#half life mr friendly

[zerotab]

wtf im posting twice in a week thats rare

[chuluoyi]

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄

- sylus x reader

more than friends with benefits, definitely lovers. your relationship is one filled with banters, steamy nights, and secret strings attached... but when someone shows an interest in you, sylus won't hesitate to stake his claim for everyone to see

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—jealousy, crack, fluff, smut, a dash of comfort, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc)

note: loosely a sequel to strictly (un)professional. how this snowballed into 3.8k... i don't really know :')

“Missus, please spare us!”

You shot an unamused look at the twins before you, who clasped their hands together, pleading for you to let them go.

“Why is it so difficult for both of you to say?” you hissed, crossing your arms together. “I’m not asking for much—just a recount of what happened!”

“Boss will have our tongues for this!” Kieran looked up at you, quivering. “No way, I want to live!”

“He’s terrifying…” Luke shuddered in fear, hugging himself. “You don’t know how frightening he is!”

You were holding both Luke and Kieran hostage, the tender preys, all because Sylus refused to reveal what you had been wanting to know these past few weeks.

“So you’re afraid of Sylus…” You fixed them with a steely glare. “But have you ever thought that if you don’t spill it now, I will be the one taking both your tongues?”

“—?! Missus, please!”

“Why are you bullying the twins?” A deep voice cut through the twins’ pitiful laments, and you let out an exasperated huff as your chance slipped away once more.

Speak of the devil, and Sylus shall appear. He looked at the scene before him as if you were all a bunch of kindergarteners.

Luke and Kieran immediately flocked to him. “Boss! Save us! She’s scary!”

And now you were suddenly the scary one. You rolled your eyes. "Your henchmen are useless."

Sylus glanced at you with a half smile, knowing what information you were squeezing the twins for. "Sweetie, just give it up. You'll find peace faster that way."

Was it wrong to be curious about what Sylus had been up to during the three weeks you were unconscious after the attack that literally took your life? Why was he being so secretive about it anyway?

“I know, you were so worried sick you didn’t even eat or sleep,” you taunted your lover with a wicked smile. “That’s why you won’t tell me about it.”

Sylus laughed outright. “Pftt. You’ve got quite the imagination. Good to know.”

Nothing much changed after that night of his confession—if you could call it that—to you. You were indeed no longer strictly his bedwarmer, but your banters stayed the same, if not even more sarcastic now.

“Chop chop, we have an auction to go to, sweetie.” Sylus placed his big hand on your head, amused. “Stop being a hissy kitten towards the poor twins and get ready, hmm?”

“I’ll definitely uncover it,” you shot him a resentful glare. “Just you wait and see.”

Such were your days with your true kindred-spirits lover. He would tease you during the day and turn you into a hot mess at night, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In tonight's auction, you had one target: the broker for a new rising star firearms dealer. Sylus had been eyeing him, deducing his goods could be a nice addition to his armory.

And so, you went up to him. However...

“...Are you single, miss?”

Here we go again.

You forced a tight smile. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if we can stick to subject at hand.”

The man blinked, then quickly plastered on a wide grin to mask his surprise. “Oh yes! Yes, I-I’m sorry, I got distracted— well, I’d say this is a pretty solid MoU... but I’ll need to contact my boss first.”

This weirdo... you thought with boredom, is so transparent.

This wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a situation like this. Granted, you were pretty and you knew it, but usually, more distinguished men would be a bit more subtle about it.

“Take all the time you need,” you encouraged smoothly, your eyes crinkling in an attempt to look friendly. “As you can see, Mr. Sylus has proposed the perfect bargain for this kind of dealings.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that. I assure you we’ll certainly try to accommodate his request.” The man nodded and gave you a meaningful look, before coughing awkwardly. “Uh, sorry, what was your name again, miss?”

Your faux smile remained perfectly still as you replied, “Mephisto.”

The man’s eyes roved over you, and he grinned roguishly. “Right. Still, I never expected Mr. Sylus’ secretary to be as beautiful as you, Miss Mephisto...”

This was tedious. Your patience was tested with every leering look he gave you. Sylus must know this already, and he's somewhere laughing at the sight of you dealing with this creep.

“You flatter me too much, I’m average.”

“No, no! I mean it!”

He knows... yet he wouldn't do anything about it. Not that you would expect Sylus to barge in like a man blinded by envy, but still, he was insufferable for not coming to you just like he had for Miss Hunter back then.

The man kept droning on and on about himself and everything else that had nothing to do with the business deal, and you were this close to dropping him and using your Evol to shut him up when—

He then turned to you expectantly. “Oh, there is a dance! Miss, would you mind if I have your first dance?”

“Oh...”

And it occurred to you... why not spice things up a little?

Sylus’ dark crimson eyes narrowed silently as he watched both of you from the island table while savoring his glass of wine, before he let out a loud snort.

That vermin doesn’t have a clue he is playing with fire.

For most of your interaction, the firearms dealer’s broker kept giving you suggestive looks, and occasionally brushing his hand against yours on purpose. He wasn't even trying to hide it, and it was amusing to see how aggravated you looked the entire time.

Adorable. Sylus found you incredibly endearing these days, from your pouts to your glazed eyes whenever he thrusted into you—

You were oh so delectable… at least until he saw you holding that lesser man's arm, as he led you to the dance floor.

A deep frown immediately formed in his forehead.

“What are you scheming now?” Sylus scowled, half exasperated and half in disbelief. “You naughty cat.”

He was even more irked when he saw how casually you wrapped your arms around that vermin, twirling and pressing yourself against him in a waltz. Seeing him trying to hit on you was one thing, but for you to reciprocate was just plain unacceptable.

—and to his ire, your audacity continued throughout the night.

. . .

“Miss Mephisto, do you play pool?”

“I do.”

“Then, will you play with me?”

Sylus was now burning with tendrils of anger, watching you from a closer corner. He had seen the broker put his hands on you so many times that he had lost count—during the dance, mingling with other guests, and while sharing hearty laughs. All in all, you were acting as if you had forgotten he was even here.

You were threading on a very thin ice and whether you realized it or not... you didn't seem to care.

"Ah, I think your stance is a bit off..." And to make it worse, the broker was definitely seizing every chance he could, as there was nothing wrong with your form—you often accompanied Sylus playing pool, so you were a pro—and yet he still got behind you, trying to drape his arms around your body.

That was the last straw. Enough is enough.

Before Sylus realized what he was doing, he stormed over to where you were, yanked your arm forcefully, and effectively separated you from him. He didn’t give a damn about the horrified shout from the broker or the judging looks from other partygoers as he dragged you by the hand out of the ballroom.

“Sylus!” you nearly shrieked when he kicked open a door to a meeting room and locked it with his black-red mist. He pinned you against the wall, and crashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

“Mmph!” You tried pushing him back, but he was stronger and held you in place, his tongue forcing your lips open as he pressed the back of your head toward him. His other hand slipped inside your dress—between your legs— two fingers in—

“—!” you couldn't even squeal as he devoured your mouth and the shock set in, feeling yourself getting aroused by the minute when his fingers did that scissoring thing and edged you further.

After he was done with your mouth, his hot lips trailed down to your neck and shoulder blades, sucking hard on several spots, making you gasp and moan.

"Hah... this... is the price to pay for testing me, sweetie," your lover growled his nickname for you with satisfaction as he noticed you trembling body, nibbling on your shoulder. "You want to get punished so badly, huh?"

"Ahh..." you threw your head back, clinging to him, grinding yourself against his fingers.

"Is it funny to you? Watching me see him touch you?" Sylus' unforgiving ruby eyes stared down at you like a lion eyeing its prey. "What an insolent little kitten you are..."

His fingers kept moving and thrusting inside you in an alarming speed, mercilessly hitting that one spot that could make you cry. He was seriously teaching you a lesson by forcing you to come undone right then and there.

"I-I...!" you tried to refute, but then you felt the knot inside you burst, and in the next second, you could feel yourself coming all over his fingers, shuddering, your breaths coming in pants.

Feeling faint, relief washed you when he pulled out his fingers. You leaned and clung onto him, pulling him closer, and Sylus finally saw what a mess he had turned you into.

Your glassy eyes focused solely on him, seemingly pleading—and those swollen lips, as well as the sizzling heat creeping up your cheeks—

“Ha,” he let out a low chuckle, a wicked grin curling his lips. “If I can still make you look like this, then I suppose I can forgive you.”

“You’re a meanie,” you mumbled breathlessly.

“You’re the mean one,” Sylus tutted with narrowed eyes, starting to pull away from you.

But then you pulled him close again and pressed your lips to his, this time with a gentleness that surprised him.

There was no malice or burning desire in your kiss. Strangely, it felt far more intimate. You pulled away, the heart-stopping swirls of his red eyes captivating you as you pressed your foreheads together.

“Needy, aren’t you, sweetie?” Sylus whispered, holding your gaze, his breath hot against your skin.

But right now, all of a sudden, you looked so vulnerable to him, as if any wrong word from his lips would shatter you. It made him almost feel guilty for manhandling you so roughly.

You didn’t respond, just wanting this closeness with him. Behind your snarky words and little schemes, this was what you wanted more than the release you just got. Sometimes, you still worried—did he want this too?

“What is it?” Sylus asked with a frown, seemingly concerned. “Talk. Tell me.”

“Nothing…” you replied in a small voice.

“Do you feel sick? Want to go back?”

You shook your head.

You weren’t usually this quiet. Sylus couldn’t help being restless at your sudden change. It felt awkward for him to do what he was about to do next, but instinctively, he figured it would comfort you a bit.

You felt a pang in your heart when he pulled away, but in the next instant, a wave of warmth enveloped you as he pressed you to him, burying your head against his sturdy chest.

For someone who deals with blood and gore, your body felt too soft and fragile, yet still fit perfectly in his arms. Though he had held you and made love to you many times before, it was only now that he truly noticed how small you were.

“You’re warm…” you murmured, your voice carrying a hint of a whine.

So needy and pliant… for him.

“My woman is such an enduring mystery.” Sylus mused, sounding almost as if he were lamenting. “Sometimes she’s a brazen kitten without a shred of shame, but then she pulls stunts like this.”

Your heart picked up the pace. You are... his. That was right. You were his woman in every sense of the word now, and he wasn't shying away from it.

But to cover your embarrassment, you could only come up with, “Can you not refer to me as cat...?”

He shot you an irked glance. “No.”

“He calls me by your bird’s name.”

“...”

“Sylus, you can’t murder him. Your deal will go down the drain.”

“Tch.” Sylus blew out an annoyed sigh, glaring at you. “By the time I get back here, you’re going back with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes.”

Honestly you were exhausted, and you wanted to nothing more than a good sleep. But you couldn't just leave the broker without preamble because this deal depended on him, and Sylus too had some loose ends he had to tie before the two of you left.

Strangely, all eyes were on you when you returned to the ballroom. You wondered why as you navigated the crowd until you met the broker you had fooled in so many ways.

“Oh, Miss Mephisto, you’re back!” he was visibly and utterly drunk, and you cringed at the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. But then you noticed his eyes seemed to be fixated on your—

Neck. You realized in horror.

“Oh... hic, t-that... I-I see,” he blabbered, coughing awkwardly as he stared at the marks on your neck. “Miss... so that man is... y-your lover...?”

“Uh...” It was a wonder he didn’t recognize Sylus at first glance. Perhaps it was because he was so infamous, but it astounded you how this person couldn’t even tell that it was him.

"I-I thought... w-we..." he hiccupped again heartbrokenly, before snatching a glass on the table. "Oh, I need more drink!"

You observed him, half cringing. "Sir, I just want to remind you that once the documents are signed—"

"Yeah, yeah! It will be done by the end of the week!" he yelled at you. "Miss, how about you have a drink too!?"

Suddenly, a glass of gin was shoved into your hand, and you let out an irritated sigh. Yeah, he might be right. A glass of alcohol would help you sleep better tonight, you figured, so you chugged it down.

"Huh...?" And it didn’t take you long to realize something was amiss. The dizzying sensation set in far too quickly, you felt so hot, and you had to lean on the table next to you to keep from falling.

“Are you okay...?” a waitress asked you with concern, but the only sound you could hear was your own violent heartbeat. Before you knew it, the glass in your hand slipped from your grasp and crashed into the floor.

"Oh, miss! Are you okay?!" the broker suddenly got a hold over your body. "Oh! It seems you aren't feeling well! Let me escort you to you room!"

Room? You barely discerned what happened when he led you out of the crowd. Your head spun terribly, and then suddenly throbbed, making you clutch it and cry out in pain, "Ah!"

It didn't make sense, no matter how you saw it. You had a pretty good tolerance, so for you to get hungover from a gin was just—

“Oh, does it hurt much?” he suddenly asked in your ear, making you shiver. “Don’t worry... it'll be bearable soon enough... I’ll make sure you will feel good…”

It's him! You realized. He spiked your drink!

His arms were now locking yours, steering you to go into the elevator. You took a deep breath before directing your speech manipulation evol on him— "Let go!"

He was immediately jerked away from you, but as a result, you almost crumpled, your vision swimming and your head pounding intensely. The pain made you feel close to passing out, and yet you managed to trek forward, leaning on the wall for support.

You had to get away from him before he could catch up to you. Panic set in, and when strong arms caught you, you convulsed, thinking he had grabbed you—

“Stop thrashing!”

“S-Sylus...?” You looked up, trying to focus on his face, but everything was so blurry.

“I’m here.” His voice was ragged, and you’d recognize it anywhere. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

“M-my head...” Your voice came out as a broken whimper, clutching at your throbbing head. “Hurts...”

You were feverish, trembling against his hold, and you reeked of alcohol. Sylus instantly realized something was seriously wrong and pressed your head into his chest to provide comfort. “Just a little bit longer—” his deep voice carried a subtle hint of alarm as he hoisted you up to his arms. “Hang on, alright?”

But just as he was about to bring you back, he caught the sight of a fleeing silhouette in the corner, and realizing who it was, his right eye blazed, black and red mist swirled in the air and restrained the broker, engulfing his screams.

“S-spare me! P-please!” the man pleaded tearfully, pinned on the ground, and Sylus approached him silently, looking down at him with so much spite in his eyes.

“A roach that doesn’t seem to know his place…” The corners of his lips twisted into a sadistic smile. “Whether you survive or not depends on you. Best hope you’ll last.”

Despite his pleas, he paid it no mind as he walked away with you in his arms.

When you awakened, your head was no longer pounding.

It took you a moment to realize there was a cool compress on your forehead, you were now in a clean oversized sweater, and someone was holding your hand.

Sylus. You looked up to find him asleep, sitting with his back against the headboard beside you. It was rare to catch him sleeping. In this moment, he looked defenseless, yet a faint frown lingered on his handsome face.

Has he been waiting for you like this, holding your hand all night...?

You tried to get a better look at him, but the rustle seemed to wake him up instead, as his eyes cracked open.

“You awake?” he asked, voice so sultry it woke all your senses up. “I was just shutting my eyes.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable sleeping like that?” you asked.

Sylus turned toward you, his eyes still hazy from sleep. “What about you? Feeling better?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair gently.

“Really, you...” His stare was so withering it made question marks appear in your head. “I took my eyes off you for one minute, and you ended up with alcohol poisoning?”

“—? I didn’t know! But wait, what happened to that bozo?”

Sylus gave you a deadpan look, and you gasped. “You… didn’t kill him and have his body secretly disposed of, did you?”

“Just who do you think I am?”

“…a kingpin of an illegal syndicate?”

Your lover’s scowl deepened further at your response. “Nah, he got lucky. I only returned him with a broken jaw, broken hips, and two missing teeth.”

“Sylus!”

If he looked sleepy before, now he definitely looked wide awake. Sylus always sleeps at dawn, and you wanted him to rest more than anything, but now you were itching to ask him...

“Say... were you waiting for me while sitting like this too when I wasn’t conscious for three weeks?” You avoided his gaze, the question burning on your lips. Sylus had never given you a straight answer whenever you asked him about this.

This time too, he grumbled, “Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because I can’t ask Luke and Kieran, they look as if you’d set them on fire.”

Sylus went silent, not giving you any affirmation at all, and you huffed and unclasped his hand, pursing your lips together. “I see. You don’t care about me at all. Noted.”

You heard him sigh, before his red eyes squarely landed on you.

“When I was shot, you worried about me even when you know I’m going to be alright,” he suddenly posed the question on you. “Didn’t you?”

You nodded, and he tousled your hair again—the action alone somehow made you feel warm.

“Whatever you felt that day, that’s the same to what I went through during those three weeks. Multiply it by ten.”

“Huh!?” you rose up from the sheets in surprise, facing him.

Sylus then turned away from you, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. “That’s it, sweetie. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Wait!”

You scrambled into his lap, clinging to his shoulder. Sylus begrudgingly opened his eyes again, a look of irritation on his face. “What?”

Multiply it by ten…? Heh. At this moment, you felt light and giddy, knowing that the two of you were now true lovers in every way that mattered even when you were faced with his sourness.

“Don't scowl too much!” you giggled merrily. You placed your fingers on the corners of his lips, gently lifting them to force a smile. “Honesty suits you much better, Sylus. It’s recommended.”

This cheeky woman... Sylus never thought the day would come for him to experience these myriad of emotions, much less for them to be incited by you.

He pulled you close, one arm around your hips and the other around the back of your head. Your lips met his in a passionate kiss that left no room for further conversation, only parting when you both needed to catch your breath.

“If you want me to, then don’t make me relive those nights,” he said with a sly smile, his crimson eyes glinting in the light and his voice like silk against your ears. “Can you?”

His tone softened your gaze, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. You responded with a playful snort, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him another peck on the lips.

After your innocent make-out session, you nestled closer to him with a contented sigh, savoring the reassuring warmth of his embrace as you both drifted off again into the morning.

Epilogue

"Do you hear anything?"

"No, nothing..."

Luke and Kieran whispered amongst themselves as they tried to hear anything of importance beyond Sylus' bedroom. After their boss went back home with you passed out in his arms last night, they had totally expected the worst.

“Seems like she’s alright then…” Kieran concluded, stepping away from the door. “We should just go. If Boss catches us, we’re dead.”

The twins backed away from the door and went back to the living room, sighing in relief.

"But honestly, Boss has changed lately, hasn't he? He looks kinder, somehow."

"Are you sure, Luke? Maybe it's just when he looks at the missus. With us, meh."

“I still get chills thinking about when he destroyed the Protofield to dust after he found her following the explosion,” Luke gazed off in wonder. “It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, but it was also heartbreaking—especially when he tried to wake her and realized she was beyond help because the steel had pierced her heart…”

Luke and Kieran went quiet at the memory.

“Anyhow!” Kieran suddenly exclaimed. “All’s well that ends well! To be honest, I totally saw it coming that they'd end up together!”

“Ooh, you're right! They did a bad job of hiding it too, no less! I mean, one time, the missus came out of his room while—”

As the twins gossiped about their master and mistress, they were unaware that Mephisto the crow, perched nearby, was dutifully recording their conversation and would report it all to his master later.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Different is Better

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Javi invites your ex back with Storm Par amidst the flirtation between you and Tyler. 

Notes/Warnings: This was a combination of requests, so it's not exactly what everyone asked for, but I got it as close as I could, sp hopefully it satisfies in some ways. Allusion to smut. Cursing probably. Scott sucks (sorry to the Scott lovers), Javi sucks a little too (sorry to the Javi lovers).

Words: 2850

Tyler Owens Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

The second the Storm Par team finishes settling on the schedule for tomorrow, you remove yourself from the rest of the chasers in the parking lot, Wranglers included, and press your back into the outer wall of the motel. Perfectly out of sight and free to feel how you want without judgment.

You can’t breathe around him. You can’t think properly. And damn him for fucking loving it. Damn the smirk that slices into your skin. Damn fucking Javi for requesting his participation on the team after swearing up and down that he wouldn’t. Damn him for not warning you, forcing you to spend the last half-hour since his arrival in wild discomfort.

It had been so good without him. The best chasing you’d done in years. Relaxing, free from tension despite the chaos of rolling into the heart of unpredictable weather. In his absence, you chased with excitement; you chased with that tingly zingy feeling in your gut; you chased with a pounding heart, with hands shaky not from nerves but from raw, untainted energy shooting throughout your entire body. 

The last two months of chasing renewed your love of the craft and proved more than anything that Scott has been—and still is—a soul-sucking, life-draining leech….to you, anyway. 

But everyone already loves him, just short of instantly obsessed with him, especially the females of the group who neglect that ‘award-winning’ personality he’s managed to display in only thirty-two minutes. Shamefully, it almost makes you wish the team Javi assembled had fewer young college girls and a heck of a lot more mature, determined women. They would easily see past his looks and recognize that his intelligence does not surpass that of anyone else on the team. He is not some rare, fascinating, genius savior who has come to solve all of the data-collecting problems the team’s been having; he’s just an extra helping hand that, frankly, you firmly believe you don’t need. 

But no…as has been the case each time you’ve worked together since you ended your little college fling—or whatever the fuck it was—he gets to be Mr. Perfect, and you’re stuck as the angsty bitch who whines over him being here. 

“So…that’s the guy, huh?” Tyler asks as he rounds the corner and joins you under the cover of near-darkness. 

He practically shines under the damaged streetlamp’s thin, flickering light. You’re not looking at him, but you don’t have to be to see that much clearly. He glows in your peripherals, and with another step closer to you, your heartbeat stumbles within your ribcage. 

Tyler is the one thing you credit for reviving you. What started as a less-than-friendly rivalry changed when you accepted a challenge to chase with his crew one day, and though Javi was displeased, you were too curious about Tyler’s methods to turn him down. 

With one ride in his truck, the spark you thought had long died reignited. Now you have a respect for Tyler that the rest of your team does not. Respect…and a bit more. 

Though you would never abandon your team, you became increasingly hooked on the idea of chasing with Tyler again, and it was so stupidly obvious. And with that obviousness, an unspoken essence of sorts developed between you. A forbidden attraction you’re both aware of but have yet to fully act on, though not for lack of trying.

You take turns almost breaking that final barrier—heavy breathing, noses nearly brushing, lips a hairs-width away from connecting, but something always gets in the way: his team, yours, the weather. But not this time. Cock-block of the day? Scott Miller. 

Tyler’s eyes stay on your cheek as he stuffs his hands into his front jean’s pockets. “I didn’t know that was your type.”

When you look at Tyler, your brows knit at the disappointment on his face. He offers a smile, but it’s far less convincing than what he is capable of, like he didn’t even bother trying to give you one of his good ones. And you’ve seen a good smile from Tyler Owens. It can knock anyone off their feet. 

