#anyways i have some anons i still need to get to but lets chat!!

[urhoneycombwitch]

I know what they call you.

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after. 

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music. 

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm. 

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways. 

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask. 

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him. 

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return. 

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me. 

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm. 

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot. 

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house. 

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids. 

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of. 

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again. 

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty. 

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair. 

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke. 

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it. 

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code. 

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter. 

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive. 

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily. 

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending.  “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out. 

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them. 

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in. 

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it. 

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom. 

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth. 

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits. 

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring. 

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence. 

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music. 

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around. 

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows. 

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic. 

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms. 

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate. 

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart. 

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down. 

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement. 

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?” 

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard. 

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs. 

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands. 

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel. 

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves. 

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own. 

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks. 

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form. 

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours. 

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. 

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch. 

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights. 

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown. 

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you. 

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him. 

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation. 

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam. 

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders. 

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh. 

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,” 

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips. 

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao.

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[star--stilinski]

wow, you're so fucked.

stiles is standing next to you, a sweaty beacon of pride as he chats with scott and isaac excitedly, his lacrosse uniform still on and not making things any easier for you.

he had just played a game and won. something unusual for him, clear in the way he seems to glow a bit at the attention he's receiving. you can admit that he did better than his regular performances, which often included him sitting idly by on the bench. but you really don't need to deal with this. rambling, hyper focused stiles is one thing.

sweaty, cocky stiles is another.

he laughs at something danny says-oh, danny's here? you didn't even notice him approach, too distracted with the way stiles' hair sticks to his forehead. anyway, his laugh might make you swoon. jesus, are you ovulating? there's a wet patch forming in your panties and you know it. whore.

"oh, yes! we will so be there!" stiles slings an arm over your shoulder and grins at danny. you can smell his sweat, now, and unfortunately stiles' musk only makes you want to ride his dick even more.

"be where?" you blink, turning a curious gaze on stiles, who looks at you all confused and cute and his lips are so pink and his skin glistens with sweat and i bet the rest of him does, too-

"are you okay?" he hums, squeezing you against his side just slightly. you nod and turn to danny to avoid moaning at the sight of stiles' adams apple.

"sorry, i was zoned out."

danny looks like he's disappointed in you. because of-fucking-course danny māhealani can tell that you're this close to giving stiles a blowjob in front of the entire student body. just because he's sweaty and excited and prideful. you glare at danny, just to shut him up.

he talks anyway.

"some of us were gonna go grab food to celebrate, and i was just inviting you guys. unless you'll be... busy." danny drawls his last words with clear implication, but stiles is too busy being excited that he got invited to something by the "in" crowd to notice.

"and i told him we were going." stiles grins down at you, raising his eyebrows in anticipation. you avoid his eyes, tilting your head.

"i dunno..." you pick at your nails, and stiles is quick to stop you. a habit you both have and you're both trying to quit. "it's kinda late, and we have that essay-"

"oh, come on, don't tell me you're passing this up for homework." stiles tosses his head back dramatically and you hear danny snicker. you know if you look at danny again, you'll want to throttle him. but looking at stiles means looking at his moles and freckles, his jawline, his brow.

you swallow thickly.

"yeah, okay, shut up. i was gonna say yes." you fold so quick that stiles actually steps back from you in shock, and you avoid grabbing him by the jersey to keep his scent all over you.

danny smirks at you, nodding once. "see you guys there. try not to fog up the windows on the way."

stiles waves as danny leaves, and you're pretty confident he didn't even hear that last part because of how focused he is on being overdramatic about you saying yes to him so easily. his eyes are wide and his mouth is open when you turn to look at him, and he let's out a squeaky surprised noise.

"what-you always argue about this stuff! did you have some moment of discovery?!" he grabs both your shoulders and you fight a smile, shrugging him off. you can't just tell the boy, 'oh, it's a whole lot harder to say no to you when all i can think about is how far i would go to get you in my pants.'

right?

you settle for an easy half-truth. "just didn't wanna dampen your good mood. you're practically bouncing off the bleachers right now."

when you look back at stiles, he has that stupid crooked smile cocked all smartly at you. feeling bold, he gives your hip a light squeeze and hums, "atta girl."

yeah, you are so incredibly fucked.

☆

this is my most popular from the vault!! it's also one of the first things i published here. stay tuned for more vault releases and an upcoming thomas fic :D

this anon made me giggle so here's a snippet of pt. 2 (its a joke dont get your hopes up)

[rainychaoloveshack]

hiiii i stumbled across ur blog like a couple days ago and. ive been so obsessed with all ur posts theyre so yummy!!! (ESPECIALLY UR BOOM??? ik u mentioned u werent all that familar with him but,,, that one oneshot had me salivating oml)

anyways could i maybe ask for a sonic x reader where they give him a bath bc he's stinky 🤧 just modern/game is fine smile

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.

sonic had a nice adventure outside. unfortunately, remnants of said adventure were brought into your home. its bath time.

⋆°•☁︎ content . sonic x gn!reader, fluff, sort of shitpost-esque writing but i still did take it seriously i swear anon

☂︎ wc. 1.1k ☂︎ a/n. hueheh this request had me giggling. silly dirty ass mf 😭😭😭 i was messing around during it huehehe this is your reminder to not take me too seriously sometimes 😋still pretty short but i hope you like it ^^ def not my best work but i hope you like it regardless ^^'

likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!! (i like chatting to you guys!)

“You know I can take a simple bath by myself, right?” Sonic growls, watching you kneel down and check the water's temperature for him with your forefinger. Not too hot, not too cold. “Plus, I already took a shower. The dirt’s gone already. No need for a bath, right?” Now why is he acting like that bathtub is going to kill him? 

“Could’ve gotten it all out if you hadn’t pulled me out the shower.” He mutters. “If you had wanted me to take a bath at all, you should’ve said that bef-” You frown, interrupting his rambling by knocking on the side of the bathtub with your fingers in a way that’s telling him to hurry up and get in. You can still smell the mud on him.

And it’s not bad to take precautions. Plus, if the shower didn’t get every single spec of dirt out of his quills, the bath will. Having even one spec of dirt come back inside the house after Sonic’s grand entrance of mud-filled footsteps, and right after you had to clean said mess, might just make you go crazy.

“I already said I was sorry...” He trails off, peering into the tub before taking a step back. You mutter a short curse his way and tug him by his arm, refusing to take no for an answer.

Sonic winces slightly at the volume of the water in the tub but lets out a sigh once he sees your stern expression. “Oh, alright…” He grumbles, spitting out soft curses about his distaste for water as he slips off his gloves, following with his socks right after.

… Paw-beans.

“Hmm?” Sonic’s ear flicks at your small murmuring, turning your way just as he’s about to step into the bath. “You say something?”

You shake your head, trying to make him forget your small slip-up, and urge him into the tub with a small shove. The moment his foot enters the water, you can visibly see a shiver tremble through his body.

“Eugh.” Despite his little complaints, he takes another step in the bubbly water, slowly settling himself into it with unpleasant grumbling, the water reaching up to his chin. “Make it fast. Being submerged in water for too long makes me uneasy…”

Like him? Make it as fast as ‘Sonic speed’, some might say?

His head snaps in your direction, opening his mouth to say something back to your crude teasing, but it closes instantly as you cup water into your hands and pour it over his head, watching it run off his quills and back into the bath.

That shut him up quickly. 

And so it begins.

The water runs down and seeps into his fur, then drips off once it gets too soaked, mixing with the bubbly suds already present. You rub his ear in a slow motion, cupping water up from the bath and pouring it over to get any extra dirt out. So far so surprisingly good; the baths running fairly clear, besides the small bit of dirt or so. Maybe he did get all the dirt out after all? Or maybe it was just his shoes that were the problem? No, then you wouldn’t have seen all those specs of black and brown in his fur. What, did he roll down a hill or-

“Hey, be careful with my quills!” Sonic’s body flinches as you accidentally prod and pull too deeply during your thoughts. “Can’t you be a little more gentle? The bath’s been clear for the past half hour.” He clarifies. “At this point, I’m not sure if you’re still trying to get any dirt out, or if you just like pampering me.”

Oh. Well damn.

Your hand lowers from his head, and it dawns upon you that yes, for once Sonic is actually right about your behavior, and the embarrassment washes over your figure, staggering your motions as you go to unplug the drain, but he stops you with a small kick of his foot at your hand.

“I didn’t say you had to stop.” Sonic mutters, before putting on his best ‘I deserve the world’ act a spoiled child would have towards everyone else. “I’m actually enjoying the attention!” He puffs his chest out, trying to put on a smug face for you, but a splash of water in his face turns that smugness to irritation, shaking his head around like a dog would their body as water flings in every direction possible. You hold your hands up in front of your face, your soaking wet hands dripping onto your lap and the bathroom floor as you shield yourself from the blue blurs little water assault. Ugh. Looks like he’s getting a kick out of your annoyance.

“It’s not so bad.” Sonic says plainly, flexing his fingers in the water in front of him, before adjusting himself to rest his arms on the tub’s edge, resting his head down to let your preen and run your fingers through his quills, forgetting to scrub through them at all. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you pampered me like this more often.” Sonic reaches over and drags a soggy, wet, finger across your arm, leaving small water droplets on your skin as he moves it up towards your hand, currently resting on your lap as the other one rubs against his shoulder briefly. “Think I deserve it a little, ya’ know?” He shimmies his shoulders a bit, yet his tail wags all the same under the water, eager for your answer, even if you give him a plain ‘no’.

Well, if he could be more aware of himself and clean up after his little escapades, you would. But for now, the punishment bath it is. Though, with the way he was acting at first, someone might’ve thought he was taking a small dunk in acid.

Sonic doesn’t utter a word at your own little joke, but he shakes his head disapprovingly, glaring at you for a few seconds as his eyes flick over you up and down, then he relaxes. “You’re gonna help me dry off after this too, right?” He chirps, and you shake your head, already firm in the belief that you deserve some rest after cleaning up the house. Not to mention the other house chores you’ve already done today.

“Aw man...” Sonic says softly, before growling under his breath in your direction, ears pinning down, obviously in a joking manner, and he flicks some water in your direction off his fingertips, splashing onto your shirt and lap. “You can’t just take me a bath and then chicken out once we’re almost at the finish line! Come on.” Another flick of water comes flying your way, this time hitting you in the face, and you scowl, cupping up some water in your palm to splash it back at him.

“Aw, hey, come on!” His tone of voice makes it sound like a complaint, but his expression is the complete opposite; a fat grin spreads across his muzzle and another small splash of water makes its way to you, soaking your shirt. Oh, so that's how it is?

“What? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Stupid hedgehog. Sometimes it’s a mystery how you haven’t gone crazy by now from all his antics.

… Oh well; time to fetch that towel.

