#honestly this sounds more like a summary for the actual fic
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kitten4sannie · 4 months ago
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pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)
genre: fluff, romance, smut
summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.
w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)
warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal đŸ«¶đŸŒ, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc
a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO đŸ—Łïž i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi đŸș <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~
pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333
song rec: say - keshi
fictober 2024
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You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above. 
The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on. 
You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence. 
It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was
so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you. 
Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him. 
You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought
” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.
“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder. 
“I thought you were
going to kill me
” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf
” 
“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain. 
“I’m sorry, I–
Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern. 
Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts
” 
“I know, I’m almost done, I promise
” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows. 
Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him. 
You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest
Where did you come from?”
Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad
I’m here, there, everywhere, really.” 
You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?” 
“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?” 
“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow. 
“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home. 
-
It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi
I’m so sorry
I need to stitch you up.”
Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.” 
“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?” 
“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”
Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really
”
“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.” 
It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you
” 
It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?” 
It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.” 
You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?” 
“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.
“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began. 
“
.Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there. 
Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you. 
“I didn’t mean to scare you, love
” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before. 
The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world? 
“Mingi
are you
?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human. 
Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way. 
“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve. 
Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf. 
Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love. 
“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation. 
“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.” 
“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying
were you?” 
Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love
” 
You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right
?” 
Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?” 
Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might
Is that crazy?” 
Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.” 
“Where
have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting
for someone like you
” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.” 
He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that
better?” 
For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake. 
-
You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back. 
Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you
I’m not mad, I just–”
“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not
what you think I am.” 
You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi
I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.
His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?” 
“I do
” 
It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a
werewolf
”
Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you
you like this.” 
You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?” 
Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”
You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.” 
When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy. 
Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful
” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat. 
“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples. 
He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes. 
You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more
” 
The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?” 
“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before. 
Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.
So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.” 
“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I
? Please?” 
“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.
Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.” 
“Y–ours
!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.
“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so. 
It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big
”  
“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.
“Yes, give it to me, please, Min
”
He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full
so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.” 
Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe. 
“Yes, please.” 
It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.” 
“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life. 
“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.” 
“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears. 
Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.” 
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© kitten4sannie, 2024.
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witchywithwhiskey · 6 months ago
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pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader
summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare
word count: 8.8k
a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!
i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅
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The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 
The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 
It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.
There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 
In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 
All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.
In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 
There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 
You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 
But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 
By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 
You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 
Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 
Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 
When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.
On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 
Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.
Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 
But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.
Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.
The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.
Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.
Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 
Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.
It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.
But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 
Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.
“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 
“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.
You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 
The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 
Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 
You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 
“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.
It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.
You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.
“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”
“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.
The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.
Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.
“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 
A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 
“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 
You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.
Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.
Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 
You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.
Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 
You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.
With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 
As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 
“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 
You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 
“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.
Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 
Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 
So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 
“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 
You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.
But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 
For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 
“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.
It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 
Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.
Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.
Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded
aroused.
Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.
Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.
The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 
For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 
But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 
Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 
With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 
But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 
It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.
Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.
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“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 
His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.
Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 
Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 
You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 
It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 
You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 
It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 
Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.
“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.
“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 
Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 
He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 
Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.
“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 
You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.
“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full
”
You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 
“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 
Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 
Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.
“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 
“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 
There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 
It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him
something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”
Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.
When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 
You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.
“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 
Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.
“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”
“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 
Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.
“You deserved better.”
The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.
“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 
When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 
The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.
“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”
Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”
The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 
You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 
He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 
“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”
Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.
“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 
Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.
“You’re drunk, buttercup.”
Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.
“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 
A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 
“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.
A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 
When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.
Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.
“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.
Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 
“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”
Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.
Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.
Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 
“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 
Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 
Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.
“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”
“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need
something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.
Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  
“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”
Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 
It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.
But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 
A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 
You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 
But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 
“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 
Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.
The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.
“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 
But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.
“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.
“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 
“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 
“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 
The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 
“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 
Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 
You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.
“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 
“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 
“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 
The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.
“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.
“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.
Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 
He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”
Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 
“Can I take you home now?” he asked.
You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.
Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 
“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.
When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 
Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.
Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 
“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  
For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 
“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 
You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
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lawchwan · 8 months ago
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do you like the sound of the music? (law, ace, sanji, zoro, kid)
summary: how the boys sound when they're getting pleasured. reader: gn!reader genre: smut disclaimer: not super detailed smut, but a grave detail on how these fine men sound like a/n: I know I haven't done an a/n, but it has been a minute since I posted here. I have been preoccupied (thanks to being a senior at uni) but now that I am done with everything, I hope I have more free time to post some fics and reignite my love for writing. I won't bore you much and we will proceed with more content (also my fem!law fic is in the works and it'll be put out sometime soon)
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crossposted on ao3
Law
as much as i'd like to advocate for the whimper-whiny-loud-subby!law agenda that i have been adapting to my psyche while i was gone, he seems like the quiet kind while he's pleasuring you.
obviously not the type to be overtly silent to the point you won't hear a breath out of him. he's just simply a grunter and a light growler. he won't be very vocal unless you want him too.
when he comes, thats when you hear the magic beautiful sounds. it depends on the type of sex, dynamic, and/or pace you two have set in, he’ll either grunt a dragged deep moan or a slight whimper that cascades into your ears as he spills out his load onto you.
“mm, shit, fuck, y/n, you feel so fucking good
fuck~”
ace
oh that loud ass motherfucker. if you expect him to quiet down, well you’re out of luck. even if you placed a gag on his mouth, he’ll still spill out the loudest moan any human could produce (please gag him, he actually loves it).
ngl he kinda is the type to give exaggerated noises, like im talking those very exaggerated moans that you would hear in those shitty pornos (that ace may or may not unironically enjoy).
if you want to illicit the most hottest whimper that spills out of his mouth, simply just stroke and tug on his wavy locks—he will definitely go feral over this simple manuever. his mouth would probably be wrapped around your nipples, and his muffled moans could be heard on the outside, disturbing whoever’s nearby.
“mm—pfah! you think you can cover my mouth, baby?! huh?! think again—oo FUCK!~”
sanji
another loud boy. maybe not as loud as ace, but definitely can be loud if he needs to be.
he’ll honestly let out the most cutest and hottest moans any person can produce, it can even border into whimpering. he does get embarrassed when he gets super loud though, so keep a gag nearby if needed.
he’ll, however, take pride that only you can push him into the edge and let him produce music to your ears, much to the dismay of the crew. he’ll sometimes purposely moan out loud if it means to piss off zoro and keep him up from his slumber, leaving the green mosshead disgruntled and disgusted.
“oh~oh my god! y/n! you feel so—fuck!”
zoro
zoro’s a grunter. next.
no but in all seriousness, he does seem like a grunter and the type to give you dirty talk. he, like law, is not that talkative but he’ll say the most filthiest of shit in your ears that will leave you melting under his touch.
he’ll also maybe taunt you by groaning along with you with a smirk as he looks down at your wet parts.
“aww, you want my cock that badly?
 well you might have to beg for it”
kid
jesus this man is crazy in bed. he strikes me as the type to be a growler. he seems to me to be very animalistic as he rails you like there’s mo tomorrow.
i can see him pinning your hips down as he thrusts himself into you, throwing his head back, letting out the loudest growls and groans as he speeds himself up. he’ll probably start talking in haste manner as well as soon as he feels himself getting closer to let his waterfall out.
“c’mon.. fucking, c’mon! you better come for me. come for me. come for me. come for me—grrr FUCK!”
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characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.
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wolfeyedwitch · 6 months ago
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You know what? No, I'm not done talking. I started writing this in the tags and then went "shit why am I doing that this is MY POST I can just frickin write it in the actual post".
See, the thing is: halfas, true halfas, are rare.
No, you don't get it. They are rare.
