumbest idea ever?” said Jim, wheeling his suitcase to one side as he looked round the room. It was the cheapest, most bare bones one they had – the kind they used to stay in when they traveled for a show, stretching the leftover money as far as it would go on booze and takeout and maybe a new video game when they got back home.

“The motel or marrying me?” said Dustin, closing the door behind them. Jim elbowed him in the stomach and Dustin took it in his stride, swinging his overnight bag against the wall and passing Jim with a hand on the small of his back. “Money changed you, man. Look at this – a microwave? A whole bed to ourselves?” he said, sitting down on it and giving an experimental bounce. The springs squeaked unpleasantly. “Aw, fuck yeah. That takes me back.”

He lay back against the pillows and held a hand out for Jim, and there was just barely enough space for him to wriggle against Dustin’s side until he found a position that didn’t make his back start to seize up. When he was settled they chatted a little about the more memorable motels they’d stayed in – the one with rats as big as Walter, the one that smelled mysteriously of cheese, the one where Jim had gotten bitten to shit by bedbugs the night before a match – and then they leaned back to find shapes in the water stains on the ceiling like they used to.

“Don’t ask me how I know this, but… that one kinda looks like Dan Barry’s dick,” said Dustin, pointing at a fat, blobby one near the window.

“Don’t ask me how I know this, but… yeah, you’re kinda right.” Dustin turned his head so fast his neck twinged and Jim’s mouth went all tight, letting him stew for a good few seconds. “He sent me a picture once. By accident. Meant to go to Jess but he hit Jim.”

“Uh huh,” said Dustin. “Mm hm. That right.”

“What, you think he was shooting his shot?” said Jim, turning and grinning at him. “You’re saying I missed the Dan Barry train?”

“I think you did, dude. Could’ve ridden that thing into the sunset.” He gestured to the ceiling blob. “Could’ve ridden that thing into the sunset.”

Jim shuddered and elbowed him again.

They ordered takeout and Dustin collected it from the front desk – a couple of Taco Bell value boxes and a Red Bull each from the vending machine in the hall, really leaning into the bit – maybe a little too hard, Dustin thought as they both lay back on the bed when they’d finished and the lumpy mattress dug in between his shoulders, but whatever. They’d both been feeling a little nostalgic in the run-up to the wedding, driving off-route a bit on the way to the motel from the courthouse so they could pass by the old Legion Hall in Hellertown where they’d both been booked on the same card for the first time.

“Hey,” he nudged Jim. “Do you actually remember that day? The Chikara Young Lions tag thing?”

“Sure,” said Jim, because of course he did. Dustin had been sifting through his memories since they’d pulled up outside it, trying to pick out those specific couple matches from all the others he’d had in there over the years and hoping he’d remember a flash of bright blonde hair or a weird, honking laugh from across the changing room, but nope. At this point it all felt like it had all happened at least three lifetimes ago.

“Do you remember me there?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Jim, because of course he did. “I watched one of your matches from behind the curtain. Some guy in the crowd was trying to start shit the whole way through, shouting at you – and you climbed up to the top turnbuckle, looked right at him and yelled tug my balls, asshole. Then you did a moonsault and got the pin.”

Dustin smiled over at him. “And you saw all that and thought, I’m gonna marry that guy some day.”

Jim smiled back “Pretty much,” he said, and Dustin had to look away, back up at the ceiling – thinking about all the years stretching between that moment and their first kiss.

“Jesus. I was a dumbass for so fuckin’ long.”

“Nah,” said Jim, quietly. “Wouldn’t change any of it.” He knocked the back of his hand against Dustin’s. “But sometimes I think, like… what if we could’ve – y’know. If… never mind.”

“No, go on.”

Jim was quiet for a moment. “Do you ever wish…” he said eventually, “or do you ever think about, like – what would you do now with a twenty-two year old me?”

“Uh,” said Dustin, “probably give him a juice box. Y’know… ask what his favourite dinosaur is.” Jim snort-laughed. “Had your balls even dropped by then?”

“One of them had, for sure.” Dustin turned his head, grinning, about to ask which ball but Jim had a funny little look on his face that made him stall. “You really wouldn’t…?” he asked, trailing off.

“What, you think I wanna throw my back out trying to keep up with li’l baby Cipps?” said Dustin. Just thinking about it made him want to slam a bottle of Aleve. “Li’l flippy baby Cipps? Cartwheeling round the bed?”

Jim huffed through his nose. “I just thought… I dunno.” He looked back up at the ceiling. “I was like… bendier, back then. And stuff.”

Dustin reached over and gave Jim’s chest a slap like it was the hood of an old car. “Still bendy enough for me.”

“Yeah?” said Jim, and he tried to smile but something wasn’t quite right – something still lingering at the edges of it.

Dustin rolled onto his side and looked down at him – at the thin lines across his forehead and at the corner of his eyes; the creases that ran from either side of his nose to his mouth that he’d catch Jim pulling at in the bathroom mirror.

“Hey,” he said, cupping Jim’s jaw and tilting it gently towards him. “Gonna be after you in the nursing home, Cipps. Chasing you down with my zimmer frame.”

Jim laughed then, bright and goofy and wrinkly as fuck, and even after ten years it still hit Dustin like a mack truck that Jim had kissed him back on purpose, moved in with him on purpose, said yes on purpose, said I do on purpose.

And now he was lying next to him in a shitty motel bed on their honeymoon on purpose and looking up at him, waiting for whatever came next, and Dustin had no idea where they’d be in ten, fifteen, twenty years – God knows he could only hope they had that long – but he knew about the next few hours. He knew about the next five minutes. He knew about the next few seconds as he leaned in and kissed Jim, wrapping an arm around his warm, narrow hips.

#my writing #for someone with no interest in marriage i sure have spent a lot of time constructing the husbands cinematic universe in my head

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haveihitanerve · 1 day ago

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youtube

The Book Game: Slugs and Chinese-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE?!?!?!

(I am working on Toby’s Pocket commentary I swear) I saw this one yesterday and its too fucking funny and also shorter so here you all are :) hope you enjoy

Tom: did anyone come to a comedy show- Audience member: *my time has come* Tom: *wait I wasn’t done with my epic monologue, its really funny I swear :(*worried that it would be boring as hell- Sam: *laughing maniacally* AJ: jesus

Aj: *opens book, stares, shock, turns to audience*

I love how the second the audience starts laughing at AJ’s shock, Tom immediately knows its because of him and cuts off to look at him. They’re so fucking cute

Luke going to inspect the book, finding nothing amiss in the title, and then exploding when he sees the writing inside- I’m having flashbacks to Lonely Planet When Europe

Luke so delighted he has to cross the stage and almost falls into Tom 🫠😭

Tom having to inspect the book too because ok now Luke has been laughing for too long and he’s curious lol

“Yeah tom you bigot!” Sam needed an excuse to join the chaos and of course, insulting tom is the way to go XD

Tom’s resigned sigh and drop of the book as AJ and Luke lose it. They delight each other so much its absolutely wonderful to see

“So lukes gonna introduce this game now-” Tom wants to be a part of the chaos XD

“Make sure its not racist okay?” Tom had to shift the attention to someone else lmaoo

I just adore how they did not, in fact, think to return the book and get one they understand because, for the bit, they know this book is best, and that they specifically made AJ keep it, because he is the chaos king and would do best by it XD

“A little knowledge…” Luke: *waiting expectantly for him to finish the sentence, then finishes it for him because the sentence in the book is not that* i love them so much omg

“OH! BAD TEMPERED THOUGHT!” LMFAOOO WHAT???

“Ooh… ohhh malice!” Sam i adore you XD

Here comes aj XD

“What does that say?” YESS AJ!!! SNEAKY CLEVER BOI!!! YES!!!

“YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE??!??!” BETRAYED AJ HELPPPP- his life is flashing before his eyes dude is panicking

Audience member: *frantic* my dad does! AJ: *quickly scoots further* oh!

Aj having to break for a second and just lay still as a dying slug because what even is his life XD

“Play hateful, this.” His face helpppp-

Also love how that actually worked really well in the scene???

Tom: *introducing himself into the scene, literally* Sam: *reciprocating* AJ: [desperately] does anybody else speak chinese?!?!