“It isn’t,” you tell him as you turn your attention back to the miles of grass in front of you. At night, under such little light, the eye gets tricked and the blades blend into a vast span of blackness, like a giant hole in the ground just a few feet away. One you might consider jumping into it if you could. 

“I mean, it was,” you continue, “but not anymore.”

He nods. “You have to work close with him?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Unfortunately.”

Tyler blows out a breath. His hand runs through his hair before his head falls back against the brick wall of the motel, eyes closed and chin tilted toward the night sky. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. 

“Yea.”

Cicadas fill the following silence. Lightning bugs sprinkle throughout the space around you, thriving in the intense humidity that adds a thin sheen to your skin. You can see him thinking. Questioning. His fingers tap against his clothed thigh and your stomach clenches with dread. The last thing you want—the thing that would crush you—is Tyler sizing up whether or not you are worth the trouble of an ex even cockier than he is and more arrogant than you once believed him to be. One thing Tyler and Scott have in common: the adoring attention from young women. You’ve heard the stories from Lilly and Boone, and at any point, Tyler could tip his hat in adieu and return to his many fans to seek the encounters you’ve been hoping to share with him.  

Tyler turns his head to you. “You still like him? At all?”

“No,” you answer, trying not to be offended by the question he has a right to ask. To you, it’s absurd, insulting. To him, it’s covering his bases and understanding what, if anything, he is getting in between by pursuing you, or considering pursuing you. “The way he approaches relationships mimics the way he approaches chasing,” you continue. “Controlling, nit-picky, demanding. I couldn't stand it.” He’s nothing like you, you want to say, but for some reason, don’t.

Your heart’s discomfort eases with the slow spread of a smile across his face. You step toward him. “Look, Tyler, I know we haven’t really talked about us, but I–”

“There you are. I was starting to think I ran you off.”

The intruding voice snatches your attention and Tyler immediately pushes off the wall, positioning himself closer to your side. “I'm not sure you're threatening enough for that,” he says. 

Scott smirks, one eyebrow arching. “And you are?”

“Tyler,” he says, reaching out his hand in a play-nice gesture. “Owens.”

Realization dawns on Scott. “Oh, of course,” he replies, a mocking grin forming as he accepts the handshake. When he takes his hand back, he crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side. “Your reputation precedes you. How many followers have you managed to stack up by playing around for entertainment?”

“Subscribers,” Tyler corrects. “A mil.”

“Must be validating after failing to make it professionally.”

Your gut twists, fists almost clenching, but you restrain yourself from showing his effect on you. “That’s not why he does what he does,” you scold your ex sternly. Tyler’s head whips to you. You can just barely detect the gentle smile on his face. 

Scott hums, nonchalantly advancing closer to hover over you. His eyes penetrate like lasers into yours. “You know, you should really think before you fraternize. You wouldn’t want to make us look bad,” he says, running a knuckle down your cheek. You flinch away from his touch and he grins. “That’s all,” he says. “Good night, you two” And then he turns on his heel and returns from where he came. 

“Charming,” Tyler sarcastically snips. “I see the appeal.”

—

He fucking left you behind. 

You were trying to finish up his job after he failed to properly secure Javi’s tech, but as you were doing so, the tornado’s size grew and its speed picked up and it was headed right for you. Scott screamed at you, panicked in a way you’ve never heard before, but when you weren’t quick enough for his liking, he slammed your door and drove off, leaving you to looming disaster. 

If not for Tyler, you’d be dead. He spotted you in his crew’s attempt to flee, and though it was an insane risk, he came for you, leaping out of his truck and grabbing you as he yelled for Boone to take the wheel. 

He practically threw you into the back seat before crawling in after you and wrapping your shivering body in his arms.

“Tyler, man, I don’t know if we’re gonna be able to outrun it!” Boone called back, eyes darting between the blurry road in front of him and the rearview mirror. 

“Then drill us into the fucking ground!”

And that’s where you stayed, huddled together, your face in his neck as the storm tried to tear you apart. 

—

Are you out of your fucking mind!” Tyler shouts, stomping through the parking lot of the motel refuge. 

To your relief, the small, aged structure was out of the tornado's path, if just barely, and in the aftermath, the owner offered free rooms to those in need. Except for Boone, who holds you steady as Tyler storms off, the Wranglers pass out whatever shirts and food they have available, providing what comfort they can.

Javi inserts himself between Tyler and Scott, his hands up to keep Tyler back. “Woah, woah, calm down.”

“He could’ve fucking killed her!”

Javi’s concerned brow settles from shock. “W-What?” he asks. “What are you talking about?”

Tyler’s as vicious as a lion, his teeth bared, claws out as he tries to side-step Javi to get to Scott, who has backed up a step. “He left her out there!”

You can see the Adam’s apple bob in your ex’s throat. His composure is on edge. He’s never been called out before, not even by you. “She was being stupid.”

“She was doing your job!”

Scott scoffs as Javi blinks, trying to adjust to the rapid-fire information being thrown at him. He’s never been good at an onslaught of facts, needing that adjustment period for things to properly sink in. He’s careful that way. It’s his methodical mind. He takes his time with his planning, and that extends past his inventions. “Look, everyone’s safe. Everyone’s tired. Let’s just get some rest and we can deal with this tomorrow.”

“You’re letting him stay? After what he did?”

“Right now, no one has anywhere to go,” Javi explains, and though true, it doesn’t mean Scott has to remain here now that the threat is gone. Javi’s eyes dart past Tyler’s shoulder to your shaken form. He sighs an exhale that deflates his entire chest, his eyes close, and he shakes his head. He brought this on. He knows it. Scott was a mistake, and while it wasn’t Javi who put you in danger, you don’t mind him absorbing some of the guilt of what happened. “Just…take care of her.”

Tyler huffs and says, “That’s more than you people do,” before turning around and coming for you. Boone passes you off with a nod. Tyler’s arm goes around your body, his hand rubbing up and down your bicep. You wonder where he stored the rage so quickly, but you appreciate that he didn’t set any of it aside for you. After all, you’re the reason he almost died. You’re the reason his friend almost died. Just because it was not a potential consequence of your choices, the stress of near death can keep anyone on edge. But not Tyler, apparently. He has other priorities.

“Come on,” Tyler says. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” And he guides you to your room, the very same one you’ve been tempted to invite him to since your first chase together. You didn’t imagine this was how he would come to join you.

—

Tyler’s jaw slackens when you exit the bathroom in a small towel that barely covers your body, and he quickly rises from where he is sitting at the end of your mattress, wiping his palms on his jeans as if to remove the moisture collected there. His eyes go wide, but they can’t seem to meet yours, his green orbs trailing up and down your body. 

“They’re a bit short,” you tell him.

“Yea, I, uh,” His hand runs over his hair down to his neck. “I know,” he says, instantly conjuring the image of a bare Tyler, water droplets covering his skin, a measly towel wrapped around his waist held together by one hand; a hand that, if removed, would cause the towel to drop to the ratty carpeting. “Do you, um…you need anything? I can try to get you–”

“No,” you stop him. “I’m alright.” A beat passes, and then he nods and blows out a breath. “Thank you, for saving me. You didn’t have to risk yourself like that.”

His eyes find yours then. “You can’t possibly think that I wouldn’t.”

“I know you’re kinder than most. Braver than most. But you’re not stupid, and saving me was a bit–”

“Don’t say that. I’d do it again,” he says. When he steps toward you, the towel suddenly feels much smaller. You feel exposed under his gaze, but to your surprise, not embarrassed. Scott had a way of making you feel less than in what seemed like a thousand different ways, but not Tyler. His eyes marvel. “And again.”

You take a deep breath, releasing it slowly out your nose. 

“Are you still shaken up?” Tyler asks you. 

You shake your head. “Not really.”

He stops directly in front of you. “Can I finally kiss you then?”

Your lips part. The towel falls, not necessarily with intention, but you can’t hold the thing up and wrap your arms around his neck at the same time. And, right now, one is more important than the other. 

Tyler tastes like the cola from your fridge that he must’ve had while he waited for you in the shower. His teeth nibble at your bottom lip, and you open for him. His hands settle on your bare waist for what seems like all of two seconds before they’re sliding lower, squeezing flesh, and pulling you in closer. Your fingers pick at the buttons of his shirt, the first few coming free. 

“You sure about this?” is muffled out between kisses.

You pull apart just long enough to say yes before you’re kissing him again, helping him out of his clothes, and falling into bed together. 

—

A knock wakes you. You turn over under Tyler’s arm and, careful not to wake him, rise from the bed. You grab his shirt off the nearby chair and pull it over your head, then slip on some sleep shorts before heading for the door. 

Javi smiles when he sees you, a sense of relief allowing the muscles to release their tension in his body. “Hey,” he says before his eyes fall down to your—Tyler’s—shirt. He raises a brow. 

You shrug. “I like him.”

Javi clicks his tongue. A modest sign of disapproval. “Right, well…I just came by to apologize and let you know that I kicked Scott off the team. He left about an hour ago.”

You hum in acknowledgment. At least you’ll avoid the drama of your ex figuring out you ‘fraternized’ with the leader of the other team. Being storm chasers, dramatics runs through your blood, and it’s not as if Tyler would shy away from any remarks Scott may throw at him or you, but this just happens to be one issue you’d rather not waste the energy on. It’s not his business, anyway.

“Thanks, Javi.”

“I really am sorry,” he says. “I never would’ve imagined he’d–”

“I know. Me either.”

Javi sighs in the silence that follows, then he says, “You sure about Owens?”

You nod. “I’m sure about Owens.”

“I guess we can’t be on opposite sides then, can we?”

“That would be nice,” you say. Javi gives you another smile. “They’re not so bad. I mean, I know they do stuff…differently, but they don’t leave anyone behind.” When a twinge of guilt flashes across his face, you say, “It wasn’t your fault.”

You can’t tell if he believes that’s how you truly feel, but as you nod in reassurance of that statement, he nods with you. 

“Ok,” he says. 

“Ok,” you repeat, and then with one final grin, Javi disappears down the hall. 

You close the door and strip yourself of the clothes you’d thrown on to get back into bed. Tyler’s still asleep. His breathing is soft, even, comforting, and luckily, your spot beside him has maintained its warmth from where you’d been laying all night. 

“I’m sure about you, too,” he suddenly says, voice groggy and eyes remaining closed. He lifts his arm, and you tuck yourself back into his embrace. 

[hxney-lemcn]

Friend's From Strange Places — Mr. Crawling x gn! reader

summery: walking home, you meet a strange entity that seems to claim you as a friend on sight.

tw: none.

a/n: had to give my two cents to the Homicipher fandom.

wc: 0.9k

Master List

Part One | Part Two

You felt like you were going crazy. You swear you saw something following you in the corner of your eye, but every time you turned to look there was no one. Sure, it was dark out which meant it was more likely that your brain was playing tricks on you and you were strangely paranoid at the moment, but you couldn’t get over the feeling that something was watching you. The hairs on the back of your neck were standing on end as you walked faster, the street lights glowing faintly in the night not doing much to comfort you. 

You tensed, a strange clicking noise causing your breathing to quicken along with your steps. You were basically running at this point, the sound of shuffling and more clicks picking up its pace in tandem with you. You would’ve felt silly, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins overrode any other thought you had. You needed to escape, you needed to hide, whatever was following you seemed otherworldly (if it was even real in the first place). 

Suddenly everything was silent. No crickets, no hum of the street lights, no cooing owls or passing cars. The only thing you could hear was your thrumming heart and your panting breaths. Every fiber in your being was telling you to not look back, but it seemed your body had a mind of its own as you slowly turned to look back. 

You let out a shriek, raising your hands to shield yourself from the entity. You only managed to catch a glimpse of long black hair and grey tinted skin, but it was enough to scare you as you hadn’t expected to see anything. You heard more clicking before the shuffling noise moved away from you. Taking deep breaths, you tried to get your shaking under control before peaking through your fingers. You nearly let out another shriek, but managed to keep it internal as your eyes met the entity that’s been following you on your walk home.

His hair was much longer than you originally thought, black locks reaching its feet. His hair obscured the upper half of his face, but you noticed the blotchy red splotches of skin that peaked through above his nose. Finally, he wore a pitch blank kimono that would’ve made him blend in with the night if it weren’t for the street lamps. A frown tugged at his lips, head lowered as he let out short clicks.  A ghost. You were seeing a real life ghost. You weren’t sure what to think. Was he going to kill you? Why hasn’t he already? Why did he look…sad? Was he…trying to communicate with you? You should run, you should find an exorcist, you should…do literally anything else than what you were going to do. Maybe the characters in horror movies weren’t as stupid as you thought…or maybe you shouldn’t watch so much horror as it seemed the stupid main characters were rubbing off on you.

Pulling your hands away from you crouched down to his height since the ghost was in a crawling position. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you had the strange sense that he was watching you.

“H-hello,” You stuttered, trying to figure out why the hell you were doing this. This seemed to cause the ghost to perk up, head tilting as it let out more chirps. Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure how to understand what he was trying to say. “I don’t understand.”

The being crawled closer to you, smiling as it lifted a hand and pet your hair. You blinked in confusion, feeling your cheeks warm at the sudden affection. It chirped some more before he let out what you assume is a laugh. Your mouth opens, but no words come out as you're left astounded by the whole situation. You were running for your life not moments ago, only for it to be a strangely friendly ghost. Unsure of what to do, you thought it would only be polite to reciprocate his actions, patting his head in return, before standing back up.

“Um, it was nice meeting you,” You waved, feeling a bit awkward. Did he even understand what you were saying? He tilted his head again, crawling closer to you, saying something that went over your head. Unsure of what it meant, you turned around slowly before making your way back to your home. Glancing back, you noticed the smiling ghost crawl after you, looking as happy as ever. 

Pausing your steps, you asked, “Are you coming with me?”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, of course you didn’t understand his response, the being chittering and chirping. One thing rang clear, he seemed to want to go with you. You purse your lips feeling conflicted. Wasn’t it a bad thing to be haunted? To have a ghost in your life? They trick you into thinking they're good only to harm you. But the way this ghost acted seemed so innocent, like it just wanted a friend and you were probably the first one to notice, let alone treat him kindly. He was following you like he had nothing better to do, and to his credit, you weren’t sure how much a ghost can do without being bored out of their mind.

“Okay,” You relented with a sigh, already crumbling. Has it really been so long since someone was friendly with you that you’d befriend a ghost with no question? “C’mon,” You waved at him to follow you. “Let’s go.” The ghost chirped happily, crawling alongside you on your short walk home. 

Who would’ve guessed a human and a ghost could be friends?

[trashmouth-richie]

⁂ 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 + 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 || a mini series || eddie x you

“soul ties” based but with a spin — 1.2k PART 2

[reader and her lover are souls bound to one another for eons and eons, they always find their way back to one another no matter how long it takes or what bodies they might be in, but when reader feels the magnetic pull of her other half and wills the girl’s body she is in to find her lover— the body her lover belongs to is a boy— none other than the meanest boy in hawkins, eddie munson] 

trigger warnings: 18+ smut, bisexual! eddie, mean! eddie, shy! girl, smut. etc eddie and the body reader lives in are mostly referred to as “the girl” and “the boy”, they are both 18 in this story. 

reader (you) is a “soul” in this story, meaning you are only bound to the body you are inhabiting during this lifetime. The girl will have features mentioned— but again— you (the reader) are a soul, which i imagine to be a flame of all colors. 

Her soul knew his. 

Knew him before she’d even met him in this body. Knew him before her eyes caught his. A magnetic pull sought him out and there he was, and the two souls buzzed, destined to be together. 

As if every star had aligned, he found you, again.. 

You look different this time. His soul spoke. The body is shapely, but those eyes still burn through me like fire. 

My eyes only burn for you my love. You purred back, in this body, and the next and the one after that. 

Eons had come and gone and in each one you found each other. Sometimes it took longer than the last, having only minutes together instead of years. Other times you were reborn in the same city. But this time, your bodies were not friendly to one another. 

Your lover's body was tall, pale, human male species. A mop of wavy hair that he rarely seemed to comb. The body you lived in belonged to a human female species. But was more reserved than the boy, quieter… except when her conscience talked for her in her head, then she was funny. 

Judging by the years you had been here, you thought that possibly she was eighteen, and in those years you waited for him. 

A similar soul had reached out to you, pretending to be him. The body was handsome, fit, skin kissed by the sun. A wriggly mustache that tickled the girls lips.

This boy went by the name Billy, and he was kind to the girl at first. He bought her many gifts, and told her that he loved her. 

But where your lover smelled of soap and cedar, this soul smelled of rich smoke and his eyes were hurt and angry, unlike the kind ones you’d spent centuries finding in every different body imaginable. The soul was shielded behind a mask, pretending to be something he should be, not something he needed. 

The girl cried when he left, but you were proud of her, and you showed her in her dreams the happiness she would one day have, once she found him, your love. 

— 

He looked for you for years. But this body was not like any others he had been attached to before. This boy went by many names:

Edward

Eddie

Dungeon Master

Eddie the Banished

Mr. Munson

and The Freak.

Mostly just Eddie though. His elders did not care for him, and in his younger years he spent nights writing about his sadness, tears leaking onto his scrawled handwriting. 

A man of some relation to the boy came to care for him, and the boy became happy once again, slowly, he gained trust. 

The boy had many hobbies that were new and interesting to him. He plucked a warlock and screamed into a microphone. He threw dice and moved figurines into position he had carefully planned out months in advance. Music and fantasy seemed to be a large part of the boy’s life. But where oh where, were you?

It wouldn’t be the first time he found you in a body similar to his, the same species with the same anatomy. When another boy who played basketball, and was well liked started noticing the boy, his heart raced. 

Steve was his name. His soul was sweet, smelling of roses and perfume. But it was not you, and the boy couldn’t love Steve the way he had hoped he could. 

It was mutual. No stars aligned for this engagement, it was merely physical, no soul bonds to tie together. 

One day, something pulsed and hummed. And he knew, he knew you were close, even if the boy was still asleep at noon, he could feel it. The pull, the stroke of his lover's touch. 

It was the magnet. 

—

The girl volunteered to tutor a smaller child somewhere in a Forest. You were excited for the adventure, excited to see the old trees and smell the pines, feel the humidity on her skin. But sadly there wasn’t a forest, only a lot made of brown earth. Houses scattered about that all looked similar in one way or another. Animals ran around freely, residing in trash cans and front steps, and it made you giggle. 

Would your lover remember the time he was a cat and you were a very small human child? The elders did not understand why the child adored the orange animal so much, or how the cat kept finding its way into their home. A few good years your lover and you had… until a fire consumed the home and you were both left spinning in darkness before landing home in new bodies, millions of miles apart.

Something about this place sent you buzzing the minute she opened her car door. You nearly screamed when that familiar tug pulled and buzzed. 

It was him! 

He was so very close, you could practically sniff him out. 

You did as you had always done when your lover was near, you sent star fire up to the girl’s brain, redirecting her to where she needed to go, where she would be happiest, where your lover had been staying. 

The home was painted in shades of light blue, and the stubborn girl questioned whether or not this was the correct house. 

I’m here! I’ve found you!

The boy suddenly woke, an irritating ache in his head as he rubbed sleep sand from his eyes. Your lover pushed and pushed the boy but he could not be hurried even if a hot poker was pressed into his rear. 

The girl felt dumb, a pickling sour of fear rose in her throat and she coughed to rid herself of the ache in her belly. You were swimming, dancing in her chest, warming her heart that you knew held so much love and was capable of destiny. 

Her knuckles raised to the door but the girl wasn’t given a chance to knock. The boy pinched his eyebrows together at the sight of this girl on his doorstep. Your lover shined in his eyes, waving back and blowing kisses. 

But the boy was annoyed. 

“What do you want?”

The girl felt warmth in her cheeks as she looked at her sneakers, “I— Sorry.. I was looking for Max Mayfield, I’m—.” 

“When I took a piss this morning I was standing up.”

The girl stared back in confusion but the boy only rolled his eyes before he looked down and pulled his waistband out enough so only he could see. 

“Yep, not a chick. Mayfield’s live across the road, brown trailer.” The door snapped shut before the girl could thank the boy. He stumbled back to bed, his headache felt like fire, as if his mind was being sawed in half. 

You were devastated, crestfallen! He was right there! In your grasp! Why was the boy being so difficult? Couldn’t he feel it in his chest? Couldn’t he feel the pull? 

The girl wiped a tear from her face as her feet hit the gravel, she muttered about how much she hated him, how awful he had always been to her. 

This would probably be the most difficult reunion you’d ever had with your lover, but in the eons you’d been together you had never failed, and you wouldn’t allow this year of 1985 be the first. 

[hijinxinprogress]

I need Billy thinking he’s so great at hiding things (and he is) no one knows he’s like fucking eight but they are pretty sure he hates like half the league

Like I need Billy getting along with everyone but he’s kinda stiff around flash and Batman but it’s get worse after most of them have revealed their secret ids and the jls so confused

Billy 100% thought Batman had all these fucking gadgets bc he was like some high up government official and then he found out no Batman’s just some rich guy and he’s like god no why is that worse

Batman just doesn’t care (he does 💀 he’s so fucking offended esp bc Marvel used to call him Mr. Batman sir but also bc he thought it’d be easier to get marvels secret id and weaknesses) as long as it doesn’t affect missions but Flash is kinda concerned bc ‘I’m pretty nice to him…does he think I don’t like him?? Did I offend him?? Do speedsters like set off the magic balance or whatever??’ 