As in, they're mythic levels of rarity. It's a word for an idea more than an actual entity. Vlad and Danielle? They don't actually count. They aren't properly balanced. Vlad skews towards human and was infected by ecto; Danielle is more like a human-leaning neverborn.
Danny doesn't know this, because Clockwork has been forbidden by the Observants to tell him. So Danny isn't aware of how stacked the odds were against him coming out of that portal the way he did. Just a few of the requirements:
being in a portal while it opens. This is possibly the easiest requirement.
having enough contact with the Infinite Realms/Ghost Zone/ecto prior to this that the portal won't just kill you. This takes small amounts of exposure over the course of a(t least one) lifetime.
being of a bloodline that has had dealings with the supernatural. While not a hard-and-fast rule itself, it plays into the above: having enough contact with the other side prior to the portal opening that it doesn't kill you instantly. This is usually not a single-lifetime occurrence. This is generational. This is Danny's family going back to the Fenton-Nightingales, all living in the same area with a thin veil between the realms.
All in all, this isn't rarity on the scale of winning the lottery. This is rarity on the scale of picking a specific grain of sand from all the beaches in the world.
Which is why when a certain researcher, a man of his letters you could say, meets the Winchesters? He will be very interested in learning more about a certain phantom.
Hey DP Fandom
Has anyone come up with a word to use instead of "halfa"? My headcanon is that "halfa" is a slur used by ghosts against them, and that there should be a neutral term. (Or even possibly a positive term, something that translates from Ghost Speak [whatever you want to call Ghost Speak] to "perfect balance" or something.) Yes I know the fandom is divided on this thought; this is just where I'm currently at.
Anyone have any thoughts?
@floralflowerpower tagging you because you have excellent lore
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lovebugism · 3 months ago
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đŸ“ŒÂ  ; ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY | 1/2
summary: by the summer of 1987, eddie munson has mastered the art of dying and coming back to life again. but worse than that: he can't seem to stop running into the pretty lifeguard from hawkins community pool. the grumpy ol' vampire slowly learns to love sunshine in the afterlife. (23k)
pairing: vampire!eddie munson / ditzy!sunshine!reader
contents: fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, extreme canon divergence (most of the events of st3 and st4 still happen but starcourt is still standing, some people aren't dead, etc.) (i'm just here to have fun, honestly) cw for mentions of grief and ptsd, mentions of blood
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( best listened with headphones, full fic playlist here )
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
          she lives in the place in the side of our lives
          where nothing is ever put straight . . .
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
Being a vampire sucks.
No pun intended.
Eddie Munson’s too tired for puns. He’s too tired for most things, really.
That’s what they don’t tell you about being a vampire — it’s not nearly as cool as The Lost Boys make it seem. He isn’t any stronger now than he was the night he died. He isn’t any faster, either. And if he’s capable of shape-shifting into a bat, he hasn’t tried because the thought of becoming the thing that killed him feels like more of a purgatory than what he’s been doomed to already. 
He didn’t even get a cool cape out of it, which is more of a bite than anything, honestly. 
No pun intended.
All Eddie’s got to show for his death are the patches of marred skin on his stomach to prove it. And a couple of pointy teeth — which, so far, have only tasted his own flesh because he’s bitten his lip with them more times than he can count. And, yeah, maybe he’s got a heightened sense or two, but that’s it. It’s not nearly as cool as it sounds, either. Enhanced hearing and sense of smell are just code for being constantly overstimulated.
Eddie misses being alive. He misses not knowing what blood tastes like. He misses forgetting to eat all day and accidentally having ice cream for a first meal — which he’d then scarf down like a man starved until it inevitably made him sick, so that he could then complain about how sick he felt. 
He misses the consequences of humanhood because now he’s half-corpse, half-god — a dizzying mixture for a boy who used to just be somebody’s kid.
And what does Eddie do to cope with it all? He gets his weekly mint-chip cone at Scoops Ahoy.