“It goes with high heels.” AJ needing to fold his head into his arms to laugh, Tom pausing the scene because he heard that and what, Luke laughing at AJ’s pain, and Sam trying to keep them focused XD

AJ’s little leg kicks im crying

“MAKE NO MISTAKES!!!” Tom sounds genuinely distressed lmaoo

“OOOOHHHH!” *frantically trying to find a good line comeback*

“Variation in your tactics!” Confirmed that all that matters while speaking is proper tone because that sounds withering coming from Tom, but is actually a very mild sentence lol

Aj standing and Tom genuinely surprised while Luke and Sam fake surprise XD

“THAts not FAir!” Tom’s hands shooting up in surrender and his little grin at AJ that makes AJ smile back 🫠😭

Sam: “Troublemaker!” it is true 🤷‍♂️ AJ: *flipping open his book, forgetting he doesn't speak chinese* chapter four. Brilliant words, truly eloquent aj🤧

Aj and Sam doing “and scene” in unison, every time they do it it kills me for no reason

AND SCENE

Ahhhhh that was fucking glorious. Loved every single second of it, and this means that when I finally get to go to one of their shows, I’m bringing a German book, it has been decided lol.

Anyway hope you guys found as much enjoyment in AJ’s distress and the other guy’s mutual delight as I did, and I shall return as quickly as possible with Toby’s Secret Pocket and Jingle Boys commentary :)

BYEBYE!!!

@snek-of-eden @dawn-speckled

#besties #shoot from the hip #alexander jeremy #tom mayo #sam russell #luke manning #shootimprov #sfth #platonic soulmates #this one was sooo fun #Youtube

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steveseddie · 1 day ago

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happily ever after

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know when it happens but at some point, he stops hating Dungeons & Dragons.

He still calls it anything but its actual name to the kids’ faces, and he still bitches and moans about having to drive them to and from their stupid meetings, but he can admit that he kind of likes it, at least to himself.

Definitely not enough to play it. He still believes there’s way too much math involved and he gets a headache just thinking about memorizing an entire character sheet, but he does enjoy it enough to sit and watch the kids and Eddie play.

Eddie is also probably a big part of why Steve started liking it. He has a way of making everything interesting. His voices, the way he insists on randomly jumping on his chair or shooting up to his feet, and the twists and turns he weaves into a story so expertly.

There’s also the fact that Steve is head over heels for him and sitting through one of their games is the perfect excuse to stare at him all he wants.

Realistically, he can’t be at every one of them. He has a job and a tiny shred of reputation to maintain. He can’t be seen dedicating all his free time to a game for nerds.

He can, however, dedicate his Friday night to it when Eddie invites him over for the big finale of their latest campaign.

“It’s going to be great, Stevie, I’m telling you!” Eddie says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You can’t miss it!”

“I won’t, Eds, I promise,” Steve tells him, trying not to show just how easy it is for Eddie to get him to agree to anything.

The big finale does end up being great. The kids spend the whole time sitting at the edge of their seats and Eddie delivers twist after twist until finally the legendary sword is found, the kingdom is saved and everyone lives happily ever after.

Or maybe not everyone.

There’s something that stays with Steve even after Eddie dramatically announces it’s the end, but he doesn’t get to ask him about it until two days later when they’re hanging out at the trailer.

Steve is sprawled on the bed, leafing through a sports magazine he swiped from Wayne’s stuff and Eddie is pretending to organize his desk. In reality, he’s spent the last twenty minutes playing with a rubber ball he found among his things.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve says just as Eddie throws the ball toward the ceiling. He turns his attention to Steve and forgets about the ball, which bounces against his face.

“Ow! Shit!” He swears, rubbing at his eye. Steve stifles his laughter behind the magazine. “What’s– what’s up, Stevie?”

“Can I ask you a question about Dorks & Dweebs?”

At that, Eddie snaps to attention. His eyes are wide and one of them is a little red from the ball hitting it. “Steve Harrington, did you just say you want to ask me about Dungeons & Dragons?”

“I said Dorks & Dweebs, but yes.”

“I don’t even care that you refuse to call it by the proper name,” Eddie chuckles disbelievingly, then he jumps to his feet and joins Steve on the bed, a big grin on his face. “Holy shit, yes! Of course, ask me anything you want!”

Steve can’t help but chuckle at Eddie’s excitement. The way he rests his chin on his hands and stares expectantly at Steve like this is the most amazing thing to happen to him. It’s very cute. “Okay, you weirdo,” he says, his voice dripping with fondness. “At the end of your last game–”

“Campaign.”

Steve waves him off. “At the end of that, what happened to the singer guy? The bard? Uh, Everard?”

Tilting his head, Eddie asks, “What?”

“You know, the– the guy that helped the kids– uh, the party find the legendary sword. The EMT or whatever.”

Eddie’s mouth twitches amusedly. “The NPC.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well,” he says, scratching his head. “He died.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he got mauled by carrion crawlers, Steve.”

“You got mauled by bats and you lived!” Steve argues. Eddie’s nose scrunches up, most likely at the mention of his near death. “Couldn’t one of the kids have used like, a healing spell or something?”

Eddie taps his lip with his finger, thinking it over. Steve can’t help but follow the movement with his eyes.

“I guess they could but– he’s not important, man, he’s just there to help them find the sword.”

Steve averts his eyes from Eddie’s lips and crosses his arms over his chest. “If he’s not important then it doesn’t matter if he lives, right?”

“Okay, sure,” he snorts. “He can live if you like him so much.”

“Good,” Steve says, nodding. Eddie rolls onto his back, probably assuming the conversation is over but there’s something else Steve has been wondering about. “Does he go back to the princess?”

Eddie’s whole body visibly tenses up. “W–what?”

“Everard is in love with Princess Soliana, right? Does he tell her?”

“No,” Eddie says, his voice sharp.

“Why not?”

Eddie groans, sitting up on the bed so he’s facing away from Steve. “Because that’s not relevant to the campaign!”

“It’s relevant to me,” Steve huffs stubbornly.

“Why?”

Because Steve is a romantic and from the first time Eddie mentioned this NPC or whatever, Steve felt drawn to him for some reason. It might sound stupid, he’s just a character after all, but Steve wants him to be happy. “Because Everard loves her.”

“So?” Eddie snaps, “there are things even love can’t fix.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “In real life, maybe, but in fantasy, man? Anything can happen.”

“That can’t,” he grumbles. He still won’t face Steve, his shoulders hunched over.

“But why?”

“Because!” Eddie snaps, finally turning around. His face is pinched, his lips pursed. “Bards don’t marry princesses, Steve!”

“Says who?”

“Me, and I’m the DM so I make the rules.”

“Which means you can change them, give them a happy ending!”

Eddie drags his hands down his face. “There’s no happy ending for Everard, Steve. He knows that. He’s not the hero who gets the princess, he’s the sorry son of a bitch who almost dies. Even if he lives, he won’t do it. He won’t risk the friend– the kingdom when he knows the princess doesn’t love him back.” He says all of that through gritted teeth, and his voice sounds sad like– like he knows what he’s talking about.

“She’s royalty, Steve. She’s beautiful, she’s brave,” Eddie goes on, his eyes boring into Steve with an intensity that makes him shiver. “And he’s– he’s no one and he’s broken and– and scarred, and–-”

“You,” Steve whispers as the realization hits. “He’s you.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut. He gulps, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. Now that Steve knows it’s so obvious. The similar name, Everard’s funny and flirty personality, the way he joins the party later in the campaign, and how he’s mauled by creatures trying to save them.

And if that’s Eddie then–

“The princess is me.”

Eddie lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Finally caught on, didn’t you, Stevie?”

“You– you based those characters off of us?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “But you killed Everard.”

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, well. I took some liberties, I didn’t want to make it too obvious, you know? And I did die for like a couple of minutes, so–”

“But the part about Everard being in love with the princess. Did you take liberties with that?” Steve asks quietly, holding his breath as he waits for Eddie’s answer.

“No,” he says, ducking his head, his hair falling over his face. “That part was accurate.”

The admission makes Steve’s heart try to beat out of his chest. “You– you love me?” He asks with a shaky voice.

“I do,” Eddie says, his big doe eyes finally meeting Steve’s gaze. “But I meant what I said. Everard wouldn’t risk anything, not when I know– when he knows you– the princess doesn’t want him.”

Eddie’s eyes are sad and pleading, like he’s begging Steve not to be mad at him. But Steve is mad. Just not for the reason that Eddie thinks.

