#and then he’s asked to play some music in the lab

[m00nagedreamin]

peter parker totally has a playlist of songs that remind him of ironman that he made before he became spiderman

he still listens to it he just… chooses to not let anyone see that playlist name. yk since sharing that you used to be a huge tony stark fanboy when you now work for him is unprofessional or something

[limethefirst]

im sorry i but i have to get in on this sonic movie s shadow train i love this movie so much as well! And ive been dieing for some movie shadow x readers to pop up. Is it alright if i request something? Can we have a shadow the hedgehog x reader where you also are living in the g.u.n base maria and shadow were? Your father or mother being on of the scientists and one day maria and shadow find you alone in a corner of the base writing music or playing with toys something (your marias age). Thrn they introuce themselfs and maybe you become part of their gaggle of fraggles to always being with them to the point your mother and gerald agree for you and maria both to share a room. With you shadow and maria being so close in time till your all like siblings? Idk this just sounded so cute. Thank you of your able to write this!

Birds of a Feather

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x reader x Maria Robotnik (platonic)

warnings: none!!!

summary: after being brought to work with your mother, Maria and Shadow stumble upon you, deciding to invite you to join their little group, from then on the three of you became inseparable

a/n: this is such a cute request! I was gonna end it with both Maria and the reader dying but I think Shadow has been traumatized enough for now…

“You stay put! I have work to do in the lab okay?” Your mother’s voice was stern; being a single mother was tough, especially because she had no one to take care of you while she did her work. You gave her a small nod, acknowledging her request.

A slight sigh escaped her lips as she lightly caressed your cheek, “Just, behave for me please,” was the last thing she told you before she walked into the door to your right, the words ‘Laboratory’ in bright white above the area.

You slowly sat down on the floor, she’d asked you to not leave and you really wanted to respect her decision, even as a child you knew her life was harder than she’d let on.

Unfortunately you were a child with a small attention span. You dug into your pockets and found a small notebook with equations, probably from your mom and a small pencil. Since there was nothing better to do maybe it was best to just draw a little bit, maybe some flowers and animals you liked.

Sitting there, you slightly hunched over, trying your hardest to draw the most beautiful roses and some bees and landscape you could. Suddenly a voice rang out from above you, “What are you doing here?” Your head snapped up, meeting the eyes of a small blonde girl and a strange black and red hedgehog.

“Uhm my mom works here..” you nervously answered her, “What are you doing here?” You asked her exact question but back at her.

“My grandfather works here!” She proudly exclaimed. The hedgehog looked between the both of you, he stood covered behind her, he had a mean face but you could tell he was more curious than anything.

The girl taking note of the awkward silence decided to introduce herself, “I’m Maria! And this is Shadow! What’s your name?”

You looked between the two, taking in who they were before you quietly responded with your name, Maria let out a big grin and Shadow silently repeated it to himself, “What are you drawing?” Maria asked, looking at the small notebook in your hand. You looked down at it and turned it over so the two could see; it looked like a small rabbit with butterflies and flowers around it, “Woah that looks really cool!”

Shadow silently nodded, agreeing with her. You thanked the two of them, fidgeting with your pencil. As Maria continued to talk you took notice of her outfit, she wore a pastel rainbow long sleeve shirt and loose pants with skates on her feet instead of shoes. She must’ve noticed you staring at them as she suddenly asked, “Do you wanna try them!?”

You hesitantly shook your head, as much as you wanted to you didn’t really know her and if she would even be okay with that. Maria reassured you that it was fine and actually really fun, before you could tell her a definite no she’d already taken them off, placing them in front of you, “Try them! Shadow can pull you around,”

Shadow looked between the both of you, clearly not having agreed but Maria nodded her head yes, leaving Shadow to only agree. Surely your mom wouldn’t notice if you were gone for a quick second.

Once you were geared up and Maria found a rope to tie onto Shadow and for you to hold, she grabbed her timer, “Ready, set, go!!” Before you had time to really brace yourself Shadow had already set off, he ran through the base, his face held a small smile as he checked back a few times to check if you were still holding on.

He saw the wide smile you had, your laughter was echoing throughout the hall filled with the other agents. Quickly you already finished the lap and had made your way back to Maria, but unfortunately you didn’t exactly know how to stop, so as Shadow had slowed down you still held a generally fast speed. Too fast actually, causing you to trip and fall face first; thankfully the fast hedgehog was able to grab you and hold you up before you fell and ate concrete.

Maria ran over to check and make sure you were okay, feeling guilt if she somehow made you upset from almost falling. As you stood up, you turned back to look at the two, your extremely wide smile shocking them both, it was almost contagious as Maria started to smile and laugh and Shadow breathed a sigh of relief but you could see the small twitch in his lips making them quirk up.

Suddenly you heard your name coming from beside you, turning you saw your mom as well as her boss Professor Gerald Robotnik looking at the three of you, “I thought I told you to stay put!” Her expression wasn’t one of anger, more a mix of stress and lack of sleep.

“Mom! I’m sorry I just met Maria and Shadow and they’re really fun and I thought it was okay, we didn’t cause any trouble-“ You started to ramble feeling immense guilt for betraying your own mother, but you were suddenly cut off.

“Now now, I think it’s quite alright, you see Maria is my granddaughter, and I trust her and your child doesn’t seem bad” The professor interrupted and explained to your mother, “I actually think it’s good for the kids to hangout and get along” he advocated for you.

All three of you nodded your head, even Shadow was agreeing! Your mom reluctantly nodded her head, agreeing that he was right.

And so you came daily, until your mom had to start working 24/7 and so Gerald let you stay in Maria’s room, even getting you guys a bunk bed. It was nice, the three of you became like the three musketeers, you’d never see each other alone anymore.

Sometimes Maria would play music and you three would all dance and jump around together. At some point you even got your own pair of skates so that you three could race, although Shadow always won.

Life was fun, everyday was like an endless sleepover, sometimes the three of you would sneak out and watch the stars, even falling asleep under the moonlight. It wasn’t bad, not at all.

These were the best days of your life, just you and your two best friends.

[phant0mth1ef]

more of bakugou x support course reader!

after you’d fixed his gauntlets, he realized just how much you’d improved them as he was training in class one day, noticing how they’re able to withstand his blasts as if nothing had happened, and noticing that you etched the word dynamight onto the rim of the silver at the bottom of the grenade shaped gauntlet.

he found himself in the support course work room once again, looking aroundbto see if he could find you to, well, somewhat thank you and ask if you had any other recommendations to add to his costume.

his shoes hit the floor as he was able to fully see the room during the day, watching as the students shuffled around and didn’t just casually cater to someone standing in their doorway, they were too engrossed in their own projects.

he grabbed one’s shoulder as they tried to speed by him, almost dropping the poor boy as his items fell on the floor.

“where’s extra #1?” he asked, his eyes squinting at the boy who just wanted to grab his things and go.

“who?” the boy squeaked.

“extra #1!” he whisper shouted as the confusion on the boy’s face never faltered.

“…”

“l/n.” he finally gave up, realizing the boy wasn’t gonna understand what he meant.

“oh! she’s currently over at mirko’s agency! she designs support gear for her y’know! she’s so talented.” the boy gushed as bakugou swore he saw a slight blush on his cheeks before pushing him forward and letting him go, walking out the door.

he normally wouldn’t do this. but oh man did he really need that support gear today! the boy was walking around town looking for the number 5 hero’s agency, even stopping some people on patrol to ask!

he was outside the doors, watching with anticipation as he looked inside, watching power loader scold you, a sheepish smile on your face.

bakugou opened the doors, a soft music playing in the background as he caught the end of your conversation with the teacher.

“and get your grades up or i’m taking your keys to the lab!”

you put a hand behind your neck as you looked towards who had just walked in the door, a look of confusion on your face as you spotted the blonde hero in training.

you had grease on your face and dirt covering your arms up to your elbows, and yet he didn’t find himself completely repulsed, just fascinated.

“bakugou? what’re you doing here?” you spoke, a large screw in your hand as you waved him over.

“i, uh, i need your help with something.”

you nodded.

“d’ya have anymore recommendations for me? like to add onto my hero outfit? i liked the way you messed with my gauntlets.

“you came all the way over here to ask me that?” your tone was questioning, and your face wasn’t having any of it.

“listen! i’ve got a mission soon and if you do have anything to add i want it on by then! got it, extra?!” he got defensive quick.

“are you forgetful or do you just like to piss me off?”

he was stubborn, you were stubborn.

the perfect match for one another!

“tch. y’know what i don’t even know why i bothered coming out here! clearly you’re just an egotistical asshole.” he turned around.

“fine! then go! i’m not exactly asking to design your support gear anyway! bitch.” you said with pride, although you whispered the last part.

as the door jingled, signaling his exit, you could hear footsteps approaching from behind you.

“well well well, seems like we’ve found someone with enough spunk to finally match yours!” mirko clapped, announcing that out loud to everyone who was sitting in the lobby.

“tch. he wishes.”

“i dunno, the way you were talking to each other, i’d say there’s some romantic tension there, aren’t i right akari?” she turned to her assistant who nodded.

the next day bakugou showed up to the lab, just sitting there waiting to be acknowledged, although you blatantly ignored him the whole time he was there, going on with your day while people from his class walked in and were instantly assisted, even deku.

he would sit there and wait. and that’s all he’d do. day after day for a whole week before you finally begun to notice him sitting there.

“alright i can’t focus with you huffing and puffing in the corner over there!” you dropped your tools, clanking against one another as they hit your workspace.

“i don’t want to help you. but you’ve got persistence. i’ll give you that.” you said as you grabbed some things from a drawer, shoving them into his chest.

“what’s this?”

“a mix of different things. smaller compact grenades that pack a bigger punch than your other ones, these are ear plugs that’ll allow you to hear without damaging your hearing further, this is a roll of tape. for you to shut up.” you gave a chesire grin at the last one.

surprisingly, he chuckled. he didn’t think he’d ever find someone who… “matched his freak,” as mina would describe it.

he also found himself liking the feeling of sitting there and watching you in your element, so much that he begun to come in after classes just to chat with you while you worked.

you weren’t as bad as he thought, he wasn’t as bad as you thought.

you could get used to this.

[mellowmadds]

Casual Study Dates | Peter Parker

(MCU) Peter Parker/Fem Stark Reader

Warnings - slightly suggestive

Summary - Avenger’s compound a usually busy place hustling with activity seems unusually quiet for the day. leaving y/n and Peter in a sticky situation (pun intended)

Word Count: 1,237

°°••....••°°

Avenger’s Compound, a place that’s usually bustling with activities and combat training sometime’s has quiet days like this where super-powered humans who have insanely intense hearing can hear a pin drop from across campus. For you though being one of the youngest on the team you hated those days because it seemed as if everybody always wanted to see what you were up to. You weren’t necessarily an avenger but you were extremely smart and helped out around the lab and worked on some Stark Industries projects with your dad every once and a while. And that’s how you met Peter Parker and during those first two years of awkward conversations and study dates you two seemed to find some comfort in all that awkwardness.

“Are you nervous about MIT sending out their decisions soon?” Peter asked while getting comfortable on your bed while staring out at the beautiful city view.

“Why would I be nervous Peter? Most of my family are MIT Alumni.” You said a bit cocky if you really think about it.

“I- know it’s just I figured maybe you’d be experiencing the same nerves I was. It was a stupid question nevermind sorry” Peter stuttered out.

“You don’t have to be sorry Peter and you definitely don’t have to worry my dad put in a good word about you. You’re one hundred percent getting into MIT” You told him confidently.

You knew Peter was an anxious person and you’d do anything to take his nerves away.

“Now are we going to keep stressing about MIT or are we going to figure out these formulas that Bruce gave us to solve?” You asked while holding up the stack of papers labeled ‘Top Secret Formulas’.

Peter nodded his head yes while lifting his body off your bed to instead sit on the edge of the bed closer to your desk where all of your work was scattered across your laptop.

“But first I need to put some music on or else I won’t be able to focus” You said before sliding the miscellaneous papers off your laptop.

“That’s the Stark in you talking, how can you focus better with music blasting in your ears?” Peter asked while laughing.

“I guess you are right, that is a classic trait of my dads. But it just helps me focus better. I don't know, I can't explain it.” You turned on your playlist before flipping to the first page of the stack of formulas Bruce assigned you to solve.

Your speaker was loud but who cares it’s not like anyone cared or was listening everyone was off doing their own things. The first few songs were upbeat and fun but the farther you got into your playlist the more guilty pleasure songs started playing, but Peter didn’t mind he was blocking out the music anyways so he could focus better on the formulas in front of him. What you didn’t know was that Steve and Nat were standing outside your room listening.

“Knee deep where? doing what?” Steve said worriedly looking over at Nat.

“It’s just a song Steve stop being so old-school” Nat smirked back at him.

“But Peter’s in there with her, what if they aren’t actually studying?” Steve asked as any worried uncle would.

“The song is talking about having relations in the bathroom during dinner time, that’s not appropriate Nat” Steve said firmly not accepting any excuse now.

Nat wasn’t interested in continuing this conversation any further and started walking toward the living quarters where there sat Bucky, Clint, Bruce and of course Tony.

“What’s got you so tense Cap? Your boyfriends right here if you have to relieve some tension” Tony laughed making fun of Steve and Bucky’s unusual bromance.

“I think you should worry more about what your daughter and Peter are doing upstairs” Steve said, crossing his arms.

“What? What are you talking about Cap? His vigilant ass better not be corrupting my innocent perfect daughter” Tony angrily stated as his face turned a shade of red nobody expected.

“They are listening to a song about having relations in the car and bathroom” Steve said pointing upstairs to your room.

“And you didn’t shut it down the moment you heard that? What kind of uncle are you?” Tony asked running up the stairs to take a listen for himself.

“Oh my gosh the lyrics are filthy but it sounds so calming, how does an artist achieve that?” Tony muttered under his breath before harshly knocking on your bedroom door and bursting in unannounced.

“What’s going on here?” Tony yelled loudly only to be met with a view of you sitting at your desk and Peter sitting on your bed leaning against the headboard with a textbook and stack of papers sitting on his lap.

“What dad? We are busy figuring out the formulas Bruce gave us. Why the hell is everyone crowding outside my room?” You asked, pointing towards Steve, Bucky, Nat, Clint and Bruce all huddling in a circle outside your bedroom door.

“Well we heard the song you guys were listening to and were a bit concerned. You guys aren’t acting on those lyrics are you? You guys better not be under my roof” Tony questioned with a look of disgust on his face.

“What the hell are you going on about dad?” You asked looking over at Peter who looked like he'd seen a ghost.

“Are you guys having sexual relations?” Tony asked in disgust as your playlist suddenly skipped to the next song which would make your case even worse.

“Head so good, she's an honor roll she’ll ride your what like a carnival?” Tony repeated the lyrics.

“I am on the honor roll though, so it’s not entirely a lie” You replied back smirking like a smartass.

“This is not a laughing matter young lady, we are talking about something serious here, answer my question right now” Tony stated with a straight face not joking around anymore.

“Yeah we are and what about it?” You said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Y/n not in front of everybody” Peter said shyly.

“Who cares Peter they were going to find out sooner or later anyways, might as well just tell them now” You said looking back at everyone’s shocked faces. As you looked past your father behind him stood Bucky handing Clint a ten dollar bill.

“You guys had a bet going on about us?” Peter asked, looking back and forth between them but also keeping one eye on Tony just in case he might try to kill him.

“This conversation is not over and from now on this door stays open” Tony said sternly ignoring all the giggles and snarky remarks coming from his fellow avengers. Your playlist then starts playing a different song which lightens up the mood just a little.

“This one has a dance to go along with it, watch H-O-T-T-O-G-O it’s like the YMCA'' You said while doing the dance.

“I like doing the YMCA” Steve said, smiling now entering your room.

“Of course you do because you're ancient” Peter said jokingly.

