#but that has been picking up again lately

[chiscaralight]

being roommates with kinich!! but you swear he hates you. he’s such pretty thing! but he almost never talks to you. he’ll do all the dishes, take out and fold your laundry and leave it on top of the washer dryer for you, he’ll clean when you’re not home and even leave food out for you when you get back late! but he just. won’t. speak to you!!!

and it’s driving you insane. you just want to get to know him! he’s gorgeous and he seems really sweet. he’s also built just the way you like. slender and toned, with the strongest gaze you’ve ever felt. is it so much to want to talk (and maybe fuck) your absolutely perfect roommate?

it’s driving you insane! so insane, that you start to miss when certain articles of clothes don’t come back from the laundry you pick up on top of the machine. maybe you didn’t actually put those panties in the bin this time, but who cares? kinich is shirtless while he does dishes this time, it’s the exact moment you need to pretend to watch something on tv!

and your sideward glances are not as slick as you think they are, because he knows exactly what you’re doing. it’s a ring from the doorbell that has you rolling your eyes, going to see who’s disturbing your peace while he licks the fork you used to eat the food he cooked a few hours ago. by the time you return, he’s already done, wiping down the counter and making his way back to his room wordlessly. you sigh in exasperation, you didn’t even get time to think about what fake story you could cook up to get him to talk to you! but as you groan at your misfortune in the living room, his fingers are wrapped hard around his cock, nose pressed into the underwear he’s stolen from you this time. It doesn’t take long before he’s making a mess around his hand, traces of your scent flooding his senses. but this pair is starting to lose its smell and he’s getting more and more fed up. how much longer can he keep this up before he breaks?

for you, it’s not much longer, because your fingers are deep in your cunt, thrusting in and out while you try to silence your sounds. you can’t even help the way his name slips from your mouth, you can’t even control it! it’s not your fault he’s been all over your mind for the past few weeks, at work, in classes, in the shower, it’s just too much for you!

and maybe you were just a bit louder than you expected, because your door is cracking open a few moments later, the afformentionef problem staring down at you ask you freeze up. he’s still deathly quiet as always, but he's practically jumping for joy in his mind. this is like a dream come true? you’ve basically been served to him on a silver platter, and he’ll make sure to not waste a single bite.

maybe a bit too literally, because your neck and chest are covered with love bites from his lips. one hand is holding one of yours above your head, the other very slowly brushing against your clit, big difference in the way he’s absolutely drilling into you. and you swear your seeing stars, moans morphing into cries as he angles up just the slightest bit, cock prodding against the walls of your cunt. it’s almost like magic, the way you feel. and he’s much less quiet now, because once his lips are on yours, he’s groaning into your mouth, teeth clashing with yours as he drags his lips downwards to sink his teeth into your skin again.

his build isn’t just for show either, because he’s flipping you over with such ease, holding your hips just where he needs them to be as he bullies his cock right back in.

kinich who now realizes how much power he holds over you, because whenever he even just as much passes by you, he can see your body tense up just the slightest bit. and he used it to his advantage! riling you up throughout the days with weird looks and soft touches, before ultimately deciding to bend you over the counter because he misses that cunt so much already </3

he’ll leave the door unlocked when he gets back, settling on the couch with speed so he can drag you onto his lap and have you ride him because it’s all he could think about in his classes.

and kinich that will beg you to let him cum in that sweet pussy just once, but between the two of you oh both know he’s lying. he’ll keep fucking his cum into you over and over, until he’s cumming inside you once again. he just can’t help it! you’re sucking him in so good like this, what did you expect him to do.

just like the way he took care of the little things, when you’re spent, on the verge of passing out on his cock, he’ll scoop you up and take you to his room, cleaning you up and wrapping you in his blankets so he can stay with you the entire night.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 30] Graduation

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Fluff

*THIS IS IT thank you all so much for reading, this truly has been a journey and I couldn't have done it without your support. love you all so much🫂❤️

**Too lazy to put all the smut warnings, it's nothing too extreme just some face sitting and whatnot :p

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“Are you ready to go?” Satoru asks, walking into your room to find you sitting in front of the vanity. You’re finishing up your makeup, putting the lash touch on your lips. His heart skips a beat, and he could faint right at this moment. He’s the luckiest man alive. He still has to rush you, “You can’t be late to your own graduation.”

“Is Anzu ready?” You question, and Satoru hums in response. He walks over to the bed and takes a seat to watch you.

“What? Do you not think I’m responsible enough? I can handle a baby.” Satoru says, as if you didn’t find your daughter nearly chewing an extension cord yesterday because he took his eyes off her for a second. You’re taking an awfully long time to answer the question which makes Satoru scoff, “She’s ready and with your mom.”

“Good.” You answer, turning your attention back to yourself yet again. Which type of earrings will be best? Satoru got you some beautiful diamond earrings for this occasion but you’re not sure you want to wear them– You don’t want to show off to everybody that your fiancé is filthy rich.

“Why don’t you put on the ones I got you?” Satoru sees that you’re struggling to pick the earrings you’ll wear for the night, so he’ll make a suggestion. You ignore him though, and he can’t help but laugh. He stands up, “I’ll go check on Ren while you finish up then.”

“Yeah, make sure he showered.” You tell him, and Satoru hums in response. He walks out of the room, getting ready to deal with the nine-year-old even though the child only seems to listen to you. The man feels like neither of his kids really listen to him, but he guesses he deserves it.

You smile back at yourself in the mirror, elated with how things go. Accepting Satoru’s breakfast offer as a date made your life change– You’d argue for the better, though some people didn’t want you and Satoru to get back together. It took you a while to officially start dating, since Satoru was married; even though you knew his marriage wasn’t authentic, you didn’t want to interfere with any of the mess that was going on.

Satoru began the divorce process with Sayo not too long after asking you out. It was a mutual decision that they kept hidden for as long as they possibly could. Even after their divorce was finalized, they refused to share the news with Sayo’s parents. You understood completely, knowing that it was a bigger issue than what it seemed. You had Satoru all to yourself either way, you didn’t really care what a random pair of old people thought. 

The truth came to light eventually, when you got pregnant with your baby girl. It ended Sayo’s relationship with her parents, but time has passed and she’s much happier without them. It was around two years ago, when Ren kept begging for a baby brother, and Satoru convinced you that it would be a great idea. You wanted another baby so there wasn’t the need for too much convincing either way. Unluckily for Ren, Anzu ended up being a baby girl. 

If you were given the chance to go back in time and change something, you’d keep everything the same. Maybe you would’ve kicked Satoru’s groin once or twice, but you’d do it all again. For Ren, for Anzu. For Satoru as well, though you wouldn’t admit it outloud.

“Ren isn’t ready!” Satoru yells, and you can’t help but chuckle as you roll your eyes. Your sweet baby boy is slowly becoming disobedient, and it’s a bit frustrating. You knew it was going to happen eventually, it’s just hard to believe that your baby boy is slowly setting off on his own adventure.

“Ren! Come here!” You yell, and within a matter of seconds your son comes running into your room. He doesn’t listen to Satoru, but you? He’ll listen to almost everything you have to say.

“What’s up?” He asks, and you look him over. You shake your head disappointedly, seeing that he’s still wearing pajamas.

“Do you want to stay home? Mrs. Gojo is more than happy to babysit.” Even when the woman is about to become your mother-in-law, you refuse to call her anything other than Mrs. Gojo. She’s the grandmother of your two kids, but you refuse to acknowledge her in any other way.

You barely have a relationship with her, for many reasons. Main one is that Satoru doesn’t really want to associate himself with her, not after everything that went down with Ren. Frankly, the only reason he even speaks to her is because Ren adores her– Though you believe that his opinion about his grandma is slowly changing because Ren quickly shakes his head.

“We’re going to her home later anyway, you can stand behind.” You assure him, but he shakes his head before darting out of the room. You almost laugh before yelling, “Make sure you don’t stink!”

“There she is!” You hear Satoru yell, and you turn around to find him with your little family. Your one-year-old squeals at the sight of her mother, while Ren glares at the baby for stealing his spotlight. You walk over to them, taking your baby Anzu into your arms before leaning down to kiss Ren’s forehead. 

“Did you have fun there, Ren?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. He’s not going to have much fun watching a bunch of people that he doesn’t know walk across a stage. Satoru didn’t even give the child his phone. 

“Ignore him, he’s been whining all day long. Where’s my kiss?” Satoru quickly changes the topic and you roll your eyes before pecking his lips. He tries to hug you without squashing the baby, saying, “Congratulations, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You respond, pecking his lips once again. You notice a couple of missing people from your group, and you question, “Where’s my mom? And Sayo and Shoko? Their little guy?”

“Bathroom.” Ren answers, and you raise your brows. All of them? You can’t exactly blame them, the ceremony was a long one.

“How about we–” You begin but you notice that your little guy is pouty. You know the reason immediately, so you hand Satoru your baby girl and crouch down to bring the child into a hug. “Am I not getting congratulations from the person that I care about the most?”

“Anzu can’t talk yet.” He answers, which almost makes you laugh. Almost. He’s so jealous of his baby sister, which is kind of ironic considering he begged you to have a baby. His attitude certainly changed when he realized that the baby requires a lot of time and attention.

“Ren, you’re the apple of my eye.” You tell him, though the child refuses to listen. Cuddles are less frequent lately since you have a crying baby that needs you, and you barely play with him anymore. “Can mommy at least get a congratulations?”

“Congratulations, mom.” Ren responds, and you feel your heart melt. Even when he’s mad at you, he’s your cute little guy. You’re rubbing your cheek with his, being as affectionate as you can be with the little guy. Though he ends up pushing you away, telling you, “You’re doing too much.” 

“Jeez, what is it with you? One moment you’re all jealous and the next you’re saying I’m doing too much.” You chuckle, standing up. You take the baby from your fiancé, knowing that she still has a long way before she can tell you that you’re doing too much. 

“Can we leave before we bump into any traffic?” Satoru asks, reading the time on his watch. Not that he’s thrilled to go to his mother’s house, but he’d prefer to be there than sitting in traffic for hours on end. He sees your eyes wandering around for the rest of your group but before you get any ideas he reminds you, “You don’t want to sit in a car with a screaming one-year-old, do you?”

“Yeah… I guess we’ll just meet them at your mom’s place.” You answer, knowing that once your baby girl begins to cry, it’s hard to get her to stop. Good thing for you, she’s usually all smiles and giggles.

“She’s drooling.” Ren points at his sister, who’s making a mess on your gown. Ren then turns his attention to his dad, asking, “I wasn’t a messy baby like her, right?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Satoru mutters, and you glare at him.

“Let’s get going.”

The graduation party is for you, a way for Mrs. Gojo to congratulate you on finally finishing your bachelor’s. In reality, it’s a way for her to see her grandchildren. A way for her to spoil Ren and dote on Anzu. 

Things between the two of you go back to the way they were: she barely notices you and you don’t acknowledge her. You’re no longer relying on her in any way, and apart from asking about your kids, the woman won’t bother to contact you. She’s fine with the change of you becoming Satoru’s fiancée– And even if she was opposed to it, Satoru won’t listen to her. As a matter of fact, Satoru never calls her first.

You’re in the kitchen, preparing yourself a plate of food, watching as Mrs. Gojo holds your baby. It’s odd to watch her be so… Soft with someone. Sure, she enables Ren and is willing to do anything he wants, but Ren sets the tone. You’ve never watched her with a baby before.

“Who’s my pretty girl?” The woman is putting a baby voice for fuck’s sake, something she never did for her own son. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s just grandma now, she doesn’t have to worry about anything but her grandchildren. Anzu is giggling, so Mrs. Gojo is doing something right.

“I can’t believe that’s my mother.” Satoru approaches you, a little disgusted to watch his mother like this. He should be happy, but it’s a little weird to watch such a cold woman put on a baby voice and entertain a baby. “That is my mother, right? They didn’t change her after her facelift?”

“I’m right here, Satoru. Just because I’m holding a baby doesn’t mean that my ears have disappeared.” She quickly scolds her son, and you can’t help but laugh. “I didn’t get a facelift either.”

“Right, you just spent two months in South Korea touring.” Satoru retorts, grabbing a plate for himself. They begin to bicker, and as entertaining as it is to watch them, you leave them alone to sort out their own issues.

You walk to the living room to find Ren playing with Shoko and Sayo’s baby– Something that he won’t do with his own baby sister. You’re not sure if it’s because she’s not the baby brother that Ren wanted or if it’s because he’s not getting the same amount of attention as before. Sayo keeps a close eye on the child, not because she doesn’t trust him, but because she’s an overprotective mother. You sit beside him, excited to watch him play and be sweet with a baby, even if it isn’t your baby girl.

“He’s so sweet. Is he like this with Anzu?” Sayo asks, ruffling Ren’s hair as he plays peek-a-boo with the ten-month-old baby. You scoff, as if. Your reaction is the best answer that she needs, and she chuckles. She’s not sure if that’s normal behavior between siblings since she’s an only child.

“What do you mean you aren’t the sweetest older brother to Anzu? You were so excited to be a big brother.” Shoko points out, and Ren’s brows come together. He knows he can’t be mean to his auntie Shoko… So he simply glares at her.

“I don’t want to play with your baby anymore.” He responds. It’s his way of punishing Shoko for the question.

“Damn, can’t take any sort of criticism. You really don’t need a DNA test, that’s one hundred percent Satoru’s kid.” Shoko says, which earns a laugh from you.

“Babe…” Sayo says through gritted teeth, which makes Shoko roll her eyes. God forbid she points out one thing.

“He’s just a little jealous, but he loves his baby sister.” You tease him, pinching your baby boy’s cheek, and he puffs out a breath. Maybe he does like her a bit. Ren doesn’t defend himself, deciding that he’s just going to grab some food from your plate as a punishment. Though it isn’t exactly a punishment for you, you’re always happy to watch your baby eat. “Do you want me to make you a plate, honey?”

“I’m not hungry.” He mutters, crossing his arms. He stands up from his seat, and walks to the stairs, planning to go to the room that his grandma has for him. He might not have his parents undivided attention anymore, but at the very least he still has a room that’s full of games that’s just for him (as if he didn’t have one in your home either). 

“He really is Satoru’s kid…” Shoko comments when Ren is out of sight, and Sayo scolds her again.

“He is, he looks just like me.” Satoru pops into the living room unannounced, which catches Shoko off guard. He wasn’t supposed to hear that, since it’s a critique of his character but she doesn’t find a care to give. He comes back holding Anzu after nearly having to fight his mother to get her. He sits down next to you, reaching for some of the food on your plate. “But I’m guessing it wasn’t a compliment since it’s coming from you.”

“I can be nice, you know.” Shoko responds, and Satoru laughs as if a joke had just come from her lips. Nice… He’ll believe it when he sees it though. Satoru takes a bite of the food that he’s taken from your plate, and he grimaces.

“Did my mom cook or what? This is disgusting.” Satoru can’t even chew the food. Unluckily for him, he doesn’t have anywhere where he can spit the food so he’s forced to swallow. Anzu is screaming, little hand trying to reach for the food. Satoru covers her eyes, “Don’t even look there, my love. There’s no way I’m letting you eat that.”

“It’s not that bad.” You tell him, tasting the food yourself. 

“Well what is it? Am I getting a plate for myself or not?” Shoko asks, reaching over to grab some food from your plate as well. Suddenly your plate has become everyone’s plate; you’re used to it at home with Satoru and Ren, but now Shoko is on the list.

“I wouldn’t trust her with food, she’s always claiming she wants to eat the baby’s cheeks.” Satoru argues, and you click your tongue knowing damn well that he says the same thing.

“Anzu has the cutest, chubbiest cheeks, I understand.” Sayo chimes in before looking at her own baby and kissing his cheeks. Shoko takes a bite, keeping her face neutral as she chews the food. 

“It’s not that bad, Satoru. You’re just dramatic.” Shoko responds, and Satoru pouts. He brings some of the food to the baby’s lips– Even though he claimed he wasn’t going to let her taste, he needs someone to prove him right and that someone will be his one-year-old daughter that spits everything back up.

“Taste this, love.” Satoru says as Anzu bites into the food. Within moments it dribbles down her chin, and back into Satoru’s hand. He’s grossed out, but at least his point has been proven. “Anzu doesn’t like it so…”

“Are you trying to prove your point by using a baby that just stopped breastfeeding?” Shoko questions, and Satoru glares at her. She can’t help but chuckle, “Man, your son is just like you.”

“I’m going to talk to him since he appreciates me.” Satoru stands up, and begins to walk to the stairs, but your voice stops him. You call out his name, and he expects some sort of apology from you but instead you ask,

“Have you seen my mom?”

“She popped into the kitchen to talk to my mom.” He answers before leaving. You’re unphased by the response. The women that don’t get along in any other circumstance, sit together to talk about their grandchildren. They can be cordial with each other once every six months.

Though Satoru doesn’t pay much attention to them, his focus right now is on his baby boy that sits alone in the game room. Ren sits down on the floor, reading to himself. Satoru doesn’t want to interrupt the healthy habit, but at the same time he doesn’t want Ren to sit by himself during the party. He takes a moment to wash his hands before joining Ren.

“Why are you here, honey? We’re celebrating your mom downstairs.” Satoru sits down beside Ren on the floor, and he feels ten years older as he hears his bones crack. Ren barely looks up from his book, side-eyeing his sister, which makes Satoru want to roll his eyes. Isn’t he a little too old to be jealous of a baby? Matter of fact, he begged to be a big brother. “What is your issue with her? What has she done to you?”

“Nothin’.” Ren claims, his eyes landing on his book again. Satoru sighs, letting the baby on the floor so she can walk around and do as she pleases. She chooses to stay nearby, walking over to her brother to take the book that he has in his hands. “See.”

“Anzu, go over there. Chew on the power cords.” Satoru redirects her elsewhere, and the baby whines because she wants something else. “So she takes all your stuff, is that why you don’t like her? You have a lot, Ren.”

“Not just my stuff. Everyone likes her better. You, mom, granny, grammy, the nanny. I used to be everyone’s favorite but then the cute baby came along.” Ren confesses, and Satoru fights back the urge of pointing out that he called Anzu cute. It’s not about the baby right now, Satoru reminds himself.

“You’re still everyone’s favorite, Ren.” Satoru tells a little white lie– There are no favorites in the family, he loves both of his kids equally. But the baby can’t understand him, it’s why he told her to chew on a power cord. “Everyone is just excited about the new baby, it’s not that you’re not the favorite anymore.”

“Why does she get away with everything then?” Ren asks as if he didn’t know any better. He’ll act dumb simply because he’s jealous. He doesn’t ask why Sayo and Shoko’s baby gets away with everything, because Ren knows that it’s just a baby… He just doesn’t have the same feelings about Anzu.

“Well for one thing she goes potty in her pants so… She isn’t really conscious about her actions.” Satoru answers, and Ren puffs out a breath. Satoru got him there. “Anzu just needs a lot of attention because she’s–”

“Don’t do that!” Ren cuts off his father when he realizes that Anzu is doing what Satoru told her to do earlier. Ren takes the cord out of her hand, and she lets out a cry. He’s going to complain about her, but he loves her.

“She’ll grow on you.” Satoru says, standing up to grab his walking baby and get out of Ren’s hair. Ren doesn’t like the baby but he certainly loves her. “But come downstairs, Ren. We’re celebrating your mommy’s achievement. She was talking about hanging up her diploma next to your kindergarten diploma.”

“Can you tell them I don’t want to talk about Anzu?” Ren asks, and Satoru hums in response. Satoru extends his hand for Ren to take, and the child takes it without an issue before both head back downstairs to spend time with you.

“What are you doing here?” Satoru approaches you as you sit on the ground outside, in his mother’s garden. You’re hiding from everyone. After hours of talking to people inside, you need a break from the small group.

“Need a minute.” You answer, and Satoru decides to sit down next to you. The kids are fine with their grandmothers, he can take a moment alone with you and properly congratulate you. He throws his arm over your shoulder and brings you close to him. “We should’ve just gone out to eat at a restaurant and called it a day. I don’t have the energy to be so social.”

“I got you a trip to Bora Bora. You just have to power through these last couple of hours… We can get Anzu to throw a fit and make it a few minutes.” He responds and you chuckle. You rest your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes for a moment. Being social shouldn’t be so draining.

“Can we leave the kids with granny?” You ask him, and he hums in response. He had no plans on taking them; he loves them, but they sure know how to ruin a vacation. 

Your gaze falls on his face, looking into the blue eyes you fell in love with so long ago. Even though it was an eternity ago, he still makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t let you stare for too long before he steals a kiss from you.

“If you stare for too long you might find me ugly.” Satoru tells you and you roll your eyes. If you don’t find him ugly first thing in the morning then you’re definitely not finding him ugly now.

“Are you saying that because–” You begin but the man cuts you off before you can finish your question. He knows you, he knows that you’ll start a petty fight with a dumb question.

“Because I love you so much, and I think I’m not good enough for you– I know I’m not good enough for you, you’re perfect.” Satoru responds, making you grin from ear to ear. He isn’t exactly wrong, he’s lucky that you considered getting back together with him at all.

“I love you too even though you’re…” You bite your tongue before you insult him. He raises a brow and before he can question anything, your lips land on his. His cheeks begin to turn pink when you peck his lips over and over again, feeling like a teenager all over again.

You stare into his eyes when you stop, watching the sparkle in them as he looks back at you. He’s utterly in love with you, and the feeling only gets more intense as time passes. He caresses your face with the back of his hand ever so lovingly. You get lost in his loving eyes until your eyes shift to the flowers behind him.

“Oh my–” You gasp, your eyes widening as you realize. “This is where you used to pick flowers for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Satoru laughs, turning to pick a lily for you. It’s been years since he’s been in this place. Maybe he should come here more often. “A flower for my flower.”

“Cheesy.” You take it from his hands, wanting to roll your eyes because of his comment– But your face is getting hot. Even when he’s cheesy your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Yeah, cheesy is what got me two kids.” He retorts. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Gojo?”

“Calling me Mrs. Gojo is going to make you single.” You warn him, and he fights back on laughing. “Don’t make me divorce you before getting married.”

“What? Are you going to Suguru for a rebound again?” Satoru questions, making you glare at him. Maybe he should just listen and agree, not everything needs a response from him. “I’m just joking, baby. He has a girlfriend now and whatnot.”

“You better stick to your day job, you have no future as a comedian.” You say, standing up from the ground to go back inside, and of course, Satoru follows like a lost puppy. He’s simply lost without you.

You love spending time with your kids, you love them more than anything– But you’re not going to pass up on the opportunity of a sleepover. Having them off your hands for the night is a blessing sometimes. You simply want to celebrate with your fiancé in a way that your kids make difficult.

“I’ll run you a bath.” Satoru tells you, running to go upstairs to get to the bathroom before you. Running you a bath that he’ll end up joining, that’s not too bad. It’s a nice way to end the night, that you know for sure.

You give him a moment to set everything up, pulling out your phone to answer a couple of messages of people congratulating you for finishing your degree. What’s next? You’re not too sure. But whatever you decide it’s fine. You have Satoru and your kids by your side no matter what. The money also helps.

Right now, you know you want to relax in a bathtub full of bubbles. Maybe have Satoru right next to you. You’ve been looking into the future for the past ten years, for once you just want to sit back and appreciate the moment. 

“Are you coming?!” You hear Satoru as you walk up the stairs. He’s so impatient, he can’t even wait a minute. You won’t hurry up to please him, as a matter of fact, you walk slower. Satoru is tapping his foot on the floor when you finally get to the bedroom.

“Finally.” He says, walking over to you to zip down the zipper that holds your dress together. He’s desperate to get you naked. You’re chuckling, reminding him,

“No need for you to be in a rush, we have all night.” But it goes in one ear and out the other. Before you know it, he turns you around, his lips landing on yours. His kiss is full of desire, needing to feel your every touch on his skin. He’s burning up to feel you.

“Fuck, I want you so fucking bad.” He pulls away from the kiss as the dress drops to the ground. He picks you up from the floor and puts you down on the bed, smirking at the black lingerie that will soon be removed. “So perfect for me, love.”

“Fuck me, Satoru.” You tell him, voice seductive that can get him to drop to his knees in an instant. The bath that’s filled up and with bubbles is long forgotten by both of you. He takes off his shirt and pants, leaving his briefs. Your eyes stare at the tent that makes him ever so uncomfortable. You sit up on the bed, your fingers going directly to the erection.

Your index finger goes underneath the band of his underwear, eyes looking up at him as you pull his briefs down. Your eyes quickly avert to his cock, wrapping around the base of it. You slowly move your hand from base to tip as pre-cum leaks from the tip. Your tongue licks it up, circling around it as the man bites down on his lip.

Your mouth wraps around all it can take, bobbing your head slowly. You take what your mouth can handle. He can’t complain because it’s just perfect. Everything you do in Satoru’s eyes is perfect. The pace is slow, but it gradually gets faster. 

You look up at him to find him biting his lip, his eyes shut. You take his cock out of your mouth, and begin to run your hand up and down his shaft, your saliva serving as a lubricant. He finally opens his eyes to look down at you, but his teeth remain on his bottom lip.

“I want to hear you.” You say, a rather demanding tone in your voice. He stops biting down on his lip, and your hand continues to jerk him off for a couple of seconds before your mouth wraps around his cock again.

He’s groaning at your every move, which is like music to your ears. You look up at him to find him looking back down at you. He knows you’re more than satisfied with him, with how he sounds. It’s nice to be as loud as he wants to be, without worrying about someone barging in.

You try to take his whole length in your mouth, making you gag. Tears quickly form in your eyes as you remove your mouth from his cock, and try again. He throws his head back, breathy moans escaping his lips at your every move. 

You take your mouth off his cock and begin to jerk him off. Your mouth goes to his balls and you begin to suck on them. Satoru got louder and louder by the second, his release approaching. 

Your mouth goes back to his cock while your hands begin to play with his balls. It doesn’t take too long for his cum to hit the back of your throat. Your mouth remains on his cock for a couple of seconds before pulling away. You make sure to swallow all the cum, sticking your tongue out for him to see and proudly admire.

“My good girl.” He praises you. He reaches behind to unhook your bra and slide it off you. Once it’s off, he desperately tries to take off your panties. It’s unexpected when he gets on the bed and lays down. You crawl to where he is, positioning yourself on top of him. You get ready to ride him, but it takes you by surprise when your fiancé says, “Sit on my face.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, though it’s not unusual from Satoru.

“Just come here and sit.” He responds. You do what he wants, but you are hesitant to fully sit down. He’s the one who pushes you down onto him. His tongue is quick to wander around your cunt.

His tongue begins to flick your clit over and over again, making low moans leave your lips. His arms go over your thighs, pushing you down further. You’d be worried about him breathing, if you weren’t too focused on how his tongue moves around your pussy.

“Toru!” You moan. Your moans serve as encouragement, and are a sweet reward for the man, moving his tongue faster. His tongue stops flicking your clit, and moves down to your hole. He teases you, threatening to enter but never really doing it. 

“Baby please.” You beg. His tongue finally enters your cunt. You shut your eyes, getting lost in the feeling. But out of the two of you, Satoru is enjoying it more. He finally takes his tongue out and goes back to your clit. 

He begins to suck on your clit, and you swear you see stars as your orgasm builds up. Your hips raise a bit, but he pushes you back down. You get louder and louder. “I’m gonna- fuck- gonna cum-”

You moan loudly as you reach your climax, his tongue still working wonders. A minute later he stops, and you get off him, sitting down on his torso. He raises himself a bit, not completely to sit up but enough to wrap his hand around your throat and pull you into a lewd kiss.

“Should we continue in the bath?” Satoru asks when he pulls away and you can’t nod your head more frantically. You get off the bed and practically run to the bath. Satoru gets in the bathtub first, and you follow behind.

“You’re so lucky.” You point out as your back presses against his chest. He’s never doubted it. He peppers your neck with kisses, while you align his cock with your entrance. You lower yourself on his cock.

“How about another baby?” Satoru asks, making you click your tongue while you begin to move.

“Leave me alone” You reply, and he wants to chuckle but he’s biting down his lip as he feels your pussy wrap around him. He loves your mouth but it can’t compare to this. 

He’s kissing your back, showing you how much he loves you in every possible way as you move up and down his cock. His hand moves down to play with your clit, making you shut your eyes. Every little touch is enough to make you insane lately and Satoru loves to touch you.

“You’re so perfect around me, baby.” Satoru whispers into your ear before nibbling on your earlobe. 

You’re softly moaning his name, your walls tightening around him. You’re so close to finishing. You’ve been so touch deprived lately since your schedules make spending time with each other impossible– Maybe now you’ll have more time to spend with each other.

“Fuck–” You curse as you finish on his cock. You hold to the edge of the bathtub as Satoru continues to move in and out of you. 

He’s not going to last long. It’s too hard for him to contain himself when he’s inside of you. He comes to a complete stop when he finally reaches his release, finishing inside of you. He remains buried inside of you as you pant to catch your breaths, but after a minute you lift yourself and take his cock out of you.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Satoru asks, hands caressing your arms as your head goes to his chest.

“Just sleep.” You answer as Satoru kisses the top of your head. He squeezes your hand before bringing it up to his lips to press a subtle kiss on it. “I need to get some rest.”

“Sleep sounds nice.” Satoru responds. You’re getting comfortable in the bathtub as your eyes begin to get heavy. You’re tired. Satoru notices and he splashes you, “Don’t fall asleep in the bathtub, love.”

“Just carry me to the bed.” You reply, making him roll his eyes playfully. He can, but if you don’t drag him out he’ll stay in the water and get all pruny. He’s warm by your side, too comfortable to leave. This is the reality he wanted ten years ago, and he finally has it. He’s not leaving this comfort no matter what gets in the way.

You’ll be the one to get up first and drag him out, that’s how it usually is in the morning. But you’re falling asleep. He doesn’t want to disturb you either. So he’ll just stay in the bathtub. 

“Don’t let me get all pruny, Satoru. Carry me out.” You warn him, and he hums in response. He’ll have to eventually because you’ll end up killing him if you wake up in ten hours, and you’re still in the bathroom.

“You know Ren is going to call later to say goodnight?” He points out, but you don’t care to talk about it. You’re sleepy. He kisses the top of your head when he’s met with silence. He mutters softly to not disturb your peace, 

“I love you. Goodnight, baby.”

[reidmania]

cinema seven | s.reid

summary; spencer goes to see a movie in cinema with derek, when cinema seven breaks down, he offers to help the pretty — all too stressed manger (who he has been too nervous to ask out) fix the projectors.

warnings; guys this fic is actually just for me. cinema manger reader, fem reader, they lowkey break rules but we don’t talk about that, probably boy band haired reid and ooc spencer bc they flirt or banter idk, fluff!! So much fluff!!spencer has been pinning for a while

an; i am a cinema manger 😐 cinema seven is making me want to die because of the bloody projectors breaking constantly. this is probably soo ooc, and also like uncorrectly timed bc it based off how cinema’s are now, not how they were. Whoops. this has been in my drafts for weeks and i hate it.

Dimly low lights lit the theatre room, couples, families and other guests filling the space of the soft red velvet chairs set aligned, finding their seats as the advertisement’s played over the big screen in front of them, the stairs lit with small red lights to ensure everyone knew where they were going, and to ensure nobody missed a step under the dim lit lights.

The room smelt strongly of sweet buttered popcorn, and whatever antiseptic spray had been used to wipe down the cupholders of the seats when being cleaned in between movie sessions, the smell sent a small wave of reassurance over Spencer.

Spencer had never been a massive fan of cinemas, he preferred watching his documentaries or show’s from his couch at home, curled up in blankets, in an area he knew was completely sanity, away from the public and in his own space. However, lately Derek had been inviting him to the cinema more and more after he agreed the first time.

He didn’t necessarily mind, and he knew why Derek had continued to invite him — which was the reason he didn’t mind so much. The first time they had come to the cinema apparently they had picked a bad time, since it was absolutely packed the minute they arrived.

Thats when Spencer had seen you, working on one of the till’s. He had been to the cinema before, but he had never seen you before. As they got closer and the queue shortened, he was able to read the small ‘manger’ badge that hug off the lanyard around your neck.

Explained why he hadn’t seen you at the front before.

His palms had grown clammy as the line grew shorter, whatever Derek had been talking about was completely lost on Spencer, his gaze was locked on your pretty face smiling at a young kid who — spencer assumed — was blabbering about something, hardly coherent over the noise of the people around, but you smiled and nodded none the less as you handed the parents boxes of popcorn.

That was the first time he went to the cinema’s with Derek. Derek had watched the boy stumble over his words as he spoke to you when you served them, cheeks flushing and his gaze never meeting yours for two long. You had laughed and told him to take his time as you wiped down the benches, listening intently. He had taken note of the way you juggled tasks all at once, making popcorn, serving, cleaning.

He had been three times since, the second time wasn’t with Derek, and he honestly didn’t really want to see a movie, he just wanted to see you, unfortunately you weren’t working and he was left seeing a movie he didn’t actually want to watch.

Derek teased the boy endlessly, about his cinema crush. Which was why him and Derek were here now. Again, a movie Spencer had no interest in, but it was busy enough that you would have to be working tills. That was enough to justify seeing a boring film to Spencer.

He had seen you, you had served them and when you smiled widely with recognition of their faces Spencer felt like he was about to pass out with how hard his head was beating. Now he was sitting in the cinema, next to Derek who was shovelling handfuls of popcorn into his mouth before the movie had actually even started.

It was only about five minutes into the actual film when the sound had dropped out.

It was another five minutes before people started talking, before someone had stood up to leave the cinema. Then another two minutes before a worker — not you, a different one, came in and looked over the screen before talking into a hand held radio.

People were growing frustrated, annoyed and restless in waiting. Fair enough, no one really wanted to see a film with no sound. However what made Spencer pinch his eyebrows together with a frown is when you did walk in, and there was someone else standing, obviously taking their frustration out on you.

Spencer looked at Derek, who looked at him at the same time, obviously noticing the interaction before the guy had returned to his seat in a frustrated huff. Then your voice rang out throughout the cinema as you stood to the side, Spencer watched from his seat as your hands toyed with the lanyard around your neck.

“Im really sorry about this guys— We’ve been having issues all day. Just give me a couple of minutes to try to fix the projector then I’ll put it back to before the sound went off, so you don’t miss anything.” You sounded stressed, clearly apologetic as you spoke. There were mumbling that went around the cinema. Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as you ran your hand through your hair before turning to walk out.

Spencer— didn’t know what was going through his mind when he stood up and made his way down the stairs, ignoring the confused splutter from Derek. Spencer made his way out of the cinema, looking around at the foyer area, it didn’t take long to see you.

Standing there, you were talking to another customer, clearly stressed and in a rush but still respectful. He waited patiently before the customer thanked you and walked away. His feet worked quicker than his mind could when he walked up to you.