“You don’t know that,” he says, frowning.

“I told you–”

“You told me what Everard thinks, now let me tell you what the princess thinks,” Steve says, shutting Eddie up. “She doesn’t think Everard is broken, she thinks he’s strong. He might be scarred, but so is she. And– and he’s beautiful too! Maybe she never thought she could fall in love with a guy– with someone like him but she loves him, Eddie.” He reaches for Eddie’s hand on the bed. It’s shaking. Steve squeezes it. “And I love you.”

Eddie’s jaw goes slack. “Steve–”

“That’s Princess Soliana for you,” Steve tells him, trying to lighten the mood.

It works. A joyful, high-pitched laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he agrees with a giddy chuckle. “I– did you– do you mean it?”

Another squeeze. “Of course, Eds.”

With his free hand, Eddie grabs a lock of his own hair and tugs it across his face to try and hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks and that just won’t do. Steve uses his hand to tuck the hair back behind Eddie’s ear. “So, now that Everard knows this, what’s he going to do?”

Eddie doesn’t even need to think about it. His eyes instantly dart down to Steve’s mouth. “He’s going to kiss the princess,” he says, his jaw set in determination.

Warmth shoots through Steve’s body, the corners of his mouth curl upwards. “Good,” he says, and then Eddie is pulling him in by his shirt, their lips crashing together in a kiss. Steve’s hand finds its way to the back of Eddie’s neck so he can keep him in place, kissing him back for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes.

“I guess– hmph, I guess Everard did get his happy ending after all,” Eddie mumbles against Steve’s lips after some time. “And so did I.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Nah, Eds, this might be the end for them,” he says, pushing at Eddie’s shoulders until his back hits the bed and he can climb on top of him. “For us, it’s only the beginning.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingokiss #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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cindol · 1 day ago

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૮ ོ ོ𑁬 🍎 forbbiden fruit . ( blurb . )

shidou ryusei x fem reader

cw + — pro player!shidou au, fluff, crack, hard to get trope, reader is nonchalant dreadhead/J.

shidou has always wanted what he can’t have, it’s in his dna really all the way back from infancy and now into his young adult years. Out of all the women now thirsting after him since he’s joined an official playing team there’s only one girl he’s after and that’s you, the pretty prissy manager that he couldn’t have.

he liked how unbothered you were about his actions and how he spoke. When he was whistled at you entering the private team gym you only just said, “good morning to you also, shidou.” with a monotone voice while staring at the clipboard in your hand.

when he’s be late on the phone with sae, chatting and catching up on life sae just didn’t get it himself.

“i don’t see the appeal of a woman who has zero interest, seems desperate.”

shidou only snorted. “nah, she’s into it. Just gotta be a bit of a gentleman with her, to drag her to me.”

sae sighed, “you’re the least romantic person i know, demon.”

shidou couldn’t care how he had you or won you, all he knew was he wanted a chance with you. You knew he’d never not shoot his shot in the most weirdest way his devilish mind could conjure so finally you gave him a chance.

“i’ll give you one chance shidou. If you win this match i’ll actually go out on a date with you.”

shidou for sure thought his ears were deceiving him for a moment. His brows were raised with a devilish grin on his lips. “really now? Finally gave in huh?”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “i’m not giving in, you freak. i’m simply giving you a challenge and if you win you’ll earn a date with me.”

shidou only chuckled under his breath, all excited how he usually got before a match. “hope you know there’s no takesy backies then, these guys out there are gonna be fucking small fried for a shark like me.”

“just do what you do best, shidou.” you deadpanned.

when you were in the crowd and your team came out to be the winners yet again it wasn’t a shock for you. With shidou being one of the strongest players.

when the match was finished shidou didn’t go to celebrate with his teammates, he went to talk to you about that date he earned in one of the inclusive gender neutral bathrooms since he knew you’d probably be there away from the noise to fix up some aspect of your makeup.

he slyly walked next to you as you were looking into the bathroom mirror fixing your lip liner. You were looking straight at the mirror the entire time till shidou started obnoxiously tapping his fingers on the bathroom counter making you let out a breath of air, put your lip pencil down and turn your head at him.

“i think i earned something after this match, a certainnn…. romantic candle lit dinner perhaps?” he teased looking at you with that sharp toothy grin showing his shark teeth.

you raised your brows with a nod, since you promise, he at least earned what he was promised. “well im not a promise breaker, i’ll give you a date. Next week, saturday. Have your phone on, and some restaurant on stand by.”

shidou whined, “monday? That’s like, so far away!” shidou was thirsty for this date, even waiting three days was a drag to him.

“well unlike you shidou, i have chores i get done on weekends. I checked schedules and you’ll be free from practice on monday.”

shidou made a tsking noise with his mouth, “well shit.. can i at least get some reward?”

you blinked, glaring at him for a moment and taking a step forward closer to him. “fine, here’s a treat for you.”

shidou had a grin still on his face till he saw you get on your tippy toes to peck him on the lips. a simple kiss, but it made his smile wider and a blush on his tan cheeks.

“that should sedate you till next week.”

#shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryusei x you #shidou ryusei #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x female reader

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itsnesss · 2 days ago

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𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

summary | you accidentally send your valentine’s letter to minho, leading to awkward encounters and unexpected feelings. by the end of the day, you realize he’s your crush all along, and a kiss seals it

warnings | mild angst, romantic tension, and the theme of miscommunication

word count | 2.3 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

If someone had told you that you'd end up caught in a Valentine's Day drama with Minho, you would have laughed out loud. But here you are, holding a box of chocolates in one hand, a letter in the other, and an increasing sense of desperation in your chest.

Because this wasn’t the plan.

The plan was simple: leave an anonymous letter in your crush’s locker, hope he reads it, and maybe get some sign of interest. Nothing complicated, nothing too obvious. Just a little confidence boost, courtesy of the spirit of Valentine’s Day.

But, of course, something had to go wrong.

And that "something" is Minho.

“This is a joke, right?” he asks, holding the letter with an incredulous expression.

You, on the other hand, want to disappear.

“How did you get this?”

“It appeared in my locker.”

Your stomach sinks.

It can't be.

No. No. No.

“There’s a mistake,” you stammer, snatching the letter from his hands. “It wasn’t for you.”

Minho raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, no?”

“Of course not,” you reply firmly, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

His expression changes.

“Then... who was it for?”

You bite your lip.

“It’s none of your business.”

He smiles.

“Oh, but it is.”

And that’s when you know you’re in trouble.

You try to explain it, to make him understand that the letter ended up in his locker by mistake, but Minho won’t leave you alone.

“Let me guess,” he says, following you down the hall. “Dae?”

You shoot him a glare.

“No.”

“Q?”

“Nope.”

“Florian?”

“NO!”

Minho smiles smugly.

“Then it’s someone embarrassing.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to tell me who it is, it must be because you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

You look at him in exasperation.

“Or because it’s none of your business.”

“You know what?” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now it is my problem.”

You sigh.

“Why do you care so much?”

Minho shrugs.

“Because it’s entertaining to see you so nervous.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

You try to forget about it. Really, you try.

But Minho won’t let you.

He shows up at your locker with questions.

He bothers you in the cafeteria with insinuations.

And when he thinks no one’s looking, he flashes you little smiles that make you want to punch him and… maybe something else.

The worst part is that you start getting used to it.

The way his presence feels less and less annoying and more… comfortable.

And that’s a problem.

A BIG problem.

Because Minho is not your crush.

Right?

Valentine’s Day arrives faster than you expected.

The halls are filled with balloons and hearts, and the KISS students are enthusiastically exchanging cards and sweets.

You try to ignore the discomfort in your chest as you watch Minho surrounded by girls, accepting chocolates with his typical charming smile.

It doesn’t bother you.

Of course not.

Except that it does.

And you hate him for it.

“You look like you want to commit a crime,” Kitty says, appearing beside you.

You sigh.

“I’m just tired.”

“Tired of watching Minho flirt with the whole school?”

You look at her, surprised.

“What? No.”

Kitty smiles with amusement.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

You roll your eyes.

“I don’t like Minho.”

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Talking about me?”

You turn your head, and sure enough, Minho is there, looking at you with an arched eyebrow.

Kitty smiles.

“Actually, yes.”

“How flattering.”

“It’s not,” you say quickly.

“Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day. At least you could be a little nicer to me.”

“I could. But I don’t want to.”