They decide to pair up flash, Batman, and Captain Marvel to make sure their issues won’t affect team cohesion so after they’re done rescuing these kids that got involved in some supervillains masterplan Batman and flash are doing the usual spiel of ‘the laws exist for a reason,’ ‘you can trust the police’ and ‘there’s no good reason to turn to crime’

These kids want nothing to do with that shit and they’re trying to edge away while making excuses ‘thank you sm!! But no this is so safe, I know this area so well! We can get home ourselves!’ as soon as Batman starts asking about their parents so captain marvel just grabs Batman and flash and starts flying in the opposite direction ‘do you see that?? No guys seriously look at this cool thing!!’ and Batman’s growling about ‘childish to a degree that’s entirely unprofessional’ and ‘needlessly endangering civilians, civilian children at that-!’ and flash is trying to mediate but batman is shoving documents in his face ‘They were runaways, they don’t have anywhere to go and now they’re on a hitlist’ the ‘you fucking imbecile’ goes unsaid but they all hear it so marvel takes them back to villains lair and grabs a henchman at random and goes ‘This guys a cop…you can check that with your fancy equipment, right??’ and batman checks solely to prove him wrong but that guy is a cop and so are about 60% of the henchmen they took out then marvel goes ‘So they wouldn’t have been safe even if you took them to a hospital or child services’

Before the id reveals there’s a mission where the police are involved and flash mentions something about police protocol and marvel is so concerned bc ‘you’re still undercover? How long have you been under cover dude??’ and flash is confused bc ‘you know I’m not undercover right?? That is my actual real life day job’ and no one believes him when he says marvel shot him the most disgusted look you can imagine and edged away from him 

Batman tries to hold a meeting to address how marvel deals with the police and it goes no where bc marvel is fucking menace and goes ‘don’t you do that too?? And technically I’m also a vigilante sooo’ and batman is scrambling to get the jls attention back like ‘marvel hits cops 62% percent harder than other criminals and is 43% less friendly when interacting with the police in any capacity’ but they don’t care bc they want to know why marvel considers himself a vigilante 

They start letting Marvel be the one to approach children and notice that he’s advising them on how to make food last longer and maintain good hygiene while taking care of themselves and a jl members like hey wtf?? and Marvel says some bullshit about how ‘he’s lived many lives and not all of them were charmed’ and it gets back to cyborg who starts a rumor that he was dracula bc he can’t believe marvel had the balls to look WW in the eyes and lie to her fucking face

[nightmareweaverz]

What is Love? (Mr. Gap x GN!Reader) Part 2

Read Part 1 Here

CW: Mild gore/injury, a bit of violence but nothing extreme

Word count: 2536

Since people enjoyed it and I had some ideas, I decided to continue this! We meet someone new in this chapter. Keep in mind it's not gonna turn into a love triangle, tho. The new character serves a different purpose. Enjoy and lemme know what you think!

Another book falls shut with a loud thump next to the armchair that's held you for the past two days. A large stack rests beside it. You've been leafing through many of them lately, especially romance books. Not all of them fit your taste, some you would even call boring. Reading wasn't a hobby of yours when you were in the human world, but here, you've found this more enjoyable than walking around with no real purpose. Even the boring ones become less boring eventually. It’s nice to pretend you are a character in a story, with a different life, one that has purpose. Unlike your current reality.

Until you run out of books. Then you have to go out searching for more. This is one of those times. You've read everything from your last find. It was mostly magazines and newspapers, save for one or two novels, some of them half shredded. But their job is done now.

Crowbar in hand and hood drawn over your head, you detach yourself from the armchair and set out on your little mission. Your previous haul is left behind. There is no point in trying to keep any of the things you've finished reading. They'd only slow you down in this ever shifting maze.

The hallways are as creepy and hard to navigate as usual. A locked door here, imminent danger there, some horrific friendly residents and other equally horrific non friendly residents. The usual.

While you're peering inside a vent in an attempt to see if you can use it to get past a wall, Mr. Gap pays you a visit.

“Hello,” he greets you.

“Hello. Can take other room?” You point at the wall.

“Can take.”

“Danger there?”

“No danger. Lots of object.”

That's exactly what you were hoping to hear.

“You take me?”

“Take, take.”

He grabs your arm. Your vision goes black for a moment, as it always does when Mr. Gap moves you from one place to another. Everything goes quiet and you briefly feel a chill envelop you. Then you're in a new place, the room he promised to take you to.

“Thank you.”

Lately, he's been doing a mix of asking for body parts and doing things without wanting anything in return. Whether he’s trying to be nicer or he plans on asking for something later, is unknown to you. The occasionally friendly company is still appreciated.

You turn to the piles of random objects fallen from the human world. A far larger pile than usual. With a little bit of luck, it won’t all be full of worthless junk. You get to sorting through them before an earthquake can do it all in.

“What you search?” Mr. Gap's face peeks out from beneath a toppled over armchair.

“Lots of paper.”

Old dirty clothes, a couple abandoned toys, a lamp, a bike wheel, they all get thrown around in your search. You let out a triumphant “Yes!” when you stumble upon a copy of Frankenstein. It's not romance, but it'll keep you busy nonetheless. You shove it beneath your underarm before resuming the search.

“You like paper? Me like paper,” Mr. Gap comments as he reappears in another nook between two wooden planks.

“Okay,” you say dismissively. Normally, you'd humor him, but this world is unpredictable and you want fuel for your newly acquired pastime before it decide to bury everything beneath a pile of rubble.

You turn over a seat pillow and his face suddenly pops up in the space beneath. He holds out a magazine.

“Oh, thank-”

“Me want your finger.”

This slimy gremlin. You flash him your middle finger, only for a moment, before he can misunderstand and rip it off. The gesture confuses him, but the following grumbles must mean it didn't fly over his head entirely.

“Stop take my paper. Me not give,” you warn that you won't exchange any body parts for magazines he finds before you do.

But he knows this by now. It must simply delight him to see the furrow in your brow and hear you huff in irritation. You return to your task, refusing to grant him anymore satisfaction.

One pile of random objects later, he pops up again, this time with another book. This one is small, made of thick cardboard. The brightly colored cover suggests that it's for children.

“Me give, you teach me,” he says this time.

“Teach what?” He better not be about to ask you to sing itsy bitsy spider.

Mr. Gap opens up the book on a page where a cartoon little boy is offering a flower to a little girl. “What this?”

Where did he find that? Has he been trying to learn more about love? Is that why he's curious about such a gesture? The idea makes you find him kind of cute if it's true. Have you both just been reading romance related material, fumbling like idiots to figure out how it works?

As for explaining it, first, you point at the flower and say the word for it in English, since you're not sure there's a term for it here.

“This flower. Human give flower to person they like. Flower nice, pretty.”

Mr. Gap attempts to speak the new word. “Flower?” He stares at the illustration for another moment, then smiles creepily, the way he always does. “Thank you.”

In exchange, he gives you the magazine he'd tempted you with earlier. It’s a paranormal one. Knowing him, he’s already read through it. Read… Can Mr. Gap read? He doesn’t understand your language when you speak it, but he seems particularly fond of magazines. Is it all for the pictures? Maybe you’ll ask him next time.

You tuck the magazine next to the book and continue through the pile.

Once your left arm is satisfyingly full, you leave the room, now in search of a safe place to sit and read.

The sound of footsteps suddenly approaching nails you to the spot for a moment. Your hand instinctively grips the crowbar tighter, preparing for the worst. Whatever is coming, it better not force you to drop your books and flee. Because then you will be pissed. And you tend to lose control when you are pissed.

Fortunately, what walks in does not prove to be threatening. In fact, it's not even a resident. A young man with messy red hair cautiously steps in, then immediately freezes when he spots you. The sight of him nearly knocks all the air out of you. There is another human in the Other World. A living, breathing human, something you thought you'd never see again.

You are aware of how frightening you look. The bloodied raincoat, the silver hair, the bandages on your face and your blotchy, dark reddish skin. You often turn away quickly when faced with smooth metal, glass and, god forbid, mirrors. It's hard to believe the image you see is you. So his fear of you comes as no surprise. It serves as a grim reminder of what you've become.

“Hello.” When you speak, you use your native language.

“You speak English?!” the young man sounds startled and relieved at the same time.

“Yes… What are you doing here?”

Speaking complex sentences feels far better than you expected. It brings you a type of joy and nostalgia that startles you. Had you been missing it that much?

“I… I don't remember how I got here. Or what I was doing before. I'm just looking for the exit. Can you help me?”

This sounds painfully familiar. You remember when that used to be you. When you still had hope. And that memory tugs at something in your chest and urges you to make sure this man finds that exit. Before it's too late.

“I can help. What's your name?”

Such a human question to ask. The idea of using someone's proper name also makes you happy. When exactly have you become the type of person excited about complex sentences and names?

“I'm Robin. And you?”

You give him your name and he nods uneasily. Perhaps he hasn't been here long enough to be unphased by residents. That's good. It means there's still time.

“Mr. Gap?” you call out as you turn to the nearest crevice you can find. He appears as he always does. “Can take person exit?”

He glances at the human behind you, who is now observing warily. Then he shoots you that annoying grin of his. “Me want your heart.”

“Uh! Not give heart! Lead exit!”

“Not give? Goodbye.” And then he disappears.

You feel a strong urge to smack that grin right off his face. But he's gone and it seems like it's up to you to help this man find his way out.

“What did you talk about?” the man in question asks.

“I thought he'd help, but I overestimated his kindness… Come on, we need to find an elevator. It will take you out of here.”

“Alright… Um, thank you!”

His thanks is met with a dismissive little wave from you. Begrudgingly, the books have to be left here. The chances of finding them again are very slim, but you'll be less efficient with one arm entirely full.

The two of you set out to search for the exit.

The first rooms you pass through are an empty blessing. Robin isn't very talkative. Despite his wide shoulders and tall build, he appears quite timid and frightened. Every time you enter a new room, he first pokes his head in cautiously, then he dares to advance once he knows the coast is clear.

Is this how you used to be? Frightfully wandering the Other World, aided by Mr. Crawling, scared of your own shadow? It's a stark contrast to the apathetic stride you've developed since your return.

“How long have you been down here?” Robin asks after a prolonged silence.

“A while. It's hard to keep track of time here.”

“Is there… no way to turn you back?”

“I had a friend who was searching for a cure. But we got separated…”

You don't want to think about Mr. Silvair or the rest right now. You'd rather just focus on the task of finding the elevator.

“Is your friend like the guy in the hole?”

“Uh, no! That guy is an annoying little jerk who only does as he pleases.” Your face twists in annoyance just thinking about Mr. Gap. He could've effortlessly helped out, but he chose to be a pain instead.

“Oh, sorry.”

The hallway ends with two identical doors. Doors. They're so annoying in this world. Immediate death, sudden threat or a boring room could be waiting behind one and usually there's no way to tell them apart unless you open it.

“Stay back,” you instruct the human as you cautiously turn the doorknob.

Through the crack you've opened, you see a large, mostly empty room apart from a shelf with various toys on it. There are no signs of enemies for now.

“Okay, we can go.”

You step inside, you first and Robin cowering behind you. Everything seems fine as you head towards the doorless exit on the other side of the room. Until the door suddenly shuts and locks behind you.

“Who did that?!” Robin exclaims, startled.

You clutch your crowbar tighter, eyes darting around the room. One of the stuffed animals on the shelf suddenly lunges at you. However, you've spent long enough down here to parry such an attack easily. Swiftly, you swing your crowbar and knock it against the wall. Something shatters inside it. It stops moving.

But you have no time to relax. Robin lets out a startled scream. When you turn his way, several other toys are trying to climb him. One of them has sharp teeth and is biting into his arm.

“Get off him, you pests!” you yell out as you knock them off one by one, always followed by that shattering sound.

When he's freed, Robin quickly backs into a corner, cradling his bleeding arm. He's hurt. That's not good. He hasn't begun to transform at all. So his healing is that of a normal person.

“How deep is it? Let me see.”

“What were those things?! They- they bit me!” He’s panicking.

“Robin, you have to calm down and let me see your injury. It's gonna be okay. I'll get you out. But I need to see your arm first.” You try to be gentle. At least that's not something you've forgotten how to do yet.

He stares with wide eyes full of terror at first. But with each new reassurance, his breathing slowly relaxes and his trembling seizes. He offers you the arm. Gently, you roll up the torn sleeve of his shirt. Nine deep little cuts in a semicircle ooze blood on his forearm. It's not fatal, but leaving it untreated would be unwise.

You quickly glance around the room until you spot the dark void beneath the bottom of the shelf. You hurry to it at once.

“Mr. Gap! We need medicine! Person hurt. Blood,” you announce in the other language.

Mr. Gap does appear. He throws one look Robin's way, then grins at you. “Medicine? Can bring. Me want their finger.”

“Oh, for the love of- Give you my finger!” you try to bargain, not in the mood to explain that giving him a human's finger would defeat the purpose of asking for medicine.

Mr. Gap looks almost offended. Perhaps because you usually never say yes to his demands when he asks for your body parts. “Why?”

“Need medicine! Hurt! If outsider give finger, lots of hurt!” you explain, exasperated.

His face twists in displeasure. When he looks at Robin again, his eyes narrow, like he suddenly can't stand him. “Me not want your finger. Me want their finger.”

“Uh! You slimy little sewer rat!” you insult him, fully aware he hasn't a clue what you're saying, but probably able to tell from your tone it isn't nice. Then you turn away indignantly.

“Did your friend not want to help?” Robin asks timidly when you return to him.

“He thinks everything needs to be a transaction. It's fine, we'll manage without him.”

You lift up a part of your raincoat and rip off a piece of the white garment beneath it. Robin holds out his arm once again and allows you to bandage it.

“Why are you going to such lengths to help me?” he murmurs.

Why? You ask yourself that in turn. Perhaps because you didn't make it out. Perhaps you don't want another person to step outside and feel like a shark in the middle of a city, scary yet powerless and out of place.

“I just want somebody else to make it home after I couldn't.”

“I'm sorry…”

“It's fine. I don't need you to pity me. Just try to stay alive. Come on, let's go.”

You tilt your head towards the doorless opening. Begrudgingly, Robin pushes himself away from the corner and follows you out.

You both fail to notice the small roll of bandages that rolls out from beneath the shelf just as you pass it.

[p0orbaby]

Teddy Picker

summary: three’s a crowd might be an understatement

warnings: none

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 1k

-

Your bedroom is a war zone, but instead of landmines, it’s littered with plushies. Innocent, wide-eyed plushies. Each one has a name, a backstory, and possibly a retirement plan, because you take this stuff seriously. There’s Mr. Fluffington, the bear who "survived" your university years, Miss Whiskers, a cat with a questionable amount of fur left after years of cuddling, and God knows how many others.

Leah’s in bed, wedged between a life-size llama and a squishy avocado. She’s trying to read, but there’s a giraffe’s neck poking her in the eye, and a penguin is wedged under her knee in a way that defies the laws of physics. The woman’s practically sweating from the effort of not losing it.

“It’s like sleeping in a zoo,” she says, not for the first time. You’re not sure if she’s talking to you, herself, or Mr. Snuggles, the elephant who’s somehow become the unofficial leader of the bed plushies. “Except none of these animals breathe, and they all look like they’re judging me”

She’s not wrong. They do have that creepy, glassy-eyed stare going on. It’s the kind of gaze that says, “I’m cute, but if you fall asleep, I might just steal your soul”

You, of course, are oblivious to this. You’re flitting around the room, busy finding space for the latest addition—a bright pink octopus with a smile so wide it’s borderline unhinged. You plop it down right in the middle of the bed, where it immediately claims dominion over the blankets. Leah watches this, her jaw tightening like she’s about to have a full-blown existential crisis.

“Babe, I love you,” she starts, the tone you’ve come to recognize as the precursor to a very serious, possibly relationship-defining conversation. “But we’re running out of bed”

“We have a king-size bed,” you point out helpfully, like the size of the bed has anything to do with the impending suffocation she’s feeling.

“And yet, somehow, I’m sleeping in the fetal position on the edge of a cliff,” Leah retorts, kicking at a plushie that’s taken up residence near her foot. “Why is there a taco in our bed? We don’t even eat tacos in bed”

“It’s not just a taco,” you correct her, as if this explains everything. “It’s Señor Taco, and he represents my love of Mexican cuisine”

Leah blinks. Slowly. Like she’s buffering and trying really, really hard not to crash.

“And why is Señor Taco touching my leg?”

“He’s being friendly?”

“I swear to God, if one more inanimate object gets near my leg…”

“Look,” you say, climbing into the plushie mountain, where you promptly disappear like it’s some kind of portal to a magical, fluffy realm. You poke your head out, like a meerkat surveying the savannah. “They’re just… comforting”

Leah sighs, closing her book, or at least trying to, but it’s hard when the pages are partially obscured by a duck with a beanie. “I’m sure they are, but it’s like sleeping in a furnace. Do you know how much heat these things trap? I woke up last night thinking I was being smothered by a goddamn Build-A-Bear”

You laugh because, honestly, the mental image is hilarious, but Leah looks dead serious. She probably had a near-death experience with a rogue teddy bear last night, and here you are, making fun of her.

“We can get rid of some,” you offer, half-heartedly, because you both know you’re lying. You’re not getting rid of a single plushie. Not Mr. Fluffington, not Señor Taco, and definitely not the avocado, which you’ve started using as a neck pillow.

“Uh-huh,” Leah says, unconvinced. “And which one of these childhood relics are you going to sacrifice to save our relationship?”

You look around, as if there’s even the slightest chance you’ll willingly part with any of them. “What about the avocado?”

Leah perks up. “Really?”

“No, I was kidding. Avocados are healthy”

Leah groans, pushing the giraffe away from her face. “At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to plushies”

“They’re hypoallergenic,” you assure her, because you googled that once in a fit of paranoia after you brought home Mr. Snuggles and Leah sneezed for three days straight. She’s giving you a look now, one that says she’s rethinking every single decision she’s made since meeting you.

“Just… maybe… one night?” she pleads, voice softening, appealing to your nonexistent sense of reason. “One night without the army of stuffed animals?”

“Where would they sleep?”

“Anywhere but here. In the living room, in a wardrobe, in a goddamn plushie cemetery for all I care”

You pretend to think it over. “But then they’ll be lonely”

Leah throws her head back on the pillow and stares at the ceiling, contemplating the chain of events that have led her to this moment. “I think you’re confusing your feelings with theirs”

“Maybe,” you admit, settling in next to her, your body flush against hers, although there’s really only so much of Leah you can touch because Señor Taco’s taking up most of the space between you. You snuggle into her shoulder, despite the llama’s best efforts to wedge itself between you.

Leah wraps an arm around you, half-heartedly, more out of habit than actual affection at this point. “One night,” she whispers, like she’s making some sort of solemn vow. “One night where I’m not suffocating under a pile of polyester and fake fur”

You hum in response, already half-asleep, because honestly, plushies are the best. They’re soft, they don’t talk back, and they definitely don’t complain about how hot it is in the bed. They’re perfect, and Leah should really be more appreciative of the cute little ecosystem you’ve built here.

As you drift off, Leah’s already strategizing. She’s probably planning a plushie heist, one where she sneaks out of bed in the dead of night and smuggles Mr. Snuggles and his plushie gang out of the room and into some faraway closet.

But for now, you’re both stuck. You in your plushie paradise, and Leah in her plushie purgatory.

It’s a good thing you love each other because honestly, if there’s anything that’s going to test this relationship, it’s Señor Taco and his posse of cuddly, suffocating friends.

[enzstr]

Only You || K. Bakugo

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

synopsis: starz26708 and Dino.tnt609, two students who first met in an online chatroom. A friendship had flourished between them. With the strong need to meet each other, 6aku.tnt609 slowly gains curiosity regarding the other's identity, which sparked the desire to meet her within him. What could possibly go wrong?

💭: btw, this is inspired from the Chad Michael Murray and Hilary Duff movie A Cinderella's Story!!

author's note: My deepest apologies it took me so long to upload the new chapter!!! I've been having finals and examinations but I'm free now!! New chapter might come out in a few days or a week since it's in my drafts now...

words: 3.7k

Chapter 2: The Two People

Reader's POV

The following day, I sat in my classes, feeling unusually unfocused. I found my thoughts continually returning to the message I had received the night before from my friend, Dino.tnt609. The words and emotions contained in that message had left a powerful and lingering effect on me, making it difficult for me to fully immerse myself in the subjects being taught.

“Please meet me at the school’s party. I’ll be waiting for you at 11:00 in the middle of the dance floor.” 

Those messages had set themselves so deeply into my thoughts that it was as if they were on a constant replay in my mind. No matter what I did, I couldn't seem to rid myself of their presence. They continued to resurface, over and over again, like a stubborn memory that refused to be forgotten. The more I tried to dismiss them, the more their contents seemed to linger in my thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside or ignored.

“Y/n, what is the difference between speed and velocity?”

My heart dropped. I have been half-listening, my mind drifting, thinking about the message Dino sent to me—contemplating meeting him, and the school party. But now, I was completely caught off guard. Difference between speed and velocity—the words sounded fuzzy in my head, like fragments of a puzzle I wasn’t sure how to put together.

That was when she noticed him.

Bakugo.

He was sitting at the back of the class, leaning back in his chair, hands casually folded behind his head. He was grinning—the kind of grin that wasn’t friendly or supportive. It was the kind of grin that only came when you were sure someone else was about to fail. He’d been watching me for a while now, and I could feel his gaze boring into me. I knew exactly what he was thinking: She wasn’t paying attention. She doesn’t know the answer. This is my chance to look good in front of everyone.

The grin on Bakugo’s face widened ever so slightly, and I could almost hear his internal smirk. He had the confidence of someone who’d aced every test without breaking a sweat, someone who knew how to get under your skin with the smallest of gestures. And right now, his quiet, almost smug enjoyment was aimed directly at me.

My stomach twisted. It wasn’t that I cared about beating Dylan, exactly. But I did care about not looking foolish in front of the class—especially when he was clearly expecting me to fail. The challenge hung in the air, palpable, like an unspoken duel. I could almost hear him thinking, Come on, mess up. Please mess up.

The competitive spark in me flared to life, and in that moment, something shifted inside of me. I wasn’t going to let him get the last laugh. No way.

I straightened up in my chair, eyes narrowing just slightly, and forced myself to focus. I don’t need to know everything, I told myself. I just need to know enough to get this answer right.

My gaze locked back onto the board, and suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to make sense of the question. It was a simple logic question—something I could handle if I stopped panicking.

Mr. Aizawa was still looking at me expectantly, but now I had a plan. I took a steadying breath and spoke, my voice clearer than she felt.

“The difference between speed and velocity lies in their definitions, speed is a scalar quantity, meaning it only describes how fast an object is moving, without any reference to direction. For example, if a car is going 50 km/h, that's its speed.”

Her eyes flicked back to the board, confirming her answer. She could feel the weight of the moment—this was what it was all about. She hadn’t been paying attention before, but she was focused now, and she was going to finish strong.

“Velocity, on the other hand, is a vector quantity. This means it not only describes how fast an object is moving but also in which direction. For instance, if the car is traveling at 50 km/h to the east, its velocity is 50 km/h east. In essence, while speed only tells you the rate of motion, velocity provides both the rate and the direction of motion.”

Mr. Aizawa nodded approvingly. "Exactly, Y/n. Well done."

I felt a small surge of relief, but it wasn’t just the satisfaction of getting the answer right. It was the feeling of having turned the tables, of having taken control of the moment that had threatened to spiral out of my grasp. I glanced over at Bakugo, just as he was about to sit up straighter in his chair. His grin faltered when he saw the glint in my eyes.