As you can expect you didn’t think you’d be ending your day teaching Steve Rogers the Hot To Go dance however you wouldn’t trade the quiet days at the compound for anything because at the end of the day you’re just one big family and you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

[livelaughloveluffy]

his passenger princess - black leg sanji

a/n: god i'm literally obsessed with this picture of sanji, its actually unreal 😭😭😭 i love this man so fucking much rahhhhhhhhhhh,,, also my commitment to writing fics in between working on all my final projects, labs, and papers is a grind that i will never stop 😌😌

a/n: i finally have decided to cave a little and explore writing more modern au fics, so this is the start of that!! hopefully these are something you all will enjoy!! this idea was just racking inside of my brain, as someone who loves going on drives i couldn't help but imagine being a passenger princess with my favorite one piece men 😌

nothing but fluff here 💗

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-sanji is really the only one piece man that i don't have a specific make or model of a car in mind for him. i feel like he doesn't really care about something like that, and would honestly drive something pretty plain and common. if anything, i suppose i could make an argument for him driving a nicer car, but nothing super flashy.

-the windows are always cracked open a little bit when you're in the car with sanji. mainly because he will be driving with a cig in his mouth, but also because he's a sucker for a fresh breeze. looking to his side and seeing your hair flowing around you as he drives is such a simple beauty he can't help but be able to enjoy it.

-this man is a pretty cautious driver, no excessive speeding, but does like to go fast from time to time. however, since you're next to him, he is the picture of a model driver. he absolutely refuses to take his hands off the wheel while driving, but that doesn't mean that he won't hold your hand whenever the two of you are stuck at a red light. he isn't at all opposed to you resting your hand on his thigh (and it's one of his huge guilty pleasures in life).

-you get all of the control when it comes to the music playing. sanji would die before he would judge or complain about something you chose to play while on a drive. at times, you even catch him humming or singing along to some of your girlier pop hits (as he honestly got so used to hearing them and they got stuck in his head and are now some of his favorite songs). occasionally he'll ask to queue a song or two, usually some sappy love song he'll dedicate to you.

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tags ♡: @twiishaa @3v37773 @irethepotato @peachycat17 @dreamcastgirl99 @sanji-soup; want to join the taglist? click here!

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[freakassfemme]

if you dfw cheating tropes i respect that #fuckrealcheaters 🥺 but cheating on your boyfriend with abby and she's jealous and possessive and pissed off at you for even initiating but OH.. she wants you so bad she's not even pushing you away.. i fear i need it

not a player but i’ll still play w her [drabble, 18+]

warnings: mean! abby, cheating, oral sex (reader and abby receiving), light slapping, degradation, NOT PROOF READ!!!! wc: 1.9k a/n: answering old asks woooooo yahooo! n e ways I went for mean abby I hope everyone is chill with that. me well I'm chilling legs open 4 it

♫ playlist: long way 2 go (cassie)

"What the actual fuck are you doing?"

Abby's words were harsh, cutting through the music with a rough palm on your shoulder, shoving you away under the dim lights of the house party. Her drink sloshed over the edges of the red solo cup, spilling onto her hand. She grimaced, setting the cup down and shaking off her hand as she continued to stare at you in disbelief. When you didn't respond, she raised her eyebrows, scoffing.

"Hey, is anyone in there?" She snapped, growing more irritated. "Or are you just acting like a fucking douche for no reason?"

The truth was, Abby had no idea what had gotten into you, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. One second, you were rambling off about your fuckass boyfriend, about how he was pissing you off for the umpteenth time, but Abby had actually felt a twinge of sympathy this time (alongside her usual annoyance with the topic).

She'd been responsive when your eyes began to water up, pulling you into her arms like any good friend would. Or, at least that's what she told herself.

That's what she told herself when you looked up at her like a kicked puppy, clinging to your best friend like you couldn't stand to breathe air that hadn't been exhaled by her first. You were good. friends. Point blank period.

So why the fuck were you kissing her?

In the blink of an eye, you had closed the gap, slamming your plush lips up and into Abby's, locking your arms around her so tightly that when the taste of alcohol on your lips sent red alarms finally off in her head, she had to forcefully pry your fingers off of her, and Jesus fuck, she was pissed.

It was pretty hard to be this upset, especially when the waterworks really started and people began to stare. Your eyes pooled over, flooding over the rims and down your pink cheeks in a way that made Abby feel like the dick. She had to remind herself that she wasn't in the wrong -- she was mad at you.

She couldn't be mad at you for kissing her. God, she'd spent so long with her fingers in her boxers, toying with her clit to the thought of just running her tongue over your neck that she almost couldn't resist kissing back. But you weren't kissing her to kiss her, you were kissing her because you were mad at your boyfriend, and you were treating her like every straight girl in the fucking house, getting sleezy and expecting her to open up her lab for experiments the second one of you bitches licked the rim of a bottle of vodka.

"What's your problem?" You snapped back. "You've been staring at my tits all night!"

At least that much was true. Abby hadn't able to avoid catching a few glances of your low cut top the whole night, especially when she's leaning over you and playing the part of the dutiful gal pal. Still, she blushed, even though she couldn't deny it.

"You're not like that!" She countered, going right for the throat to dodge your accusations. "You've got a fucking boyfriend, dude."

You scoffed, sniffing and wiping your face. You gestured stupidly around you. "I don't see no fucking boyfriend around here."

"You don't go for girls," Abby said pointedly, knowing that arguing morality with you would be useless at this point, especially since she could almost guarantee your 'boyfriend' was off playing the same card on some chick in a bar.

"I'm going for you."

For you

For you

You

You

I'm going for you, Abby.

The words ring through her head like church bells when you've got your fingers in her hair, grinding down on her freckled nose like your life depends on it.

She hadn't even been able to resist when you'd noticed her pause, soaking in your words. She wasn't nice, per se, calling you a bitch, a cunt, a fucking player and every name in the book while you backed her down the hallway, grunting the insults out between your mashed lips while your painted nails dipped into her boxers.

"Come on, Abs, what are friends for?"

Friends. Skipping rope and braiding hair and playing dolls. Pushing the little buttons to see what noises it makes, toying at your entrance with her tongue to coax little whimpers of her name from your lips. It was basically the same thing.

You were practically floating above her, your thighs shaking around her head in a way that convinced her you hadn't been taken care of nearly this well in a long, long time. Her large palms groped at your ass, pulling you down harder, faster, in a way that would have you worried she would suffocate if you weren't holding on so desperately to the headboard of the random bedroom you two had crawled into.

"Mmpf, fuck, Abby!" You cried out, tits bulging out of that black lacy bra that really wasn't giving pathetic and heartbroken BFF. It was giving slutty, it was giving whorish, and she told you so when she shoved your face down to her cunt some time later.

"You're a fucking slut," she growled, hands wrapping your hair into a handle. You whined from your place between her legs, kneeling on the ground. Abby was mean, angry, she was pissed. "Trying so hard, huh? You've got no idea what you're even doing, sweetheart."

She leaned her head back, letting out an annoyed puff of air as she looked up at the ceiling, then down at your pitiful attempt. God, you were pathetic, on your knees and whoring yourself out just to get back at your shitty ass boyfriend. She felt sour for giving into it, for letting herself be a toy in your cat and mouse game with him, but she also felt some sort of sick satisfaction in knowing she was going to make her mark on you, fuck you until you were too used up to go back to him. Until you could only beg for her to break you in over and over.

"You're lucky I like you, shit — it’s not his fucking dick," she reprimanded, an almost light slap to your cheek stinging your pretty lips into action. She groaned in annoyance, pulling your face away from her. "God, you're fucking dumb. Come here."

With her other hand, Abby pinched your cheeks, and ordered you to poke your tongue out. When you did, she shoved her thumb into your throat, flattening it. You gasped, instinctively going to wrap your lips around the digit.

She was too quick, shoving your face back into her core, your still-pursed lips wrapping around her clit in a way that sent a satisfying buzz through Abby's body. She let out a soft moan, a sadistic smirk spreading on to her face. She lifted her hips up, grinding into your face well beyond when you began desperately gasping between her thighs.

"There you go, there you go," she murmured, hissing out a sharp breath of satisfaction. "Put yourself to some use, huh? If you're gonna learn, you're gonna learn baby."

[leeknow-thoughts]

𝅄  ׅ⊹ ۪ ꣑୧ dance of the sugarplum fairy

𝝑𝝔 l.mh x f!reader

𝝑𝝔 synopsis : Minho believes in fact over fiction. He's a scientist. It's practically in his blood. You're as much of a scientist as he is, hell, a better one than him at that. Yet, you still find wonder in the holidays. While you find wonder in presents and twinkling lights. Minho finds wonder in you. Could a confession gone wrong end up going right for him? Could you reciprocate his feelings that he's been pushing down for years and years?

𝝑𝝔 warnings : chemistry professor!minho, chemistry professor!reader, f!reader, mutual pining, christmas in a non-religious way, crying (in a sappy way), jisung! cameo, tooth rotting fluff, smut got mixed in with my fluff??, no clear dynamics, but minho is mommy (sorry guys act fucking surprised), mommy!kink, shower sex, p in v (unprotected, pls don't do this!!), pet names, pls lmk if I missed any warnings!!

𝝑𝝔 note from the author ! : Calliope once again indulges in soft!minho and doesn't apologize for it >_< I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season and that all who celebrate Christmas get exactly what they wanted!! :3

You're as reactive as Fluorine, and Minho wishes he didn't think of you chemically the way he does. He wishes he didn't immediately think of you when he thought of work and his experiments and the fucking teaching position he held. He wishes he could just think of you for you and he could go fuck off for all he cares - having a crush on his coworker.

And you're humming along to the song playing over the radio - some Clario song, he only knows who that is because you love her music. Honestly, he thinks you like music more than you like chemistry - so why did you choose to do this for a living?

You surely weren't a bad singer - Minho had heard you sing, it puts the harked herald angels to shame if he does say so - and you certainly were pretty enough to be famous.

Pretty was an understatement, you were the most devine creation to walk this earth. There's no way in his mind that he can conceptualize that you breathe the same oxygen as him - to him it was a privilege that he got to see you at all.

You were sought after, every fucking college in the nation wants you to work for them, yet you stay here. It wasn't like the place you work at is bad, it's MIT for Christ's sake, but Harvard has been asking for you for years.

He's almost offended by it, colleges treating you and all your brilliance like a tradeable Pokémon card.

Speaking of Pokémon, you're watching it on your phone as you finish up a lab report. How you can listen to music and watch a show and write a detailed report baffles Minho, but he doesn't question you because you're you, and he's the utter fool in love with you.

"You're spacing out Minho," your voice graces his ears, fuck, was he staring at you? "You look like you need a coffee, let's go get a cup, I'll pay."

You smile that sweet smile and talk in your sweet voice any longer and he's sure he's going to go insane. You're letting your hair down and it falls just right, framing your face perfectly. You had curled it that morning, and worn a perfume that smells like autumn.

He knows it's ridiculously foolish to consider something a chance that is nothing but stolen glances and blush stained cheeks and private thoughts. He can't help it.

"I think Jisung needs to start letting you get some sleep, you're zoning out so much," you hum with such concern, and he crumbles.

He feels almost dirty. Dirty for the thoughts he has of you. Dirty for the reason he isn't getting much sleep. Thinking about you in ways that would terrify a Catholic, or hell, even an atheist.

"'t's not Jisung," he slurs his words together.

They become a wet mix of vowels and articulations when he's talking to you. He hopes he doesn't sound this fucking dumb when he is teaching.

"Maybe you're sick," you tilt your head.

It's a habit you have, tilting your head when you make a statement. He finds it endearing. It was one of the first things about you that he perceived as such.

"'m fine, promise," he brushes off, "'nd I don' need any coffee."

"Well, you better wake up before the festival," you sigh, and he hates to think he let you down.

The festival, fuck, that is today. Each year the college throws a winter festival for the students, a lot of sororities and fraternities set up booths and the cafeteria gets turned upside down with decorations. The faculty's Secret Santa too, shit, he hasn't wrapped his gift. He really doesn't hate the festival or the idea of it, it keeps him young. He just doesn't know if he is gonna be able to stay around you any longer.

"Who did you get for Secret Santa?" you ask, taking a seat at the table, returning to your lab reports.

"Jus' Lix," he hates how drunk he sounds, "what about you? You always go above and beyond in the gift department."

He would never lie to you, you do go above and beyond with gifts. Each year, you go all out, spending a ridiculous amount of time and effort when it comes to the gifts you buy for people.

"Can't say unfortunately," you whisper, "or else it wouldn't be a secret."

You give him a smile that makes his stomach do a flip. "But I did get you something," you perk up.

You walk over to your bag and pull out a wrapped parcel, and carefully hand it over to him. "Thought you'd like it, took forever for it to ship over from overseas."

Minho examines the neatly wrapped box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper with a pink bow tied on top of the box. "Thank you," he sounds breathless.

He opens it carefully, and is met with a white box. He pulls the lid off and pulls out the cloth that sits on the bottom of the box. Revealing a white lab coat. The fabric is crisp and ironed. In the corner the text 'Dr. Minho Lee, PhD' is embroidered in black. Underneath the lettering is another embroidered patch. Instead of his name though, it's his three cats. Each of the cats looks identical to their real counterparts. "Sorry if it's stupid, I-" you apologize, "I just- I dunno-"

Stupid? It's the most thoughtful gift he has gotten in a long time. It comes from your heart, how could it be stupid.

You're the most beautiful and thoughtful person he's ever met. I love you, loved you for so long, he thinks to himself. He's so moved he almost feels like crying.

"Minho," you're quiet, stunned into silence.

He just realizes how his mouth has betrayed his mind, and his legs are moving with a panic.

The air is so damn dense as he sprints down the hall from the lab. The white fluorescent lights taunt him with their hum as he dashes away. Away from you, away from the chance that was all in his head.

He is gripping at the tie around his neck. He sees no comfort in the double doors out of the science lab, he is running without reason.

He breaks through the double doors and is soaked almost instantly. The snow is heavy and it patters against his body.

His legs stop moving, and he just stands there. In the snow. Terribly cold and terribly wet. He could curse God, but he doesn't believe in Him.

The doors behind him open and close. Doom blooms in his rapidly rising and falling chest. "Minho," it's you again, "Minho, you'll catch a cold."

His legs are frozen through. He couldn't move if there were a bear chasing him. He can't speak either. He's rendered silent. "Minho, it's about fucking time you confessed, b-because I-I l-love you too."

He can suddenly find the strength to face you.

When he does, the first thing he notices is your face. Mascara has soaked your cheeks, tear stains evident. "Y-huh? Wh-why are you c-crying?"

"Because I fucking love you," you sound weak- Minho never heard your voice sound so scared, "a-and you love me too? Did you mean it? You love me too?"

You're equally as soaked by the snow as he is. Your arms are crossed over your chest. He moves before he thinks, there really is nothing to think.

Hypothesis : you want him to kiss you. And according to the scientific method, he must test his hypothesis.

He's putting one foot in front of the other and moving to you. He wastes no time, simply cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Sparks fly like shown in movies, his lips feel tingly and he can feel his heartbeat in every bone of his body.

Your lips are even softer than he imagined. Soft and molding against his own in ways that make him dizzy.

Like throwing a block of lithium into a pond, he feels like he may explode. Every atom in his body is undergoing a chain reaction that is so right he would never stop it.

"Love you," he's mumbling against your lips, "loved you for so long. You're everything I've ever wanted."

Tears brim his lashes, they nearly fall, but he is too elated to cry. "Minho," your voice is muffled by the sloppy kisses you're placing on his lips. You let out a groan and Minho's composure crumbles.

"Always been you," you hum, "since I met you, no one else."

All he had known until now had been decomposed and resynthesized. Like a chemical equation. He hates that he still thinks of you chemically.

Yet, he'd count every atom in your body so he could find out why you're so you. He's tear apart the heavens and the earth and chemically rearrange them just to see you smile.

Your bodies are melting together, forming a mixture of desperation, love, and lust. His hands are gripping every inch of your soft flesh available.

"Minho- mhm- take m-me home," you whimper into his mouth.

He kisses you one last time. He knows he will have this life, and the next to kiss you, he's in no rush.

His eyes finally open again, and he swears he has never seen a more beautiful sight. Your makeup is running down your face, and your lips are kiss bitten. Your body is pressed against his, and your hands are cupping his jaw. "H-home?" He stutters like a little kid.