“Hi” he said gently. Your eyes lifted to his before you looked towards a doorway, you smiled softly. He stood in front of you, your hands continued to fidget, he noticed that, he noticed the way your cheeks were slightly flushed and a few baby hairs stuck to your forehead from sweat.

You wiped your cheek, “Hi- Cinema seven right? I promise I’m getting there — Im so sorry.” You apologised, his heart both warmed and ached for different reasons, one because you remembered what movie he had gone to see, and because you sounded so insanely overwhelmed. There was a slight shake in your tone, he noticed.

He nodded, “yeah- But uh- I just- What’s the issue?” He asked, he wanted to slap himself in the face for the way he stuttered over his words. He was embarrassing himself, and wasting your time and he knew he should probably just turn around and walk back to his seat but he couldn’t.

A sigh left your lips, “I honestly have no idea — all day the sound has just been going out, it works for a bit but it’s just — so annoying. I’ve tried restarting it like ten times — i can’t seen any obvious issue, I really am so sorry.” You continue to apologise, he hated that you were apologising for an issue that was out of your control, its not like you went and broke the projector.

“No- Its okay. I just — I could look at it — if you want? If thats okay? I just, uh.. know quite a bit about them..” He offered, because you looked so stressed and so overwhelmed and he just wanted to help in any way he possibly could. This was something he knew he could do, he was smart enough to figure it out.

You sighed and smiled gently at him, “Thats really nice and I would totally say yes — like i genuinely would but we can’t uh— have customers going up there.” You mumbled out, almost as if you were genuinely disappointed by the fact.

He nodded in understanding because it made sense, of course you couldn’t. Projectors weren’t cheap by any means and if you just let customers go up there then chances are they would all be broken within minutes.

“Im not- I work for the FBI, I-I can show you my badge.” He mumbled, hand already reaching out for his pocket to pull out his badge and flick it open. Now, Spencer didn’t use his job as a personal weapon often; however this was different. This was you, and you were oh so pretty.

He watched as your eyes trailed down his hands to his badge, reading over the information before your eyes flickered back up to his — you were considering it, he could basically see the mental debate you were having with yourself. He hoped you said yes, because if not then he had wasted an incredible amount of your time and was actually just stopping your from doing your job.

Then you huffed out a small breath of air, “You know what you’re doing?” You asked.

He nodded instantly, “If it helps I have an IQ of 187 and have three pHD’s?” He offered the information, not to impress but to provide some sort of comfort to the clear worry over your features.

Yours eyes met his and you just looked at him for a minute — trying to find any hint of dishonesty in his features, but when you didn’t you huffed out a small ‘okay.’ Before turning around, Spencer followed you.

His mind was spinning. If he thought he was flustered before now was something else. His skin felt so hot he wanted to dive into a pool of pure ice, despite knowing that it wouldn’t actually be nearly as enjoyable as it sounded right now.

“Please don’t make me regret this. And please— for the love of everything above, don’t break anything, i do not need to loose my job right now” you had mumbled as he followed you up the stairs after you unlocked the door. He smiled gently at your words and the trust you were putting in him, maybe it was naive and stupid if it was someone else who had bad intentions, but you took your chances with him.

Spencer steps up to the controls, eyeing the mess with a focused look, his fingers tracing over the switches and buttons like he’s reading a puzzle. “Wow,” he says after a beat. “This is… pretty old-school.”

You let out a short laugh, leaning against the doorway. “Yeah, tell me about it. I’m honestly surprised we haven’t had more breakdowns.”

He glances over at you, his expression softening. “You’ve been keeping this place running pretty well, considering.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you feel your face flush. You quickly shake it off and nod toward the panel. “So, you think you can fix it?”

Spencer nods confidently, already getting to work. He’s methodical as he checks the wires and makes adjustments, explaining the technicalities as he goes. You pretend to understand most of it, but really, you’re just watching him, impressed by how he seems to know exactly what to do.

After a few minutes of working in silence, he glances at you again. “You know,” he says with a small grin, “this isn’t the first time I’ve saved a situation with some quick rewiring.” He grows more comfortable under your gaze as time goes on, the nerves still fluttering through his body, he tries to keep his hands as steady as possible — because you were trusting him.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself.

“Yeah. One time, I had to disarm a bomb using only a circuit board and a pair of wire cutters.” He pauses, eyes sparkling with that same quiet confidence. “This is a little less stressful.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I should hope so.”

The conversation continues like that—light, easy, playful. and the tension you’ve been feeling all evening starts to melt away. There’s something about his calm demeanor that puts you at ease, like you can trust him to handle things, not just here, but in general. It’s a strange feeling, but a good one.

Finally, he steps back from the panel, brushing his hands together. “That should do it.”

You blink, glancing at the screen where the sound has suddenly returned, loud and clear. “You fixed it?”

“Looks like it,” he says, his voice soft but full of satisfaction.

A wave of relief washes over you. You hadn’t realized just how tightly wound you’d been until now. You smile, unable to hold back your gratitude. “Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how much this helps.”

Spencer shrugs, looking a little bashful. “It’s nothing, really.”

But it’s not nothing. You can feel that. He’s helped you out, more than just with the projector, and the gratitude in your chest grows warmer.

You glance at him, hesitating. He can see it in your gaze, your eyes are on his, a warm smile on your face. He has to stop his mind from drifting away.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice softer now, more personal. “Is there anything I can do— Free tickets, do you need more popcorn?— That doesn’t do it justice. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know” You rambled and his heart fluttered.

There’s a pause, just long enough for you to wonder what he’s thinking. Then, he meets your eyes, his expression a mix of uncertainty and hope. “How about a date?”

The question hangs in the air, and your heart skips a beat.

It takes a moment to process what he’s asking, but when you do, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re asking me out?”

He nods, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “If you’re free. I’d really like to take you out sometime.”

You furrow your eyebrows slightly, hands coming back up to fumble with the lanyard on your neck — for maybe the hundredth time. You look over his face as id you don’t believe him for a moment before you let out a breathy laugh, and for a moment his heart dropped with the idea of rejection.

“Yeah- Yeah. I’d like that.” You said. And he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Spencer liked the cinema’s a lot more now.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Family Man Part 2

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x reader

Part One

Word Count: 8.9k

thx to a very lovely commissioner!!!

Synopsis : Two months after Satoshi’s death, you and your daughter struggle to move on. You’re so lucky that Gojo is there to pick up the pieces.

(Yandere, smut, oral sex both m/f receiving, lactation kink, implied depression, masochistic gojo, ooc gojo, never rlly fixed that, reader has dark skin, xenophobia(NOT by gojo))

Sometimes, you're in bed, and feel like he's right beside you. 

For a moment, the last two months disappear. You feel whole again. Sometimes, it’s enough to make you turn around, words on your tongue, already ready to smile and greet him with a kiss. 

He isn't there. Nothing's behind you. 

And you feel empty all over again. 

It's better somedays. The emptiness. It's like a looming visage of gloom. Farther away one day, in your bed the next. Lately, it's growing bigger and bigger. A dark cloud on your shoulder, resting heavier and heavier on your back. 

Grief. Mourning. Loss. 

When you open the door, the mailman smiles cheerily at you. 

"Morning!" He chirps. "Lovely weather we're having today."

You nod, silent as he begins to dig through his bag. He's younger than you, you note. By a decade, at the very least. Barely in his twenties. When you were his age, you were still back home, in the village. When you were his age, Japan was just a faraway country, hardly worth your notice. 

He hands you your dues. You take them with a respectful thank you. And then you wait for the inevitable. 

On cue, his smile fades. Something pitying fills his gaze. You force yourself to stare right back at him. Insecurity bites at you, and you know he's staring at your dull face. The circles underneath your eyes. 

In the background, Reina babbles. He's forced to take his eyes off of you momentarily. 

"I heard about your husband." He starts, still staring inside your home. Your hands tighten into fists. "I'm sorry for your loss." 

He bows. So do you. 

"Thank you." You tell him, rehearsed, just like you practiced millions and millions of times. "I...appreciate it." 

He smiles, as if he think he did something, made your life a little easier. You let him bathe in his graciousness, before you shut the door. Away from the sunlight, away from fabricated sympathies. You finally feel like you can breathe again. 

It's been like this ever since Satoshi died. 

Car wreck. Some drunk had driven too close to the curb. Satoshi had been walking home. He'd missed the bus, he does that often. It's a usual quirk of his, you'd often found it adorably clumsy. Being late was harmless. He wasn't supposed to die for it. It'd been an instant kill, for the both of them. No other witnesses. The scene was cleaned up by the time you got there. The officers kept you in dread for four hours. In that time, you could almost convince yourself that it wasn't him. The reason why he wasn't answering your calls was because his phone had died. He was lost on the other side of town. He was anywhere else, doing anything else. 

You were brought to identify the body. Your eyes couldn’t deny what you saw.

You think a part of yourself died with your husband, too. You drift through life like a ghost. Mindless, numb. Colors have all bled into grayish blues. You don’t really feel much of anything anymore.

Reina squeals. You blink back to reality.

She’d dropped her toy. You pick it up. It was a purple stuffed rabbit. Satoshi had gotten it for her the day she was born. She doesn’t even sleep without it.

These days, Reina is the only thing that makes you get up in the morning, even when you don’t want to. She’s the only thing you push yourself for.

You don’t know where you’d be without her.

She’s giggles when you hand it back. She doesn’t even know. How can you even begin to tell your infant that her father is no longer coming home? Someone so new at life should not experience death this soon. It’s a sin. Someone has cursed her. It’s the only explanation you could give.

You kiss her on the top of her head. Her baby hairs are still growing. They resemble yours. Every part of her was you. When you look at her, you don’t see Satoshi.

You used to tease him about it; now, you wish there was just a tiny bit of him on her face.

Or maybe it was a good thing? Did you even want to see the man you loved, mourned for, and hated to think about in your daughter’s eyes? Would it break you even further?

You don’t have to think about questions like those. You have more important things to worry about. When you rifle through the mail, your heart sinks.

Warnings, bills, everything that Satoshi used to handle. Even when your world stopped, the rest of the planet didn’t: ever turning, ever malevolent.

You place the bills down. Reina babbles something.

You bend down to pick her up, she screams in delight when you place her on your lap, peppering her face with kisses.

And maybe your world hadn’t stopped, not just yet.

“There are stains on your blouse.”

You glance down before shrugging.

“Reina dropped her food.” You shrug. “I didn’t have time to clean it up.”

Kiyo doesn’t look very happy about your excuse. She doesn’t say anything about it, preferring to glare at you in silent disapproval as she always does. Usually, you’d have Satoshi acting as a barrier between you and your mother-in-law. For obvious reasons, that wasn’t feasible at the moment.

Reina was being entertained by your father-in-law. Satoshi had inherited Isamu’s bald spot as well as his gentleness. Reina kicked her feet as Isamu muttered soft words, as though they were communicating, even though Reina hadn’t even said her first words yet.

Another milestone Satoshi would miss.

“We made adjustments to the will,” Kiyo announces. “Everything will be passed onto Reina when she comes of age.”

You nod, not very interested in politics and lands. Satoshi came from a traditional family. Japanese nobility, though he wasn’t fond of talking about his background. You were always fine with it. You never married him for the money, despite what your mother-in-law thinks.

On cue, Kiyo snaps her fingers. You blink in her direction.

She frowns, but you’ve never seen her smile in your presence.

“I would appreciate if you could pay attention when discussing my grandchild’s future.” She more or less hisses.

“I am,” you give. “Trust me, no one else is more invested in my daughter’s future than me.”

It makes her even more mad, but you’re too drained to play ‘submissive daughter-in-law’ with her. From the moment Satoshi introduced you as his fiance’, Kiyo had hated you. Nothing you did could make her like you. Not even when you learned the language perfectly, immersed yourself in Japanese culture.

She never said it out loud, but you knew what she thought of you. She wanted someone different for her son: someone with pale skin, straight hair, and Japanese heritage.

You wonder if she blames you for his death.

“You haven't gone to visit him,” She says, after she breaks her death stare, “you should.”

A part of you wants to say no, but you’re in her home, and you know she doesn’t take it lightly when guests (not family, you were not family) reject her. So you do as she suggested. You rise, glancing at Reina before ultimately stepping out of Satoshi’s childhood home.

He was just as you had left him. His gravestone stood tall and proud. Even next to all the other graves, his was the tallest. It must be Kiyo’s doing. No matter the gripes she had about you, her child would always reach for the skies.

His incense had to be switched. You did so, throwing out the burnt sticks and replacing them with new ones. You watched the smoke flicker away from his altar. A lone picture of him, a shy smile. It was from back when he was younger. His hair was still there. An office job hadn’t dulled his eyes.

You wanted to keep the ashes. Just a tiny piece of him, tucked by your own altar you had. Kiyo had refused, wanting the entire body to be cremated and kept in one piece. Too broken, you hadn’t pushed. Now, all you were left with his clothes and the fading scent on the pillows. You regret not fighting more that day.

You don’t cry. Not today. A part of you is proud. It feels like it’s much too early to feel so numb to this grave. It’s too early for this to feel normal.

You touch the cold stone. It’s smooth underneath your fingertips.

Your in-laws are right inside the house. You still feel lonely.

“You shouldn’t have left.” You told the tomb. “You shouldn’t have abandoned me like this.”

When you curse Satoshi’s grave, you could have sworn you felt a tiny tingle by your neck.

On Thursdays, you take Reina shopping.

She’s a hit with the local farmers market. The shopkeepers coo at her giggles and beautiful eyes as you haggle prices for vegetables and grains. It’s nice to get back on routine. Even with everything going on.

The bills were still on the counter when you left. More and more were coming in. You feel like you were being buried alive.

Reina kicks her feet. When you look at her, her chubby cheeks are stretched in the wide smile. You smile back, and then you pepper her face with kisses. These days, you’ve opted out of the bus, trying to save some money. It’ll just be until you find a job. Then, you can take as many Air-conditioned rides as you want.

There’s a honk. You ignore it. A car rolls to a stop beside the sidewalk. You take a peek, and then you stop and stare.

“Mr. Gojo?” You ask.

“Hey! Long time!” The man waves cheerily.

You give a timid smile, waving. Reina, your polar opposite, screams in delight. She frantically leans out of your arms as though she could get to Gojo by sheer will. You quickly rearrange your hands to balance her.

“What’re you doing out there?” He frowns. “Especially in this heat?”

“Ah.” Subconsciously, you wipe the sweat off your neck. “We were heading home from the market.”

He brightens. “Wanna hop in? It’s way too hot to walk that far.”

You smile, about to politely decline but then you remember infants shouldn’t be in this weather for too long.

Gojo’s car is luxurious, but the biggest relief is the cool air blowing over your heated skin. Reina is ecstatic to be next to Gojo. She babbles something, reaching out her tiny arms. Gojo takes her immediately.

“And how’s the prettiest girl in the world doing, today?” He grins, lifting her above his head. She coos.

You’re not really sure how Gojo walked into your life. You met him once before. That day when Satoshi had a mental breakdown and practically ran away from home. Gojo was so ansty back then, and it made sense why he and your husband got along so well.

He was the one who brought home Satoshi’s essentials from work—his computer, his notes—and then he started delivering Satoshi’s work mail. Then, sometimes, he’d stop by for lunch. And then he started bringing toys for Reina. Two months passed, and you know him now.

Not well. But you know Gojo enough to slip into the passenger seat, watching how he handles Reina.

“Okay, Car ride!” He tells her. She claps her hands as he gently hands her back to you.

“Thank you again, Mr. Gojo.” You tell him. “Really, this means a lot.”

He waves you off, starting the car. “Don’t worry about it, Seriously. Got nothin’ better to do anyway. Also, I told you already, call me Satoru.”

You smile, shifting away. You don’t know why Gojo is insistent on helping a widow. He was the friend of your late husband (though, strangely, Satoshi never spoke of the man before or after the quick introductions). Maybe it’s guilt. But unlike the rest of the people who knew, Gojo never once looked at you like that as though you were in pieces in front of him. It was nice, finally having someone like that. Someone who doesn’t see you as the widow of a dead man.

He was a nice young man. You shouldn’t be so quick to assume everyone has an underlying motive.

Maybe some people were just as they are. Nice.

“Grocery shopping?” He mentions to your bag. It creases under your grip.

You nod. “Dinner. You’re welcome to join, but I’m not making anything special.”

“I’d never pass up a meal from you, ma’am,” Gojo says, happily.

You like to keep to yourself, but he was driving you home. It was the least you could do to pay back his hospitality, as well as the other things he had done for you. Honestly, your bucket for Gojo’s hospitality wasn't yet empty.

When the car rolls to a stop, Gojo hops out, opening the door before you can touch it. You thank him, Reina huddled safely in your arms and fast asleep. Gojo grins, not before grabbing your groceries and leading the way.

Your house is sparser than it had been just months ago. Less decoration. Less silly memoirs. No pictures. You dumped them all, stored them in a tiny box before locking them all in the attic. You couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away.

Gojo waltzes into your home like he owns it. You don’t mind. He’s young, still in his twenties, at his prime. These days, you can feel things start to break down within you. Your shoulder hurts when you sleep on it the wrong way. You have to be more careful about picking up things from off the ground. You can’t tell whether this has to do with the remnants of pregnancy or your age, but you’re envious of Gojo’s youthful strength either way.

He places the bags on the counter. By then, Reina’s awake. She blearily blinks at you. You were hoping she’d stay asleep for a little while longer.

“I can watch her!” Gojo pipes up, extending his hands. Reina’s overjoyed to be handed over. It’s nice to have your hands full with something else other than baby

You listen to them giggle while you get started on dinner. It’s your usual dance. Potatoes. The sounds of boiling water. You want to make something simple, but Gojo is here, and you don’t want to disappoint your guest. By the time you’re back out, it’s nearly an hour, and the food has yet to be served.

They don’t seem to mind. Gojo had taken Reina onto the floor. You don’t complain. It’s where she usually played anyway. He was driving one of her wooden cars on the carpet, running it across the floor, as Reina clapped to her heart’s content. You could only watch, heart strangely numb.

He’s good with her.

Like Satoshi was.

You clear your throat. Gojo looks up.

“Food’s ready.” You tell him with a stiff smile. “Why don’t you wash up? I’ll take care of her.”

“Be good, okay?” He pats Reina’s head before standing up. You take her into your arms.

She’s tired from playing. Reina settles in the crib rather nicely. It’s relieving. When she’s asleep, you can’t bring yourself to leave. You watch her. Her chest rises and falls. She snores. It’s the most adoring noise you’ve ever heard.

When you head back to the kitchen, Gojo’s already back. He grins, clearly eager.

“You cooked a lot.” He comments when you two finally settle down. “Not that I’m complaining!”

“I hope it’s to your liking,” you say as always.

And it is. Gojo never hides from giving his compliments. He’s so genuine and sincere, and it makes you a bit bashful.

“Mrs. Sawai, this stuff right here is sometimes the highlight of my day,” he says. You shake your head.

“It’s true! You have talent. You should open up a restaurant or something! Wait no, don’t do that...you’d be booked for years, and I’ll never eat your cooking again.” That makes you laugh. He seems pleased for some reason.

“Thank you,” you say, “I appreciate that.”

“How was your week? Your students?” You prod.

“Good. They’re all good!” He chirps back. “I was out of town for the week, so returning to my precious students was the best.” He sighs. “Sometimes, I wish I could just pack them all in my suitcase and take ‘em with me. They’re the cutest things.”

He said he taught at a religious school, which you found strange because Gojo didn’t really strike you as religious. Nevertheless, he seemed very passionate about teaching. It was rather endearing.

Did Satoshi ever have that kind of passion for his job?

“Reina reminds me of them. The youth.” Gojo adds. “Endless potential. The kids are all like...seeds, right? They just need the proper care to bloom.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at things,” you say.

When dinner’s over, you gather the utensils and bowls. Gojo offers to help, but you don't bite, insisting that he rests. It gives you time to decompress. As much as you like Gojo, he’s a bit severe. You can’t be around him for too long, he’s too bright. His companionship is much like a furnace. Warm, but too much, and you burn.

When you return, you expect him to put his shoes back on, waiting by the door.

Instead, Gojo is perched on the counter—his hands card through your mail.

You stare. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised at being caught. He doesn’t startle; he barely spares you a glance, perusing over your bills like they were his. You know you should say something. Anger. It should bubble up instead of the shame. You open your mouth—

“How much?” He suddenly asks.

You fumble. “What?”

He waves the envelopes. “How much is it?”

You say nothing. He shrugs, as if that’s an answer itself.

Gojo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a checkbook. You move when he plucks a stray pen from the counter.

“What are you doing?” You ask, incredibly lost.

“I’m not real good with money.” He sheepishly admits before tearing off the slip and handing it to you. “But this should be enough, right?”

You stare at the amount. You’ve never held this much money before.

“I can’t accept this.” You instantly say. Instinct.

You go to hand this back. He puts a hand on his chin.

“Tell you what.” He tells you. “If I gotta take this back, I’m just gonna head to the bank, cash it in myself, and throw all the money into the river.” He grins at your horrified expression. “And it’ll all be in Yuan, so even if someone fishes it out, no one’s gonna be able to use it. One way or another, that money’s getting outta’ my bank.”

His voice softens, akin to butter. It melts into your ears.

“This isn’t out of obligation or anything. I’m giving this to you because I want to help my friend. That’s it.”

Gojo has never looked at you in pity, not like the others. He’s always looked at you like...well, you could never understand his expression. You stare at him. His sunglasses have tilted over, showcasing those gorgeous blue eyes.

Why? Why are you doing this? You want to ask him. It’s killing you inside. Is it pity for the wife of a dead friend? Why was he doing this to you?

You think of Reina. Happy giggling, Reina, with your eyes and your hair.

“It’s not like I don't have any to spare. I’m, like, loaded,” Gojo continues with his usual snark, and you think of the fancy black car parked in front of your tiny house. “And if that isn’t enough for you, just think of it as me paying you back after all those times I’ve eaten your food.”

You lower your gaze when you take the check.

“I’ll pay you back—”

“—I won’t accept it.” He grins, and you have to smile at his tenacity.

“Thank you. No, really.” You keep the check close to your chest. “Thank you, Mr.Gojo.”

He angles his sunglasses down. He looks expectant. Just this once.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

“No problem!” He pops his frames back into place.

You see him off. When he’s behind the wheel, he gives an excited wave. You shyly wave back.

And then you feel a touch right on your back. When you turn, there’s nothing but air.

Sometimes, you dream of home.

Your real home. The village is far, far away from Japan. Where you lived with your parents and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. On sweltering summer nights, you and the other children would sleep on the terrace underneath the stars. There were dirt paths, and rolling hills but the sky was clear every night.

In the village, tradition was everything. You used to hate it. Every day was the same. An endless cycle. You used to dance back then, your family had pushed you into it. As a child, you thought it was stupid.

Maybe that’s what pulled you towards the city—bustling roads, people everywhere. Your college was a town in and of itself. You met so many new people every day.

Satoshi was one of them.

When you brought them to your family, everyone was in awe. He was a foreigner. He was well-off, too; he came from a traditional Japanese family.

It was your Nani who pulled you aside as your family gushed about him.

“Are you sure about this one?” She had asked.

You nodded. Back then, you were young and in love. He was everything you could have dreamed of. New, exciting.

She doesn’t smile.

“Be careful.”

You remembered her words, even after you ran off with Satoshi to Japan. You remembered her words even after Satoshi assured you he wanted you to stay home and he’d work. You remembered her words when Reina was born. You remembered her words when you and Satoshi’s lives were perfect and happy.

And then you woke up.

Your village was gone. Instead of waking up in a pile of your siblings, you were alone on a giant bed.

It’s dark in your home. Satoshi hated having the lights off.

You looked to the crib. Reina was still asleep. During nights like these, you often bring her to sleep with you. It still isn’t enough, sometimes.

You’re a terrible mother. Why isn’t your own daughter enough for you?

Careful not to wake her, you slip out of bed, walking into the closet. You reach up, feeling your way on one of the shelves.

The photo album is dusty. You cough a bit when you open the book.

There’s you. Younger, stupider, garbed in your traditional dance dress. You always found that outfit so itchy. The photo was taken right after you’d placed first in one of your last competitions. Even in the photo, you had this look of disdain, holding that trophy like it was nothing but a heavy burden.

You still have that trophy a decade later.

You flip another page. Your parents. Your cousins. Your Aunts and Uncles. You stare at the photo of you holding your baby cousin. He was the same age as Reina when that picture was taken. That was ten years ago.

You can’t remember the last time you saw your family. Reina hadn’t met her grandparents, her own cousins. You never got the chance to. Satoshi was always so anxious about leaving Japan.

They’ve seen her, through video calls and photos. But that’s different than touching her, bonding with her.

You stare at the photo of you posing with the rest of your siblings and cousins. Strangely, you feel like you robbed something from Reina.

You miss home.

You cry until the album shuts itself closed, and the sun starts peeking through the windows.

“You good?” Satoru suddenly asks.

You blink, eyelashes fluttering as you stare at him. He’s on the floor again, watching Reina as she clacks a few wooden blocks together. It isn’t quiet. The babbling, too. She’d already knocked over the tower Satoru had built. He didn’t seem too upset by her destruction.

“Oh,” you say, “yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

As discretely as you can, you rub at your eyes, hoping that would shoo the dark circles away. It doesn’t help.

“I...just haven’t been sleeping too well these days. That’s all.”

Reina says something, not too happy with the lack of attention. Satoru gives her another block. He’d given her a bunch of toys, this time. You weren’t sure where to even store half of them. If he kept this up, pretty soon Reina’s entire room will be filled with dolls mirrors, and blocks.

“What’s been going on?” He asks.

You’re not sure how to answer that. You aren’t sure what’s been going on yourself. All that you know is that it’s getting worse. You can’t sleep at night, most nights like there’s something pressing you down. Things are going missing. You feel like you’re being watched constantly over and over again.

It only goes away whenever Satoru’s around. Maybe that’s why you’re more tolerant of his space.

“It’s nothing,” you say, “I’ve just misplaced a few things. It’s been aggravating looking for them.”

“Hm.” He cocks his head, you can’t decipher his tone. “Really?”

“I’ll find them eventually.”

He’s silent for a few more moments and then—

“Maybe you’re haunted.”

You laugh. It’s mean and sardonic, but you haven’t laughed in a while, and you hide away when Satoru stares.

“A ghost?” You question. “Those don’t exist.”

In the village, superstition was everywhere. Guess that never changed, no matter what corner of the world you ran to.

“Not a ghost.” He corrects. “Maybe something else.”

You hum, unamused. Satoru turns to Reina with an all-too-wide smile on his face.

“It’ll be right behind you, and you won’t even know it.” He tells her. “Then, it’ll draw closer, and closer, and closer until....it gets ya—”

To further his point, his hands shoot out to lightly jostle her. Reina squeals, absolutely thrilled.

Then, Satoru turns to you.

“Or something like that.”

You aren’t impressed.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” You tell him.

“They certainly aren’t.” He agrees. “But other things are.”

Satoshi acted strangely two days before his death.

He was always anxious, but this was even worse than before. Constantly looking behind him, like they’d be something there. You know he wouldn’t sleep. He’d just lay there, shifting in panic.

You don’t prod until you find him in the bathroom in clear hysterics.

“I messed up,” he mumbles over and over again. “I messed up. I messed up.”

“Satoshi.” You beg, kneeling on the tile next to him. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I messed up.” He tells you again. “I keep messing up.”

And then he sobs. He cries so loudly, you’re worried it might wake up Reina. You hug him. Hold him close to your chest, letting him cry himself out.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you. “I’m sorry. I love you. I love Reina. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You ask.

He looks at you then.

“For cheating.”

You remember every detail. The crinkle in his eyes. The beginning stages of wrinkles in his face. A picture entirely stamped into your memory.

“I forgive you.” You immediately say. “I—I forgive you. We—we can work through this.”

“We can’t.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. You deserve better. She deserves better, too. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything when you prod. Who, how, when. Your husband cheated on you. You aren’t even allowed to grieve your dying marriage when you have to grieve your dead husband.

You meant what you said. You forgave him. You would have worked through it. Fixed it. Because your marriage with Satoshi was perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

It was a perfect marriage when he never stood up for you in front of his mother. It was a perfect marriage when all he did back from work was eat and sleep. It was a perfect marriage when he cheated on you.

Rose-tinted glasses. Maybe your relationship wasn’t the most perfect.

But it was fixable.

Reina’s crying in her crib. The thing on your chest is back.

You fumble through the dark, reaching for her. She’s crying even louder when you pick her up, even when you rock her in your arms.

“Please stop.” You beg. “Please stop crying.”

She doesn’t. The pressure gets bigger.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Satoru’s asking when you’re finished putting away the groceries. He’d offered you a ride again. You wondered when you stopped being surprised at his frequent pop-ins.

“The same as always,” you respond.

You’re not used to the house being so quiet. Reina’s always doing something. For an infant, she’s rather loud.

But she isn’t here today. Kiyo wanted her Grandaughter for the night. You obliged, letting your Mother-in-law whisk Reina away. Was she even your mother-in-law anymore?

“So nothing?” Satoru prods, and you wonder why he’s so persistent on the answer. Maybe he wants to tease you.

The differences between you and him are staggering. He’s young, still in his twenties, he probably still goes out clubbing, drinking, whatever kids his age are into. You are...older, a mom, unsure if the tight skirts you wore 15 years ago would still fit you.

“If you don't got any plans, why don’t you hang out with me tonight?”

You stare at him.

“Don’t gimme that look. You act like I’m gonna rob you.” He complains. “Let yourself loose a bit. What do you even do for fun, these days?”

That stumped you. Apart from lounging around, sulking, job hunting, revolving around Reina, you haven’t done much. When’s the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru?

“There’s a bar that opened up. Not too far from here.” He muses. “Wanna go?”

You hesitate, “I—I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not good at handling alcohol—”

“Same! Total lightweight.” He gushes. “It’ll still be fun, though! What do you say?”

Why, you want to ask. Why is he so insistent on spending time with you. Asking about you. About Reina. What does he want from your broken family? Your mind can’t piece together the images—connect the dots.

“Okay,” you say instead.

Three hours later, you’re dressed in the most flattering clothing in the back of your closet. Satoru looks pristine as always, and you wonder if there’s ever a chance he could look any less put together. Under the dim lights, he’s almost glowing. You can’t stare at him for too long.

The conversation is light, not too purposeful. You wander from one topic to the next. He talks about his co-workers. His school. You’ve always wondered about this teaching job. He seemed to never want to shut up about his students, but whenever you try to pry about the details, he starts to drift away. The most you’ve gotten from him was rambling about how it was a private religious school before he sprung into something else.

“Did you have any pets?” He asks, “Growing up, I mean.”

You shrug. “There were a lot of stray dogs, in my hometown. We would feed them, but no. No pets.”

“You?” You prod.

He takes a moment, genuinely thinking.

“My family had a dog, not too long after I was born. After that, nothing.” You were surprised, he answered. The alcohol must make his lips a little looser.

“I think having a dog would be nice,” you muse, mostly to yourself, “maybe an older one. Less energy.”

“What pet do you think I should have?” He asks.

You stare at him. He’s grinning.

“A rock,” you respond, and when he laughs, you laugh a bit, too.

“I like it when you smile like that,” he says when his voice recovers. “You get all blushy.”

You frown, discretely checking your face in the glass.

“I don’t blush.” You say. “My skin’s too dark.”

He tips his sunglasses down, staring at you with those pretty blue eyes. You shift away. His gaze doesn’t let you get far.

“Not really,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “It’s subtle, but it’s still there. It’s a nice color.”

He’s teasing you. You know that. Still, you look away. He laughs again. It sounds like twinkling bells.

“How’s everything holdin’ up with the house?” He asks when you’re nursing your 3rd drink. “I know you had a couple of issues earlier.”

You shrug, lips loose, feeling warm. “I don’t think I have to worry about it. Not anymore.”

“Hm? Why’s that?”

“I’m thinking of going back home.”

He stops messing with his drink. You don’t notice, thoughts hazy.

“Back...to your country?” Satoru asks carefully.

You nod absentmindedly. “I only came here because of Satoshi. Now that he’s...I think it’s best for Reina if we go back.”

You want her to live with her maternal culture. You want her to meet your side of the family finally. Maybe, when she’s older, you can put her in your old dance garments. She’ll probably hate it, much like you did. She’ll be good at it, much like you were.

He’s silent, swirling his glass.

“Really?”

“Yes.” You feel defensive, even when you shouldn’t be. His tone was cool. Yours wasn’t. “It—it’s her home. She should see it.”

“Wasn’t she born here?” Satoru questioned. “Wouldn’t Japan be her home, then?”

You deflate.

“You’re right.” You admit. “Japan is her home, but it isn’t mine.”

You miss home. You miss the village. You’d do anything to go back to the good old times. You’d do anything to be away from this pain.

Japan was empty. Your in-laws barely tolerate you. No friends. No job. The only good memories you had were buried in a tomb, and even those rotted away by lies and deceit.

“I think you should stay,” Satoru says, voice soft.

“Why?” You ask. “I have nothing here.”

“You could.”

You look up. In the dim lights of the bar, he’s breathtaking. Everything you weren’t.

And that everything closes the distance between you and him.

It’s soft. Barely a kiss. His lips are soft; you can smell his shampoo. It lasts for a moment before you’re breaking it. You shy away, staring at the floor beneath you. Your shoes. You can hear your heart. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Satoru follows your mouth. This time, it’s bolder. You can feel his warmth, pressed against your frigid soul. He’s melting you down to bone. There’s a hand on your back, keeping you in place. Fireworks spark at the touch.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt someone like this. Not since...

And then you remember who you’re with, what you’re doing. The ring sits heavy on your finger.

You push away. Satoru falters, and you use that opportunity to stumble to your feet.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “I—I’m—”

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. Instead, you turn and flee out the bar. Into the cold frigid night.

You’re drunk. You can feel it in your fingertips, the way your vision gets the slightest bit dizzy when you move too fast. You cling against a random lightpost, checking your phone.

Your place wasn’t that far away. You could walk, right? But it would be safer to call a cab. Better yet, call Kiyo. Call your neighbor. Call anyone?

Oh, you just remembered that you have no one here.

Satoru finds you when you’re already crying. You can feel him on your shoulder before he even says anything.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for you, “c’mon. Let’s get out of the street—”

“Why?” You whirl onto him, so fast that even he’s surprised. “Why are you doing any of this? Reina, me, why do you care so much?”

You’re still crying, but you can feel your tears slow down the tiniest bit. You weren’t breathing. You don’t think he was either.

Satoru opens his mouth. Closes. Opens again. His smile is gone. You can see the imprint of your lipstick on his perfect pout.

“I love you.”