And that was all the encouragement Bakugo needed.

I couldn’t help myself. A small, almost mischievous smile curved on my lips. It wasn’t an innocent, pleased-with-herself smile—it was the kind of grin you wore when you knew you’d just pulled something off, when you’d just made someone else realize they’d misjudged you.

Bakugo’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly, the smugness faltering for the briefest of moments. He’d thought I’d fumble. He’d thought I wouldn’t know the answer. But I had shown him, and not only had I known the answer—I said it with confidence, without hesitation.

He looked away first, clearly frustrated, but I didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened. I knew that look. He didn’t like losing, even if it was just a small moment, a little victory that nobody else in the room might even notice.

But I noticed. And that was enough for her.

As the class continued, Ellie let herself settle back into her seat, but her mind was sharp, focused, and alive with the thrill of competition. Dylan might have been the golden boy of the class, but today, in this small, unexpected moment, Ellie had beaten him. And for once, it felt really good to smile back at him—just a little bit smug, just a little bit competitive—knowing that he hadn’t seen this coming.

The moment I finished answering the question, I could feel it—a mix of pride and adrenaline coursing through me. I had nailed it, no hesitation, no second-guessing. The class had been quiet after I spoke, the silence hanging in the air before the professor acknowledged my answer. It felt like the eyes of the entire room were on me, but in that instant, I didn’t care. For once, I was the one who had it together.

But then there was the scoff.

I didn’t even need to look at him to know exactly who it was. Bakugo. The ever-present thorn in my side. His chair creaked as he shifted, his eyes narrowing in that way I was so familiar with. He looked almost... irritated, the kind of expression he wore when he thought someone was challenging his spot as top dog in this class. And right now, it was clear that he did not appreciate the fact that I was the one who had answered confidently.

Why does it always have to be him? I wondered, my hands clenched under the desk. I knew it was coming—he was going to find some way to one-up me, to make me feel small for doing something as simple as knowing the answer. I hated how predictable he was, but I hated even more that it affected me so much. I’d never let him see that, though. He had to think I was just as indifferent as he was.

I kept my eyes trained forward, pretending like his irritation didn’t bother me, like I wasn’t still replaying the way he’d looked at me, the way he always tried to put me in my place. It’s just a class. It doesn’t matter, I reminded myself. This isn’t real life. This is just some stupid competition.

The bell rang, breaking my thoughts, and the class started to pack up. As usual, Bakugo shoved his things into his bag with that signature smug expression, as if he'd already forgotten the moment I’d answered correctly. He probably wouldn’t give it a second thought, while I would be stewing in it for the rest of the day.

I grabbed my phone, hoping to distract myself. A new message from Dino.tnt 609 popped up. My fingers tapped the screen eagerly, relieved for the sudden shift in focus.

Dino.tnt609: “So, Halloween party tomorrow night.. what do you think? You in?”

I smiled at the message. Dino. He was the one person who could make everything feel lighter, even when things felt heavy. Talking to him always made me feel like I could breathe again after a day of dealing with Bakugo’s constant need to compete. Dino was my escape. He didn’t care about grades or the stupid academic battles I fought with Bakugo every day. He just… gets me.

But then I hesitated. My thumb hovered over the keyboard as I began to type, the excitement of the invite quickly dampened by a twinge of anxiety. The party. It should be fun, right? Just a Halloween party. But the idea of seeing someone in person—someone I had only ever known through texts and memes and game chats—suddenly felt overwhelming. What if I didn’t click with him in real life? What if meeting him was awkward?

But more than that, what if it turned out that the person I was texting with every night was someone I couldn’t stand in real life? What if he was one of those people who, once you met them face to face, you realized you just didn’t vibe with? What if it was someone like Bakugo?

Wait, no. Don’t think that. I tried to push the thought out of my head. I knew it was irrational. Dino wasn’t Bakugo. He couldn’t be. Dino was the one who listened to my rants without judgment. Bakugo would’ve laughed at my complaints, probably turned it into some kind of competition. But Dino didn’t—he understood. He had always been there when I needed to vent about school, about life, about how exhausting it was to constantly feel like I had to prove myself to people who didn’t deserve it.

I bit my lip, still unsure. Maybe I was overthinking it. It’s just a Halloween party. Just one night. The mask I planned to wear would make it easier, give me an extra layer of comfort in case things felt weird. And if it turned out the person I was meeting in real life was someone I couldn’t stand? I could always leave early, or just keep the mask on, keep things light. No pressure.

With a sigh, I finally typed back.

starz26708: “I’m not sure yet. I want to go, but I keep thinking about who I might run into. What if it’s someone I already know and just don’t get along with? I hate the idea of meeting someone and realizing they’re not who I thought they’d be…”

I glanced at the message after I sent it, my heart pounding slightly. What if Dino didn’t understand? What if he thought I was being weird or overdramatic? But no, Dino would get it. He always did.

My phone buzzed almost immediately, and I opened the message from him.

Dino.tnt609: “I totally get it. Meeting people in real life is a lot different, especially when you’ve only talked to them online. But hey, no worries. If you don’t like the vibe when you get there, you don’t have to stay. Just come and hang out for a bit, if you feel like it. We can just keep it lowkey. And honestly, the mask thing sounds awesome. No pressure at all.”

I felt the tension leave my shoulders as I read his reply. Dino’s message was so casual, so easy-going. It reminded me that I didn’t have to overthink everything. The idea of the mask suddenly felt like a safe haven, a way to protect myself if things didn’t go as planned. And if things went well? Even better.

I glanced at my costume on the chair across the room, the simple, cute outfit with the eye mask. It was just for fun, right? It would be a way to keep things light, to feel like I could still hide behind some layer of anonymity, just in case. I could show up, meet DIno, and see how it felt. If I didn’t like the vibe, I could leave. No harm done.

Taking a deep breath, I typed out my response.

starz26708: “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll come to the party. And I’ll wear the mask. No pressure. Just… a fun time, right?”

I hit send and sat back in my chair, feeling both nervous and excited. The thought of meeting Maverick in real life still made my heart race, but now there was a sense of excitement bubbling up, too. No more overthinking. Tomorrow would be what it would be.

As I tucked my phone back into my pocket, I couldn’t help but think back to the classroom earlier that day, the way Bakugo had looked at me with that scoff, like I was some kind of threat to his place in the class. I couldn’t stop him from being irritated or annoyed by me. But for once, I didn’t need to care. I was about to meet someone who saw me for who I really was, not just some competitor in an academic race.

And for the first time in a while, that felt like enough.

The library was still, the kind of stillness that envelops you like a blanket, pressing in with its quiet whispers. The scent of old books and fresh paper, mingled with the faint hum of fluorescent lights, filled the air. I sat at my usual spot in the corner near the back row of tables, tucked between two towering bookshelves. The table before me was cluttered with textbooks, notebooks, and a half-finished cup of coffee that had long since cooled. It was late afternoon, and the golden light from the windows cast long shadows across the floor, making everything feel a bit more serene than usual.

I liked it here—the calm, the solitude, the sense of focus that always seemed to find its way to me in the midst of my chaotic thoughts. But today, there was an odd distraction. Him. Bakugo.

It wasn’t that he had suddenly appeared or made his presence known in any way. No, he’d been here for a while now, sitting at the table across from hers, his head bent low over a stack of textbooks. His usual aloofness was present, that edge of arrogance that always seemed to follow him like a cloud, but it was muted somehow. Less blatant. Less in-your-face.

I could feel the tension in her chest as I stole a glance at him. My eyes lingered for just a moment, not sure what to make of it. He wasn’t showing off, wasn’t playing the part of the smug academic genius. He was just… working.

It was weird. It had been a while since I’d seen Bakugo like this—since he had been normal. Or maybe that wasn’t the right word. Maybe it was more like he was letting his guard down a little, just enough for me to notice. He was still Bakugo, the same guy who had scoffed at me when I answered that question in class with confidence, the same guy who’d shot me looks of condescension every chance he got. But today, there was something… different.

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the way my thoughts were spiraling around him. I didn’t like this feeling. I didn’t like the fact that I was starting to care, even a little, about what Bakugo thought—or, worse, starting to wonder if he was, in some way, not the person I always assumed him to be.

My focus snapped back to my notes. I had a test coming up. A test I needed to ace. No distractions. No thoughts about him. And yet, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop my gaze from drifting back to him.

Bakugo had paused in the middle of writing, a pencil hovering above his notebook as he looked at something in the distance, his gaze unfocused. There was a tiredness about him today, something uncharacteristic, as though the weight of his own expectations were getting to him. His posture had shifted slightly; no longer the rigid, always-perfect stance, but more slouched, as if the constant pressure of being the best was beginning to wear on him. I had always known that he had his own demons, just as I did. But today, it felt… real somehow. It felt more human.

I tried to shake it off, to tell myself that this was just another moment of my own weakness, my need to understand people. To make sense of things. But it was harder now. It was harder to keep the walls up when I had seen a flicker of something real underneath the arrogance.

Bakugo cleared his throat suddenly, breaking the silence between them, and my eyes shot up, my heart giving an unexpected jolt. He was looking at me now, but not with the same sharp, dismissive gaze I was used to. No, this time, it was... different. There was still a hint of skepticism, but it wasn’t the biting kind. It was almost... curious.

“You’re doing that thing again,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, but not with the usual irritation. It was more like an observation. “Staring off into space.”

I blinked, surprised by the comment. “What?”

“You’re distracted,” he said, his voice quieter now. He shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with a tired sigh. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m some kind of puzzle you’re trying to figure out.”

I frowned, annoyed at how accurately he’d read me, even though I hadn’t been aware of it myself. “I haven’t been staring at you,” I muttered, though it wasn’t very convincing. I hadn’t meant to stare at him, but it was hard not to when something about today felt... off. In a way that was hard to describe.

Bakugo smirked, the edge of his usual arrogance slipping back for a moment. “Sure you haven’t.”

The flicker of their old dynamic was still there, but there was something softer in the way he said it. No ridicule. No malice. Just a simple, half-amused observation.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. This wasn’t helping me focus. And yet, there was something about the way Bakugo was acting today that made me feel like he wasn’t just my academic rival anymore. He wasn’t just the guy who competed against me for every grade, for every small victory.

For a split second,I entertained the thought that maybe—just maybe—I had misjudged him. But I quickly dismissed it. Bakugo was still Bakugo. Still arrogant. Still stubborn. Still too proud for his own good.

“I’m trying to focus,” I muttered, feeling a bit of tension in my chest, my irritation creeping back.

Bakugo didn’t respond right away. Instead, he picked up his pencil again and started scribbling something in his notebook. The sound of the lead scraping against the paper was oddly calming in the otherwise quiet space. I could feel the weight of the moment stretch out, the minutes slipping by as both of us worked, neither of us speaking.

And then, unexpectedly, Bakugo spoke again.

“You know,” he said, his voice a little softer than before, “you’re not the only one stressed out about this stuff.”

I blinked at him. What?

“Yeah,” He continued, not looking up from his work. “I might seem like I have everything figured out all the time, but I don’t. I—” He paused for a second, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something that wasn’t arrogance in his eyes. “I hate feeling like I’m always just... expected to be the best, you know?”

I was taken aback. I didn’t know how to respond at first. This wasn’t the Bakugo I knew, the Bakugo who acted like he had the world on a string and was just waiting for it to fall into place. No, this was different. This was... human. Vulnerable, even.

I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. “I get it,” I said quietly, before I could stop herself. “I feel the same way. Like I’m always trying to prove something. Like I’m never enough.”

Bakugo finally looked up at me then, his expression more thoughtful than I had ever seen it. The usual arrogance was still there, tucked beneath the surface, but it wasn’t all-consuming. For a second, he just looked at her, as if considering her words. And for a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say next.

Then, surprisingly, Bakugo offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, not into a smirk, but a genuine smile. It wasn’t much—certainly not the kind of smile I ever expect from him—but it was enough.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Guess we’re not so different after all.”

I was silent for a moment, processing the unexpected turn in their conversation. There was still so much about him that grated on my nerves, but in that moment, sitting in the library with him, I realized something. Maybe—just maybe—there was more to him than the arrogant exterior he always wore. Maybe there was a real person beneath all that pride and stubbornness.

And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to see him for who he truly was.

“I guess so,” I replied, offering him a small smile of my own.

Both of us went back to their work, the silence stretching out between us again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… peaceful. There was an understanding now, an unspoken truce. They weren’t enemies, not really—not anymore.

For the first time, I realized that their rivalry didn’t have to define us. We could just be two students, studying together in the same quiet space, both trying to survive the pressures of their lives.

And in that simple moment, sitting across from each other, we both found a kind of peace.

taglist: @sara4uuu @zoast32 @lemon-lav @instantmagazineconnoisseur (comment to be added on my taglist!)

enzstr © 2024. please don't steal, modify or copy my writing on any other platforms!

[monratarot]

Who will be your future spouse?

Pick a card reading🍄🦋🌸💗

Hello guys! Moni here! 🧚🏼‍♀️

It's almost the half of the month so I was thinking that this would be a good opportunity for those who are single and searching for love.

Here is a free reading about your future spouse. Pick the pile that you are most drawn to and scroll down to read about your future partner. Keep in mind that gender can be reversed.

Takes what resonate with you because remember that this is just a general reading and it might not apply for everyone.

Don't forget to like/reblog/comment and follow me! I would really appreciate it because it will help my blog grow!

So let's get started! Enjoy!💟

Moni🧚🏻‍♀️

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒Your feedback is highly appreciated

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒Like and reblog to claim your pile

Pile 1 🍄☁️🌸 Pile 2 🍄☁️🌸Pile 3

└─── °∘💮∘° ───┘ └─── °∘💮∘° ───┘ └─── °∘💮∘° ───┘

Pile 1 (🌸◠∀◠)(◠ᵕ◠🌸)

MR CREATIVE - control over emotions, diplomatic, compassionate ↓manipulative, a master of emotions with selfish intentions

When you can meet them – Libra season or 7 weeks/7 months, on a Sunday

He is charming and confident but comfortable to be around.

Astrological associations - Libra and Scorpio

Men or women over the age of 40

emotionally passionate

a person with auburn, red, or medium colored hair

solid love

someone dynamic, active, and radiate confidence;

creative man, the poet, the man who dreams deeply

they can be sometimes wishy-washy but always with the flow of things even if he can be frustratingly laid back at the time

vitality, passion, and appetite for life, deeply sensual and not ashamed of his pleasure or his body

in their negative they becomes the addicted or the impotent lover(he becomes posses and lost, living only for the pleasure at the moment

nurture, guide, and support others; act socially responsible; let yourself be touched and moved; listen to others with sympathy and understanding; use intuition in decision-making

Key meaning of the relationship:

a compassionate and somewhat emotional person

a warm and gentle guy, liked by many for his easy nature

warmhearted, charismatic person

they follow their intuition in their work

they are sociable, but sensitive and need to choose their friends wisely

ideal romantic partner

motivated to help others through direct action and cooperation, serene, calm

subtle, friendly, sympathetic, caring, compassionate, affectionate

avoids conflicts and problems, willing to help, co-dependent

hypersensitive to indifference and criticism, difficulty in saying “no”

pessimistic, gloomy, doesn't want to offend or disappoint anyone

nostalgic, unstable, easily seduced, duplicity, rigid control of or hides emotions, manipulation

telling others what they want to hear, can be overwhelming by another's pain

Oracle Message: Support others by supporting yourself first.

Your day may also feel confused, changeable, and with many different things that seem to require your attention from upset teenagers to misunderstandings with others that arise from unchecked emotions.

Time for you to consider finding your own support from this type of person.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ .:☆. ────── ･ ｡☆: .☽ .:☆. ────── ･ ｡☆: .☽ .:☆. ───

a sexy or sensual feel to your love life; a focus on primal urges, sexuality, and dominance; beginnings of a romance that is very physical but sometimes lacking on more substantial levels; the attraction in a new relationship will be based on appearances rather than things in common

Possible job:

entrepreneurs

inventors

goal setters and go-getters

mystics and spiritual leaders

sports coach

fitness instructor

motivational speaker

life coach

army soldiers

coach

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

Pile 2 (🌸◠∀◠)(◠ᵕ◠🌸)

I KNOW I'M A DREAMER - romance, adventurism, an invitation ↓moodiness, someone who is too charming, heated emotions/temper

When you can meet them – Pisces season, 12 weeks/12 months, on a Saturday

They are a dedicated, motivated, emotional, tender, sensitive, and loving person

Element - the fire of the suits of water - Aquaris + Pisces

romance, relationships

dreamy, charming, romantic

being focused on love

man or women under the age of 40

dark hair and eyes

faithfulness

this knight’s quest is love

romantic person, a love interest & also yourself in the throes of full-on love

tendency to be manic by nature(one moment you are the love of his life and the next one you are the thorn in their ass)

tendency to be jealous by nature

stalker

Key meaning of the relationship

prosperity, property and beginnings

the beginning stages of something tangible

growth

material abundance

new enterprise

finances or wealth; a solid fruitful foundation

a promotion

good luck

unexpected money

Oracle Message: Act with love, express yourself, be creative.

Allow yourself the time to write poetry, prepare a sumptuous meal, plan that secret date for your partner.

Do something special for your lover today – flowers, chocolates, that date – but something unusual like ice skating, or a quiet out-of-town dinner, something that is intimate and full of togetherness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ .:☆. ────── ･ ｡☆: .☽ .:☆. ────── ･ ｡☆: .☽ .:☆. ───

love is around the corner and sparks are already flying; great opportunities for growth and positive natural change in romance; speak up and act out in order to get what you want; new relationship, go with the flow; time to pursue new love, to feel silly with someone or just to fall unconditionally in love with you(embrace your inner fool and trust that falling into this phase is the point)

Possible job:

entrepreneurs

inventors

creators

pioneers and adventurers

mystics and spiritual leaders

sports coach

fitness instructor

motivational speaker

life coach

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

Pile 3 (🌸◠∀◠)(◠ᵕ◠🌸)

Mr PRACTICAL - abundance, security, financial success ↓greed, temptation, infinite desire for more things

When you can meet them – in Capricorn season, 10 weeks/10 months, on a Tuesday

They are thoughtful and wise, not rushing decisions nor being swayed to conform to modernity

Element - the air of the suit of earth

Astrological association - Aries and Taurus

a generous person

man or women over the age of 40

dark hair and eyes

finding happiness

seeing failures as winds

natural business person

great sense of humor

seeing failures as wins

being positive, being thankful

honest soul

naive for love

educated

emotional

person who demonstrates how resources are gained and used

they are always there

common-sense, apparent, reliable, accomplished, solid, steady, calm, wealthy, supportive

the user of secret knowledge, the knower, and the master of the technology

in their negative - they becomes the manipulator or the denying “innocent” one; taking advantage of others through specialized knowledge(leads to false superiority, isolation, and loneliness)

Oracle Message: This is a day for holding court & solving issues.

People see you as someone trustworthy, authoritative, level-headed, and great in a crisis.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ .:☆. ────── ･ ｡☆: .☽ .:☆. ────── ･ ｡☆: .☽ .:☆. ───

you no longer have the tolerance for the drama that a younger kind of love would offer, what you want is to be with someone who understands what life is really about; you will be successful in your endeavors - have faith

Possible job:

estate agent/developers

businessman/manager

director

master craftsman

banker

stock broker

teacher/educator

merchants

businessman

bodybuilder

bodyguard

professional athlete

entrepreneur

lawyer

banker

consultant

gardener

doctor

electrician

[ma1dita]

entropy

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.6k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where you both blur the lines between annoyance and admiration. You and Luke forge a promise of becoming partners in crime. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: something happy for the tl– this is the official end of the pre-established relationship arc!! contains two demigods hating their godrents and typical teenager mood swings (thanks for being patient during my hiatus! missed yall <3)

(posted 6/20/24, semi-edited)

—

Whoever said that finding where you belong is the key to happiness must have been lying.

That, or they’ve never known what it’s like to be a 15-year-old girl.

Sweat drips down the side of your brow bone in the middle of the summer heat. It’s a mystery why you’re still out here with the blistering itch of humidity sending everyone at Camp Half-Blood out to the lake to cool off during free period. You’ve never been friendly with the other campers anyway. It’s not for lack of trying—but toeing the line between being a total psychopath (because of who your dad is—THE god of insanity) and the biggest possible narc (also because of who your dad is—the worst camp director ever) didn’t exactly help your reputation in the past year of taking up space here.

And honestly… teenagers can be fucking mean.

The Aphrodite kids often laugh at your unkempt appearance, hair brushed only by the warm breeze and your camp shirt twisted and tie-dyed to your liking. You had a knack for getting into trouble with the Hephaestus kids after setting something on fire at the armory once… or twice. The Apollo kids were nice enough for as long as you’d sing a song—but there was no way you’d stick in the background arranging sheet music and playing guitar for them forever. Athena cabin was always too cool for you—with no one but little Annabeth Chase entertaining your endless chattering (but if anyone asked, you’d think it’s because they’re all sore losers when it comes to chess). The Ares kids were a little more your speed if only they would stop using you as moving target practice and the Demeter kids might’ve been nicer if you knew how to grow anything other than strawberries. 

It was nice to be included, you guess. Tolerated at best.

But it wasn’t the same as feeling like you belonged.

From the corner of your eye, you see Luke Castellan come back from lunch and dust kicks up from under your boots as you cross your legs in the lawn chair you sit in. Blinking harshly, you realize you’ve been squinting at the sun for ages. He’s seen you do weirder things since you’ve both somewhat acclimated yourselves to Camp Half-Blood’s culture, with you becoming a bit of an oddity as well as local entertainment with the shit you pull to get your dad to look your way. But it was something about the way you were so still under the sunlight that piqued his interest.

And quiet. You were never quiet.

Since you moved out of cabin 11 almost a year ago, his life has admittedly been a bit more peaceful, him finding his groove as a camper and…becoming everything that you’re not. Sure, he’s getting used to calling this place home, but where he shines, you’ve… struggled. Can’t say the same for him though—admittedly his life is kinda great right now.

If you needed a sub for volleyball, Luke’s your guy. Oh no, we need help bringing bushels of strawberries to the kitchens! Luke’s there to help. Someone needs a hand with sparring— there’s no one better than Luke Castellan! The all-star camper, and everyone’s best friend. He’s in talks to become cabin counselor by next year while you’ve had almost every punishment Mr. D can think of giving.