"Your house," you grin, and he swears there's a mischievous glint in your eyes, "unless you don't wanna see me naked?"

If his jaw hadn't been on the floor before, it definitely was now. "God," he groans, "c'mon."

He's pulling you along with him, in the pouring snow, to his apartment. "If I catch a cold because of you, Lee Minho," you vaguely threaten.

"Then I'll nurse you back to health," he immediately replies.

You're both placing one foot in front of the other at a fast pace. When he sees his apartment around the corner, his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.

He doesn't struggle with the keys even though his hands are shaking beyond reasonable doubt. The warmth and comfort from his home is nothing compared to that which he gets from you.

He's stepping inside and pulling you in with him before slamming the door closed. A sudden fear rises in his chest, and any semblance of what to do next faded from his mind.

You notice this, you notice everything. "You okay?" you press your body against him.

You're both soaked from head to toe in cold water, yet you're so warm against him. "I-I?" he's stunned, like a dear in headlights.

You try and fail to hide the disappointment in your tone when you say, "do you not want t-"

He doesn't even leg you finish the sentence, "-I do. I do. I do. I-It's just not supposed to hap-happen like this."

"Please explain?"

"I - I have pictured, I've thought about us- us doing this, and I-I feel like I'm doing it wrong," you search his eyes for a clue as to what he means, "I mean-I just thought it would be so much more, romantic. N-not the confession, the- I just want to make it perfect for you."

"And how would you do that?"

"With rose petals and red wine and candles and-"

You shut him up with a kiss that is broken all too soon for Minho's preference, "you're such a dork, oh my god," you sigh playfully and hit his chest lightly, "I don't want roses or red wine, or candles. Minho, I want you. That's it."

"I-I," he stutters and can feel his cheeks heating up, "w-we should hop in the shower?"

"Excellent idea," you smirk.

Minho takes your hand in his and leads you to his bathroom, "sorry for the mess," he apologizes but knows that you won't mind.

He takes his eyes off you for only a moment to turn on the warm water, and when he turns back to you, you're halfway undressed. He swears he's never seen anything as beautiful as you.

You with your shirt and skirt in a heap on the floor, the only thing covering you is your underwear. Black cotton panties with lace hemmed on the side and a matching black bra.

You're reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra when he speaks up, "let me."

You smile at him and turn around, Minho's lips ghost down the side of your neck while his hands busy themselves, taking off your bra. He kisses down the back of your neck and your body shudders against his own.

You eagerly flip around and press your lips against his own. Now it's your hands that are pulling at his soaked shirt. You break the kiss but only for a moment, only so you can take off his shirt.

"Mhm," you moan into his mouth and Minho's grabbing at your sides like a madman.

His fingers hook under your panties and pull them down your legs.

And he finally gets a good look at your most sacred parts. They're more beautiful than his mind has ever painted them to be. Your breasts are soft to his touch, not too big nor too small. And your cunt, it looks tastier than a Sunday dinner in his eyes. His eyes rake down your happy trail that connects to your neatly trimmed bush and he wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss every inch of your skin.

He pulls down his boxers with his pants, and his semi-hard cock aches to be touched, to be inside you. You take his hand and step under the stream of water. He follows.

He'd follow you anywhere.

Hot water brings life to his cold skin. He's wrapping his arms around you, and his lips push against your own. "Where's the scar from?" you mumble the question between kisses.

"Had surgery wh-when I was a kid," he only stumbles over his words because your hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly pump him.

He's so sensitive it hurts. Hurts all over. His body writhes at its own accord. "Your cock is so fucking pretty," you hum.

The words are filthy, but they sound as holy as the Pope's because they're said by you. "Baby- I-" you're so good at making him feel good.

Had you done this with someone else? Had you jerked them off in their shower? Had you ever brought another person this much pleasure?

Jealously pools in his chest at the idea of you with anyone that isn't him. "W-why are you so good at this? I-I just, please, wanna be the last. Can't handle the idea o-of you doing this to anyone but me," he confesses.

His sudden confession makes you falter and he tries to read the expression on your face, "last time I did this was before I met you, there's never been anyone since I met you. You were always gonna be it for me."

He almost sinks to his knees he feels so stupid. "D-do you want me to prep you?"

"There's no need, I promise," you smile at him.

You flip around, your body is pressed against his shower wall, the warm water hits his back and he swears he's never been more comfortable in his whole life.

He holds his cock in his hands and lines it up at your entrance. "You ready?" He can't help but sound a little cocky.

"God, Minho, just put it in," you whine.

His knees falter when he finally presses inside you, your walls are warm, inviting. You were right, you didn't need any prep.

"Oh, God," he groans even though he only has his tip in, "fuck, don't know how long I'm gonna last."

"Don't worry," you hum, a sharp squeak leaves your mouth when he stills all the way inside you.

He's buried so far in his cock is pressed up against your cervix. A shiver runs through his body when he finally thrusts inside you. You're tight and warm and so soft.

He's desperate, with every thrust of his hips he is losing every drop of his composure.

"Harder," you beg, "fuck me like you mean it."

His hips slam against your own, and you let out cries of pleasure as your body convulses against his own.

"Love you," you repeat the words like a mantra, they tumble from your lips with every thrust of his hips.

His hand wraps around your body and finds your clit. He would die if he didn't make you cum first. "Ah, jagi," he moans.

"Ah, Min- mama," you don't even realize what you're saying.

Mama? That was new, but he wouldn't protest. Not to you. Not in a million lifetimes.

"Mama, hmm?" Minho whimpers, "you wanna call me that?"

"Mhm," you nod your head furiously, "love you so much!"

How he loves you too.

His hand glides down your body and finds your swollen clit, he rubs it tenderly as his hips stutter in their movements. "Mama!" you squeal, "gonna cum!"

Minho can't warn you before he cums. He swears on everything he knows, this was the best sex he's ever had. His body convulses against yours and all that can be heard is the water hitting the shower and the both of your debauched breaths.

"Love you," you whisper.

Minho places a kiss on your spine, "I love you so much more, jagi. Merry Christmas."

[tthoroughfare]

crush (part 3) // abby anderson

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: it's the beginning of whatever's going on between you and abby.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: canon!abby x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: nsfw. fingering (r!recieving), oral (both!recieving), thigh riding, facesitting, i am laying the foundations for spit kink if Anyone Else May Be Into That. i was in heat writing this clearly. manny is really fucking irritating but he doesn't mean it he's just being silly

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 2.8k

this is part three of this series! find part one here

masterlist

heyyy i hope you enjoy part 3! i didn't ever intend for this series to be a long one but god i just love abby so much. fun fact i have already planned out and written the epilogue for a second series following on from crush when it's done and i know where it's all gonna go already... and it stays as true to canon as possible... so yeah.... buckle up if you wanna stick around

you don’t exactly keep it a secret, but there’s an unspoken agreement you’re not going to explicitly tell anyone. from your perspective, you’re overly conscious that abby is going to have to come out if everyone knows about the two of you. you know all too well how that feels, how conflicting and scary it is, and you really don’t want to add any pressure where it’s not needed. it’s up to her, and you know she’ll talk to you about it when she’s ready.

plus, it’s all so new. you don’t mind taking it slow, just feeling each other out in uncharted territory.

although you don’t say anything to each other, you’re both aware of the way people must realize you’ve started getting a little more touchy. not anything crazy, just how you’ll go for your lunch break and spot her in the mess hall, coming up behind her and giving her shoulder a light squeeze as you bustle past to get your food, shooting a smile back her way when she looks up. you never did that before. she also never used to sit so close to you when you were in a group conversation, placing her hand on your wrist and swiping her thumb over fondly when she laughed at something you said.

she never used to skip the gym either, but she finds herself doing that on more than a couple occasions just to come to your makeshift lab and sit at the side of you while you work late, asking questions about what you’re doing and staring at you with puppy eyes while you explain. you know she doesn’t really care about the intricacies, doesn’t really have any idea what you’re talking about, but you go through it with her regardless, enamored by the way she nods along and gazes at you with a stupid, tiny smile on her face.

you think manny figures it out not too far in. no, you know. 

there’s a night where he's not supposed to be back until late, and it rarely lines up that you and abby both aren't working the next day, so you decided to spend it at their place. you bring along some music to play, a bottle of tequila; and before you have time to compute you're on the floor against her bed, straddled over her lap, her tongue in your mouth.

the door bursts open, and you jump apart, red-faced and guilty. manny pauses and gives you an odd look, a hint of a smirk there, but doesn’t say much — just lets out a heavy, ‘oh’, then, “sorry.”

the air’s thick, awkward as he heads over to his bed, rifling through his bag while you shoot a look at abby. she mirrors you, pulling a face then asking if he’s staying before she has time to think about it.

“uh… yeah? i live here,” he replies, and with that she just states that you’re heading out, going over to yours instead so you’re not ‘bothering him’.

you grab your things and utter an uncomfortable goodbye to him as you leave, mind spinning with it all as you walk through the stadium, how inconspicuous abby had been.

it’s easily forgotten, though, when your door closes and she presses you up against it near instantly, want dripping through the way that she kisses you, the way that her hands gently grip at your waist.

she fucks you with her fingers right there, you unable to do much else apart from dip underneath her shirt and scratch at her back, taken by her boldness. you like seeing this new side of her, how desperate she is to feel you.

“tell me how you want it, please,” she murmurs into your neck, punctuating her sentence with a filthy kiss underneath your ear, “tell me when it feels good.”

you nod, head leaning away from her, giving her more access to the smooth expanse of your skin. “f-fuck, abby, harder, curl your fingers more.”

she responds right away, pressing up into you as she fucks you, leaning back from your neck to look at your face. “like that?”

your nails dig into her skin and she likes it, likes the small bite. likes knowing you’re losing control because of her.

“yeah, fuck, please, like that.”

she continues to work you through it, looking up at you like you put the stars in the sky. you rock into her, letting her take you as hers, uttering out more dirty praises:

“fuck, abby, you’re s-so deep.”

“need you so bad, mmph, fucking need you…”

“feels so good, just like that, fuck, please—”

and then she presses harder still, picking up the pace, heel of her hand meeting your clit in just the right way, and you cum for her. you clench around her rhythmically as you ride it out, moaning into her mouth and grasping at her shirt, her skin, all desperate attempts to ground yourself.

you’re left slack jawed and flushed, panting as you come down.

“fuck, abby,” you breathe out after a moment.

“w-was that good?”

you chuckle and move a hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently. “the fuck do you think?”

she blows air through her nose and kisses at your neck, withdrawing her fingers and letting them rest over your throbbing pussy. “i don’t know. just checking.”

you end up on your bed, eating each other out. it starts with you pushing abby until the backs of her knees hit the frame, needing to make her feel good too, needing to taste her. she moans lowly as you situate yourself on top of her, desperately pulling her shirt off and attaching your lips around her nipple. your hand comes up to squeeze at the other breast, rolling and stroking the rosy, hardened bud, relishing in the pretty noises it elicits.

you move lower, mouthing over her stomach, impatient as you hook your fingers under her waistband, tugging her sweatpants and underwear off in one. your breath comes out shaky against her thigh when you focus on her glistening cunt, the way she threads her fingers through your hair, silently begging you to give her what she needs.

you really want to drag it out, want to tease her, but you can’t. not when she’s under you like that, bare, aching, dripping with want.

your own desperation seeps through the way you pleasure her, feasting on her with everything you have from the jump. one hand is hooked around her thigh, holding her in place, the other roaming over her stomach and gripping at her waist.

she watches, subconsciously grinding up into you as you eat her out. you watch her, too, the way her face contorts and mouth falls open, dirty noises pulling from her throat. you’re gauging her, noting mentally the specific things that make her louder, make the taut muscles of her stomach tense under your fingertips.

and then your lips suction on her clit, tongue lapping at it gently as you do so, and she’s gone — cumming hard, hips rocking into your face and both hands gripping at your hair as she lets out a series of whines and broken moans of your name.

“abby…” you begin once she pulls you away, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to her sensitive pussy. you kiss once at it gently, relishing in how she bucks into your mouth before working down the insides of her thighs, worshipping her. “taste so fucking good.”

she moans at your words, and it takes everything not to pin her down and make her cum again. she doesn’t even give you chance though, maneuvering you upwards to meet her lips, making out with you so filthily you feel like you could damn well combust. she licks into your mouth, tasting herself on your tongue, only breaking away to tug the articles of your clothes off one by one.

you rut against her thigh once she’s undressed you fully, soaked cunt sliding easily against her skin. abby pants into your mouth, gripping at your hips, guiding your movements. this time feels different to the first, dirtier, more intimate; it’s all spit and sweat, and you love it.

“w-wait,” she murmurs, one hand moving to your thigh.

“what? you okay?” your voice is low and gentle, breathing ragged as you respond, swiping a rogue piece of hair out of her face.

her gaze flits over your face, taking in your wrecked image. your hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. “yeah… just… i wanna…”

“wanna what?” you question softly after she trails off, corners of your mouth quirking as you run your thumb over her lower lip. she worries her teeth over it slightly after you let it go, shy to say the words she wants to.

“just… come here.”

your thumb continues its path, swiping over her cheek lightly. “i am here.”

she rolls her eyes fondly at your retort, tightening her grasp on your thigh and shifting you upwards. “i mean… come here.”

a sharp breath escapes you as she maneuvers you with ease, picking up what she’s putting down. you situate yourself over her face on shaky thighs, abby needily pulling you down onto her. 

she doesn’t do much, really, wanting you to wordlessly teach her how to use her mouth on you. she takes it all in, sliding her tongue through your folds and relishing in the way you get yourself off on her. the way her nose bumps against your clit each time you grind, one of your hands grasping at the headboard and the other at her hair. the way your desperate moans fill the air, whimpers of her name falling like a prayer.

you cum for her easily for the second time, previous stimulation from rubbing yourself on abby’s muscled thigh and arousal from getting her off having you halfway there already. she grips at your waist, your back, your thigh, anything to keep you on her mouth as you pant and twitch your way through it, sensitivity on high from your earlier orgasm.

and when you’re done, you sit back on her upper chest, gazing down at her as she drags her fingernails lightly over your outer thighs. her eyes are fluttered shut, lower half of her face covered in you.

you don’t think you’ve seen anything more beautiful.

despite it all, you like that it doesn’t actually change a lot of your dynamic — just adds onto it. you’re still close friends, still spend your time doing the same things. but now, it’s all laced with something new, something exciting.

you’ll still meet her in the library when she needs downtime, quietly sitting at the side of each other; abby reading whatever book she was on at the moment, you getting on with your project. only now, it more often than not ends up with her turning herself around, head on your chest while you absent-mindedly mess with her hair. it makes your life a lot harder attempting to work one-handed, papers and notebook resting on the arm of the sofa — all the while trying to ignore the scent of her hair, the warmth of her pressed up against you. how badly you want to say fuck it to what you’re meant to be doing and kiss her stupid.

you’ll still grab lunch with her and manny whenever it works out that you’re all at the stadium, and you’re not pressed for time. only now, instead of sitting opposite her, you’ll sit at the side of one another. specifically, so you can run your index finger against hers under the table, allowing your fingers to gently intertwine atop her leg.

and you’ll still talk about everything and nothing with her, laughing until there are tears in your eyes. only now, you don’t have to hold back from leaning in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and letting your hand linger. you don’t have to hold back from pressing a kiss to one cheek, then the other, then her nose, giggling at the way her face scrunches. you don’t have to hold back from fleetingly brushing your lips against hers, savoring the way she pulls you back in every time.

one day, abby’s out on assignment with manny when he seemingly out of nowhere comes out with, “you know you don’t have to hide things from me, right?”

she blinks twice, hard. she knows exactly what he’s getting at, but plays dumb regardless. “w-what do you mean?”

he pauses in response, smiling at her. “come on, abs.”

“no, i really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“come on.”

she sighs and rolls her eyes. if she was going to tell anyone, it would be manny. she knows he wouldn’t say anything, knows he just wants to see her happy after all that’s happened. still, she can’t will the words to come — just readjusts her gun, shuffling awkwardly as they both push forward.