[withleeknow]

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.05.2024]

[kitkat13001]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 𝟸𝟺/𝟽, 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

>> various aot x reader (sasha, mikasa, armin, levi, eren, and ymir)

waking up to the smell of sasha making breakfast in the morning, hugging her back while she hovers over the stove experimenting with some new recipe niccolo taught her. sitting on the counter and handing her spices and sneaking a kiss in where you can. laughing and chatting at the table as you eat and compliment her cooking. 

mikasa coming back from her morning run to find you still asleep under the covers and planting a soft kiss on your forehead. blushing and apologizing for waking you when your eyes flutter open, but accepting the pouting lip invitation for a real kiss before insisting she needs to shower first but will cuddle with you as soon as she’s done. 

armin picking you up from work for a lunch date in the afternoon. handing you the phone and letting you play a new song for him, tapping out the rhythm on the steering wheel with a little smile. giving you his analysis of the song over little sandwiches at his favorite cafe and sharing your drinks and comparing the difference in flavors. 

evenings spent with levi, leaning over the back of the couch as he makes tea and you tell him about your day. he nods and asks the occasional question, humming at every response and scolding the fact that you drank coffee that morning. he brings you the tea and you ask about his day, him telling you some brief stories as you drink the steaming cup and dissolve in his arms. 

taking a night drive with eren, feeling the wind whip your hair through the open window as he yells the lyrics to your favorite song that’s blasting on the radio. your favorite takeout is in boxes in the backseat and you’re on your way to the beach to eat on the pier in the moonlight.

having a movie night with ymir, cuddled up under a blanket in a tangle of limbs with unholy amounts of popcorn and candy. she complains about watching your favorite film for the millionth time, but you know she likes it anyway because she quotes every other line and insists you watch the sequel (though you both end up falling asleep on each other before the movie’s over anyway).

>> divider by @/agsthv

slowly getting back into it 😛 recovering from that fuckass midterm. have this while i work on the next chapter of eat your young and to the anon who requested bakugou for my event if u see this i promise im working on it!! love,

- 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 !

[ryuichirou]

how would the TWST boys react if they were chosen by the cat distribution system and a stray cat choose them to be its cat dad?

Today I decided that it’s time to write about something delightful lol I keep smiling every time I remember that we have this ask in our askbox… Thank you for waiting, Anon! I’m sorry it took this long.

Maaaybe I’ll write more hc posts next week… I try to write at least two per week, but there are so many good prompts that I should probably try to do more.

Anyways! Once again my bias is clear because I am a poor soul that loves cats but doesn’t own one, so spoiler alert: all the boys end up loving cats as well lol But I think it’s fair… How does one not like cats? Don’t ask Ciel.

Riddle – his first instinct is to refuse poor cat’s attempts to hang out because his mother never let him own a cat: they claw furniture, they bite, and Riddle has allergies! Or… he thought he did. He didn’t get any reaction from the cat, so maybe that was a lie?? Anyways, he would melt almost immediately because a fluffy creature wanting to be his friend is something that Riddle always wished for. He loves animals and taking care of them, so there is no way he is letting go of that cat! Of course he has to get used to it because a cat would never follow any rules, and sometimes it would get frustrating for Riddle, but… whenever a cat wants to play with him or cuddle with him, Riddle giggles like the happiest kid in the world. No one is allowed to pet his cat without his permission.

Ace – he will brag about it a lot. He’ll take the cat everywhere and always have it either on his lap or on his shoulders. He’ll always talk about just how much the cat purrs for him and him only, and how cool of a person he is because the cat clearly chose him specifically to be his owner. The cat really does like him a lot, but it doesn’t mean that Ace doesn’t get scratched or bitten all the time lol Also, at some point it will become the freshmen’s cat that everyone takes care of a little, and Ace would start to constantly remind everyone that this is in fact HIS cat!

Deuce – aw, he would probably be a little awkward at first. He strikes me as someone who is more of a dog person and doesn’t have much experience with cats… He would be very careful around it, as if he isn’t just afraid to hurt the cat, he doesn’t even want to offend it somehow. Of course he would swear that he’ll take care of the cat and be very responsible about it! But it will take a while for him to take it inside the dorm; he’ll just feed it and hang out with it outside at first… until the weather gets too cold.

Trey – he would have this “why me though?” vibe to his reaction, but he would still be kind of happy. Maybe he shouldn’t have fed it, now it follows him around everywhere… Trey says that this isn’t really his cat, but keeps taking care of it anyway. He never expected to be this delighted to have a cat. He would get much more into it than he expected, to be honest. He’ll probably feed it with home-made treats and give it toys that he made himself…

Cater – OF COURSE he’ll start taking selfies with this cat. OF COURSE. After some time he might even make a separate account for the cat, to see if it would surpass his follower count. Other than that, he would cuddle the cat a lot, talk to it, play with it, dress it up all cutely and meme-y. I think it would be very good for Cater to own a cat… He needs to learn how to take care of it properly though, so some assistance might be necessary lol

Leona – would he even care? Maybe a little bit, but he would act like he doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t even know who the fuck this cat is, it just appeared suddenly and now lives in his room. It can stay or leave, doesn’t make any difference to Leona. In actuality though, on some level he does appreciate the companionship of another cat sleeping next to him or on top of him and grooming his ears. But only when no one sees it or comments on it. He could chat with the cat btw, but he just doesn’t – for the most time they hang out in silence.

Ruggie – another cat to take care of?? And also, another mouth to feed?? Well that can’t be helped, it’s not like he is going to throw the poor thing away. I think he will manage to train it to do all kinds of tricks, like stealing stuff from others’ pockets or sneaking things away for Ruggie… the cat will be his partner in crime lol He would also probably have conversations with it, since it’s easier for him to talk to animals.

Jack – not only a dog-person, but also literally a dog, so he might have a hard time at first understanding that cat’s behavior. He is probably going to act like he isn’t interested at first, but jokes on him, because this only makes the cat more into him. He will literally sit all alone, radiating “don’t talk to me” aura, and the cat would think that this is exactly where it wants to sit – on Jack’s lap. Even though Jack is a tsundere, he is going to warm up eventually… and even while he is in his denial phase, he will take care of the cat by keeping it fed and letting it inside when it’s cold. Speaking of cold, Jack is very warm, so the cat loves him a lot…

Azul – “I don’t have time for this” at first, with all the reasons why having a cat is a bad idea popping up in his head at once. Similarly to Riddle’s mom’s mantra: it ruins furniture, it causes allergies, it sheds, it doesn’t behave… but he would also break very quickly, probably the moment the cat starts rubbing against his leg or purring at him. Azul would probably make quite a drastic 180 degree turn and enter his “a cartoon villain with a cat on his lap that he pets menacingly” phase by the end of his first day with the said cat. It feels good. It feels correct to pet a fluffy purring creature while you’re humiliating someone who is indebted to you. Also, of course he is going to treat the cat like royalty and get it all the best things… and also train it like a dog at the same time.

Floyd – people would think that he isn’t responsible enough to own a pet, but actually a cat would probably be the best pick for him. At first he would get all excited because this little buddy just suddenly decided to hang out with him. Floyd would just suddenly start appearing everywhere with a cat on his shoulder like he is a pirate or something. But then both the cat and Floyd would lose interest in each other, until they meet again and decide that they want to hang out again lol But while Floyd and cat are together, he takes it everywhere, plays with it a lot, races with it, cuddles it, smooches it, throws it in the air and catches it. Some of Floyd’s games aren’t the best for the cat, so Floyd ends up getting scratched and hissed at quite often, but for some reason the cat still adores him enough to let him do anything with it, even hold it upside-down.

Jade – it’s easy to picture him being a cat-lover because of the Sebastian parallels lol I think he would really enjoy owning a cat, and he would make it everyone else’s problem. Just like Floyd, he would walk around with a cat on his shoulders, but he would always mention it: please don’t mind my cat, he just loves me very much. I hope you are not bothered by my cat’s presence, he won’t bother us, I swear. Also, I think because Jade would actually try to properly take care of the cat, he would encounter some unpredictable issues, like a cat refusing to eat certain cat food or eating something it’s not supposed to eat. Jade would have a couple of moments that would make him fuss over it and even though he wouldn’t enjoy it… he likes the unpredictability. Keep chewing on random things, cat! But not too much, please.

Kalim – he would be so happy and excited!! It’s like making a friend, but a new kind of friend, a very fluffy one! Kalim is probably way too cuddly for the cat’s liking, so sometimes he would get confused by it running away from him. He just wants the cat to be happy… he would buy 5 cat towers, 30 toys and a bunch of cool accessories for the cat during the very first day of owning it (then he’ll buy more)! And 10 beds, so the cat could pick whichever it likes most (it sleeps in Kalim’s bed of course)!! And of course he will ask Jamil to learn how to cook delicious meals for the cat. He would try to feed the cat his own food first, but of course would stop once he learns that the cat shouldn’t eat spicy food…

Jamil – another one who would think that he doesn’t have time or energy to take care of another thing at first, but would warm up very quickly. He would tsundere up a bit when Kalim says that he is happy that Jamil has a little fluffy friend now, but after a while he will realise that Kalim is kind of right… a cat is even better than a friend. Hanging out with it doesn’t take as much energy, in fact, Jamil feels very energised after petting it and playing with it. Wow… a cat would do wonders to Jamil’s psyche…! He would both cuddle with it and let it sleep in his bed at night, and play a lot of active games with it whenever he has time for it.

Vil – despite how busy he always is, I think he would accept the cat immediately. The cat clearly chose him – it’s only fair that it’s Vil’s responsibility to take care of it now… I don’t think Vil has a lot of experience with cats, but he would read a lot of books and articles to make sure that the cat lives a good life in his dorm. He wouldn’t be as excessive as Kalim, but… he might have gotten carried away with the stuff that he got for the cat. But all of it is very necessary! The best cat food (he’ll ditch it after a while and start cooking for the cat himself), the best sleeping place, the best toys to make sure that the cat is active and healthy. He will also bathe it, brush its fur every day, trim its nails… Vil’s cat is going to be such a wonderfully groomed cat that knows all kinds of tricks and is very smart and well-behaved… but also Vil’s capricious baby that hates everyone other than him lol

Rook – oh, he wouldn’t consider himself an owner, he would always say that he is a companion to his cat lol He wouldn’t get surprised when the cat suddenly starts to follow him around, but he would act so flattered and honoured! Such a beautiful creature decided to illuminate his life with its presence. Rook is pretty good at talking to animals, so he would have conversations with his cat… While sitting in a tree together lol He would feed it of course, but he would also hunt with it and would prefer for it to catch its own prey. He also doesn’t want to trim its nails or groom it more than necessary, but alas, if it wants to live in Pomefiore with him, it has to follow Vil’s rules~ Rook wouldn’t want to anger the queen with an ill-behaved and dirty cat, right? Maybe he would prefer to keep the cat outside though, to keep it as undomesticated as possible. A weirdo…