No dessert, shoveling pegasus shit, helping the nymphs on your days off, and the list just goes on. Sometimes you wonder if it’s your father’s way of keeping you busy so he doesn’t have to see you—it’s a miracle you haven’t been disintegrated yet by the god of insanity himself, but perhaps that’s both a pro and con of being his only daughter.

On his way out of his cabin, he stops short a ways away from the firepit, gaze falling upon the red tips of your hair hanging off the chair you lay on (chemically lightened by lemon juice and Kool-Aid you’ve recently learned to conjure). The piercings in your ears sparkle in the warm light—you and a few kids from the Hephaestus cabin pulled them off one late night with sewing needles and apples from the kitchens. 

It’s crazy what you can learn about someone by watching them from afar. Slightly creepy, and kind of concerning, but if anyone bothered to ask, Luke had an excuse for why he was always looking out the front window of cabin 11. The Hermes cabin was directly across the way from the Dionysus cabin, which housed its sole inhabitant, you. 

That in itself is a shitty excuse, he knows that, but… Luke worries. He knows he shouldn’t, but his eyes always subconsciously find their way back to you and whatever trouble you find yourself in—last week it was a pegasi stampede through the north end of the strawberry fields.

Yeah… you didn’t have a good explanation for that one either.

“Shouldn’t you be showing off and saving camp from a chimera, Castellan? Or kissing a baby, or something else super awesome and cool?” you mock, nose crinkling slightly.

He blinks, face falling as he stumbles off the porch towards you, a whisper of a smile still grazing his cheekbones. The sight almost makes you angry, really, and a part of him knows that he’s the bane of your existence. 

How rude of him to be good at everything and good-looking. Truthfully, it made his face very punchable, in your opinion—but the growing list of girls and boys that began to fawn over him after his growth spurt last winter probably think otherwise. 

“Only baby I see here is you,” he mumbles, pulling a chair up next to yours and flopping his dead weight into it, “What’re you doing here pouting all by yourself?”

Your eyes follow his movements and you can’t help but inspect all of him—from the lean muscles that ripple down his arms to the sweat that glitters as it kisses his cupid’s bow. 

He better not dare to kiss me even as a joke, you think, there would be nothing worse than that!

“Trouble? You know you scare me when you’re quiet. S’how I know you’re bothered by something,” Luke nudges your forearm jokingly, hands slightly sticky and smelling like cherries and smoke. His tongue is painted red from a popsicle he snuck out from the kitchens earlier. The sparklers he stole from the basement of the Big House still line his pockets.

No one ever looks twice at the golden boy, after all.

You shrug, kicking your legs under your bottom and staring back up at the clouds that hang overhead. Zeus could strike you down right now and you’d probably thank him. Death by the king of the gods seemed way more interesting than the personal hell of being at Camp Half-Blood you think, sputtering, “What’s it to you? Shouldn’t the camp hotshot have better things to do than hang around someone like me?” But the words feel heavy in your mouth, uncomfortable and clunky as you wet your lips with your tongue and clear your throat. Luke watches your eyes steel, turning away from him like orating a script to an imaginary audience. 

The world is your stage and you feel as if you’re but a performer that has to fulfill an act.

It’s easier somehow like this—to not let your feelings go rogue, or let yourself feel too strongly. All of your efforts have fallen short, despite your mother’s dying vow that these would be the best years of your life. But with one year down, sometimes you wonder if you’d stand a better chance out in the mortal world—hitchhiking your way back down south to the empty house you used to call home. 

Maybe a chimera would get you first. 

Or a hellhound. 

You could probably take a hellhound, right?

A smirk falls upon your lip, freshly bitten and raw and you realize he’s still there next to you. Luke is still watching you silently as his hand taps on the wooden arm of the lawn chair—a nonsensical beat that fills the silence that follows like someone feeling their way around a wound. His contemplation is gentle, even if your expression is festering the longer you sit together.

“You're literally the coolest girl here. Since when did you give a shit about what anyone has to say?”

Your face is stoic, amethyst eyes bouncing down the slope of his face and back up until they meet his that are honey-sweet. 

I CARE! a voice inside you wants to scream. It sounds like a little version of you stomping her foot until someone finally pays attention. But Luke’s eyes are already on your clenched fists and you haven’t made a single sound.

“Since when does Mr. Perfect know how to cuss?” you deflect, and he barks out a laugh, shaking his head yet nodding for you to continue. He knows that’s not what you meant to say.

“I can hardly believe that you of all people here think that I’m cool. I’m kind of a mess,” you try to reason, puffing your chest so that the breath makes your hair sway away from your face. 

“Sure,” Luke says as his chin rests against his arm. He blinks slowly, taking you in almost thoughtfully as he feels out his next words, “But you’re…you.” 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Mischief prances through his features and you absolutely hate the look he gets on his face when he thinks he knows better than you.

Egotistical piece of shit.

Your hand jabs out to shove his, all of his front falling over in a fit of laughter as he catches himself and suddenly he’s too close. Close enough that for a moment, you’re scared he might see right through you.

Luke Castellan is not someone who would ever understand the pressure that you currently buckle under. 

“You’ve got it all, you know? You can do whatever you want, your dad notices you. You’ve already found your glory by just being here… I mean all of us here want tha—” Your fist hits the wall of muscle in his abdomen. It’s haphazard and a cheap shot that probably hurt you more than him, but anger was the first emotion to surface (and you did say he was punchable—next time you’ll aim for his jaw). Luke huffs, slightly winded, though if anything his ego is the only thing coming out of this with a bruise.

“What?”

“What do you mean what, asshole? You think I want any of this?” you laugh coldly, reeling away from him like he’s burned you. Hands to your chest, scalded by his words, Luke is trying to find the misstep in his actions with his mind running miles a minute as he watches your brows furrow and you’re shaking like a pot about to boil over.

“I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

You’re not looking at him anymore, trembling hands doing more harm than good as you throw your stuff into your worn knapsack. This must be your last straw, you think, quickly thinking of your meager belongings packed underneath your bed and a letter to your dad tucked under your pillow. This is your sign to get the hell out of here. But as you’re tugging the canvas cloth over your shoulder, a gentle hand clasps around the straps, and a soft, “Hey, hey…” makes its way towards your ears and the frosty feeling that surrounds your heart.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke mumbles, spinning you to look at him as he sighs. Worry is a familiar feeling he’s acquainted with over this past year of knowing you, “Come on now, tell me. I’m a better listener than I am at speaking, obviously…” He catches the quiver in your lip with a graze of his finger, leading you back to your seat and placing your bag at his feet—making sure you can’t run, and even if you wanted to, you’re unsure of what else you have left to lose. 

“Everyone thinks I have it easy because I don’t let anything break my smile. But I’d rather be anywhere than here. I’m a joke, hones—”

“Don’t say that,” he interjects, quickly silenced by your glare.

“You think it’s all sunshine and rainbows that I see my godrent every day? That what, I’m lucky?” 

Luke simpers, curls falling over his forehead as jealousy clouds his vision. He has a few choice words towards his own father, but surely it can’t be all that bad. Anything must be better than a broken mother and a dreadfully absent father. 

“Hit me with it already, Trouble.”

“My dad loves me because he has to. But there’s no way he actually likes me. It shouldn't get to me that much, even if he hates the parts of me I got from him, but it does. No one here likes me either.”

You don’t know whether you should laugh or cry, opening up to Luke like this. All you know is you haven’t been vulnerable to anyone in a while—the last you tried to talk to your dad about your dead mother left you with more questions than answers.

Trying to gauge the look on his face, you avert your eyes, picking at the peeling polish on your nails as you continue, “I think my father is lonely here in a camp full of children that aren’t his own and almost a mortal lifetime away from his seat on Olympus. He has a wife who waits for the eternity they’ll have to spend with each other. And I’m nothing but a smudge on his timeline— a reminder of a life that he had before saving her. I'm the last thing that holds him back from being happy.” 

He listens. And then he speaks, almost blurting, “I’m my dad’s favorite—or so they say. So he likes me for all the effort I put into being his son, but he doesn’t love me. Not how he should. I can count the number of times I’ve seen him and my mom’s not dead, even if it’s easier to tell everyone that. But I’ve lost her anyway and he let that happen.”

That’s grim.

There are cracks of darkness in the sunshine boy after all. There’s a gleam of angst in both of your stares, daring the other to compete in this little pity party and seeing who would give in first. But neither of you break—shiny fractals of both your experiences blending into an understanding.

A middle ground.

A huff of laughter is released between the both of you, breathy and warm hitting your cheeks as you turn to each other like little kids giggling in secret. Perhaps you are— two 15-year-olds feeling weightless for a moment now that your shoulders shake without the pressures you place upon yourselves, and by this kindness alone, maybe.... maybe this place isn't so bad.

Someone calls out for Luke, figures hidden in the forestline. The moment quickly ends after that, a fuzzy feeling in your chest left behind, ignited every time your eyes meet his. It’s like he didn’t hear anything though, stuck to your side still grinning like you could give him the key to the city.

“If it matters, I like you,” he chokes out, clearing his throat as his eyes dart away from yours. By the time the blush rises to his cheeks your eyebrows have already shot into your hairline in disbelief watching Luke Castellan, camp’s pride and joy stumble over the simplest words he’s spoken all day.

You’re quiet again, which stresses him out more— frantic words ripping through his teeth in a blur of "Um, erm, not like... I mean in the sense that—" and your tongue pokes through your cheek in a bad attempt to stop a smile. You look soft—and thankfully not like you’re about to punch him, finally having the upper hand when it comes to him. Luke blinks slowly, shaking his head— "You're just really cool."

“You said that already.”

He shrugs, not really having anything more to say. The boy is embarrassed enough.

Have you always looked that pretty when you’re smug?

Snorting at his flustered state, you mutter, “Olympus would rejoice the day I be more like you, you know that, Castellan?” And he shrugs playfully, liking the way you don’t press on the topic when you could’ve gone for blood, “Olympus might fall if you teach me a thing or two.”

The warning bell rings overhead and Chiron's voice booms over the speakers— “CAMPERS, MONSTER TECHNIQUES WILL BEGIN IN 10 MINUTES. PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY OVER TO THE AMPITHEATER.”

“I should go.”

“Sure. You’re teaching, right? New big gig,” you say nonchalantly as you expect him to leave and probably never talk to you again. You’re used to that by now, and whatever understanding between you doesn’t make you friends.

“Do you want to come with me?”

Oh.

Luke’s hands fidget at his sides, but his feet are planted deep into the dirt, his red Converse pushing the soil beneath him. He doesn’t want to leave. But he thinks that maybe if he had to, he’d leave a place like this for someone like you.

Maybe.

“Monster fighting is more your thing, isn’t it?”

He grins lamely, walking backward towards the woods with his eyes still on you, “You’ll find your thing. M’sure of it.” 

Rolling your eyes, you bend over to pick up your things again, “Yeah, yeah. Like anyone would want to hear me tell stories or do my little crafts.”

“Why the hell not, Trouble?”

Luke throws his hands up in the air before scampering away to join his friends. It's hard to admit, but he's got a point—maybe this is an idea your dad will actually appreciate. A shiver wracks through your body. You find yourself being excited about something to do at camp for the first time in a long time.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay a little longer, you think as you trudge into your cabin, unknowingly kicking your knapsack further underneath the bed. You flop onto the bedspread with your notebook out, brainstorming what a Greek Legends and Theatrics workshop would look like. If you can get your words onto a page, you could pitch this to Mr. D by morning. A spark shines in your eye like the glittery glow-in-the-dark stars that hang from your bedroom ceiling.

Hopefully this won’t end in you shoveling pegasi shit.

—

You’re standing at the edge of the dining pavilion, tray in hand as campers bump past your frame, rushing towards their tables to eat dinner. There’s no one at your table but your dad and the idea of proposing the idea of your workshop sounds so terrifying right now that your stomach turns. 

And then there’s Luke Castellan waving you over towards the Hermes table like a madman.

Huh.

You thought being crazy was supposed to be your thing.

He clambers up over the bench, all gangly legs moving towards you until he’s there grabbing your tray from your hands with a smile, “Come on, trouble. Still got a spot at my table. Chris just falls into it before I ever get the chance to call you over.”

You look at him like he’s stupid, your hands on the opposing side of your tray and the both of you are locked in a stalemate in the middle of the pavilion. Curious eyes make their way over to you both, and murmurs of excitement for a fight start to rise. Here’s the thing—it’s something to grab attention, but it being put on you without your control is a bit nerve-wracking, to say the least.

“We're not allowed to mix tables, Castellan.”

“Since when do you care?”

Since when do YOU, you think. Standing between comfort and chaos, your eyes meet your father’s, expectant as he watches you from across the room. There is comfort in the silence that would consume you at your table. You’d be able to eat in peace and hear your thoughts compared to the lack of elbow space at Table 11. Too many of them steal each others’ desserts, crack bad jokes, and kick each other under the table, but it still makes you smile. You choose the chaos instead, slowly making your way over to the Hermes kids who greet you with a loud cheer.

Children of mischief and chaos are like birds of a feather, after all. There is comfort in this madness too—and you think Mr. D almost smiles when his eyes meet yours once more.

You’re crafty when it's something you can fix; painting a picture of yourself that’s cool and interesting for others to see, but in reality, all every teenager wants is to fit in.

Who would’ve thought Luke Castellan was going to help with that?

“One of these days you’re gonna have to put the nice boy act in your back pocket, Castellan. I’m positively dying for the day you reveal yourself to me.”

Luke chuckles over a mouthful of mashed potatoes, shoulder knocking into yours intentionally, though the both of you are thigh to thigh on the crowded bench. You ignore the fact that one of his little brothers steals the cherry off your ice cream sundae, and he ignores the fact that his constant worry for you reveals itself as another, deeper thing—care.

“What you see is what you get,” he murmurs into your ear. Heat creeps up your neck and you look up to see your dad looking at you again, and then— “Hey, hey… eyes on me.” Turning to look at him, his breath hits your cheek, “You’re the only daughter of Dionysus. The only person I know born to be able to raise hell for a god. Gotta use it to your advantage more, Trouble. You’re not here to entertain anyone. You gonna let him win?” he asks.

Blinking slowly, you eat a spoonful of rice, cheeks full but not concealing your smile.

“Where’s the glory in that, right?”

—

“The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” -Homer

[random-askbox-shit]

List of everyone asked so far:

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@mothco002 @your-average-sentient-suit @the-real-gmail

[highvern]

Teach Me VI

Final

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au

Warnings: angst, pining, crying, alcohol consumption, jealous pouty DK, meddling Seungkwan and Hoshi, eventual smut, dry humping, making out, face fucking, munch DK as always, unprotected sex, cream pie, they're simps for each and its disgusting!, DK wearing a chain that dangles in readers face bc im sick and twisted, kinda choking but not really?

Length: ~7.4k

Note: SURPRISE!! ITS HERE!!!! this series started in OCTOBER which is wild to think about. two months of these two plaguing my day to day and so many amazing readers interacting with the story honestly makes a little emotional for it to end. this is the first series i've ever done and now it's over so soon but there are bigger and better things on the horizon! (goes and cries in the corner) If you notice any errors or typos pls ignore.

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!

read more here

[MONDAY 11:23 AM]

YOU: Home

Mr. Boo: Thank you! Love you!

Mr. Boo: We can have a bff night when I get back

[MONDAY 4:48 PM] 

DOKYEOM: Hope you got home safe

DOKYEOM: I’m sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.

DOKYEOM: Can we talk this week?

Dokyeom doesn’t leave his room the rest of the weekend. A combination of fear of Seungkwan beating the crap out of him and absolute heartbreak keep him wrapped in the covers. Not even Soonyoung can elicit more than a half-hearted grunt when checking if his roommate is still alive.

The drive back to campus is no different. Staring longingly out the window, Dokyeom stares at his unanswered messages. When he goes to your Instagram he finds your account missing with the sinking realization you blocked him.

Seventy two of the best and subsequent worse hours of his life crumbled your fragile relationship. He thought you returned his feelings. 

After Soonyoung blabled a drunken confession on Dokyeom’s behalf, he worried you’d drive off in the night; swiftly rejecting him. But you wrapped your arms around him and held him as you slept. Kissed him awake in the early morning sun, nothing but a soft smile and presses of lips across his face. It was better than anything Dokyeom hoped for. He thought it meant you liked him back even if you didn’t say it yet.

But then you interrogated him and the hot tub and it all came crashing down. You were trying to let him down easy, buttering him up before giving him a reality check. It’d hurt of course. The tsunami of shame at thinking he had a chance and then adding insult to injury when you called him childish. 

Dokyeom knows he was wrong for his reaction but embarrassment sent him spiraling and he needed to get as far away from you as possible. 

And now that he’d succeed, he doesn't think he can find a way back.

—

Monday and Tuesday are spent suffocating under a mound of blankets, munching on a carton of ice cream, and crying till your head hurts and your throat is sore. The string of texts from Dokyeom remains thoroughly ignored; but each buzz of your phone raises your heart rate to unhealthy levels until you read the notification from some store offering a discount. 

You ignore the string of messages from Dokyeom, tempted more and more to block him as they come through; but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Just like you can’t bring yourself to delete the pictures of you two together peppered throughout your camera roll, or the most recent video that does nothing but make you sick to your stomach.

Tuesday night your roommate returns to campus, cheery and well rested from a weekend with her boyfriend back home. You hide from her friendly questions about your weekend in the bathroom, shrouded in steam and bubbles.

Looking at yourself in the mirror after you're sufficiently pruned and chilled from freeze drops, you notice the traces of Dokyeom still on your skin. 

A tiny maroon bruise is fading to a sick green right under your collar bone. Prodding it with the tip of your finger, you wince at the tenderness of the flesh. 

You hate it. 

Hate how somehow your eyes are thick with a gloss of tears at the sight of a hickey, they way you can’t catch your breath when you realize the shirt you brought in with you is another one of his you lifted over the months.

Dokyeom hadn’t been your boyfriend. You two hadn’t even been casually dating. Over and over again you remind yourself you were just friends who had sex, and you shouldn’t be this torn up over a guy. Dokyeom didn’t like you and that wasn’t something to hold against him. 

But the facts do nothing to stop the knot permanently lodged in your throat.

—

The first time you see Dokyeom post-not-breakup, he’s sitting in one of the rolling chairs at the mahogany table you two claimed for your usual study sessions. 

Blood frozen, heart clenching unbearably, you turn and walk right back out the revolving glass doors, hoping he didn’t see you.

But the echo of quick footsteps behind you say otherwise.

“Hey! Y/N!”

Faltering for a moment, you keep walking as if you hadn’t heard anything. And because the universe has a sick sense of humor, the crossing light turns red just as you approach, leaving you stranded with the one person you didn’t want to see.

You whip around at tap against your arm with such ferocity you nearly stumble.

Dokyeom has the gall to smile at you sheepishly before opening his mouth, “Hey.”

“Hi.” 

“You weren’t in lab yesterday.”

“Nope.” You respond monotonously, glancing behind you at the still red crossing light.

“Did you need notes or—”

“No, I got them already.”

“Oh, well—”

The light turns green, allowing you to race across the road before Dokyeom can finish his thought. The heat of his gaze doesn't leave your back until you turn down the next road leading you home.

—

Your second interaction with Dokyeom is in the same sterile lab your friendship started. You slip inside just before class starts, narrowly avoiding getting locked out by your grumpy instructor. 

Sliding into an open seat near the door, you stare straight ahead as he delves into the topic for this afternoon, pointedly ignoring the pair of eyes watching you from the familiar station at the back of the room.

“Finals are almost upon us people so I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that the lab is not open after hours. Meaning, you should prioritize your time in this room. Now let’s get started.”

The guy you’ve been partnered with is nice enough, willing to follow your lead as you read off the necessary equipment. He even manages to crack a few jokes, though not funny you’re thankful for the distraction.

You learn his name is San, he’s an underclassman and he doesn’t understand anything about the class despite attending every lecture and office hour available. 

When he leans over to copy the results you’ve scratched into your notebook, you hear a crack and shatter behind you. A dozen heads twist towards the source of commotion, finding a red faced Dokyeom staring at you.

“Mr. Lee! May I remind you our lab equipment isn’t cheap!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, shuffling towards the broom hanging on the wall.

You focus on ignoring him the rest of class, which is surprisingly easy with your new partner pestering you with inane questions. 

A lull hits, waiting for the digital scale to spit out a final reading. You managed to pull well ahead of schedule, calling over your instructor to verify your results before collecting your things. 

“So,” San starts, stuffing his own notebook in his bag. “Would you be down to tutor me sometime?”

“Oh, I uh—”

“No pressure! I just saw some of the old quizzes in your folder and thought maybe you could help me out.”

“Sure,” you smile, taking his phone to enter his number. 

Voices from the different stations echo off the blank walls, drowning your conversation out.

“Awesome! My boyfriend took this class last year but did about as well as I’m doing.”

Returning his phone back, you start walking to the door. “Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, he told me to take geology instead but I didn’t listen.” He laughs, stepping forward to hold the heavy wooden door open for you to pass.

You miss the sound of a second beaker breaking as you walk down the hall with your new friend.

—

“Dude, you have got to calm down.” Soonyoung pleads, head hanging off the couch as his legs extend into the air. He swears the increased blood flow makes him smarter.

Dokyeom nearly wears a rut into the carpet from his pacing across the length of their tiny living room. He’s been in a mood since that afternoon, watching his not-girlfriend-possibly-no-longer-friend giggle with some dude that wasn’t him. And then give her number to said dude. In front of him. All while she completely ignored his existence.

“He probably just asked her to study together.”

Jealousy isn’t Dokyeom’s thing. Sure he may whine and pout if he isn’t getting enough attention, but he’s never got the blood boil urge scream like he has right now. And about a girl that won’t even look at him.

Tangling both fists in his hair, Dokyeom tries to calm down. Soonyoung was probably right. You’re a genius at chemistry, you’re slated to officially tutor through the library next semester pending final grades, and the guy Dokyeom swears he’s never seen in class most likely asked you for help. It’s not his place to be jealous.

“Hate to be that guy but you need to get a grip”

It's easier said than done. There's four more weeks of class plus a four hour final and your Seungkwan’s friend. You’re not going to disappear after the semester ends and Dokyeom’s feelings surely aren’t going anywhere given he’s got a constant reminder that you’re the woman he lost his virginity to. 

If he knew inviting you to that party at the beginning of the semester would end up like this, he'd have sat somewhere else the first day of lab.

Soonyoung chokes on his own saliva when Dokyeom collapses on the floor with a reluctant, “You’re right.”

“I am?” Eyes bugging so hard they nearly pop from his head.

“I just have to move on.”

They both silently agree to pretend Dokyeom is capable of that.