“can’t believe you got there and i didn’t,” he says, and she can tell he’s just poking at her, wanting to get her to say something. she still can’t help but retaliate.

“i don’t really think you’re her type,” she states firmly, something about hearing someone else talk about you like that getting her a little riled up. and she hates that it does, because she knows he’s only doing it for a reaction.

manny chuckles, looking her up and down. “obvio.”

“asshole,” she mutters, knowing she’s given him everything he needs without explicitly saying it. there’s a quiet beat as they walk, manny breaking it, abby squirming inside at how he won’t leave it alone.

“owen that bad, huh?” he jests, “turned you—“

tutting, abby cuts him off. “nothing turned me anything. not really how it works.”

he laughs lightly, holding a hand up. “easy. you’re touchy today, huh?”

“you’re annoying today.”

manny dramatizes a pained expression, letting out a throaty, drawn out, ‘ah’. “forgive me for my curiosity.”

“curiosity’s fine, you’re just being a dick about it.”

“how do i not ‘be a dick’ about it?”

“i don’t know, manny, ask a genuine question instead of acting like an idiot,” abby states, slightly quirking an eyebrow as she looks sideways at him.

he pauses for a moment, pondering. “how long has it been going on for?”

“not long.”

“how did it happen?” “long story.”

“you know that i knew something was… ah, you know… when you came back sad, went off in the morning and then she was chasing me down so much to ask about you?”

abby blows air out of her nose, corners of her mouth quirking. she didn’t know about the last part; you hadn’t told her you’d been onto manny about her while she’d been gone.

“i heard you from across the room that night.”

“thin ice.”

he can’t help but poke at her further, regarding her with a glint in his eye as he quietly mocks sniffling, eyebrows furrowing desolately.

“the thinnest.” her voice is rigid but her facial expression betrays her, and she struggles to hold back a chuckle. manny breaks into laughter, nudging her on the shoulder. there’s another pause as their laughs die down, the only sounds being the wind, the pair’s heavy footsteps and the faraway caw of a bird.

once again, manny’s is the voice to fracture the silence. “so, what is it? just…” he clicks his tongue, alluding to the word ‘sex’, “or…”

“no,” she says, shaking her head. there’s no reason to dance around anything anymore. “no. i… i don’t know what it is. but it’s… it’s not just that.”

he draws in a breath. “right. so you… you like her?”

abby’s face twitches. ‘like’ is probably a substandard word for how she feels about you. she thinks about you all the time, misses you whenever you’re not there; she’s bombarded with reminders, because to her, everything laces back to you. when she’s outside of the stadium, supposed to be focusing on anything else, she’ll notice that something looks the exact same color as your eyes. or there’ll be a small occurrence she chuckles at, and knows the only other person that would find it funny is you, wishing you were there to nudge her and give her that smirk you always do. once, while you were still just friends, she saw a torn up poster clinging to a wall of a musician she knew you liked, debating ripping it off and bringing it back. she’d decided against it, not wanting you to think she was coming on too strong.

‘like’ is a meager word, but the other one terrifies her to think about.

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Reader (hurt/no comfort)

Summary: While visiting your friend from college, you meet her neighbor across the hall and begin a fling with him. But how long can these good times last?

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), handjob, oral (m! receiving), unprotected p in v, hurt/no comfort, cheating, mention of weight shaming (not towards Reader)

A/N: y'all asked for it and I have delivered. Sorry, there won't be a part 2 fix-it because I like to put the "hurt" in "hurt/no comfort."

--

Hawkins, Indiana didn’t have too much to offer. It was a tiny blip on a map that you could drive through and barely notice if you weren’t paying close attention. 

It also happened to be the hometown of your best friend from college. You and Nancy became fast friends after you both got lost on your first day at Emerson. It turned out that you were going to the same class, and the room number had been a misprint that led to a nonexistent room. 

Now, fresh on the heels of graduation, Nancy had secured a full-time position at the Hawkins Post and just moved into her own apartment. It gave you the perfect excuse to spend a few days crashing at her place like you’d never left the dorms. 

At least, that had been the original plan, until Nancy got a call about a biohazard leak from Hawkins Lab that had begun infiltrating an area affectionately dubbed “Lovers Lake,” which could be her first big story if she played her cards right. Why a miniscule town had a whole lab, you had no idea. What you did know was that you would be spending most of your time here by yourself, rather than with Nancy. 

Long days alone left you bored, occasionally working on the draft of your novel. While Nancy took to the structure of journalism, you preferred creative writing. She was the logician to your dreamer. Sometimes you loved that about her; other times, her straightforward line of thinking was the bane of your existence. 

Words swam on the page as you scanned each line, adding details and crossing out any superfluous information that added nothing to the plot. You pinched the bridge of your nose and massaged it, hoping to settle your vision enough to keep editing. 

Knock knock knock. 

“Wheeler, you in there?”

A man’s voice drifted from the other side of the door. Nancy had briefly mentioned knowing some of her neighbors, but you had never actually met them. 

“Wheeler?”

You padded over to the door. When you peered through the peephole, you saw the fish-eye version of a man. You first noticed his frizzy curls escaping the rubberband attempting to hold back his hair—well, that and his biceps, fully on display in his black tank top. 

Opening the door, you willed yourself to keep your composure.  

His brown eyes widened and his full lips turned upwards into a small smile. “You’re not Wheeler.”

“What gave it away?”

The man leaned one muscular arm against the doorframe. He smelled of tobacco and cologne. “Cute and sarcastic. A winning combination.” His smirk nearly brought you to your knees. “I ran out of paper towels and figured Wheeler probably keeps ‘em stockpiled. She has that ‘doomsday prepper’ energy.”

You laughed, crossing your arms as you let your eyes meet his. How did Nancy live in the same building as this guy and not constantly jump his bones? “I think she’d prefer to call it ‘emergency preparedness.’”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.” His gaze flicked over to the roll of paper towels Nancy kept by the sink. “May I?”

Nodding, you stepped aside to let him in. “I’m Eddie, by the way,” he said over his shoulder.

You introduced yourself with as much confidence as you could muster. “I’m supposed to be visiting Nancy for the week, but she’s been at work twenty-four seven.” 

Eddie’s ears pricked at the information. “I live across the hall in 6B if you ever need anything. Snacks, music recommendations, someone to keep you entertained since Wheeler selfishly ditched you.” His eyes twinkled at the joke, but there was a mischievous air in his tone. An insinuation of the type of entertainment he might provide. 

It wasn’t until the next day that you took Eddie up on his offer, knocking on his door three times. Your heart pounded in your chest the moment you heard him slide the chain lock off of its track, its beating surely still audible even as he cracked open the metal door. 

“Well, look who it is.” An unlit cigarette dangled between his lips and he’d pulled his curls back into a bun at the nape of his neck. “How can I be of service, sweetheart?”

“I was hoping we could hang out?” You winced at the inflection that made your statement into a question. 

Eddie cocked his head in contemplation. “Yeah?” He chuckled and shoved the cigarette back into its pack. “All right. Let’s go to yours then.”

His fingers brushed against the small of your back as you led him to Nancy’s apartment. Your pulse thrummed in your ears. Were you really doing this? Were you really inviting a stranger over to hang out?

This was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea���

“Does Wheeler have a guest room? Or does she make you crash on the couch?”

Shaking off your nerves, you summoned a smile. “No guest room, unfortunately.”

“Such a shame.” Eddie clicked his tongue. “Was hoping for a little privacy.” Head tilted to the side, his gaze devoured you whole. 

“I mean…” You wracked your brain for a solution. “We could just talk. Get to know each other.”

He exhaled, his breath laced with frustration. “Sweetheart, we only have a week. Six days now, actually, and then you go back home. ‘S not a lot of time.”

With that, Eddie stepped forward and placed a gentle kiss on your neck, letting his lips linger for a moment as he whispered, “is this okay?”

“Mhm.” Your hands readily found his waist, fingertips digging into the skin as you pulled him in closer. Hardness pressed against the fly of his jeans, and you could feel it even through the thick fabric. 

“Gotta admit, sweetheart,” Eddie tugged your shirt up over your head and tossed it aside haphazardly. “I was thinking about you when you knocked. Was about to take matters into my own hands.” 

He grinned at the double entendre, one hand snaking to your back to unhook your bra. “Goddamn.” He positioned his lips around one nipple, then the other, sucking until they were pert and sensitive. 

Desire pooled between your thighs and a whimper escaped you, your breath hitching as you tried to regain some semblance of control. No one had ever made you feel so wanted, so needed, with only a few kisses. 

“‘S a pretty noise,” Eddie mumbled. He unbuttoned your jeans with the dexterity of a musician, and you wondered if he played any instruments. 

You didn’t know a lot about him: his job, his hobbies, his favorite color. There was no time to consider that now, not while he had sat himself on the sofa and was already unbuckling his own belt. 

Eddie pulled his pants and boxers just low enough to free his erection, the head of his cock already slick with pre-cum. He leaned his head back, his hand reaching out to yours. 

Naively, you threaded your fingers with his, like it was some intimate gesture. Embarrassment flooded your bloodstream when Eddie laughed under his breath and wrapped your hand around his length. 

“There ya go, sweetheart.” He inhaled sharply as you moved your hand up and down. 

You worked him, swiping your thumb over the tip and feeling him shudder at your touch. Each reaction grew your confidence until you were straddling him, the thin fabric of your panties serving as the only barrier between the two of you. 

Eddie’s palm pressed against the back of your head, a wordless plea for you to use your mouth. You obliged, pulling his pants down to his ankles and trying not to outwardly wince when your knees dug into the thin carpet.

You relished the sound of each moan that you drew from him, knowing that you were making him feel that way. Your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling around it to further heighten his sensitivity. One hand cupped his balls, carefully kneading them in the same rhythm that your mouth took with his shaft. 

As if on instinct, he pushed your head farther down his shaft. You weren’t expecting it, tears pricking at your eyes as you coughed around him. 

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie let go of you so you could readjust. You were all too grateful that he didn’t turn the moment into a chance to pity you, saving you from further humiliation. 

Wordlessly, you went back to sucking him off. His thighs trembled; for a moment, you expected to feel him spilling onto your tongue. But Eddie only pulled back, his finger wiping away the saliva that dribbled from the corner of your mouth. 

“Ride me.” He patted his lap, eyes shining as you obeyed without hesitation. “Fuck, wish you were gonna be around longer. I could get used to this.”

Eddie watched you as you sank down, taking him inch by glorious inch until you were full of him. Your own gaze stayed fixed on his lips, so plush and begging to be kissed. 

You let lust guide you. Despite an initial shock, Eddie parted your lips with his tongue until your shuddering breath mixed with his. Had no one ever kissed him with such passion? Had no one ever shown him how wanted he was? Is that why he had seemed so surprised when you displayed that kind of intimacy?

There was no time to further ponder these notions, not when he gripped your ass and bucked his hips upward. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He was so good, it was too easy for all of your thoughts to only focus on him. The way his mouth tasted of tobacco, the way he held you like he couldn’t bear to let you go, the way each thrust filled you deliciously…

“You close?”

Were you? Not really; it had been just a few minutes, but you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Men got insecure if they finished before their partner, especially someone new. 

So you just nodded, your eyes locking onto him in hopes he’d believe the lie. Eddie didn’t meet your look; he leaned forward and dug his teeth into your shoulder as he came.

“Oh, God. Fucking Christ–holy shit.”

Giddiness and a twinge of pride fluttered within you, almost as good as an orgasm itself. Maybe you’d get yours next time.

As though reading your mind, Eddie tucked his forefinger under your chin and his thumb atop it. “We should do this again sometime.”

 And so you did. Every day that week while Nancy was at work, Eddie came over to her apartment. The couch became your sex spot, so much that you joked about Eddie’s ass leaving an imprint in the fabric. 

“Maybe we could go to your place?” You suggested on Thursday when Eddie practically mauled you the moment he stepped through the doorway.

He just shook his head. “Nah. I wouldn’t want you to see all of my shit, sweetheart.”

You didn’t even want to imagine the bachelor pad that you might find across the hall, empty pizza boxes cluttering the trash can, beer bottles strewn everywhere, ashtrays full of cigarette butts. 

You did find out a little more about Eddie: He worked nights at the plant, which was why he was home during the day. He played guitar and sang lead vocals in his band, Corroded Coffin. And once you moved his hand down to your clit, he could definitely make you come.

That Friday, before Eddie pulled out, he ran his thumb along your lower lip.

“Wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow morning,” he murmured. “If you were sticking around, I might have had to ask you on a date.”

It was almost enough. The thought of being a real couple, someday even making love instead of simply having sex, brought a smile to your face. Maybe you could make these visits to Nancy more often than you’d originally anticipated.

You decided it must be fate when rain poured down in sheets and lightning zigzagged across the sky, delaying your flight for twelve hours. The cab driver crawled at a snail’s pace as he drove you back to Nancy’s, and you kept reminding yourself that he was doing it for your safety. 

Eddie would be so excited to have another day with you. Another afternoon to spend together, to draw pleasure from one another…possibly even discuss the potential of a long-distance relationship.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

His name echoed with each step you took up the stairwell. You would just knock on his door, fling yourself into his arms, and–

“Hey, babe. Looks like you made it back just in time.”

Eddie. 

Your stomach was a leaden weight when you reached the sixth floor and saw Eddie taking a suitcase from a blonde woman and kissing her until her baby pink lipstick smudged on his mouth. And if that wasn’t enough, there was a thin gold band on his ring finger that hadn’t been there the whole week.

“I would’ve walked if it meant getting home,” the woman said softly. “My mom is still awful, by the way. She kept asking if I was pregnant because, and I quote, ‘you look like you’ve been gaining weight, Chrissy.’”

There was no hiding the smirk on Eddie’s face. “We could make it happen, if you want.”

Chrissy swatted at him and walked into the apartment, and then it was just you and Eddie.

“You’re married.”

You barely recognized your own voice, thick with tears that you were willing back until you were alone. 

Surprise flashed across his face for only a second before he composed himself. He looked right through you, mumbling sorry under his breath as he tugged his wife’s–his wife’s–luggage over the threshold and disappeared to be with her.

--

[vigilante-3073]

Pretty In Pink

James Wilson x Female Reader

Summary: House is curious about Wilson's newly formed relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department.

TW: Mentions of infidelity, questioning.

House sat in the clinic, loud music and sound effects echoing from the speaker of his Gameboy as he played his video game. A young boy sat on the examination table, kicking his scuffed up sneakers boredly as his mother stood beside him. The boy had an ear infection. It was a rather nasty case, but a treatment of antibiotics would resolve it pretty quickly.

The diagnosis was definitely not something House needed assistance with, but he had some questions for the head of Pediatrics.

Doctor L/N had been hired just over two years ago and had recently started seeing Wilson romantically. Wilson refused to give House any details about their relationship and he decided that he would find out for himself.

"What exactly are we waiting for, Doctor?" The patient's mother asked, crossing her arms as she shifted on her feet.

"A consult," House replied without looking up from his screen.

"But I thought it was just an ear infection, is it something worse?" The mother asked.

"Maybe... That's why we're waiting for the consult," House said.

A gentle knock sounded on the door before it opened and Doctor L/N stepped into the room, "Ah, Doctor L/N, how nice of you to join us," House said, tucking his Gameboy into his pocket.

"Hello, I'm Doctor L/N. What seems to be the problem?" She asked, using some hand sanitizer before making her way over to the boy and his mother.

"How was your date? Wilson was stingy with the details," House questioned.

"I don't think this is the most appropriate place to be discussing this, House," She said, sending the young boy and his mother a reassuring smile.

"Oh, don't worry about them, they're fine," House assured.

"We can talk later, House," She said, turning her attention to the young boy, "What seems to be the problem?" L/N questioned.

"Oh, he has an ear infection," House stated, "Just needs some antibiotics," He continued.

"You called me to consult on an ear infection?" Y/N asked incredulously.

"No, I wanted you to tell me about your date with Wilson," House said.