It feels like he just slapped you. A knife in your belly, tearing you apart. Nausea builds in your throat, threatening to spill all over the road. You can’t look at him anymore, it hurts too much. Betrayal. You’re betraying your husband. Your dead cheater husband. 

“Stop.” You beg him anyway, “Don’t say that. Never say that, I can’t think–”

“—Then don’t think.” He insists, sweet, saturated. “Don’t think about any of this.”

He kisses you again, and your mind blanks. You let him this time, and you feel yourself break over it.

This time, Satoru’s the one who breaks it, resting his forehead on yours. You still must look confused. He laughs adoringly.

“C’mon this can’t be too out of left field, right?” He asked. “I mean, I made it pretty obvious.”

He had. You were too preoccupied in your own misery to notice. Offers to drive you to the grocery store. Volunteering to take care of another man’s baby. Satoru has always been direct.

You avoid his gaze, but there’s no where to go.

“Satoru,” you hesitate. “I—I don’t feel that way.”

“I know.” He concedes, trailing his lips down your cheek. You don’t stop him.

“But you need this.” He kisses your neck. “I know you do. You’re so stressed all the time, hm? You need me. Use me. However, you want to.”

Use him. You’ve always used him. What difference would this make?

You still had a chance to stop this. There were so many reasons to stop. You were a recent widow. A single mother. He was so much younger than you—

You kiss him again to stop thinking.

You don’t know what time you stumble through your door.

Satoru hasn’t stopped touching you in the cab, walking up to your patio. If you were sober, you might have been a bit more hysterical about it, now you just wanted him never to stop.

He’s pushing you against the door, slamming it shut with your body weight. You can barely get the words out past his plush lips.

“Bedroom.” You insist.

He pulls away with a laugh. “’course, Babe.”

You’re not sure how to feel about that petname, but you don’t get a moment to complain. He’s effortlessly picking you up, and you settle on the cool comforters moments later.

Your dress is halfway up your thighs. He spares no time, reaching for the back and finding the zipper. It falls apart in his fingers. He peels the fabric off of you with a delighted sigh.

“Fuck, look at you,” he’s saying to the newly uncovered skin. “so so pretty.”

Not used to the attention, you shy away. He doesn’t let you, taking you by the chin so he can kiss you again.

He’s so different now. You feel like you’re seeing a side of him you aren’t supposed to. Long white lashes, pretty blue eyes that are drenched in want and lust. His breathing was elevated. He was excited.

It scares you.

“I...I haven’t done this in a while.” You admit when you pull back. You give him a glance, before resigning yourself to pull away the rest of the dress and dropping it to the floor. “So...Please be nice?”

You sound like a child, unsure and nervous. You hate that you can’t keep the tremor out of your voice.

“Yes, yes.” He’s nodding, staring at you like a drooling dog. “I’ll be so so nice, baby. The nicest. Just lemme’ touch you. Please, please, pretty please?”

You give a tiny nod, and he’s pouncing on you.

He’s insatiable, you don’t think he’d ever get enough. He’s pawing at your bra before it comes off completely beneath his touch. Your panties are gone too, and then you’re entirely bare beneath him.

He doesn't forget about himself, neither do you. Between his ravenous kisses, you manage to take off his jacket. Satoru helps you with his shirt, pulling it off him, showing his toned abs and pale skin. Not a single mark or blemish. He’s absolute perfection.

He must notice your hesitant fingers at his shoulders because he stops sucking on your neck with a distinct pop, still playing with your tits, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

“Touch me,” he says, “I want you to touch me.”

You feel awkward pulling your fingers down to his chest, his stomach. His skin is soft, warm. Your hands are frigid. He shivers when you graze over his abs. His skin is so pale, almost translucent. If you were to pinch him, bite him, the color would show oh so nicely.

When you pull away, he whines, nearly falling over.

“Don’t fucking tease me like that.” The way he says it is so needy. You laugh, gaining the courage to play with his hair.

He gets the control back eventually, pushing you back down so he can devour you properly.

His face is between your legs before you can comprehend it. He’s spreading you open so he can see your pussy. You’re already creaming for him. Your pussy juice is spread across your lips, making your skin glisten and shine. It’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t worse, drooling like a fucking dog before his mouth meets your cunt in a frenzied kiss.

He gives this high-pitched moan that sends a thrill up your spine the more he makes out with your clit, licking and sucking.

“Oh.” You sink against the pillows. “Satoru—Satoru-!—”

“Fuck yes—” his voice is muffled but he doesn’t stop. “You taste so good, baby. like—like fuckin’ heaven—”

You almost double over when his teeth graze your clit. Your hand reaches out immediately to grab and his hair and pull.

It does nothing. He just whines, and when he digs deeper into your pussy, you realize he likes it when you hurt him.

You pull harder and his finger presses its way into your wet hole and just the right angle to make you see stars.

“Fuck baby, ‘can barely fit my fingers.” It would sound like a complaint if he didn’t sound so far gone already. “How are we gonna fit my cock into this pussy, hm?”

He talks too much. When you shove his face deeper into your folds, it seems to shut him up and he’s back to worshipping your dripping cunt.

He’s too good. It’s all so good. You’re squeezing his head between your thighs, sure you’re suffocating him but he doesn’t seem to care. The noise is downright scandalous but you’re too far gone to give a shit about that.

It felt so good to stop thinking.

“Close.” You gasp when you hit that plateau. “I’m close. I’m—”

“Gonna cum?” he asks from underneath you, and it only seems to spur him on. “Gonna cum for me, pretty girl. Cum baby. Just let go. I gotcha’ just please please please—”

It hits and you arch your back, letting your orgasm rush past your body. It fizzes up your spine, right to your tits before you sag back to Earth. Satoru is more that happy to work you through your high before your thighs fall apart against him and he’s detaching himself from your clit with one last part kiss.

Satoru kisses you, famished. You can barely kiss back, following his lips with your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue. It’s a tangy sweetness, warmed from his spit.

“Was I nice?” Satoru asks.

You nod. He smiles.

He pulls back, sitting on his knees. You watch as he fiddles with his boxers, before pulling out his pulsing cock.

It’s not all that thick, but it’s the length that makes you shift, just the tiniest bit. He’s on the larger end. His cock looks puffy and dripping in a way that almost looks painful. He pumps himself a few times, and then you’re reaching out.

Satoru stops, watching as you rise from your earlier position, hand on his cock. Your hand is so much smaller than his, you can barely wrap your fingers around his base. He shivers at the touch, and by the time you’re fisting his cock he faltars, head falling into the crook of your neck.

“Too much?” You ask when he gasps.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No no. Keep going. Please don’t stop.”

That same whine again. Helpless and needy. When you squeeze him, he jolts.

And then you stop. You’re sure he’s about to complain but then you’re lowering yourself, keeping your eyes on him, and you give his cock a tentative lick.

You hadn’t done this in a while, and you weren’t all that sure if you could swallow all of him, but you try your best. You swirl your tongue around his tip, watching as he twitches. His cock jumps in your mouth and you have to hold his base to keep him still for you. He’s so sensitive. Every touch you give him seems to just make him even needier.

He rocks his cock into your mouth. You let him, watching as he babbles on and on.

“So so fucking good, baby.” He’s moaning, head flung back, like it’d be too much to keep looking at you. “Right—right there. Fuck fuck fuck.”

He cums fast, and it’s sudden. He’s barely holding his breath before he’s shuddering and he’s filling your entire mouth. There’s so much of it, you can’t possibly swallow it all. You mouth off his cock with a pop, pumping him until he starts twitching out of overstimulation.

Satoru is panting, still basking in that afterglow as you kiss him. He doesn’t seem too embarrassed about how quick he lasted. Then again, you don’t think he has the brainpower to feel anything right now other than pure lust. Pussydrunk, your brain gives.

You reach up, wiping away the tears collected in the corner of his eyes. A part of you wants to leave it there. He looks good like this. Pretty as an angel.

And then you look down and you see his cock has not gone down at all.

“Oh,” you murmur, “I see you’re healthy.”

“Mmh,” he says back, not exactly words but you’re not looking for a conversation right now.

Your pussy is throbbing. She wants more attention. You’re settling back into your original position as you watch Satoru rifle through his forgotten pants. He pulls out a familiar wrapper. You have to roll your eyes at his preparedness.

“You’re a bit too ready for this.” You note.

“Can you blame me?” He honestly asks. “I’ve been waiting for this for months.”

The casual admission makes you glance away. He laughs at your sudden shyness and you have to wonder how you didn’t see him before.

“Ready, baby?” He asks. This feels familiar, somehow.

He gives his cock two cursory pumps, and then he’s pushing himself into you.

It’s so much all at once. As wet as you were, his cock bullies his way into you with a fierce stretch. It’s enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut. Grin and bear it.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” He curses. “How the hell did you fit a baby through here?” You can’t bring yourself to respond to his usual snark, so you claw at his back, raking your nails through his skin. He hisses and the pain seems to distract him into temporarily shutting up.

By the time, he sits his dick in your pussy, you’re close to breaking. You were right, he was way too big. Bigger than the one person you’ve always been with, so you’re not sure if you have a good gauge on size. Still, your brain short-circuits, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Mind-numb.

He’s impatient this time, not giving you a chance to adjust before he’s clumsily pulling back out only to ram himself back in. You lurch, grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself from his sudden pace.

“Satoru—!” You gasp. “It’s—!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s apologizing, but you’re not quite sure how much he actually means it. “I’ve—I’ve just waited so—ah—long and now you’re here and it’s so—”

If it’s even possible, he gets even faster, pushes his cock even deeper into your battered pussy. The squelching of your hole and his whines into your ear make it so much more erotic than it needs to be. You give into your desire, reaching over to sink your teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. The masochist in him purrs in delight.

You notice it first. That familiar soreness in your tits. When you glance down, your nipple is leaking that familiar milky fluid.

Satoru notices too. He stops, sinking his dick entirely into you. You’ve never felt fuller.

“Oh.” You feel heat creep up your neck. You hadn’t fed Reina today, this was bound to happen. “I—I’m sorry. I—I should’ve—”

You expect him to pull out of you awkwardly. Maybe even be disgusted.

Instead, he groans.

“I’m getting dessert now, too?”

“What?”

As your answer, he leans down and latches onto your tit.

He’s messy, smearing milk all over your skin and the other breast. After a while, he picks up his pace again, resuming his pussyfucking. You’re sure the angle must be painful, him bent over you like this, but he makes no complaint. And you could care less about his discomfort right about now.

He alternates between your breasts like he can’t decide which one tastes better. It shouldn’t feel this good, watching him suckle on your tits but you can feel yourself get even tighter. He can feel it, too.

Satoru’s rambling now. You can barely keep up with his incoherent mess.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re close, arentcha’?” he’s slurring his words, spitting them out one after another. “C’mon baby, you wanna cum? Cum, then? Milk my cock, pretty baby. Just like last time.” You should be paying more attention to his words. You don't.

Everything feels like deja vu. You should be paying attention to your own words too. You don’t.

“Mhn.” You moan. “Close. Sato, I’m close. Real real close—”

Your eyes widen. So does his.

You think you just ruined everything.

And then he starts jackhammering himself into you.

“Say it again.” He demands, driving his cock deep into your cunt.

You shake your head, despite your refusal you can’t help but— “Sato, oh God. Please Sato—Don’t—”

“Again, say it again.” His fingers descend to your clit, messily rubbing tiny circles. “Don’t stop saying my name until you’ve cum.”

You obey. Sato, Sato, Sato, Sa—and then you’re tipping over the edge. He fucks you through it, keeping you on that high until he’s shuddering too.

“Fuck baby, I missed you.” He’s whispering in your ear. “I missed you so much.”

You sigh when he kisses you, still coming down to Earth. The kiss his soft, just filled with want, instead of that carnal desire. He pulls away, and just when you’re debating to let him stay the night, he’s pulling out new rubber.

“Another one?” You ask, the dots not quite connecting yet.

“Oh, c’mon.” He grins down at you. “You didn’t think we’d go for just one round, did ya?”

You’re finally back in his arms.

Satoru dreamed of this day. He’s dreamt of this for months, ever since he had to leave you with that scumbag. Now that you’re sleeping peacefully in his arms again, everything is finally right in his world.

He shifts, wanting to bring you closer to his chest, but he winces. Fuck, you really did a number on him. He didn’t know you were into biting. And he can feel the pleasant sting of your nails on his back. He’d need to be careful with his RCT for a while. He wants these marks to last for as long as possible.

And when they fade, he’s sure he won’t have to convince you too much to make more for him.

“Give...them...back.”

Oh right. He’d almost forgotten about that other tiny problem he had.

He turns to the curse. “So, enjoy the show?”

Satoshi is unrecognizable. Malformed, demented. No more eyes, tall enough to reach the ceiling. To a being like Satoru, he was still nothing.

To a non-shaman and an infant, a grade 2 curse was quite the hassle. No wonder your so exhausted these days. Your husband was cursing you.

“Give them back.” The curse rasps. “Give them both back.”

Satoru’s silent, as if he’s really thinking about it.

“Nah, I’m good.” He grins. “This one’s mine now. And about Reina...what do you think suits me best: Dada or Daddy?”

The curse roars. It’s loud enough to shake the walls. Satoru tsks.

“Careful there. You might wake the missus.” He points out.

“Mine...” Satoshi insists. “They were....mine.”

“Were.” Satoru enunciates. “And now, they’re all mine! Sorry about the change in management. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take great care of both of ‘em.”

Always wanting to have the last word, Satoru reaches over and plucks your wedding ring off your limp finger.

“So, that’s where you got attached.” He muses at the metal. “Can’t believe you’re pathetic enough to curse your own wife. Is this 'cause you're still mad about the execution?" He asks, twirling the ring in his palm. "That happened months ago, man, get over it."

A snap of his fingers. Satoshi is gone. The room gets less stuffier. You relax in your sleep, and Satoru is caressing your arm, still studying the ring. It’s cheap. Plated gold with a less valuable metal as the base.

Pathetic. He tosses it carelessly.

A few months later, Satoru proposes with a proper engagement ring.

You say yes.

[yan-randomfandom]

First of all, I REALLY LOVE YOUR YANDERE WRITING (especially Yandere gravity falls),I would like to make a request (if I don't order from you), could you make a Stanley Yandere headcanon with more details? 🥹, I really love this old scammer

Stanley Pines x Wealthy!Reader

warnings: slightly disturbing body description at the end?

I finally wrote a long drabble for Stan... Here's a quick one before I get ready for college (I'm already late) Enjoy!! [Words: 1201] supposed to be Mullet Stan, or js younger EDIT: I JUST REALIZED YOU SAID HEADCANONS. UM UHHHHHH I'LL DO THAT TOO

💰

Somehow, Stanley Pines managed to get an extremely rich partner. The highest class of the higher class in the social system.

It only took him two dates. The fact that you agreed to a second date was disturbing, especially considering how disastrous the first one had been. He fully expected you to ditch him just for laughs. You didn't, and actually showed up.

Stan seriously wondered if there was something wrong with you. Were you that desperately lonely? Willing to date a broke, unemployed man? Pick up the first person you find?

Yet you showered him with gifts he has never had before in his entire life. You gave him unlimited food. You gave him money and a house.

Guess his flirting skills were just that good. He liked you too, to some extent, but he suspected it's mostly because you're rich.

But, strangely enough, after your two dates, you never really gave him attention again. You were almost never home.

Very rarely you gave him affection like a significant other is supposed to do.

That was fine with him; he didn’t really expect the relationship to last like any of his others. The whole situation was weird enough as it is. As long as he got a roof over his head, he really shouldn't be one to complain... Just make sure it's not a car roof.

It's honestly all just confusing, at most.

And so, he wholeheartedly enjoyed your money, trying to double it and invest as much as he could. Hey, it's free stuff! Not like it'd backfire or anything! If you ignore fumbling that one lottery win because he got disqualified...

Then, one day, Stanley got sick.

You stayed home that same day.

He felt his body shivering, wrapping himself around his blanket like his life depended on it. Head pounding, body shaking, skin sweating. Everything was so uncomfortable.

"You're really burning up, Stan," you murmured, clicking your tongue as you read his temperature. Higher than the usual fever.

Grabbing a cup of water, you tapped him over his layer of blanket. "Please sit up and drink this. I'll give you medicine."

It was too hard for him to move. You gently pulled the blanket from him. When it reached his nose, he made eye contact with you. His eyes were glazed and half-lidded from exhaustion.

"Why are you here?" he grunted, sitting up eventually. "Thought ya forgot about me."

You stared as he drank his water. "What?"

He wiped his mouth. "Eh, nothin'. Must be busy being rich."

"..." You quietly passed him his medicine.

After he took it, Stan ignored your silence and laid back on the bed. Once again, he buried himself under his comforter.

You frowned. "After our second date, I didn't expect my schedule to be so filled. I thought I'd make it up to you by giving you gifts."

A deep chuckle rumbled from the blanket. "It's alright, toots, I'm more curious on why you bothered anyway."

"Why?" you parroted, blinking. "...Oh, Stan."

Stan felt his comforter get pulled again, turning to see your expression. It was quite unreadable, to his dismay.

He almost stopped breathing when you put a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Believe it or not, I do like you," you rubbed a thumb across his hot skin, "I'm so sorry. We'll have more bonding time when you get better, okay? I dropped everything today to take care of you, and I promise I'll do it again."

Stan's vision blurred. He quickly blinked away the tears, trying to turn away from you.

"I don't deserve that. You do know I was after your money, right?"

You chuckled. "I knew that. Don't we all?"

He pursed his lips. "Wait, seriously? Then why'd you date me?"

"I don't know," you shrugged, pulling your hand away from him. He missed your touch already. "But I don't regret it."

"What do you even see in me? I sure as hell don't know. Unless..." his eyes widened, "You're trying to—"

Your face heated up immensely with furrowed eyebrows, shaking your head. "Of course not! I would never! Please don't ever mention that again??"

He laughed, yet it sounded throaty and scratchy. You smiled anyway at the fact he got to smile.

...

"...Permission to kiss you?" you asked.

...

You cringed internally. Terrible timing to ask that question.

But Stan had different thoughts... He didn't even know if he loved you like that. Your relationship moved too fast, and now you're here, taking care of him while he's sick. Sure, you're both in a relationship, but he knew this was wrong, because it felt wrong.

But... ah, he can't think straight.

"Yes," he breathed, desperately. Almost starved. Needy.

He reveled in the feeling of both your hands resting on his cheeks, only to feel slightly dejected when you kissed his forehead.

Guess even you're aware of your relationship right now. That's nice to know. Still, he liked the sentiment to the point that a smile is threatening to go out. "You're gonna, uh... steal my fever because of this."

A chuckle left your lips. "Then I'll trust you to take care of me next."

Trust.

Stan had never trusted anyone again after the incident, and no one else had any reason to trust him either.

He raised his hands and placed them over yours, which were still on his cheeks. You watched as he brushed his nose against your hand, giving you soft, ghostly kisses with his lips.

You smiled. "During our first date, I knew you were more than what you let on. Sure, you're charming and funny, but then I saw you staring at that family with kids, and I definitely noticed when you helped that old lady with the door."

Stan stared at you.

"And I really appreciated how hard you tried to make me comfortable," your smile widened. "I think that's the main reason that made me go on a second date with you."

He coughed, looking away. "Hey. I seem to be... in need of a warm body beside me. On the bed. Because I'm sick. And in need of emotional support."

"Sure," you chuckled. "Worth the risk."

He snuggled up to you as soon as you laid beside him, wrapping his arms around your waist. It was cold, yet so warm.

You played with his hair, combing your fingers through it.

The longer you stayed with him, his warm body pressed against yours, the more he became addicted to the feeling.

The feeling of having someone by his side. Someone who actually understands him.

His eyes closed, indulging himself with your presence and warmth, trying to press himself further into you.

The fever made him feel as if he would melt into you, his flesh becoming one with yours, and everything in his body merging beneath your skin.

If he didn't love you just a few minutes ago, then he certainly does now.

And he's never letting you go.

BONUS:

"Noooooo. Please come back. I need you," he sobbed, actual tears leaking from his eyes. Your lips twitched; at least now you knew he has intense mood swings when he's sick.

You twisted the towel you had just soaked in water. "This will be quick. It'll seep the fever out of you."

"Nooo."

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | pregnancy special

you and Yoongi try to get pregnant, but it doesn’t go as planned, as the road isn’t easy. But he’s your rock, and he’ll stand with you through thick and thin 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, married!au, pregnancy!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 7.5k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mentions of blood because of SPOILER a miscarriage (there’s blood but know more detail than that), angst, anxiety/fear for the future and for a miscarriage again, pregnancy, raging hormones, drinking sorrows away, getting angry without course, yelling without course, OC is being rather destructive in this one but Yoongi is very sweet, understanding and supportive 👏 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (is this really a surprise? But please don’t be stupid irl, though they aren’t stupid here ‘cuz they’re actively trying for a baby); oral (female and male receiving), doggystyle over a table 😝, spanks, creampie, cockwarming, kisses (yes that is a warning because it’s sugary sweet 😘), multiple orgasms → Author’s note: hiya all you lovely people! I’m back at it again with another extra for friendcation and let me tell you, even though this is very angsty, I loved writing it a lot. I drew from my own experience (miscarriages), but I didn’t want to go into too much detail, so it’s very light. But it does affect OC and her mood, like she almost gets depressed over it 😢 But Yoongi is there to pick her up and support her, so don’t worry! It’s a sweet one, and of course it has a happy ending, because you know what’s gonna happen in the winter special that I wrote a long time ago! I hope you love it as much as I did! This one was honestly so fast for me to write, like a few hours! It’s so much easier for me when I write from my own personal experience. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, I want to give you a hug, and please know that you’re not alone, okay? 🫂 (author’s note2: I wrote this story in the beginning of August 2024) → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“There are two lines!” you cry out, bursting into the living room with a pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hand. You twirl it in the air like a magic wand, watching the realization spread across your husband’s face, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and wonder. He moves toward you, a smile breaking across his lips, and in one swift motion, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you close as he plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Are you really pregnant?” he murmurs, his voice soft yet trembling with excitement and a touch of fear. You hear the uncertainty beneath his joy, the way hope and anxiety dance together in his words. You’ve both dreamed of this moment, talked about it late into the night, imagining the tiny life you would create together. Ever since your honeymoon, where every whispered wish was laced with the hope of creating a new life, this has been your shared dream. And now, it’s real. The weight of it hits you all at once, and tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as the emotions of the moment overwhelm you.

He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin.

Neither can you. The joy is too immense to contain, so you schedule a doctor’s appointment, needing to hear it confirmed, to know for certain that your dream is taking root inside you. Yoongi is right there beside you, holding your hand as the doctor measures your HCG levels via a blood test and tells you the news you’ve been waiting for—you’re pregnant, and not just newly so. Eight weeks have already passed, and suddenly, the idea of this tiny life feels even more real.

Giddy with excitement, the two of you start to dream out loud, envisioning a life that needs more space to grow. The apartment where you built your love, small and cozy as it is, now feels too cramped for the family you want to become. You’ve always talked about raising your children just outside the city, where the air is cleaner, and the pace of life slower, where a bigger house awaits with room enough for your growing dreams. Yoongi smiles at the thought of a garage, where he can create and tinker, a space of his own.

You start house hunting in the suburbs surrounding Seoul, imagining nurseries painted in soft pastels, browsing baby clothes with tiny sleeves, and laughing over the choices. Each step feels like a dream in the making, a life slowly unfolding before you, full of promise and possibility.

But today has been long, and your body is weary. The excitement has worn you down, and as you return home, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the ache in your swollen feet. You glance around, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of your husband’s return, but the apartment is quiet. You open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water, hoping it will soothe your frayed nerves. The stress of your marketing job clings to you like a shadow, and all you want is a moment to unwind, to let go of the day’s tension.

As you set the bottle down on the counter, a sudden, sharp pain radiates through your stomach. Your hand instinctively flies to your belly, and you double over, gasping as the pain intensifies. It’s not normal, you think, panic rising in your chest. Something is wrong.

When you look down at the floor, a wave of horror crashes over you. 

Blood. 

Dark, vivid, and far too much of it. It’s pooling beneath you, seeping through your clothes, and it’s only then that you fully realize how soaked you are. 

Terror grips you, squeezing your chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes, your breath comes in ragged gasps as panic begins to set in. This can’t be happening—this much blood, it’s not normal, not now, not when you’re carrying life inside you. A flood of thoughts races through your mind: is the baby inside you still safe? Or is this the cruel end to a dream that had only just begun? 

You need Yoongi—his steady presence, his strong arms, his comforting words—but he’s not here.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, digging it out of your skirt pocket, and desperately pull up your husband’s contact. The phone barely rings before the door to your apartment creaks open, and there he is, stepping inside. Relief mixes with fear as he rushes to you, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the scene—the blood, your trembling form, the tears streaming down your face.

Without a word, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. His fingers, rough from years of work, trace gentle, soothing circles on your back, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the tremor beneath his words, the fear that he’s trying so hard to mask. His breath comes quicker, and though he tries to be strong for you, you can see the terror in his eyes, mirroring your own.

“Out of nowhere, the pain started,” you sob, clutching at your stomach, “and then the bleeding... so much blood.” Your voice breaks as the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving.

Yoongi pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but tender, “We need to get you to the doctor’s. Now.” His words are clipped, urgent, but his touch is all comfort as he guides you out of the apartment, into the elevator, and finally into the car. The drive is shrouded in a thick, suffocating silence, broken only by your muffled sobs. The fear that’s lodged in your throat is too heavy to put into words, and deep down, you’re terrified of what you might say if you tried.

At the doctor’s office, the cold gel on your stomach is a jarring contrast to the heat of your fear. The ultrasound screen flickers to life, and there it is—a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relief washes over you like a cool breeze, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. You dare not hope too much, not yet.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence, steady but laced with anxiety, “Why is she bleeding so much?” His eyes search the doctor’s face for reassurance, for something solid to hold onto.

The doctor hesitates, their gaze softening as they meet your wide, tear-streaked eyes. “It’s not uncommon to bleed in the early stages of pregnancy,” they explain gently. “Everything could be okay, but…” they pause, and the weight of that single word hangs heavy in the air, “it might be a miscarriage in progress. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.” The apology in their voice is almost unbearable, as if they’re sorry for delivering such uncertain news.

And so you wait, the days stretching out like an endless horizon. The bleeding continues, each drop a reminder of the life that hangs in the balance. Yoongi never leaves your side, holding you close through the long, silent nights. You curl into a ball on the bed, grief pulling you into its dark embrace, and you weep for what you fear you’ve lost, though no one has told you for certain. You cry yourself to sleep most nights, haunted by the thought that the heartbeat you saw was the last flicker of hope, slowly fading away.

You feel like a hollow shell, a prisoner within your own skin, drifting through the motions of life, performing tasks you know you should care about but no longer do. The days blur together in a monotony of routines—going to work, waking up, all the things that once held meaning now feel like burdens. The joy that once colored your world has faded to gray. Yet, Yoongi remains by your side, unwavering in his support, whispering words of comfort, promising that everything will be okay. But when the doctor confirms your worst fears, telling you that the life you carried is no longer, you don’t even cry.

It’s as if your tears have run dry, drained by days of sorrow, leaving you numb and empty. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, trying to shield you from the storm that rages inside. You feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

Back home, you slip off your shoes and head straight for the alcohol cabinet. The house is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of your grief. You reach for a bottle of red wine, the one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. With a shaky hand, you uncork it and pour the crimson liquid into a glass, filling it almost to the brim. You glance at your husband, managing a weak smile. “Do you want one?”

“It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. But you just shrug, raising the glass to your lips as if it could wash away the pain. “But I don’t mind drinking with you,” he adds, grabbing a glass for himself and pouring some wine. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

He settles beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you, and you lean into him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. The past few days have been a blur of tears and aching silence, and as you take a sip of the wine, the familiar burn in your throat offers a momentary escape. You know it’s not a solution, but today, you allow yourself this indulgence. Tomorrow will be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow is a new day.

Yoongi doesn’t say much; he simply kisses the top of your head, holding you close as you both drink in the quiet of the day. There’s a solace in his presence, in the way his arms encircle you, making you feel safe even as the world crumbles around you. The wine, the warmth of his body, the soft hum of his voice as he sings you a lullaby—it’s all a balm to your wounded soul.

Before long, sleep overtakes you, and you drift off with your head resting on his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair. When you wake, your head throbs with a dull ache, and your eyes feel dry and gritty. You rub them, groaning softly as you stretch. Yoongi isn’t beside you, but on the table, you find a glass of water and a couple of painkillers waiting for you. The small gesture makes your heart swell with love.

As you swallow the pills, Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His voice, still thick with sleep, wraps around you like a warm blanket. “How are you feeling, babe?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I have a slight headache, but I’m okay,” you reply, pouting playfully as you try to tame your unruly hair. “Thank you for indulging me,” you add, feeling a surge of gratitude for the way he understands you, even in your darkest moments.

He crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. “I’ll always be by your side, babe, you know that,” he says, his voice soft but filled with unwavering conviction.

You nod, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurts. Because you do know. And you love him all the more for it.

He disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and when he returns, he sits beside you again, his hand finding yours, his touch grounding you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with your fingers, feeling the weight of the words that hover on your lips. But you know that talking might help, that sharing the burden might make it easier to bear. So you take a deep breath and let the words spill out.

“I want to try to get pregnant again,” you confess, the hurt still fresh, but beneath it, a flicker of hope. Despite the pain, despite everything, you still want that baby. You still believe in the dream that once filled you with so much joy.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes soft with understanding. He nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s try again then.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

And so you try, again and again, in every possible way, in so many positions that it borders on the absurd. The weeks blur into months, yet each time you face the stark emptiness of a negative pregnancy test, hope crumbles a little more. You feel bombed, discouraged, like a balloon slowly deflating, the air of optimism leaking out with each failed attempt. You never imagined it would be this hard to conceive, and the disappointment weighs heavy on your heart.

Doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping its cold fingers around your thoughts. You begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with your body, some hidden flaw that’s keeping you from the one thing you want most. Why isn’t it happening? And yet, beneath the yearning, there’s a trembling fear—fear of what will happen when you finally see those two lines again. Fear of reliving the pain of another loss.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” Yoongi suggests one quiet afternoon as you both pick at your food, the silence between you thick with unspoken worries. “Maybe I should get my sperm checked,” he muses, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

You nod, though deep down you doubt that he’s the problem. It feels like the fault lies with you, that your body is betraying you. Isn’t there something about a woman’s fertility dipping after thirty? You vaguely recall reading that somewhere, and it haunts you now. But Yoongi’s right—there’s no harm in getting checked. Perhaps it will give you some answers, or at least a direction.

A few days later, you walk into your doctor’s office with leaden feet and little hope, convinced that age has already set its limits on your dreams. The tests are done, the waiting begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. But when the results come back, they reveal that everything is fine—your fertility is normal, Yoongi’s sperm is in excellent shape. So why isn’t it happening? The question echoes in your mind, relentless and cruel.

Frustration gnaws at you, its claws sinking deeper with each passing day. You find yourself snapping at your colleagues, the tension spilling over in ways you can’t control. Apologies tumble from your lips almost as often as the sharp words that precede them. At home, you manage to hold your temper, but you fear it’s only a matter of time before even Yoongi becomes a target, despite his unwavering support.

Making love, once a source of joy and connection, now feels hollow, reduced to a mechanical routine. The passion that once ignited between you has dimmed, replaced by a clinical determination to conceive. You know Yoongi feels it too; he’s always been attuned to your moods.

“I’m not fucking you when you’re not in the mood,” he says one night, his voice low but firm.

You scoff, anger flaring as you rise from the bed. “Just fuck me so I can get pregnant.”

“No,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “Not when your heart’s not in it.”

With that, he stands up, naked and resolute, pulling his clothes back on as you lie there, seething and tearful, frustration coursing through you like a fever. The anger isn’t just at him; it’s at yourself, at your body, at the unfairness of it all. You hear him in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a stark contrast to the silence that fills the bedroom. You pull yourself together, dressing slowly, avoiding the mirror because you know you won’t like what you see—a woman who feels trapped in a body that won’t cooperate, stuck between desire and despair.

But Yoongi isn’t wrong. Pushing yourself when your heart isn’t in it won’t help, you know that. You just can’t help the desperation that drives you to this point. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with regret. “I’ll do better.”

He hugs you back, strong and warm, and in that embrace, you find a flicker of comfort. You kiss, a promise unspoken between you, and you feel a surge of gratitude for the man who stands beside you through all the heartbreak and frustration. Whatever comes next, you know you’re in this together.

You immerse yourself in research, scouring every corner of the internet for vitamins, supplements, and rituals that might tip the odds in your favor. Each new discovery feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the relentless tide of hope and disappointment. But one day, after yet another fruitless search, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you—a weariness that reaches deep into your bones. You close your laptop with a heavy sigh and turn to Yoongi, the words slipping from your lips before you can second-guess them. 

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore,” you say, your voice eerily calm, as if stating a simple fact. But inside, you feel as cold and distant as the words sound. Yoongi’s head snaps toward you so quickly that you can almost hear the air shift. His eyes search your face, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in your resolve.

“We can just keep trying,” he replies, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation, as though he’s pleading with you—because he is. You know how deeply he longs for babies, for a family built on the love you share.

But the weight of it all crushes you, and the tears you’ve held back for so long finally threaten to spill over. “I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a sob catches in your throat. The exhaustion, the fear, the endless cycle of hope and heartbreak—it’s too much.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring. He pats your back, murmuring that it’s okay, that everything will be fine, even as he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to shield you from the pain. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you see the sincerity in them—the way he’s willing to let go of his own dreams for your sake. 

“We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want to anymore,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, making sure you know he means it. It’s not just a comfort; it’s a promise.

You swallow hard, the enormity of the decision weighing on you. Could you keep trying? Maybe. But fear coils around your heart, tightening with each passing thought. The future feels uncertain, and that terrifies you.

“Maybe,” you begin, searching for the right words, “we could still try, but not focus on it so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be this obsessed.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as relief softens his features. “Maybe we should rekindle our love,” he suggests gently. “Sex shouldn’t feel like a chore, and I hate that it does for you,” he adds, a pout forming on his lips as he looks at you with concern. “How can I make it better for you?”

You take a moment to ponder his question, reflecting on the love you share, the bond that has always been strong, even in the face of adversity. You realize that it’s not about what’s missing, but about what’s been neglected—the time, the attention, the simple joys of being together. Your hectic schedules have stolen moments that should have been yours, and now you feel the distance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

His chuckle is like music, sweet and comforting, warming you from the inside out. “Always,” he replies, intertwining his fingers with yours, his touch a silent vow of affection.