Epel – he would be so happy! It’s been a while since he owned a pet, and this is the first time he has a cat. He would pet and cuddle it a lot, even if it’s still dirty… Of course, his first instinct would be to feed it and to bring it to his room. But he would also probably be anxious to bring it to the dorm: what if Vil sees it and takes it away… and even if Vil doesn’t see it, Rook is definitely going to notice the cat smell or something, and he will snitch on him! Anyways, he won’t be able to keep it a secret for a long time, but the cat will do some damage lol Surprisingly, Epel will only get scolded for not being a proper owner, so as long as he does better, the cat can stay. But it probably means that his senpai will start taking care of the cat as well. Epel will be a bit jealous, it’s his cat after all…

Idia – he’d die. He’d be so happy. A cat that doesn’t hate him? A cat that wants to hang out? A cat that FOLLOWS HIM TO HIS ROOM AND STAYS THERE? HIS CAT? Idia would feel like he spent all of his luck points that he had saved up for these 18 years. Or was it good karma? Anyways, Idia now spends all his time building cat towers and automatic feeders and toys and all kinds of gadgets for his cool new cat. At first he wouldn’t be as good at talking to a cat, and it would be very obvious that he is a bit worried when he pets it and doesn’t want to scare it away, but he’ll start cuddling with it pretty quickly. He’s so happy… It doesn’t feel real, it doesn’t feel real at all. Even when he gets used to the cat and stops being so awkward around it, he will still feel such huge wave of happiness every time he sees it, as if every time he sees it is the first time…

Ortho – this is the first time he has a fluffy friend, well, other than Grim of course! And Lucius isn’t very friendly with him either, so this is a pretty new experience! Of course, partially he would be excited because if he owns a cat, it’s Idia’s cat as well, and he knows how much Idia loves cats. But also, this is such a good opportunity to make a proper cat-to-human translator!.. It’s weird with Ortho. He has all the info he needs, and he is very good at some things, but somehow… petting and interacting with a cat is a bit difficult. Why doesn’t kitty want to eat this food? Why did it pee in the wrong place? What’s going on? I think he’ll end up asking Trein for advice a lot, and this will be a good experience for everyone involved. Also, his cat loves him more when his processor gets hot lol he is a walking heater.

Lilia – he would be happy at first and show off and brag because now he isn’t just cute, he’s double cute! With a cute cat on his head/shoulders! But at the same time, I don’t know if he is the best person to have a cat. I feel like he is one of those who try to feed it with milk, but also knowing Lilia, he literally makes those he cares for drink milk from a mug. Maybe he’d act differently with a cat, but it surely will be an adventure for this poor animal lol He plays with it similarly to how Floyd plays with his cat, and just like with Floyd, somehow it makes the cat very attached to him. Sometimes Lilia cuddles it and kisses it a lot, but a lot of times it’s the cat that gets clingy with Lilia and wants to sleep with its head on his shoulder. Acting like a baby, smh…

Silver – aw, he would be so good. Similarly to Rook, he would consider a cat to be a companion, but he would also try to be very responsible with his he takes care of it. He would take it to Diasomnia and let it sleep in his bed, wouldn’t do much grooming or brushing, but he would do his best in terms of playing with it and feeding it well, I think. Especially the latter lol But the majority of time the cat would just cuddle up and sleep with him whenever he’s dozing off.

Sebek – he has better things to do than to indulge in these games!! He says as he brings the cat home with a bunch of books with all the necessary information on how to take care of a cat!! Did he also fall victim of cute paws and purring? Maybe! But it won’t affect his performance as Malleus’ guard in a slightest! I think he will try to train the cat, and he might even succeed to some degree, but his cat won’t be as well-trained as Vil’s or Azul’s. Maybe the cat just doesn’t take him seriously and just wants to make biscuits on his stomach while sleeping on his lap… Sebek would seethe, but won’t move until the cat leaves :(

Malleus – the cat isn’t afraid of him? Oh he would be so delighted. He was very happy about the goat in the Glorious Masquerade event, and I think his reaction would be similar here: first amusement, a little surprise, but then he would get so tickled and excited for this new companionship. The cat would be allowed to seemingly disrespect Malleus by positioning itself on his horns, leaving fur on his garment, playing with his hair, and Malleus would laugh… until the cat scratches him. Then Malleus would start sulking. But he’ll get over it, he’s not a baby.

[summer-nights19]

Hi! I was wondering how would GOM + Takao react to their s/o having mood swings during their period like one moment their s/o is normal and the next they are angry because their ice cream isn't cold enough to eat and it's melting and they put it in freezer and when they try to eat the ice cream again it's too cold to eat and their gums hurt. Sorry if it's confusing..

Hi anon ! No worries, I think I understood the assignment (hopefully), and I symparthise with you deeply. Period mood swings are the worst :< These kinda ended up being general period comfort hcs, hope that's ok too ! Anyway, here's some comfort with the boys <33

GoM + Takao x afab reader on their period

Aomine

When he sees how annoyed you get over your ice cream being half melted, he's a little taken aback. If you guys haven't been together for very long, he'd probably tell you to calm down or be confused. However, if it's been some time, he'll figure it out quickly enough.

Will put the ice cream back in the freezer for you and bring you some hot cocoa and a hot water bottle to help you feel more relaxed and to make the cramps more bearable.

When you take the ice cream out of the freezer again and hurt your gums, he probably tries to comfort you, although he isn't good with words

Instead, he brings you some other snack, like fruits or cake, and lets you snuggle with him.

Initially, he tries to get you to do a light work out with him to make the pain better, even if you aren't particularly athletic

Will definitely massage your uterus area and shoulders to help you relax, as well as stroke and kiss you all over (he's really good at it too)

Might make a joke about how orgasms are the best way to relieve period pains, but if you're in a truly terrible mood, he'll hold his tongue.

Still teases you, though he'll stop and apologize if you seem genuinely upset

Will make sure anyone who gives you grief or makes your mood swings worse regrets it really quickly

doesn't have pads in the bathroom for you but will happily go out to the store and get you anything you need

Still takes baths with you and will wash your hair and massage you in the bathtub- doesn't really give a fuck about the blood

"What size pussy do you have, babe ?"

Kise

When he sees how quickly your mood changes as a result of the ice cream being half melted, he figures it out pretty much right away.

He'll hug you and run his hands down your back, while reassuring you that it's not that serious, and that you can always eat something else. Puts the ice cream back in the freezer and comes up with skincare, makeup, candles, magazines... all the essentials for a self care night ! (If you ask nicely, he'l even let you do his makeup- he secretly loves it)

Lets you choose what show to watch and chats with you about anything and everything as you have your self care night with the show in the background

When you get the ice cream from the freezer again and your gums start to hurt, he'll kiss you better

Also strikes me as the kinda guy who would keep pads/tampons in his bathroom for you

Akashi

This man can pretty much sense when you're on your period, it's actually kinda unsettling

Anyway, as soon as he realizes you're having a bad day with your mood swings, he'll start treating you like royalty (even more so than normal)

Suggests that you eat something else and comes back with some warm noodles

He gives you massages all over- thighs, back, shoulders... all while reassuring you that you'll figure everything out, that it just seems like a massive deal now

Promises you that you can take one of his eyes if he ends up being wrong (yea this man is really something else)

Will bring you candles/flowers and just snuggle with you quietly as you rest

Happily listens to you vent if you feel the need to

Will be happy to help with any schoolwork you have due

Will personally see to it that anyone who tries bother you is too scared to talk to you ever again.

Like Kise, he also keeps pads in the bathroom for you

Murasakibara

Doesn't realize you're on your period until your cramps and mood swings get really bad

He's not particularly good at comforting you when you're in a bad mood, but he'll carry you upstairs to his bed and snuggle with you. He'll even get out of bed to get you a hot water bottle and some hot chocolate

Gives you one of his hoodies to sleep in. It's way too big for you and he thinks you look adorable in it

Stays and snuggles with you until you feel better (you end up falling asleep with your head on his chest and your limbs intertwined)

When you wake up, he'll bring some snacks from his personal stock and share them with you

Is too lazy to go to the store to buy you pads/tampons, so he'll just call Himuro and ask him to do it

Like Akashi and Aomine, he won't take kindly to people upsetting you, especially when you're on your period.

Kuroko

He's oblivious- he understands you're in a bad mood, and wants to help, but you have to spell it out for him before he realizes that you're on your period.

He's a little shy and awkward, partially because he isn't sure about what he should do, but he very much wants to make it better

Definitely asks Kagami and the Seirin guys for advice and they all look at him like wtf

Will listen to you rant for hours on end, and will be more than happy to comfort you and give you advice

Anything you ask him to do, he does- buy pads, make you dinner, put a specific programme on the TV... he's doing it as soon as you say the word

Also very happy to massage your shoulders and uterus, even tough he isn't really sure about how to do it

Will be very careful about how he talks to you and conducts himself- he doesn't accidentally want to make it worse

Literally your number one fan if you start to doubt yourself, he's so sweet

"You always look stunning, Y/N,"

Won't snuggle with you unless you ask for it because he doesn't want to invade your personal space too much (he's such a gentleman)

Midorima

God help you

He's really really awkward about it

Figures it out relatively quickly from your mood swings but pretends he doesn't because he has no clue how to act

Like Kuroko, he's really careful about how he behaves around you because he wants to avoid pissing you off

Will try to be patient and listen to you rant nonsensically- if he knows you're having a bad day, he'll do his best to comfort you, although he's mostly the kinda guy who tries to find rational solutions to problems instead of telling you what you want to hear

Reads your zodiac chart every day and gives you advice based off of it. Also brings you a lucky item of your own if you're really feeling down (at least he tried)

However, if someone tries to mess with you, his energy completely changes and he'll make sure they don't do it again

Will buy you pads/tampons, though he'll be really awkward about it

Takao

At first he just thought you were in a bad mood, then he suddenly realised that you were probably on your period

Teases you a lot less to avoid hurting your feelings

Like Aomine, he'll probably make a joke about how orgasms are the best way to cure period cramps, but he'll shut up if you tell him to

Comforts you for hours on end wen you're down - he couldn't live with himself if he knew you were sad and he wasn't there to support you

Laughter is a medically proven medicine

Will tell you jokes and funny stories to take your mind off of the mental (and physical) pain

Also spams you with memes and tiktoks

Very happy to take it easy and just cuddle in bed while watching shitty TV

Will go to the store and buy you pads/tampons without an ounce of hesitation

Masterlist

[janeyseymour]

My Irish Girl

Anon asked for a fic where Mel and r celebrate St. Paddy's! Not edited in the slightest because I wanted to make sure I got it out before the day is over!

WC: ~2.3k

Melissa and you have been together for just about a year, and coming up was your holiday: St. Patrick’s day. As an Irish woman, you were delighted to tell her about all of the different traditions that you loved to do back in your homeland before moving here. You were more than excited to partake in some of the American traditions as well. 

“So, why do we wear green for St. Paddy’s?” your girlfriend asks you as the two of you roam around Walmart, chuckling at the different apparel that was set out for the upcoming holiday.