Y/N sighed, pulling her prescription pad from the pocket of her lab coat. She removed a sparkly pink pen from her pocket and wrote out an order on the script.

"I wrote you a prescription for antibiotic ear drops. You pull the earlobe up and back before putting the drops in. The ear should be kept upwards for five minutes after giving each dose," Doctor L/N said, tearing off the slip and passing it to the mother.

"Thank you so much," The woman said.

"It's my pleasure. Oh, and I have some stickers that you can pick from for being so brave today," L/N said, pulling out a variety of brightly colored stickers from her pocket and holding them out in front of the boy.

The boy smiled widely, eyes scanning the stickers before taking a superhero one, "Mom, look," He said proudly, holding up the sticker.

"Come to my office when you're done your clinic hours," Doctor L/N said softly to House.

"But you already made the trip down, it would be cruel to make a cripple travel all that way," House argued.

"You have more patients to see and I'm not helping you weasel your way out of clinic duty. Come and see me later if you want to talk," L/N smiled, making her way out of the room and closing the door.

...

House made his way through the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro on his way to L/N's office. Doctor L/N was an incredibly kind woman who was amazing with her patients, which is probably what drew Wilson to her in the first place.

But House didn't like to share his toys, especially when it was unclear who he was sharing them with.

House banged the handle of his cane on the door to her office, "Come in," She called from inside.

House opened the door and stepped into her office, "Miss me?" House asked, closing the door behind himself before making his way over.

"How was the clinic?" L/N asked without looking up from her patient file.

"Amazing, I'm saving the world one runny nose at a time," House replied sarcastically, sitting down in one of the black leather armchairs in front of her desk, "Comfy," He mused.

His eyes flickered around her office, the shelves were lined with photographs and a few pink trinkets. One corner of the room contained a variety of children's toys and craft supplies along with a small table.

The room was warm and inviting with pink items in every corner. Now that he thought about it, House had never seen the young woman wear anything other than various shades of pink.

The original tip-off to House about Wilson's new relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department was a blush pink tie he had bought for himself.

People could be so easy to read sometimes.

House's eyes finally returned to her figure, not at all shocked to see the pale pink dress that she had been wearing underneath her lab coat.

"Big fan of pink?" House questioned rhetorically, tapping his cane on the floor in front of his chair.

L/N closed the patient file, setting her pink pen on the desktop as she looked up at him, "What can I help you with, Doctor House?" She asked.

"You and Wilson," He stated, bright blue eyes scrutinizing her from across the desk.

"We've been on six dates and there will most likely be more," L/N said.

House narrowed his eyes, "What do you like about him?" House asked.

"He is the kindest man I've ever known. He's smart, handsome and a complete gentleman. And he's devoted to his work," L/N replied.

"Do you see a future with him? Marriage? Kids?" House asked.

She smiled, "I'd like to think so, somewhere way down the road, but I can't speak for Wilson," Doctor L/N said. House nodded as he processed her reply, shifting his cane in his grasp.

"Do you have any other questions for me, Doctor House?" She asked.

"Did you know he's been unfaithful before?" He questioned, watching her facial expression closely.

"I did, yes," L/N nodded.

"But you're still with him? Most women your age would run the other way from a guy with a history of infidelity. You're young, pretty and smart. You have options... So, why settle for him?" House asked.

She huffed a laugh, "There's no settling when you care about someone, House. You take them for who they are and decide to love them anyway, faults and all," L/N said.

"Why are you answering my questions?" House asked, "You could have told me to kick rocks and avoided this altogether, but you didn't," He stated.

"You're his best friend, House. If I'm going to be a part of his life, I have to be okay with you being a part of it too," L/N said with a small smile.

House stared at her for a second, "I like you," He said.

A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened and Wilson poked his head into the office. His brow furrowed slightly in concern when he saw House sitting in front of her desk.

"Is everything okay?" Wilson asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself.

"Yep, we were just having girl talk," House said, standing up from his seat and walking over to the door.

"She's all yours," House said, stepping out into the hallway and limping off in the direction of his office.

"Did he say anything I should be concerned about? Because I can easily arrange a date that is so amazing that you would be willing to forgive my awful choice in friends," Wilson said.

L/N smiled, shaking her head, "He was actually pretty sweet," She replied.

"I knew he must be sick, that doesn't sound like House at all," Wilson joked with a smile.

"He cares about you," Doctor L/N said, standing from her chair and making her way over to him.

"In his own messed up way? Yes," Wilson said, wrapping his arms around her waist when she was close enough.

L/N wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers toying with his hair, "I really like you, James," She said.

"Good, because I really like you too," Wilson replied, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He pulled away after a moment, staring down at her lovingly.

"Do you still have time for lunch?" L/N asked, hands sliding down to adjust his pale pink tie instinctively.

"For you? I have all the time in the world," Wilson replied.

[urfavlarry]

HI loved the tyler/aiden headcannons btw!

Wanted to ask if you could write something about the reader being apart of the group (after they finally escaped the realm and are free..and traumatized, but happy)

AND LIKE A LITTLE ROMANCE HAPPENING BETWEEN AIDEN AND THE READER!! Like after everything had calmed down, (3 weeks after they escaped) the group goes to a skating rink to have fun. Like normal teens 😞

Would love a oneshot of it!! :D

Aiden Clark x gn!reader

warnings: swearing, bad grammar

genre: fluff! :3

A/N: AHH I love this!! I skate myself so this is just 🛐

hope you like it <33

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You and the group have been planning a trip for quite a while. You were trying to celebrate the fact you finally escaped the damn realm and that lab they kept you guys in. Everyone was a bit shaken up, most of you couldn’t really sleep and you had sleepovers most of the time to try and sleep better. It usually worked, well at least for most of the group. You would wake up in the middle of the night, cold wind hitting your soaked figure. You often had nightmares and you couldn’t really go to therapy because you would be considered ‘crazy’, so you just had to pull through without any help. You know the group would be happy to help, but you don’t want to bother them when they had it worse. Back to the present time! You were currently in the graveyard, sitting in a circle near the campfire, you yourself sitting on your kind of beat up skateboard. Everyone suggested their ideas, Logan suggesting a museum, Ashlyn a restaurant, The twins suggested a waterpark and then Aiden and Ben said they didn’t really care where they would go.

An idea popped in your head and you smiled; “How about a skating rink? That could be fun? I know a pretty good one and theres also like a trampoline part connected to it so that’s pretty cool.” Everyone talks about the idea, Aiden agreeing instantly along with the twins. “Well is there a buffet there? Maybe we could later eat there and just celebrate?” Ashlyn suggests and everyone agrees looking at you for your response. You nod and everyone cheers, excited for the trip.

The day of the trip arrives, you all agreed to meet up at the train station at 8am and you were there early, already waiting there at 7. You watched the sunrise and you smile taking a picture and put your phone away and try out some tricks. You first tried an ollie, the key trick you need to know to learn most of the other ones. You record some of the tries and relax for a bit, watching the clips when suddenly your eyes get covered by a pair of soft hands. “Aiden..” You say and smile at the blonde boy, who had his usual relaxed demeanor. “Hey, you’re here early aren’t you?” He says and sits down next to you, resting his feet on his skateboard, rocking his legs from side to side. “Yeah I wanted to be here just in case anyone needed help with anything.” You say and yawn slightly, not really shaking off the sleepiness just yet. He nods and starts to yap like he usually does and you just listen, letting him yap your ear off. You didn’t mind, you weren’t much of a talker, so you usually just listened.

The others finally arrived just in time for when the train arrived. Everyone boarded and you found your seats, all of you sitting together. Ashlyn decided to catch up on sleep, along with Ben. The twins and Logan were playing some card game and You just listened to music, sharing headphones with Aiden. You lay your head on the window and drift off, feeling a hand on yours.

You get shaken awake, and you groan but gather your things and skateboard and get off the train, leading the way. You jump onto your skateboard and you guys skate/walk for about 15 minutes when you finally get there. “Here we are!” You say and pay for your entry, putting away your things and grab your phone along with your skateboard and run to the rink, doing a quick board slide. The others cheer you along as you drop in and do a rock to fakie.

Aiden watches you with a smile and Tyler and Taylor do their own thing as Ty teaches his sister the basics. Logan and Ben were off somewhere probably in the trampoline park and Ashlyn watched everyone, taking videos. “I’ll need to ask her to send me that later.” You think to yourself and manual.

You mind your own buiseness, riding up to a ramp when a kid suddenly jumps in your away, making you manual a bit too quickly so you fell on your elbow. “Fucking hell.. watch it kid!” You yell and hiss in pain as you look at the now bleeding elbow. Aiden noticed the fall and ran over to you and inspected the wound; “Hey are you okay? That was a nasty fall.” He says and you laugh; “Come on i’ve had it so much worse before, and plus people break bones doing this shit so i’m fine.” You say and stand up and walk over to the sitting area and take out some bandages you brought along in this type of situation. Aiden snatches them from you and looks at you with a kind smile; “Let me do it.” He doesn’t even give you time to reply and is already carefully wrapping the wound. Your face feels hot and you look anywhere but at Aiden, looking for the others yet they were nowhere to be found.

“There, that should be better, and by the way, when did you start skating? Your pretty good, almost better then me!” He teases and wraps and arm around your shoulder. You chuckle and smirk, teasing right back; “Oh yeah? How about a game of skate?” You challenge him and wait for his response, already knowing the answer. “Hell yeah! I’ll win for sure!” He runs to get his skate and you do the same, and that was the start of a very long game of skate. You guys got bored after a while, agreeing on a tie and sit down, breathing heavily as if you ran a marathon. The others came back and everyone agreed on going to the restaurant that was across the street from the skating rink. You walk with your skates and decide to hide them somewhere at the back of the building and head inside the restaurant, ordering food and refreshing drinks immediately.

You sit down in the booth and Aiden slides in next to you along with Ben and Logan, the others sitting on the opposite side. Everyone chatted and joked around and your elbow was killing you along with your legs as well. Your eyes droop a bit but you take a sip of your drink that shakes you awake slightly. Aiden taps you on the knee and you look up at him, raising a brow. He leans in and whispers into your ear with a low tone; “You okay? You look kinda off.” He says and you smile reassuringly and give him a thumbs up under the table. He hums and smiles as the waiter brings the food everyone has been craving for the past 5 hours. You eat your food in silence, some chatting here and there but mostly you guys Te in peace. After everyone was full you decided to go to the bathroom to clear your mind, of course not letting them know the reason. You walk into the bathroom and sigh, they were empty, unlike many other restaurants and you shrug, walking over to the mirror and fix your hair up a bit when you notice Aiden in the mirror. “Hey, I know I asked already but you really don’t seem fine. Is it the elbow?” He jokes and you shrug, giving him a slight smile; “I’m fine don’t worry okay? My body is killing me though.” You say and stretch your body, some satisfying cracks echoing throughout the bathroom. You go to leave when you get embraced in a warm hug, a hand running up and down your back. “Relax for a bit, they won’t notice we’re gone.” He whispers and you guys stay like that for a few minutes when you finally let go. He looks at you lovingly and your face feels hot as you avert your gaze away from him.

He lifts your face to look at him and leans in, your lips brushing against each other and your eyes meet, Aiden looking at you as if asking for consent. You inch closer and he takes that as a yes, soft lips meeting yours. Your lips move in sync with each other and his hands wander down to your waist. You pull away and you hide your flushed face in the crook of his neck. He chuckles lowly and hugs you close. “You know i’ve liked you ever since that day we went out to get the jeep.” He says and you look at him with a confused look; “But I thought you liked Ash—” You get cut off by a finger on your lips and he smile; “Remember I had my eyes on you the whole time, I may have been comforting Ash but I had my eyes on you. I didn’t know how to approach you, ya know?” He says and leaves kisses all over your face. “Now I’ve got you all to myself~” He says and holds your hand, dragging you out to the others who stared at you and whistled, Ben looking at Aiden with a proud smile.

Later that day when everyone finally got home, Aiden messaged you and soon after you heard a knock on your bedroom window. You playfully roll your eyes and mumble “Idiot.” quickly opening the window. Aiden hops in and tackles you in a hug, you falling back on the bed. “Hey! What are you doing?” You chuckle and play with his hair. You hear a mumbled “I missed you.” And you giggle, making him look up at you. “We haven’t seen each other for like 45 minutes?” “Too long.” He shrugs and peppers your face with kisses, moving down to your neck and collar bone. Your eyes droop and you start to fall asleep, finally in his embrace.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[ericshoney]

Black Eye ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Nick, Matt and Chris are home in Boston so they decide to drive you to and from school, but as they pick you up, they notice you hiding your face.

Warnings: possible swearing, nicknames,a fight, black eye, mentions of bullying, random name for the bully, slight angst, fluff ending

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

Your brothers were home in Boston for a while and offered to drive you to and from school. You agreed as it saved you from walking. Today was no different for the morning.

"You ready kid?" Chris called, as you ran down the stairs and grabbed your bag.

"Let's go!" You cheered.

You got in the car, where Nick and Matt were already waiting. The guys talked about their plans for the day as you played on your phone for the car ride. Nick, who was next to you, glanced at your phone.

"Hope your not texting any boys." He said.

"Or girls." Matt added.

"Only friends. I'm twelve, not even thinking about dating." You responded.

"Good. Too young for a boyfriend or girlfriend!" Chris exclaimed, making you giggle.

You soon arrived at school and said bye to your brothers. Matt rolled down his window.

"We'll pick you up later and go get some food, sound good?" He suggested.

"Yeah! See you later!" You replied, waving as they drove off.

You walked into school, joined a couple of your friends and looked forward to going out with your brothers later. You thought it would be a good day.

That was until lunch.

You were just sitting on a bench with your friends, chatting and showing each other random TikTok's, when she came over.

Willow Jones.

She was an absolute bitch in your opinion. She walked around thinking highly of herself and her little followers.

"Hi you little troublemakers, burned down the science lab yet?" She teased.

"No, we're waiting till your in there." One of your friends replied, making you laugh.

"What are you laughing at, brat?" Willow responded.

"Sorry, you talking to me?" You called, looking around.

"Who else? Is there another spoiled brat with famous brothers here?" She called.

You laughed and shook your head. You knew you'd encounter your brothers haters at some point, knowing they were just jealous idiots as Nick called them and you knew Willow was jealous.

You stood up as she kept taunting you, walking over to her, your friends watched closely. Before you could even think, you punched her in the face. Her friends winced and screamed as your friends cheered.

"You bitch!" She spat.

Willow pushed you down and punched you in the face, your left eye to be precise. You tried to push her off but she was too heavy and your eyes were blurry from the punch. You scratched her arm as she was pulled off you, both being sent to the principal's office.

After a scolding of the principal, you were free to go. You quietly went to your last few classes, hearing the whispers all around you, whilst your friends tried to distract you.

When it came to home time, you walked slowly, wondering how your brothers were going to react. Would they be angry? Worried? Proud even? You couldn't quite figure it out, so you covered your face with your hair, hoping they wouldn't ask.

"Hey kiddo!" Matt called.

You glanced up and saw the car. You gave a wave as you climbed in the back alongside Nick.

"How was school?" Chris asked as Matt began driving.

"Alright." You mumbled, looking down at your lap.

"You okay?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, just tired and hungry." You responded, it wasn't a total lie.

Nick, Matt and Chris shared a silent look as you kept your eyes on your lap. Chris turned the music up slightly, making you sigh in relief, thinking they weren't going to ask.

But they did.

"Why are you covering your face?" Matt asked.

You looked up slightly and noticed you were parked in a restaurant car park. You sighed and looked out the window.

"It's just how my hair is." You lied.

"No bub, what are you hiding?" Chris asked.

You knew fighting wouldn't work, it would only make all of you angry. You caved and moved your hair out of your face and let them see your black eye.

"What the fuck!" Nick screamed.

"Is it bad?" You asked.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Chris she has a fucking black eye of course it's bad!" Matt shouted.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Nick asked, gently touching around your eye.

You then explained everything that happened, how Willow was being and how you punched her but she got you back. How she and her friends had been picking on you and your friends for a while.

"What did the principal say?" Chris asked.