In the weeks that follow, you carve out more time for each other, stepping back from the rush of work to simply be together. You surprise him at his garage, sharing takeout in his cluttered office, laughing over greasy fries and soda. You catch late-night movies, stroll through the mall hand-in-hand, visit little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city. You do all the things you’ve missed, the simple, everyday joys that once made your love effortless, and already you feel lighter, happier.

Amidst this rekindling of your love, you stumble upon the perfect house just outside of Seoul. It’s spacious, with a large living room that echoes with the laughter of future children you haven’t given up on just yet. The garden sprawls wide, with enough space for dreams to grow, and the garage—oh, the garage is exactly what Yoongi has always wanted, a place to tinker and create. When you step inside for the first time, you feel it in your bones—this is home. It speaks to you, calls to something deep within you, and you see the same recognition in Yoongi’s eyes. 

The decision to buy the house is easy, almost instinctual, as if you’ve always known this was where you were meant to be. You celebrate with friends, toasting to the new chapter that’s about to begin, and their joy mirrors your own. The move won’t happen until summer, giving you a few precious months to pack up your life and prepare for the future. And for the first time in a long while, that future doesn’t feel so daunting—it feels full of possibilities.

It’s March, and winter still clings to the world with frosty fingers, the cold seeping through the cracks of the early morning. Yoongi holds you extra close as you stroll along the river, the chill in the air making you grateful for the wool scarf he wrapped around your neck with such tender care. Your hand finds refuge in the deep pocket of his coat, where your fingers intertwine, sharing warmth with each squeeze and caress. 

As you walk, you take in the quiet beauty of the morning. Couples sit huddled on benches, whispering secrets, some stealing kisses as if the cold gives them courage. Children chase each other across the dewy grass, their laughter like wind chimes in the crisp air. You savor these moments, these tranquil walks before the world wakes up fully and the weather softens into spring.

Yoongi tugs you toward a small coffee shop nestled by the river, and soon you’re cradling steaming cups of hot cocoa. The rich scent of chocolate wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you settle into a cozy corner. Across the table, Yoongi’s fingers dance playfully over yours, each brush sending electric jolts through your body. His touch warms you from the inside out, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, though you try to hide it.

Suddenly, he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got something on your face,” he teases, pointing at your mouth.

You fumble to wipe it away, but before you can, Yoongi leans over the table, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping out to clean the smudge of cocoa from your mouth. The simple act is intimate, thrilling, and utterly unexpected.

“Yoongi, we’re in public,” you stammer, your voice a mix of scolding and breathless surprise. The audacity of his gesture stirs a warmth between your legs, a desire that flickers to life like a spark catching flame.

“When has that ever bothered me?” he retorts with a mischievous grin, his boldness both shocking and endearing.

You stare at him, baffled by his audacity, but also deeply drawn to it. With a playful smile, you grab his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “Let’s get home before you get us kicked out.”

Laughter bubbles between you as you walk hand in hand, the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. By the time you step into the elevator, the tension has built to a fever pitch, and you find yourself unable to wait any longer. You pounce on him, surprising Yoongi with the fiery need in your kiss, your lips capturing his in a fierce embrace.

“I want you, Yoon,” you whisper breathlessly, your lips brushing against his ear as you tighten your arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His giggle is low and throaty, the sound reverberating through you as his back meets the steel of the elevator wall. “Hmmm, you’d like that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant, your breath hot against his skin. You lick your lips, eyes dark with desire. “You can decide how you want it. My birthday present to you.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, tenderly, as he murmurs, “But you already gave me a scotch, a new toolbox, and a house,” a kiss for each gift, each one lingering longer than the last. “You don’t need to give me more.”

“And sex shouldn’t really be a gift,” he adds, his lips quirking into a smile, but you nod, already knowing this. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want you inside me,” you counter with a wink, giving your own ass a playful slap. 

A low grunt escapes him, arousal thickening his voice as he grabs you, pinning you against the wall, his lips tracing a searing path down your neck. You moan softly, your body arching toward him, your pussy throbbing with need.

When the elevator doors slide open, he pulls you out, his grip firm as he leads you to your apartment door. He fumbles briefly with the key, urgency in every motion, and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, the world outside ceases to exist.

Shoes are discarded in a hurry, and in the blink of an eye, Yoongi has you in the kitchen, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. He spreads your legs, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Already, you’re so wet, aching for him, and you can see the primal desire mirrored in his gaze. 

He kneels before you, lifting the hem of your dress with a mischievous glint in his eye. “There’s a wet patch on your panties, babe,” he murmurs, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his gaze darkens with desire.

“Well, I want you badly,” you breathe, your legs parting in invitation, your body aching for his touch.

Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and slides them down your legs, letting them pool on the floor. His lips find your slick pussy, his tongue a sinful instrument of pleasure as it dances over your folds. He laps at you with fervor, his nose grazing your sensitive clit as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you. You moan, the sound almost foreign to your own ears, lost as you are in the ecstasy he’s drawing from you. It doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, your release shuddering through you as you come apart on his tongue.

He pulls back, his lips glistening with your essence, and he licks them slowly, savoring the taste of you. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with need.

You hum in response, wanting to tell him how irresistible he is, but before you can, he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you down from the counter and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he growls against your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “I want to fill you up, to lose myself in your pussy.”

When you pull away, his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “I want to take care of you first,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. I just need to be inside you,” he argues, his hands already unzipping his pants, freeing his hard, aching cock.

“No,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. “It’s your birthday, and I want to give you everything you desire.” You help him discard his pants and boxers, and as soon as he’s free of the fabric, you wrap your hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He groans, a needy sound that makes your own desire flare even hotter.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you say, your voice sultry and full of intent. You drop to your knees before him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. You always have this power over him, making him bend to your will with just a word, a look. So when you take him into your warm, wet mouth, he sees stars. You hold his gaze, your eyes locked on his as you slowly, sensually, begin to pleasure him. He thinks you look like a vixen, so full of confidence and allure, and sometimes he can’t quite believe that you’re his, that you belong to him in every way.

For a while, he lets you lead, your lips and tongue working him over with skillful precision. But soon, his need for control takes over, his hands tangling in your hair as he starts to guide your movements, thrusting gently at first, then deeper, harder. He knows you can take it, even when your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches. He knows you love it as much as he does. The sounds you make, the soft, wet noises of your mouth on him, fill the kitchen, and he moans your name, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

He can feel himself getting close, that familiar tightening in his core, and it takes everything in him to pull back, to stop before he loses himself entirely. When he does, a string of saliva still connects you, a testament to the raw, unfiltered passion between you.

“Was it too much?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek.

You shake your head, wiping the drool from your lips. “No,” you assure him, your voice breathless but steady. “If it was, I would have said something.”

“Good,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Because now I need to fuck you. On the table.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a playful glint in your gaze. “The dining table?”

He grins, wicked and full of promise. “Yes, the dining table.”

He nods, and you do as he says, feeling his presence close behind you, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air thickens with anticipation as you remain in your dress, a symbol of your desire lingering between the layers of fabric. When he turns you around to face the table and gently presses you down onto its cool surface, you know exactly what he wants, and the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. God, you love it when he takes you from behind.

He hikes up your dress, exposing you to the cool air, and his hands find your ass, groping and squeezing with a possessive reverence. “So pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with need.

You feel the heat of his cock teasing against your entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable. His hands spread your cheeks, and then you feel the head of his cock pressing into your slick pussy. Slowly, he pushes in, the stretch more intense in this position, but you welcome it, your body humming with pleasure as he fills you completely.

He grunts, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Yoongi—please, move,” you pant, your hands gripping the edge of the table, seeking leverage as he begins to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, your voice breaking as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that feels both punishing and divine.

His hands roam over your backside, caressing, gripping, pulling you closer with every thrust. “Ah, fuck. You always feel so fucking good around me,” he groans, his voice dripping with raw desire as he speaks your name.

“I love having your cock in me. Fuck me faster, please,” you plead, your voice breathless, every nerve in your body alight with want.

The table shifts beneath you, scraping against the floor with each thrust, but the sound is lost in the symphony of your pleasure. Soon, this place won’t be yours to worry about, but right now, it’s all that grounds you as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that makes your vision blur with bliss.

“Fuck! Right there!” you scream, your mind emptying of everything but him, your husband, the man you love so fiercely.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip that promises to leave marks, tangible reminders of this moment.

“Yoon—, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, your breath ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as the heat between you builds to a crescendo.

He rams into you harder, just like you wanted, and you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your vision goes white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body sags against the table, barely able to support itself.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. You clench around him reflexively, another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck,” he curses again, another slap, another burst of sensation, and you cry out, your body quivering under his relentless assault.

“Yoongi!” you scream, teetering on the edge of another climax, “I think—”

But the words are stolen from you as he continues to pound into you, the force of his thrusts driving the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, lost in a sea of sensation.

“Fucking shit. I’m so close,” he pants, his hand soothing over your ass before delivering another stinging slap, and your second orgasm melds into a third, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You cry out in pleasure, your voice raw as your world narrows to the feel of him inside you, the only anchor in the storm of your release.

His thrusts grow erratic, less controlled, until finally, he stills, his cock buried deep as he spills into you, the warmth of his release filling you up. A sigh escapes your lips, your body utterly spent, your mind adrift in the aftermath.

He collapses over you, his weight a comforting pressure as he keeps himself inside you, his hands caressing your body with gentle affection. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I love you so much.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of your love for him blooming in your chest. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, feeling his softened cock slide out of you as you turn to face him. “And I love you so much too.”

He smiles, tender and full of adoration, before capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of gratitude and deep, unwavering love. “Thank you for this lovely birthday,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

You smile back, letting him take your hand and lead you to the bathroom, where he gently cleans you up, his touch as tender as his heart. Later, you fall asleep nestled in his arms, the world outside forgotten, lost in the cocoon of your shared warmth.

You stare at the test in your trembling hands, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness. Three minutes—those eternal, cursed minutes—dragging you back to that moment in the forest when the thought of pregnancy filled you with dread. But now, everything is different. Now you want it, crave it with every fiber of your being, yet fear still lingers like a shadow in your heart, whispering what-ifs.

Your phone vibrates, breaking the silence, signaling that the time is up. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and then you look. 

Two lines. 

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink, hardly believing it. 

Two lines.

You rush to show Yoongi, his eyes lighting up with pure joy as he sees the result. He’s elated, grinning like a child, and his happiness is contagious. You’re happy too, truly, but beneath the surface, that familiar fear curls, a silent specter reminding you of the past, of the heartbreak you’ve been through before. What if it happens again?

But the weeks pass, and you pack your life into boxes, preparing for the move as summer blooms. Now, four months pregnant, you find yourself with Yoongi wrapped around your little finger. He’s doting, tender, doing everything for you as if you were made of glass—cooking your meals, helping you dress, even braiding your hair with surprising care. He indulges your every craving, runs to the store for cake and candy at odd hours, holds your hair when the nausea takes over. His protectiveness borders on overbearing, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. It’s endearing, really, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s as sweet as the candy he brings you.

On moving day, Yoongi insists you don’t lift a finger, so you supervise, directing your friends on where to place each box in your new home. It still feels surreal—this beautiful house is yours, truly yours. You rest your hand on your growing belly, not yet feeling the strong kicks you’re longing for, though you’ve sensed some faint fluttering. Perhaps it’s just gas, but still, the anticipation is almost unbearable.

After a day of grocery shopping, stocking the fridge and freezer with essentials, you find yourself craving ice cream late at night—the one with Oreo bits swirled through it. The craving grips you suddenly, fiercely, and you know there’s no ignoring it. You need that ice cream.

“Yoongi?” you call out, drawing his name in that sweet, almost sing-song voice he knows all too well.

He chuckles, already predicting your request from the way you’ve drawn out his name. Your cravings have become a nightly ritual, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it—loves you more than words can express.

“Yeah?” he answers, laughter in his voice, as you hesitate, almost shy to ask for something else after all the shopping you did today.

“I’m craving ice cream…” you murmur, unsure how he’ll react, knowing full well you’d already stocked the freezer just hours ago.

He sighs, but it’s a soft, amused sound. “The one with Oreo bits, right?”

Your eyes fill with love and gratitude, tears pricking at the corners. “Thank you!” you whisper, your heart swelling as he’s already up, grabbing his keys without a second thought.

You watch him go, overwhelmed with love for this man who would move mountains just to see you smile. When he returns, ice cream in hand, you greet him with a kiss, diving into the tub with abandon. Fifteen minutes later, the tub is empty, and you glance at him with a sheepish smile, wondering if he’ll have to make another trip. That’s when he decides to always buy extra, stashing it away in the freezer, ready for your next craving.

He’s your snack patrol, your guardian of midnight desires, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy, to keep that radiant smile on your face. After all, you’re carrying his tiny miracle inside you, and for him, indulging your every whim is the least he can do.

One evening, you stumble through the door after a long, grueling day at work, exhaustion clinging to you like a heavy shroud. All you want is to collapse into the soft embrace of your bed, to let the day melt away into dreams. But hunger gnaws at you, demanding attention, so you drag yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find Yoongi bustling around, preparing dinner as usual. Yet, the air is absent of the familiar, comforting aromas that typically greet you, and instead, you find Yoongi lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“Didn’t you make dinner?” you snap, frustration bubbling up before you can contain it, the weariness in your bones making your temper short.

He glances up, confused, his lips parting to speak, but you cut him off, the anger spilling over. 

“You dick! You know I expect you to make dinner when I get home late,” you huff, the irritation morphing into something sharper, more biting. But before the anger can fully take root, it unravels into sobs, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, as if your exhaustion has found a new outlet. You’re crying so hard that you scare yourself, and Yoongi, too, who tosses his book aside and rushes to your side, wrapping you in his arms, his touch gentle and soothing.

“There’s leftovers, remember?” he whispers softly, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, his voice steady and calm, grounding you in the moment. 

And just like that, clarity washes over you. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The realization of your misplaced anger makes you feel foolish, small. Lately, you’ve been snapping at him over the smallest things, calling him names in moments of frustration, but he always meets your outbursts with a patient smile, never holding your forgetfulness or emotional swings against you. He’s a gem, a steady rock in the midst of your storm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he returns it with such tenderness that you know, deep down, everything is going to be okay.

The months in your new home pass like pages turning in a cherished book, each one filled with milestones and memories. You’ve hosted a housewarming, celebrated your baby shower, and now, winter has settled in once more, December’s chill creeping through the air. Maternity leave is just around the corner, and you can’t wait to have the time to focus entirely on Yoongi and the tiny miracle growing inside you.

“I’m so fucking tired, Yoon,” you sigh, sinking into a chair, every breath feeling like an effort, exhaustion etched into every part of you.

“It’s okay, take a break. I’ll finish up the painting. Why don’t you go change clothes?” he suggests with a reassuring smile, but the frustration within you bubbles up again, spilling over before you can stop it.

“I look so ugly,” you cry, tears welling up as you take in your reflection, emotions surging in a wave. “I’m so fat, and my stomach feels like it’s dragging me down. I’m swollen everywhere, and I just look so ugly.” Your voice breaks, the tears falling freely, and Yoongi drops his paintbrush immediately, rushing to comfort you.

“You’re not ugly, babe,” he says softly, wiping away your tears with his paint-stained fingers, his eyes full of love and sincerity. “Those extra pounds just make you even sexier,” he adds with a playful smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Please don’t speak ill of your body. I love you, and I love everything about your body.”

You sniffle, his words washing over you like a balm, soothing the insecurities that have taken root in your mind. You know he’s right, and you decide to believe him, because why else would he stick around through all your emotional ups and downs? “Thank you, Yoon. I love everything about you too.”

The nursery is ready, painted in a soft shade of lilac, filled with carefully chosen furniture. You’ve both decided that your baby girl will sleep in your room at first, so the nursery remains more symbolic than functional for now. But it’s been a labor of love, preparing for this new chapter in your lives.

As you gaze out the window, watching the snow pile up on the street, a sense of quiet anticipation fills you. Soon, so very soon, you’ll meet your miracle baby, and the thought sends a warmth spreading through you, cutting through the cold of the winter night.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

*if this fucking taglist doesn't work... I don't know what to do with myself. Hopefully you'll find it even though tumblr will probably be a bitch and not let it work...

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I hope it wasn’t too angsty 🥹 This was largely inspired by the song ‘Pregnant’ by Phlake. You should really give it a listen, it’s very explicit and cute, lol 😝 Please let me know what you think in a reblog, comment or ask. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage— here’s an extra hug for you 🫂

[citrus-writing]

noncon pussy eating phantom troupe ( + Hisoka if its possible) headcanons pls🫦

Thank you so much for asking! i'm so surprised so many people were interested in this!

----------------

yanderes who eat their darling out for their own pleasure, they cant get enough of their beloved darling, want to taste you all the time- 

Chrollo- 

Chrollo is obsessed with you, and of course, the faces and sounds you make for him when he kneels between your legs are no exception. He’s devoted to the task, almost worshiping you with his tongue and lips, determined to hear every little sound he can pull from your lips.

For a long while in your captivity in his home, he fantasizes about how you must taste, what faces you’d make, the little noises he’s so sure you’d make- but he leaves it a fantasy, because he doesn't want to scare you away. You’re inching closer to him with time, and he’s sure that if you knew the kind of things he was thinking you’d shrink away from him again, and he can't let that happen. But lately, you’ve been so tempting- wearing the little dresses he picks for you, short enough he can see the underwear he’d picked for you as well if you bent over even slightly. Everything about you makes him crazy, nearly desperate for a taste of what’s between your legs- what he’s sure is the most perfect pussy, made for him, just for him. 

So don't be surprised when he tells you to lie back on the bed and spread your legs- of course he’d taken the evening to soothe you into it. Your favorite food for dinner, your favorite movie on the tv, his arms around you all the while. His lips on yours- till your breathing heavy- his hands moving over your clothes to squeeze and toy with your chest. But it’s not nearly enough.

The look in his eyes tells you that there’s no getting out of this one, so you nervously lie back like he asked. “My love, what did I just ask from you?” he asks, nodding at your closed thighs. You struggle to fight the shame and embarrassment as you open your legs for him. 

He’s so romantic about it, taking his time to kiss and bite up your thighs, hands holding your hips still for him. He pulls your panties off slowly, making you whine in shame, but he’s convinced himself that you’re just as eager as he is. “Good girl.” 

Uvogin-  

Uvogin wastes no time at all in taking what he wants from you, and this is no exception. He’s imagined it so many times, has worked his fantasy over and over in his mind. He lays back on the bed, pulling you over him and manhandling you into the position he wants you in- kneeling over his face, wet folds hovering inches from his mouth. 

“Go ahead, baby, sit on down.” he encourages. His big hands are squeezing at your ass, your thighs, like he’s desperate to just feel you. You hesitate, looking for a way out of this, but of course once he’s made up his mind about something you know there’s no changing his mind. He looks up at you expectantly, “don't make me repeat myself,” and he says it with humor but it sends terror through you. You take a shaky breath and allow yourself to ease down, but it must be too slow for his liking because he grabs you by the hips to force your body down. 

The feeling of his tongue against your folds has you jolting from the shock, and maybe pleasure, but you don't want to admit that to yourself. It’s impossible to ignore how skilled he is with his tongue, something you’ve noticed when he’d kiss you, but something that is uncomfortably obvious right now, with you sat above him like this. He groans against you, the vibrations of his deep voice making you gasp, making you let out a tiny little noise of pleasure. He seems to like the sound, because he grows more eager- pushing his tongue inside you, lapping into you with a kind of hunger you hadn't expected. 

Illumi- 

Illumi isn't sure what about you has him so enamored- your smile? Your laugh? They way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love? He wouldn't be able to answer that if he was asked. But he knows what’s holding his attention right now. He can't pull his eyes away from your sleeping form next to him in the bed, blankets tossed off you and nightgown ridden up to reveal the underwear you're wearing. He’s seen you in less, of course, but something about this is different- you're unaware, completely at ease, all spread out for him to touch. 

He trails a hand down the contour of your waist, fingertips ghosting along the curve of your hip bone, letting himself touch the lace you're wearing. You dont wake up, only moving slightly when he first places his hand on your skin, but you remain peacefully asleep. 

He traces up and down the fabric with his index and middle fingers, teasing you and feeling your underwear grow damp at the sensation. You’re perfect- he tells you so all the time- but you’re absolutely perfect. He lets him dip under the waistline of your underwear, training his fingers down to gather up the slick gathering between your legs. 

You're starting to stir, moving a bit more, mumbling something incoherent. “Darling, go back to sleep.” he soothes. You mumble again, “illumi?” It seems sleep hasn't let go of you just yet, not really awake to realize your situation. When he brushes against your clit, you’re forced awake all at once with a desperate yelp. “Shh, you’re alright. I just want a taste of you.” 

Yanderes who eat out their darling in some kind of deranged attempt to make their darling feel good, to make their darling want them, beg for them- 

Nobunaga- 

Nobunaga is a delusional type of yandere, one who can convince himself that you want him the way he wants you. And he wants you all the time, anyway he can have you.whether it’s pining you down to the bed, forcing you to your knees in front of him, or spreading your legs to touch and taste your most sensitive places, he’s not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.  

Even when you struggle and shake, begging him not to, he just smiles at you with this soft look that makes you sick- he doesn't believe you. And how could he believe you don't want him when his fingers already have you so wet, dripping down his hands and down your thighs. He knows you want him as badly as he wants you, you must, by the way you whimper for him. Maybe someday you’ll be able to admit how badly you need him, but for tonight he won't force you to admit it. “You’re so good for me, aren't you?” he soothes, even as you continue to tremble. 

He pulls your legs further apart and settles his face between them, kissing at your thighs, licking at the slick gathered there. Licking up up up, towards his real prize. You’re all he wants, to touch you, taste you, feel you tremble when you cum from his tongue deep inside you. “I can't wait to taste you.” and, as if to prove his point, he drags the tip of his tongue across your entrance, not quite allowing himself to dip inside. No, he’s going to take his time with you. 

Hisoka- 

He’s always used you however he saw fit, taking anything he desired from you, because you were helpless to whatever he’d do to you. Most nights, that means carrying you to his bedroom- or the nearest surface, if he couldn't wait that long- before pinning you down and having his way with you. Hisoka is never a gentle lover, not even when he taunts you about how much worse he could be, but he does care for your pleasure- even if it’s only for his own satisfaction. 

That’s how you found yourself here, with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands keeping your hips still as you tried to fight and thrash. Of all the things he’s done to you, none have been so personal, so vulnerable. 

You want to be quiet so badly, but the way his tongue delves into you makes it difficult, even more so when he moans against you, sending vibrations up your body. It forces a little sound from you- a desperate little cry of pleasure, and no matter how much you don't want to believe it, it’s because it feels good. You don't want to be here- in his arms, in his bed, in his home- but the feeling of his hot mouth on you is so good you feel yourself getting almost lost in it. The sounds you made seem to excite him, and that thought makes you almost sick. He pulls away from you for a moment, looking up into your eyes, “are you enjoying yourself?” he’s taunting you, you know that. Before you can answer, he uses two fingers to spread you open, making you squirm. “Dont lie, darling, i want to hear how good it feels.” 

Phinks- 

Of course you’re scared, he knows that- you’ve made it very apparent, much to his annoyance. But it takes everything in him not to just take what he wants from you. And he could- that’s the thing, he knows he could do anything to you. It’s maddening, trying to coax you into trusting him, into coming nearer to him, into loving him. He promised himself he’d wait, and to be fair, he’s half honest about that. He won't take everything he needs from you, he just needs a taste, that’ll be more than enough. 

You’ve struggled your hardest, twisting around in his grasp for what felt like eternity, and now you’ve worn yourself out. It’d be pitiful if you didn't look so good under him, already out of breath, and finally- finally- plaint under him. He wastes only a second or two looking at your face before his hands move to remove your clothes. It’s agony not to fuck you, it’s all he really wants to do, but he reminds himself that he’d promised himself he’d settle for just the sight of your body and the taste of you. 

You're tense at first, when he pulls down your underwear and leans forward, bringing his face closer to you. You dont beg him not to, and he takes that as some kind of consent, though he’s not quite delusional enough to believe that. He feels you relax as he kisses your thigh, taking a moment to say “that’s right, just relax. I’ve got you.” before finally indulging in you the way he’s wanted to. He hears your breath hitch a little when he kisses just over where you want him. Your hands grip at the sheets, and he can hardly hold back enough to mumble, “I've waited so long for this.” 

Yanderes who eat out their darling as a form of punishment, making you beg and cry as they force you over the edge over and over- 

Feitan- 

Feitan has trouble expressing his feelings and desires for you in a way you can understand, and this is no different. How could he possibly explain to you the way you make him feel? How he has to fight off blushing when you’re close to him, how just the sound of your voice has his heartbeat racing, how just the sight of you in the outfit he picked for you has all the blood in his body racing south. It’s embarrassing- humiliating- and he won't stand for it. So when he sees you bend over in the little skirt, he has to do something about it. 

You yelp as he grabs you, his hand closing around your wrist as he spins you around and slams yur back into the wall. Your head hurts where it hit the plaster, and your wrist hurts where he’s still crushing it in his hand. “You did that on purpose.” he accuses. You don't even know what you did. “Don't move.” he demands, letting go of your wrist to drop to his knees. The action alone is so unlike feitan, it’s unlike him to touch you, and it’s unlike him to kneel in front of you like this. There’s something wrong. 

He reaches up under your skirt to pull your underwear down- he’d gotten a good view of them earlier, but it’s different when he’s taking them off you. Feitan pulls them off you, watching the way you shake slightly, but you don't move- exactly like he asked. 

He’s careful with you, methodical in a way that’s unsettling and foreign. You whimper when he brings his fingers to your folds, as if testing the wetness. He glances up at you, eyes not betraying any emotion. He traces his finger along your entrance, not quite letting his fingers dip inside. You try to keep quiet, try to stay still, but it’s so difficult when you can feel yourself getting wetter as he works at you. “Good.” he appraised.

He’s just as methodical and slow with his tongue when he angles his head to lap at your cunt, his lips sealed against you as he works his tongue into you. If he can make you cum like this, maybe he’ll consider forgiving you for your little stunt earlier. If not, he’ll eat you over and over again until you beg him to stop.

Shalnark- 

He looks up at you from between your legs, eyes shining as he carefully and skillfully swirls his tongue over your clit. Your whole body is trembling from the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he so deftly and methodically takes you apart. Shalnark knows he’s making you feel good, he can feel it in the way you clench around his fingers, the way your slick drips down his hand, the way that you taste so so good. 

He lets out a soft little laugh, his hot breath making you whine, and he pulls his mouth from you. You whimper at the loss, mind too foggy to really think of how you shouldn't want this. But he’s making you feel so good, and you can't deny yourself this- anything he’s willing to give you. 

“You want to cum?” he asks, voice obviously amused. You nod. He twists his wrist just so, making you gasp and arch up against him. “I don't know, you’re not acting like you do.” he taunts. Of course he’d take a moment like this to tease you- shalnark would never miss the opportunity to toy with you. “Maybe if you beg me, I'll consider letting you.” 

-----------------

[soaringwide]

PAC: What are their current feelings for you?

+ EXCLUSIVE EXTENDED KO-FI READING: Where is this connection headed?

hey :p

I like to do a blend of different types of tarot readings, and I realized I haven't done romantic readings in a while! So today's pick a card is meant to look into your person's current feelings for you.

I will keep this open for any level of closeness, as long as the person [I don't gender you or your person] has a minimum of a bond with you. Also, it is aimed for romantic connections so keep that in mind in case that's not something that's relevant to you.

If you find a pile that resonates, there is an exclusive reading ''Where is this connection headed'' available on ko-fi for members only. You can find more information on this post (or directly on ko-fi).

book a reading ★ ko-fi membership ★ all free PACs ★ pinned post ★ IG

PILE 1

Current energies: 8 of Cups, Seeking Pleasure, 10 of Cups

Currently, I think you are trying to let go of this specific connection. It seems you have been through a lot, and you reached a point where enough was enough, and you refused to take it any longer and decided to try to detach yourself from it.

However, i do think there are still some regrets about what could have been. It's like you're mourning the potential of what this connection could be or could have been, and you're wondering if you're not leaving behind something that could be your ultimate happiness. Many doubts and also perhaps a lack of trust of what else could bring you happiness that is making you cling onto this connection. So yeah, you're a bit stuck between a rock and a hard place at the moment, wanting to move on but also doubting a lot and not closing the door completely. I feel you quite worried and what ifs are swirling in my head. What if you made a mistake? What if you couldn't find something else that was better? What if you regretted it all your life?

Their feelings: 9 of Cups, 2 of Swords, 6 of Cups, 9 of Swords, 10 of Swords, Sweet Surrender, The Game of Love, Standing Alone

Their feelings are quite interesting. I see them currently quite stuck. With the 9 of Cups, on one hand they know they could get a lot of fulfillment from this relationship, but also, they are refusing or unable to surrender to it. All figures in this specific section are sitting, not acting one way or the other. They don't feel like they can do much and it's possible they don't know what they could do. Its like they desire coming towards you but they are not acting on it at all. I think there is an element of taboo in this connection. Perhaps they don't think you two are a good fit/you are too different in one way or another, and it's holding them back, or there is someone else in the picture… but in any case they are controlling themselves so much that it reached a point of complete immobility.

But simultaneously, they keep remembering the moments you had together like it was some type of game that only included the two of you. Like your own secret thing. It seems they miss that. They may be feeling over-burdened by something at the moment and they keep daydreaming about an escape. Its quite dreamy and not very grounded in reality I think. Like they are stuck in their head about this connection.

However, they seem to be feeling crushed to be left behind. It's a mix of worry and feeling like they fucked up terribly. They don't want to be left alone. But then again are they doing anything to hold you back? Not really. While you seemed to worry of what could be lost as a possibility, this person just feels the lack of you but is taking it as a total defeat, something they have no control over and can't change. I also feel like there are a lot of things they want to say, but for some reason they are holding back and I get the feeling that perhaps they think it's too late to say those things. They feel quite hopeless that's for sure.

Extended reading on my ko-fi membership-only page

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PILE 2

Current energies: Page of Cups, Page of Wands, Knight of Cups, a Loving Gaze

You are currently really into someone and I feel it's in the early stages of the relationship, and seduction is showing up quite strongly. You are focused on mesmerizing them, watching them closely and trying to appear as your most beautiful self. Exchange of glances might be important, or just trying to get their attention by looking at them intensely. Some of you might be into glamour magic or use beauty practices in a somewhat ritualistic way.

I think you are very passionate about this person and feeling motivated, excited and adventurous, so after spending some time watching them so much, you are intending to approach them romantically with an offer, as shown by the Knight of Cups. What this offer is will depend for everyone, but it might be a date for some of you or simple just getting closer to them, asking their number or sticking up a conversation.

The overall energy is full of expectation, a love in the blooming stage, and I feel light and giddy. :)

Their feelings for you: Full Intimacy, Queen of Wands, Ace of Swords, Wheel of Fortune, 8 of Swords, the Fool

Okay so in the oracle card, the idea of gazes shows up again, so they definitely noticed you watching them and if you both locked eyes with each other it definitely had an effect! They feel a connection with you which makes them feel curious and optimistic about what could be. There is some desire as well.

With the Ace of Swords, there is a desire for communication as well. They wish to understand things better because I think they have some fear of rejections and looking like an idiot if the situation happened to be all in their head, so they need some reassurance because right now they might be overthinking and seeing the situation worse than it actually is.

So they are in a spot to want change and movement, ready to be surprised. I don't think they would take the initiative but they seem to be in an open and receptive place if you decide to make a move.

Extended reading on my ko-fi membership-only page

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PILE 3

Current energies: Queen of Pentacles, the Sun, Loving Yourself, King of Pentacles

Your current energy is all about focusing on yourself. It seems you are embracing your own light at the moment and nurturing your sense of self-love. So this is interesting because I see you refusing to compromise your well being and your inner balance for anyone, despite this being a reading about a connection, which I find so beautiful for you, Pile 3!

I think you are quite mature, not necessarily in age but at least in personality, or you're going through a phase where you're building this strong loving foundation for yourself.

And I think you're trying to attract someone who can be the King of Pentacles to your Queen of Pentacles (both showed up here). Someone who is secure and abundant for themselves and who can bring something valuable to your life without compromising your independence and own abundance.

Lastly, I also think you are focused on what brings you joy, what makes you feel happy and carefree and you really don't want to waste any energy on a connection that makes you feel anything but that.

Their feelings for you: Knight of Wands, 7 of Swords, the Star, Temperance, 4 of Wands, Doubt and Indecision, Memories and Remembrance

So it seems this person is seeing you as this powerful, whole and perfect person, Pile 3. You seem emotionally fulfilled to them, free and beautiful. I really get the sense that they are mesmerized by you.

I think this person is a friend you've known for a long time and who you have shared memories with. Someone who you shared laughter and celebrations or parties with, or at least had a lot of fun with. It seems your connection is very beneficial to them, makes them feel at ease, balanced, and perhaps even inspired if they are a creative soul.

Now, with the Knight of Wands, I definitely think they are attracted to you beyond just friendship, however, there are a lot of doubts here due to the fear to ruin what you have, because you seem so self sufficient and focused on yourself that they doubt you would be interested in them, and it makes them feel like their attraction for you is wrong and could lead to harm for the friendship.

I also think that your self confidence might highlight a bit on their own lack of it. Not to say that they aren't confident at all, they may very well appear confident around you, but since they see you so highly, they see themselves as a bit less in comparison and they again don't know if you would consider them romantically at all.

Extended reading on my ko-fi membership-only page

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[baelabong]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴘᴀɪʀ

(ᴡᴏɴʏᴏᴜɴɢ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

plot: youre supposed to be studying but why is wonyoung the only thing running through your mind

notes: friends to lovers, wonyoung is just such a sweet popular girl, y/n’s lowkey a loser

rq: pretty sure someone requested wy fluff 😭

it’s a warm afternoon, and you’re sitting under the big oak tree by the track field, the one spot you and wonyoung always seem to end up at after class. you’re both supposed to be studying for the history test tomorrow, but clearly, only one of you is actually making an effort. your notebook is open on your lap, pages half-filled with notes, while wonyoung’s has been abandoned on the ground beside her.

"you know," wonyoung says, leaning back against the tree, her long legs stretched out in front of her, "we should hang out more after school."

you glance up from your notes, raising an eyebrow. "we hang out every day, wonyoung."

"yeah, but i mean without all the school stuff. no books, no homework," she waves a hand lazily in the air, her gaze drifting up to the sky. "just the two of us."

you blink at her, not sure where she’s going with this. "what, like... hanging out here isn’t enough?"

wonyoung turns her head, fixing her gaze on you. her eyes are bright, playful, but there’s something in her tone that feels just a little too casual. "no, i mean like a real hangout. you know... like a date."

the word hits you like a brick. your brain stalls for a second, scrambling to catch up. a date? you feel your heart do this annoying little jump in your chest, but you cover it up with a sarcastic laugh. you’re not about to let her get to you that easily.