“Wearing green makes you invisible to the leprechauns… the mischievous things- going around pinching those who aren’t wearing green,” you chuckle.

She hums. “Good thing I look good in green then.”

“Damn right you do,” you grin as you kiss her cheek.

You continue to peruse the aisles, throwing various things that you need for your living space together, as well as a few little trinkets for the holiday. It’s the usual things that you throw in- four-leafed clover glasses, a few festive shot glasses, the ingredients to make irish potatoes and the dinner that the two of you will be having on the day of corned beef and cabbage.

You’re heading for the checkout with the cart when you realize Melissa isn’t following you anymore. No, she’s stopped in front of the shirts that are there for the Irish day.

“Look!” she grins. The redhead is holding up one of those shirts that says, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’ on it in a font that looks quite similar to the Lucky Charms cereal font. 

“I think people know I’m Irish just by looking at me,” you roll your eyes playfully as you gesture to your clearly natural ginger hair and freckles. “And if they can’t tell by looking at my complexion, when I talk, they definitely know.”

Your girlfriend shrugs. “I’m buying it anyway.” She throws it in the cart before taking it from you and steering it towards the checkout area.

She pays for it, of course she does (always spoiling you), and the two of you head home to make some of the treats you want to make for your students.

You’re in the middle of mixing together the cream cheese and butter for the Irish potatoes when your mother calls you.

Immediately, you switch into your native tongue as you pick up the phone, balancing it between your ear and your shoulder as you continue to beat together the ingredients.

Your girlfriend looks over to you, still in awe at the fact that you are bilingual. The conversation is short, mostly just explaining to your mom that you’re doing just fine out in Philly, that yes you are still going to church and are celebrating St. Paddy’s day. You also let her know that Melissa says hello, and that the two of you are quite looking forward to coming out to visit during your Summer vacation.

“Hi, Esther,” your girlfriend pipes up as she settles behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, setting her chin on your free shoulder.

Your mother switches to English, greeting Melissa kindly. “Hello, dear. Are you taking care of my daughter?”

“Mam,” you groan. “I already told you that we are doing just fine over here.”

“You know I have to check,” you can practically hear your mother’s smirk.

“I’m taking care of her just fine,” Melissa promises. “We’re in the middle of making Irish potatoes for the kids at school as we speak.”

“Oh, how lovely. I suppose I’ll let you go, but give me a holler on St. Patrick’s day- preferably before you decide to get intoxicated with that blasted green alcohol,” your mother tells you.

“Will do, Mam,” you roll your eyes. “I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Esther,” Melissa singsongs.

“Chat later,” your mother says. “Love to you both.”

The two of you finish making the sweets for your students before settling on the couch.

“So tell me more about your own traditions,” your girlfriend requests as you take a sip from your wine glass.

You do. Your eyes light up as you tell her what your family used to do, and how you’re quite thrilled to be able to share the traditions with her- even if some of them are silly.

“What do you usually do?” you ask her.

“Get piss drunk,” the faux redhead grins. “Go down to all the skanky dive bars and drink some green beer to pregame the parade.”

“And what do you do with the kids?” you roll your eyes. “I kind of assumed that was what you did.”

“Oh,” she laughs. “Sometimes we make leprechaun traps, I’ll put a few gold coins around the classroom, and whoever finds them gets a prize. They usually all get a baggie of Lucky Charms… and sometimes I dye the toilet water green in the morning and tell the kids that I guess we were struck.”

“That’s cute,” you say as you snuggle into her. “I’m sure they love it.”

“They have for the last… however many years I’ve been teaching at this point,” she sighs. “But I’m sure this year, they’ll all be more excited when you bring in the potatoes and when you teach them the basics of Irish dance.”

“Oh, god,” you groan. “Don’t remind me that Ava practically blackmailed me into doing that.”

“I think it’ll be good. The kids like interactive stuff… you see how they still talk about Tariq and his short lived career with F.A.D.E.”

“I guess,” you roll your eyes.

Your girlfriend is right. The kids are delighted to learn from you and learn about you and your country. You don’t think you’ve ever seen their eyes light up the way they did when they each got a few of the potatoes you and Melissa made last night.

You teach them a few steps, and they love it.

“This is so cool, Ms. Y/N,” one of your sweet students tells you.

St. Patrick’s Day at school comes to an end, and the two of you go out to happy hour with your crew to celebrate a successful school wide holiday. 

The Philly streets are already in the spirit, with green painting the town. Most are wearing their Eagles gear to get into the green spirit, and a chorus of ‘Go birds!’ can be heard at any given time as you walk through the streets with your girlfriend and work friends.

You find your usual little pub and order a round. The beers are already dyed green.

“So, what are your plans for this holiday?” Janine asks you.

You wrap an arm around Melissa as you speak, “Get hammered? Make dinner drunk, and then show up to church on Sunday hungover as hell?”

“Sounds about right,” Gregory rolls his eyes. 

Saturday morning rolls around, and you and Melissa get ready to head out for the day. You bought those little shamrock tattoos and place one on each of your cheeks before grinning.

“My Irish girl,” Melissa grins as she kisses you softly.

“We should probably call my mom now before we go out,” you chuckle. “We can do it while we get ready.”

You dial her, greeting her in your native language before switching back to English. You and the redhead chat with her for a few minutes, also getting to say hello to your father, before she lets you go to ‘participate in juvenile activities’.

Melissa has all of her eagles gear on, complete with the jersey that she has signed by Jalen Hurts, and you have on the ridiculous shirt that the redhead threw into the cart at Walmart.

You head down to the pub the two of you frequent, and while it’s busy as hell, even for 10:30 in the morning, you’re able to get seated due to the staff knowing you.

Melissa looks away from you to order you a Guinness and her a Yuengling before spinning back around to look at you. She pecks your lips quickly.

While it’s not unwelcome, you do raise a brow. She’s not usually so big on PDA.

“Your shirt,” she chuckles.

Your bartender hands her the drinks and then she turns back around and kisses you again.

“I think I see how today is going to play out,” you chuckle. The two of you clink glasses and chug your first beers. 

By the time the parade starts at noon, it’s safe to say that both you and your girlfriend are intoxicated. She’s yelling ‘Go birds!’ at anyone she sees who is also clad in Eagles gear, and there are a lot of people wearing the football team apparel. She holds your hand tightly as you roam the streets around city hall trying to find the best spot you can to watch the parade.

The two of you are delighted to watch as the parade goes on around you. You spend the next hour and a half smiling and laughing so hard your faces are red. Each time she turns away from you and turns back to you, she kisses you- and the more intoxicated she is, the harder she kisses you. There’s something in the back of your mind that tells you at some point today, you’ll end up in bed.

There’s only one hiccup during your outing. Melissa has let go of your hand and is doing her best to sound as sober as possible when one of her old students comes up and gives her a hug. She’s engaged in conversation with the child for a bit, and when she turns around, there is a man who is very clearly trying to hit on you. His lips are puckered, and he’s telling you that he’s just trying to follow the directions on your shirt.

“Hey, asshole, she’s very much spoken for,” Melissa shoves him away from you.

The man stumbles slightly. “Her shirt says to kiss her.”

“I’m the only one who gets to kiss her,” your girlfriend says as she pushes him again. “If you wanna try again… well, fuck around and find out.”

He backs away with his hands raised in surrender, and before he can turn around to run, Melissa’s lips are on your own. She kisses you deeply, throwing up her middle finger in the direction of the guy as she dips you just slightly.

When she pulls away, your cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are filled with lust.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You follow her quickly as you head back in the direction of your apartment.

“Fucking asshole thinks he can get my girl,” the second grade teacher grumbles. “No way in hell.”

“Hun, it’s fine. I could’ve handled it myself,” you tell her as you squeeze her hand gently. “But it’s nice to know that you would fight a man in my honor.”

“Like hell,” she tells you. “Ain’t no way anyone else is gettin’ my girl.”

As soon as you’re inside your apartment, she has you pinned up against the door. Once again, her lips are on yours aggressively, and her hands quickly roam to other parts of your body. She squeezes gently, and you have to bite back a moan when she bites down on your neck. She grabs you by the thighs and lifts you up, taking you back into your bedroom.

By the time the two of you are finished, you’re breathing heavily. That was… wow.

“C’mon, baby,” she whispers as she holds you close. “We gotta start making dinner.”

“I’m gonna need some time to gain feeling in my legs,” you sigh out.

She chuckles as she kisses you softly- much more softly than she was earlier. “That’s fine. I’ll get it started.”

When you finally catch your breath again and the shaking in your legs subside, you make your way out of the bedroom. You still have your ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’ shirt on, but you have her denim shirt on overtop of it and a pair of her shorts.

“Damn, baby,” she licks her lips. “You come out looking like that and expect me to be able to focus on dinner?”

You roll your eyes and head back into the bedroom before returning wearing a pair of sweatpants. She pouts, but that quickly goes away when you wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her cheek.

“What all have you done?”

“Gotten a beer,” she says cheekily as she cranes her neck to kiss you.

You roll your eyes. “I was in the bedroom for like forty minutes.”

“Okay,” she sighs before confessing, “So I had two beers while I looked at the pictures I took of you. Sue me for getting distracted by my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Get the cabbage,” you swat her away from you. “And grab me a beer, please?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she grins as she kisses you again.

Dinner is delightful, and the two of you drink a few more beers before heading out again to meet up with the Abbott crew, aside form Barbara and Gerald. You end up getting absolutely hammered, chugging green beer after green beer with your girlfriend.

By some grace of God, the two of you get home without Melissa getting into a bar fight for all of the creepy men trying to hit on you.

That outing ends much like the first outing earlier in the day. But after, she holds you close and the two of you drift to sleep.

The next morning is brutal, both of you hungover as hell and promising you’ll never drink again (until the next time you decide to drink). You both get ready for church, moaning and groaning the entire time as you drink pedialyte and try to rehydrate yourselves.

While the hangover is killer, this Saint Patrick’s Day is one that will go down in the books. 

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖? 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖?! ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: hiii!!!! hru? i have a little bit specific request, hope thats ok!!!

idk if u know the translation from the song “karakuri pierrot” by miku, but basically shes gettin dumped cuz her crush left her waiting on the date and never came 😭

id like to request smth based on this song with fantasista squad, like, they forgot abt the date and then theyre like😨😨😨😨((a happy ending would be appreciated <3

sorry if its too much, if it bothers you just ignore this LMAOAAOAO😭😭😭

anyways ty and bye!🤍

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hii! I'm sorry but u don't do songfics but it still sounded interesting so I just based it on your description! Hope it's alright!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

Affiliation with @virtualbookstore

"What the hell is wrong with this strand..."

Akito muttered to himself as he tried styling his hair a bit more elegantly. He had a date at a restaurant with you today and he prefered to look properly on it.

He was fully focused on his hair, getting a bit annoyed... he let our so many curses, even Ena came to his room and gave him instecutions just so he could shut up! But despite her tips... he had that one annoying hair strand that he couldn't get a hang of...