Minho laughs.

“Fine, in that case...” He leans a little closer to you. “Can I ask you something?”

Your heart races.

“What?”

“Did you already give your ‘mysterious crush’ your letter?”

Your stomach churns.

Kitty watches the two of you with curiosity but doesn’t intervenes.

“That’s none of your business,” you respond, trying to sound indifferent.

Minho smiles, but there’s something different in his expression.

“Then you still have time.”

You don’t know how to respond.

But before you can say anything, he walks away.

And you’re left standing there, heart racing and too many questions running through your mind.

The day goes on, and you keep thinking about it.

You can’t get Minho out of your head.

Not his smile.

Not the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice.

Not the possibility that… maybe, just maybe… your crush was never the wrong person.

Maybe, from the start, it was him.

The thought scares you.

But it also excites you.

And before you can stop yourself, you grab the letter you wrote and run to find him.

You find him on the rooftop, looking at the horizon with his hands in his pockets.

He turns when he hears you approach, and his expression changes when he sees the letter in your hands.

You don’t say anything.

You just step forward and offer it to him.

Minho looks at it for a moment before taking it.

He carefully opens the envelope, pulls out the sheet, and starts reading.

Your heart is about to explode.

When he finishes, he looks up and stares at you.

“Was it for me from the beginning?”

You swallow hard.

“No.”

“Then what changed?”

You close your eyes for a moment before responding:

“I think it was me.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he smiles.

And before you can process it, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft, but sure.

And when you pull away, Minho murmurs against your lips:

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And this time, there’s no confusion.

This time, Cupid hit the mark.

#minho xo kitty #minho moon #minho x reader #minho x you #minho #xo kitty x reader #xo kitty

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lovelytsunoda · 2 days ago

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love is a losing game | Jake "Hangman" Seresin

PART I - Wonderwall

Summary: Detectives Jessica Statham and Jake Seresin are ready to tie the knot! Fast forward six years, and they're trying desperately to have a baby. Feeling the mounting pressure of his job, his mortgage and the rising cost of living, Jake's looking for an answer to all his problems. Enter his partner, Detective Bradley Bradshaw, who has an idea for a side gig that might not be entirely legal

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of fertility issues, depictions of a car accident and miscarriage. Mentions of mental health struggles. Jessie really wants to be a mother, Jake gets told he has a lower than average sperm count. Infidelity (NOT FROM JESSIE OR JAKE) Bradley is actually such a horrible person I’m so sorry but someone had to be the bad guy here. Intense violence.

Author's Note: Guys I feel like I'm back in my Wattpad era here! Anyone who regularly reads my shit knows I'm awful at continuing series (Rip to the Welcome to Wherever You Are Verse and the Radiator Springs series) but I've had Bosch on the brain lately and its giving me ideas like no other. I hammered out most of this chapter in like two hours.

Cop Terms Glossary: RHD (Robbery-Homicide Division), Vice (a division of the police department assigned to crimes related to gambling & prostitution)

Series Masterlist

June 2017

“Well, I’m beat. Anybody want a stiff drink?” Detective Tom Kazansky asked around as they filed out of the courtroom and down the hallway.

Since the Kelly Garrett trial had concluded for the day, Jessica had been strangely quiet, staring down at her phone almost as soon as she had left the courtroom.

“Yeah, why not.” Pete Mitchell relented, turning to look at his desk officer. “Jessie, you in?”

Her head snapped up from her cell phone, tendrils of cherry-red hair falling in front of her eyes. She had been working with the two detectives for just under two years. Kazansky was easygoing and the two had clicked fast, but Mitchell had taken her a lot longer to warm up to. He seemed to see conspiracies everywhere, but as much as she hated to admit it, he was usually right. She and Mitchell had an unusual bond, and it raised many eyebrows around the department.

Six months ago, in pursuit of both a ring of dirty cops who had murdered her patrol mentor, Javy Machado, as well as the killer of a pornography director, Jessica had been caught in the bloody crossfires of a daylight shooting on her day off. The bullet had grazed her leg, and put her out of commission for a week. Seeing that the wife of the dead man who shot her was currently on trial for murder, Mitchell and Kazansky thought she’d be a little more attentive.

“Actually,” she grinned, tapping her manicured nails against her phone case, giddy with excitement. “I have a date.”

Mitchell raised his eyebrows. “A date?”

“Yeah. He’s also a cop. He works patrol out of Franklin, near Thai Town. I met him when the trial first started.”

“I’ll be damned.” Tom grinned. “Who would have thought. Go on, don’t let us keep you. And don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

Jessie gave him a look as she turned to walk out the main courthouse doors. “Knowing you and Pete, that doesn’t stop me from doing much.”

Pete laughed. “She’s got us there, Tom.”

“Yeah, she does.”

Detective Pete Mitchell found it hard to believe that conversation had taken place just three years prior. He was ruminating over it as he pulled his Jeep into a parking space near the marina hall, taking in the balloons, partygoers and the chalkboard sign outside the entrance.

Welcome to the wedding of Jake Seresin and Jessica Statham.

“They grow up fast, don’t they?” Tom Kazansky wisecracked from the passenger seat. “She’s come a long way, as a person and as a cop.”

“I’ve never been prouder of someone I’ve mentored.” Pete agreed. “Come on, let’s get in there soon so we don’t have to sit at the back with the riff raff.”

Kazansky laughed. “The riff raff? You know its mostly cops in there, right?”

“They’re vice cops, Tom. Vice cops.”

The front hall of the building was deserted, a hair metal love ballad playing over the speaker as guests filed into the main room. To his right, Pete could see the bridal party gathering together. Jessie was in the middle, looking radiant in a simple white dress. Her hair was back its natural color, cascading in waves over her shoulders and back. Mickey Garcia, another RHD detective, was fiddling with her hair, attempting to straighten the ribbon holding it back from her face.

“Mickey, stop touching things! Natasha spent like two hours on this!”

Mickey and Jessie had come up through patrol together, alongside Javy Machado. They had gotten closer after Javy died, and Jessie continued to think of him as one of her best friends. He was always there to give her guidance, or listen to her rant about whatever rule Pete had broken that day.

“I thought you stopped listening to this stuff after the Ansel Howard appeal?” Pete remarked, approaching the group.

Jessie turned to face him, eyes lighting up. “Pete! You made it! And don’t talk about that disgusting man on my wedding day, please.” She resisted the urge to shudder thinking about the convicted felon who had leered at her in court and sent threatening letters to her house, or how his lawyer tried to tear her apart on the stand with her sealed juvenile record. “I’m glad you made it.”

Pete pulled her in for a hug, and had a vague sense that soon enough, he’d be watching his own daughter go through the same motions. “You might want to get Natasha to check your hair again. Make sure she can fix whatever Garcia has done to it.”

“It was crooked!” Mickey protested

Jessie giggled, pulling away from the detective. “I will. Hi, Tom. Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The other detective said, giving her a quick hug. “I hope we’re not too late.”

Jessie shook her head. “Just in time, actually.”

The detectives filed out the door, settling in at the wide end of the dock, where white wooden chairs with large ribbons on the backs had been set up. Ron Kerner, the chief desk officer out of Hollywood station, had saved the pair seats.

Back in the marina hall, Jessie was vibrating with excitement as the bridesmaids and groomsmen lined up to make their entrance. Jake Seresin was standing at the front with his mother, and Natasha had dramatically covered his eyes with a sleeping mask as everyone fell into their practiced positions. Jessie’s dad linked his arm with hers as Natasha passed her the bouquet of wildflowers.

“I’m so happy for you, Jessie.” Natasha gushed. “Don’t think about anything else out there. Just you and Jake.”

“Thank you, Nat. I’m ready to start whenever you guys are.”

The music started up, something neutral and cheery, as the groom and his mother, followed by the paired off bridesmaids and groomsmen (or, in Mickey’s case, Mickey and one of Jake's groomsmen striding down the dock like football players taking to the field at the Super Bowl). Jessie watched from the doorway, a wide smile on her face and feeling of elation in her stomach that was quickly weighed down by nerves.

Her dad squeezed her arm, looking down at her. “You’ve got this, kiddo.”

The music changed one final time, a soft new wave song from the mid-nineties. Jessie took a deep breath, tightened her hold on the bouquet, and began to walk down the pier. It was a beautiful day outside, sunlight reflecting off the blue water of the Marina del Rey. But all of that paled in comparison to the sight of her husband to be standing at the altar.