"a date?" you snort, flipping a page in your notebook to look busy. "what, like coffee or something? how romantic."

wonyoung grins, and you can tell she’s enjoying this way too much. "could be coffee," she says, her voice teasing. "or maybe a movie. i’ll even buy you popcorn."

seriously? you roll your eyes, trying to focus on your notes, but you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. "sure, as long as you don’t fall asleep halfway through like last time."

wonyoung laughs, nudging your leg with her knee. "only if you pick something boring."

the thing about wonyoung is, she’s got friends everywhere. no matter where you go at school, someone’s waving at her, calling her name. she’s tall, taller than you by a lot, actually, so she stands out. it’s like she’s got this presence that fills up the space around her. normally, that would be intimidating, but you’ve known her for so long that it just feels... familiar.

but today, with the way she’s looking at you, it feels a little less familiar and a lot more nerve-wracking.

you try to keep your cool, though. she’s just messing with me, you think, but there’s this tiny part of you, this annoying, hopeful part that wonders if she’s actually serious.

wonyoung leans back again, looking way too pleased with herself. "what do you think?" she asks casually, like she’s not completely throwing you off. "wouldn’t we make a cute couple?"

"you’re ridiculous," you mutter, closing your notebook and stuffing it into your bag, trying to end the conversation before your brain spirals. you stand up, stretching your arms above your head to shake off the weird tension in the air.

wonyoung stands up too, towering over you, her grin still plastered on her face. "i’m not hearing a ‘no.’"

you shoot her a look, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "you know what, i think you should stop talking."

"or what?" she teases, taking a step closer, her height making you feel even more flustered. "you’ll fall for me?"

too late, you think, but there’s no way you’re saying that out loud. instead, you push past her, heading towards the school building. "i’m going to study. you can keep daydreaming about whatever it is you’re thinking."

"i’ll take that as a maybe!" she calls after you, her laughter echoing across the field.

you’re sitting on the couch in your apartment, surrounded by takeout boxes from the chinese food you both demolished earlier. the tv is on, playing some rom-com you’ve already seen a million times, but honestly, you’re not paying attention. and apparently, neither is wonyoung, who has been slowly but very deliberately inching closer to you the entire time.

at this point, her shoulder is pressed against yours, her leg brushing against your thigh every now and then. it’s like she’s not even pretending to care about the movie, and you’re doing your best to act like you don’t notice her being all... whatever this is.

suddenly, she speaks, breaking the comfortable silence. “hey,” she says, her voice a little too casual. “you ever think about what we’d be like if we were dating?”

you turn to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “why are you always bringing that up?”

she shrugs, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “i don’t know. it’s fun to think about.”

fun? you huff, focusing back on the tv even though your brain’s still processing what she just said. you roll your eyes, trying to keep it light. “you’re ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” she continues, bumping her knee against yours, “we’d be pretty cute together, don’t you think?”

oh my god. this girl is relentless. you can feel the heat rising up your neck, and it’s definitely not because of the stupid rom-com. “yeah, okay,” you mutter, still trying to keep your cool. you pick at the edge of the takeout box, avoiding her gaze. this is fine. everything is fine.

but wonyoung is clearly not done. she leans in a little closer, her voice dropping into that teasing tone she knows gets to you. “you’re into me, right? you’re totally crushing on me.”

you scoff, but your heart betrays you with how fast it’s racing. “wonyoung, stop being ridiculous.”

“admit it,” she says, grinning now. she’s so close you can feel her breath on your skin, and it’s starting to mess with your head. “you’d totally date me.”

oh, for crying out loud. you finally snap, turning to face her with a smirk, deciding to play along just to shut her up. “alright, fine. you’re cute, but i don’t know if i’d survive dating someone as annoying as you.”

wonyoung laughs, looking way too pleased with herself. “see? i knew it.”

you shake your head, finding her both insufferable and, annoyingly enough, kind of adorable. how did i end up here? you wonder, but the teasing has shifted something between you two. it’s subtle, but it’s there—an undercurrent of something you’re not quite ready to define yet.

the ridiculous tension lingers, though neither of you says anything. you just sit there, your shoulder pressed against hers, the space between you feeling smaller than it ever has before.

it’s late afternoon, and the warm golden light of the setting sun spills over the quiet neighborhood as you and wonyoung make your way home from school. you’re walking slowly, neither of you in a rush, with the faint hum of the day’s conversations still buzzing in your ears. the two of you had just come from your favorite café, where you spent a little too long sipping iced drinks and pretending you weren’t looking at each other every few minutes.

everything feels perfectly normal—until wonyoung suddenly stops in her tracks. she grabs your arm lightly, pulling you to a halt beside her. her touch is soft but firm, and it sends a jolt through you.

“hey,” she says, her voice quieter, more serious than usual. her tone catches you off guard, so you turn to her with a frown. wonyoung’s always teasing, always full of confidence, but right now, there’s a flicker of something different in her eyes.

“what’s up?” you ask, your voice casual, but your chest tightens as you sense a shift in the air between you.

wonyoung takes a small step closer, her hand dropping to her side as she bites her lip, eyes searching yours. “you know i wasn’t joking before, right?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost tentative.

you blink, thrown off by her sudden change in tone. “about what?”

wonyoung swallows, then meets your gaze again, her dark eyes steady. “about us. about the idea of… being something more.”

your heart skips a beat. it’s like time slows down for a moment, and you stare at her, trying to make sense of her words. she’s joking, right? you try to keep your expression neutral, but inside, your mind is racing. this is wonyoung, the girl who teases you endlessly, who always finds a way to get under your skin. there’s no way she’s serious.

“i thought you were just messing with me,” you say, keeping your voice light, hoping it’ll dissolve the tension in the air. because she has to be joking, right?

but wonyoung shakes her head, her lips curving into a small, almost nervous smile. “i wasn’t. i’ve liked you for a long time, y/n. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”

you blink again, your heart doing that annoying flutter thing it does whenever she gets too close. for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. all the teasing, all the flirting—was it real? had she meant it all along?

“you’re serious?” you finally manage to ask, your voice a little breathless.

“yeah,�� she says softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “and if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. i just… i couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

there’s a long pause. you stand there, staring at her, trying to process what’s happening. all the teasing moments between you suddenly seem a lot heavier, charged with a meaning you hadn’t dared to acknowledge before. wonyoung, the girl who always has a group of friends around her, the one who’s taller, more popular, more everything—she’s standing in front of you, confessing that she likes you.

it feels surreal, like a prank or some elaborate joke you’re not in on. this is wonyoung, of all people, you think. you glance away, feeling your face heat up, and immediately, you feel ridiculous for it. this isn’t how you imagined things would go, not that you had imagined this at all.

“you’re really ridiculous, you know that?” you mutter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck.

wonyoung laughs softly, but there’s a hopeful edge to it, like she’s waiting for your reaction, gauging every word. “maybe. but does that mean you feel the same?”

your mind blanks for a second. do you feel the same? you’re not sure. you’ve spent so long trying to convince yourself that wonyoung’s teasing was just that—teasing. harmless fun. the way she’d lean in too close, poke at you, make comments about how you’d look cute together—it was just a joke, right?

before you can answer, you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and the sudden urge to escape hits you hard. without thinking, you take a step back and shake your head, trying to clear the overwhelming thoughts crowding in.

“i… i need a second,” you stammer, turning away from her as embarrassment floods your chest. you start walking faster, your heart pounding in your ears. she can’t be serious. this is wonyoung.

“y/n?” wonyoung calls after you, a hint of amusement in her voice. “where are you going?”

“nowhere!” you yell back, quickening your pace as you try to outrun the flush creeping up your face. your feet move faster than your brain, and before you know it, you’re practically jogging down the street. great, you think, now i look like an idiot.

you hear wonyoung laugh behind you, and within moments, her long legs allow her to catch up to you effortlessly. of course, she’s taller, you think with a mix of irritation and admiration. you don’t dare look at her as she falls into step beside you, her breathing annoyingly calm despite your attempt to outpace her.

“are you seriously running away from me right now?” she asks, her voice filled with amusement. “i didn’t think i’d get you this flustered.”

“i’m not flustered,” you grumble, speeding up even more. but no matter how fast you walk, she stays right next to you, her long legs making it look effortless. it’s infuriating.

“you’re totally flustered,” wonyoung says, clearly enjoying herself now. “you’re practically jogging.”

“shut up,” you mutter, your face burning hotter by the second. you want to deny it, to brush off her words like you usually do, but you can’t. not this time. not after what she just said.

“come on, y/n,” wonyoung says, her tone softening again as she reaches out and gently grabs your arm, pulling you to a stop. “i’m not trying to make this weird. i just… i had to be honest with you.”

you stare at the ground, trying to get your breathing under control. what am i even supposed to say? your mind is a mess of emotions, half of you wanting to push her away, the other half wanting to pull her closer.

“look, if you don’t feel the same way, that’s totally fine,” wonyoung says quietly, her hand still resting on your arm. “but i had to tell you how i feel. i couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”

you finally look up at her, meeting her gaze. there’s no teasing in her expression now, just a quiet sincerity that makes your chest tighten. why does she have to be like this?

you swallow hard, feeling the weight of her confession pressing down on you. your mind is still spinning, but deep down, you know the truth. you do like her. you’ve always liked her. you just never thought she’d actually feel the same way.

“you’re really ridiculous, you know that?” you say, your voice a little shaky.

wonyoung smiles softly, her eyes filled with hope. “maybe. but does that mean…?”

you take a deep breath, your heart still racing. “yeah, i feel the same.”

wonyoung’s smile brightens instantly, and before you can say anything else, she pulls you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you stand there, frozen for a moment, before finally relaxing into her embrace, letting yourself enjoy the warmth of her closeness.

as you pull back, you feel your face heat up again, but this time, you don’t mind as much. “we really are ridiculous,” you mutter.

wonyoung laughs, her eyes shining with happiness. “maybe. but we’re cute too.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

[lovelytsunoda]

the sixth sense | jake "hangman" seresin

summary: after a car accident totals her car and leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, an anxious police desk sergeant learns to live with the ghosts haunting her home, and the crush she has on the hot pilot who lives next door

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

warnings: car accidents, ghosts (but they're very funny ghosts!), sexual innuendos/advances made by a ghost, if you can recognize the names of the detectives/station staff and can correctly tell me what tv show they are from, you get a metaphorical cookie. jake is a very involved neighbour.

author's note: my f1 fics for this collection have been on the struggle bus lately, so here's hoping my top gun one does better

sargeant y/l/n wouldn't say she hated her job, exactly, but there were many days where she wasn't always thrilled with it. take today for example, her desk piled high with requisition forms for fingerprint checks, traffic camera footage, autopsy reports and more.

it wasn't that she didn't like the work. no, she found catching murderers to be most rewarding. it was the people she worked with. detectives who didn't see her as an equal, but as a machine, dropping files on her desk with a demand and an impossible deadline.

"yn, how busy are you for the next few days?"

she raised her eyebrows at the detective across from her. "for you, detective disher? i won't be free until at least the end of the week."

detective disher raised an eyebrow. "how much work are they piling on you? you aren't their servants, you can speak up and tell them you're too busy."

she rolled her eyes, chewing the end of her bic pen. "usually they hightail it out of here before i even have a chance to open my mouth. some of them don't even speak to me or give instructions, they just drop a file on my desk and assume that i know what to do with it."

detective disher frowned. "we really need another desk sargeant."

"you think?"

it was long after sundown when she left the office that night, overtime she probably wasn't going to get paid for. she hoped that leaving at 6:30 was worth it to have a clean desk in the morning, one almost free of files long enough that she could breathe. of course, by the morning, all of the late shift detectives would have dropped all of their files off for her review.

she was about halfway home when traffic started to pick up again, the glow of the led headlights making it difficult to see out of her side mirrors. her glasses claimed to be glare resistant, but what did someone without astigmatism know about glare?

she turned right at the next set of lights, descending down the hill that would lead to her small, cosy neighbourhood. she was still a fair distance away as she watched the light change from yellow to red, taking her foo toff the gas. the car ahead of her seemed to be slowing, but not by much, and the car behind her was uncomfortably close. she sped up slightly, ready to put her foot on the brakes whenever neccesary.

wait a minute, are his break lights out? he's stopping!

she slammed her foot on the brakes, watching helplessly as her car continued to slide forward, her front bumper colliding with the rusted tail hitch.

her head jerked forward from the impact, banging against the steering wheel before it all went black.

she came to in the hospital, where audio was blurry and vision even worse as the doctor explained the symptoms of a concussion to her.

“it was a bad scene all around. you’re lucky you weren’t injured further.” the doctor insisted. “legally, I can’t allow you to drive for the next few days. is there someone we can call?”

realistically, the only name that came to mind was detective dishers. her parents were two cities away, and she didn’t want to disturb them. her sister was on vacation, and she didn’t want to bother any of her friends.

disher picked her up by the main doors, a matchbox twenty song playing on his stereo as she groggily slipped into the passenger seat, a plastic baggie full of prescription drugs in her hands.

“just take me home, randy. I don’t want to talk about it.”

the detective sighed. “okay. But you know you don’t have to come into work tomorrrow, right?”

great. no work meant no leaving the house. no leaving the house meant that her thoughts drove her to the brink of madness.

she simply couldn’t win.

as she slipped into her bed, she must have been slowly losing her mind as she swore that she could hear voices in her room as she was drifting off. she didn't think much of it, chalking it up to exhaustion as she let sleep claim her.

the following morning, she groggily puttered around the kitchen, assembling a light breakfast as she called her captain to explain why she couldn't come to wrok.

"hey captain, i was in an accident last night-"

"i know. randy called me. are you doing okay?"

"no concussion, but the doctor wants me to monitor for signs, so i'm not super hopeful. disher drove me home, and i'm supposed to hear from the mechanics about the state of my car later today."

"well, take care of yourself, yn. if you need anything at all, you have my number, and you have randy's. but don't call adrian, he's probably just going to make things worse."

she sighed, rubbing the skin on her forehead, fingertips teasing the edge of the bandages from where she'd hit her head on the steering wheel. "thanks leland."

"my my, you look a little worse for wear, don't you?" the voice came from nowhere, very thickly british and definitely not familiar.

she spun around, spying a figure in the kitchen doorway. his long hair dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, and his skinny jeans were ripped to oblivion. she screamed, reaching for the metal ladle in her utensils jar.

"how the fuck did you get into my house?"

"your house?" the man looked confused. "sweetheart, i've always been here. i wouldn't throw that at me, if i was you. you'll just damage the wall behind me."

"who the fuck are you?" she stammered. "you're not real, this is just concussion brain, i should call the doctor back and go another scan-"

"you're seeing ghosts, honey." this voice was older, deeper. kinder. and significantly less british. another body materialized in her kitchen, sitting at her breakfast counter. she was round and plump, with a rosy face and sweet, kind eyes. she wore a nun's habit over a white blouse and a long navy skirt. "rick over there died in 1984. i'm sister katherine, and i died in 1961. lovely to meet you properly."

"the fuck do you mean i'm seeing ghosts?!" yn screamed, the sound reverberating through her skull. "you're not real!"

"i understand that this is a lot to take in." sister katherine insisted "but it must have something to do with the accident you were in last night."

"how do you know about my accident?" she pushed, brandishing her metal spoon as a weapon.

rick rolled his eyes. "because we watched that detective bring you home last night. tell me, are you two sordid lovers? if i wasn't dead i would love to get a piece of your-"

"enough, richard!"

"what the hell is happening right now? has he been watching me in the shower?" yn hissed under her breath, starting to pace back and forth in front of her stovetop.

"if you've got a head injury, you should really sit down." the nun kept trying to reason with yn, but nothing in this situation made one iota of sense.

she shakily sat down in one of the ikea chairs in her kitchen, and noted how badly her hands were shaking. she dropped the ladle on the table, clasping her hands together. she refused to look at rick and sister katherine, instead focusing on where her shellac manicure had begun to chip.

she really should book herself in for a fresh one.

"we have visitors!" rick's voice carried, his ghostly body reappearing next to yn. she startled in the chair, refusing to meet his eyes. "he looks annoyed, and he's wearing mechanics coveralls. i wore a pair of those on stage once. ladies love 'em."

"he was in a very unsuccessful hair band." sister katherine clarified.

"i need both of you to stay quiet for a second." she sighed. "he must be from the body shop."

she closed the front door behind her, although that was unlikely to do much against two beings who could walk through walls, but a girl could try.

"are you y/n y/l/n?"

"sergeant y/n y/l/n." she corrected. "san francisco pd. can i help you?"

"i'm from clint's garage, detective disher brought your car in last night."

that didn't sound good. behind her, she could hear a car door slam in her neighbour's driveway. oh good, jake was home. she tried not to let her eyes wander, waiting with bated breath for what the mechanic was going to say next.

"the front bumper was totally smashed, caved in where you hit the trailer hitch. the hood is also bent back a bit from impact. the good news is that the airbags didn't go off, which means your car can be fixed. the bad news is that it's going to cost more than your car is worth."

she could feel her headache coming back, her legs beginning to feel weak. she knew her car wasn't worth much due to it's age. but the city didn't pay her enough for her to be able to take on the payment for a new car outright, even if she was buying used.

she felt unsteady, and her body was starting to list to one side as two strong arms picked her up.

"i've got you, just keep breathing." the smell of cologne was overwhelming. there was no way in fuck that was rick, and it wasn't the mechanic.

she'd know that texan drawl anywhere. and that meant that right now, she was in navy pilot jake seresin's arms.

and that idea made her feel a little more faint that normal.

jake seresin had lived in that neighbourhood longer than her. she'd moved into her rental house just over four years ago, and he'd bene there on viewing day in a tight white tank top and jeans, getting all sudsy as he washed his silverado in the driveway. she couldn't resist watching from the window as he got into his truck in full navy fatigues before he went to work, or when he worked out shirtless on his front lawn since the porch took up most of the back.

she cleared her throat. "can i get an estimate for the repairs? will it cost less than buying a whole new car?"

the mechanic sighed. "look, even at randy's mates rate, it would still be more advisable to buy something new. go to a dealership and look at the preowned lot, anything less than 20k will serve you a lot better than getting this car fixed up would."

she couldn't form words, mind going fuzzy from the feeling of jakes hand on her lower back, and the thought of going back inside and facing the ghosts again.

"thanks, man. she can't drive for a few days anyway," jake started "but i'll bring her to the car lot when she's better and help her find something nicer."

jake helped her back inside, where the ghosts were watching giddily with their heads through the kitchen wall.

"you didn't have to do that." she insisted, avoiding eye contact with sister katherine while she spoke to jake. "i really can't afford a new car."

she could hear sister katherine in the background, whispering to rick. he's a hot one, and a real gentleman too!

"but you can't drive that one either. it's almost twenty years old, yn." jack frowned. "treat yourself. finance if you have to. take the scrap money and run, that's what i would do. you think the navy pays me well either?"

she fought the urge to bury her head in her hands and slump down on the table. "can you drive me to my follow up at the end of the week? he just wants to make sure there's no brain damage. i was going to get detective disher to do it, but if you have the morning off its less hassle."

jake looked puzzled. "why would you want me to do it instead of your boyfriend? shouldn't that be his job?"

"why the fuck does everybody think i'm hooking up with randy?" she shouted. "jesus, jake. he's my fucking boss."

the pilot's face was red as he carded his fingers through his hair. "he just seems to be over here a lot. he drove you home from the hospital last night and i just assumed."

"he's over here a lot because his girlfriend threw him out so sometimes i let him sleep on the daybed in my spare room while he finds a new place. we've been friends for years, we were at the academy together. i could be where he is if i wasn't too chickenshit to go into the field."

jake paused for effect. "well, this is awkward. are you sure you never thought about it."

despite herself, yn laughed. "we hooked up once back at the academy. we were sooo not compatible."

"i fucking knew it!" she heard rick shout in the background. "men and women can't just be friends!"

"richard!" sister katherine cut him off. "let the girl speak and mind your own business."

"lucky for you," jake grinned, totally unaware of the ghosts arguing behind him, every syllable of their argument making yn cringe inside "i happen to have the day off on friday. i'll take you to the doctors, and if everything is good, we can go to the car lot where i bought my truck. the guy will give you a good deal."

"i want a volkswagen. that's non-negotiable." she warned.

"that's fine. we can even stop by the garage and pick up your scrap money to put towards a deposit."

her chest felt tight with everything jake was offering to do for her. it was a slight anxiety, but a positive one. nerves that sprung to mind when she thought that maybe jake was offering to do all of these things for her because he wanted to be more than just her neighbour.

and as incredible as she knew it would feel to have a special place in jake seresin's heart, she'd been out of a relationship for so long that being in one again scared the ever-loving shit out of her.

true to his word, jake picked her up promptly at ten am the following morning. she had stressed about what to wear all morning, dodging criticisms about her outfit choice from sister katherine ('seriously, what on earth are they selling in the clothing shops these days? tops are supposed to go to the top of your jeans! what happened to dressing respectably?) and outdated sex tips from rick (which came with a knowledge of the ghost's kinks that she wished she could erase from her memory).

"just to be clear, you guys are bound to this house, right? you died here and now you can't leave?"

sister katherine nodded. "that is how being dead works, my love. we have to stay here while you go out gallivanting with your fancy man."

she stifled a laugh. "jake is not my fancy man. and neither is randy."

"whatever you say, cutie." rick winked. "and if you ever find yourself being undead in the walls of this house, give me a call and let me rock your world."

shaking her head with a laugh, she closed the front door behind her and headed over the grass to jake's house. he was waiting with two thermoses of hot chocolate and looked like he had just finished vacuuming the inside of his truck.

"good morning sunshine, let's go get you a clean bill of health!"

the wait to see the specialist was longer than the appointment. it lasted no longer than half an hour while the doctor took another brain scan and declared that there was absolutely nothing wrong with y/n aside from some superficial bruising to the skin on her forehead where she hit the steering wheel. jake insisted that her clean bill of health was worth celebrating, ushering her back into the truck and refusing to tell her where they were going.

"you know i'm a serving police officer, right? one call to captain stottlemeyer and there's a all points bulletin out on your truck."

jake laughed heartily. "i'm not kidnapping you, sweets. damn, you really don't like surprises."

"can't say i'm a fan."

minutes later, jake pulled off a secluded country road and into a parking lot lined in mulch. for a place that was so out of the way, the parking lot was packed to the brim and jake had to park the silverado what felt like miles away from the building itself. like a true gentleman, he helped her down from the truck's cab, one hand on the small of her back as they walked towards the large country store.

"a farmers market?" she giggled. "big bad hangman frequents farmer's markets?"

"how do you know my call sign?"

"you have it written on a metal sign in your garage."

jake winked at her, opening the heavy glass door. the country store was in a large refurbished barn, with the hayloft having been fully converted into a small cafe. his hand was warm through her cinnamon colored t-shirt as jake guided her towards the stairs to the cafe.

"do you like cinnamon buns?"

"of course i like cinnamon buns. who do you take me for?"

laughing to himself, jake had a large smile on his tanned face as he guided her towards a window seat. "make yourself comfy, sugar. i'll be right back."

she hated to see jake seresin leave, but she loved to watch him go, shamelessly watching the rippling muscles underneath his tight levis jeans.

he came back a few minutes later, two white china plates in hand, each one with a steaming warm cinnamon bun on top. as he passed her a plate, the cowboy made the bold claim that these were the best cinnamon buns in san francisco.

"i'll be the judge of that." yn said with a laugh, trying to pick up the sticky pastry in her hands in the most dainty way possible. the buns were large, mostly taking up the small plate.

"need a knife for that, sarge?"

"shut up, hangman."

"you know i outrank you, right?" jake joked, a sly look in his eyes.

she stuck her tongue out at the pilot, wishing she had a third hand so she could give him the finger. "bite me."

"all in due time, sugar."

she tried to hide the blush taking over her face, busying herself with taking the first bite of her pastry while she tried to ignore the images that jake's comment had conjured in her mind.

of course, the moan that she let out upon tasting the pastry did nothing to ease the sinful thoughts creeping into her mind. she could tell jake noticed, his breath momentarily catching in his throat despite the smile never breaking on his face.

"am i right or am i right?"

"fine." she playfully rolled her eyes. "you were beyond right. these are incredible!"

she beamed over at jake, wiping up some of the warm glaze on her chin that hadn't fully dried before she'd taken a bite. he was sitting across from her at the small table, and had yet to touch his cinnamon roll.

"you've got a little something..." he started, reaching a warm hand over the table to brush against her lips, wiping up some cinnamon that had been left behind.

her breath caught at the action, her eyes catching jake's blue ones. he truly was a beautiful man. time seemed to slow, jake's eyes slowly moving from her own to her lips and then back up again, her cheeks heating under his gaze.

"yn, can i kiss you?"

"yes."

he leaned over the table, gently rising from his wooden chair as he pressed his lips against hers. he was soft at first, almost apprehensive until she gripped his wrist where he was caressing her face, tilting her head back to give him a better angle and kiss him harder.

kissing jake seresin was everything she'd wanted it to be and more. if this was a movie, there would be fireworks going off behind them, and a sappy pop rock ballad playing as background music. perhaps something by lifehouse or matchbox twenty.

her lips felt sticky as jake pulled away, a goofy smile on both of their faces.

"you haven't touched your pastry." she said shyly.

jake grinned. "that's because you taste a lot nicer."

they stopped at the dealership on the way back, after having picked up the scrap money. yn test drove a volkswagen, fairly new with few miles on it. she decided to make it a point to come back within the end of the weekend, having already fallen in love with the little car. she felt like was, for lack of better words, walking on sunshine as jake pulled into his driveway, one of his large hands resting comfortably on her thigh.

he helped her down, looking forlornly over to her house, almost as if he'd enjoyed himself and didn't want the night to end.

"i have to go into work early tomorrow, and you've probabaly got heaps of work to do as well, so i'll let you get back to it." jake sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. "but, if you're up for it, i can stop by tomorrow and make you something for dinner?"

she smiled up at him, reaching to take his free hand in hers. "i'd love that." remembering her ghostly guests, she hesitated. "but maybe we could do it at your house instead?"

"i would like nothing more, sarge."

"good." she pressed up onto her tiptoes, kissing jake softly.

his hand snaked around her waist, slipping into the back pocket of her jeans as he deepened the kiss. she hummed contentedly, gently stroking his face with her thumb, hand resting on his cheek.

"i can't wait." she winked at him before she cut across her front lawn, backing towards her property. her southern gentlemen saluted her as she unlocked her front door, slipping inside the foyer.

"soooooooo." rick's familiar english drawl began. "how did things go with john wayne over there?"

and despite herself, yn was very much looking forward to sharing details of her budding romance with rick and sister katherine.

things were coming up roses for sargeant yn yln, and she was so excited to see what the future had in store.

[kasagia]

Secret affairs

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x fem!grisha! reader Summary: Rumours and whispers are circulating in the Little Palace that General Kirigan has found himself a mysterious woman with whom he spends his nights. One morning Ivan learns that the rumours are true. Fedyor will not rest until he finds out who their Black General's new lover is—who is the one who makes him much less grumpy. Requested by: @drinix (I AM SOOOO SOOO SORRY THAT IT TOOK ME AGES! BUT I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE IT, HONYE!!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤) Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

One morning, Aleksander sips his coffee and looks through the reports Ivan has just delivered to his desk. He has a meeting with his colonels in a few minutes, and he's struggling with his lack of sleep. At least this time, he has a better reason to stay up late than answering letters and planning new battle tactics.

He smiles, remembering the night he spent with you. He runs a hand over his jaw, trying to shake the thought of you beneath him. How you trembled at his every little touch, the sweet sounds you made as he struck your most sensitive spots with pinpoint precision, how wonderful you looked sprawled out on the bed, a clean, quivering mess as he tasted you to his liking…

"Forgive me, General, but I can't find your kefta." Ivan's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. Aleksander absentmindedly picks up the reports again, knowing full well that he has to read them before he goes to any meetings, and, ignoring Ivan a bit, mumbles under his breath, asking him to repeat what he just said. "I can't find your kefta, sir."

"My kefta?" Aleksander repeats, surprised. Ivan has never had any problems with this simple task before. Suddenly he remembers why his heartrender can't find his keft. "I must have left it at hers." Aleksander mutters under his breath, unaware that he is saying it so loudly that Ivan can hear him.

Heartrender frowns and stares at his general in shock as he casually takes his reports and heads to the main war room for a meeting.

As soon as Ivan enters the room, he meets the questioning gaze of his beloved. Feydor immediately notices how pale and nervous Ivan has become and that his heart is beating a little faster. He decides to ask him what happened. And a few hours later, Ivan confirms to Feydor the rumours that have been circulating in the Little Palace.

General Kirigan had a secret affair.

"I can't believe it! Him?" Alina's whisper reaches you as you sit down at the table right next to Fedyor.

"Who are we gossiping about? The healer who almost broke a bone in one of the Inferni yesterday while so-called healing?"

"No. Ivan couldn't find the general's kefta this morning. And when he told him, he mumbled that he must have left it at HERS. Do you understand? At HERS. HER. SHE. A WOMAN."

"Yes, Fedyor. I understood at first time when you said it." You laugh at his excitement about this new rumour.

"No you don't! You don't know what it means if you are not at least as interested and excited as me or Alina." Fedyor informs you in a very serious way.

You roll your eyes at his foolish behaviour and looks at Aleksander who is coming into the great hall. In his black kefta.

"No way! It must be someone from the Little Palace! Look at him, he is wearing it now! Someone had to give it to him." Fedyor whispers conspiratorially to the three of you, staring at the general.

You raise an eyebrow at him, amused when the man quickly feigns interest in his food as Aleksander's gaze falls on the three of you. He nods at you and leaves the room.

"Sorry, duties." You say and take an apple from the table. "Try not to interrogate everyone around you about the general's new beloved. She may get embarrassed or scared and leave him and he'll become a pain in our asses again." You tease him and leave him and Alina to discuss this new revelation.

You walk quickly through the hallway of the Little Palace, practically running after Aleksander. You burst into his war room and before you can say a word, his lips are on yours.

You moan softly, surprised by the suddenness of his kiss. You tangle your hands in his hair and hum against his mouth as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pinning you against the door. You’re breathless as he practically devours you, drinking in all your moans and whimpers of pleasure as his large, strong hands caress the cheeks of your ass.

"I was thinking about it since I left your side." He mumbles, pressing small kisses to your jaw. You sigh, digging your hands into the collar of his kefta and pushing him away from you with a heavy heart, but you have to get the message across to him before you get lost in each other again.

"You have to be more careful. Fedyor got something out of Ivan and knows you have a mistress."

"So you are my secret mistress now?" He asks, chuckling against your neck. You bite your lip as his beard teasingly grazes your neck, plump lips nipping at your skin.

"Call me that again and you will be comming back from my chamber to yours all naked." You growl, but your threat carries little fear as Aleksander begins to unbutton your own kefta.

"You wouldn't dare..." He mumbles against your skin and all you can do is tug on his hair in retaliation as he traces his marks across your collarbone and moves lower, approaching the valley between your breasts.

"So sure?" You gasp, trying your best to remain intimidate to him, but it is a challenge when his fingers work so smoothly in undressing you.

"Uh-huh." He mumbles and kisses you again, this time more forcefully than last time, making your legs buckle slightly. He holds you tightly by the waist and lifts you up, navigating through his room and laying you on his bed, which is filled with books.

"I... um... sorry. I should have cleaned up here." He mumbles to himself and throws the books to the floor in his haste. You laugh at him and grab his arm.

"I don't mind... besides it will be quite hard to explain why you suddenly clean your rooms without any suspicion about this new lover of yours." You tease him with a smirk, but he doesn't seem to share your good humour at all.

He's lost in thought, stroking your cheek with his thumb thoughtfully and not responding to your teasing, just staring at you sprawled beneath him, shadows slowly creeping out of his control and draping over the foot of the bed.

"Shouldn't we... make this official?" He asks, staring at you with those night-dark eyes of his. You shiver, surprised by his question.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat and control your slight panic attack as he continues to stare at you, waiting patiently waiting for your answer and searching your face carefully for any reaction.

"What for? That's... quite a comfortable... deal we are in. Besides, I don't want them to talk that I am your second-in-command just because I slept with you. And I thought you liked that our relationship is strictly private and well... not to anyone's eyes?"

"Yeah... yeah, I do. You probably are right. Having you in the darkness is much more entertaining than in the daylight."

You know from the way he frowns slightly that this isn't the answer he was expecting. But if anything, Aleksander is a pathological people-pleaser. So he doesn't say anything about his true feelings about the secrecy of your relationship and instead leans in for a kiss.

Which subconsciously makes you feel incredibly guilty.

"Come here... let me help you relax, moi soverenyi." You moan against his lips and straddle him, deciding that this afternoon you will serve your general.

But no matter how many kisses you press into his skin, how many marks you leave, or how many times you make him moan your name, you still feel a burning feeling of guilt inside.

You try with all your might to focus your attention solely on giving him as much pleasure as possible, but your thoughts involuntarily wander to his proposal. You weren't ready to show the two of you to the world yet. You weren't ready for the judgemental looks from others. You'd rather everything stay the way it was. Just you and Aleksander, your little secret, stole kisses and nights between each other's sheets.

You were completely happy with that. But as you can see, your Sasha wanted more.

And you weren't entirely sure if you could give it to him now.

You wake up blissfully aching. Aleksander's shadows float across his bedroom, obscuring the entire room, blocking out any sunlight. You turn your gaze to the man whose chest your head rests on.

You smile, watching the sleeping shadow summoner. It's rare to see him so... calm, rested. Unable to stop yourself, you run your hand along the line of his jaw and gently cup his bearded cheek. You stroke it with your thumb, drinking in his appearance, enjoying every tiny hickey you've left on him.

You lean down and kiss him sweetly, slowly, unhurriedly, enjoying the softness of his lips and the roughness of his beard. Kissing him had always been a surreal feeling for you. Sometimes you couldn't believe that you could actually press your lips against his and declare your claim to the most powerful Grisha that existed.

You feel him start to wake up as the kiss continues. He wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly by the waist, rolling you so you're straddling him as he kisses you passionately, hungrily. You sigh into his mouth, feeling his manhood press against you as if last night hadn't worn him out.

You run your hands over his chest and slowly settle yourself on him. You sigh as the head of his cock slowly opens your soaked walls. It feels so good and so damn full, as you settle yourself completely on him, as you become one. You bite your lip and hold your breath as he sits up, wrapping his arms around you tightly, digging his fingers into your back.

"Y/N..." He murmurs into your ear and kisses his lobe. You sigh, feeling him perfectly fill every little space of you.