Steve passes the ice cream over the counter with a kinder smile than Eddie’s used to. His skin is freckled and golden against the dark navy of his uniform. So full of life. The child’s sailor outfit hasn’t stopped being funny, but Eddie scowls at him ‘cause he’s jealous. He’s never been anything but pale, even before death, but he can’t exactly catch a tan now, can he?
“You look good,” Steve Harrington observes, distant but meaningful. 
The wild-haired boy ahead of him doesn’t seem nearly as poorly as he did a day or so ago, when he looked somehow more like death than the day he actually died. He’s got his usual color back now. A telltale sign of a recent feeding.
Eddie flashes the boy a dubious, brown-eyed glance. “Are you flirting with me?” he jokes with his ringed fingers curled around the waffle cone, too monotoned to sound as playful as he means.
Steve’s face screws. “No.”
“Damn.”
“See! That’s what I’m talking about!” the brunette proclaims proudly, waving an accusatory finger in the other boy’s direction. “Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have made that joke. Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have said anything, actually.”
“Well, Eddie From Yesterday, hadn’t eaten in two weeks,” the boy deadpans. (He isn’t talking about food, either). “And Eddie From Yesterday was so exhausted and filled with an inhuman rage that death was funnier than making stupid jokes.”
Steve tries not to cower at his faux-seriousness. “TouchĂ©,” he nods.
Eddie hands the boy the last bill in his wallet. Steve makes out his change and, like a total idiot, dumps a dime onto his palm. The silver hits his skin like a drop of acid rain or molten lava. Eddie winces at the burn, hissing through his teeth as he jerks his singed hand back. 
“Why are you giving me dimes, man?!” he shouts over the sound of clattering coins.
“Shit!” Steve grimaces. “Sorry, dude— I forgot.”
“Oh, you forgot?” Eddie bites in a mocking tone.
“Yeah! Sorry if I can’t remember everything about—” Steve pauses his rant to peer around the shop with cautious eyes. He quietens. “—Vampires, alright? Sue me.”
Eddie watches the boy scramble to gather scattered coins –– coth hat askew on his head, scarlet tie in his way. The sight alone makes him laugh. A sharp exhale through his nose, but a laugh nonetheless. “You know what? How ‘bout just keep the change?”
“You keep the damn change,” Steve grumbles under his breath.
“Nice one.”
“Shut up.”
Eddie takes a big bite from his fresh scoop. He lets the sharp peppermint and deep chocolate concoction melt in his mouth. The strange combination was always the best distraction from the coppery tang of blood lingering on his tongue. 
Distracts because the metallic taste never quite leaves him, no matter how often he washes his mouth out. The taste of death always persists. Not in a poetic way, though. It’s more like a mouthful of old pennies.
Only problem is, he can’t really taste it now — the tart mint-chip or the pint of blood he’d choked down yesterday afternoon. The sensuous scent of hibiscus lilts along an otherwise still breeze, sudden and very overwhelming. It’s powdery and floral, rich and fruity. A fragrance sweet enough to make him ill, and it’s accompanied by the rhythmic flip-flop, flip-flop of rubber sandals.
Eddie glances mindlessly over his shoulder, then nearly breaks his neck at the force of his double-take. The candied scent, he finds, belongs undoubtedly to the pretty face behind him.
You saunter into the ice cream shop like a rolling summer cloud — with a walk that’s as soft and delicate as you look. There’s something thaumaturgical in the honeyed atmosphere that follows you in, still unceremoniously punctuated by the flip-flop, flip-flop sound of your shoes against the linoleum.
You are, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the raspberry, marshmallow, lily-of-the-valley scent radiating from your sunkissed skin. There is much of it on display now, and what little is covered is hardly left to the imagination.
Straight from a shift at Hawkins Community Pool, your mandated uniform clings perfectly to your torso — a pretty, scarlet one-piece that scoops deeply at the chest. Stamped on the center is a pool floatie and two surfboards that make a more summery skull-and-crossbones shape. ‘Lifeguard’ is written just beneath it, right over the swell of your breasts.