He finally decided to just look up some tutorials on internet, when he noticed the time... it was half an hour after the time you agreed to meet! And the amount of messages he got from you only told him how pissed you could be now...

He decided to drop his tries at calming the strand and just get to you as soon as he could, hoping that you were still there... you didn't leave this place yet, right? At least you haven't texted him about it...

He tried not to run to not sweat in his suit, so he settled on quick walk. When he arrived he noticed you getting up from a bench, clearly disappointed and about to leave, and he couldn't blame you for it...

"I'm sorry... I... I had a little problem."

He points at his hair strand as soon as he walked up to you, and you couldn't help but chuckle. He was dressed formally but that strand was ruining everything about this style!

"Hehe~ You really did. You could've asked me, I would've helped you..."

"I guess I will next time... you look beautiful, thank you for waiting for me... let's catch up, alright? My treat. And we can go to mall after it..."

You knew how much he hated going to mall, and now he didn't even said anything about not caring your bags so maybe he will? He really looked like he wasn't lying so... might as well forgive him for this one time situation, right?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @miya-akane @hayillaaaaaaa - come get your pancakes lover!

Toya actually wasn't late, he'd be even 5 or 10 minutes early in this tempo so he walked calmly. It was when he was walking past some granny who was clearly struggling and he couldn't just walk past without caring...

"Excuse me, are you alright?"

And that's how it started... it turned out the older lady had a problem with getting 2 bags up to 4th floor, so of course he helped. And after he did that? She offered him some cookies, cup of coffee and even a small chat... she was so nice and chatty he couldn't just say he needs to go...

So thinking he has the time, he accepted it and didn't even realize it was half an hour that passed untill he looked at his phone, and finally excused himself.

"<I'm aware I'm running late, please wait just 10 more minutes for me, I'll be there soon and explain everything to you.>"

He texted you in a hurry as he picked up his peace and quickly walked towards location of your date.

When he finally arrived, he was just a little bit out of breath but quickly sat down next to you and as soon as he catched his breath, he explained everything to you.

And honestly, how can you even be mad at someone as pure as him? He just wanted to help person in need after all... sure, it's still 30 minutes delay but just this time, maybe he can be forgiven for that...

"And when I thought she finished telling me about her cat's story for past 15 minutes, it turned out she had 3 more cats..."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @miya-akane @toyaslove @bl4cktourmaline @infernoram - come get your cookie lover!

It may be a simple date, but for Tsukasa? It was big event and he had to look dazzling! He didn't care if he was rejecting 5th outfit by now nor did he about passing time... he thought he still had time and continued looking for perfect outfit for your date!

And when he finally found it... the perfect outfit! He finally reached for his phone but froze upon seeing the time... he was 1,5 hours late already and had around 17 unread messages from you!!

"<Y'know what? Fine. I'm going home. Thanks for nothing.>"

"<I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T LEAVE YET>"

"<Too bad, I'm already home since HALF AN HOUR>"

He could feel his heart sinking and he knew all of that is his fault alone. So he got up quickly and ran straight towards your house.

After around 10 minutes since Tsukasa's text, you heard a knock on your door, so you of course went to open, just for flowers and chocolates to be showed into your face when you did.

"Please forgive me... I wanted to look my best and... I had hard time deciding..."

"You're always looking your best... you could've just came..."

"I know, I should. And I'm really sorry that I didn't! Please let me take you out on a date... this time I'll be an hour early."

He had desperate look in his eyes as he tried to convince you to give him just one last chance... but whether you give him this chance or not, is only up to you! I mean... he does assure you plenty of times to set multiple alarms next time just in case... maybe he'll indeed do better from now on?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌��﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @bad-the-an-enjoyer @yulikesminori @alicewinterway18 @nenes-numberonefan - come get your future star~

Rui hummed gentle tune to himself while he was working on a robot. He was fully focused but he forgot to mute his phone... so he kept hearing notifications in the background but ignored it, thinking it's Tsukasa having spider under his bed again... and that could wait a little bit~

But when notifications became too much, he finally checked it and his face immidietly turned to pure shock and nervousness when he noticed it's his partner... and it hit him, he forgot about the date! He quickly opened your texts and rushes to respond while he got dressed.

"<We can cancel it I guess...>"

"<Nononono!! I'm coming now, I'm so sorry for making you wait! Please give me 5 more minutes, I promise to run!>"

At this point, he was panicking, he just grabbed essential things and of course little gift he prepared for you, and ran out of his house.

When he arrives, you were just sitting on a bench with head in your hands, obviously disappointed and it was obvious he hurt your feelings. Seeing that, he immidietly rushed to you and wrapped his arms around you and caressing your back.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... It won't happen again, I promise..."

He could only wrap his arms around you tighter and he tried fighting the tears himself, realization of him driving you to this point finally hitting him. But now, he'll do his best to catch up for his mistake and make this date one to remember.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @bl4cktourmaline @infernoram @superstar-ethereal - come get your crazy inventor~

[ruh--roh-raggy]

*heavy breathing* pr-professor Afton au? (Would you like to share any headcanons about the au that might not get mentioned in the fic?)

Hello hello, lovely Anon! Thank you for the ask! I've been doing nothing but act strange and be insane about this man over the weekend, so I have a lot of headcanons to share about our dear Professor Afton. All SFW, if you'd like a NSFW version please let me know! Some might be included in the fic, they might not, we'll see. If you would like to be tagged in posts like this don't hesitate to reach out, thank you so much for reading!

Professor Afton is treated like an elusive cryptid around the University campus.

There's always a different rumor going around about him every semester. From him sleeping in the closet in his office because he's a homeless vampire to him stealing the dining hall's entire supply of eggs, he's heard it all.

He has a secondary Master's Degree in English with a concentration in Folklore.

He'll only tell you if he really, really likes you but he even has a favorite mythological creature, a Scottish/English fairy known as a Brownie.

If you're lucky enough to learn about the Brownie's from him he'll often crack jokes about his "close encounters" with them in his workshop.

"They get upset when things are in disarray, and I don't think you can get much messier than my tool bench."

He only drinks his coffee black.

He occasionally has tea, but it's very rare, he always sneaks a bit of honey in without anyone knowing.

He is left handed

He still actively wears the tongue piercing he got in college.

He's very good at hiding it.

You're one of the few people that have ever caught sight of it.

He asked you to keep it in between the two of you. (And how could you possibly have said no when he gave you such a sweet smile along with the wink he shot you)

He has an enormous bag of caramel hard candies in his desk at all times.

Now onto a couple cuter things...

It is absolutely no secret to anyone besides you that you are Professor Afton's favorite.

That being said, it gives you some pretty nice scary dog privileges.

Caught working after hours in the work shop? "Oh, Professor Afton gave me his keys."

Need a particularly hard to get a hold of resource? Well, if it's for Professor Afton's class they'll make sure he has it.

He keeps an extra mug in his office specifically for when you come by his office for help.

He always pours you a cup of his favorite hand blended tea without asking, the mug always a nice comforting warmth in your hands as you chatted with him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I definitely have a lot more HC's for all of my variants of Will and the DCA's, but this is all I put for now. It's my first time making a list like this so maybe I completely missed the mark, who knows, I hope you find this fun anyways lol. If you would like to see more posts like this or would like to be tagged in my posts, please let me know!!

[ghostwiththeemost]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ FROM THE CRADLE TO CREMATION . . . DEATH JUST NEEDS A LITTLE CONVERSATION ~ !࿐ྂ

Hey babes~ seems ya found my blog! Welcome to my humble abode. You may be asking “who is this SEXY SEXY man?” Well I’ll tell ya! I’m Behjdbbdnf… Beejkbngd… Bug wine. 🪲🧃. Use the emojis babe. I can’t type my own fucking name apparently. How fucked up is THAT?! Ugh, anyway… Let’s get onto the real shit. I’m the boss bitch here, you should hire me to get some shitty humans out of your beloved home. Or, call me up to fuck. Either works.

Alright, alright. People put their info and shit so I’ll do just that. I’m 🪲🧃, but ya can call me “sexy” or “handsome” or “sweets” or “pretty boy” or anything ;)~ Kay, moving on! I’m the ghost with the most, the biggest dick in town babe. He/him, but I can also be your/yours~ ;) I don’t care for labels, I’m a sexual beast. You wanna talk? Talk. You wanna flirt? Flirt. Send nudes? Eeeehhhh… Probably not, sorry sweetheart. I’d totally say yes, but that’d get me banned.

Anything else? Yeah, a lot actually. Ask me about shit. I’m over 600 years old, I’ve seen a lot, done a lot, witnessed a lot, I’m the fuckin best. I mean look at me, I’m the coolest ghost in town! ;)~ Also the best dick. DEFINITELY the best dick.

Well well well! Quite Fancy seeing you back here! Yet ANOTHER wonderful roleplay blog, and even a BETTER character?!?!??!?!1 WOAHHHHH! Wowie!

Hi! I'm the wonderful mod behind this obnoxious green ghoul of a man, and I hope you can stay a bit, have a seat, chat a bit! Learn a bit, see some tags behind this wonderful super duper cool page, yakknow how it is!

The name's Dew! Dewey if you wanna be fancy, but nah, I'm just a guy on the internet here to write for his funny bug man. No formalities needed. The pronouns are HE/SHE! I'm Genderfluid and Gay!

Kay, mini bits of info here... I'm an adult! So that being said I'm going to keep a boundary on certain aspects such as some forms of nsfw and SOME ships. Mostly I don't care? I'd just prefer if you were to tell me or have your age in bio before deciding to imply nsfw ROLEPLAYS. Flirting or nsfw anons I don't really care about, it's bound to happen, but you get it. also beetlebabes dni you all SUUUUUCKKKK.

Let's see... I have some other accounts. @candycoffinss , @photographerstanheight , @screamingqueenxoxo ... Other stuff, we'll see what I reveal.

Right, right... Tags and extra info... |🪲| ~ 𝑴𝑶𝑫 𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑺! - This is me talking!! >:] |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑳𝑬𝑱𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺! - Replies to asks, you know how it is. |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑱’𝑺 𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑺! - call for interacts maybe?? |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑳𝑬𝑱𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑺! - Random yapping he does, reblogs... etc. |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑳𝑬𝑱𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑬𝑺 𝑯𝑨𝑼𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺! - Interactions Yeaaaaa

|🪲🔞| ~ 𝑺𝑼𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬! - yea some things will be suggestive labeled just in case pleeease be cautious tyyy beetlejuice can be a menace.

ALRIGHT! FINAL BIT OF INFO!!!!! This writing of beetlejuice is a mix of everything, but I'm mainly leaning toward Justin Collette's version of Beetlejuice. He's still Beetlejuice of course, but keep in mind he won't be much like Alex Brightman if you're looking for an adaptation of him! (...There will be crumbs tho. Pathetic meow meow...) ANYWAY! Yeah, Just wanted to throw that out there, I didn't know if people would want my head for it LMAOOOO but YEAH!!! I'm free w any interactions btw. other fandoms, other blogs, movie characters, musical characters, do it !! >:] ok I think that's it... until I decide to go bonkers again. thanks for reading if you got this far! smooches ur forehead /p

[yume-chin]

Hey hey! Could i request rise Donnie x reader?