"Morning." You gasp as he pushes you onto your back, hovering over you. He sucks hickies on your neck, mumbling quiet good mornings against your skin as he lazily thrusts into you.

You wriggle and moan beneath him, trying to press yourself as close to him as you can. There’s no space between you as he claims you with every thrust, destroying you for any other man. You sigh as he presses his lips to yours, kissing you possessively, stealing your breath with each deep, hard thrust into you.

He trails his kisses down your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he caresses your lips. You moan his name loudly as he suddenly sucks onto your breast.

He smiles evilly against your skin. Aleksander revels in the way you dig your nails into his shoulders as he works tirelessly to please you. He loved seeing you like this. Hair tousled against his black sheets, eyes closed from the rush of pleasure, mouth open in a quiet moan of his name when all you could think about was him. That was when you felt truly his. And it was a pleasant change for him to know that someone belonged to him, that he owned someone. It was just a shame he couldn't claim you in the sunlight as well.

A sudden movement in the war room makes you both freeze. Aleksander stares at his bedroom door and instinctively raises his shadows, causing them to wrap around the two of you defensively.

"General, we got a report from the west border with Fjerda..." Fedyor's voice trails off in the realization as the heartrender realizes he hears two heartbeats in Darkling's bedroom. Two fast heartbeats. "I... um... should I come later?"

"Preferably." Your lover responds, still on his guard.

You listen for Fedyor's footsteps and sigh in relief as he walks away. You laugh uncontrollably, which earns a soft chuckle from Aleksander. His heart heats up as he watches fondly as you laugh beneath him at the absurdity of the situation.

"Oh my dear saints. He's going to be so determined to find out who you're hiding under the sheets."

"Yes... probably." He replies. You frown thoughtfully, but you quickly distract yourself when he moves again. You moan, biting your lower lip and digging your fingers into his arm as he reaches deep, hitting that weak spot inside you that sends tingles throughout your body. "But you'll manage, right, milaya?"

You nodded, unable to utter any coherent sounds. He smiles pure evil and continues to pound into you at a punishing, rapid pace. You bite your lip, almost drawing blood as you try not to moan his name too loudly in the darkness of his chambers.

Yep... you definitely loved your stolen mornings with him.

A few hours later, you smile to yourself as you pack your things. Due to suspicious activity by the Fjerdans on the border, Aleksander decided to go and see for himself what was going on. You were supposed to be on the lookout for Morozova's stag.

Despite the sudden events of today, you couldn't just forget about the morning spent with him. The thought of it made you blush, and a smile appeared on your lips. Lost in thoughts about the shadow summoner, you didn't even register when Zoya entered your room with a packed backpack.

"Oh saints, you had sex!" You jump suddenly at her excited squeal and stare at her like a deer caught in the light of a hunter's torch.

"I beg you pardon?"

"You had sex! You're glowing, relaxed, and oh my, you're blushing like a teenager! Who's that? Do I know him? Handsome? What order is he from? Or maybe it is she?" She bombards you with excited questions. You hide your face in your hands, not wanting to watch her wicked smile as she settles on your bed, staring at you intently.

"I... have no idea what are you talking about."

Before you can somehow defend yourself from her accusations, you are interrupted by a knock on your door. Fedyor enters with his things, all excited, with Ivan hot on his heels.

"Y/N, you won't believe it! He really does have someone! You have to tell me if you saw anyone in the corridors leading to his quarters last night when you were leaving his chambers after the night briefing. Remember every detail, I need to know everything."

"Y/N had sex with some mysterious lover." Zoya briefs Fedyor before either of you can add anything to the man's long rant.

Ivan raises a surprised eyebrow at you, silently analysing the information in his head. You see the gears turning in his head, and as he connects the dots—as Alexander's closest confidant after you—he blushes. You shake your head slightly, staring at him as Fedyor and Zoya exchange gossip. He swallows and nods silently. You note it as a problem for later and turn your gaze to the two excitedly gossiping Grisha.

"I can't believe it! You too?! Who is it?! With your busy schedule with Kirigan, I didn't think I'd have time to find anyone, but here you are. Is it that handsome inferni? The one who's going on the mission with us and has been hanging around you for ages?"

"I… would prefer to keep my… boyfriend's privacy for now. It's a quite new thing, we're… testing if we're a good fit." You stammer, explaining yourself, knowing full well that you can't deny these two for long. They would have known the truth anyway. You're terrified of the moment when they realize that you and Aleksander are something more.

"Oh, I understand that perfectly. Ivan and I went through the same thing, right, honey?"

"Yeah..." Ivan mumbles thoughtfully and continues to stare at you in shock. However, Fedyor is too lost in his conspiracy theory to pay attention to his significant other's behavior. For which you silently thank the saints above.

Eventually, you all gather up and head for the stables. Zoya and Fedyor mumble something to each other in the front, and you and Ivan follow. You decide that this is a good time to approach him and ask for discretion.

"You know, don't you?" Ivan stares at you for a moment, then nods silently. You swallow hard, nervously playing with the sleeve of your kefta. “Listen… can we keep this between us? I… I doubt it’s a good idea to talk about all this now. He doesn't need to have such rumours running about us in the Little Palace."

Ivan nods at you, agreeing with your words. But you can see that something is bothering him. For a moment he grits his teeth in silence, but then he mumbles under his breath, barely audible.

"He seems… less tense. Less worried." You blush along with him. You clear your throat and turn your gaze to the walls of the corridors you pass, thinking of a… neutral response to his observation.

"I... I guess he is."

"I think… I want to say… it's good that he has you." You look at him in surprise, almost tripping on the exit steps as he says this. The blush deepens on your cheeks as you think about what he told you. "Everyone needs their own Fedyor."

You smile, seeing his gaze on his other half. And perhaps for the first time you see that they actually fit together, and Ivan is worthy of your best friend. You wonder involuntarily if Aleksander looks at you like that when you don't see...

"Yeah... I think you are right. Thank you, Ivan. You are a good friend. For both of us. Well, mostly to him." You say, referring to Aleksander. Ivan nods in silent agreement.

This strange harmony between you seems to be going strong. You are united by one goal. The good of your shadow summoner.

The four of you reach the stables. Alexei - the inferni, who as Fedyor mentioned was supposed to join your mission and had a crush on you quite openly, runs up to you quickly. But your eyes and attention are focused only on the general. Or rather, on the general and his sun summoner, as other Grishas maliciously called it.

Your blood boils, a strange feeling of jealousy hits you like a hunter's shotgun hits an animal, and you can't even do anything about it as Alina is clearly flirting with him. All you can do is stand there and try to swallow the bile of jealousy with dignity as Alina adjusts the collar of Aleksander's kefta. He somehow senses your burning gaze on him, but you quickly turn away and mount your horse without even waiting for his reaction.

He's lucky you're not official yet. And that it'll be hours before you can calm down before you can talk to him in private. But you're starting to understand why keeping your relationship a secret no longer works for the Black General. Especially when you see the way his jaw clenches when you laugh at some joke of Alexei's, causing the young inferni to give you lovey-dovey puppy eyes, to which you wink back.

You may have been cruel, but the knowledge that your lover was as jealous of you as you were of him calmed you down a bit and lifted your spirits. And if by any chance you made sure that Alina rode with you and away from Aleksander during the journey, that wasn't intentional at all. Not at all.

"So... Ivan knows." Aleksander comments as you lay in his tent, wrapped in his arms.

Ivan stood guard over your small camp while the rest slept. You decided to take the opportunity to sneak in on your shadow summoner to share the revelation. And maybe just a little to steal a few kisses and hugs from him.

"Indeed." You mumble, playing with his fingers that are slowly dripping shadows.

You bring one of his fingertips to your lips and press a small kiss there, which makes Aleksander's heart melt even more for you. He tightens his grip around you and presses a tender kiss to the top of your head before resting his bearded cheek on it with a small sigh.

"Well... sonner or later Fedyor will figure it out too. It's just the matter of time."

"Maybe... that's why I want to enjoy you in privacy for as long as I can." You prop yourself up on your elbow and lean in to steal a quick kiss. You pull away from him with a smile, but you frown, not finding any of the malice in his eyes that he would normally have at this gesture. Something was wrong.

"Y/N... Don't you think that's enough? We've been going around each other for a long time. I think the rest should know about us." A cold shiver runs through you at his words.

You try to control your heartbeat, but you know perfectly well that you are no longer able to hide your emotions from him so well. He knew you as well as you knew him.

He knew that you were not exactly keen on making your relationship public. That is why you cannot lie and pretend that it is not so. You have to convince him to change his mind somehow... but how?

"But it's so sexy to have you all to myself, a secret from everyone. Don't you love the thrill every time we sneak around each other for a kiss or something more?"

"I like that. But I don't like that I can't hold your hand outside the four walls of our chambers. I don't like that I can't go up to you and kiss you when you look so lovely after training with Fedyor or Zoya. I don't like that I have to watch others flirt with you and touch what's mine. I don't like that I can't make your cheeks blush in front of others. I don't like that I can't look at you for as long as I want without suspicion. I don't like that I can't play with your hair during particularly boring council meetings. I don't like that I have to hide the fact that I love you."

His confession hits you harder than any punch Baghra had ever given you during training. You swallow hard and kneel down next to him, watching him carefully as you try to process what he’d just told you.

"You... love me?"

"I do. And if it is not enough for you to make it public... I don't know if I can go on like this anymore. I don't know if I can keep my trembling hands from reaching for you in the light of day, not just in the darkness of night or my shadows. I need more. I need all of you, Y/N."

You stare at him, utterly shocked by his sudden confession. His words both overwhelm you and warm your heart, but it's not enough to quell the panic rising within you.

Because as much as you want to be his, as much as you want him to be yours, you know that the members of the Second Army won't look so... favourably on your romance. Besides the public opinion... you're afraid that once the thrill of excitement and mystery wears off, Aleksander's feelings for you will fade dramatically and he'll realise that you're not a good match at all and that Alina would be a better choice for him.

"I... it's hard for me... to give you an answer now." You mumble, watching anxiously as his brow furrows, face darkening as he retreats back into his shell and tries to hide his true emotions from you.

"I thought it should be easy. You either want me or not."

"I want you." You respond quickly, reaching out for his arm in panic and holding it in a tight, almost bruising grip. The desperation on your face makes Aleksander sigh with relief inside. You cared. That was for sure. So why do you hesitate for so long and postpone the inevitable?

"Then why do you insist on keeping us hidden?"

You don't answer. You know he'll think your uncertainty about his feelings is baseless and pointless. You think it's stupid. But you can't escape the overwhelming feeling that the moment your romance stops being a tightrope, his feelings for you will burn out like a candle. And you really wanted to keep him by your side.

Your silence, however, is not what he wants. Or something that could help you stop him. He nods silently and stands up from your makeshift bed of blankets.

"Where are you going?"

"Outside. I'll take guard duty for Ivan." He replies emotionlessly. You swallow nervously and sit up, following him with your eyes as he puts on his black coat as he is giving you a cold arm.

"Aleksander." You whisper with a pained tone in your voice. He stops for a moment and gives you a long, haunted look. He sighs and shakes his head at your silence and walks out of the tent, leaving you alone.

The lump in your throat grows and tears well up in your eyes. You close your eyelids and lift your head, taking a few calming breaths. You fucked this up. Not for the first time, but this time you really hoped you wouldn't get cold feet and that you'd somehow stifle that little voice in your head that had always questioned your worth.

Because you felt you weren't worthy of Aleksander. Yet for some twisted reason he thought you were perfect for him. Maybe this time you should take a chance and trust him? Trust that at the end of the day he'll decide you're enough and that you don't have to be a Sun Summoner to be his equal?

After a while, you stand up unsteadily and walk to the tent flap. You glance through it and freeze when you see Alina and Aleksander talking quietly by the fire. She says something to him and puts her hand on his shoulder, but instead of moving away from her touch, he seems to cling to her and answers her with one of those smiles that make your knees weak. You feel a painful stab in your heart. As if scalded, you jump away from the tent flap and lie back down in the pile of blankets.

You bury your nose in the material that has soaked in the scent of the Shadow Summoner and close your eyes as tears freely flow down your cheek and soak into the black fur. A hundred dark thoughts, doubts, and different scenarios in which Aleksander leaves you for Alina go through your head, and to be completely honest, you don't blame him. She was a real sun. How could you possibly compare to her? You were stupid and naive to think that he would stick to you when he could have her.

The only comfort you find is that at the end of your crying, when you had no more tears to shed and were only shaking uncontrollably, Alexander came back. He came back and practically silently laid down next to you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest, burying his nose in your hair. He sighed quietly and ran his thumb over your waist, holding you so tightly as if you were the most important thing in his life, and he couldn't let you slip through his fingers.

You don't make a move, don't give any sign that you're awake. You spend the rest of the night half-awake as you try to memorize the way Aleksander holds you, the way he still wants to come back to your bed at night.

Because something tells you that this state of affairs won't last long.

"Just as I thought, you look adorable even after a week of horseback riding and searching for a group of Drüskelle." Alexei compliments you as you and Zoya return to camp after scouting. You let out an uncontrollable laugh at this, amused by the absurdity of his flirting, and join the group sitting around the campfire.

"It's a pity I can't say the same about you." You say spitefully and accept from Aleksander, who is sitting next to you, a stick with a fish that Fedyor and Alina had caught earlier. Aleksander takes another stick with a raw fish and starts roasting it again. Everyone else laughs at your remark, even Alexei.

"You'll see, one day I will melt your cold heart." You roll your eyes at this. Zoya, sitting next to you, hits your arm in amusement.

"Come on, Y/N. Tell us about this secret lover of yours. Maybe it will cool Alexei's ardor."

Fedyor perks up at Zoya's words and nods enthusiastically, while Aleksander, sitting next to you, tenses slightly. You see that his knuckles have been clenching around the stick since Alexei began his flirtation with you. You fear his further reaction to this conversation, which is heading in a rather dangerous direction.

"You have a lover?! Who beat me to it?" Everyone around you laughs at the exaggeratedly hurt tone of Inferni's voice and the way he dramatically aimed his fishing rod at you. You smile involuntarily and shake your head, trying your best to keep the blush from spreading to your cheeks.

"Thanks for your concern, or rather curiosity, but my lover and I would rather keep our privacy. Besides, I can't talk about him left and right without his consent."

"Maybe it wouldn't bother him at all?" Aleksander comments, not looking at you, instead focussing his attention on the fish in the fire. You feel an uncomfortable feeling in your chest when he won't even look at you. The bitter feeling of guilt resurfaces within you, and you wonder how the hell you're supposed to fix what you've broken.

"Exactly! I don't care what you want, I wanna meet this guy who is the best sex you've ever had!" Zoya comments, practically making you choke on your own saliva and freeze in embarrassment.

Everyone around the fire is laughing at this and asking you snide questions about your mystery lover's… prowess. You glance briefly at Alexander and almost punch him in the arm when a smug, dark smile appears on his face. And from the mischievous glint in his eyes, you know he'll only put the final nail in the coffin of your embarrassment.

"The best sex you've ever had, you say?" He asks, amused, raising an eyebrow at you. You bite your lower lip and slam your shoulder into his, almost causing him to lose his balance and fall over the log. He laughs at your feeble attempt at attacking him.

"Oh, piss off." You snap at him but he just reaches over and ruffles your hair with his hand. It's only the deafening silence around you that makes you realize you've done something… wrong.

Everyone stares at Aleksander in shock, as if waiting for him to yell at you for overstepping his bounds, but he doesn't. You see genuine shock and surprise on their faces. Before your general can say anything, you take over, trying to save the day.

"What? Haven't you ever seen two good friends banter?" You sneer at them and nod at their sticks. "Your food will burn if you sit there with your mouths open and stare at us much longer."

Somehow your words disenchant them. They go back to their usual joking, teasing demeanour, and the camp buzzes with their conversations again. You glance at Aleksander, and you can see from his face that he doesn't like the way you've handled this. You know this was the perfect opportunity to admit you're together, but after what you saw last night—the way he acted with Alina—you got too scared to tell them. If they all didn't know you were together, maybe his inevitable departure would hurt less?

You flinch as your secret lover sitting next to you suddenly takes the stick with the fish out of your hands.

"You'll burn it if you stay in your tangled thoughts any longer." He grumbles and takes the fish off the stick. You see he's completely abandoned his in favor of preparing your meal. You nod with a smile as he hands you a slice of bread and seasons the fish with the spices you brought with you.

Unconsciously to you, someone's eyes are watching the two of you closely.

Aleksander thrusts the food under your nose. You instinctively lean forward and bite into the offered sandwich, used to him feeding you, most often in the late hours of the night, when you both sit in the war room and spend time planning new tactics. You glance around quickly, but fortunately the others are too busy with themselves to notice. Or so you think.

"You're going to burn your own fish." You notice and take your food from him.

He's holding his stick back, and you decide to give him a bite of his before he gets his food. After all, he practically made you yours. You make sure no one notices and feed Alexander. He hums and brushes his lips against your fingertips before licking them teasingly. You sigh and punch him in the arm, to which he just grins wolfishly at you and winks.

You feel warm just from your playful exchange. And as the darkness grows deeper, you reach for Aleksander's hand and hold it tightly, shielding it with the hem of your coat. You smooth your thumb over the back of his hand, laughing at the stories Zoya tells. Aleksander seems much less tense, and a little satisfied, when you hold his hand tightly in yours.

And while you think no one has noticed, they have. Or at least one of them has.

At some point, Aleksander gives you his coat, insisting in a quiet conversation between you that you'll freeze and get sick if you don't take it and that he'll be fine because he's survived winters much worse than this one, and with much thinner clothing.

Your heart aches that he's had such an experience, but for the sake of peace, you take the black coat from him. You blush when he whispers that when he gets back, he'll make sure David makes you one that matches his, so everyone knows you're his.

And when he presses his lips to your forehead to check that your body temperature isn't too low for his liking, Fedyor awkwardly reveals that he's been watching you.

"Saints, Fedyor!" Alina squeaks in panic as the heartrender somehow loses his balance on the log and almost falls into the fire.

He hadn't leaned any closer to hear what you were whispering, and he hadn't nearly fallen into the fire in shock when he was the only one to notice their general's affectionate treatment of you. Not at all.

"Are you okay?" You ask him worriedly and kneel down next to him.

Fedyor swallows, trying hard not to show that he noticed the way Kirigan's gaze softens when he looks at you. He was such an idiot. How could he not have noticed that before?

"Yeah... yeah, I am fine. I should probably just go to sleep. Ivan?" Fedyor calls his beloved.

He helps him up and leads him to their tent. Before he can ask even one question about his well-being, Fedyor blurts out:

"Did you notice that Y/N and general are... very close?" Ivan at first seems not to react to his words. Fedyor only realises, through the very slight acceleration of his heartbeat, that perhaps his partner knows something more about... the unexpected connection between his best friend and the Black General. "Ivan... do you know what I think you know?"

"What do you think you know?" Ivan clears his throat awkwardly as they both enter their tent.

"Oh saints, you know right?! How long?! Was it that obvious?!"

Fedyor's mind flashes back to a million moments when your feelings for each other were painfully obvious. He remembers how Kirigan would let you playfully tease him, how he would always make sure you weren't overworking yourself and were eating the right amount of meals, and how he would look after your well-being. Hell, the general even delayed your trip to the fold because you were sick with a cold from your recent trip to Kertch! And he had behaved like a jilted, angry, resentful lover during those months! It was so painfully obvious that Kirigan was head over heels in love with you... but were you? Or was it just a passing fling? Fedyor had to know more.

"That's why we shouldn't get involved and let them decide for themselves… Fedyor, honey, where are you going?" Ivan asks confused as his other half runs out of the tent.

Fedyor throws a quick see you later over his shoulder and runs to your tent hoping to find you there so he can have a serious talk with you.

And fortunately he succeeds.

"You told Ivan, and you didn't tell me?! I am your best friend!" Fedyor shouts at the entrance to your tent. You stare at him, holding the report the falcon just delivered to you in your hands, as you are trying to understand what he means. You blush as you realise what he could be so angry about.

"I… since when did you…"

"Oh please. You've obviously been like this the whole time. I'm a fool for not making the connection. It's literally written all over his face that he loves you. What about you?" Fedyor sits on your blankets. Your palms are sweating and you put the reports on the ground, wondering how the hell you're going to get out of this situation now.

"I… it's complicated."

"Love is quite complicated. Maybe that's why you gave Alina a deadly look a few days ago when she was practicing her powers with the general? And you snapped at her, giving her a completely traumatic tantrum when she lost her sword?"

"I… it wasn't intentional and you know it." You mumble, blushing even more, but this time with embarrassment.

"It's a simple question Y/N. You either feel it or you don't. And from what I see, you probably also… reciprocate. Although it's clear that he fell much harder."

"You think?" You ask with a smirk, unable to help yourself at his comment. Fedyor nods and stands up. He walks over to the shadow and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Yes. And believe me, I don't blame him. If I didn't play for the same team, or didn't have similar tastes as you, it would be really hard for me not to fall in love with you."

"Yeah, I know. We'd be a great couple if you weren't gay." You laugh at him and pull him into a hug. "But don't tell Ivan or Kirigan that."

"Sure. We don't want to upset our grumps, do we?"

Your laughter is the first thing Aleksander hears as he approaches your tent. He opens the flap with one finger and sees you standing in Fedyor's arms, laughing. A cry of jealousy and a sudden need to take you in his arms and hide you from the other man pierce his mind for a moment, but he calms down, reminding himself that Fedyor... is no threat to him. At least not romantically.

"Can I interrupt?" He asks and goes inside. You step away from Fedyor and nod at him.

Fedyor nods at him and leaves, throwing you a mischievous wink over his shoulder. Alexander notices this and connects the dots rather quickly. He walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. He plants a kiss on your forehead, then rests his chin on your shoulder.

"So I guess he knows?"

His hot whisper against your ear makes you shiver. You burrow your face into his chest, nuzzling his neck as you wrap your arms around him in an equally tight embrace. Maybe Fedyor is right? Maybe when you know… you just know?

"Yeah... At this rate soon the entire Little Palace will know."

"Do you mind?" He asks uncertainly, expecting his words to hang in the air and for it to take you a while to respond with another excuse.

But you decide to bet on the truth. Show him all your cards and the same vulnerability he has for you. It was going to be everything or nothing and you knew you couldn't put it off for long. Not if you didn't want to lose him.

"Partly. I... I am afraid that once it will stop being a secret affair you will... loose your interest in me. I mean... look at me. I am not Alina." You laugh nervously and try to hide your face in his black kefta. Aleksander is not having that. He gently takes your middle and forces you to look into his dark, beautiful eyes.

"I don't want you to be Alina. I don't want you to be anything else but you, Y/N. I love you as you are. Heartrender, healer, sun summoner, inferni or whatever else, I don't care. I care about you. The way you make me feel. The way you hold me. The way you kiss me. I want you for what you really are. Not for the power you hold. Not for anything other than you."

You can barely hold back the tears in your eyes. Instead, you just nod and lean in to kiss him softly. You melt, as always, at the softness of his lips, the way he gently cups your cheeks in his hands and holds you like you're the most important thing in his life, like he can never afford to lose you. And you hope it stays that way forever.

"You damn manipulator how can I say no after that?" You gasp as the kiss ends and he rests his forehead against yours. He chuckles deeply and envelops you in the tight, warm, safe embrace of his arms.

"You can't." He mumbles against your temple and places a tender kiss there. "You are all mine. As I am yours, milaya."

And you have to say, his words have never felt more true, as he kisses you with a passion unlike any other men. You only hope that he secretly draws 'mine' on your skin for the rest of your life… not just in his shadows and the darkness of the night.

[solxamber]

I really love your writing. If it is possible could you write about an ignihyde reader that has a crush on Rook, and leaves him flowers, poetry, and stuffed animals. As Rook is an excellent hunter, it shouldn’t take him long to find out who the reader is, but there’s a catch. The readers UM is shape shifting. They can change everything about their appearance. Thus, puzzling Rook to no end. How long till he figure it out, and what does he do when he finally catches the reader?

Ahh it's my first request!! I hope you like this!

Your love life has always been like an unfinished video game: full of potential but perpetually stuck on “pause” because talking to people is hard and you have a knack for turning invisible (literally) whenever you get nervous. But lately, you’ve found yourself in a completely different sort of situation—one that involves Rook Hunt, the most poetic hunter of Night Raven College and the object of your not-so-secret, shape-shifty affections.

And when you say not-so-secret, it means you’ve been leaving a trail of gifts that practically scream, “NOTICE ME, YOU HANDSOME WEIRDO.”

It all started innocently enough. A flower here, a cute stuffed animal there, and, of course, the occasional badly rhymed poem you stayed up way too late crafting. You know, typical middle-of-the-night crush behavior. The thing is, you didn’t sign your name. Nope. You decided to go full stealth mode, and using your Unique Magic to shapeshift every time you left a gift. One day you’re a tall, mysterious student from Pomefiore; the next, a shy sophomore from Savanaclaw. It’s the perfect plan!

Except… this is Rook Hunt we’re talking about. He’s a hunter, a tracker. He could probably find a needle in a haystack with his eyes closed, blindfolded, and reciting French poetry. So it didn’t take long before Rook realized someone was very much into him—and that someone was playing hard to get (catch?).

But here’s the twist. You’ve made yourself the ultimate puzzle. Every time Rook thinks he’s close to figuring you out, you shapeshift into a completely new person. One day he follows the scent of roses, thinking it will lead him to his admirer, only to find an Ignihyde student carrying around a bouquet of tulips. The next, he tracks down a trail of tiny stuffed animals, only to spot you as an unsuspecting Idia lookalike casually sipping tea in the courtyard. (You panicked, okay?)

“Ah, mon amour, you are like the wind—impossible to catch, yet always present,” Rook muses one day as he stands in the middle of the school courtyard, staring wistfully at a lone stuffed squirrel you’d left behind. Meanwhile, you’re hiding behind a hedge, shapeshifted into a first-year Octavinelle student, silently praying he doesn’t sniff you out like some kind of love detective.

But you can’t help yourself. Every time he gets close, your heart pounds, your magic flares up, and—poof!—you’re someone else again. It’s been weeks of this now, and Rook is officially stumped. He knows it’s you, but at the same time, he doesn’t know it’s you. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.

One day, you think you’ve outdone yourself. You leave Rook a stuffed owl—because, you know, symbolism—and a particularly sappy poem about how his eyes are like “two radiant moons lighting the darkness of your soul.” (Cringe-worthy, but heartfelt.) You shapeshift into an Ignihyde student again and casually start making your exit, congratulating yourself on a job well done.

But then, as you’re about to sneak back to your dorm, you hear it: “Ah, I see you at last, my elusive muse.”

Oh no. OH NO.

You freeze, half-transformed between yourself and the random character you picked that morning. Slowly, you turn around, and there he is. Rook. Smiling. Not just any smile, but that knowing smile, the one that says, “I’ve been onto you this whole time.”

You’re caught. And not in the cool, romantic way. More like the “rabbit caught in a snare” kind of way.

“I must say, you’ve been quite the challenge, mon cher,” Rook says, walking toward you with the confidence of someone who’s won every game he’s ever played. “But even the most skilled of hunters can’t resist a mystery. And what a mystery you’ve been!”

You try to play it cool, but your brain is currently doing the equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death. Do you transform again? Disappear? Fake your own death?

Nope. You’re paralyzed.

Rook stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly as if sizing you up. “I’ll admit, it took me longer than expected. Every time I thought I was close, you slipped away… like a wisp of smoke.” He steps closer, and you feel your heart about to explode. “But now that I’ve found you, I must ask—why all the hiding, my chérie?”

He knows. He knows.

With a nervous laugh, you finally drop the act—literally. Your transformation fades, leaving you standing there, fully you, cheeks burning. “Uh… surprise?” you manage weakly.

Rook’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ah! Magnifique! I knew it! My instincts were correct, but what a splendid revelation!” He takes your hand dramatically, and you swear he’s about to launch into a sonnet. “All this time, it was you—you—my mysterious admirer! The one who leaves me such lovely tokens of affection! And yet, you kept me in the dark, playing this delightful game of cat and mouse…”

You’re still trying to process the fact that Rook actually figured it out, while he’s over here going full monologue.

“I must say,” Rook continues, still holding your hand, “your talents are impressive. To evade me for so long—c’est incroyable! But why, mon cher? Why not reveal yourself sooner?”

“Well, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck, completely flustered. “I thought you’d think it was weird?”

“Weird?” Rook blinks at you, clearly baffled. “Why would I think that? You have done nothing but shower me with affection in the most creative ways! Why, I am honored by your attentions!” His grin widens. “And now that I’ve found you, I can return the favor, oui?”

“Return the—wait, what?” You blink at him, your brain short-circuiting again.

Rook leans in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Did you think the hunter would not also become the prey? My dear, you’ve caught my attention as well… and I must say, I’m quite taken with you.”

Your heart skips approximately fifty beats. “You… what?”

“Ah,” Rook sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “You truly are a marvel. But now that I’ve caught you, I won’t let you slip away so easily.”

You’re still standing there, trying to process the fact that Rook Hunt, Rook Hunt, the walking poetry machine, is flirting with you. And not just in a casual way.

Wait why is holding his bow like that? Is he trying to serenade you with just his bow as his accompaniment?

“So,” Rook says, his smile widening, “shall we continue this game of ours? Or perhaps… a new adventure, together?”

You stare at him, your face about to combust from sheer embarrassment and disbelief. “Uh… sure?”

And just like that, Rook laughs, a joyous, carefree sound, and pulls you into a hug. “Magnifique! The hunt is over, but the journey has just begun, my chérie.”

As for you? You’re pretty sure this whole situation is a fever dream.

But hey, at least you finally got your guy. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll survive his endless poetic declarations.

Maybe.

Masterlist

[blackenedsnow]

Heyy, if you’re comfortable doing so could I please get some Beetlejuice x fem!reader who’s a single mom? Just pretty much him being soft and comforting letting her know she’s doing a good job etc? Thank you in advance 💕💕💕 can be a proper fic or headcanons I’ll let you decide xx

beyond it

WARNING: References to the stress of single motherhood

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Single Mother! Reader

NOTE: I absolutely loved writing this!! I hope you enjoy this, and thank you so much for the request 💕💕

SUMMARY: Beetlejuice surprises you by being a source of comfort, helping you see that you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for.

It was late—too late for you to still be up. But as a single mom, you didn’t have the luxury of falling into bed as soon as the day ended. No, there were dishes to clean, laundry to fold, and tomorrow to worry about. And of course, your child had woken up twice already, needing reassurance from a nightmare.

You were running on fumes, slumped on the couch, your face buried in your hands. It felt like all you ever did was work. Just when you thought you could finally close your eyes and sleep, your thoughts picked up again—worrying about what needed to be done tomorrow, whether you were doing enough, whether your child was okay.

“Hey, dollface, rough night?”

This fucking guy.

That voice—raspy, familiar—cut through the fog of exhaustion like nails on a chalkboard. Beetlejuice. You didn’t bother looking up. He was probably lounging in his usual spot, perched on the armrest of your couch with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

"Go away, BJ," you muttered half-heartedly. "Not tonight."

The ghoul groaned dramatically. "Aw, come on! And here I thought we were past the whole 'piss off, Beej' stage of our relationship." You felt a cold presence next to you, then his hand—decaying yet surprisingly gentle—lightly brushed your shoulder. "I mean, after all the times I’ve stuck around, don’t I get any appreciation?"

You exhaled sharply, finally lifting your head. "Appreciation? For what, exactly?"

"For being a goddamn delight, babes!" Beetlejuice beamed, leaning back against the couch and spreading his arms wide. "For hanging around when no one else does. Gotta say, not a lot of folks could handle a single mom with your level of stress."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the tiny smile tugging at your lips. "If by 'hanging around,' you mean constantly being a nuisance, then yeah, sure."

Beetlejuice chuckled, his voice rough yet oddly soothing. His eyes, usually wild and manic, softened just a bit as they focused on you. “Ah, you love it. Don’t lie, babe.”

You shook your head, sinking deeper into the couch. "I’m just… tired, Beej. I'm really tired."

For once, he didn’t launch into another sarcastic quip. Instead, Beetlejuice shifted closer, his body language relaxed but attentive. “Yeah, I know. I can see it. You’ve been runnin' yourself ragged for, what, weeks? Months?”

Your eyes welled up, but you quickly blinked the tears away. “I just… I feel like I’m not doing enough. There’s always something I’m missing, something I should be doing better.”

Beetlejuice’s hand rested fully on your shoulder now, his touch surprisingly solid. "Oh, come on, you're killing it out here, babe. You think your kid’s got it bad? They've got you. And lemme tell ya, you’re doing a hell of a job. Better than most."

You glanced over at him, surprised by his sincerity. "Really? You think so?"

“Are you kidding? Babe, I see it. I see you juggling work, taking care of the kid, making sure they're happy. And yeah, it’s messy and chaotic, but guess what? They're fine. They're happy, ‘cause you’re busting your ass for 'em.” He leaned in a little closer, his expression for once free of mischief. “You’re doin' more than enough."

His words hit you hard, in a way you hadn’t expected. You didn’t know why, but hearing it from Beetlejuice—someone who you never thought would care about anything—meant something. It eased the tight knot that had been sitting in your chest all day.

“I just don’t want to mess them up,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “They deserve better than… than this.”

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, sweetheart." Beetlejuice’s voice softened. He slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “They've got you, and that’s more than enough. You’re not perfect—who the hell is?—but you're trying. And that's what matters. Trust me, when they grow up, they're gonna see that.”

You allowed yourself to lean into him, resting your head against his chest. His suit smelled like a mix of dirt and decay, but there was something oddly comforting about the way he held you, like he was actually trying to be there for you, to support you in his own weird way.

“Hey, tell you what,” he said, his voice low. “Next time you feel like crap, I’ll stick around. We’ll cause some shit together, huh? Might help take the edge off.”

You chuckled softly, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

Beetlejuice grinned, but it wasn’t the mischievous, cocky smirk you were used to. It was softer, almost tender. “You’re doin' good, doll. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—tell you otherwise.”

You looked up at him, and for the first time since he’d shown up in your life, you realized how much you appreciated him. Not just as the obnoxious ghost who wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, but as someone who—despite his crude humor and questionable ethics—actually cared. Maybe not in the typical way, but in a way that mattered.

"Thanks, Beej," you whispered, closing your eyes as you let the exhaustion finally catch up to you. "I mean it."

Beetlejuice stayed quiet for a moment, just holding you close. "Anytime, babe. Anytime."

[madelynraemunson]

HEY MADDY, WHAT’S ON TV? 📺

𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 (…𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬) part 1/2

🥡 steddie x freaky friday fanfiction • RATED: NC-17 🥡

SUMMARY: Dustin’s science experiment goes horribly wrong and his two ‘bickering besties’ have to suffer the consequences.