—

San and his boyfriend, Jay, turn out to be horrible study partners. You are hardly able to focus from the way your abs hurt from laughter; Jay has a talent for self-deprecating humor.

“You didn’t!” You gasp, ignoring the daggers being glared into you back by other library goers. 

Typically you’d respect the needs of others, but they chose to sit on the first floor; if they needed real quiet they should have sat upstairs where it’s enforced by a graduate librarian with nothing better to do.

Jay nods solemnly, “I threw up on him during our first date. But he,” flinging an accusatory finger at his boyfriend, “insisted we go to some weird food truck so it’s his own fault.”

“You said you liked to try new things!” San defends.

“Not food poisoning!”

Descending into giggles, you feel sorry Seungkwan is missing out on two people he’d get along with. But he canceled at the last minute, leaving you at the large oak table all by your lonesome until you’d run into your classmate, looking for a seat.

From the corner of your eye, you see a familiar someone approaching. White blonde hair and trademark grin, Soonyoung stops at the edge of the table.

“Hey, Y/N” he grins.

Sending him a tightlipped smile you return the greeting.

Soonyoung introduces himself to your tablemates, both just as friendly as he. Thick palpable tension descends into the warm atmosphere and you’re about to rise and get another coffee just to escape it when Soonyoung turns back to you.

“Could I take a look at your results from the last lab? We didn’t get to finish in time.”

The unspoken half of ‘we’ is Dokyeom. 

You hate the flare of curiosity flashing in your head. When you partnered with Dokyeom you always finished on time if not early, even with his joking.

“Ugh, sure.” You agree, digging into your bag for your notebook.

Not waiting for an invitation, Soonyoung slides into the chair next to you, pulling out his own notebook to copy down your answers quickly. But even after collecting the necessary info, he lingers.

“So you’re in lab with us too, right?” He asks San.

“Yeah, but I’m probably taking it again next year even with Y/N’s help.” San smiles.

“And you?” Soonyoung asks Jay.

“No, I took it last year.”

“Glad to see someone can make it out alive! Do you guys mind if I hang out until my friend arrives?”

The friend is definitely Dokyeom but you don’t want to look like a bitch in front of your new acquaintances nor have to explain the mess of your love life to either of them. 

Soonyoung’s self satisfied grin when you flash a tight lipped smile and nod nearly tempts you into strangling him. Why is he choosing to torture you? It’s Dokyeom’s fault no matter how you look at the situation. He tricked you; had you falling for the saccharine persona and ambiguous confessions. Dokyeom rejected you at the cabin for everyone to see, humiliated you, and then had the nerve to act upset when you wouldn’t speak to him.

You try to focus on the worksheet in front of you, a proactive effort to prepare for the final exam still far away. Drowning in extra credit had been an exhaustive effort to get your mind off of your issues but Soonyoung had to ruin it. And now he’s laughing with San and Jay like best friends and it’s all too much. 

Shooting up from your seat, they all stop to stare as shaky hands pack up your materials. “Sorry, I forgot I had a thing. Somewhere else. Bye!” 

Halfway to the door before anyone thinks to question your eagerness to leave, you walk right into another person.

“Shit sorry!” The faceless stranger exclaims as your books and papers go flying.

“No, I should have been watching wher–”

And when you look up, Dokyeom is staring back. 

“Sorry, let me help you.” 

“It's fine!” You snap, scrambling to shove everything into your bag.

You will not cry in the library: not over Dokyeom, not in front of Dokyeom. But once the concrete steps out front greet you the first tear falls and they don’t stop until you fall asleep curled up in your bed.

—

Later that week, in the sanctuary of your dorm, you indulge in contraband alcohol and the hype of your best friend.

“You need to just rip the bandaid off.” Seungkwan announces, arms thrown wide to punctuate his point.

“And how do I do that? I still have class with him!”

“Okay but how much of his stuff is still here?”

“Only like a few things.” you shrug, glancing around the room.

“Oh, really?” Seungkwan asks, throwing himself from his perch on your bed, crossing to the basket full of laundry in front of your closet.  “Because this is a hoodie from his high school, this is the shirt I got him for his birthday a few years ago,” he shuffles around the collection of socks and pants to pull more of Dokyeom’s belongings out. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t wear boxers.”

Seungkwan launched the wad of clothing your way, disappearing into the bathroom in search of more evidence of your ex-friend with benefits.

“You let him keep a toothbrush here?” Seungkwan yells, head popping out with the neon green piece of plastic dangling between his fingers.

It's tossed into the growing pile at the foot of your bed, your rage-fueled focus on the smattering of objects on your desk. 

More cheap wine and outrageous laughter has Seungkwan encouraging you to race across campus and return everything as soon as possible.

Red faced, he steadies you by your arms, “Listen, the sooner you get rid of this stuff the better. You’re like subconsciously holding on to him or whatever.”

Mooney eyed, you nod at your friend’s wisdom, scrambling for a bag.

The tote of Dokyeom’s belongings you’ve accumulated over the months sits heavy on your shoulders; bulging with the assortment of clothes, a spare phone charger, and a book that was severely overdue at the library you’d found under your bed.

Each click of your shoe against the tile floor echoes in the eerie silence as you walk down the hall towards the door of his apartment. The sterile lighting and gray walls are familiar yet alien under the new circumstances you're visiting. 

You won’t be greeted with the smile you’ve grown to miss or the puppy-like excitement that once made you feel special. Both things of the past you hope to forget. No one had your heart fluttering or twisting in knots the way Dokyeom had. But those happy memories are just memories. And the sooner you cut him out, the sooner you can forget them.

Your fiery determination to get over him ignited in the walls of your bedroom had begun to smolder as the chilly wind and movement sobered you up. 

A large part of you hopes it’ll be Soonyoung answering the door, Dokyeom absent for whatever convenient reason as you dumped his belongings and walked away for the last time. Worse case scenario, neither are home and you're left feeling like an idiot, lugging the ridiculously heavy bag back across campus in the freezing wind and rain. 

Worse-er case scenario, Dokyeom is home.

The door to the boys’ apartment is like all the others, but the hot pink “please don’t do coke in our bathroom” doormat stands out. A gift from Jeonghan, if you remember correctly.

A quick rap of knocks announces your presence before you can lose your nerve, stepping back as you wait for it to crack open.

As luck would have it, Dokyeom answers the door.

“Um–” he starts, clearly confused by what he’s seeing.

Shoulders square, back pin straight, you thrust the bag at him. “Here’s your stuff.”

“Oh.” Dokyeom exclaims, still confused, but cradling the tote into his stomach.

“Well, bye.” You turn to leave but stop when he calls you back.

“I can grab your stuff real quick. Since you’re already here.”

It is a horrible idea. Alone with Dokyeom, in his apartment, where the only person to hold you accountable is yourself. But you can be done with this entire mess once you have the hodge podge of items you’ve no doubt accumulated here.

Nodding once, you follow as Dokyeom turns to head towards his bedroom.

Suffocating tension, thick as tar, fills the air. Dokyeom doesn't attempt to replace it with ill timed jokes as he digs in the black dresser in the corner of his room. The bottom left drawer had been long cleaned out of his own clothes, making room for the odds and ends left behind following your rendezvous. 

A sizable pile of clothes lands on his unmade bed, followed by some toiletries you forgot at the cabin in your haste to flee.

Your ears are ringing from the quiet at this point, unable to look at Dokyeom swapping his belongings from the canvas tote with your own. Focusing on your phone, you scroll mindlessly, as Dokyeom works slowly to prolong the torture. He unfolds and refolds all the shirts, lost pairs of pants and shorts, before cramming them into the bag. If you took a second to look at him, you’d see longing glances in your direction with each item he packs away. But you don’t chance it until he approaches you when he’s finished.

“Here,” he says, eyes downcast as he hands you back the full bag.

Lifting it from his hands, you move back to the living room, bee lining for the front door and the sobering cold air outside.

“Wait.”

The smooth metal doorknob is cold against the wrinkles of your palm. All you need to do is twist and it's over. Unlatch the lock, step outside and your relationship with Dokyeom, whatever it may have been, is done. No more crying, no more wondering. Only four more classes and you can leave the mess of the past semester behind you forever.

But you can’t do it. The smallest part of your heart, buried under the weight of anger and sadness, pleads for you to stay. To give Dokyeom one last chance.

You wait for him to say something else, not moving a muscle as you take shallow breaths. Body tense in preparation, you’re afraid you might shake out of your skin. Being alone with Dokyeom was a stupid idea. 

Realizing you're not going to leave, you hear him shuffle closer.

You jump when he speaks again, voice right over your shoulder. “Can we please talk?” 

“What’s there to talk about?” You frown. 

At his responding silence, you chance a glance over your shoulder, met with sad brown eyes. 

“I just—,” he shakes his head, chin tipping towards the floor to examine his socks.

Prompting him again, “What do you want, Dokyeom?”

“You asked me if I liked you… and I do.”

You squash the seed of hope rooting in your chest, afraid that if he tramples it again you’ll never recover. Turning to face him, you cross your arms pensively. His confession should send your heart racing and your cheeks flushing. But why does he sound so sad about it?

Dokyeom scrubs a hand down his face in frustration. “I should have told you sooner but I— I kept waiting for the right time and then that night happened and I thought I messed everything up. But then we started fooling around so I thought ‘there’s no way she likes me.’ You know? 

From where you’re standing, Dokyeom is exactly the kind of guy anyone would go for. Warm as a ray of sunshine, contagious laughter, thoughtful. Excited by life, and brimming with affection for anyone lucky enough to be considered his friend. 

It’s a shame he can’t see himself the way you see him.

“I know all you wanted was to hook up and I was fine with that until you came to the cabin. Soonyoung had to run his mouth, and I thought you were trying to let me down easy in the hot tub so I got embarrassed.”

Biting your lip to stop the rebuttal simmering on the tip of your tongue, you feel the scowl melt off your face, morphing into a questioning gaze.

“You’re like, the coolest person I know. You’re funny and you’re smart and pretty, god you’re so pretty.” he breaths, finally looking at you. “And I feel like every time I get to see you I can’t breathe. And us hooking up made it worse because I’ve liked you since the first day of class when you sat down next to me and smiled at me. I thought I was gonna throw up.” Dokyeom raises his hands in defense as you scoff, quickly clarifying, “In a good way! You just— you make me nervous and stupid and now you hate me.”

He finishes the last part in a whisper, face vulnerable, looking at you helplessly.

“I don’t hate you.” You warble, launching yourself into his arms, tangling your limbs around him to squeeze as close as possible. It’s ungraceful, your head knocking into his chin, his feet scrambling to balance the unexpected shift of weight. But Dokyeom barely hesitates before pulling you into his chest, face buried in your neck while trying to force you into his skin by his arms around your waist.

Two puzzle pieces, carved to fit perfectly together. 

“You don’t?”

Squeezing him tighter, you calm in the thud of his heart and the pine scent of his cologne. You both simply bask in the presence of one another. At a week and a half, this is the longest you’ve gone without the other since you started your arrangement.

Dokyeom presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, sweet as sugar. His lips ghost against your hairline as he starts to speak again. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you.”

“I shouldn’t have called you childish.” You apologize, tipping your head back to meet his gaze.

“I mean you were right. I was being a dick.”

“But I wasn’t in any shape to call you out when I was doing the same thing.”

“The same…” Dokyeom echoes, confused.

“If we weren’t so dumb we could have been dating for weeks by now.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” You smile.

“We really are dumb.”

Pure unadulterated joy takes flight on his face. Dokyeom cups your face in his hands, forehead meeting your own as you smile at him, his own dazzling in return.

“Yeah, but at least we have each other.”

The bark of awkward laughter and shaky words are unstoppable as you cower in his arms. 

“So you’re okay with me calling you my girlfriend?”

“You can call me whatever you want.” You sigh, biting your lip at the idea.

“Even my shmoopie poopie?”

Nose scrunching as you laugh at his ridiculousness, you shake your head vigorously in objection. “You can call me whatever you want besides that.”

“Baby cakes?” He asks, peppering a kiss on your cheek.

“No!”

“Honeybuns?” 

Another kiss on the tip of your nose.

“No.”

“What about–”

A firm press to his mouth silences Dokyeom as you hum.

— 

Soonyoung returns to his apartment after another failed date, eager to shoot the shit with his roommate over a few beers and some video games. But when he opens the door to his home, he finds a trail of clothes flung haphazardly across the furniture, leading straight to said roommate's room. 

No fucking way. Soonyoung thinks. 

Then he hears a thud from behind the door, followed by a familiar laugh he hasn’t heard in the apartment in well over two weeks.

No FUCKING way! He huffs, reaching for his phone.

—

Down the street, Seungkwan smirks as the expected ding of a new Venmo notification shrills through the silence of your dorm:

“Kwon Soonyoung paid you $50.00. – HOW DID YOU KNOW? – Your Venmo balance is now $135.00.”

Epilogue:

Finals season rushes forward rapidly. Two days before you’re set to fly back home for winter break, Chem grades are released.

Another pair of matching As to be celebrated in typical fashion but this time you’re Dokyeom’s girlfriend and he’s sweating like it’s his first time all over again. The night you both confessed had been you last night together. Dokyeom insisted you take things slow, his fear of messing up again forcing him to take caution. 

It's sweet. How he wants to take you out, wine and dine you as if a certain video didn’t still exist on both your phones. And you’d enjoyed the full experience too; walks around campus with interlaced fingers, shy glances in class, and girlish giggles as he offered his jacket on a cold night. The innocent good night kisses dropped on your lips in front of your door that have Dokyeom insisting “just one more” for an hour before he finally lets you slip inside your room.

It’d been everything you dreamed of and more.

But you're both tired of make outs that lead nowhere. Of sitting in Dokyeom’s lap at parties and not letting your hands wonder like you’re both dying too. Waking up in his bed and pretending you don’t feel him nudging the curve of your ass as before he hides in the bathroom to take care of his boner; leaving you to stare at the ceiling, fighting the urge to follow him into the shower and lend a helping hand.

Tonight, you’ve reached the boiling point and it’s spilling over.

“‘s okay?” He asks into the curve of your neck, palms gliding up your stomach underneath the soft cream sweater you’d worn to dinner.

Humming as your head lulls against the interior of his front door, the warmth of his mouth and hands making your brain fuzzy. Tonight, everything feels like more. Your nipples peak at the smallest brush of his tongue, back bowing under the swipes of his thumb against your ribs; even when he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your intertwined fingers on the walk to his apartment ripped the air from your lungs.

Dokyeom feels the nerves of that first night, but you’re acting like the desperate virgin he’d been. Drooling to touch and be touched. For your boyfriend to string you out one last time before you both return home for a few weeks of winter break only to pick right back up in the new year.

Snaking a hand down his front, you palm the half hard length with a firm pressure that pulls his hips forward like a magnet. A strained grunts sings in your ear as Dokyeom rocks firmly in your grip, pressing you into the wall under his torturous grind.

Turning to nudge your nose into his cheek softly, hot kisses dropping across his jaw as you bid him to take off his pants; pushing them down clumsily. You don’t bother with the brass button or rough zipper, blinded by desperation and simply clawing the stiff material downwards in an effort to get beneath.

You manage to trickle to your knees, slipping through Dokyeom’s hold like water. The hard floor biting into your skin as you kneel before him to mouth at the thin fabric of his boxer. Dokyeom’s elbows land against the wall, caging you in as he watches from above; entranced by the shallow dip of your lips over the covered head of his cock and the lash of your tongue where you taste him through the fabric.

Tonight isn’t the night for teasing, so you have his boxers landing atop his jeans around his ankles in a blink. Tongue following the vein bulging on the underside of his cock as your hand returns to allow your thumb to dig into his slit.

Dokyeom whimpers a pathetic “fuck,” as you play with him, eagerly lapping up his shaft before sucking him into your mouth; hand dropping to cup his balls, the other rest on his stomach to hold his own shirt out of the way.

You missed how responsive he is to your touch, melting in the palm of your hand as he chases the warmth of your mouth with his hips. Anyone who walks by the door would undoubtedly hear what’s happening on the other side, the choked whimpers from you and guttural moans from Dokyeom combining into a lewd symphony.

Head hitting the wall behind you with a dull thud, you let Dokyeom take over; humming as each press forward leaves the taste of his cock on your tongue. There’s something degrading in letting him fuck your mouth like this, sandwiched between his hips and the wall as he uses you to get off.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, tongue sticking out to bid him back but his slender fingers cupping your chin distract you straight into his lips.

Pulling you to your feet, Dokyeom dips his tongue between your lips as he leads you blindly to the couch. His mouth is nothing but taking; stealing your breath away, your sanity. Things you’d happily let him have if it meant he wouldn’t stop. But Dokyeom was a giver too. A slide of his tongue lit a fire under your skin, fanning the desperation bordering on depravity. 

“Fuck me,” you plead, grinding your aching cunt against his thigh. 

Dokyeom responds by pressing into you harder, teeth tearing into your bottom lip as his cock drools against your thigh, staining your jeans.

You're so turned on it hurts, pussy painfully empty and panties drenched from heavy petting. If Dokyeom doesn’t do something soon, you have half a mind to get yourself off without him.

Dokyeom is trying, fighting to not to blow his load on your leg as you whine and arch beneath him. For him. But when you manage to close your fist around his length, giving a firm tug with the twist around the head you know he goes crazy for, it’s all over. Dokyeom’s core tightens as he spills on your sweater, streaks of his cum ruining the fabric as he pants into your mouth. Your tight grip doesn’t falter as you work him through it, teeth bruising his jaw as he paints you with his seed.

When Dokyeom gains sentience again, he winces in shame.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t— I wouldn’t,” he tries to apologize, but stops when you part your lips to lap at your stained fingers; eyes trained on the pink of your tongue dipping out to swipe against the tips for taste.

Mouth wide as he stares, Dokyeom thinks he might come again without any help as you suck your fingers. His own dip into the pool of cum dimpling across your stomach, lifting to your mouth to replace yours. Dokyeom groans as your eyes never leave his, heated and heavy lidded as lick them clean and swallow his cum.

Dropping his hand to the back of your neck, he angles your head so his tongue can delve into your mouth. It’s messy and disgusting but you like it and that’s all Dokyeom cares about as he works to free you both of your clothes. He’s stark naked easily, shirt gone over the back of the couch in no time. But your clothes require more focus than either of you are capable of when Dokyeom is on top of you.

His feet hit the ground before he rises to stand, dragging you up to roughly undress you. You don’t seem to mind if the way you fist your jeans down is an inclination. Outer layers gone, Dokyeom finally gets a peek at the early Christmas present you’d been hoping to surprise him with.

Lacy maroon panties and a match bra hug your figure, accentuating your shape in the most mouthwater ways. Eyebrows raised to his hairline, Dokyeom heaves at the masterpiece you present him with.

Drops of your flesh peek through the holes in the lace, teasing him with what’s underneath. The high cut sides of your thong dig into your hips, making your legs look impossibly long and highlighting the sway of your thighs. Straining to pull his eyes up further, Dokyeom finds the bottom hem of your bra. Tongue rolling out of his mouth as the cups push your breasts up and together, teasing Dokyeom with ideas of fucking his cock between them as you lick at the tip.

You look like a goddess and Dokyeom is happy to get on his knees to worship every inch.

Dokyeom catches you smirking at his obvious reaction when he finally looks at your face. Stepping into his space, your fingers find purchase in the short hairs at the base of his head. A cold sweat breaks on his brow as you smile like the cat who got the canary.

“Do you like my outfit, Kyeomie?” You ask, tone deceptively sweet.

If he was capable of any thought beyond cataloging the swaths of naked skin and curves, maybe he’d answer more eloquently than grunting like a caveman.

“I picked it for you.”

Dokyeom lets his hands find your hips, squeezing the plush flesh in his palms as you continue to toy with him. His fingers pluck the thin elastic while his mind wanders down the extensive list of things he’s dying to do to you.

“Do you wanna see the whole thing?”

“There’s more?”

Falling to the floor, you dig into the pocket of your jeans for whatever the last piece of your outfit, if you could call it that. Rising again you present him with a thin piece of ribbon and a silver chain, both causing Dokyeom’s face to twist in confusion.

You prompt him to take the scarlet ribbon, a perfect match to the set you’ve donned, allowing Dokyeom to spot the clasp at the ends and the small silver charm dangling in the middle.

A sun is embossed on the front of the circular piece of silver. And engraved on the back is his name.

Having his name around your throat while he fucked you isn’t a kink he knew existed. But now Dokyeom is pretty sure he’ll be haunted by the idea for the rest of his life. The silver chain still in your hands has a similar charm but with a moon. Dokyeom’s vision goes fuzzy and his brain clouds at the assumption your name is on the back to match.

“Will you help me put it on?” You ask innocently, turn around so Dokyeom can slip what he can only describe as a mock collar around your neck.

Dokyeom latches the clasp with shaky hands, the strip of silk pulled taunt around your neck with each breath. When you face him once again, the charm sits in the hollow of your throat, silver winking at him seductively. 

The icy metal of the chain bites into his skin erotically as you raise to clasp it around his neck. Your nose nudges against his jaw, a ghosting open mouth kiss landing on his jugular as the charm teases the muscles of his chest where it dangles.

You land on the couch with a squeak, taken aback by Dokyeom shredding the delicate fabric of your panties with clumsy hands as he struggles to get them off you. Bullying his way between your legs, he apologizes with a heavenly strip of his tongue through your slit.

He eats you like a man starved, nails leaving crescents in the tops of your thighs as he spreads you so wide the muscles in your hips scream in objection. Dokyeom’s tongue dips into your hole, collecting your essence on his tongue before spitting it back on your clit and digging in. The swollen nub slips against the flat of his wet muscle, and when his lips gently close around it he sucks just the way you taught him to you he’s rewarded with a wanton sob.

Whines fly from between your lips at the torturous pleasure, thrashing as Dokyeom uses all his strength to pin you and place. Spots dance along your vision, expanding as two fingers push past your folds to stretch you out. Dokyeom knows your pussy like the back of his hand and he stuffs you just right with his fingers.

All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold on tightly as you fly over the edge. Racing forward under the heat of Dokyeom’s mouth and harsh thrusts of his fingers till you weep pitifully. You’re floating through space under his attention; mouth open over silent begs not to stop, eyes clenched shut. Every beat of your frantic heart carries satisfaction through tense muscles till you are pliant and boneless.

“Too much,” you whimper, thighs forcing close around his head.

Dokyeom takes it in stride. The combination of your essence and his saliva soaking chin, leaving a damp trail across your body as he kisses his way to your mouth.