"I got lunchtime detention tomorrow and if it happened again I'd be suspended." You answered.

"Well, I'm proud you stood up for yourself, but pissed you got caught." Nick said, making you laugh as Chris and Matt shouted.

"You shouldn't be fighting people, not in school, petal." Matt said.

"I know but she made me angry." You responded.

"We understand, bub. Next time, out of school." Chris said.

You laughed and nodded, letting them have their jokes. You were happy they weren't really mad, but you still had to face your parents yet.

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

Tags:

@lgbtq-girl @mattsfavbigtitties @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall @sturniolo-fann

[dontexpectmuch]

rúben dias x reader

summary; you always see him when you step out of your apartment in the early hours of the morning, the two of you greeting each other with your eyes before you move on with your day. there has never been a reason to talk to him; until you run out of sugar and are about to have a mental breakdown. the girly way.

part one! [part two]

**

sometimes you hated yourself for being so passionate about your work field. there was nothing wrong with being passionate about what you do with your life per se, however having to get up at 4:30 in the morning made something inside you die each day.

who in their right mind would ever do that to themselves?

your family and friends around you always [affectionately] called you a psychopath because of it, and sometimes you agree with them. starting your day so early til the late evening would take a toll on you at times, you couldn’t lie. though, what else are you supposed to do with your life?

living in manchester, close to university labs and other great laboratories was a privilege for someone in your field. your work required loads of attention and detailed research, taking up most of your time. it’s not like you had someone at home waiting for you anyway. forcing yourself out of your bed and getting ready was the norm, you quickly became used to your routine and did everything according to a certain standard. looking at yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth, you are met with a pair of tired eyes.

just as you are about to spit out the rest of the toothpaste, you hear the alarm of the flat next to you go off, meaning it was 5:00 already.

your neighbor was also out of their mind, apparently.

he always gets up early in the morning, does his routine and leaves his home at the same time as you do. he however, compared to you, looked always fresh and dedicated, no trace of sleepiness on his masculine features.

finishing your morning routine, you quickly get dressed, take your ginger shots and eat some food before putting on your shoes. with one last look behind you to check yourself in the mirror, you open the door.

not even a second later, the door opposite to you also opened, your tall neighbor stepping out of his flat, bag on his shoulder and hair styled.

how did he manage to always wear such nice outfits? you find yourself asking as you greet him with a tired smile.

you close your door behind you and move your tired legs to the elevator, pressing the button as you readjust your bag on your shoulders. today would be a tiring day, you can just tell.

your neighbor stands a meter behind you, his intense perfume invading your senses. even though the two of you get up quite early, he seemed very energetic, almost as if he could run around a field all day long with no feeling of being tired.

the sound of the elevator arriving pulls you out of your thoughts, stepping inside as your eyes follow your neighbors hands. he always presses the button, never once letting you have the chance to do so yourself. not that you are complaining.

as soon as you arrive at the entrance, he quickly walks out the elevator, a small and breathy ‘bye’ leaving his lips as his long legs carry him to the garage.

“bye.” you say to no one particular, moving forward to get to the train station.

it definitely is too early.

——

“that’s a lot of sugar.” you mumble to yourself as you read the instructions on the paper.

the light in your kitchen is dimmed down, soft rnb music playing in the background and candles lit around your flat just created a certain vibe that you desperately need right now.

work has been harder than usual today, testing you and your mental capacity in very unique and challenging ways. thankfully, you have been able to come home a bit earlier, granting you enough time to bake yourself some delicious cookies as a treat. what you forgot, however, was that you still need to go grocery shopping, your fridge a clear evidence for that.

you search your cupboards for some sugar, eyes scanning each product with practiced ease. your shoulders sink in despair when you fail to detect it, your head pounding and feet getting cold.

“fuckin’…” you take a deep breath and try to calm yourself, but the pounding of your head and your rapid pulse hinder you from actually calming down.

looking at the clock above the door, you see that it is way too late to go out and buy some sugar, knowing that it would get too late to come home, bake the cookies, get enough sleep and what not. you try to think of what else you could do, when suddenly you hear some noise from your neighbors flat. it wasn’t loud, yet it came so unexpected that it pulled you out of your racing mind, making you calm down a bit better now.

so you do what anyone else would do, you decide to ask you neighbor for some sugar, not a big deal.

yeah, no biggie, at all.

now, standing in front of his door as you try to internally hype yourself up, you wish that you just went grocery shopping yesterday. because then, you wouldn’t have to stand here with your measuring cup in your hand, looking at the black door.

‘dias’ it says on the bell’s button.

taking one last deep breath, you move your cold hand towards the door, gently knocking against it. no going back now.

it didn’t take longer than ten seconds for the door to open, and you are immediately met with the sight if your neighbor in his evening clothes, messy hair and phone at hand.

his eyes are wide as he looks at you, somewhat surprised to see you standing there. you, too, are surprised by all of this, however you were here on a mission. no time for distractions.

you clean your throat, “hey, sorry for bothering you-“

“you don’t.” he immediately responds, voice deep laced with an accent.

you smile at him, which he returns. he steps closer to you, now resting his upper body against the doorframe.

“i was baking some cookies and didn’t realize that i ran out of sugar. could you perhaps lend me some?”

holding the measuring cup up to show him, dias immediately nods and gently takes the cup out of your hands, “give me a second.” is all he says before he disappears into his flat, front door still open for you to take a peak inside.

even though you can’t see a lot, even his doorway looked quite nice and clean, shoe rack full of different types of shoes. he even had a plant there, something that even you don’t own.

“here you go.” he appears again, smiling softly at you as he holds the cup for you to take.

returning his smile, you thank him, “thanks, eh..”

“rúben.”

“thanks, rúben! i’ll bring some cookies over as soon as they’re finished.” you tell him, smiling one last time before going back to your flat.

“see you.” is all you hear before he closes his door, and you immediately go back to your kitchen to finish what you started.

time passes by and an hour later you finish the cookies. your body finally relaxes, no trace of that stress you felt today at work present. the kitchen smells heavenly and your mouth waters as you take your first bite of the cookie.

looking at the time, you see that it is barley past nine, not too late to give rúben some of the cookies as a thank you. so, you put some of them in to a plate and once again leave your home to knock on his door.

you didn’t understand why, but suddenly your mind goes blank and your heart beats faster again, cold sweat spreading across your back. was it because you cared about what he thought of your baking? maybe you were getting sick due to all the stress you had throughout the day, and this was your final sign to take a break from work.

your worries wash away when rúben once again opens his door, looking the same as from an hour ago.

this time, his smile reaches his eyes when he sees you standing there, holding a plate with delicious looking cookies on it.

“delivery.” you say, smiling at him.

he didn’t look as mean and intimidating as he usually does in the morning. this whole ‘homebody’ look casts a whole new light on him, changing the previous thoughts you had about him.

rúben chuckles at your word, “well, well, would you look at that.”

his thick accent sends a shiver down your spine, his deep and honey like voice a nice change from what you were usually accustomed to when hearing a male voice.

“i hope you like them, rúben.” you hand him the plate, looking at his eyes, “thanks again for the sugar, really saved my evening.”

rúben laughs as he takes the plate, waving his hand at your statement, “it was nothing, really. thank you for the cookies, i look forward to eat them.”

nodding at his words, you look down as you smile to yourself, “well, have a-“

“do you want to eat them together?” he interrupted you, big brown eyes looking at you intensely.

oh, well.

“i don’t want to disturb your evening, though.” you tell him your thoughts.

or maybe it is because you don’t trust yourself to have the mental capacity right now. well, you tend to enjoy your alone time a lot, and spending your evening with your neighbor who practically is a stranger wasn’t exactly on your radar.

“no, really,” rúben begins, opening his door wide to welcome you in. as you step in, he continues, “as neighbors, we have to get to know each other. we both live alone, when something happens we are the closest to each other to help.” he reasons. and he was right, you think to yourself.

your parents live outside of manchester, your friends on the other side of town. if something were ever to happen, having rúben close would be the most important thing for you.

nodding, you take off your shoes and follow him to the big living room, “you’re right. i never thought about what might happen if no one could come in time.”

rúben brightly smiles at you as he places the plate onto his coffee table in front of the couch. as your eyes wander around the living room, you once again notice how clean and organized his home looks. not a single thing out of place, compared to this, your home looks like a battlefield. his flat was definitely bigger than yours as well, though his kitchen and living room were connected, whereas you had a separate room for your kitchen. his walls were decorated with some pictures, and you could even see a guitar leaning against the wall in a corner.

"here, ginger tea does wonders to one's body." rúben leans down to place a cup of tea in front of you, his perfume hitting your nose.

"thanks." you smike at him as you watch him take a seat on the couch next to you, respectable distance between you two.

he takes a sip from his tea before looking at you, his eyes shining under the dim lights, “how long have you been living here?”

“hm,” you begin as you try to think of a concrete date, not so sure yourself, “well, i moved here after i got my job at the university, even though it wasn’t the cheapest, it was still the closest to work and best offer i got considering how big the flat is.” you explain, grabbing a cookie as you shoot the same question back at him.

“i also work in manchester,” rúben begins, his voice deep. he leans back against the couch, his left arm now resting on top of the back, “but this is my second flat. my first one was too unsafe, considering that everyone could just enter the building.”

you nod, “yes, that was also quite important to me when i moved here.”

he smiled as he told you a bit more about his first flat and how different it was living in his old neighborhood compared to now. without noticing, you two fell into a comfortable conversation, jumping from topic to topic as the two of you had loads to tell. rúben talked a lot more than you, but that was only because you enjoyed listening to his stories, his accent also made it a lot more enjoyable.

time moved on quickly, and when your eyes catch a glimpse of the digital clock on his wall, they widen in disbelief.

“oh, fuck, i have to go.” you tell him, getting up take your cup and the empty plate to the kitchen.

rúben follows you, placing his own cup into the sink as you now move on to out on your shoes.

“thank you so much, rúben.” you say as he opens the door for you, watching you step out as he now leans against his doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest, “it was genuinely nice to get to know you.”

he smiles at you words, “thank you, too. the cookies were amazing. i’ll bring the plate back as soon as it’s clean.” he lets you know.

you walk backwards to your door, pulling out your keys, “no rush, it’s not like you have a long way to deliver it anyway.”

“you’re right.”

“soo, i’ll see you in a few?” you ask him, opening your door and stepping inside.

he nods, “in a few.”

“okay, good night, rúben.”

“good night.”

—————————————————

tadaaaaa

just a drabble but i think we can work with this quite well. whatcha think? let me know!!!

bb

[whereispearlescentmoon]

I have an idea for an HC10 DBH au because Pearl is playing it rn and I need to get some ideas out.

Etho and Tango purchase P3421, a Jack of all trades model that is designed in particular for fast learning. It’s an expensive model, due to the complexity of its neural network, but worth it for the two of them who need an extra hand on their complicated technical projects and who are willing to train “Pearl” to do so. What they don’t expect is that they would grow fond of Pearl, and that they would be willing to use their tech to hide her… peculiarities, when she goes somewhat “rogue” and begins to express herself artistically and emotionally beyond the normal means of an android.

Ren, a technician for Gigacorp, who produces androids, begins to question some of the decisions from the higher ups when it comes to rogue androids. When he is tasked with disposing of F4123 “False” an engineer android who refused a task given to her and ran away, only to be caught again, and B337 “Beef”, a vintage and out of commission manual labor model that uses different enough components that it can’t be melted for scrap, he finds he can’t do it. Not with both of them pleading with him for their lives. Instead, he hides them in his private lab, in the hopes that no one will show up to take them. His goal is to, ultimately, help them get somewhere where androids have equal rights.

J03 “Joe”, a model created to be particularly adept at musical performance, and X12UM4 “X”, a model designed to help coders and software engineers, are two rogue androids who have found their way into an underground android resistance. There, they find Cleo, an android who’s original designation has been lost under all the scraps they’ve used to put themselves back together over the years, IM9U123 “Impulse”, a manual labor model who had nearly gotten scrapped when he began to suggest ideas to architects that hadn’t been asked for, B-Dubs, the human architect who had snuck Impulse out of where he was meant to be scrapped and who has intimate knowledge of blueprints of the city, and G3M141 “Gem”, also a manual labor model who had killed her owner and fled for reasons she refuses to disclose. S4122 “Skizz”, a police android, is secretly working with them.

The antagonists would likely be Cub, Grian, and Scar, police officers who specialize in rogue androids, and whose goal is to hunt down and eliminate them. Their task force’s main goal is a rogue who goes by “Jevin”, though they don’t know his original model designation. He’s been leaving messages around the city, urging other androids to rise up and take down the authorities keeping them as property. What they don’t know, is that they have a mole, Skizz, who is feeding information about how the investigation is going to the resistance.

Eventually, Ren, Etho, and Tango find out about the resistance, via Jevin’s graffiti, and make it their goal to help get their respective android friends to them to help them either hide or leave.

[slowd1ving]

STRESS, STRAIN: THE TALE OF YOUNG MODULUS AND A FORLORN PHYSICS STUDENT ゜゜・BLADE DRABBLE

Dealing with a stalker roommate? No problem, Kafka's got the perfect solution: staying with the unapproachable and cold Blade. Teetering the thin line between sleeping on the streets and facing his rumored wrath, it sure is hard keeping your balance when the engineering student is anything but civil. gender-neutral, physics major reader paired with college au + band au (will come into play in another part I swear) see here for some basic designs for them warnings: some violence? consumption of alcohol, arguments, blade being a dick, college au wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

✧ Perhaps it’s lucky that your acquaintance Kafka finds you at your most dire of moments, or perhaps it’s your Achilles-level misfortune finally catching up to you. Dorm changes aren’t particularly infrequent, sure—but dealing with a stalkerish, obsessive roommate is definitely story-material for when you’re downing shots. Literature major Kafka isn’t one to turn her magnanimous back on whom she considers a friend, even if said friend is currently wallowing their sorrows away by complaining about the lack of available dorms to make the switch and drowning in hard liquor.  ✧ Saviour Kafka, who plays for notorious metal group Stellaron Hunters (she’s a suave electric violinist), finds this a perfect opportunity to help out the cute guitarist from the rival Trailblazers! Her deft fingers are already sending a message to her pinned contact and drummer: Bladie, finally found you a roommate. Respond. It should be okay to put two college students (in bands infamous for their tense rivalry on– and off–campus) together in the proverbial lab rat cage; after all, neither of you are aware of who the other is behind the elaborate masks. It’s not like there’s a deficit of music groups at the Astral Institute—so who will ever know? Don’t ask how she knows the face behind the pretty Venetian mask. She won’t ever tell.   ✧ Honestly, she’s not sure how the bad blood started (she helped spread the rumours). All she cares about is doing you a solid!

“You think the streets will accept me for who I am?” Even with your head slumped over your forearms and the smell of cheap vodka clinging to your clothes, Kafka thinks you look naively charming in the dim amber lights of a bar pretending to be upscale. And by naive, she means very naive—for real, how can a physics major be so gullible as to not question their roommate’s deranged tendencies until it’s far too late? It’s hilarious. 

She’d dissect how this mood is perfectly, pathetically fallacious to your situation; yet her mind is too honed in on the buzz of her phone as Blade finally replies to her text. 

“Kafka,” you bawl into a stack of papers you’d salvaged from your ransacked dorm. “What if the asphalt doesn’t like me when I’m sleeping in the streets?”

21:48 > ok. 

Kafka, being an expert at metaphorical and allegorical interpretation, translates Blade-speak easily: let’s discuss this tomorrow, please and thank you. 

“Found you a roomie,” she murmurs delightedly, watching with her hawk-keen eyes as you sit up drunkenly. 

“That was fast, even for you,” you wipe your eyes cautiously—still wracked with the occasional hiccup. “Who is it?”

“Blade. You know him?”