Jake Seresin took her breath away in his tight black suit, white carnations pinned to his lapel. His usually messy hair was moderately tamed, and Jessie had no doubt that he would smell like hair gel when she stood across from him. Goosebumps rose on her skin from the breeze, but she didn’t feel cold.

No, she felt warmth blossom through her chest when she saw Jake see her in her dress for the first time. His face went pink with emotion, tears pricking at his eyes.

Please don’t cry, she thought. If you cry, so will I, and then my mascara will run and the pictures will be ruined.

Her walk down the aisle seemed to both take too long and not long enough as she passed Natasha her bouquet, moving to stand in front of JaKe. One of his calloused hands came out to hold hers, rubbing reassuring circles on her palm.

“You look beautiful.” He choked out, tearing up. “I love you so much.”

She beamed at him, trying to keep her own emotions in check. “I love you too, Jacob Arthur Seresin.”

Behind them, the officiant cleared his throat. “It’s a little too soon for the vows, kids. I do have a speech to get through, you know.”

The couple laughed, refusing the let go of their held hands. The officiant began his speech, and Jessie took a peek out at the crowd. The seats were full, and she was floored that so many people had cared enough about her to come and watch her marry the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“Now, I know you guys are both cops, and there are default vows that cops usually say at these things,” the officiant started “but I do believe the bride and groom have written their own vows.”

From that moment forward, Jessie tattooed Jake’s vows to the inside of her brain. His vows to protect her, to love her, to always have her back, to cherish her. To be her safe haven when the world became too much.

And seven years later, when he walked out of their house in handcuffs, there was another promise he made that she couldn’t help but repeat like a mantra.

To never let her become a single mother.

Four years later

Jessie’s aging Volkswagen Golf waited in the intersection, blinker on with the expectation that traffic would cool enough for her to take the left hand turn that would set her and Jake back on their way to Los Angeles. They had spent the weekend in Pasadena with her parents, as well as her cousins and their kids.

She would be hesitant to admit it out loud, but seeing Jake interact with her nieces and nephews lit a fire inside her that she never knew was there. He was so good with kids, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he would act with a kid of his own. She knew in her gut that she would be such a good father.

“Will’s daughter is adorable.” Jake remarked, his hand trailing to Jessie’s jean-clad thigh. The radio hummed softly in the background, playing an old Huey Lewis song that they had danced to at their wedding. “Did you see the way she followed your sister around the kitchen, waving that wooden spoon about.”

Jessie snorted, tapping her fingernails against the steering wheel. “I thought she was going to take her brother’s eye out with that thing.”

The light changed from green to yellow. Seeing a gap in traffic, Jessie took her foot off the brake and completed her turn. Or at least, she tried to. There was a sickening crash as another vehicle cut in front of her, taking off the front end of her hood. The seatbelt dug into her stomach as the car spun around, her forehead snapping against the steering wheel right before the airbags engaged.

“Jessica!” Jake shouted after the car had stopped, straining around his seatbelt and the airbag dust to get a glimpse of his wife. “Jessica!” He fumbled with the car door, slicing through his seatbelt with the Swiss Army Knife in his jeans pocket.

He ran around the back of the car, ignoring the other driver who was cursing a storm at him over the wreckage of his Tesla. Jake clawed at the door, desperate to get to his wife. “Jess.” He said firmly, sawing at her seatbelt. She was groggy, but awake. She seemed unharmed, but Kevin wouldn’t know until he got her out of there.

“Jake?” She murmured, reaching for the collar of his flannel shirt.

“I’m right here, baby. Right here.”

With a sharp tug, he pulled her out of the driver’s seat, setting her down on the road. The Tesla driver was still shouting, screaming about how he was going to call the cops.

“You just hit two cops, you self-righteous son of a bitch!” Jake cried, fumbling for his badge. “Detective Jake Seresin, Hollywood Vice. Now I need you to call my wife a goddamn ambulance!”

Jessie’s jeans were soaked with blood, and there was a cut running down the side of her head where she was hit with broken glass from her rearview mirror.

“Sweetheart, you’re bleeding real bad. Are you hurt?”

Jessie shook her head, trying hard to keep her eyes open. “Just my head, I think. And my stomach. But it feels more like a cramp.”

“Just keep holding my hand, baby. I’m calling it in.” Kevin tried to stay levelheaded. There were a whole manner of injuries Jessie could have that weren’t visible. Internal bleeding, broken bones. His fingers stained his screen protector with blood as he dialed the 911 circuit board. “This is Detective Jake Seresin, my wife, Detective Jessica Seresin and I were just in a car accident in Pasadena, at the intersection near Robinson Stadium. We need an ambulance and two patrol units.”

The next few hours felt like an incoherent blur. Jake was largely fine aside from some bruising on his ribs from the airbags. Jessie’s condition was more complex, and Jake was worrying himself sick as he paced up and down the hospital waiting room, hoping that when the doctor came out, it would be with good news. He breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally allowed into the room to see her. The only other time they had been to the emergency room together was when Jessie had her heart episode, right in the middle of one of the LAPD’s most high-profile cases. Considering she had worked that case with Pete Mitchell, it was no surprise that it had driven her to a near heart attack.

He sat next to her hospital bed, taking her hand in his. There was a red mark on her hand where her wedding ring had been, now sitting on the nightstand next to her. Jessie was awake, and mostly alert. There was a bandage on the side of her head, but other than that, she seemed to be fine.

“Jake, you’re okay.” Jessie breathed, squeezing his hand. “I was worried about you.”

“I was worried about you, Jess. That was a lot of blood.”

“The doctor should be in in a moment.” The nurse standing next to Jessie’s bed gave the couple a tired smile as she finished adjusting Jessie’s IVs.

Shortly after the nurse had left, a broad-shouldered doctor came into the room, brandishing a clipboard. He cleared his throat before introducing himself to Jake. “Well, the good news is that you both are fine. All wounds were minor, but you both should be on the lookout for any delayed symptoms, especially those associated with whiplash.” The doctor paused. “Now for the bad news. Your baby didn’t make it.”

Jake sat up straighter. He felt Jessie’s hand tighten around his as she weakly gasped out “what baby?”

The doctor’s eyes widened. “Did you not know? Mrs. Seresin, you were nine weeks pregnant.”

Jessie froze in place, before letting out a choked wail. “No. No, no, no…”

“Oh, Jessica.” Jake sighed, feeling his heart shatter “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t know. I swear to God I didn’t know.” She sobbed, leaning against her husband for support.

“I know, honey. I know. I’ve got you.”

The months that followed were rough on both parties. Jessie withdrew from Jake, burying herself in her work. Jake started drinking, staying out later with his colleagues. He hated that Jessica was in so much pain and that there wasn’t anything he could do about it. At the same time, he was grieving what could have been. He didn’t realize just how badly he wanted to be a father until the universe ripped that opportunity from him.

It all came to a head when he came home from work and found Jessica sobbing on the kitchen floor, practically catatonic. She had required inpatient psychiatric care after that, at a facility in Santa Clarita. It wasn’t an easy decision for Jake to make, and he worried what the people around him would think, would say behind his back. But he didn’t know what else to do.

The day he dropped Jessica off at the facility, he drove back home in silence. Every song that came on in his Dodge Charger reminded him of her. When he got home, he sat on their living room couch and cried his eyes out. He slept in the guest bedroom for weeks afterwards.

So, when she approached him seven months after she came home from Santa Clarita and told him she wanted to start trying for another baby, he was hesitant. He couldn’t see her put herself through that cycle of guilt and shame again.

“Jessica, are you sure this is something you want?”

They were sitting on the patio together, her legs thrown over his. He had a beer in his hand, and she had an old-fashioned glass bottle of cream soda. She did look better. Her skin was a healthy color, and she had put on enough weight that she looked healthy. She was eating better, staying hydrated. She was almost back to being the woman that Jake had married.

Almost. There was something stirring behind her eyes, just below the surface.

“Jake, I’m better now. I’m medicated, I’m emotionally stable. I know you feel like the bad guy for sending me, but the psych ward did wonders for me.”

Jake winced. “I wish you wouldn’t call it that.”

“Why? That’s what it was. An inpatient mental health facility.”

“Psych ward just sounds so…rough. It was more like high-class rehab for people with mental health issues.”