His thumb finds the ribbon taunt around your throat, focusing on the piece of metal resting against your skin as you taste yourself on his tongue.

Panting into his mouth, you mewl something vaguely sounding like “want you.”

Luckily, Dokyeom is more than happy to give you whatever you want.

Nodding like a bobble head, he pulls you down into his lap as he kneels on the floor. The head of his cock proddes against your entrance, slipping in just enough for you to take the rest with ease.

The stretch is nothing short of bliss; so deep you can taste him in the back of your throat. Dokyeom fills you perfectly, the small nip of pain from not taking him in the past month only multiplying the satisfaction you feel at finally having him inside you again.

With herculean effort, you rise to allow only a few inches to exit before dropping back down. Hands searching for leverage, you balance on the cushions behind you as you grind into his lap.

Dokyeom doesn’t know where to look, overwhelmed by his options; your face twisted around gasping breaths; or your chest, still clad in your bra, tits bouncing with each movement; or where his cock disappears inside you. 

But the silver heart around your throat seems to snag his focus easily.

Dokyeom isn’t possessive but the way it not so subtly declares you as his makes his cock throb. He’s the only one that gets to have you like this, and you him. The twin pendants remind him you’re his girlfriend and everything beyond slips away as he watches it jerk around with every movement.

Before long, your legs burn from effort, ruining your already unstable motions into nothing more than stuttered ruts. Dokyeom’s hands palming your ass assist in lifting you to the couch, limbs awkwardly sprawled off the edges but he doesn’t slow while your nails scratch deep lines into his shoulders.

“Oh, don’t stop! Fuck, please don’t stop.” You beg, head thrown back into the cushions.

Stopping sounds like the worst idea he’s ever heard. Dokyeom needs this. Gloved snuggly in your heat after so long is the only cure for the constant plague of memories of pestering him day and night. He knows they won’t go away but at least he won’t feel like ripping his skin off every time you're within a fifteen foot radius.

The wet clap of your bodies grows to a crescendo, your orgasm on the horizon and tightening your muscles into a deathgrip on his length. Spots float in Dokyeom’s vision at the squeeze and he drops his mouth to yours to lap up all your high pitched whines.

When he rises again to gasp against his own pleasure, the chain you gifted him dangles right above your lips and a nuclear bomb detonates.

You cum again with Dokyeom’s thumb under the ribbon encircling your neck, a tease of choked breath as he rubs the charm like a lifeline. Voice cracking, earth shatter, mind numb pleasure from the tip of your nose to your pinky toe. 

Dokyeom is babbling over you. Rhythm abandoned as he subjected to the tight squeeze of your worn cunt until that punch to his gut hits. Each rope of cum makes his cock throb as he plows you with a deep thrust, stilling to empty himself inside you.

You're fully crushed into the itchy upholstery as his arms buckle.

“Wow,” you gasp, catching your breath.

What else can you say? A month of no touching culminating into the best sex of your life with your devastating boyfriend while he wears a chain with your name on it.

Dokyeom cackles into your collarbone, chest tickling against yours until he leans back to look at you. 

His hair resembles an electrocuted poodle, his lips are red and swollen, and sweat glosses his skin in the low light. But Dokyeom is glowing with life and happiness and all the things that make the world good.

“I love you.”

Dokyeom responds with a girlish shriek at your impromptu confession. 

“Damn, okay.” You laugh, staring at his bare ass as he runs a lap around the living room stark naked.

“You can’t just— I wanted to say it first!” He pouts before flopping down on top of you.

“Are you serious?” Breathless from his weight, you fail to push him off you as he flails like a fish. “Is that what you’re focusing on?” 

“Yes,” Dokyeom grouches into your cheek. “You’re the first girl I’ve felt this way about and I wanted to…”

He trails off, suddenly embarrassed. Your entire relationship was many of Dokyeom’s firsts. The first person he had sex with, first college girlfriend he told his mom and sister about, and now the first girl to make him truly understand loving another person. It wasn’t something you held over his head, and some of it he didn’t even tell you about but it all tallies up in his mind how unprepared he is for it all. 

“Minnie, look at me.”

You don’t speak again until he finally meets your gaze. 

“I don’t even remember what we were talking about.” You sigh.

Dokyeom doesn’t catch hint, “We were talking about–”

“Nope, can’t seem to recall.” 

Finally, he catches the playful pout and the way your eyes cut back his as you look around the room feigning ignorance. And because he’s Dokyeom and you’re a sucker for anything he does, you can’t stop the smile mirroring his own when softly traces the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

---

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[mayajadewrites]

Could've Been You: Aizawa x Fem!Reader x Hawks

summary: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy. Nothing could go wrong... right? relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader warnings: some chapters will be NSFW, they will have a warning on them in bold. not many descriptions of reader, other than she's midsize.

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT hehe (protected sex, handjob)

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms @cherry-cosmoz @kkgraham @big-denki-energy @aphrodite-xoxo @keiweeny

CHAPTER EIGHT

You woke up in your own bed the next morning. Your pussy was sore from the feast Shouta Aizawa had last night, the skin must be raw.

You stand up to stretch your limbs and feel a headache creep into your body. A groan leaves your lips as you walk to the mirror in your living room.

You examine your body - more specifically your neck and chest.

Purple marks everywhere.

This man wanted to mark you. "What a jackass." You roll your eyes and pad to the bathroom, but not before you pass the vase of roses on your table.

Keigo.

It's wrong that you're doing this. It's wrong that you're sleeping with Keigo while doing... things with Shouta.

To play devil's advocate - you're single. You can date however many men you want.

You pile the concealer on your skin, making sure in every lighting you cannot see past the makeup.

You trained class 1A in the field today, letting them develop strategies that they could possibly use to defeat a villain that had your quirk.

Your arms were crossed over your chest when a familiar tall, muscular figure dressed in black walks into the field. His hair is in a messy ponytail again, his grey scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.

He nonchalantly stood next to you with his hands in his pockets as he watched the kids, his kids, work together to form a strategy.

"Good morning." Aizawa said flatly as his eyes followed the class.

You stay silent as you observe the children working together, taking mental note of who is taking the lead.

"Didn't know I took away your ability to speak."

"I didn't know you were incapable of not making me look like I fell down the stairs for 3 years straight." You didn't turn your head to look at him. He half smiled as his eyes wandered over your figure.

"Looks fine to me."

"That's because I have 5 concealer bottles worth of product on me."

"You need this?" He pointed to his scarf.

"Yeah. To choke you with." You rolled your eyes.

"We'll do that later, Princess." Aizawa's voice was low, so low only you could hear it.

You scoff and walk a few steps towards the kids. "Okay, that's enough for today." You clap your hands. "Next week you'll be going up against me and Mr. Aizawa. So study and form a plan in your respective groups."

Shouta looked at you with a surprised smirk on his face. "You're including me in your class plans?"

"Might as well make yourself useful." You turned on your heel to walk out of the field. Aizawa watched your curvy body as you walked away from him, your ass slightly jiggling in your skirt. He bit his lower lip as he watched, thinking about last night.

Hoping you remembered every moment of it.

And you do.

Every. Single. Second.

___________________________

The rest of the week flew by as you continued your class. You're finally getting the hang of your teaching rhythm. You kept up with Keigo, but your feelings for Shouta have been weighing heavy on your mind.

Would it be wrong if you paid more attention to Shouta? You didn't want to lose Keigo, actually, you still wanted to explore your romantic relationship with him.

But you also really wanted to fuck Aizawa.

He didn't need to know what you're doing, right? After all - he's not your boyfriend.

Neither is Aizawa.

Friday came soon enough and it was time for Keigo to come over. Part of you wished it was Shouta coming over.

"Hello, beautiful." Keigo said as you opened the door. He greeted you with a soft kiss, which felt so different from Shouta's lips. Keigo liked when you took the lead, which made you feel powerful. Made you feel like he needed you.

"Hi." You smile against his lips and lead him into your room. He's carrying a small duffle bag filled with everything he needs for a stay over.

"How was your week baby bird?" He dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around your body, twirling you around.

You giggled as he lifted you off your feet. "Good actually. I don't think the kids hate me." You kissed his cheek, your warm lips leaving a ghost mark on his skin. "How was yours?"

"It was fine." He shrugged and kicked his shoes off and pushed you gently against the counter. "I've been looking forward to this." His hands roamed to the fat of your ass, squeezing it gently with his large hand.

"Looking forward to groping me?" You teased.

"Mhm." Keigo nods as he goes in for another kiss. You press your lips to his and allow his tongue to enter your mouth.

He feels so different than Shouta.

Thankfully your hickies have faded, so touching won't be a problem tonight.

You deepen the kiss as his hands find your waist, picking you up and placing you on the counter so you're above him now.

You looked down at his honey glazed eyes, with the hair to match. He's so cute. Your index finger glides along the side of his face to his chin, making him close his eyes.

"I don't know what you do to me." His voice was so smooth. He leaned his face against your hand, feeling your touch. His eyes fluttered open to you.

He was yearning for you.

"Kei." You smile, feeling the heat between your legs intensify. He pressed his hand on your plush thigh, spreading your legs to let him in. You oblige by crashing your lips into his.

Keigo took one of his hands and trailed it down your chest, your soft stomach, to your aching core. He could feel your wetness through the fabric. He smiled as his tongue dove into your mouth, his fingers rubbing circles on your heat.

You cradle the back of his head with your hand as you push your tits against him, the sensation causing him to moan. He turned his attention to them, your perfect, plump, fat tits. He lowered himself to your chest and knead them with his large hands as he threw his head back.

"Fuck." Was all he could get out as he buried his face in your tits. He kissed, bit, sucked, and licked the entirety of them. You pressed your palm against the back of his head, hoping that he kept going.

He took your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it roughly as he slipped his fingers into your leggings. His fingers are long but slim, nothing like Shouta's.

"You like these?" You pressed your arms around your tits, making them look even bigger than they already are. You wanted, no needed Keigo to talk more.

Tell you you're doing a good job.

Tell you that he wants this.

"Of course I do." His lips moved against your sweaty skin. "They're a work of art, baby bird."

You dragged your fingertips along his chest to find the button on his jeans. You could feel his erection pressed against the fabric of his jeans as you slid your hand inside of his pants. You wrapped your dainty hand around his length, teasing your thumb on the slit of his tip.

His heart was beating so fast it could've been a sign of a heart attack.

Your hands do something to him. He loves how you take care of your body, specifically your hands. Your skin is so soft and your nails are always done - manicured and perfect.

"Fuckkkkkk." He moaned as he pulled down his pants, letting his cock free. Your hand was still wrapped around him, pumping slowly as you stared into his eyes. You watched his eyes roll back as you pleasured him with only your hand.

"Do you have rubbers?" He could just barely open his eyes as his cock twitched in your hand. "I don't want to come on your hand."

You had this man ready to unravel and you're still (mostly) fully clothed.

"Yes." You hop off the counter and pull your tank top back over your tits before you pad into your room, pulling out the same box of condoms that you used before when you fucked Keigo for the first time.

Keigo grabbed your face when you walked back into the room, his tongue exploring your mouth roughly. His kisses are frenzied, like the world is about to end and the last thing he wants to remember is your lips.

You break away from the kiss and kneel down on the floor, tearing the condom wrapper. You slowly slide the rubber onto his length, watching his face in amusement.

He could not get enough of your hands on him.

You pull your pants down, wiggling your hips as you get them past your ass. You smirked when you notice Keigo is watching your body move, if his erection got any harder he might cut someone.

"You want this, baby?" You lean back against the counter and watch him through your lidded eyes.

He nods quickly. "Y-Yes."

"Have you been a good boy?" You voice was low, seductive even. You knew you held the power here and you loved it.

"Yes I've been a good boy. Please." Keigo whimpers.

"My sweet bird, hm?" Your hands hovered over his beautiful wings, your touch almost like fire. He winced at your touch, but not in a bad way. In a way where he needed you right here, right now.

You turn around and press your palms to the counter - your ass on full display. You spread your legs for him, waiting.

He pressed one palm to the small of your back as he aligned himself with your entrance. Inch by inch he pushed his length into your wet, warm pussy.

He almost bottomed out right there.

The sound of his thrusts against the fat of your ass filled the room as he picked up his pace. He grabbed your hips as he slammed into you, his strokes rougher than you remember.

You don't like doggy style all that much, only because you like looking at your partner. Watching their face as they experience pleasure.

Your pussy tightened around his length as he hit your sweet spot just right. Keigo dragged his fingers up your back to your tits, taking one of them in his hands and squeezing roughly. He used is thumb and index finger to play with your nipple as his thrusts became sloppy.

"I'm close, baby bird." His words came out as messy as his thrusts.

The words caused your pussy to clench around him, both of you reaching your highs. With one last thrust Keigo pulled out of you, his breath staggered.

Your body is sticky from the sweat and you need to shower.

"Want to shower with me?" You hold out your hand for Keigo.

"What kind of idiot would say no to that?" He takes your hand and follows you into your bathroom.

Keigo lathered you with soap and you made sure his the water wasn't too hot for his wings. He planted kisses on your face as he cleaned you, whispering compliments in your ear.

"You are beautiful in every lighting." He kissed your earlobe as he ran the washcloth down your arms.

"So are you." You gently poured water from your hands onto his wings. "You're gonna have to teach me how you take care of these things."

"I have a whole routine." He smiled proudly.

When you both washed off the sex you just had, you were exhausted. You climbed into bed, hawks quickly after you.

You fell asleep with Keigo's arms wrapped around you, his nose buried in your neck. He left kisses on your skin as he drifted into his own slumber.

When you woke up, he was gone.

No note. He didn't wake you up.

His stuff was gone.

[loliwrites]

The One You Need | two

🎶 I spent most my life thinkin' love was out of reach, so maybe just this once, you could be the one I need, if you let me be the one you need 🎶

pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  summary: when you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at an arm’s length, your neighbor Joel finds his way into your life. warnings/tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], hyper-independent reader, a bit of a misandrist mindset, past relationships, men vs boys, sexual tension, dubcon [tagging to be safe] [slight alcohol consumption but neither is drunk], verbal consent received, reader described as female, no other physical description, protective!joel, soft!joel, dare i say ei!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 6.1k part one | joel miller masterlist  a/n: i’ve done my best to tag as thoroughly as possible, but if you think i’ve missed something, let me know. & tagging @hausofobsession because charlie's the best

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

It had been three and a half weeks since move in day and a few things had become abundantly clear about your new surroundings.

1. Having your own place rocked. You did what you wanted. You answered to no one. If you wanted to have a one person dance party at two in the morning, you did. No downstairs neighbors hollered and banged on their ceiling – your floor. You could paint the walls whatever color you wanted and tear up the flooring if you had the impulse to. Nothing ever again had to be “renter friendly” .

2. Having your own place was a lot of work. There were any number of things that seemed to break, leak, or hang crooked on any given day and instead of ringing up a landlord and complaining, you could only complain to yourself… And then figure out how to fix the broken, leaky, or wonky thing. And it boggled your mind how dust and grime seemed to manifest out of nothingness. Rooms you don’t even remember stepping foot into had somehow acquired a thin film of dust. You were constantly cleaning something or fixing something, and in the most unfortunate of times, your cleaning of something resulted in you also needing to fix it. If anything, owning a home had reinforced to you that you were indeed the man in your life.

3. Joel Miller was practically the mayor of the neighborhood. Everyone knew him. It was impossible to spend any amount of time in the yard and not be bombarded with Joel Miller, Joel Miller, Joel Miller. While he wasn’t particularly outgoing, he seemed to be there when someone needed help. Whether it was Mrs. Cole with her grocery bags or the young, single mother next door to him who needed someone to put her son’s basketball hoop together. He was an everyman. And though he had helped you in a big way on your first day as part of the neighborhood, you’d spent the past few weeks dodging him as much as possible. 

4. And lastly, you needed his help again. At some point during the week, a foul odor had wafted through the entirety of your home. And short of thinking an animal had crawled up and died within the walls, you began scouring the house with as much disinfectant as your sense of smell would allow. Every inch of every room was scrubbed down, and when that still didn’t get rid of the odor, you figured it was time to call an exterminator. Dehydrated, hungry, and about to snap, you opened the refrigerator and was punched in the face by warm, smelly air that burned your nose more than the disinfectant. Ah, the source. 

How long the fridge hadn’t been working, you didn’t know. What you did know was that all the perishables – namely the dairy products – had certainly perished. And after three hours on the phone with a local handyman you’d found online, his ultimate advice was, “get a new refrigerator”. On a normal day, that was easily said and done. You would’ve ordered one the same day and gotten it delivered the next. Only, you’d spent the week prior throwing an obscene amount of money at new furniture to fill the oodles and oodles of empty space you now found yourself inhabiting.

You had genuinely thought about asking Joel for help that same day. At least to get the fridge out of the house because you were sure the smell wouldn’t leave until the entire appliance did. But when you looked out your window, his truck wasn’t in his driveway. And it didn’t arrive back until late that night. There was no way you were going to burden him so late, so you cracked some windows and told yourself you’d ask him in the morning. But the next morning when you Houdini’d yourself out of bed and made a pot of coffee, his truck was already out of the driveway again. An hour and a half later of throwing everything out and deep cleaning it, the fridge didn’t nearly smell as bad. And after a while, you kind of just let it be.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Saturday. A day of rest. Except you were standing on Joel’s porch, curling your hand into a fist to rap your knuckles against his door, about to ask him to do a little work. A shred of guilt was growing inside of you. Yes, he had said to reach out if you needed something. He’d been nothing but neighborly. But you knew what you were doing. The thing where you use a boy for your gain but have nothing to offer in return. 

Joel opened his front door, breathing a little heavier than normal with a sheen of sweat over his face and down his neck. He appeared to be completely clothed, but whether or not you’d caught him in a state of undress and he threw this on, you had no idea. From what you’d observed by peeking out your front window, the single mother that lived next door to him seemed to have a little bit of a crush. Perhaps that crush was reciprocated on his end.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” You squinted your eyes shut and partially shielded them with your hand.

“What?” He looked down at himself, tugging on his shirt, “no, I just got in from doing yard work out back.” Joel took a deep breath and slowly let it exhale. He remembered when he could be working hard all day and not even feel it. Now there were days when he went up the stairs in his house and got winded. “How ya’ doin?”

“Good, I… I need your help again,”

Joel grinned, something cheeky that you wanted to slap right off his face.

“Don’t look too excited about it. My fridge is on the fritz and it’s too heavy for me to move,”

There was a part of him that wanted to bring to attention that this was the second time in less than a month that you were coming to him for help. Ultimately he thought better of it. The hard line of your lips and narrowness of your eyes clued him in that you were waiting to rebuke anything he might say. Instead he disappeared from the doorway, leaving you utterly confused, only to return a minute later with an old metal toolbox in hand. He stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him.

“No, it’s not getting fixed. I’m getting a new one,”

He quirked his eyebrows and looked down at you, “that fridge is only three years old.” He stepped off his porch and started toward your house.

You took a few quick steps to catch up with him, falling in line and then keeping up that pace to stay even with him. It did look like a fairly modern make. “How do you know that?”

“‘Cause I helped Mrs. Wilson get it in her house three years ago. I’d told her to get that fridge because I knew it’d last. Now unless you or Mrs. Wilson did something on it that it’s not meant for, it should still be perfectly fine.”

“What’re you implying?”

Joel shot a wink in your direction, “you have any male suitors over lately? Get a little frisky in the kitchen over dinner?”

Your jaw dropped as you followed Joel up your porch steps. “No! You can see my house from your house. You know I haven’t had anyone over,”

“I don’t spy on my neighbors.” He walked through your door after you’d opened it for him, “are you spyin’ on me?”

“No, I’m not,” you protested, leading him into the kitchen and directing him toward the problem appliance. “But I do know that next-door neighbor of yours, fancies you,”

“Fancies me?”

“Mhm. She twirls her hair every time she talks to you,”

Joel set the toolbox down on the counter and angled his body at the fridge, “does she now?” He wrapped his arms around it, fingers gripping to the sides, and began to shimmy the entire thing out from its little cubbyhole.

The whole display was rather impressive. Despite actively not yearning or searching for a relationship, acts of masculinity did get you going. It was the double-edged sword that lived inside you. Boys – can’t live with them; can’t live without them. Just because you couldn’t rely on men, didn’t mean the desire to sleep with them wasn’t there. But even you knew, that under no circumstances, were you to sleep or have any sort of sexual contact with Joel Miller. Even if he was a rugged display of masculinity. With sinewy muscles that strained beneath his skin when he flexed them. And fingers that surely knew how to wrap around more than just the handle end of a hammer. He was your neighbor. You weren’t going to shit where you ate. But by God if he didn’t look like a delicious meal. 

It’s the reason you picked up so quickly on the tell-tale signs of attraction by Little Miss Next Door Neighbor. She was looking at him the way all women did when they wanted to be swept up by a man. They wanted to be handled, and led, and submissive. Something you could never be. To a man? Absolutely not. 

This argument you were having with no one but yourself was interrupted when Joel called your name with a tone that indicated to you it wasn’t the first or second time he was calling it. You blinked and focused your eyes, finding he was only partially visible – most of him being shrouded by the fridge that he now stood behind.

“S’not working because it’s dirty. Do you have a handheld vacuum?”

Approaching him, you contorted your body around it to sneak a peek at what he was looking at. “It stopped working because it’s dirty?”

“Could be somethin’ faulty inside, but the condenser coils and gasket seals are a mess. My guess is it’s just that,”

“I called some handyman and he told me I needed a brand new fridge,”

Joel peeked his head out to look at you, “why you callin’ some random handyman when you got one ‘cross the street?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “I was going to but you worked weird hours this week and were never home when I looked out my window.”

“So you are spying on me,” he chuckled. “That’s why you’re jealous of Kelly,”

“Who’s jealous?!” It wasn’t lost on you that your voice rose about an octave or two higher than your normal register. You were sure Joel clocked that, too. “I’m just making sure you know she’s got a big ol’ schoolgirl crush on you,”

“She doesn’t ‘cause we’ve gone out before and it wasn’t a match.”

“Does she know that?” 

“I’d say she does,”

You smirked, having a little fun poking the bear. “How do you know?”

“Because when a woman gets naked and propositions a man for sex, and he says no, it’s usually a pretty definitive sign.”

“Yeah, right,” you laughed incredulously, “no man looks at a woman who’s ready to fuck and says no to her.”