WORD COUNT: 11.4k words

CONTENTS CONTAIN: (EASTER) EGGS, WHEAT, METAL, PARALLELISMS, A PINCH OF COMEDY, ANGST, AND LOTS OF SWEARING

ALLERGENS: CHEESY, CORN(Y), SHELLFISH (sorry eddie)

author's note: might put this on ao3 idk this one's a big boi.... hey y'all! i’m a little late to the steddie body swap train, but have arrived nonetheless! also i’m so stoked that jamie lee curtis and lindsay lohan are currently working on a freaky friday 2!! one of my fave childhood movies and i can’t believe we’re getting a parte dos :,) also, jake alan = corroded coffin in this AU

🥠

“Jesus Chr— what did you do to my hair?!”

“What did you do to MINE?!”

Perhaps a rewind is necessary. Metaphorically, of course. Time travel’s not real! ;)

      ◄ ◄ ◄  R E W I N D  🎞️

The year is 1989. Camp Knowhere. And since it’s the last year before he ages out of summer camp, Dustin Henderson is determined to 'WOW' everyone with his newest invention.

“They’re kinda like boner pills.”

“Oh...! WOW...?”

It’s not the weirdest thing Steve's heard come out of Dustin's mouth. In fact, he's practically immune to insanity at this point, having been surrounded by hormone-driven teenagers for a month and a half straight.

“Look I know, it sounds crazy,” Dustin pleads. “But imagine being able to walk a mile in someone's shoes just by eating a cookie. They'd be like the Viagras of empathy!"

Again, not the weirdest thing Dustin has said. 

And for as long as Curly keeps hanging out with Eddie Munson, his Other Older Male Friend (O.O.M.F.) constantly like he has been all summer, it certainly won’t be the last.

Being a volunteer camp counselor hasn’t panned out as expected for Steve Harrington. 

For the past six weeks, Dustin has spent most of his time locked in his cabin trying to perfect his new creation. But he's been MIA for so long, Steve hasn’t been able to teach him how to start a fire, pitch a tent, or even pick Dustin's brain about being his guest for Show and Tell. 

Making s’mores. Canoeing. Telling scary stories in the dark. Dustin and Steve are missing out on actual summer activities. The real reason he signed up to be counselor in the first place. 

But you know who has been able to spend time with Dustin?

"Eddie and I spent almost every night trying to come up with good fortunes," Henderson boasts.

Not the counselor, but the Certified Loiterer.

Steve bitterly kisses his teeth. “That’s awesome, man! But hey, speaking of spending—"

"They are so clever too. You gotta hear 'em!"

"I'm sure they are! But now that you're practically finished, I was sorta hoping—"

“AND,” Dustin adds. “if you get a good one you can add ‘in bed’ after for some comic relief.”

Steve crosses his arms as he finds himself fading back into silence.

“You are destined for great adventures…in bed,” Curly smirks, waving a fortune in Steve’s face. “You will be met with great luck this week... in bed. You are a pleasure to have around…in bed.”

“Agh, please tell me one of Harrington’s lays said that,” comes a voice. “Otherwise this interaction is very concerning.”

Dustin gasps. “EDDIE!”

Speaking of The Devil.

Like nails on a chalkboard, in walks Eddie Munson with his fucked up voice, fucked up rep, fucked up hair, and a fucked up sense of humor to match.

“Hey, Henderson,” Eddie gives a curt nod. “Hey, Steve.”

“Munson.”

“I was just telling Steve about my fortune cookies,” says Dustin. “I can’t wait to win people’s hearts over at Show and Tell, along with my spotlight secret weapon.”

“What’s your spotlight secret weapon?” Steve inquires.

“You’re looking at him,” Eddie quips. “I’m Dustin’s music act for his Show and Tell.”

There’s a pang in Steve’s heart that he wishes wasn’t there. All summer, the Retired Cub Scout had been secretly hoping that Dustin would ask him to be his Show and Tell buddy. He had so many survival skills up his sleeve that he wanted the little twerps to know before they age out. 

But the stars had other plans, he supposes.

“My friend’s friend’s dad is a music scout for Cardinal Records,” Dustin explains. “If he shows up and sees Eddie play, Corroded Coffin may have a chance!”

“Yup,” Eddie nods. “We’re performing our new song Take Me Away.”

He hands Steve a piece of crinkled paper from his back pocket, to which Steve reads after clearing the lump marinating in his throat.

“Don’t wanna grow up, I wanna get out. Hey, take me away,” Steve reads.

“Aren’t the lyrics so metal?!” Dustin beams in admiration.

“They’re uh, very edgy…” Steve shrugs.

“And incredibly fitting, when you consider the circumstances. Just wait ‘til you hear Eddie and his band perform it!”

“I think I’ll be busy with camp duties...” Steve grimaces, handing the sheet back over to Eddie. “Sorry.”

“No worries, they will just perform in your garage. They still gotta practice. Been needing another place to do so too."

Steve's eyes widen.

“What?!” he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. When did we agree on this?”

“Uh, beginning of summer?" Dustin points out. "You said you’d be willing to accommodate any of my needs. Especially since my mom’s gone to her spicy book retreat and basically threw away keys to the house.”

Steve now recalls telling Dustin that. But nowhere did it say babysitting his replacement would be in the cards.

"I'm sorry Harrington, I know I'm kinda butting in…" Eddie acknowledges.

Finally, something he and Steve can agree on.

"But we're kinda desperate at the moment, so it would mean the world. You won't even know we're there."

“It’s still no!” Harrington blubbers. “Okay? With the loud music and Eddie’s screaming, I’ll have the Loch Nora book club moms with pitchforks at my door. We have a reputation to uphold.”

“Who’s to say the Loch Nora moms don’t want in on all the angsty fun?” Eddie smirks. “Corroded Coffin’s an acquired taste, but I’m sure your… progressive… neighborhood wouldn’t mind.”

"It's not that," Steve shakes his head. "Even though we’re ‘progressive’, my neighborhood is still very much suburban-families-with-young-kids. They'd call the cops on us, for sure."

But Loch Nora was just a decoy for Steve’s true feelings. If everyone sees how cool Eddie is, they’re going to make him their Comfort Grown Up. Then where would Steve go?

Especially if they caught a glimpse of those big, brown eyes and the way they glisten in the amber sunset. And apparently Dustin’s caught wind of this Munson Magic as well; because not too long after, he’s imitating Eddie, the coercion-via-cuteness factor ramping higher on his part. And how could Steve say no to his lil face?

“Just this one time, Steve?” Dustin begs. “Please, please, pleaaase?”

“Dustin…” Steve shakes his head. 

“Pleaaase,” a pouty Eddie chimes in, slyly gazing up at Steve through his long, batty lashes. “We’ll behave, Stevie. We promise.”

But Harrington is standing his ground. Eddie already stole his best friend away from him. His gig. His spot at the Cool Adults table. Did he want Harrington’s life too?

“NO!” Steve insists. "NO!"

“YEAAAH!” Eddie croaks into the microphone while he seductively strums at his guitar. “YEEEEAAAHHHH!”

Performing in Steve’s garage was a YES-go after all. Especially if free bud has anything to do with it.

"This dude and his band are pretty good," Argyle comments as he takes a long, savoring drag from his hefty blunt. "Corroded Coffin, man. They're gonna be big one day."

"Just wait til you hear his guitar solo," Jonathan adds. "Eddie's been working on it all summer for Dustin’s show.”

The walls of the Harrington household are forced to withstand a migraine-inducing bass while everyone — but Steve —  jams out, losing themselves in a song about wanting to stay young forever.

“Don’t wanna grow up, I want to get out. Hey! Take me away…”

Jealousy festers within the host as he watches, taking in the sight of an awestruck Dustin playing his air guitar alongside Eddie, resonating with the lyrics the way he passionately yells,

“I wanna shout out, ‘take me away…away away away’…”

“Someone take me away,” Harrington’s inner monologue spews.

But it’s not that Steve hates the song, nor is he having a miserable time with everybody. It’s not that he hates Eddie or his stupid raspy voice, or the way he makes the guitar sing with every calculated twiddle of his fingers and every provocative buckling of his knees. In fact, it’s the opposite. Steve just didn’t want to admit that Dustin’s O.O.M.F. — and the other members of Corroded Coffin — were actually… pretty cool. 

And judging by the fact that Eddie was most likely Dustin’s first choice for the talent show, there was a cornier, more ominous second thing that Steve isn’t willing to admit: it’s that the exclusion really hurts him.

“Same old SHIT,” Eddie sings. “Never ends.”

“WHOA!” Harrington exclaims, waving his disapproving hands in the air.

The band stops the song immediately, the negative feedback from the amp plaguing the air while they stare around in confusion.

“What?” Eddie demands.

Any chance there was for Steve to try to humble 'The Freak', he took. And clearly this time around, there was no hesitation.

“You’re not really gonna say the S word when you perform at Show and Tell, are you?”

“The S word?” Munson retorts. “What, is this preschool?”

Ba-dum-tss! goes the drummer.

"Gareth," Eddie scowls.

Gareth Emerson digresses with a sheepish shrug.

“No," Steve shakes his head. "But it’s still a summer camp for kids.”

Eddie chuckles at this. “Come on, Harrington. Don’t act like YOU weren’t cussing up a storm at their age. The kids are all in their rebellious phase anyways. They’re gonna love it.”

Eddie’s known Steve since elementary school. This is the same guy who held swear contests, who cussed because he thought it made him look ‘mature’. The same guy that used to call women “bitches”. The same guy who almost got suspended because he and Tommy H. were yelling out slurs during an assembly, but luckily his superintendent mom was there to pull some strings to simmer it down to one afternoon of detention.

Harrington couldn’t possibly choose now to care about profanities.

“I’d rather you not bend the rules of Camp Knowhere.”

Bend the rules?!

It doesn’t take too long for Eddie to figure out that the issue goes beyond Camp Knowhere. In fact, both of Dustin’s O.O.M.F.s know that. 

 “Why the sudden change of character, Harrington?” Eddie crosses his arms. “Huh? After all these years?”

"All these years, what do you mean all these years?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

Captivated, nosy eyes bounce back and forth between the two as they argue... on and on and on and on.

“This happens every time,” Jonathan hisses to Robin at a low whisper so that they don’t hear. “Do you think they ever get tired of it?”

"I actually don't know what you mean," Steve counters. "And quite frankly, I feel like you don't seem to really know me at all."

“Hey, I’m just following your lead,” Eddie shrugs. “You never took time to get to know ME when we were in school. Unless I had something you and your friends wanted of course.”

“So all of this is MY fault?”

“I never said it was.”

It’s almost ritualistic at this point, the arguing. 

Just then, Gareth starts up again, issuing a theatrical drumroll to ease the tension. It only seems to make it worse, judging by how Eddie and Steve hiss at him immediately.

“GARETH!” “EMERSON!” 

The drummer refrains once more. 

Steve is quick to pick up where they left off. “I can read between the lines.”

“Crazy thing to say for someone who’s paid people to write his book reports.”  

“I’m just…looking out for everyone, okay?” Steve snaps, reverting the conversation back to the kids. “The children might not care, but it may look bad on the counselors. And I like my summer gig, spending time with my best friend. I don’t wanna jeopardize it.”

A self-serving response. Eddie knew to not put it past Harrington.

Regardless, Eddie chooses to comply. Not to give Steve what he wants, but because Dustin's happiness is on the line. And if his best friend is happy and Corroded Coffin gets a record deal, then Eddie wouldn’t have to deal with Steve Harrington or Hawkins much longer. 

The band starts up again and, this time, remains uninterrupted. 

Meanwhile, Steve sulks back in his seat, unable to pinpoint why he felt like the issue wasn’t resolved. But he soon realizes that for as long as Eddie Munson is part of the equation, the problem will remain a constant.

“Same old stuff,” Eddie bitterly corrects himself. “Never ends.”

“Fortune cookie, anyone?”

Two hours feel like days when everyone is stoned. And given that everyone’s too tired (and high) to drive themselves home, a sleepover at Steve’s quickly becomes inevitable. 

“Did we get the same fortune?” Jonathan asks Argyle.

“No, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “Guess we’re not feeling sorry for each other tonight.”

Dustin chuckles.

“What are we feeling tonight? I’m thinking pizza.”

Leaving everyone else to decide on munchies, Steve and Eddie appoint themselves as the Designated Clean-Up Crew, searching for and rounding up any trash they see laying around.

“So, what are you up to nowadays?” Steve questions. “Since we graduated high school.”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Eddie offers a tense chuckle. “Still in The Biz, but the money’s good. Thankfully this time I’m doing it without my pops around.”

It strikes a nerve in Steve. He’d give anything to have his dad around. 

He also wouldn’t be proud to be in the same position as he was in high school. Didn’t Eddie want to grow as a person?

“That’s amaziiing.” Steve lies.

Uncomfortable now, Eddie clears his throat, shifting his attention back to Steve so that he can eat his own words.

“What about you? What’s The Hair been up to?”

“I work at Family Video and then help out at camp right after.”

“Try bringing that to the career fair,” Eddie scoffs jokingly.

“Sorry?”

“I said great gig you got there,” Munson perjures.

Their gazes meet for a brief, charged moment before quickly averting. 

Eddie watches Steve with both curiosity and disdain. 

This is who his best buddy is seeing on the side? It’s hard for Eddie to think of anything Dustin and Steve could possibly have in common. What would they even talk about? Maybe the new Brook Shields movie, hair gel, and their favorite ice cream flavors, but that’s just about it. And Steve Harrington doesn’t seem like the best influence for Dustin anyways.

Steve’s eyes flicker towards Eddie, trying to hide his scrutiny behind a thinly veiled expression of disinterest. 

He notes the way Eddie’s band tee has seen better days, the sleeves ripped and the print faded, and the way he absolutely reeks of Mary Jane and indistinct rubber from a Spirit Halloween store. If Dustin brought Eddie home to Mrs. Henderson, she’d probably stroke out. 

Just then, a very intoxicated Robin chimes in.

“Duuude, Eddie. It’d be awesome if Coffin got this gig.”

“Oh, I know right?” Eddie lights up immediately. “We’d be out of this rugged town once and for all and living life in the big city.”

The distaste for Eddie only amplifies with that statement. 

All of Steve’s life, he’s had nothing but good experiences in Hawkins. To have a “rough” upbringing, you had to be looking for trouble. Which is something Eddie and his father, Al seemed to have been doing since the beginning of time. 

“What’s so rugged about Hawkins?” Steve challenges Eddie.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” Eddie mutters.

“I would, actually,” Steve taps his feet impatiently. “Go on, tell the class, Eddie. What is so rough-and-tough about this part of town?”

Eddie knows Steve is trying to set him up. He thinks for a moment, carefully crafting his words before speaking.

“There’s just…” Eddie says with trepidation. “A lack of equal opportunity to succeed. Always has been. But in the city, opportunity is everywhere. For everyone. Indy would be a perfect, clean slate for us.”

It’s like a sock to the face. 

Lack of opportunity? Eddie is most definitely looking for problems now. If he wouldn’t consider Steve being nice enough to lend him his garage — even when he didn’t like him — an ‘opportunity’ to succeed, then what would he consider?

“I mean, sure. Hawkins has issues like any other city, but I think there are equal opportunities for everyone,” Harrington protests. 

“Very rich coming from you, Suburbia.”

“Uh oh,” Dustin mutters.

Now Steve is pissed. 

Does Munson think that just because Steve lives in a nice house he’s never had problems in his life? With that logic, Eddie isn’t going to get himself very far. It’s very evident now, given where he currently is.

“Why can’t you accept the fact that life comes for others too?!” Steve spits. “Life is also hard for me, you know!”

“Guys…” Dustin starts.

A bitter laugh expels from the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

“Life is hard for you?!” Eddie exclaims. “It’s hard for you? How can life be that hard? Hey, I’m Steve Harrington. My life consists of Daddy’s money, wearing hair pomade to the ceiling and getting rejected by girls!”

“Hey, why don’t we play that one song again!” Jonathan suggests. “You know the take me away, away, away, away, away!”

But Steve and Eddie are way too locked in, committed to tearing each other to bits because the other one started it. Eddie wanted to play that game huh?

“Well all YOU know is complaining about the consequences of your own actions!” Steve spews in return. “Oh look, I’m Eddie Munson, I’m painfully self-unaware, I’m inconsiderate of everyone around me, and I commit petty crimes then wonder why the cops hate me. AND I still live with my uncle – AT MY BIG AGE.”

“YOU STILL LIVE WITH YOUR PARENTS, HOW IS THAT ANY DIFFERENT?”

“AND! You’re as loud as your guitar. NEW-NEW-NEW-NEWWW. How about you evaluate your priorities if you want a good life, Munson? And make sure you at least have some ammo under your belt before coming for me.”

“Wow,” Eddie laughs. “I don’t know anyone more tone deaf. You think my walk of life was a choice?! Not everyone was handed everything on a silver platter, Steve. Not everyone’s lives are perfect like yours!”

“Sweethearts, anybody?!” Robin butts in, desperately waving the candies in the air. “You are what you eat, and everyone in this room is VERY, VERY SWEET!”

But the boys are only getting started. If this is Robin’s version of sweet, she was about to know what sour is real quick.

“You think my life is perfect?! At least you have a father figure.”

“I want you to assess the room we’re in, Harrington,” Eddie implores. “Family must love you a lot if they’re letting you throw parties and use drugs that a loser like me was nice enough to hook you up with.”

“Leave what I do outside of camp out of this! You know, as a counselor I’m not sure I like my kids hanging out with some loitering criminal all the damn time.”

“Not sure I like them hanging out with someone who acts like an overbearing, insufferable parent.”

“At least I have parents.”

Simultaneous gasps fill the room. 

The color drains from Steve’s face when he realizes the damage he’s done. He watches as Eddie seemingly deflates, shrinking himself down at the shoulders, and then sulking in place. A blank stare overcasts his eyes, lips desperately trying not to quiver while in front of an involuntary audience. 

“That was not cool,” Steve breathes. “I’m sorry.”

But Eddie is past the point of forgiveness. And caring. Steve’s already embarrassed the fuck out of him, so what’s Dignity at this point? Steve won. Whatever game he was playing.

“You’re right, Steve,” Eddie nods, bitterly. “You have everything I want. So why can’t you just give me this one thing?”

Steve really fucked up this time. He doesn’t even know why he even said that. It isn’t necessarily a brag that Steve has parents if they aren’t active in his life. Did he really want the last word so badly, he willingly let his anger steer the direction of the conversation? Sure, Eddie has backed off now, but the thick veil of suppressed tears did not make it worth it.

“Here,” Eddie quips as he chucks Dustin’s invention at Steve’s chest. “You win. You want a cookie for it?”

Before leaving the room, Eddie helps himself to one as well. Steve watches ashamed as Eddie storms away, not seeming to care who he bumps into on his way out. With the intention to make amends, Steve darts after Eddie, following him to the bathroom only to have the door slammed in his face.

“Eddie!” Steve knocks. “Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I thought I’d gotten over my anger issues and pettiness, so I don’t know why I said all that. It’s something I need to work on, for sure.”

No response. Steve tries again.

“You guys sound really good…” he musters. “I wish I had the courage to put myself out there like that.”

Steve gently taps the door with two fingers now. 

“Eddie?”

On the other side of the wall, Eddie is angrily wiping away his tears, upset at himself for letting someone who wears women’s hairspray and Tiger Beat cologne get under his skin. 

Giving up now, Steve sighs to himself and turns around to prop his back against the door. And in case Eddie decides to come back out, Steve decides to wait a while longer, reading the fortune from his fortune cookie in the meantime. 

“A journey soon begins, its prize reflected in another’s eyes. When what you see is what you lack, then selfless love will change you back.”

“What could that possibly mean?” Steve thinks to himself as he takes a bite from the cookie. 

And at the same time on the other side, Eddie also cracks open his cookie. A nice little dessert with some kind words are sure to make him feel better. He reads his fortune.

“A journey soon begins, its prize reflected in another’s eyes. When what you see is what you lack, then selfless love will change you back.”

“…in bed,” he adds with a chuckle.

Just then the ground begins to rumble. 

The sudden JOLT causes Eddie to drop his cookie and latch onto the sink for stability. Meanwhile, Former Cub Scout Steve who knows everything about Stop-Drop-and-Roll dives for the nearest piece of furniture, crawling underneath to protect himself from any debris that may fall onto him.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!”

“JESUS CHRIST!” Eddie yells.

Hawkins doesn’t get many earthquakes. But according to the news, Roane County was due for a big one. This could well be it. 

But as fast as the earthquake happens, it fades away. And next thing Eddie knows, he’s taking deep breaths, gathering his composure before he swings open that door. 

“Shit — Harrington, are you okay?”

Steve scans the room, looking around for any debris that may block his plight towards safety. 

“Yeah I’m fine, thanks Munson,” Steve gulps. He allows Eddie’s firm hand to hoist him up. “Just a bit shaken up. Are you okay?”

Eddie nods his head rapidly. “I’m fine too,” he insists. “I’m just worried about everyone else.”

Running back over to the garage now, a frantic Steve and Eddie call out to their friends to make sure they’re okay. But when they arrive, they’re shocked to see everyone conversing, laughing, and ordering pizza, almost as if nothing had ever happened.

Steve coughs to make his presence known. “Did you guys feel that?”

Everyone turns to them.

“Feel what?” Dustin inquires.

“There was an earthquake.”

“No, there wasn’t?” Robin cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes there was!” Eddie insists in agreement with Steve.

“Are you sure?” “An earthquake?”

“There wasn’t an earthquake.”

“What earthquake?”

“A chicken bake?” Argyle questions, clearly high as shit.

“An earthquake,” Jonathan repeats for him.

“An Earth Cake?!”

“QUAKE!” Jonathan hollers. “EARTHQUAKE!”

“EARTHQUAKE?!” the startled stoner yelps.

“No no no!” everyone yells out, doing their best to contain Argyle’s panic. “No, no, no!”

———

“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington. I wish I could hate you.”

Eddie winces as his neck partially kinks, due to the fact that Steve was too short-fused to get him a pillow for tonight.

At least the futon is comfortable. After flopping around like a fish out of water for a few minutes, Eddie finally feels completely relaxed. And as he flips through his mental catalog of Dream Scenarios, the aspiring rockstar begins to drift off to Dreamland, envisioning his guitar solo and jamming out with his favorite herd of sheep.

Meanwhile upstairs, Steve is too emotionally uncomfortable to hit the hay.

“Get a grip, Munson,” Steve grumbles, angry at the thought of the freeloader below him. “If you stopped thinking the world is out to get you, maybe you’d actually see some progress in your life.”

After one last fluffing of his pillow, Steve reaches into his drawer and pops a gummy into his mouth, bracing himself for more Camp Knowhere shenanigans that lie ahead and having to deal with the Freakazoid-With-a-Victim-Complex in the morning. 

12:00 MIDNIGHT

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ [insert creepy, grandfather clock noises here]

8:00 AM

Obnoxious, fluffy duvet covers stir Eddie awake.

Maybe Steve did come with some goodies after all.

Munson begins to execute his morning routine: a gangly-limbed stretch followed by an exaggerated bellow and blissful smacking of his lips.

BONK.

A lamp on the nightstand interrupts his ritual. It is then that Eddie realizes.

He’s in a bedroom. 

“What the—” Munson mutters.

Sitting up slowly now, Eddie takes a moment to assess the room around him.

Trophies and medals. Cologne and hair gel. A work desk with a basketball net over it, and a Tommy Hilfiger pop-up shop in the closet.

He’s in Steve’s room.

But where is Steve?

Curious about the time and day, Eddie instinctively goes to consult his watch that normally rests on his wrist.

It’s not there. 

Eddie then looks at his hands…his palms… Not a single blister, callous or hangnail. Those are not his hands.

“Those aren’t mine…” he thinks to himself.

Eddie then runs some stressed fingers through his hair, only to discover that its length is half of what it was when he fell asleep last night.

“That’s not mine either.”

Eddie shoots up immediately. When he finds himself standing, Eddie notices his food belly is gone, and that six pack abs have taken its place. Eddie then stares down at his feet, which are now exponentially larger. And hairier. And his thighs, now they’re a lot bulkier.

Suddenly Eddie’s hands explore his thighs, grazing his quads shortly before going to grope the two plump mounds of tissue behind him, both cheeks comparably twice the surface area of his palms!

“That’s DEFINITELY not mine.”

Absolutely panicked now, Eddie releases his grip on the butt that isn’t his and dashes out the room.

It appears that he is somehow not in his body. And the only person in Loch Nora with a dump truck for an ass — that Eddie knows of — is Steve Harrington.

But if he's Steve, then where is Eddie’s body?

The couch.

Eddie bolts over to Steve’s living room in search of his corpse. And to his surprise, he does find himself there, the chest that was his – but not his – at the same time rising and depressing as he watches himself sleep. 

“Christ if that’s not Steve in there, then I’m dead,” Eddie thinks to himself. “And quite frankly, I don’t know which one is worse.” 

Eddie clears his throat.

"H-hello? Steve?”

Nothing.

“Steve?” Eddie attempts again. “Hey. Steve. It’s Eddie. Wake up!”

Nothing.

“This is an emergency, Steve. I need you to wake up now, please.”

He gets a good snore out of the entity. Completely frustrated now, Eddie does not hold back.

"This is alarming, Steve! WAKE UP!”

Eddie unearths the bottom half of Steve's…his… body by pushing the blanket aside. When he tugs at his legs, Presumably Steve retaliates, grabbing onto the arms of the sofa to keep him in place.

“EARTH. TO. KING. STEVE!” Eddie screams.

"Whaaat, dude?!" the host in Eddie’s body grumpily demands.

"Aha! So you are Steve!"

"Duh, who the fuck else?" It demands. "Are you still high?"

"If I was, then that would better explain this."

Steve must’ve really done too much last night. Because for a while there, the person who he assumed was Eddie sounded a heck of a lot like him.

"That’s fucking weird," Steve shakes his head, turning over to look at Eddie. "For a second there, you sounded a lot like m—AAAH OH MY GOD!"

Palms clasping his… (well, Eddie’s) mouth now, Steve can only gasp in horror.

"WHO are you?” he demands. “WHAT are you?"

"It's me! It's Eddie!" Eddie gulps. "I'm... I’M INSIDE OF YOU!”

There’s a pause.

“I don't like how I worded that,” he admits.

"Yeah, neither do I..." Steve agrees. Suddenly he squints. "Is that a zit on my forehead?"

He reaches to swat it but Eddie swats him away. Through Steve's gritted teeth, Eddie hisses,

"THAT'S what you're worried about right now? What in the sane hell is happening?!"

“This isn’t the first weird dream I’ve had after taking an edible,” Steve remarks.

“Harrington, this ISN’T a dream. Okay? This is real life.”

“Yeah, okay Munson,” Steve scoffs, finally hoisting himself off of the couch to pace around. “I know a dream when I’m in one. I just gotta… pinch myself or slap myself around and I’ll be awake.”

But Eddie wastes no time.

“OW!” Steve yelps. “You just pinched my nipple!”

“You mean my nipple?”

He does it again.

“OW! Quit it dude, that’s harassment.”

The two make their way over to a mirror in the living room. To test out the impossible, Steve raises his right hand. The mirror shows Eddie doing it. Eddie begins to touch his face. The mirror responds with Steve doing it. 

It’s the confirmation they were too in denial to come to terms with. They somehow switched bodies.

“Oh god, I’m…” Steve stammers. “Wow…”

“Oh…GOD!” Eddie shrieks. He inches closer to the mirror. “I’m like an off-brand George Michael!”

“HURTFUL—”

“Harrington!” Eddie exclaims, turning back around to face himself. “What was the last thing you remember from last night?”

“Uhh,” Steve stammers. “A-all I remember was us arguing during dinner time and going separate ways after. And then there was a big earthquake that everyone insists that they didn’t feel. And then…we all went to bed, and I forgot to get you a pillow.”

“It’s okay, I’m over it,” Eddie pants. “Way bigger issues than a pillow right now.”

“And now we’re here.”

The two frantically pace around the living room. How can something like this possibly happen?

"Okay,” Eddie exhales. “Yesterday we were here with everybody. All of us were seemingly having a good time until we got pretty into it. Then the earthquake happened, we went to bed, and woke up sober… but in different bodies. Is this like…a rare phenomenon…some kind of medical emergency?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Steve shrugs. “This has never happened to me before. There has to be a scientific explanation for this."

Suddenly their two brain cells click.

"Henderson," they utter in unison.

“It was probably Dustin’s Empathy science experiment,” Steve infers. “Although I'm not sure how a fortune cookie would take walking-in-another-person's-shoes so damn LITERAL."

"God, we’re cooked!” Eddie groans. “And we can’t tell anyone but our friends about it or else we’re REALLY gonna end up as test subjects!”

Eddie starts biting his new nails and frantically pacing back and forth. Meanwhile, Steve centers in on his breathing before emotionally responding to the situation in front of him.

“Okay…” Steve exhales. “Let me just gather my thoughts… You’re in my body and I’m in your body.”

“...Right,” Eddie nods, annoyed since they’d already established that. “Does it seem less scary now that you’ve said it out loud?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head.

“Alright, cool,” Eddie shrugs. “Just checking.”

They look at each other, absolutely petrified of the reality that has now sunk in. And before they seek any other forms of help, there was one more final thought the two needed to share alone… one O.O.M.F. (Other Older Male Friend) to another, in the comfort of Steve’s living room.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

[cue panicked guitar rift here 🎸⚡️]

“This is so not cool, man, this is SO not cool!”

Argyle, Jonathan, and Robin are the first ones at the scene. Along with Dustin, of course, who is now evidently spiraling. 

“I need some air,” Dustin sighs. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

The scientist darts outside for a very reasonable and private mental breakdown. Meanwhile in his absence, everyone else attempts to get their Thinking Caps on.

“I mean…” Argyle pants. “It’s one thing to have a funky acid trip, it’s another to have an out-of-body experience…but this is…this is…”

“Freaky,” Jonathan finishes for him.

“It’s FREAKY!” Argyle agrees. “And it’s not like we can go to the cops, I mean, they'd never open their minds to something like this. They'd just ship us to the Kerley County KOOK HOUSE.”

“Or worse,” Eddie gulps. “The Lab.”

The room is drowned with frantic rambling once again as all the young adults talk over each other.

Will this be the new normal? A head-banging Steve and a preppy Eddie? It sounds like pure nightmare fuel. A disaster waiting to happen. And Dustin only programmed his fortune cookies for this… unintentionally. He didn’t program a way to undo it. 

Everyone is running out of ideas. That is until…

“Wait!” Robin exclaims. “What if you guys just…combined?”

The idea is met with retaliation.

“I beg your finest pardon?” “WE WHAT?!”

“Wait!” Eddie exclaims. “No, no, yeah! I get it. What if we… what if we just… RAN… into each other and the force will be great enough to switch us back?”

“Right! Right!” Steve frantically agrees. “Right, the greater the force, the greater the impact, and we’ll be back in our bodies in no time.”

Steve and Eddie are on opposite sides of the room before anyone else can register it. Kicking his foot around like a bull, Eddie warms himself up while Harrington takes deep breaths, grounding himself before the ordeal.

“Are they really about to…” Argyle begins.

“Sh.. sh..” Jonathan stops him.

“I really wanna see how this goes,” Robin adds.

“Okay,” Eddie huffs before he lets out a battle cry. “EN GUARDE!”

“OH GOD!” Steve shrieks.

“AHHHHHH!” 

“AHHHHHH!”

SMACK! PLOP!

Luckily the floor breaks their fall. The commotion grabs the attention of Dustin, who had just finished his meltdown. But at the sight of seeing his two friends attempt to combine, he could feel himself being launched into yet another one. 

“Okay,” Dustin sighs as he walks back in. “What the hell?!”

———

“Language, Dusty!”

The next brainiac to consult on the list is Suzie, Dustin’s girlfriend. Spawning from the Mormon Capital of the world (Salt Lake City, Utah), Little Miss Beauty and Brains is known to have a solution for just about anything. Until now, it seems.

 “I’m sorry for the language, Suzie. I’m just freaking out,” Dustin blubbers. “It’s not every day my best friends switch bodies and I have no idea how to change them back.”

“So let me get this straight…” Suzie sighs. “Steve is inside of Eddie, and Eddie is inside of Steve.”

“Okay, can we please stop wording it like that?!” Eddie pleads.

“Sorry, Steve.”

“I’M EDDIE!”

“Jiminy Cricket, this is so confusing.”

And what a sight for confused eyes it also is.  But as painful as it is to admit, it’s interesting watching “Steve Harrington” stomp at the ground muttering “Jesus H. Christ!” while “Eddie Munson” nitpicks everything about his hair in the mirror.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” Suzie suggests. “How did this start? What did you use for your ingredients, Dusty Bun?”

“Passionfruit and cohosh,” Dustin answers firmly. “Well-known, NATURAL stimulants of oxytocin.”

“And you said they ate the cookies containing these ingredients?”

“Yes, and they got the same fortune which I programmed for them to feel empathy for each other when it happens. Their bodies should’ve released an immense amount of oxytocin. Instead, they uh well, they switched bodies.”

“Dusty Bun… there is no such thing as an oral oxytocin!”

“Why not?” Steve questions.

“Because it would just get destroyed in the GI tract,” Suzie explains. “Meaning there wouldn’t be any ‘stimulants’ to absorb into the bloodstream.”

“Meaning oxytocin would’ve never been released in the first place,” Eddie’s breath hitches.

“It’s also notorious for being unable to cross the blood-brain barrier,” Suzie adds. “Something always happens before it’s able to. This may as well be that something.”

“But… if it gets destroyed in the stomach…” Dustin wonders. “Then how the hell did Steve and Eddie still end up switching bodies?”

Suzie shoots Dustin a dirty look.

“How the heck…” he corrects himself.

Suzie softens up immediately. “I don’t know. Our Heavenly Father works in mysterious ways. This may have happened for a reason. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’m sure it serves a Divine purpose.”

“Well, can it SERVE a little faster?” Eddie grumbles. “I’ve got a Show and Tell to practice for and Harrington’s got children to babysit. We obviously can’t do that for each other. People are going to think we’ve gone crazy.”

Suddenly a light bulb goes off in his head.

“Wait. Henderson! Give us a couple more cookies. Maybe if we get the same fortune again, we’ll switch back!”

“NO! No more cookies!” Steve butts in. “Who’s to say you won’t end up inside another person whose body you didn’t wanna be in?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Okay…” Dustin stops him, disgusted at the fact. “Enough.”

“Dustin is right,” Suzie nods. “Enough arguing for now, and no more fortune cookies with matching fortunes until we can find out what’s wrong!”