“Jake, look at me.” She said sternly, resting a hand on his chest. “I want this. But more than that, I want this with you. Nobody else.”

Later that night, after a tender night spent pressed up against each other underneath cotton sheets, they lay next to each other in bed. Jessica had her legs up the wall, like the fertility websites she had spent the week reading had told her to do. Jake lay the opposite way, their faces meeting in the middle of the bed. She was mindlessly tracing shapes against his hairy chest, lost in thought.

“You’re going to be a phenomenal mother.” Jake said sincerely, taking her hand in his. “And this baby is going to be so loved.”

She met his gaze. “You really think we can do it?”

“I know we can. There’s nobody else I would want to bring a child into the world with but you, Jessica.”

Getting pregnant wasn’t easy either. Before long, it became a routine of ovulation calendars and fertility vitamins, as well as routine pregnancy tests. Five months of this routine went by before Jake brought up the elephant in the room and suggested they see a doctor, knowing full well that the LAPD’s insurance coverage didn’t apply to specialist doctors. Especially ones that dealt with fertility issues.

Jessica thought that it was her fault. That something had happened to her womb in the accident that would make it impossible for her to bear children. Four tests and three doctor’s appointments later, it turned out that she wasn’t the problem.

Jake was.

He blinked at the doctor, hand tightening around his wife’s. “I’m sorry, what? I’m not following.”

The doctor smiled sadly at him before reading the results again. “I’m afraid you have a low sperm count, Mr. Seresin. This could be why you’ve been having problems. Its not dangerously low in the sense that you wouldn’t be able to father a child, but it is low enough to be cause for concern. I understand you were able to conceive once before, and I see no reason that you wouldn’t be able to again. You just need a gentle nudge in the right direction.”

Two weeks later, he was still thinking about that conversation. It permeated every waking moment, including the mind-numbing hours spent in the passenger seat of Detective Bradley Bradshaw's battered Ford Edge, watching a laundromat that they knew was operating an illegal casino out of their upper floors.

What kind of man was he if he couldn’t give his wife a baby?

“Kid, how much money have you already spent on this?” Bradley stared at him from behind his aviator sunglasses. “Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

“Its not covered by insurance,” Jake continued, picking at the band of his watch. “And we are thousands of dollars in outstanding invoices. I haven’t told Jessie. How can I? She’d make us stop going, and that would destroy her. She really wants this, Bradley.”

Bradley frowned, popping a cashew into his mouth. “How do you feel about moonlighting?”

Jake scoffed. “What, rent-a-cop private security gigs? Come on, man. I’m a goddamn detective. I don’t need to be doing all that.”

“And yet even on the salary of two second-tier detectives, you can’t afford your own medical bills.” Bradley pointed out. “Just come with me tonight, I’ll pick you up. Jessica doesn’t need to know about it.”

Jake had a bad feeling in his gut that this job wouldn’t be entirely legal. At the same time, he didn’t think he was in any position to be turning down paying work. That night, when he came home from work, Jessica was in the kitchen, lights dimmed low and Amy Winehouse playing from the stereo. She was still dressed in her blazer from work, hips swaying as she stirred the pan on the stove.

“God, baby, that smells incredible. What are you making.”

“Pasta with lamb sauce.” Jessie replied, not looking up from the pan. “Hey, I got you something. Can you open the white envelope I left on your plate?”

Jake left his leather jacket and boots in the front hallway, washing his hands in the kitchen sink before he kissed his wife on the side of the head and moved to open the envelope. He had half slid the contents out of the envelope when his heart slipped a beat.

“Jessica, are you really?”

Jessie switched off the stove, turning to gave her husband with a broad smile on her face. “We did it, Jake. I’m pregnant.”

“Oh my God!” Jake broke into a smile, pulling the ultrasound picture the rest of the way out of the envelope. He thought he was going to tear up looking at the little image, his beautiful baby. “Come here.”

“Jake Seresin, are you crying?” She giggled, wrapping her arms around her husbands waist before leaning up to kiss him.

“Of course I’m fucking crying! We’re going to be parents! I’m so happy right now, honey.”

Laughing with glee, Jake leaned down to kiss his wife. Everything had been worth it. Even though he knew he was running out of time to pay off those invoices before the debt collectors showed up.

Even though he knew babies were expensive, and their expenses would soon start piling up.

Nothing else mattered, because he was going to be a father, and there was nothing Jake Seresin wouldn’t do to protect his family.

Bradley picked him up at eight that night. It was dark outside, the road ahead lit only by the detectives headlights. Bradley never said where they were going or what they were doing, and had shut down all of Jake’s attempts at conversation. The neighborhoods they were driving through were getting richer and richer, and that bad feeling Jake’s stomach continued to grow.

They didn’t park near the house, instead leaving the Ford one block away. Confused, Jake followed Bradley, taking long strides to try and keep up. Something felt off. If their work was above board, why did they park so far away, and why were they sneaking around late at night in Beverly Hills?

He watched as Bradley knocked on the door, the two detectives standing side by side on the large doorstep. As soon as the door opened, Bradley lashed out with a yell, punching the homeowner on the other side in the nose.

“Dude, what the fuck!” Jake shouted, following his partner into the entryway. “What is going on here?”

“Shut up.” Bradley snapped back, digging his phone out of his pocket. He crouched next to the bloodied homeowner, showing him something on his phone. Jake crept closer, trying to get a glimpse of the screen. Playing out on Bradley’s phone, the man in front of them was actively engaging in a threesome with two tall blondes. Given the angle of the recording, he didn’t know it was being filmed

Bradley looked towards one of the pictures in the front hall, showing that same man posing with a stunning Indian woman and their two children.

“I bet your wife and kids wouldn’t be too pleased to know that when you go out of town for a business trip, you’re actually going down to Hollywood to pay to get your dick sucked.”

the man was cowering on the floor, blood dripping onto the tile. “What do you want from me?” He shouted at Bradley.

Jake felt sick and started slowly backing away to the door. This was a side of Bradley he’s never seen before. One that sickened him. Yet somehow, he knew it had to have always been there. There was a reason Hollywoods vice cops had the highest corruption rates.

He just never thought he’d be adding to that statistic.

“Give me twenty grand, and the video gets deleted. Half of the money goes to me, the other half to my friend here.” Bradshaw nodded his head in Jake’s direction. “All cash, totally untraceable. We take gold too. Maybe a Rolex or two if you’ve got them lying around.”

“Man, enough.” Jake insisted. “Come on, let’s just go.”

Bradley glared at him. “Do you want to be able to pay your mortgage or not.”

“No. Not like this.”

“Well,” Bradley started, getting to his feet and kicking the unnamed man in the stomach. “You no longer have a choice.”

They left the house shrouded in an awkward silence. Jake’s hands were shaking, hidden in the pockets of his leather jacket. So many questions were running through his mind as they walked back to Bradley’s car.

“Man, I know it looked rough,” Bradley started “but we’re not doing anything wrong. That man is richer than god, and if he’s gonna cheat on his wife, we might as well get something out of it.”

“You literally beat him until he agreed to give you money, and then made me an accomplice!” Jake hissed. “I just found out my wife is pregnant, I can’t be running around doing shit like this!”

“And if you don’t want to watch your kid grow up from behind bars, you’re going to do exactly as I say.” Bradley huffed, shoving Jake backwards. “From now on, I own you.”

Jessie was asleep on the couch when Jake got home, a paperback book still clutched in her hands. He tried to be quiet as he came in through the front hall, but she stirred anyways.

“Jake,” she smiled. “You’re back. How’s Bradley?”

Jake shrugged. He didn’t want to lie to Jessie, but he was so ashamed of what he had seen that he couldn’t tell her the truth either. “He’s alright. Not much new there, I see him every day. How are you doing? You look exhausted.”

Jessie laughed, pulling the blanket she was wrapped in tighter around her shoulders. “I feel exhausted.”

“You’re doing everything for two now, sweetheart. It’s okay to take some time to rest.” Jake soothed, kissing her forehead gently. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“I love you, Jake Seresin.”

“I love you more, Jessica Seresin.”

Jake Seresin would do whatever it took to keep Jessie safe.

Whatever. It. Took.

Even if it meant being at Bradley Bradshaws beck and call.