You wear a pleated skirt on your lower half to match. The bouncy fabric rests scandalously, and perhaps unintentionally, low on your hips. A faint sliver of your skin is showcased in a way that drives him hopelessly wild. And you’ve paired it all with a pair of too-big sunglasses on your head and a cherry sucker in your mouth. 
Effortless. A total cakewalk of perfection.
Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have never known much about either. 
The latter is still trying to dump change into the tip jar when he goes to greet you. Your eyes link, the words get stuck in his throat, and the coins scatter to the laminate all over again. Steve tries to catch them at first before realizing how utterly uncool he must look. He makes a bigger fool of himself by just letting them fall.
“Hey. Hi. Wel—Welcome to Scoops Ahoy,” the brunette clears his throat. He props his hands along the countertop and feels a rogue penny stick to his clammy palm. “You’re not lost, are you?”
Steve forces a lopsided smile at his sorry excuse for a joke. Eddie rolls his eyes. You blink at him and pluck the cherry sucker from your mouth — which has left your lips softly swollen and tinted a rosier shade.
“This is where pretty boys in tiny sailor outfits sell ice cream, right?”
Your deadpan expression makes it difficult to gauge whether or not you’re joking. Steve’s face glows red at the sort-of compliment. He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah— Yeah, it— It is, actually.”
You smile at him, tightlipped and warm. It fills the windowless shop with glittering sunbeams. “Then can I have a scoop of rainbow sherbet, please?”
Steve raps his knuckles against the counter and nods again. “Yep. Coming right up.”
Eddie takes another hearty bite of his ice cream while you linger at his side — a couple of feet away but feeling much closer than that. As the minty chocolate melts slow on his tongue, all he can taste is the fruity-floral scent of you. 
It makes his head go all swimmy because he knows your blood must taste the same. Like velvet. Or an expensive red wine people spend half a fortune on. He can hear the soft wooshing of your heart, too. Soft and unhurried. Gentle like an ebbing and flowing tide.
He shouldn’t be thinking this way, he knows. He fed yesterday; he should be feeling halfway normal by now. But your scent is dizzying still, and much stronger than Eddie figures it should be. If he’d met you a day or more ago, when the need for a feeding was quite literally eating him alive, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to contain himself.
He doesn’t think he would’ve hurt you, per se — because he hasn’t actually hurt anyone yet. Not in this stage of his afterlife, anyway. But it would’ve taken all the waning strength left in him to stop himself from doing something unthinkable. And that thought alone is somehow more terrifying than death.
Neither, however, is as scary as your gaze meeting his. 
Your eyes lock, and only then does Eddie realize how long he’s been staring. His blood runs cold. Cold-er. An eon blinks as he tries to recover from his hopeless leering. (He’s just as useless as Steve The Hair Harrington, turns out).
“Hi
” he murmurs through a mouthful of mint-chip once he realizes he’s got nothing else to say. How’s a freak like him meant to talk to someone like you? A walking fairytale of ethereal chaos?
You move the cherry sucker to the pocket of your cheek with your tongue. Through it, you mumble, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Eddie laughs before he means to. His pink lips curl into a smile, and the inside of the delicate skin scrapes the fangs threatening to poke through his gums. They fit just perfectly over his canines, typically veiled by his gums until it’s time to feed. Or until he’s faced with a pretty girl who smells like Heaven and looks just the same, apparently.
He hides his grin behind his fist and scoffs a breathy laugh.
Your face twists in a delicate look of confusion. “Why’s that funny?” you question once you’ve plucked the piece of candy from your mouth.
His smile ebbs instantly. “Oh. It’s
 It’s not— It’s not funny, actually,” he stammers, chocolate eyes wide and round like a pair of buttons.
Your frown deepens. “So you don’t think I’m funny?”
“No, it’s— it’s not that I don’t think you’re funny, I just— I think that—” Eddie stumbles over himself trying to get the words out. He inhales deeply through his nose and swallows hard. “I’m a little confused, honestly
”
There’s a brief moment of silence that passes like minutes. 