The boys watch as Suzie walks back towards her desk and returns with some papers and pencils.

“Here. My homework for you two is to write down every little detail there is to know about each other. This includes your day-to-day, your hobbies, and even habits. No one can know what is really going on behind the scenes.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t like what you’re implying. We don’t have to… live life as each other… do we?!”

“In the meantime, yes. You do.” Suzie confirms. “And it will be uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie. But what else can we do?”

“Uh, go through all of Dustin’s fortune cookies until we find a pair so Steve and I can ingest THOSE!” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, and there goes BOTH my Show and Tell items!” Dustin hollers.

“Dusty, don’t worry,” Suzie speaks again. “You will get to showcase your friends and fortune cookies at Show and Tell. I’ll be doing my own research to ensure that this happens. This includes talking to some monks, priests, and rabbis. We WILL get to the bottom of this.”

The three leave Suzie’s cabin feeling absolutely defeated. 

Of course this would happen the summer Steve finally got his hair under control. And of course this would happen the moment Eddie has a potential record deal at the palm of his hands. Any other circumstance would have been okay, despite the freakiness factor. This was just shit timing if they ever did see it.

And if Suzie can’t fix it, they’re screwed.

When they get far enough away from the girls' cabins, Steve excuses himself to the nearest water fountain. In contrast, Eddie shows himself to the closest Porta-Potty, the safest place for him to have a conversation he wouldn’t be caught dead having.

“Hey God,” Eddie grumbles. “Me again.”

———

Adapting to each other’s lives certainly wasn’t easy.

It started with switching cars.

Steve’s BMW has sensitive brakes. Eddie’s beloved van, Halen, on the other hand requires more force, more aggression, something Eddie believed Steve would bust his toe doing.

And Eddie can only hope that when Steve is running around town as him, he doesn’t embarrass him all too much. He’s already not off to a good start, with a stupid Thundercats t-shirt on and his hair up in a bun.

“And when you’re outside with the kiddos, make sure they wear sunscreen,” Steve advises him. “You're a camp counselor, after all.”

“Got it.”

“And that an epipen is with you at all times,” Steve adds. “Some of the kids have bee and nut allergies and those reactions can be lethal.”

Make sure this. Make sure that. It’s odd for Eddie to be hearing it all in his own voice. Has Steve always been this annoying?

Eventually Eddie gets tired of it and consults his Walkman, blasting “Take Me Away” through his headphones to drown out Steve’s rambling. Rambling on and on and on and on… on and on and on and on….

“Eddie!” Steve shouts. “Are you listening?”

“Don’t wanna grow up I wanna get out,” Eddie sings. “HEY! Take me away.”

Eddie was listening. In fact he listens and pays attention more than Steve knows. He just doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“I’m gonna get you a real job,” Steve says to Eddie.

“A real job?” Eddie tuts. “My job is real. I sell real drugs and bring in real money to help my Uncle afford our really real rent.”

“But I’m not gonna be the one doing it.”

“Sure you are. You’re me.”

“Munson, no!”

“Harrington, yes.”

“I’M NOT SELLING KETAMINE TO MINORS, EDDIE.”

“Aw. But you fit the stereotype,” Eddie smirks, rather cheekily. “Now chop chop, Rick’s expecting royalties on said sales.”

“Maybe I can land you a hospitality job. Or maybe a front desk job. Something that comes with benefits. Something practical.”

“A Munson with a normal job in Hawkins?” Eddie can’t believe his ears. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Perhaps there is a silver lining in all of this. 

For the average Hawkins resident, getting a job is no issue. It was never a choice for Eddie. Given his father’s less-than-cookie-cutter reputation – and Eddie being an involuntary extension of him – he couldn’t believe Steve couldn’t grasp that getting a conventional job is hard. And Eddie always thought Harrington needed some humbling. This is the perfect scenario for it.

“Take your feet off your dash,” Steve grumbles. “Steve Harrington doesn’t do that.”

“AyAy, Captain.”

“And stop head-banging in my body, will ya?” Steve begs. “You’ll break a sweat and un-pomade my hair.”

“God, you’re so anal about everything, Steve!” Eddie scoffs. “I feel sorry for those kids, I really do.”

If Eddie’s going to be walking around in Steve’s body, he at least wanted to relax first. But even that was impossible, given that Steve is a talker and alleged goodie-two-shoes-who-discovered-empathy-on-drugs-and-that’s-all-he-preaches-now (with the rules of a mother whose son was allergic to everything but water).

The car ride is more tense and quiet as the two approach Knowhere. Eddie is quick to scurry out when Steve approaches the drop-off curb, a little speech already prepared from the first nerve Harrington managed to get on in the morning.

“Loosen up that manbun,” Eddie commands once he’s out of the car. “You look like the Buddha went thrifting in Chicago. You also need to unclench your asscheeks a bit more if you wanna be me. And to put more fiber in your diet. How’s that for advice?”

SLAM! goes the door. Steve normally would’ve been pissed, but since he’s driving Halen, he’s lenient about it. So he watches Eddie walk away, in a stride that looks like he's constantly got a wedgie, over to the camp and towards the kids he is to watch until Show and Tell Day.

“WEAR SUNSCREEN!” Steve hisses, one last time. “…I don’t play about my skin.”

———

“Hey, Steve!” a group of campers greet Eddie as he makes his way into Knowhere.

God, this is so weird.

“Hey…kiddos?” Eddie greets them in return.

“We’re gonna go diving in the lake, just letting you know.”

“Thanks for the invite,” Eddie tuts. “Sounds like a lot of fun. Just uh, wear sunscreen.”

“Well, we try to invite you but you never wanna come with us.”

“Says who?” Eddie demands. “It’s summer, everyone goes to the lake.”

“Everyone but you,” a kid points out. “You turn us down every time.”

“I do?”

“All the time,” another kid confirms. “You say it ruins your hair.”

"I was...joking," is all Eddie can come up with.

"Really? Because it doesn't sound like you were," another child counters. "You already don't like that the UV rays have the potential to damage your hair cuticles, which aids in your fear of dryness and breakage. Furthermore, swimming in a lake filled with miscellaneous, unidentified bacterium is another concern, apart from the warm water having the potential to dry your hair out even more. Also, at windy temperatures of about 80 degrees, typical for a Hawkins summer, your hair when damp will start to frizz. Which is where your pomade and Farrah Fawcett spray come in handy. And on summer days, you give your hair 32 hours before the next hair wash rotation, to which the cycle starts again. We know the drill, Steve. You've explained it multiple times. And we get it now that you don’t like the lake."

Even the kids think Harrington's insufferable. Eddie can only shake his head in disbelief.

"I'm not who I was a day ago," Eddie shrugs. "...literally."

"Huh?"

"You gonna let me join or what?"

Suddenly, the kids’ eyes begin to light up. Steve Harrington joining them at the lake? It was going to be the most fun day they’ve ever had!

"Sure!" the kids cheer excitedly. "Al-right! Steve is joining our party!"

Eddie smiles to himself, proud of the reaction he got from the eager children. Excited cheers? Smiling faces? Now THAT is how you Camp Counsel.

And now that Eddie thinks about it, he realizes something. He’s spent most of his youth in survival mode that he never got to let loose and have fun. And while he has Steve’s body and physical activity levels, he is certainly NOT about to let that go to waste. Pomade? Eddie thinks to himself. Meet Trash Can.

“Hey guys! Wait for me!” Eddie calls after the campers. “CANNONBALL!"

Meanwhile Steve sets off to find Eddie a job.

A real job.

He tries Hawkins Mart. The roller rink. The movie theater. The coffee shops. Something that involved social interaction and hard work. 

"Hi there," Steve grins politely. "I'm Eddie Munson, and I'd like to apply for a job."

But Hawkins is anything but receptive to it.

"No."

"Nope."

"Sorry."

"Munson, eh? You related to Al Munson?"

"NO!"

Apparently misdemeanors and run-ins with the law make it impossible to land a good gig. It was no wonder now why Eddie stayed where he was comfortable.

Though, it's unconventional.

Steve is just about to lose hope when those looking for help didn't even want him.

But he wasn’t giving up. There has to be something Steve can do to increase Eddie's chances of landing a good job.

Just then, he realizes. 

Maybe it’s not Eddie’s past, but his demeanor. The way he carries himself. If he didn’t dress like a vessel for Satan every single day, this conservative town would probably take him more seriously.

It's one of life's twisted games. Steve didn’t make the rules. And he sure as hell can't change it. 

But there is one thing he can help Eddie do. He can help Eddie play the game. Master it.

And that’s when Steve sees the scissors.

———

So you can say sunscreen is the least of everyone’s worries.

“Jesus Chr— what did you do to my hair?!”

“What did you do to MINE?!”

“I had to let her breathe man,” Eddie explains. “God, Harrington. No wonder you’re always in a mood. Holding your hair up with so much gel, MY HEAD FELT HEAVIER THAN A BOWLING BALL.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve challenges him. “Well your hair was so greasy, I could’ve pat it down with a paper towel like it’s PIZZA.”

The two are at it again, reaching at each other’s hair and then swatting each other away like flies. Suddenly Robin butts into the quarrel, emerging from the kitchen with amusement spread all across her face. 

“Oh…my…god…” she says.

Steve and Eddie simultaneously stop their bickering and pan their gazes over to her. Unable to contain her laughter, Robin releases a hearty chuckle in front of them.

“Holy shit, this is the greatest thing since disposable cameras,” Robin tsks. “On that note, let me go get mine.”

“NO!” both Steve and Eddie refuse.

“This is so humiliating!” Steve whines. “I look like someone literally mopped the floor with me!” 

“You're embarrassed?!” Eddie exclaims as he points to his own, original body. “Whose Peepaw died?! Why am I wearing a grandpa sweater sourced from the crusty back bins of Goodwill?!”

"I thought it'd be fitting attire for your library job that I got you."

"You got me a job at the LIBRARY?!” Eddie shrieks. “Out of all places?"

"No other place would hire you!"

"Can’t say I didn’t warn ya."

“And why does my hair LOOK LIKE THAT?!” Steve demands. “You went into the lake with the kids, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

Eddie shakes his head at him, baffled. “God forbid, I – the camp counselor — do camp counselor things! I did exactly what you told me to do.”

“WHERE DID I SAY YOU COULD MESS UP MY HAIR?”

Steve takes a moment to mourn his glorious mane. Meanwhile, Eddie starts brainstorming how he’s going to rob a high end salon for all their hair growth serums. 

Just then, Robin reemerges from the shadows with her camera, panning it directly at the two of them, as if she were some eager journalist fighting for her spot on the front page of National Geographic.

“Say cheese, freaks!”

———

Eddie was having a hard time being Steve.

Being Hawkins’ most desirable male apart from Billy Hargrove was harder than he thought. Because while women worshiped the ground Steve walked on, it was hard for flight-risk teens to take the Pretty Boy seriously.

“Christopher!” Eddie hisses. “I told you to stop domesticating the raccoons, you little shit.”

Living in the trailer park, Eddie’s no stranger to those feral, yet adorable, beady-eyed beauties. And while they were cute, holding your hand, refurbishing your trash, and performing for crackers, there was an unspoken agreement when it came to those kinds of animals: you are to never take them in.

“But it’s for research!” Christopher pleads.

“I wouldn’t care if it was for the Nobel Peace Prize,” Eddie scolds him. He places his angry hands frustratedly on his hips. “Those things can be rabid, violent, and aggressive when you least expect it. Trust me on this. Raccoons are better left alone in the wild. They can’t live with people like us.”

A low, miserable groan furls at the base of the boy’s belly. He kicks at the dirt beneath him.

“Ugh, you ruin all the fun, Steve,” Christopher whines. “Eddie Munson would never treat us like this.”

That statement just about nipped Eddie in the soul. Was this what being a buzzkill is like? Little did Christopher know that it’s actually Eddie scolding him. And that the kids were not only hurting Steve’s feelings but his as well. 

Meanwhile Steve wasn’t having a grand time being Eddie either.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOY?!”

He almost died. Quite literally. And if it hadn’t been for Wayne launching himself across the room to stop it from happening, the odds of he and Eddie ever switching back would’ve gone from unlikely to zero.

“What?!” Steve demands.

“What do you mean, what?!” Wayne demands. “You eat that thing you’re going to wound up in the hospital! Again!”

Steve’s eyes trail down to the delicious shrimp tacos he had bought for takeout from Estrella’s. 

Eddie is deathly allergic to shellfish. And with just a single bite of that shrimp taco, he would be in the back of an ambulance with hives and a closed-up throat. And judging by the fact that Eddie and his uncle didn’t necessarily bring home the ‘big bucks’, an invoice from Hawkins Memorial Hospital wouldn’t be an ideal situation to put him through.

“We’re already two months behind on rent,” Wayne grumbles. “You eat those tacos, kick the bucket, and rack up them bills, I may as well join ya six feet under.”

No tacos, no time and a half at work, and no solution to the problem at hand. No wonder Eddie was always an angsty mess. It definitely showcases in those lyrics too.

———

“Take me away, away, away, AWAY”

A killer guitar solo rips through the Harrington garage as Eddie strums away at the chords. 

In hindsight, it looks like Steve is the rockstar. But the feral energy is unmistakably Munson’s, to which Dustin can’t help but get lost in, dancing along as a one-man-mosh-pit to the brilliance of Corroded Coffin’s discography.

“Same old stuff, it never ends.”

“The song sounds so cool hearing it in Steve’s voice,” Dustin beams. “And I can’t believe you put him in a crop top.”

“It’s like dressing up a Barbie doll,” Eddie jokes as he puts his guitar away. He then turns his torso towards Henderson’s field of view. “Look… Harrington’s an innie.”

Dustin cackles at the sight.

“Hahaha, no way!” he cheers. “I’m an outie.”

“Me too.”

The garage lets out an insulated hum as Steve strides in with the tacos. He cocks an eyebrow, confused at the sight of Dustin and Corroded Coffin comparing navels with each other. 

“What did I just walk into?”

Eddie’s eyes light up at the sight of Steve.

“Ooh, is that Estrella’s I smell?” he inquires.

“All yours,” Steve grumbles. “Found out today that I can’t have shellfish.”

Eddie smirks at the realization.

“But I can,” he sings. “Because I’m Steve Harrington.”

Eddie rushes over to Steve to acquire the food. Steve goes over to greet the rest of the boys and to issue Dustin a long-awaited high five.

“Mmm…” Eddie coos. “Take a good look at these washboard abs, Innie. They’ll be gone for as long as I can have these tacos.”

Steve makes a face. “I can’t believe you put me in a crop top.”

“I can’t believe you cut my hair,” Eddie shrugs.

But he seems to have gotten over the fact. Hair will grow back. There were larger issues at hand today. Like how exactly Eddie is going to perform with Corroded Coffin at Show and Tell.

“Listen,” Eddie wipes his mouth. “Harrington. I have a favor. If worse comes to worst and we can’t switch back on time, I need you to perform as me for Show and Tell.”

“And why exactly would I do that?”

“Because it’s our one shot to make it big.”

“Again, why would I do that?”

“Because you love me,” Eddie sneers.

But his face drops when Steve doesn’t return the energy. 

Nowhere in the fine print did it say ‘Steve Owes Eddie’. So why would Steve bother? It’s a lot for Eddie to ask of someone he’s openly mocked for years. But now that he needs something, suddenly Steve is the coolest person in the world? It doesn’t work like that. 

“Hey…” Eddie begins. “I know you don’t like me, okay? Whatever animosity you have towards me, I hope we can move on from it one day.” 

Steve refuses to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“If you do this for me, I’ll be eternally grateful,” Munson adds. “And maybe just maybe — when Corroded Coffin makes it big and we start touring around the world — I’ll be out of your hair forever. Literally.”

“Seems transactional.” 

It leaves a bad taste in Eddie’s mouth. It was always ‘Terms and Conditions’ with Harrington. Never has he ever considered the other person’s feelings. Never has he ever done anything out of the goodness of his heart. It was always, “What do I get out of it?”. Always some sort of fucked up business move. Just like his father.

“You view everything as a transaction, don’t you?” Eddie scoffs. 

“Why would I do favors for someone who’s done nothing but disrespect me? I value my time and energy. I’m not wasting it on you.” 

“But you can waste it on being a camp counselor, right? The kids aren’t so hot about you anyways, so I don’t know why you keep showing up.”

“Because Dustin is there. Because I’m a good friend. You wouldn’t know sacrifice and loyalty if it hit you in the face.”

“Ah, there it is. The performative activism in plain sight. We all know that this is about Dustin. AAAAlways been that way.”

“Of course my summer is about Dustin,” Steve argues. “You’ve had him all year. Spending every second with him and breathing down his neck.”

“I’M the one spending too much time with him?” Eddie scoffs. “Breathing down his neck?! You’re the one who got a gig to be closer to him.”

“Does it register with you that it’s because I DON’T SEE HIM MUCH AT ALL ANYMORE?” Steve shouts. “He’s always at your stupid D&D games and never wants to hang out with me! You’re taking the spotlight, like you always seem to do!”

“That’s IT!” Dustin barks. “I have HAD it with you two fighting all the time.”

Finally, it’s quiet. And normally the two would be stoked about it, but seeing Dustin on the brink of tears does not make the last word worthwhile at all.

“Not even a life-changing catastrophe will make you guys stop! You’re in each other’s bodies for Christ’s sake and still going at it like cats and dogs.”

Dustin starts back towards the house, kicking at the chords beneath his feet that are blocking his dramatic exit. All Dustin has ever wanted from those two – and quite literally every adult in his life – was co-existence. A notion so easy, yet no one has ever been able to give him that. Not even with his damn empathy cookies.

“It all makes me feel like a failure. Locking myself in my cabin for six weeks to have my fortune cookies yield THESE results? My last year at camp too.”

“Dustin–”

“And if you guys keep this up, then I don’t wanna spend the rest of my summer with either of you. How’s that for compromise?”

“Hey. Buddy…” Steve starts again.

“Henderson!” Eddie calls at the same time.

But it’s already too late. Off Dustin goes, Camp Nowhere notebook in his arms, walkie in his pocket, and car keys jingling furiously around his fingers. Nothing worth displaying at Show and Tell if the grown ups were going to act younger than the campers there. And if Dustin’s anger wasn’t already prominent, the way he backs out of Steve’s driveway is a dead giveaway, judging by the screeching tires and the pop of the engine as he steps on the gas.

“Damn,” Jeff comments. “Taco ‘bout a tough crowd…”

Ba-dum-tss! the drum sounds.

“GARETH!” Steve and Eddie growl.

"Scott Clarke."

Hearing that name nearly gives Eddie whiplash. Especially because it came out of Steve’s mouth.

"Huh?"

Steve repeats himself. "Scott Clarke? Our middle school science teacher?”

Steve is perched at the bottom of the stairs, wading aimlessly around in guilt. Eddie watches as he props himself against the rails of his fancy staircase, almost as if to serenade him with an apology song of sorts. 

"When we were kids, he headed the Hawkins Middle AV Club,” Steve recalls. “Nancy was in it, and so was Mike and so was Sinclair, Baby Byers, and Dustin.”

“Go on…”

“Well…whenever they ran into trouble, Mr. Clarke was always there to help,” Harrington shrugs. “Always been very personable, non-judgmental, and most of all, he’s knowledgeable.”

“Okay…”

 “And with his degree from MIT, he’d be the one most likely able to get us out of this mess,” Steve emphasizes. “Just in time for Show and Tell.”

“What makes you think he’d want to help former students like us?” Eddie demands. “We weren’t in the AV club or anything.”

“Because he cares, Eddie. Current students or not.”

There’s a pause.

“Remember that one time you came into homeroom with a black eye?” Steve reflects. “And Clarke made you stay after class so he could ask if everything was okay at home?”

Attempting to mask the mushy feelings underneath, Eddie simply shrugs. Steve persists.

“Other teachers would have assumed you got in a fight or something. Even if that was the case, none of them cared to look further into it. No one except Mr. Clarke.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie admits, choked up now. “Yeah, I almost forgot about that.”

It actually was a fight that happened that day. Some random kid at school. But there were also times Eddie has gotten in scuffles with his father, typically when Al Munson stumbled home too drunk for his own good and tried laying a hand on either him or Uncle Wayne. And Mr. Clarke, having grown up with Al, knew what he was capable of. Meaning it was his unspoken civil duty to look out for (Munson) Junior.

“And,” Harrington sighs. “I’m kinda really desperate here. I want you to be able to perform at Dustin’s Show and Tell. You and the band have a shot at this. I wholeheartedly believe that. And I don’t have much faith in my ability to perform as you. Neither does Dustin, it seems.”

“Steve…” Eddie begins. 

“And sure, I was upset about not being Henderson’s first choice for a while,” Steve rambles. “But I’ll be okay. The kids can learn survival skills another time. ”

Grateful tears start to form in Eddie’s eyes. He’s never seen this side of Steve before. 

“My hopes and dreams don’t depend on Show and Tell,” Steve mumbles. “And if it means a producer from Cardinal Records is going to be there, then getting Wayne and yourself out of debt does.”

Their eyes meet again.

“I can’t take that away from you.”

Suddenly the rocker feels his knees buckle.

It feels as if Eddie’s soul is about to leave his body. Or Steve’s in this sense. Struggling to keep his composure, the ever-so-rugged Eddie Munson clears his throat.

“…I didn’t think you paid attention to any of that, Steve.”

“I pay attention more than you think,” Steve counters. “And if my observations are right, Mr. Clarke might have the answer.”

Steve shrugs, dangling the keys to Eddie’s van around his fingers. He hula hoops them around as Eddie remains floored, pondering above him.

“Well?” says Steve. “You just gonna stand there and gawk, ‘Harrington’? Come on.”

Perhaps walking and gawking would be more productive. Without further hesitation, Eddie races down the steps and follows closely behind Steve before shutting the door to the house.

“Wipe your feet,” Steve commands as he unlocks the doors to Halen.

“What do you mean wipe my feet?” Eddie snaps. “It’s MY van!”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who’s been driving it,” Steve counters with a glare. “And I’m saying wipe your feet.”

Nonetheless, Eddie sighs and does as he’s told. But he’s not happy about it. 

Never in a million years did he think Steve Harrington would tell him how to run his own van. Nor did he think Harrington would actually end up being a good dude. Both were very humbling experiences. And while King Steve drives them off to Hawkins Middle, willingly blasting Metallica and doing his best to head-bang, Eddie crosses his arms and stares blankly out the passenger side window.

“I’m never eating anything Dustin makes me again.”

———

"So..." Eddie prompts. "Can you fix us?"’

“If it isn’t broken, then do not fix it,” Mr. Clarke advises. 

There was only so much that could be disclosed to their former teacher. Being an educator also meant being a mandated reporter, and it’s without a doubt government officials would bust down the doors of Camp Knowhere and run a freak raid on Dustin’s science experiment had they known the truth. Steve and Eddie had to gloss over practically everything.

“I appreciate and am honored to know you two trust me with your dilemma,” Mr. Clarke nods. “That being said, it is normal for gentlemen your age to go through an identity crisis after experimenting with recreational drugs. It will subside, but only if you don’t fight it.”

A decade can certainly change things. Steve and Eddie never expected their most logic-driven teacher to embrace his heart, dressed in a brown linen robe, as he calmly kept them on standby with soothing, meditative “Ommm”s while they spiraled into desperation in his ‘BACK TO (S)C(H)OOL’ classroom.

“But what is the science behind this?” Steve demands. “Is something happening in the…the… what did Suzie call it? The blood-brain barrier? Why would… Harrington and I both feel like we are living the life of the other person?”

“To question everything is to not know peace,” Mr. Clarke soothes them.

He’s saying this while criss-cross-apple-sauce on his desk, by the way.

“Sometimes, it is best to simply let things be,” the educator warns. “By going against the grain of the water, you are blocking the potential you can reach if you had been in a flow state.”

“Good God, you choose NOW to go on a spiritual retreat?!” Eddie hisses. “When we need science and your genius mind the most?!”

“If not now, then when?” Mr. Clarke mumbles. “If not you, then who?”

For the first time in his life, Eddie feels plagued with academic regret. He wishes he paid attention in Clarke’s class. Meanwhile Steve is considering having a word with his superintendent mother, because no way in hell is some barefoot, most-likely-vegan lunatic about to indoctrinate the future kids of America. 

“If not you… then who?” Clarke repeats. “If there's one thing I learned during my time in research… and mindful meditation…  it's that sometimes the answer is right in front of you. Or within."

Steve and Eddie look at each other.

"The world is full of obvious things," Mr. Clarke says. "...which nobody, by any chance, ever observes. Sherlock Holmes."

Accepting the absolute bust, Steve and Eddie storm out of the door and back down the stairs of their prepubescent alma mater. 

“Son of a bitch,” Eddie curses under his breath. “The damn hippies got to him before we did.”

As the two walk down the stairs, Steve sneaks a few quick glances Eddie’s way. Seeing him upset didn’t necessarily make him feel so hot. The answer is clear: they need to venture beyond a Mormon child and a middle school science teacher. They need to consult the big dogs. 

“We can go to the Indianapolis Science Center,” Steve suggests. “And maybe ask some people there. There’s also the university. If we flag down a professor from the physics or chemistry department, maybe they can offer us some insight. Or…”

“Just give it a rest, Steve,” Eddie surrenders.

“What?” Steve questions. “No! We’ve got to figure this out before Show and Tell. It’s in a couple days.”

“What’s a couple days?” Eddie demands. “We’ve been like this for nearly a week. What makes you think it won’t last another week? Or indefinitely.”

Eddie kicks at an empty carton of orange juice at his feet while Steve watches with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He didn’t want Eddie to give up. Not yet, at least.

“Hey I’m not going to let you blow this shot, Munson,” Steve demands firmly. “I know how much this means to you. This could finally be your ticket out of Hawkins. You guys were meant for the Big City.”

“No,” Eddie disagrees, absentmindedly. 

Eddie’s gaze veers off to the side, a sadness in his eyes so profound that Steve almost starts tearing up as well. 

“All… the answers… point…to no,” Eddie continues. “Can you imagine what the world would be like if everyone followed their dreams? We’d have no one doing the conventional jobs. It's not in my cards, I fear. Maybe I was always meant to stay in Hawkins, being everyone’s weed man and no one’s first choice.”

“Eddie…”

“But thanks for trying though, Harrington. Doesn’t go unnoticed.”

———

To be continued…

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[maelancoli]

PADDING OUT DIALOGUE SCENES

in another round of very unprompted writing advice i thought i figured i'd share my two cents when it comes to the topic of struggling to fill out conservational scenes. another thing i see a LOT of lately is a general fretting among writers who find that dialogue comes easily to them but the rest is a struggle. for me it's often been the opposite, i had to work at honing the talking part but description? i've always done a little too much tbqh. but funny enough the solution for both is not disconnected.

a lot of it will come down to knowing your character. what are their ticks? what are their filler words? are they bold and expressive when they're speaking? or are they withdrawn and shy? deciding the behavioral quirks of your character will improve your instincts when trying to be more descriptive. do they fidget with their clothes? do they pick up objects and toy with them? do they fold their arms around themselves or have other defensive posture? where do their eyes go when they speak? do they look around a lot? do they have an intense, unwavering gaze? do they zone out to look at other objects? what are they looking at when they do look away to think or listen? (this is also where having a faceclaim to build characteristics and mannerisms around can be helpful, not just in rp settings but any kind of fiction.)

"i guess...i don't really know how i'm supposed to feel about it," he admitted.

okay so we already have information here to expound on. the character is uncertain and conflicted. how would that effect their demeanor outwardly?

"i guess..." he trailed off with a sigh. he shook his head and his gaze grew unfocused, wandering away from his companion to stare blankly at a clock on the mantelpiece. his index finger tapped lightly at his knee. "i don't know how i'm supposed to feel about it, ya' know?" amir admitted with a shrug. he finally looked at the other man again, but there was a vulnerability which brought a sheepish shadow to his tumultuous gaze.

we've shown he is pensive with a wandering eye and that he's a little uncomfortable with his nervous tick of tapping. the next step is to consider the inner workings of their PoV. what does the scene itself call for them to be doing and thinking between lines? what does the emotion and tension of the scene—or even the comfort and familiarity of it—reflect inside them?

"you don't have to know right now," malik pointed out. he lifted his hands from where they had rested on the surface of the table to turn his palms outward, leaning in closer. "it's okay not to know." they held one another's gaze for a silent moment. amir's lips pressed together and he swallowed down the lump which had formed in his throat. he was not an emotional man. he had always prided himself on his restraint. but it was all beginning to be too much and the empathy in his friend's eyes was only another weight upon his already bowed shoulders. "...maybe you're right," he mumbled thoughtfully.

here we have shown his friend's gesture, adding more presence to the environment around them. and then we have given a little space for the character to feel. we have given a little information about who he is, or at least how he thinks about himself. by bringing his eyes back to his companion we have shown he is opening up, he is actually leaning into the intimacy of comfort and listening. but the mumble shows he is still not confident in admitting the need for help. it shows he has not even accepted fully the grace he's being given.

it isn't just what a character is saying, it's how they're saying it. it's how they're carrying themselves. it's how they're receiving the other characters' words. and showing how they're carrying themselves along with their inner feelings will also help show what is driving their dialogue. it will create a contrast if they're not being a reliable narrator, if they're contradicting or if they're withholding etc.

taking time and being patient with yourself to expound upon these things and to develop your character will make them more real. the more you practice and get to know them, the more instinctive and natural it will become!

[lizzy06]

Kaminari Denki x Reader Fic Recs!! (Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

watt and bothered/ tumblr✨💖  by  @andypantsx3/ andypantsx3 (oneshot, fluff, humor, smut(u can skip the smut if u prefer sfw)) For years, you’ve been valiantly battling the world’s most annoying frat bro in the apartment above you. Only, it turns out he’s not a frat bro. And also he’s hot. And also he’s—what the fuck. [COMPLETED]

Sleepwalker✨✨💖 by Fogfire/ @dira333 (oneshot, fluff) When you wake up in a stranger's bed, you don't expect it to be Chargebolt, Pro Hero. You even less expect it to happen again. But who knew what a faulty Quirk could do… [COMPLETED]

Head over Heels for you✨✨💖 by Fogfire/ @dira333 (oneshot, fluff) It's a good thing Denki gets loopy from Painkillers. Or how one accidental confession leads to something more… [COMPLETED]

In Your Arms/tumblr✨ by @alaskasmonsters/ alaskasmonsters (oneshot, fluff) Denki had become a lot more touchy lately with you, constantly seeking out touch from you specifically and you are slowly losing your mind about it… [COMPLETED]

Truth or Dare ✨by orphan_account(oneshot, fluff) You really, really wanna win this game. [COMPLETED]

I will keep on loving you✨✨ by FujisMina63 (fluff, angst, idiots in love) A Fan-fic about what if Denki loses himself to his quirk, but you still stay with him. [COMPLETED]

BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 5: Drawing on Skin✨ by @writing-freak (oneshot, soulmate AU, fluff) anything you write on your skin shows up on the skin of your soulmate. you often draw the attention of others due to the crazy doodles, scribbles, and words written all over you from head to toe. [COMPLETED]

deal✨ by @candychronicles (oneshot, Soulmate Au, fluff) in a world full of heroes and quirks, finding someone you can love is very, very hard. it’s even harder when you have a soulmate and the words that are tattooed on you are a nightmare. but still, even in this strange world, love finds a way. [COMPETED]

Favor/ tumblr✨ by ScatteredScribbles (oneshot, fluff) The smile is back, and you’re surprised at how that observation alone is enough to make your skin tingle. It’s just leftover bits of electricity, you tell yourself. When he drapes his arm across your shoulder though, your stomach leaps, and you begin to doubt the validity of your own argument. [COMPLETED]

You're Sexy, I'm Sexy by midnightweeds (weedswrites) (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) “What did you say?” Bakugo asks, still holding his full glass. “After she said-”.[COMPLETED]

Deity Of Light- Kaminari Denki X Apollo! Reader✨ by Lady Blast Execution (Florboo) (oneshot, mythology AU, fluff)“Okay… Now I would like to have an explanation sunshine…. Who exactly are you?” [COMPLETED]

Scarred. by UltraGari(oneshot, comfort) “Can I touch them?”. [COMPLETED]

Seasons Changing by itbeajen(oneshot, hanahaki disease au, angst with happy ending) His only hope was that maybe your feelings would change to match his. [COMPLETED]

Lightning in a Bottle || BNHA by sincerely_bubbles (oneshot, fluff) denki kaminari has a crush, and when she’s around he can’t quite control his thoughts… or his quirk. [COMPLETED]

The "girlfriend" by @katimagines (oneshot, fluff) denki has a girlfriend, except she goes to a different school and no one, absolutely no one believes him. [COMPLETED]

Be Mine by @onyxiana-is-obsessed (oneshot, fluff) Denki’s been crushing on you for a while now and you just don’t seem to pick up on it! So, he asks you out on a date! For real this time! [COMPLETED]

insecure by @shinaus (angst, eventual fluff, mentions of insecurities) Denki Kaminari was in love. He knew it, his friends knew it, his other classmates knew it, but you certainly didn’t catch on to it. [COMPLETED]

Yakitori Time/ tumblr✨ by @vanilladyfics/ Vanillady (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) Denki Kaminari was born with the first words his soulmate will say to him on his chest. They tell him exactly where they'll meet-- a yakitori restaurant-- but not when. [COMPLETED]

Confetti Love by atsukashii(oneshot, fluff) When Kaminari surprises you with tickets to see your favorite band for your birthday, you finally tell him how you feel in the best way how. [COMPLETED]

Safe by silkylious (oneshot, fluff) Three in the morning. Who the hell would text you at ass o’clock in the morning? You knew who. [COMPLETED]

Why are you so pretty? by Shooting_Stars_Library (oneshot, fluff) Denki is too pretty for the reader to handle. [COMPLETED]

he's a keeper by secretpeachtea (oneshot, fluff) 5 times your boyfriend gives you the wrong gift (+ the one time he gets it right). [COMPLETED]

A Shock to See by bakusquadup (fluff) Kaminari has always had an obsession with cute girls, so when he gets a girlfriend outside UA, you are not surprised in the least. However, when you discover something about his new-found girlfriend, it's hard to remain supportive. [COMPLETED]

Discoveries by cxsmicdxst (oneshot, fluff) “Hey, (y/n), are you alright there? You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past three minutes.” [COMPLETED]

Shellshocked by @sunflowershouto It’s the training camp, and Denki is sheltered in the building along with the other students that failed the practical. When he hears that the villains are after two particular students, he has to do something to protect the one he loves. [COMPLETED]

Love Me Back by @lordsister (oneshot, fluff) "Please, (y/n)!!! I promise it’ll be fun!”. “My answer is the same as the last twenty times you asked me.” [COMPLETED]