#jake seresin x reader #love is a losing game series #top gun x reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin imagine #top gun maverick x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman top gun x reader

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charliedawn · 17 hours ago

Text

HUNT THE FREAK

Eddie Munson x Teacher!Reader

Part 4

You were grading papers at the bench you had first met Eddie when you felt someone watching you. Glancing up, you found Eddie sitting there in front of you, an easy smirk on his lips and—was that your sandwich ?!

You blinked. “Are you seriously eating my lunch right now, Mister Munson ?”

Eddie took a huge bite, groaning dramatically. “Mmm, man. This ? This is art. You sure you’re in the right profession ? ‘Cause I think you might’ve missed your true calling.”

You stared at him. He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. Finally, you sighed, shaking your head. “If you wanted a sandwich, you could’ve just asked. I would have made two.”

You then looked back down at the papers you were grading and shook your head.

“Oh, I know,” he said through another bite. “But where’s the fun in that ?”

You exhaled, putting down your pen. “Eddie. Why are you really here ?”

He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “Well, I figured since you haven’t ratted me out yet about the drug stuff, you’re either the coolest teacher I’ve ever met or you’re really bad at your job.”

You gave him a deadpan look. He held up his hands and chuckled.

“Kidding ! Kidding. You’re great. Phenomenal, even.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And ?”

He hesitated, tapping his fingers against the table. Then, with an uncharacteristically sheepish look, he muttered, “I might need help with, uh…English, and Philosophy, and Maths…and actually—everything ?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Mister Munson. Are you asking me for tutoring ?”

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t make it a whole thing, teach. You don’t have to. Just wanted to shoot my shot…just in case.”

You stared at him for a moment before a slow smile crept onto your face. “Alright, Eddie,” you said, leaning back. “I’ll help you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Wait—really ?”

You nodded. "Yes. How about we start tonight after school ? I will help you with English, Philosophy and History. However, we will need other people to tutor you in scientific subjects and sports."

He raised an eyebrow and a smile extended across his face. "Tonight ? Damn, you really want to get started immediately, huh ? I thought we’d start all that next week or something. And uh…I dunno of any smarty-pants my age who’d wanna help with the nerdy subjects. Definitely no one I know who’s good at sports, though."

You started thinking about it. "…We need someone who is notoriously good at sports. Do you know anyone who might want to help you ? I mean…I would ask Jason, but I am not sure you two are on very good terms."

The mention of Jason immediately made Eddie scoff and roll his eyes. "Yeah, me and the king of Hawkins High ain’t exactly best buddies, so I’d rather not ask him. He’d probably tell me to piss off."

He thought about it for a few seconds, trying to think of someone who could help with sports before he seemed to find a name. "…Maybe Lucas Sinclair ? I’ve seen him play basketball, he’s pretty good—"

You smiled. "Great. And I guess I might ask Mrs. Kelly Schmidt for the scientific subjects. She is retired, but as she is my aunt—I might ask her for her help."

He nodded once, taking note of the names. "Lucas Sinclair, Mrs. Kelly Schmidt. They sound like a good choice. But…I gotta warn you. I’ve probably missed so much stuff that it’s gonna be like starting from scratch. Can’t promise you I’ll learn everythin’ as quickly as you hope. I’m gonna be pretty slow…if you could even call it learning. I doubt I’ll even be able to learn anything at all."

You took his hand. "Mister Munson. You will succeed. I promise."

He had to fight back the urge to smile as you grabbed his hand. The moment felt…weird, but also nice. He’d honestly never had anyone support him so much like you did. He wasn’t used to it, but he kinda…liked it. He nodded at your words, trying to keep his cool. "I sure hope so, teach. I don’t wanna disappoint you."

You smiled. "You won’t."

He wasn’t completely convinced, but your words somewhat reassured him. He wasn’t used to having anyone have such blind optimism towards him. But for some reason, he believed that you’d be right, that he’d actually succeed.

He nodded. "…Alright, I’ll trust you. So…English, Maths and Sports. Those are my worst subjects, anyway."

You nodded and smiled. "So…see you tonight at the library at 5:30 pm, Mister Munson ?"

He smiled back and nodded. “Sure. Library, 5:30. I’ll be there. See ya later, teach.”

You nodded back. "Well, run along now."

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’.” He stood up and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He put down the sandwich to leave, but couldn’t help but turn back around to look at you one last time.

“Hey, teach…”

You looked at him. "Yes, Mister Munson ?"

He hesitated before saying. “I just…wanna say thanks. Y’know, for putting so much effort into all this. Never had a teacher so invested in me and my education like you are. It, uh…it means a lot.”

Your eyes widened slightly before you nodded. "Thank you for your kind words, Mister Munson. I will see you tonight."

He nodded once, a small smile on his face. “Yeah. See you then, teach.”

With that, he finally headed out of the class, disappearing into the hallway. Your eyes followed him until he was out of sight before your smile faltered slightly. You sighed before getting rubbing your eyelids. And just like that, your life at Hawkins High got a whole lot more interesting.

…

That night, at exactly 5:30 PM, you sat at a table in the Hawkins High library, a neat stack of books in front of you. You glanced at the clock, half-expecting Eddie to be late—or not show up at all. But, to your surprise, at 5:29 PM, the library doors swung open, and in strolled Eddie Munson, looking a little out of place but determined.

He dropped his bag onto the chair opposite you, flopping into it dramatically. "Alright, teach. Hit me with your best shot. Let’s see if this brain of mine can actually hold onto something that isn’t song lyrics or D&D rules."

You smiled, handing him a notebook. "Let’s see where you’re at, and then we’ll go from there."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Alright, but if I start crying, you better pretend not to notice."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "No promises, Munson. Now, let’s get started."

And with that, the tutoring sessions began.

“Now, is there anything in particular you’d like to start with ?”

He shrugged. “Not really. I’m failing everything, so it doesn’t matter where we start. It’s all the same.”

There was a flicker of disappointment in your eyes, but you quickly pushed it aside, offering him a reassuring smile.

“That’s perfectly fine. How about we start with English ? You read Of Mice and Men. What did you think ?”

Eddie slumped slightly, considering the question.

“It was…good,” he admitted. “A lot of the fancy writing stuff went over my head, but I liked the story. It was real sad, though—all that stuff with Lennie and…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “Didn’t like the ending.”

You nodded, leaning forward. “That’s fair. What about it didn’t sit right with you ?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It just felt hopeless. I know that’s the point, but I hated how it all ended like that. What’s the point of fighting for something if it’s just gonna blow up in your face ?”

You studied him for a moment. “So, you think George and Lennie deserved a happy ending ?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said without hesitation. “They went through all that crap together. They were the only ones who really had each other, y’know ? They deserved better. They didn’t deserve to end like everyone else.”

You caught onto something in his voice—something bitter, something personal. You smiled and tilted your head quizzically at him.

“...Like everyone else ?” you asked gently.

A dry scoff left his lips. “Yeah. ‘Cause let’s be real—how often does anyone actually get a happy ending ? People either fail, get left behind, or end up alone. It’s all just—” He gestured vaguely. “Empty.”

You hadn’t expected the conversation to take such a dark turn, but you could work with that. You knew that Eddie had been raised by his uncle and that it made him lonely to some extent. He thought happy endings didn’t exist—and who could blame him ?

“I don’t think it was about the end,” you said carefully. “I think it was about the dream itself. About hope.”

Eddie frowned. “Hope ?”

He eyed you skeptically, arms tightening over his chest.

“How does hope matter if everything just ends in failure and disappointment ?”

You shook your head.

“Not all dreams end badly,” you said softly. “George’s stories gave Lennie something to hold onto. Something to believe in. And even in the end, George made sure Lennie died thinking about that dream—about their little house, the rabbits, a future where he belonged.”

Eddie’s expression flickered, just for a second, before he masked it again.

“I guess…” he muttered. “Still sucks, though. Would’ve been better if they actually got their happy ending.”

You smiled, though there was sadness in it.

“But would it have felt real ?” you asked. “Steinbeck wrote about people fighting for something, even when the odds were against them. That’s why it resonates with so many people. Because even if their dream didn’t come true, Lennie believed in it until the very end. And that belief made him happy.”

Eddie was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he huffed a small, reluctant laugh.

“You make it sound way deeper than I did.”

You grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Eddie sat in silence for a moment, mulling it over. A part of him still felt like the whole thing was cruel—like the writer had dangled hope in front of people just to rip it away at the last second. But at the same time…he got what you were saying. And, if he was being honest, you had a point. Lenny died happy. George was sad to have to kill him but…Lenny died happy."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before nodding.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right, teach. It’s just—” He exhaled sharply. “It’s just sad, y’know ?”