Where reader’s LOVE language is physical touch but since Donnie is not always happy about it they try their best to not cross the line. Till one day they really needed a hug and asked Donnie, Voice breaking a bit, if they can have a hug.

D is Hella confused but allows it

Anon! I'm so sorry! I misread the request and did literally the opposite of what you asked.

To solve this problem I will leave the text as it is but I will also write a second parallel chapter with the real request you made of me.

The initial part will be almost identical to this one, however the ending will respect your request.

I hope you will appreciate both anyway, happy reading.

••═════════════════════════════════════════••

Rise Donatello x Reader

જ⁀➴ Here for the alternative chapter

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Request: Yes

Warning: just bad english

Genre: She/her

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Total words: 974

Text words: 836

••═════════════════════════════════════════••

Ever since you met Donnie, your boyfriend, you've been fighting your habits.

You have always been an extremely affectionate girl, fond of hugs and walking holding hands with the other person.

All this gives you energy and happiness, the joy of feeling the other person's skin in contact with yours, feeling their warmth and the tranquility that they transmit to you through touch.

All this was like oxygen for you. Or at least I thought so until you met your current boyfriend Donatello.

From the first moments of your acquaintance he immediately told you that he wasn't comfortable with physical contact and this left you particularly surprised, and at the same time disappointed.

You, a person who loves physical contact, would have had to completely change your habits for us to create any sort of discomfort for your boyfriend.

Not that it destroyed you, let's be clear, you would do anything not to make him feel bad and respect his wishes, but it's still difficult to keep your love for physical contact in check.

However, you tried in every possible way not to hug or caress him except when he specifically asked you to.

It was difficult at first, but over time you got used to it.

You had started to appreciate the company much more when you were in the same room talking or simply when he asked you to keep him company while he worked on some new invention of his.

Every time he asked you to follow him to the laboratory and keep him company your heart exploded with pure joy.

You entered the room and sat on a chair next to him, carefully watching everything he did.

And even if it didn't seem like much to you, to Donnie it was the most important form of love you could give him.

The simple fact that you were there to keep him company, getting curious about what he was doing and occasionally asking about the two creations, made him understand how much you cared about him and how much you wanted to get closer to his world unlike his family.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Today too was a day like any other, you had finished class and immediately headed towards the turtles' den.

As soon as you arrived you were greeted by a super enthusiastic Mikey who immediately ran towards you to hold you in a super hug.

Not seeing Donnie around, you thought he was busy with one of his inventions, which is why you decided to only mention your presence.

You approached the door of his laboratory and knocked -Donnie, I've arrived, if you need me I'm here, I love you-

Immediately afterwards you went back to Mikey who in the meantime had also been joined by Leo and Raph.

The four of you remained chatting about this and that.

You had talked about your school day while the three turtles had talked about their last patrol.

As you continued talking, however, suddenly Donnie came out with a more tired face than usual.

You had looked at him with concern but instead of speaking he grabbed your hand and dragged you inside his laboratory.

Once he entered and closed the door however, he released your hand to return to his chair.

Not understanding exactly what was happening, you approached your boyfriend -Donnie, what's going on?- you tilted your head to try to look him in the eyes, but without succeeding.

Instead of getting an actual response you only managed to hear a small huff from the boy.

-Donnie, if you don't tell me what's wrong I can't help you...- you gently place a hand on his shoulder trying to give him a minimum of tranquility to make him talk.

Unfortunately, however, there was no response.

Now totally lost in worry with both hands you grabbed the soft shell turtle's face and turned it towards you so that your gazes met.

-Donnie, I know you need your space but I'm here, I'm your girlfriend and I want to help you. I'm worried. It hurts me to see the person I love in this state, so please, tell me what's wrong- you caress his cheeks with your thumbs.

Viola remained there looking at you with slightly shining eyes and finally, with a trembling and uncertain voice, she opened her mouth -c-can I have a hug...?-

Your heart skipped a beat for fear of not having fully understood what you had just been asked.

However, as soon as you realized that those words had really come out of Donnie's mouth you smiled sweetly -Of course you can love-

You pulled him into a big hug and he seemed to melt.

His muscles, which until a moment before were stiff, had softened and held you in that embrace.

Donnie sighed and seemed to calm down.

-Donnie, remember that you can always count on me-

He nodded in response but didn't say anything, he just remained there, enjoying that embrace full of love and tranquility.

••═════════════════════════════════════════••

I want to remind you that requests are open, feel free to write to me if you have any kind of idea ♡

A big hug ♡

[all-pacas]

anon requested some houseswapped cam/chase and this started as an attempt at that fill and then did not turn into it at all but here it is anyway:

(honestly i need other people to get on this au because i can't post any of this to ao3)

-

February, a winter storm hits south Jersey, and the ER is predictably overrun with accidents: Cameron arrives at five two shifts later is still at it. When she spies Chase across the nurse's station chatting with one of the nurses she feels a twinge of exhausted annoyance: "You don't need me to get you crutches," she snaps, tossing her paperwork onto the looming pile. "Steal what you need and go."

Nurse Jacobs, a relatively new hire, looks scandalized, her mouth falling open to protest. Chase has the habit of leaning heavily on counters, elbows and upper body. Ingratiating, charming, like he's engrossed in whoever he's chatting with, not trying to keep the weight off his legs: Jacobs is blonde and cute and goes by Katie at thirty, and —

“It’s stopped snowing,” Chase says. “Twenty minutes ago.”

“Great,” Cameron says coldly, although honestly it is good news; the sooner the roads get cleared, the sooner people will stop getting into stupid accidents: it doesn’t explain what he’s doing here. “Glad you took time out of your busy schedule to let me know.”

He doesn’t rise to her bait — guiltily, she only realizes she has been baiting him when she bites her lip and he’s just… smiling, not quite smiling, but looking at her calmly, pleased. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” she says warily, snatching a stack of paperwork from Jacobs, who is gaping and sure to be filled in on all the relevant gossip the moment Cameron turns her back: never date coworkers, she wants to tell her, although even admitting that much —

“So eight hours, give or take,” Chase says, and she starts: it can’t be that late, it is six or maybe seven, she thinks, but a quick glance at her watch reveals the truth of the situation: it’s closing in on nine. Now aware of the time, Cameron can feel the way her head is throbbing, that she is faintly dizzy — “I’ll buy you a coffee,” Chase says, pleased with himself.

“Don’t you have a patient?” she grumbles, but he pushes himself unsteadily from the counter and she tucks her files under her arm: “I’m taking fifteen,” she tells Jacobs.

Chase doesn’t often work overtime unless a case is truly urgent. If he’s still at the hospital this late, well…

“Not really,” he says. “House found a teenage girl with CIPA outside the OR -- her mother’s in the ICU.” He actually has his crutch and slips it on without fuss, tapping his toes heavily on the floor to try, fruitlessly, to shake away his paresthesia before limping off in the direction of the ER lounge.

“MVA from this morning?” Cameron asks, following, trying to remember: mother and daughter, mother rushed to the trauma surgeons… She frowns. “CIPA? Are you sure?”

“Yep. She’s fine, but I figured it’d be fun for the kids.”

“She’s not a new toy for your team,” she scolds, but Chase shrugs it off: Cameron wants to argue, advocate for this poor kid being battered by Chase’s fellows, but…

In the lounge, Cameron starts a new pot of coffee — Chase’s promise to buy her one already forgotten by them both — and listens to his sigh as he sits down on the sofa. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks suspiciously, and then regrets it: Chase looks up at her, frozen in the middle of rubbing fruitlessly at his thigh, and she wonders if she’s spoiled it. In the harsh lighting of the ER lounge, Chase’s face is shadowed: he looks his age, less baby-faced than she thinks of him. Tired.

“I need a favor,” he says.

“What is it?” In a way, she’s relieved. Easier if it’s a favor, if it’s nothing.

“Don’t know yet. But I’m sure something’ll come up.” He grins up at her, and she turns away. Her head is starting to pound, like the reminder of her exhaustion was all it took for her body to protest: she fishes mugs out of the cupboards, checking inside both before pouring coffee.

“Your CIPA patient,” she starts.

“Cuddy won’t let House do anything too crazy,” Chase interjects.

She presses her lips together to keep from rehashing the argument. “I was going to ask how her mother was doing.”

“Not well,” he admits. He takes the mug she offers and Cameron sits on the other end of the sofa as Chase loops her in on the mother’s second surgery: that she hasn’t died yet is a good sign, but means nothing. “Wilson told Hannah and she…”

“Didn’t handle it well?”

Chase makes a face. “She decided she needed to see her mother immediately, problem being Wilson was in the middle of getting a chunk of her liver…”

“Is she okay? Is he okay?” Cameron asks: of Chase’s team, Wilson in some ways has always seemed the least suited to the job. She closes her eyes as she takes her first sip of coffee, feeling the heat blooming through her chest. She lets her eyes close and wonders if she has the energy to open them again.

“It didn’t hurt her. Wilson will feel guilty for a few weeks, but he’ll be fine.” She can hear Chase rubbing at his thigh again, cloth rustling as his hand moves up and down.

“Does that help?” she asks.

“No.” Paresthesia, she knows. Radiating up and down his legs ever since the accident. According to Chase, sometimes it’s tolerable, barely noticeable: sometimes he cannot walk from the pain of it. She remembers watching him shifting restlessly on the sofa, in bed. Lying in bed with him, trying to help with movement exercises, rubbing up and down the backs of his thighs, his calves, trying to help, trying —

And then one evening he’d been in pain. More pain. Worse pain. She’d reached for him, wanting to help, to do something — he’d yanked himself away. A one-off, it could have been: a bad mood or a bad day. Don’t touch me, he’d said. And the next day. And the next.

It had been, she remembers suddenly, in February.

It had been their one-year anniversary.

It had been five years ago.

Cameron opens her eyes and finds Chase is looking at her, his expression closed and thoughtful. She has long since trained herself not to think about what ifs. What life might have been like without the accident. If she’d moved back to Chicago after the break up. If they’d gotten married.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m looking out the window,” he says: it is true there is a window behind her.

“Liar,” she says, sipping her coffee.

Statistically, nothing would be different, even if the world was. Statistically, it is still their anniversary.