There’s something distinctly wild in your unwavering stare. It possesses a sort of magnetism that makes it impossible to look away from — though Eddie desperately, desperately wishes he could. But because he can’t take his eyes off you or the fire swimming laps in your irises, he catches a flicker in your gaze. A flame. A spark.
A smile quirks at the very corner of your mouth before a brighter beam blooms there. A sunshine sort of giggle sputters past your lips. “Oh, gosh— You should see your face right now,” you manage through a fit of laughter, swatting his shoulder with your free hand (a little harder than he thinks you mean to.) “I’m just kidding! Seriously. You can laugh now. It’s okay.”
Eddie doesn’t find it all that funny anymore, but your gaze is pretty and expectant, so he forces out a faint laugh just to appease you. He gapes in confusion the second you look away.
You’re a strange thing. Pretty, yes. But still very, very strange.
When Steve passes you a rainbow scoop on a waffle cone, you fish a crumbled bill from the chest of your swimsuit. The boy takes it with a trembling hand — like touching the cash is touching you in some way — and struggles to recall basic arithmetic when he makes out your change. 
Eddie watches you savor one last taste of your diminishing sucker, lips curled around the lolly before popping audibly off of it. “Is there a trashcan—” you ask and glance around the shop.
“There’s one back here,” Steve offers mindlessly. “I can chuck it.”
Your hands brush when he takes the paper stick between careful fingers. Silky sunkissed skin sweeping against silky sunkissed skin. 
Eddie’s almost jealous. He wishes he could touch you in such an innocent, accidental way — or anyone, really. But his blood stopped circulating about a year or so ago, and he’s had a glacial disposition about him ever since. Sometimes, when he’s just freshly fed, he feels sort of warm. Sort of normal. But that only lasts about an hour or so before his skin goes wintry and grey again.
“Thanks,” you lilt with a kind grin, sandals squeaking as you step back from the counter. You arch a brow, and the sweet smile turns suddenly mischievous. “And don’t worry about the change. I’d hate for you to make a bigger mess.”
You tilt your head and take a kitten lick of your scoop, fighting back a giggle when the sailor boy gapes at you. You spin around and flip-flop, flip-flop out of the ice cream shop — back to whatever fairytale you came from.
The scent of ripe fruit and freshly-cut flowers leaves with you, along with the lavender haze Eddie had been swimming in since he saw you. Drowning in, more like.
Steve laughs at your sort-of joke until the mist passes. Only then does he seem to notice the coins still scattered across the countertop and the half-eaten sucker in his hand. His fluffy brows pinch together in a very evident confusion — like he’s just woken up from a dream.
“
What the hell was that?” he muses after a few long moments.
Eddie shrugs and takes another bite of his half-gone scoop, tasting it for the very first time now that you’re gone. “No idea,” he answers through the mouthful.
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
          once you get it, you never wanna quit (no, no)
          after you've had it, you're in an awful fix. . .
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
Eddie finds you again several minutes later. Not between the pages of a fantasy book, but on a lone bench by the bus stop. 
You finish your rainbow sherbet in silence, people-watching behind a big pair of Sharon Tate-style sunglasses. The sight of you alone makes him trip over his feet, like you’ve got your own gravitational pull that makes him stumble on thin air just to be closer to you.
“Oh—” The huff spills accidentally from his mouth when his sneakers scuff the pavement.
It garners your attention accordingly as you turn slowly towards him. You lift your sunglasses to your head again, just to squint at the vividity of the golden hour. You flash the boy an ice-cream-stained smile, tight-lipped and warmer than the setting sun — like he’s one of your old friends who deserves to be looked at so kindly. (He’s neither.)
“Hello!” you greet brightly as you lift the waffle cone to your mouth. You take another bite and add through the mouthful. “Again.”
“You’re still here?” Eddie squints, ‘cause he’s not sure what else to say.
“I’m on lunch—” you answer, slightly slurred through the melting ice cream on your tongue. A milky drop of pink and orange falls to the side of your thumb, and you lick it away mid-sentence. “—Late shift.”