“This man does,” he looked you dead in the eyes and held your gaze. “You got a vacuum?”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

The resoluteness of Joel’s answer had honestly come as a shock. It was something you knew you’d want to circle back on at some point simply because of how insane it seemed. A straight guy turning down sex from a woman? He had to have been the first man in history to do so. The thought kept you busy while your refrigerator kept him busy. Coincidentally, you both became significantly less busy around the same time.

“It works again?”

Joel plugged the fridge back into the wall and stepped out from behind it. He wiped his hands in a rag you’d brought out for him, which just happened to be one of your old, white t-shirts. He didn’t seem to care. Or notice. “Gotta give it a few minutes. See if it’s gettin’ cold,'' he looked up at you, noting how you began to get a little more fidgety, looking around. He wasn’t sure why; perhaps just itching to get him out of your house. “You got any food for dinner?”

“Yeah,” you said half-heartedly, thinking about how you were about to endure yet another day of some sad, canned soup. “I can whip up a can of something,”

He shook his head and waved you off, “come by tonight. I’ll fix you a meal,”

“You just fixed my fridge.”

“Maybe,” he smiled.

“I should be cooking you a meal,”

He shook his head vehemently, “I haven’t eaten chicken noodle soup since I was about nine, and I don’t aim to start up again.” He pulled open the fridge door, set his hands on one of the shelves and decided it was slightly colder than it had been just a couple minutes prior. “It should be good to go now,” he loaded up his toolbox and locked it up. “Swing by around seven. If you stand me up, I’m coming back over here and breaking the damn thing,”

“Joel,”

“Seven.”

With that, he was out before you could protest again. Somehow both of you knew you’d be showing up to his house that night. Annoyance bubbled up at your surface with the realization that not only did you know you weren’t going to disobey him, but he knew it too. The few hours between him leaving and you showing back up on his porch for dinner had been spent sulking. Whatever this was becoming – you weren’t sure what just friendship looked like with a boy because no single, unattached boy you’d ever met only wanted friendship – was getting to be too much. There needed to be a line drawn in the sand. You needed to draw the line in the sand. And more importantly, after the line was drawn, you and Joel needed to be securely on opposite sides of it.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

But curse this man and his ability to put ideas in your head. Horrible, awful, domestic ideas. The sorts of ideas that made you think this image of him: on the back porch with a beer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, a dish towel slung over his shoulder for quick access, flipping over and inspecting a couple steaks, chewing on his bottom lip as he pondered how close to medium they were getting… was an image you could get used to seeing.

It was how all boys in the past had gotten you.

They wooed you with their little acts here and there of masculinity. Or their wit. Or just cute looks. They made you believe that they were different. That they were honest, and open, and evolved. And you’d get sucked in and follow the white rabbit down the hole. For a while it’d all be good. You would actually believe that you had found an evolved man that you could coexist with and be happy. But after the momentary bliss, you’d come to realize that the wool had been pulled over your eyes. You’d been deceived and lied to. The boy could not manage his own emotions, let alone understand yours. You’d sit in the anger that you betrayed your sense of self to make room for this boy, and only when you’d talked yourself far enough off the ledge, you’d explode like a time bomb. Afterwards, a tiny piece of you would be the only thing left to go around picking up all the other little fragments of yourself. And you’d put yourself back together with tape and a promise that you wouldn’t ever allow another to break you like that again. That is, until another boy found his way to you and made you think he was different. And thus the cycle continued.

“You have family out here?” Joel looked up from the barbecue and took a sip of his beer while he waited for you to answer.

Taking a step forward and buying some time by swigging down a gulp of your beer, you shook your head. “They’re all in California still. Just had to get away. What about you?”

He nodded and closed the grill, “Sarah’s a few hours away at school and her mom’s ‘bout a half hour away. But my brother’s here. I work with him actually,”

“You must be close with him,”

Joel nodded absently.

“But no wife for Joel Miller,” you smiled, half-hidden by your bottle. “I take it no girlfriend either since apparently you don’t like getting laid,”

He laughed. It was the first real, hearty laugh you’d heard from him. It seemed to shake his whole body and he opened the grill back up and plucked the steaks off it, depositing them on an awaiting plate. “I like getting laid. It might be my favorite thing to do,”

“That’s why I think you’re full of shit. Turning down, what’s her name…”

“Kelly…”

“You’re telling me,” you approached Joel slowly, got right up close to him, and dragged a delicate finger over one of his shoulders and down his bicep to prove a point. “A woman… an attractive woman, I’d say… stripped down in front of you, told you to have your way with her, and you said no thanks,”

Joel watched your finger. His tongue poked out of his mouth quickly to lick his lips before he flashed his eyes back to you, obviously finding great pleasure that his gaze in this close proximity made you avert your own eyes downward. “Exactly,”

You half-smiled and shook your head as you took a step back, “bullshit.”

He shut off the grill and scooped the plate up. “Explain to me why you think that’s bullshit,” he meandered past you and pulled his back door open, allowing you the chance to walk in first before he followed you in.

Instinctively, you progressed into the kitchen, where two stools at the counter were awaiting with place settings. You perched in one while Joel set the steaks down by you and continued to the oven where he pulled out a tray of roasted vegetables. “Because you’re a guy,”

“Man,” he corrected and started placing food on your plate.

“A man,” you mocked. When he finished giving you food and moved onto his, “thank you. And men don’t do that. They chase pleasure. They get their dick wet and they move on down the line, leaving a path of destruction in their wake,”

This time, Joel waited to respond until he was seated next to you. He clinked his bottle against yours, “thanks for coming over.”

“To be honest, I was actually afraid you’d blow up my fridge and I can’t really afford a new one right now,”

“But I’m gonna have to disagree with you,” he focused on his plate and cut into his steak. Seemingly pleased with the degree with which it was cooked, he took a first bite. “Men don’t only care, as you so delicately put, about getting their dick wet.”

“Joel, come on, you know…”

“Boys do. For sure. A boy would look at you, a beautiful woman, and see a direct path to his pleasure. Absolutely. And a boy probably wouldn’t care too much about whether or not you were getting as much out of it as he was. ‘Cause he’s getting his, right?”

You nodded, silently pushing a mixture of steak and veggies into your mouth, enraptured with where he was going to take this conversation. And slightly unable to concentrate past the point of having heard him call you beautiful. 

“Men don’t do that. A man would look at you and see that yes, you’re a beautiful woman. But he’d also see that you’ve got a helluva brain, and you’re witty, and funny, and more than a little stubborn. He’d see that you hold yourself and everyone else to a high standard, and he’d want to meet it. And when he slept with you, he’d want to make sure you were getting more out of it than he was,”

Awe-struck was the only word to describe how you felt. Was a guy actually verbalizing everything you already believed? That there was a difference between boys and men. And that most guys thought they were men simply because of their age, when you knew age meant nothing in defining a man. 

Joel took a deep breath and finished off his beer, “I turned Kelly down because I knew if I slept with her I’d be taking on a lot more than I wanted to with her. And despite whatever your experience with men might be, this one’s not out to leave a path of destruction behind him.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

What were these complicated feelings inside of you? Someone who prided themselves on being emotionally intelligent and level-headed and yet… you were spinning like a top. On the one hand you wanted to keep everyone a safe arm’s length away, and on the other you wanted Joel to scale the walls you’d constructed and fortified around yourself. For a long time there was an odd sense of accomplishment at how tall and strong you’d managed to build them. Look at how good they were at keeping people out. But now there was someone in front of you that you thought you wanted to let in – only in constructing your walls, you never put in a gate. And that ribbon of apathy, and the moments of enduring loneliness, maybe it was all self-inflicted.

Who knew how to hurt you better than you?

The beer helped dull those thoughts. Finishing off the second as the conversation meandered through Joel’s last relationship. A topic that would’ve given you supreme pause, and yet he recounted it with ease as if he were just a court reporter, tasked with jotting down the facts. He even acknowledged his role in the dissolution of that relationship. His eyes seemed to glaze over and travel to a distant land as he described all the ways he didn’t measure up. How he was never quite what that woman wanted. And how he had no idea how to become what she wanted. On the flip side, he admitted she’d started off as someone that only saw the moon with him. She’d kept some nights from being too cold and lonely. Only when a certain amount of time passed, did she speak up and sort of declare a relationship was there. 

That conversation ended when a third bottle was grabbed for each and moved to the living room. Both on the couch, you with your back pressed up against one of the arm’s of it. Your knees bent with feet planted securely on the cushion. And Joel sitting as close as he could with your legs creating a physical boundary between you. Even his thigh covered your toes, as if seeing how close to the boundary he could get. Despite feeling like this was someone you wanted to let through your walls, however temporarily, your brain still managed to cut off any inkling from your heart – using your body as the vehicle to keep everyone at bay.

“Hmm?” Joel hummed and grabbed your attention back to the present. “‘S’not fair leaving me hanging after I just spilled all my gory relationship details. What about yours?”

You shook your head, trying to appear innocent, “there’s not much to say.”

“Say anything,”

Staring at him, you took a deep breath and a generous sip of your new beer. Then feeling on the good side of buzzed, you stretched forward to move for the coffee table. Seeing your plight and the awkwardness of the angle given that you weren’t inclined to lower your legs to make the action smoother, Joel leaned forward, gently took the bottle from your hands and set it on the table for you.  

“He was nice at the start. A bit older than me. I thought it meant we’d be on the same wavelength for once, y’know? That he’d outgrown the frat boy, tool bag phase and moved into a more evolved one. It got physical quick and it was… awful.” You glanced down at your hands, remembering for the first time in a while about what sleeping with that guy felt like – a trial run with hari-kari, complete and self-inflicted betrayal.

With your pause and sensing obvious discomfort, Joel reached across his body and got a loose grip on your shin. He gave it a soft squeeze that felt like permission to stop if you were so inclined. But it didn’t hurt like it used to; as if you had been able to remove yourself from the equation and were now just recounting the plot of some terrible film you’d seen once.

Shrugging and with a half-smile he couldn’t place, you looked back up at Joel, “he had a good time.”

“Was it ever good for you?” He mumbled as though he didn’t actually want to hear the answer. And because you hadn’t reacted in any way to his hand on your shin, he took a chance and used that grip to lower your leg across his lap.

“No, but I’m a helluva actress.”

He raised his eyebrows and absently took hold of your other leg and lowered that one across his lap, too. Now the literal barrier you’d put between you had been carefully circumvented. “He never stopped to figure it out?”

You shook your head, “he was getting his, Joel. See, it’s hard to figure out when you’re dealing with a boy. They hide it well,”

Joel reached forward and set his half-empty beer next to yours on the coffee table. When he reclined back to his previous position, his hands migrated to your feet and squeezed them with a familiarity of an old married couple who’d been practicing this dance for decades.

“It ended two and a half years ago, so a distant memory,”

He only nodded. You thought he’d have something about that. Something like what’ve you been doing for two years without a man. But maybe he figured you were doing just fine. Probably better. So he only squeezed your feet again before his hands migrated a little further north to your knees, fingers just barely dipping between your thighs that you’d managed to keep pressed together. Finally he asked:

“No fillers in the meantime?”

It made you laugh. Any number of innuendo could be applied to his question. It was also at this point that you felt your resolve fading. The will to keep him at bay becoming less of a conscious effort. “No fillers. Not really my style,”

“Not a one night stand kinda girl?” He smirked and shot a playful glance at you. There was no chance he was unaware that the press of your thighs together had lessened. Any further action of his hand would’ve resulted in him going wherever he wanted, however he wanted. But he didn’t. His hand remained where it was, gaining no further purchase and adding no extra pressure.

“Would you be if sex was never good for you?”

He chuckled and threw his head back against the couch, “fair enough.” He shook his head, absently staring at the ceiling. Only when he’d gathered his thoughts and words did he shift his gaze back to you. “People are simple creatures,” there was a slight pause and though you opened your mouth to refute that, he continued first. “I mean the biology part. It’s not hard to get a woman off,”

“Okay, hotshot. Let me go get a horn for you to toot a little louder,”

He grinned widely, showing off nearly every tooth in his mouth. The look made you smile as well – like a kid getting caught opening presents before Christmas. “There’s a lot of hard tasks in this world,” he pursed his lips and shrugged, “making a woman come isn’t one of them.”

The heat you’d felt rising in your chest and neck after he’d successfully moved your mattress into your bedroom was returning. Only this time, you felt it settle in your cheeks, and you wondered if he was aware of it. Your eyes were glued to him, wide, trying to pick up on as much visual information they could get. What you found was Joel adding the slightest of pressure between your knees to spread your thighs just enough for him to pivot on the couch and face you squarely.

You swallowed down a lump in your throat, eyes flicking over the sight of him: the way graying curls moved across his forehead, or the way his eyes never left yours. Not even for a second. Not even when he was positioning himself closer to you, kneeling back on his shins with his thighs nudging yours upward at an angle. He smiled softly, a gentle thing that instantly put you at greater ease, and leaned in closer to you, planting his hands on the couch on either side of your chest.

“Can I kiss you?” His focus wandered down to your lips when they parted. 

In all your years of life, no one had ever asked that, and it took you aback, scrambling to make sense of the English you believed you were fluent in. But you nodded quickly and assumed that would’ve been the green light. Probably would’ve for most people, but as you were coming to learn, Joel wasn’t quite like most people.

He smiled and bowed his head, taking a breath to gather himself. In the meantime, his hair was close to your nose and the muskiness of his scent was everything you thought and wanted it to be. He raised his head and looked at you again, his eyes practically pleading. “Can we make that verbal?”

“Yes,” you exhaled. But when it didn’t result in his lips meeting yours with haste, you tried again. “Kiss me,”

Like a fire ignited under him, Joel closed the rest of the gap between you. Hands drifting to your cheeks, he cupped your head with the most practiced of ease and pressed his mouth to yours, first with closed lips to test the waters before the next action was the parting of his lips on yours. His tongue searched for entrance into your mouth, finding it when a soft breath was exhaled.

While trying not to talk yourself out of this moment, you also tried to think about the last time you’d been kissed like this. Or kissed at all, period. But like this, with want, and desire, and passion. Like all of Joel was made for this exact moment: to kiss you with the intention of every fiber of his being; to make your brain go foggy and blur out everything that did not add to this need. It was as if he could sense you slipping away from him, focused elsewhere instead of letting yourself buy into this, and he recaptured you with a soft bite to your lower lip. He re-positioned his hands; one at the side of your neck and jaw, and the other gripping onto your hip, adjusting you further until your ass was pressed up against his crotch. 

He forced himself to pull back, slight enough to be able to speak but still close enough to press his forehead against yours. “Stay with me. Don’t go somewhere else,” 

Your instinct was to protest, that you weren’t about to leave, but realized he’d picked up on the thing you were wondering about. The thing no guy had ever picked up on, or cared to, before. The distance your brain was willing to create between itself and your body.

“Joel,” you whispered, sounding slightly more needy than you would’ve hoped. 

“I know,” he murmured back. His hand ditched your hip for a split second and took hold of your wrist. Led it up over his shoulder and to the back of his neck, until the backs of your fingers brushed along the ends of his hair. Without fail, you softly clutched into it. “Stay with me. Right here,” his hand went back to your hip and your lips reconnected. Open-mouthed with his tongue pressing into yours. He tilted his head to the side and groaned into your mouth, sending a vibration down your throat, past your chest, through your stomach, and straight to your core.

You hummed back into his mouth, for once closing your eyes and letting yourself live in the feeling his lips could administer. The heat that had already been living in your cheeks seemed to amplify with the size of him around you. His broad shoulders meeting a wide chest that seemed to dwarf you. Large hands that effortlessly cupped around your hip or engulfed your cheek. He was everywhere at once and when he ducked his head lower to kiss your neck, landing a love bite on your jugular, it took extra measures to keep yourself grounded and there for him.

Your hand slowly released the hair at the nape of his neck, and slid down over his shoulder to his chest, followed the seam at the side of his t-shirt until your fingertips reached the hem at the bottom. With fingers tucking beneath the fabric and meeting the skin at his oblique, you felt him exhale a hot breath against your neck, his hips shifting beneath you. As you ran your hand north, you took stock of the muscles your fingers passed, and how while still present and firm, they’d grown less pronounced with age. A softness to his body that he’d earned the right to after years of hard labor. Or so you assumed by the feeling of calloused hands on you. 

Gauging what you wanted from him as your hands worked their way upward, pushing his shirt up with them, he groaned not wanting to take his lips off your neck, but doing so anyway to sit back. With a swift motion, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor unceremoniously. He wiped his hand down over his mouth and shook his head as if in disbelief as he pressed his hands back into the couch on either side of you, “god, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

His eyes danced their way over every feature on your face as if trying to commit them to memory, before they drifted lower, down to where your hips met his. But all this unadulterated looking sparked a flame of timidness inside you, and your instinct to quell the nerves was to grab for him, urging him back to you. If he was busy with his lips on you – any part of you – it’d keep his eyes from boring holes into you. His lips met yours again with fervor, this time forcing his tongue into your mouth. A helpless moan floated out of your throat and Joel responded by laying a hand at your neck. Fingers around it but applying no pressure.

“Bed. Please,” you whispered so low you wondered if you had wanted him to hear it or not. 

But it was like he was attuned to you and your body more than any previous guy had been. And in hearing your request, he moved his lips back to your neck and you felt a smile spread across his face, pressing against your skin.

“Please tell me you’re not drunk,” he mumbled against your skin. So tight that it distorted his words and had you humming for instant clarification. He lifted his head and looked back down at you, as if his eyes alone would be able to figure out the answer. “Drunk?”

You ran your hands up to his chest, “on two and a half beers?”

“That’s not an answer,” he let out a breath and drifted his hand from your neck, down to your chest where he gave one of your breasts a squeeze. You noticed at the same moment, he reached around to your ass but avoided it to simply adjust himself in his jeans.

“I’d have to be drunk to want to sleep with you?”

“I reckon it’d help,” he grinned boyishly and bent in again for another tongue-led kiss as though he couldn’t help himself.

You grabbed either side of his face in your hands and curled your fingers into his beard. “Not drunk, just want you,” there was a lack of movement on his end and you weren’t sure if he was short-circuiting or trying to figure out if someone your size could indeed get drunk on two and a half beers. Either way, you tapped his ribs, “now, if possible.”

[holylulusworld]

Mr. Dickbeard

Summary: Your boss’s best friend is the worst.

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader

Warnings: Lloyd being Lloyd, bimbo reader, groping, implied smut

“Bimbo, bring me a coffee,” your boss’s best friend and the worst man you ever met in your life barks your way. He snaps his fingers and waltzes over to your desk. His expensive loafers squeak on the floor, making you wince. “Did you not hear me?”

You purse your lips and reply, “You’re not my boss.” He glares at you as the whole open-plan office falls silent. “Why don’t you get your coffee yourself?”

“BIMBO!” Lloyd Hansen, self-declared master of your life, growls. “I told you to get me coffee!”

“Lloyd, what’s the matter?” Mr. Gentry opened the door to his office to poke his head out. “Do we have an appointment? I thought you were going to be in London for two more weeks.”

“Those idiots didn’t get my humor,” Hansen grumbles under his breath. “These fine gentlemen want to seal the deal with some arrogant fucker! A waste of money and time. Plus, the girls there are uptight as shit. I didn’t get my dick sucked for two weeks.”

You scrunch up your nose and look away. Lloyd Hansen, your boss’s best friend, is just the worst. He’s loud, misogynistic, and a perv. Oh, and he loves to talk about his dick and mustache all the time.

Sometimes you ask yourself why Mr. Gentry is friends with this man. Your boss is a nice guy, always friendly and helpful.

Hansen glares at you. His jaw ticks as your boss calls his name. He doesn’t look away, sneering as you shift in your seat. “Coming. Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he grunts. “I need to take a piss first.”

Scrunching up your nose again, you try to not speak your mind. Most of the time, when you get angry, you start to babble.

“Lloyd, can you just not?” Your boss shakes his head. “Damn, he must’ve had a bad time in London.”

You giggle at your boss’s words. He’s so cute and funny. What a pity he’s married. You could fall for him.

“Could you please get him a coffee with lots of sugar? I think he’ll need it,” Mr. Gentry softly asks. “You must excuse my friend; he speaks before he thinks.”

“Fucking bimbo getting on my fucking nerves,” Lloyd mutters in the restroom. He tried to get a stain out of his pants and took them off. “It’s no use.”

“Uh—Mr. Hansen,” you giggle as you walk in on Lloyd. He’s only wearing a thong, barely hiding anything. You can see his happy trail as his shirt rid up. “Sir, your dickbeard is showing.” You point at his crotch, giggling and snorting as you can see his pubic hair and half of his left sack.

He stares at you, anger in his eyes. “What are you doing at the men’s restroom, bimbo?”

“Sir, this is the ladies’ restroom, and you are dressed inappropriately.” You try to keep the giggle wanting to escape your lips down your throat. Hansen already looks like he’s going to combust as he looks down at his body to adjust his thong.

“I think the boys don’t like this kind of underwear,” you say, and nod to yourself. "Hmm...or...is this a hairnet?” You suddenly say, earning an angry look from Lloyd. “Like the ones in the cafeteria, only for your dickbeard.”

“I can’t believe you can walk upright like a normal human with only half a brain and no filter for your stupid mouth,” he comments and goes back to scrubbing his pants clean.

“Oh, a stain,” you hum and step closer to get a better look at his pants. “What is it? Milk. Cream. Yogurt?”

Lloyd squares his jaw. He won’t tell you that he jerked off in the toilet cubicle like some loser only because he had the chance to yell at you again.

“Maybe you should lick it clean to find out,” he smirks darkly and chuckles as you swipe your index finger over the stain. “Go ahead, put that tongue to better use for once.”

“You know,” you look down at his barely covered crotch and the prominent erection he’s not even hiding. “for a man pretending to hate me, you’re very happy to see me.”

“Shut up, bimbo,” he growls and grabs you by your arms. “I told you not to get cocky, only because I ate that cunt once.”

“Thrice,” you coo and move your hand to his crotch, cupping him roughly. “You can’t get enough of me. I know it.”

“You don’t have enough brain cells to know shit.” He roughly grabs you by your shoulders, trying to push you down on your knees. “The only thing you’re good for is sucking dick.”

“Well, not today,” you smirk and drop your hand from his crotch. “You won’t get any until you apologize.”

You push him off you and twirl around to walk out of the restroom.

“Wait, we aren’t done here. You can’t make me hard and leave me hanging!”

“If you want to get to taste my pussy again, you’ll buy me a fucking diamond ring,” you snap at Lloyd and storm out of the room.

“How did we end up whipped by a bimbo and her pussy,” Lloyd says to himself as he looks at his erection. “You fucker always get me in trouble.”

Tags in reblog.