[cutely-inserts-my-opinion]

Everytime I see posts on Nexus(defending him) I wonder how tf old moon is never once held accountable for shit??? Bro was so abusive and terrible, did so much questionable shit and somehow no one bats an eye. Nexus aside, how is old moon let off the hook in general even without taking nexus' arc into account? I never understood it either as much as we like old moon he's a piece of shit no matter what angle you look at him from. He just comes back all willy nilly "Oh hey guys I promise to not be abusive. Oh sun sorry for emotionally abusing you for the entire run of the show before I died you can make passive aggressive comments at me and I get if you don't wanna forgive me😊" Him and OG eclipse had way too many abusive parallels

listen listen, the show has villainzed Nexus and babygirled Old Moon so much im pretty sure some people don't care. There's a lot of people that just take this show surface level and don't care to delve deeper into the characters motivations and actions-

But you a very right. Personally, I dont think old moon can be a good brother till he lets go of all the hate he has and just- chills the fuck out. I know he's supposed to be the protective brother but I dont give a shit. He can't be good till he lets go of all he hate he has to Eclispe eccpecially, and stops being biased. Behehshsbd he needs to learn to just- care a bit more. Not exactly be empathetic, just- even if its a logical sort of care, still care, yknow? Idk sorry im yapping. Tho this is my blog thats kind of the point of it

Chat, Nexus deserves to have a redemption arc and so does Old Moon (despite the fact I say hedoesn't, he does, i just hold a grudge) and they need to be brothers and besties and work through trauma idc /silly

Anyway, yeah, totally agree anon

[wreckedandpolemic]

yours - george daniel

(mdni) thank you anon for this request i had a SPECTACULAR time with this i hope i did it justice!!

warnings: 18+, semi-public unprotected sex, degradation, praise, jealousy, bratting, slight exhibitionism

It starts the way it always does: teasing. You don’t think you've taken your eyes off George once since he left your side, always ready with a smirk or sly wink when he catches your gaze.  He’s talking to some indie darling or other, a pretty girl, really, but you can see her hand practically white-knuckling his bicep from across the room. She smiles too big and laughs too hard and you hate her, just a little bit. You can’t stop her — you have no reason to. George isn’t yours, not really. The two of you fuck. It’s not exclusive, there’s no strings, but you’re starting to realise you might have let him in one too many times, let him jam something in the door to your heart; you can’t lock it back up when he leaves anymore.

 George locks eyes with you, expression pleading, and you suppress a victorious grin and delicately lift a shoulder in his direction. This is a game you play; he loves it when you get jealous, though neither of you would admit it. You want him all to yourself, want to march over there and prise that girl’s fingers off him, demand that he never so much as look at another girl. But that would be losing, which you’re not in the habit of, so you swallow your bitter fury and wash it down with a long sip of sweet wine, staring intensely at him over the rim of your glass. The girl goes on tiptoes to whisper something to him, and he stoops low to listen, two blonde heads bending together conspiratorially. Worse, he laughs in response, not a polite, awkward chuckle, but a genuine laugh. And he doesn’t look back at you afterwards.

You drain the rest of your wine and set the glass back on the table with a too-loud thud. Making your excuses to the director? producer? you’ve been chatting with, you stroll across the room, feigned casualness becoming harder to maintain with every step. The self-congratulatory smirk on his face as you approach is aggravating. He’s won and he knows it.

“Well, hello, love. I was wondering when I’d get to chat to you,” he says, hugging you from the side and letting his hand linger low on your waist for just a moment longer than he should. “Was starting to think you were avoiding me,” he adds, voice heavy with meaning, dripping with the unsaid.

“You know I can’t keep away from you for too long,” you grin, trailing a finger down his chest. It’s hot in here, his shirt unbuttoned as much as it’s acceptable, giving you the tiniest preview of the toned chest you know so well. The other girl hasn’t said a word, but she’s still lingering, her presence an unwelcome stain on the moment blossoming around the two of you, both curbing your tongues for her benefit. “Come on, I need a refill. We can catch up at the bar.” You phrase it like a suggestion, but he knows from the way your nails dig into his arm through his suit jacket that it’s a command. He leads you away and you shoot the girl a warning glare as you go for good measure.

“You look incredible,” he murmurs low in your ear, splaying a hand at your waist. The warmth of his palm radiates through you, some Pavlovian response to the simple feel of his fingers on your skin making you suppress a shudder. 

“Thank you, darling. I guess you’re alright,” you tease. He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine, you’re fucking gorgeous.” You wander over to the bar, and you let him order for the pair of you. He knows what you like, anyway. Probably better than any man on Earth.

You still keep your eyes averted, though, because you knows as soon as you meet his eyes, he’ll say, “You really didn’t want me talking to her, huh?”

You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, please. You were begging me to get rid of her. Besides, tiny, pretty little thing like her? She couldn’t have handled you.” You shrug. The bartender sets two glasses of wine in front of you, one red, one white, and he takes a long sip before replying.

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll never know, now. You dragged me out of there before I could even get her name.” Smug satisfaction courses through you — you’ve got your claws firmly hooked into him, at least for tonight. You bite back the reply of ‘Good. Forget her. Forget them all,’ that springs to your lips. You’re cool, you remind yourself. You’re relaxed and chill, and you can do casual. You’re not that cliché girl who falls in love with her fuckbuddy.

He runs a finger along the edge of your jaw, dipping down to play with your necklace. “My eyes are up here, darling,” you tell him, his warm hands nauseatingly close to your traitorous, beating heart. It thuds harder, calling out to him. You pray he can’t tell that if he wanted to crack your ribs, reach in and pluck your heart from its place in your chest, that you would let him. You wouldn’t even resist.

“I know what I’m looking at,” he says. “God, you can see everything through this dress.” He raises his other hand, knuckles grazing your nipple accidentally-on-purpose, and tucks a flyaway piece of hair behind your ear.

You swallow a moan, leaning close enough to him that his breath ghosts on your face. He tilts your chin up with a thumb, parting his lips in expectation. “You’re a fucking cock-tease bitch,” you murmur with a scowl, startling him into a laugh; that endearing, high pitched cackle that shakes his shoulders near-violently. “Where the fuck do you get off, flirting with her just to piss me off? Touching me like that in public?”

One of his hands glides down to the thigh-high slit in your dress, thumbing over the skin there. Electricity races from the point his fingers touch your skin, so close to where you want them and yet miles and miles away. “You wanna play, baby? Let’s play,” you breathe, gripping his neck and crashing your lips together. It’s harsh, messy, an explosion of lips and teeth and tongues sliding together. You pull back, biting hard at his lower lip just to feel the flesh tear beneath your teeth. To leave your mark on him so that when he kisses the next girl, the sting reminds him of you.

“You’re fucking wild,” he hisses, tongue flicking over your bite mark.

You shrug. “Don’t piss me off next time.” You pat his chest and lean past him to pick up your wine glass, brushing deliberately against him. “Come find me when you’re ready to get out of here. And you’re not gonna like what I do if you try it on with one more bitch in front of my face,” you promise, turning your back to him and taking a few calculated steps away before throwing him a glance over your shoulder.

“Oh, and George? Can I tell you a secret? I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He freezes and you give a self-satisfied grin. Your victory is short-lived, though, his hand shooting out to catch you by the wrist as you try to walk away. He tugs you back towards him, and you obey easily. There was never any question that you would, really. “You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he hisses in your ear. “Come with me,” he orders, keeping your wrist in a vice-like grip as he drags you out of the room. He doesn’t look at you once the whole time he stalks down the corridor, the only sound your heels clicking against the tile as you struggle to keep pace with him.

George crowds you into a bathroom, attacking your lips the moment the door slams closed. You barely register the quiet click of the lock, letting him flip you so your back is against the door and pin your arms above your head. The second he frees your mouth you moan, trying to squirm away from his lips against your neck and collarbones, but he holds you fast. He dips his head into the valley between your breasts, licking at the skin there. “I love your fucking tits,” he says, mouthing wetly over the fabric that covers your nipple.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you sigh, voice full of false bravado that can’t cover how weak his touch makes you. “Get on with it, or people are going to notice we’re missing,”

“Greedy girl,” George chastises, but his eyes shine with want and his hard cock presses against you through his trousers. He steps back, and your whole body mourns the loss of his skin against yours, aching for him. “Bend over for me, baby,” he orders, a bolt of lust striking you. He knows acutely that all he has to do is tack on for me? and you’ll do whatever he asks. You lean over the sink, cold porcelain biting into your thighs. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and he lowers his head to kiss your bare back. It’s soft, intimate, in stark contrast to the rough way he’s handling you. It adds fuel to the sickening flare of hope deep in your chest that gutters and gutters but never goes out. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” He’s gentle, all of a sudden, gathering your dress in one fist and pulling it to the side. You gasp, your cunt fluttering in the cool air, and George grins.

“Come on, just fuck me,” you groan, rocking your bare cunt against him, the friction from the fabric of his clothes burning your clit deliciously. Your breath fogs up the mirror, the tap presses uncomfortably between your breasts and the corner of the counter cuts into your thighs. You hardly feel any of it, singularly focused on the man behind you. He removes his steadying hand from your hip, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers and boxers down just enough to release his cock. You contort your body, twisting to look over your shoulder at him, his cock red and dripping, begging for you. He still looks so put together, crisp and elegant in his suit, his reflection immaculate above you. You look even more wanton by comparison, hair tumbling over your shoulders and lipstick smeared across your chin. Desperate, hot desire drips out of you, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Beg for it,” he orders, and you’re too far gone to feel embarrassed. He slides a hand between your legs, just barely grazing at your clit. “Oh, God, George, please fuck me,” you moan, mind-wiping pleasure licking from where he toys gently with your swollen bud. “Shit, I need it. Nobody fucks me like you, baby. It’s you, it’s you, it’s always you,” you gasp, biting down on your lower lip before you let slip another incriminating admission.

He swipes a finger across your cunt, dipping teasingly into your entrance and pulling away before you can even react. He licks your arousal off his finger, both of you moaning softly. “Wish we had enough time for me to eat that sweet little pussy. Always so fucking wet for me. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get what you need,” he promises. You watch him reach into his pocket for a condom and shake your head wildly. “Oh, my dirty girl,” he murmurs, interest colouring his tone. My, your heart gets caught on. My, my, my. My girl. The words ricochet in your skull, bashing against your brain, denting it, leaving it bent out of shape with enough room for George to shove his way in and stay firmly glued there. “You want it raw?”

You nod desperately. “Want it fast. Hard. Dirty,” you plead. “Come on, baby. Ruin me.” At that, he can’t stay teasingly out of your reach any longer, guiding himself to your dripping entrance and thrusting into you in one fluid motion. You’re full so fast you’re practically choking on him, biting down hard to keep a scream at bay. You marvel every time at how well he fits inside you; your body feels made for him. Coherent thought escapes you, euphoria twining through all of your limbs at once.

He paws at your tit with the hand not holding your dress, pinching your nipple cruelly and sending a shock of pleasure-pain spiralling through you. His thrusts are quick but measured, exercising a control that you can’t even begin to fathom as you cling to the edge of the sink for dear life. Your thighs bash against the counter, but you can’t even begin to care. The only thing you know now is George. His hand digging into your waist, nails biting at your flesh, sharp pinpricks drawing a constellation of pleasure in your skin. You’ll be glad, tomorrow, to have the marks, the physical evidence of this encounter, proof of the ownership you feel over him.