✧ That sobers you right up.  Of course you know him. Nicknamed Blade for how cold and unfriendly he is, you’ve personally seen him in engineering lectures: making people shiver from just his gaze alone, and on one notable occasion, making his project partner cry after his infamously harsh criticism of her proposal. It’s common knowledge that he practises various martial arts, but the rumours that circle around him like vultures whisper of how he uses them on the streets. But whilst you doubt the reliability of the latter talk, it’s hard not to picture his hands dripping sanguine when his eyes glint the same shade.  ✧ Honestly, how bad could it be? It’s not like you have any other options unless you want to wake up with your roommate standing over you while you sleep again. After her, you doubt he’ll be any more of a walking nightmare.  ✧ Perfect!—Kafka is a bit too enthusiastic at your reluctant nodding, but you cast it from your mind as you pack your stuff with Caelus and Stelle standing behind you like a pair of twin guard dogs. One good thing about this is that you can finally take your guitar with you (rather than storing it safely at Dan Heng’s room) to the apartment—because of course he’s too good for the dorms. Though, after experiencing your batshit roommate, you really can’t blame him for avoiding this area.  ✧ Maybe, just maybe, the rumours about him being insane too are false and you can finally have a peaceful night’s rest without fearing for your life. 

Yeah right. You hate him. You genuinely hate the man over in the room next door. The passage of time on your phone indicates it’s only been a week since you showed up with five boxes of belongings and a nervous smile on your lips—but the agony you’re going through prolongs this mental period to eternity. 

Sisyphus embodies futility for evermore; as do you when you’re knocking on his door for the nth time to beg him to quiet down on his drums. The timings are so meticulous and calculative that you’re sure you could work out a linear sequence to this situation if you tried. 

Exhausted from the laboratory job you’re juggling on top of band practice and reading on Dirac notations? No problem—Blade’s busy expressing how you feel in terms of loud crashing and banging that you hate to admit is (very technically) skilled.

Recalling your first encounter—your nervous smile and his cold indifference as you moved into the room next to his—it’s not hard to imagine that he’d be inconsiderate of you. Those red eyes had slid right past you like oil on water: judging you to be not worth his time to even greet properly. In fact, it’s like he’s trying to chase you out so you leave him alone for good. 

The deep mahogany door swings inward, and you’re left facing an unimpressed, scowling Blade. With the way he’s clutching those drumsticks, you’d think he was about to skewer you—but you’re a bit too preoccupied with how he’s only sporting a pair of loose navy trousers that cascade languidly from his hips. 

“What do you want?” Laconic as ever, he gets straight to the point with his question—as if he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve come knocking. Just like this morning, just like last night, the night before, the night before yesterday’s—every damned night is a problem. 

“For you to invest in soundproofing,” you scowl back, too tired to keep up the fragile facade of politeness. At least when you practise with the electric guitar, you can easily hook it up to a pair of headphones and protect the sanctity of silence elsewhere. Actually, you don’t think he even knows your guitar exists with how considerate you are of your asshole roommate. 

“Why should I?” he crosses his arms, looking directly down at you. If you looked closely, the slight stretch of his lips resembled a smirk—but you’re definitely mistaken, since the man never so much as smiles. The cold expression accompanying his crude words sums up his thoughts: if you don’t like it, beg Kafka for whatever other solution she has. 

His inky hair sways from where it’s tied back, and you resist the urge to yank it until he sees sense. 

“For better quality of life,” you grit out. 

Those eyes turn into sardonic crescents. “I’m good.”

And the door is shut. 

✧ Fortunately, you’ve managed to fall asleep in the middle of the practise room before on countless occasions; tuning the heavy thumping comes easy after a while when you’re exhausted and practically dead on your feet. The problem is during the day—doing your assigned reading and writing up results from practical work comes much harder when you’re constantly accompanied by the rhythmic percussion of a madman who favours metal. It gets so rowdy that you seriously consider whether he’s part of the Stellaron Hunters and knows you’re a Trailblazer—it would make sense, after all, if he was just feeling extra spiteful. However, from the trembling students claiming to be his previous roommates, this is just common treatment: him basically telling them to beat it and never return.  ✧ Two can play at that game. Upon complaining to Kafka of his (rage-inducing) musical tendencies, she suggests that you get back at him with your electric guitar. Don’t ask her how she knows, no she’s not trying to instigate and watch the chaos—Kafka attempts to reassure you. You don’t trust the shady writer one bit, but both Data Analysis major Dan Heng and Environmental Studies student March 7th give the plan the go ahead. If you’re not mistaken, you can hear a touch of personal grief in the normally composed Dan Heng’s voice—something so poignantly irritated you wonder what the story between them is.  ✧ Contrary to his nonchalant attitude, it’s clear he’s annoyed by the loud chords that buzz through the apartment. As soon as he picks up his drumsticks, you plug the guitar to the amps and thoroughly mess with him. You know enough from Caelus’ repertoire to place each genre of music Blade starts to play (which is limited to metal). No problem—you play various styles that decidedly aren’t metal and are so discordant with his own tempo you can’t help but keep a grin on your lips. He’s much too stubborn to knock on your door, but the irritated twitch of his eyes in the kitchen belies just how aggravating this is. And when you know he’s scrawling down notes for his classes, that’s when you’re practising your metal riffs and playing around with the fretboard. If you’re feeling particularly nice, you’ll play along to some darkwave gothic music—something relatively more calm—but these occasions are few and far between. 

Chromatic eyes pierce your back while you deftly chop vegetables for your dinner. Really, now’s the best time to do work: when you’re busy with cooking and not insistent on plaguing him with jarring melodies. For someone so logical when it comes to his meticulous classwork, he sure doesn’t seem it as he leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen—sipping water and just staring at you while you Julienne an onion. 

You shoot him a withering glance as you toss the slices into a bowl on the side, and he glares at you with a matched fervour. If it weren’t for the fact that you literally don’t have anywhere else to go—Caelus doesn’t even have a couch for you to sleep on—you’d have moved out a long time ago. 

It’s a rustic space: sage green cabinets filled with charming, mismatched plates and cups; glossy white counters that house various herbs and the occasional plant; a lacquered table in the middle that has a vase holding a singular dried flower. An orange lily—still retaining a vibrancy that conceals just how long it’s been there. You wouldn’t have expected this style of decor from him, but at the same time, you doubt it’s his influence so much as Kafka’s. 

“Do you have a problem?” you probe icily, turning back to where you’re slicing a carrot into thin matchsticks; if there was a god somewhere, you’d hope it could transfigure the man behind you into the root vegetable you’re enthusiastically chopping. 

“No.” And when he speaks again, he’s right behind you. There’s a sink to your left, but he’s much too close as his breath ghosts over the nape of your neck. Affronted, you turn around; only to watch as his eyes widen minutely, glass of water slipping out of his grasp and spilling down your front. 

“You dickhead.” Your hands angrily grab at his collar—unheeding or perhaps uncaring of his reputation for violence as you feel the cold seep into your skin. You’re seething; for someone with such good reflexes, this is a new level of low in attempting to chase you out. Or perhaps it’s revenge for finally getting under his skin. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

It’s a little too late when you realise the position you’re in: skin showing through the translucent material, breathing shallow from your infuriation, face glaring right up at his. 

“Sorry.” His voice rings out insincere—and there’s that damn faint smile still toying at his face as he looks directly at you with that heavy gaze. “My hand slipped.”

You shove him back, too disgusted to acknowledge him any further. Maybe if you turned back around, you’d see the tiniest pricks of red on his face as you tossed your soaked shirt into the washing machine—leaving you in a damp vest while you continued cooking for yourself. Maybe if you looked back at least once, you’d see the amusement in his eyes as you maul the bok choy on the cutting board. 

Those are maybes.

There’s particular things you know for certain. One, you despise him and his existence. Two, he abhors you and your entire being—because why else would he be so insistent in making you leave out of your own volition?

✧ It’s the time of year that you hate: joint engineering classes so you can cover the materials aspect for your physics studies. Well, it’s not like you hated it from the very beginning—you’ve hated it ever since you realised that once again, you’d have to be in the incorrigible presence of Blade. While he did finally install some soundproofing in his room, he’s taken it upon himself to linger wherever you’re present. Typing up your notes on the deep maroon couch with a mug of lavender tea perched on the coffee table? He’s in the window seat, looking over a thick reference manual for tensile strengths. Going to meet bassist Dan Heng so the two of you can play around with various lines for your next song? He’s at the convenience store you briefly stop at, gazing at you before he glares at your friend. Practising a slow solo in the living room (it’s really got the best ambience)? He’s tapping out a beat that you can very faintly now hear—one that surprisingly goes with the electrifying chords.  ✧ Point is, you’re ignoring him and his presence—while he’s inching ever closer. It comes to a head at the lecture hall; you decide to sit in the third row, since it’s both far from the back (where he usually frequents) and it doesn’t make you look like a beg. When you glance at his predestined seat, it’s empty—unsurprisingly as he’s there usually a minute before the professor—while the seat next to him is taken by a girl you’ve seen before. Despite his horrible personality and the (probably true) rumours surrounding him, there’s a few stragglers who genuinely want him. And you genuinely want those people to seek help because it’s clear something went wrong in their lives for them to be thirsting over a man who looks like he eats cigarettes for breakfast.  ✧ He comes in late, as you expect, but you freeze as he places his bag down next to you. Aghast, you can’t help but stare; yet for once he’s not meeting your eyes, and it’s far too late to make a scene and move elsewhere—not when the professor’s just arrived and is keen to start the lecture for materials. He doesn’t talk much, but you’re so distracted by his presence pressing slightly into your sides that you forget that today the professor’s deciding on the pairs for your projects—mouth agape, you stare in shock as she assigns them based on who’s sitting nearby. To be generous, she says, yet there’s nothing generous about this arrangement as his mocking eyes meet yours. He knew, you seethe, storming out of the hall right as the class wraps up. 

“I hate him.” Your molars grind bone-against-bone as you harshly press angry chords into the fretboard. “I hate him so so so so much.”

“Who are you talking about?” March 7th—in charge of the synthesiser—glances first at the bassist to your side, then back at you. Her eyes are wide in sympathy, yet it’s useless in the face of your despair. 

“Blade.” Poetically, the word is accompanied by the deep twang of Smoke on the Water as your fingers move mindlessly on your precious baby. What, your roommate?—she queries. No, a pet fish—Caelus responds, but you tune them both out. 

“He knew the professor would assign groups like that,” you groan. “That’s why he sat next to me.”

“He’s definitely trying to get you to leave his apartment out of your own will,” Dan Heng’s smooth cadence is somewhat soothing—and his conjecture is one you’ve come to yourself—but the accompanying baseline he’s playing to the song makes his theory sound comical. “But he won’t screw up his own project like that.”

You sigh, and the melody falls apart as you bring it to a grinding halt. 

“Believe me, I know just how much he values his projects.” Your head throbs upon thinking about that poor girl sobbing, and the bassist coughs to stifle a laugh. 

“What did he say that one time? ‘Your vapid idea would be better used on death row than as a functioning building’,” Stelle—the vocalist and also the only Psychology major you know who doesn’t unnervingly stare at you—imitates the deep reverberations of his voice, and you’re astonished at how it’s recalled verbatim (down to the exact adjective).

“I’m surprised it got round that far,” you suppress a smile—after all, it’ll be your head on the chopping block next. “You should’ve gone into theatre like Caelus did.” 

What a waste of talent, you shake your head mock-ruefully, which quickly turns to true woe as you realise just the predicament you’re in. 

✧ It’s not a complicated assignment. Well, it shouldn’t be: designing a sound structure based on the whims of the architectural class (whom you loathe); except that Blade is notorious for being a severe critic for civil engineering partnerships—like seriously, out of all hills to die on and it’s civil engineering. You begrudgingly create a new contact for him in your phone; a digital space just for him, which almost makes you throw up at the thought.

(+2 unread messages) <Dickhead> (new contact) 10:11 > library.  10:11 > east block, 20 minutes.

You stare incredulously at the chat, which is neither phrased as a question nor a request but an encrypted demand. The fuck? Infuriated, you take the break between your reps now rather than later, swilling down water while you irritably type out a reply. 

No can do. < 10:15 I’m busy. < 10:16

The reply comes less than a minute later; three dots animating themselves into existence while you wipe the sweat off your face with a towel. This prick. Well, it’s not so much a reply as an acknowledgement of your words—because he doesn’t reply, but rather your phone starts buzzing and you fumble while looking at the expletive lit up brightly on the screen. 

You’re sorely, sorely tempted to press the red receiver on the device. 

“What do you want?” you scowl, and you hope it translates through your voice that you’re revolted by his mere radio presence. 

“Where are you?” He ignores your question; voice vibrating low through your headphones, and you can’t help but shiver, just a little. Even through the thick towel, you can still feel crescents being formed in your palm from your nails—you sincerely wish you were throttling him instead. 

“None of your business.” 

There’s a budding migraine blossoming to life in your temple as you finally hang up. You think that’s the end of it—after all, it was literally yesterday that the groups were assigned. 

But when you shoulder the gym door open—skin still damp and warm from your shower, clean clothes sticking ever so slightly to laved skin—there’s a sleek car parked outside, and you frown when Blade opens the driver’s door. 

“I’m going to report you for stalking,” you grit out, pressing your body to the cool glass of the building. “How the fuck did you know where I was?”

“Kafka,” he replies simply, and of course, that crazy woman was the one who viewed your private story and sent it to him. “I’m picking you up.”

“No you’re not.” Seriously, he thinks you’re that easy to convince—

“I’ll shut the fuck up with the drums for these two weeks.” 

It’s almost miraculous how quickly you slide into the passenger seat. 

✧ You’ve never been in such close proximity to him before (if you don’t count that day in the kitchen). At least, voluntarily. When you close your eyes and lean back against the headrest, you can smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. It’s different from the putrid tide of Axe the average engineering student drowns themself in—rather, it’s got the deep undertone of oud and something sweeter. You don’t expect it; maybe if he smelled like first impressions, he’d stink of blood and a dumpster fire.  ✧ Don’t fall asleep—he remarks, and you can feel his eyes on you briefly. Eyes on the road, prick—you retort, but your own lids are still tightly shut. Therefore, you don’t see how his gaze traces the remaining water droplets from your shower: how his hands linger on his gear stick so he can feel the emanating warmth from your damp thigh.  ✧ He freezes. Gross. He doesn’t like anyone, and only tolerates the rest of the Stellaron Hunters since they’ve seen him at his lowest and yet still find ways to bug him. And you. He wasn’t expecting you to last as long as you have. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to irritate him in your own way, and actually manage to aggravate him enough to force him into soundproofing his room. Actually, he still doesn’t know why you did that. He doesn’t know why his heart picked up slightly at the sight of you in that soaked shirt. And in the end, he still doesn’t entirely know why he chose to sit next to you for that lecture instead. It’s to annoy you, he decides. No point in deliberating too much about it.  ✧ It’s surprising that the two of you don’t immediately argue over the project; some eco-facility for sports that surprisingly was chosen unanimously by the pair of you. Eyes flitting to each other and back, it was a miracle you both had the same idea somehow. And it’s surprising when despite your lack of experience in civil engineering like this (you usually opt for mechanical on projects like these), you carefully consider the missing parts in his outlines—security cameras, sound systems, and tiny edits to the structure to really amplify the architecture.  ✧ He doesn’t mind your presence. That’s what shocks him. As you doze off with your head pressed into the crooks of your elbows, he doesn’t reprimand you like he would with anyone else. Instead, he places the material reference guide down and stops considering cement foundations. Before he gets the chance to poke your forehead, your phone buzzes against the table—lighting up with a name he didn’t think he’d see.  ✧ Dan Heng. He knows you’re friends with the guy, but there’s a burning sensation as his eyes watch the pop-up turn into another message, then another. What does he want? In real time, there’s a particular irritation that blossoms with each new notification. 

<Dan Heng> 20:19 > Are you still up? 20:19 > My roommate’s going to move in with his girlfriend, so you’ll be able to…

The message is cut off, but Blade isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what the implication suggests, and there’s a certain coolness in his eyes as he stares the message down. Isn’t this what he wanted? Yes, this is precisely the ending he hoped for: you moving out and him getting his space back to himself. 

But the issue stems from Dan Heng. He can’t have that. He can’t have you moving in with that man of all people. Anyone else would be fine, he insists to himself. 