You nodded, your voice soft.

“It is. It’s heartbreaking. But think about it—two men, poor, unemployed, one with a disability, fighting on until the very end because of that dream. That little ranch, the rabbits, that life they believed they could have.” You smiled, though there was sorrow in it. “That’s beautiful.”

Eddie considered that. And, yeah…he couldn’t deny it. George and Lennie had held onto hope for as long as they could, even when the world gave them every reason to let go.

He hesitated, debating whether to say what was on his mind.

“…Miss G ?”

You raised an eyebrow at the nickname but played along. He had already called you that before and you didn’t want to correct him. He seemed to have grown attached to the nickname.

“Yes, Mister Munson ?”

He took a deep breath, suddenly unsure if he even wanted to ask. But the words were already forming, and something about talking to you—someone who actually listened—made him feel like maybe he should.

“Be honest with me, teach…Do you think people can actually make their dreams come true ? Their hopes, their wishes…?” His voice trailed off, eyes dropping to the table. “That it’s not just…y’know…”

You rested your chin on your palm, offering him a small, knowing smile.

“Well…I think it depends. On the person. And the dream.” Your gaze softened. “You do have a dream, don’t you Mister Munson ?”

He nodded, slow and hesitant. It felt strange to even admit it out loud—only his uncle really knew. He never talked about it with anyone else, never gave them the chance to shoot it down. But for some reason, right now…he wanted you to know. He had given you his essay, but maybe talking about it would help.

He swallowed hard, fingers tapping restlessly against the table.

“It—it’s kinda stupid,” he muttered. “Not like it’ll ever actually happen, but…” He took a breath, steeling himself. “I wanna make it big. Be a star. Play to sold-out crowds, have people actually pay to see me. And my band—Corroded Coffin.”

The words hung in the air between you. You listen attentively. And for once, Eddie Munson wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear someone else’s opinion—or if he was terrified of it.

You sat in silence for a moment, studying him.

“Do you want my honest opinion, Eddie ?”

His stomach twisted slightly as he nodded, bracing himself. He fully expected you to laugh, to tell him it was a foolish dream, that guys like him didn’t make it out of places like Hawkins. But then you smiled.

“I believe you’ll make it. I believe you’ll graduate. I believe you’ll leave Hawkins. And I believe I’ll be holding the very first ticket to Corroded Coffin’s first real concert.”

Eddie’s heart nearly stopped. Of all the responses he’d imagined, that one hadn’t even crossed his mind. He stared at you, wide-eyed, struggling to process what you’d just said. For a few seconds, he was completely speechless.

Then, finally, he managed to snap out of it.

“You—wait, what ? Are you serious, teach ?”

You chuckled.

“Did I stutter, Mister Munson ?”

He let out a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, his grin turning sheepish.

“Uh…no, guess you didn’t. But do you really think I can make it ? Really ? With Corroded Coffin?”

Your smile softened.

“Well, I don’t know much about metal—or Corroded Coffin, for that matters—but yes, Eddie. I believe in you. And I believe that, given time, you’re capable of great things.”

Eddie was stunned for a moment before a wide grin crept onto his face. A warm sense of pride swelled in his chest. Someone believing in him—truly, wholeheartedly believing—almost too good to be true. He suddenly wanted to give you a high-five, maybe even a hug, just for saying that. It had been a long, long time since he’d felt this way.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he absentmindedly toyed with one of his rings.

“Damn, teach…if you keep saying stuff like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’re in love with me or somethin’…”

Your amused expression immediately flattened into something unimpressed.

“Mister Munson. Please. Do not be ridiculous. Now, let’s focus back on Of Mice and Men before I start getting gray hair from this.”

Eddie let out another chuckle, nodding.

“Relax, teach, relax…I’m only kiddin’. But yeah, yeah, Of Mice and Men, right…”

He glanced down at his open book, pretending to study it for a few moments before snickering to himself.

“But y’know…I just know you’d look real good with gray hair. I can see it now—” A slow smirk spread across his face as he imagined it: you, years from now, shaking your head at him, strands of gray streaking through your hair, all because of the stress of helping him graduate.

You rolled your eyes and cleared your throat.

“Mister Munson. Book.”

His grin widened at your reaction, but he nodded, flipping through the pages.

“Right, right, book. Got it…”

You shook your head with a small smile before resuming the lesson. You then went over some key elements for the tests and you explained to him some key moments in history—trying to make him remember the dates and the places. He took notes and smiled. It wasn’t bad. Once it was over, you stood up, gathering your things.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Mister Munson. Try to rest. And maybe—maybe—attend all your classes ?”

Eddie stood as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. No promises, though—there’s only so much chemistry a human brain can take in one day, y’know ?”

As he gathered his stuff, he glanced at the door, then back at you. That familiar, mischievous grin returned.

“Hey, teach ?”

You turned as you walked toward the library doors.

“Yes, Mister Munson ?”

He trailed behind, slinging his bag over his shoulder. As you both stepped into the hallway, he leaned down slightly, voice lowering to a playful murmur near your ear.

“Can I ask ya somethin’ real quick ? Just a lil’ thing I wanna know.”

You arched an eyebrow at him and smiled.

“You are full of questions, aren’t you ? Too bad they’re rarely about the curriculum.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, c’mon, teach…not every question has to be about school.” That signature smirk of his grew as he tilted his head, eyeing you with that teasing glint in his gaze. “This one’s not, by the way. Just one quick question. Pretty please ?”

You sighed, already sensing trouble, but humored him anyway as you both walked down the empty corridor toward the exit.

“One.”

A triumphant grin spread across Eddie’s face as he stepped just a little closer, clearly enjoying this little game.

“Alright then…This one’s real easy. Just a fun little question…”

He paused when you reached the entrance, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked onto yours with unmistakable amusement.

“Do you…have a boyfriend, by any chance ? A husband ? Or a girlfriend ? I am not judging if you do. Just…wondering.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, arching an eyebrow as you looked at him. You blinked. That was definitely unexpected. He seemed to sense your discomfort and quickly added.

“Not to be weird or anything but…I was just wondering if you didn’t have a family to take care of ? Wouldn’t want you to miss on fun family bonding time because you’re tutoring lil’ old me, you know ?”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously at him.

"Now…why would you be asking that ? Why do you care, Mister Munson ?"

Eddie shrugged, still leaning lazily against the wall, tilting his head slightly.

“Just…curious.”

With that, he pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer. That ever-present smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze locked onto yours. His hands remained tucked into the pockets of his jacket, but the way he stood—just a little too close for a casual student-teacher conversation.

You let out a hum and placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back.

"…Sorry, Mister Munson. But I am not interested in answering that question. It is of an intimate nature. Ask another one—or remain silent."

He let out a small scoff at the push but didn’t resist, allowing himself to be moved back slightly. He shrugged, though the smirk never left his face.

“Come on, Miss G…”

He stayed quiet for a beat, still standing a little too close, before humming under his breath.

“Fine, fine…one other question, then.”

Then, without warning, he took another step forward, closing the distance between you once more. His eyes darkened slightly, that cocky grin growing as he leaned down, just enough to angle himself over you.

“Do you…have any interest in dating someone younger than you, by any chance ?”

You stared at him for a long moment, unimpressed. No shame whatsoever.

"Mister Munson. That is another inappropriate question. Now, I believe it is time for us to go our separate ways. See you tomorrow, in class." And with that, you turned on your heel and walked out of the school.

Eddie sighed, rocking back on his heels as he watched you go. He supposed he’d have to settle for the small bit of fun he’d managed to squeeze out of the moment. But just before you disappeared from view, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called after you, his voice filled with unhidden amusement.

“Alright, teach ! See ya tomorrow—and sweet dreams !”

You simply raised a hand in a wordless wave, never looking back as you got into your car.

He watched as you drove off, his smirk lingering. A small part of him was annoyed that you hadn’t given him a straight answer. But a bigger part of him ? Yeah. He definitely liked messing with you. Besides, it was just mindless teasing. He knew he had no chance whatsoever. He was just curious. Maybe he’d just have to try again another time to have an answer. Chuckling to himself, Eddie shoved his hands back into his pockets and started walking away.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader

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