“Is someone in there?” somebody calls from outside. You freeze. George only laughs, low and breathy in your ear, teasing, taunting.

“Well? Is someone here, baby?” he whispers, fucking into you again as he speaks.

You choke back a whimper, thrill stealing up your spine at the prospect of getting caught. Someone is right there. If they decide to open the door, there’s no hiding the dirty display you and George are putting on. Being seen like this, bent over, stuffed full of him and begging for more should be humiliating, but inexplicably you almost want to be caught. Maybe, if those girls out there could see how perfectly you fit, how well you fuck him, they’d leave him alone.

“Yeah, I’m in here,” you choke out, clapping a hand to your mouth to stifle a moan when George rolls your clit between his fingers, hot euphoria dripping down your spine. “I’ll— I’ll probably be a second!” you manage, his teasing fingers not giving you even a moment to breathe. Footsteps recede from behind the door and you breathe a sigh of relief, letting a string of suppressed whines and curses fall from your lips. Before you can chastise him, he perfectly hits that spot inside of you and you scream out, mind going blank from pleasure.

He groans. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, baby. My sweet girl, stretching so pretty around my cock.” You whimper, widening your legs to draw him in deeper. George lifts your head up by your hair, forcing you to make eye contact with yourself in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he commands. “Look at my pretty girl, falling apart for me.” Your soupy mind latches onto that my again, that little word choking you as effectively as if he had wrapped his hands around your throat. “Made to take my cock. Isn’t that right?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” you gasp, so, so full of him.

“What?” he manages between pants, hips never slowing from their brutal pace. Your skin slaps together, wet, sopping sounds ringing through the small room.

“Fuck, George, just say you’re mine. You don’t even have to mean it,” you coax, moaning low in your throat when his fingers brush your clit. “Come on, baby. Who else do you get it this good from? You know you own my fucking pussy. Let me pretend I get something back,”

He stills for a split second, as though your words cut through the fog of lust swirling between you. Another girl might not have even noticed, but you know every motion he makes inside and out. A broken beat in his perfect rhythm means everything to you. He leans down, slow and deliberate. “I’m yours,” George whispers, and you can’t hide your physical reaction, how good it feels to hear those words. Your blood turns to syrup, heart beating deadly fast to keep it pumping through your organs. “Does it feel good when I say that?” You nod wildly. “I know it does. I can feel what that does for you. I’m yours, baby. Yours, all yours. As long as you’re mine,” he croons, breath hot and sticking in your ears. He’s ruining you. You won’t ever be able to lay under another man without thinking of him, of this.

“I’m yours, George, you know that. Ugh, fuck, I’m getting close.” You slip a hand between your legs, both of you rolling circles on your clit. Tantalising pleasure builds and builds, churning in your gut, setting your body alight. George doesn’t let up, words failing the pair of you, grunts and moans dripping off his tongue in the place of gratifying words. Pleasure coils in your belly, winding tighter and tighter, dragging you ever closer to your high.

One final thrust and you fall apart, unspooling under his quick, clever fingers. Euphoria seeps into your bones, sticky heat keeping you glued to George. Your toes curl in your shoes, your legs shake, unsteady on your feet. He fucks you through your orgasm, stroking your flushed skin as his thrusts become more erratic. You cry out something that could be his name, rocking your hips, half retreating from overstimulation and half chasing his orgasm. You squeeze your cunt around him and he comes with a shout, his body loosening against you, his hand dropping from your hip to catch himself on the counter. He spills inside you as your name spills from his lips, smooth and sweet on his tongue. He pants, hips resting against yours, and catches your eye in the mirror with a smile.

“Fuck,” he mutters, grinning tiredly. He pulls out of you with a sickening squelch, cleaning up as best as he can in the bathroom sink and tucking himself away. You stand upright slowly, clutching your abused muscles.

“Fuck is right,” you reply, wincing as you feel his cum trickling out of you. “I think you’ve shattered my hipbones, darling.” You adjust your dress, crumpled where George had it clutched in his fist.

“You love it,” he fires back. You shrug, tipping your head in acknowledgement. “Sit up here for me, love,” he says, patting the counter. You balance on the edge and let George fuss over you for a moment, cleaning you up as gently as possible, plying you with soft kisses when you whimper and squirm away, oversensitive. This is always the worst part of your hookups — he takes such good care of you after, and for those few minutes, you feel what it would be like to be really his. You stand on shaky legs and try to breathe some life back into your body, try to reel your mutinous heart back in.

“Shit,” you hiss, registering your reflection in the mirror. You look utterly fucked, hair wild, dress ruined, makeup smeared, chest heaving. “I can’t go back out there like this,” you complain, swatting at him when he smirks. Of course, he still looks completely put together, composed as if he wasn’t crying out your name and cumming mere minutes ago.

It takes a minute, but you manage to wrangle your hair into submission and scrub the lipstick stains from your face. There isn’t a lot you can do for your dress, though. Your thighs burn every time you take a step, and your bare cunt is desperately sore. George swats you on the ass and follows you out of the bathroom. Matty catches your eye as you slink guiltily back into the party, shooting you a wicked smirk. You can’t help but love him, even if it does mean everyone in this room is going to know your business by night’s end.

“Hey,” George says, still keeping a supportive arm around your waist. “If you really want me, I’m yours,”

Your pulse speeds, your tender heart smashing against your ribs, bruising to a pulp. “Can you repeat that?” you manage.

“I’m yours, love. As long as you’re mine,” he promises, taking you by the waist and staring deep into your eyes. You’ve always wondered whether he could read your thoughts with that look, and now you have your answer. Stretching up on tiptoes, you sling your arms around his neck and catch him in a long, sweet kiss. You link a finger around his.

“Yours. All yours,”

[delcakoo]

i’m sure most ppl expected this so i’m not gonna make a big deal out of it but!! yes i am going on hiatus for an unspecified amount of time.

it’s honestly quite simple, i’ve just been losing interest in most aspects of kpop aside from the music, which makes writing for it a lot harder than before. i also dealt with a lot of burn out for months and still forced myself to write which only made it worse. lastly, i’m an executive of two clubs at my school this year on top of all my classes, so finding time to write would be even worse than it was before :’) !

YEAh that’s kinda it! for now my works will stay up, moots can dm me for my disc/spotify!! even if we’ve barely spoken pspsps i wanna stalk ur music cmere 🤲 a special shout out to my emoji anons too, you’re all amazing people ilysm, especially those that have been stuck with me for so long <3 (u know who u are!!)

i’ll try and check in here every so often to chat, esp if a new comeback for enha/txt happens!! love u guys and stay safe <3 you may send an ask if u have any questions!

extra stuff i wanna say to moots below! (it’s all word vomits i’m sorry)

RAVEN. MY WIFEY. my BELOVED blr wont let me tag u but you already know i adore u sm playing roblox with u is so fun even if that one banana game was kinda ass!! 💖 thank u for being so so sweet when putting up with me all the time and raising our fav corgi daughter with sm love <3 i hope u get more confidence in ur writing because your fics are always so creative and well written, and in yourself too bc a certain mf thats name starts with J and ends with N is MISSING OUT. 🙄🙄 ok im still gna be annoying u all the time so. bye ig….. smooches

@seongclb katto u deserve an award for putting up with me in dms ilysm 😞 watching the promised neverland together brought me so much joy and i still have a ss of you calling gilda a tractor ok i love u!!!! i would read your fics all day any day u are so talented and ur photography skills are amazing, i hope we get to keep in touch WE SHOULD FIND ANOTHER SHOW TO WATCH TGTHER !!!!! i need to fix your lack of anime knowledge ‼️ PLS KEEP WRITING AS WELL ENHABLR NEEDS U!!!!

@soov reirei my gf i aspire to be as confident and funny as you, you’re literal sunshine and always make my day better even with just one interaction <3 thank u for being so welcoming my first days in walmart enha and raising sushiwon with me!! as well as entertaining me by dying in genshin every 3 seconds <3 (WE NEED TO PLAY AGAIN) oh and KEEP WRITING BB. i will rise from THE DEAD WHEN IT COMES OUT OK U CAN DO THIS ML!!

@haknom kangaroo karaoke keys we may have had only a few convos but they were all so fun like PLAYING BRAWL STARS WAS HILARIOUS we ate the house down in duo showdown idc. and beta reading ur fics was such a treat esp while watching u plan new smaus every other day 🫶 also your music taste is MUWAH gimme some more recs pspsps !!! KEEP WRITING OKKK?!

@kynrki kimmy kimmy kim one of my first ever moots <3 your writing is always such a joy to read and your energy is amazing, thank you for giving me a chance when i was too shy to ask anyone else to be moots LMAO 🫶 plsplss keep writing you’re so gifted and deserve the whole world LOVEE UU

@bitehee cavvy my big sibling :((( i love u sm kshsdknd its been a while but i really hope everything has been well since you moved and you’re still being as cool as ever <3 im gonna replay a pokemon game in ur honor perhaps mystery dungeon 👁️ ? anyway i look up to u and think u are so cool, one of my fav hee stans ever ever!!! remember u have my disc if u ever wanna chat 🫂 !!!

@sunoksunny sunny <3 my other gf. i remember our first vc u had this goofy pfp i cant remember what it was but like u are so easy to talk to and funny?! and PRETTY??? your fits are always stunning and your singing is beautiful ugh the whole package fr… and. we need. to play. genshin!!! I REDOWNLOADED IT FOR U OK WE WILL DISCUSS THIS SOON!! ILY

@slytherinshua ZANNY. u are so easy to talk to we match each others energy so perfectly?!? I HOPE U AND TUALHA CONTINUE BEING THE COOLEST EVER and ur writing is top tier so pls keep going‼️ thank u for being so sweet to me as another one of my very first moots i appreciate u sm <3333

@flwrshee riri !!! we haven’t even been moots for long but i had to add u in here because u need to know that ILYSM. you’re like an adorable energetic little sister that always makes me smile T-T thank you for taking time out of your day to reblog my fics with so much sweet feedback and i wish u the absolute best always!! if u ever need anything pls dm me on disc i would love to chat with u more, and make sure to keep writing bc u have SO much talent!!!!

@wonieleles sia SIA i genuinely miss talking to u sm i NEED to come back to walmart enha :(( we don’t talk much besides our little interactions in the server but each time you make me smile. you’re so so smart and admirable, i hope you keep up the hard work bc i know you’ll go so far and HAVE MORE CONFIDENCE!! you’re so beautiful okay ily 😞🫶

@sultrybaby kel 😭😭😭💖💖 you’ve literally been a day one THANK YOU for always checking in on me even during your ridiculous NONSTOP EXAMS. 💀 another one of my big siblings on here fr you are such a real one and i care for u sm!!! i hope everything has been well for u?! pls feel free to message me for anything okay <3 I LOVE U SM thank u for sticking with me all this time 🫂🫂

i have so many moots so i can’t write smthn for everyone but i love u all okay <3 AGAIN if u wanna keep in touch thru spotify or discord dm me muwah