Dan Heng. Dan Heng. Dan Heng. 

There’s a certain hypothesis he’d like to test. With your guard down like this, he snaps a photo of you with the drool leaking onto your sleeve—sending it directly to you. Just like clockwork, your phone lights up once more with a message. It’s not ‘Blade’ that’s texting you. 

<Dickhead> 20:20 > [photo.jpeg attached]

He grits his teeth, clutching his textbook until his fingers ache from the strain. No, he won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of taking his roommate like this. 

He’ll play nice. When you find someone who works this efficiently with you, while managing to hold their ground under his intimidating gaze, it’s hard not to want them to not scurry away. 

Eat shit, Dan Heng.

✧ Somehow, mercifully, you manage to complete the project with that weirdo. It’s strange—he’s surprisingly more cordial than ever. And with his inky hair pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched on his straight nose—it’s hard to imagine he’d ever made that poor girl cry in front of everyone like that, but you’d witnessed it yourself. So with a sigh, you remind yourself that he’s just as much of an asshole as the rumours say. But, staring at him so relaxed like this, these two different Blades are hard to ever merge.

“Something on my face?” He’s still writing with his glasses sliding down his nose. He sounds irritated, as per usual, but the tiny smirk painting his face lets you know that no he’s not irritated, he’s just being an arse just as always. 

“Yeah, pen,” you mutter, looking away as he finally glances up at you. When you glance back at the desk where your laptop precariously shows the still-unfinished presentation slides, he’s gazing up at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. 

It almost puts to rest the image of a dickhead. 

“There’s no pen, though,” he purrs, voice low while he rests the manual back on the table. “I’ve been reading all morning.”

Nevermind—he’s as much of an asshole as he regularly is. 

“Who knows,” you comment offhandedly, slowly sliding a blue biro your way as soon as he looks back down. There—you attempt to inch forward to draw on his face, but he catches your wrist from across the table between you. 

You freeze. Shit, you screwed up. With how relaxed he is, it’s getting easier and easier to forget the rumours of his bruised knuckles that follow him like a shroud. His eyes glance coolly at you, then at the incriminating weapon within your fingers. 

“What are you doing?” Maybe he’s the questions first, beat up later kind. 

“Getting revenge.” Shameless, you think, but definitely not as shameless as getting told to effectively shut up with the drums yet having the audacity to keep going louder. 

His lips part, and your eyes nearly stray to the pink colour of them. Then, he smiles—something so cynical and disturbing you can’t help but shiver and twist your arm out of his hold, all so you can watch him askance. 

“I can see why people find you scary,” you shudder, tapping your biro on a square notepad. 

“And you don’t?” An innocuous question, but one that almost sounds accusatory. 

“Nah,” you make a disgusted noise, like you’re trying to suppress vomit. “You’re just a prick.”

In the end, that same prick ends up rolling his sleeves upon your request so you can litter blue ink upon his forearms. With how pale he is, it resembles delicate ceramics painted with cerulean landscapes. And while you do include etched illustrations and swirling designs, you make sure to include several phalluses dotted around—just so he lives up to his contact name. 

“Wow,” he remarks sardonically. “Maybe you should quit physics and join the liberal arts programme.”

You ignore him, taking a few shots of your handiwork and sending them to Kafka, captioned I feel like this truly reflects his personality and making sure all the tiny dicks are in full focus. 

“Maybe I should,” you shrug. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you, at least.”

“Likewise,” he responds, but it’s not as satisfying to think about you quitting as he thought it would be. 

It’s stupid. He finds that he doesn’t want the ink to wash from his arms, not so soon. 

When you log into your account to touch-up the presentation, you spot the comment he left back in the library on the presentation slides—timestamped to the exact twenty past five. 

17:20 > Maybe if you stopped staring at me, we’d be done sooner. 

It’s the longest sentence he’s ever typed out to you—but that’s exactly what makes it so galling. 

go fuck yourself < 22:31

22:31 > ooh you want me so bad aha

You pause, staring incredulously at the text, then to where the bathroom’s situated. The water’s definitely running.

… < 22:32 damn this idiot’s really getting scammed and hacked < 22:33 crazy < 22:33 [feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:33

22:33 > on the daily lmao 22:34 > same two old man passwords for everything

Types like one too < 22:34

22:35 > right?? 22:36 > we should be friends btw 22:36 > [Blade.] sent contact silver-W

Dang he really put a period after than name too < 22:37

22:37 > top ten edgelords 22:37 > [Blade.] sent laughing emoji

[feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:37

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the (surprisingly well-done) slides that he finally notices the string of (highly unprofessional) messages that he definitely did not write. 

His head throbs and his eye twitches as he reads through them—burning holes through the wall separating him and you. He hopes you receive the subliminal nightmares he’s so graciously sending you. 

It’s a fiercely deliberated decision. With a heavy heart, he finally presses [backspace] on the typo next to his nickname. 

He only hopes you won’t notice. 

(Silver Wolf notices—immediately screenshotting the new handle [Blade] and sending it to you.)

✧ Good things come in threes. Getting through this project, not getting beat up by that nerd, and getting through the presentation smoothly. By that, you mean you do most of the speaking while Blade clicks through the slides. However, contrary to all expectations, his voice comes low and rich—neither stumbling through the knowledge nor forgetting the important parts. It’s so shocking you can’t help but stare at him; something he definitely notices, judging by the self-important smirk he sends you.  ✧ Perhaps a little too good. The pair of you leave the lecture hall separately—after all, it’s not like you want to be in his presence any longer, and he doesn’t particularly want to be in yours either. But you do want the sweet energy drink that’s been chilling in the shared fridge for the past few days: as tantalising as the very nectar of the gods.  ✧ It’s when you enter an alleyway shortcut that you witness her—your old roommate. Vaguely, you recall she used to have a crush on Blade (a match made in heaven if there ever was one); perhaps that’s why she’s inching towards you with a pipe that is tetanus’ wet dream—so grimy you think you’ll immediately die if you’re struck by it.  ✧ All this over him?—you think with disgust as you try back out of the alleyway, only to collide with the towering body of her boyfriend: some guy unfortunate enough to be entrapped by her pretty face and definitely not her personality. She doesn’t want you, and he (aforementioned: Blade) doesn’t want her either. It’s rather tragic, but woefully you can’t spare any pity for them: not when you’re about to get beat and for what? A successful presentation with Blade?  ✧ They’re amateurish enough that you manage to evade them for a minute, but the alleyway’s too narrow to slip past them, and you’ve never been in a fight like this.  ✧ You’re cornered when he appears: some twisted knight he is.

“You’re late,” you heave, bruises on your knuckles and that man’s face. 

“You…” Blade trails off as he sees the blood spatters on your clothes, and his expression twists into one he’s glad you can’t see—not when his broad shoulders face you in an impenetrable wall. The two idiots—Tweedledee and Tweedledum, judging by how disturbingly gullible they are—stiffen immediately upon his timely arrival. 

He’ll handle it like he always does. 

But it’s certainly strange. Why does he feel so much angrier than he does normally?

✧ It’s late afternoon: dusk barely kissing the rooftops of the city, stars just about peeking from the violet firmament. You didn’t ask questions when he made enough space for you to slip out the alleyway: heart lodged in your throat as you quietly sat down at the local café with blossoming pain in your ribs and fists. Stupid, you were stupid to think that crazed girl would ever leave you alone.  ✧ Maybe it’s counterintuitive to feel safe when he steps into the small building. He smells faintly of blood: a terrible, metallic odour spilling onto his clothes and flesh. But beneath that, there’s a lingering scent of that woody oud—you can’t help but sink into it.  ✧ They won’t bother you ever again—he murmurs as the door jingles behind both of you. You didn’t kill them, did you?—you mutter back, half-sarcastically. No, but it probably hurt quite a bit for them—he shrugs. “Let’s go home.” ✧ Home. He says that, but there’s still that offer from Dan Heng to move in with him—one you’ll probably accept. Blade may have saved you, but he’s still a dickhead who has made numerous attempts to kick you out. 

“Ow, fuck,” you hiss as he dabs antiseptic on the various cuts on your hand. It’s well into the evening now, and you’re currently sitting on the bathroom counter with your injuries on full display. 

So infuriating. You glare at the man standing in between your legs—unscathed completely. Worst of all, there’s a smug smile on his lips; whatever worry he might have had over you has completely dissipated. 

“You couldn’t let them hit you once?”

“Bitter much?” he returns easily, swabbing another cotton ball with alcohol and pressing it against the large cut on the side of your forearm. It stings, but you grit your teeth and bear it—much too annoyed with him to show any more pain. 

In this position, the resentment you feel towards him turns faint; a veil seems to obscure the burning sensation. 

“You talk too much,” you seethe. “What happened to the prick who kept his mouth shut and ignored me?”

Tendrils of his jet-hued hair brush your cheek as he inches forward. “If you like, we can go right back to that—playing at my whim included.”

He hasn’t felt like this in years—back when he was still a boy named Yingxing and unmarred by the burdens life would eventually place on his shoulders. 

“Let me do it myself,” you argue back. 

“Nah.” Silver Wolf will pay for calling him an old man. “You won’t do it properly.” 

Another brief kiss from the alcohol against your bloody knuckles, and this time you can’t hide the slight wince on your face. It takes quite a lot of self-restraint to not dent the tweezers—he should’ve done so much worse to the two who tried this, besides beating the shit out of them and getting Kafka to land them behind bars. 

“That rod probably had tetanus on it,” he shrugs, rummaging around in his disused first-aid kit for plasters and bandages.

“Yeah, I thought that too,” you shudder. It's this moment of casual, same line thinking that strikes you as being far too strange. He's so close you can feel each puff of air when he exhales: practically scalding the bare skin stretched over collarbones. Too close—and if he keeps talking like this, as if he’s no longer disgusted by your presence, you won’t be able to deal with it. 

“What’d you do to her?” he questions, but it’s not the ‘no wonder she attacked you’ tone—rather than that, it’s like he’s trying to prompt you into distraction. 

“This is actually your fault,” you scowl, irritably casting your mind back to when she used to talk your ear off about the man standing here. 

“How so?” Nonplussed, he starts rolling the bandage across your arm—evidently, he’s experienced with this sort of thing. 

Stalker roommate. Stalker roommate has crush on engineering maniac. Stalker roommate sees that your new roommate and engineering maniac are one and the same—you summarise, too tired to give the specifics. He sees the way your lids flutter closed from exhaustion; for once, he’ll use Kafka to get more of the information you omitted. 

“Honestly, you two freaks would be perfect for each other,” you murmur absentmindedly. At that, he pulls the bandage tighter against your skin and you draw in a pained inhale. 

“You should try stand-up.” His voice is thick with revulsion, and it’s quiet for a few brief moments as he gets started on patching up the scrapes left on your back. You’re sitting on a stool now: unable to see his face but awfully mindful of how his hands brush over the skin layered over your scapula. 

“You still haven’t thanked me.”

“Thank you, my aggravating saviour,” you say, much too insincerely. “But that reminds me that I’ve got good news for you. That should suffice as a symbol of my gratitude.”

What is it?

“One of my friends has a room free, so I’ll probably be able to move out soon.”

The worst part is, he knows exactly who this friend is. His hands freeze on the band-aid he’s smoothing on your skin; too absorbed in his murderous thoughts to notice how you stiffen at the prolonged gesture. He’s not jealous; these are merely stirrings of friendship—this ugly, amorphous thing writhing in his gut and condemning him to senseless anger. 

“That’s not good news,” he breathes, and it’s a little too quiet as he finishes wrapping the final bandage around your bruised ribs. 

For the first time ever, Kafka receives a text from Blade that doesn’t consist of just one word. 

<Bladie> 20:33 > I need advice. 

Oh, this is interesting. 

What are friends for?—she coos, making sure to show Silver Wolf the glaring achievement in Blade’s range of text vocabulary. 

He’s clearly been on the rear end of bad news; while for her, on the contrary, this just means her scheme is moving along very nicely.  

[tmnt-l0v3rrr]

Hello, my dear. 🥰

Been enjoying ur writing. 👀 Was reading ur yan bay don head canons and it mentioned Donnie essentially summoning Reader like they're a pet and tbh.... I'm like this irl. Idk. Scratches the brain right.

So I was wondering if you'd be willing to rottmnt yandere head canons where the figure out they can summon Reader like an animal? Like maybe they do it on accident/without thinking and they're like "oh... oh!" And it just works. Every. Damn. Time. Even if it's to the dismay of Reader.

🥂

Omg thanks for the request 😋

Yandere Donatello x Reader

Warnings!

Kidnapping, yandere content, human pet training, unhealthy relationships, forced love. Overall, dark content. Read at your own risk.

A/N sorry if this got off track I was hungry writing this XP (sorry if it's too short)

800 words

It was a nice afternoon (at least that's what time you think it is) in donnie's lab. He was working on something nice and easy. His brothers were out doing who knows what- But it was nice. Calm.

He had this nest of bedding under his desk for you, it was nice. Comfy too-

You were sitting there, drawing on some mandala coloring book he gave you with some nice markers Mikey had gifted the two of you.

You heard a small snap and whistle, rising from your position, standing in front of him. Wait- why'd you do that- before you could think too much Don was already talking to you.

“I was wondering if you would want to help make lunch today, I see you picking at stuff all the time. I think it would be good sensory input.” He says, sounding excited about trying to get you to do something. You sit there, thinking about your option like you had a choice.

He whistled at you, quickly getting your head to turn to him- wait… why’d you do that? Why are you answering like a pet? Have you really been here that long…? Time must fly down here, or maybe it’s the sheer amount of times he’s drugged you, or the sewer smells are getting to you.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” You weren't lying, doing something outside his lab or bed sounded really nice, maybe even seeing April or the two casey’s would be exciting, you don’t really see anyone but Donnie and his three brothers, oh and splinter, on a very, very rare basis.

“When do you want to make lunch?” you ask, looking back at him, he hums, finger on his chin. “Maybe after a few more lines of code, only a few more minutes” You go back to your coloring book, filling in the mandala in with a nice blue, followed by purples. The soft sounds of his keyboard and chair lulling you back into your daily daze.

The sound of soft strokes of the marker on your paper fill the labs walls along with donnie’s typing and music overflowing headphones. Once again he whistles at you, getting your attention every time. You’ve been here way too long. He looks down at you, donnie’s smile soft and adoring as always. “Ready sweetie?” You nod, having no reason to argue against it.

The two of you walk out of his lab, you slip on some purple slippers he has at his door for you sense the lair floor is cold and to be honest, dirty too. When you both enter the kitchen, music plays at a normal volume. You see Mikey making what you can only assume is for Raph by the size of it, he gives you both a sweet hello before returning to his cooking, humming along to a song.

Donnie walks over to a chest freezer they had recently bought and filled, they went through pretty fast, keeping in mind that they are mutants. Don grabbed a box of frozen orange chicken, one of his favorites.

He got out a sheet pan and some parchment paper. He whistled to you before asking you to set the oven to 350. You obliged, turning the knob to the temperature before turning back to him for more directions, once again acting like a trained dog. Ready for any commands. What a funny thing this has done to you. Donnie is much more lenient and calm with you now, the first few months were the longest and hardest, adjustment taking longer than Donatello hoped, but everything paid off.

This is proof, you don’t question him anymore, you always answered him and never gave him trouble. “How about you lay out the chicken on the sheet tray? Well I warm up the sauce.” You hum in agreement, grabbing the frozen bag of chicken, laying it out and waiting for the oven to beep, signifying it was done heating.

Donnie prepares the sauce, running it under warm water. He makes a sound with his lips, one you would use to call a dog. “Go into my lab and grab the hoodie off my chair please.” he says, never even raising his head to check that you left.

Off back into his lab, quickly grabbing the desired hoodie then starting to head back.

Why? Why were you doing this? Obeying his commands like a fucking pet-

Before you can dwell on it any longer you were already back in the kitchen, holding the hoodie out to him. “Oh, sweetie. It’s for you, I know it’s cold here.” he takes the sweater and puts it on you. There was no fighting it, or protest. You just let him. Like he had always wanted.

He finally has you how he needs you