Eddie hums with a slow nod, squinting one eye to block the sun. 
His pale skin buzzes, even under his leather jacket and dark thrifted tee. It isn’t because he’s hot, though. He hasn’t broken a sweat — not even swaddled in the ninety-degree evening — because he lost the ability to somewhere between getting eaten alive and rising from the dead. 
The sunlight just makes him feel a bit weaker than usual. Hungrier, too. And he hates being hungry because it makes him feel viciously ravenous. Like a total barbarian. Cruel and angry and inhuman. So he tries to stay out of the sun when he can.
He knows he should start plotting his way out now, but talking to you is like getting caught in a spider’s web. He gets all tangled in his words, netted in his want to impress you. He ends up superglued in a trap he isn’t totally sure he wants to get out of.
“Must be a slow day then, huh?” Eddie jokes dryly.
Your face twists. “Hm?” you wonder wordlessly as your tongue darts to the corner of your mouth.
“I just meant that— You’re a lifeguard and everything, right? And you— You’re dry, so
 There must not have been a ton of lives to save today,” the boy explains, gesturing wildly with ringed hands. He laughs at himself and sticks the trembling limbs into his jacket pockets. “That’s
 That’s what I meant.”
You don’t seem to notice his sudden floundering, or the way he can hardly make out an intelligible sentence when you’re looking directly at him. He can’t tell if you’re just kind enough to ignore it or if you’re just totally aloof. He hopes for the latter.
“It’s a lot less swimming than you’d expect, honestly,” you confess as you analyze the melting cone in your hand. You twist your wrist with your face pinched in concentration — like deciding whether to bite into the pink, green, or orange bit is that intense. “It’s just a lot of, like, blowing whistles... And walking around
”
You choose the raspberry pink side in the end, crunching as you bite into the waffle cone.
Eddie nods in response — not because he’s really heard you, but because he feels like he sort of understands you in some way now. You were sweet raspberry in the flesh. The color pink incarnate. Gold and glittering, like the sunset was fashioned in your likeness.
But then you smile up at him, with crispy wafer crumbs clinging to the raspberry-lime-orange concoction on your mouth, and the moment feels a lot less poetic than that.
“Sometimes I just wanna be like, ‘Jeez— Can’t one of you fuckers at least try to drown or something? God,” you mock in an accent that’s hardly your own, giggling at yourself halfway through. 
You flash Eddie another expectant smile. Grinning with all your teeth as you wait for him to laugh with you.
It takes him a second too long to force another chuckle — still trying to gauge how serious you are — but you don’t seem to mind. “Right. Well, uh
 Here’s hoping, right?” Eddie quips with a crooked smile, lifting his right hand to flash his crossed fingers.
You giggle louder at that. Laughing with him, and not at him, for the first time since he started making a fool of himself in front of you. 
His chest swells like he’s still got a functioning heart hiding there. It’s sparkling and warm, full of pride, almost like he’s alive again. Truly alive. He realizes, then, that he never wants to stop making you laugh.
When your giggling ceases, you hum a contented sigh and take another sloppy bite of your ice cream cone.
Eddie watches you — unblinking, like a total freak — and tries to figure out if he made you up in his head. 
You were like a fairy-tale princess come to life. An enchanted form of imagination, slightly childlike and effortlessly romantic in a way. You were the kind of girl who held butterflies on the tip of her finger, who reached out to touch the stars at night, who shared her secrets with the moon when no one else would listen.
You’re the kind of thing that only exists in dreams. You have no real sense of reality, accordingly, which Eddie thinks only proves his point.
With sunshine glittering in the strands of your hair, your eyes flit back to his. Eddie averts his gaze suddenly (and very obviously) from yours, but if you’re perturbed by his leering, you don’t show it.
Instead, you look at him the same way you’ve been looking at him this whole time — like you’ve got a world of magic secrets hidden in your eyes. Like you want him to come searching for every single one of them.
“Did you— Did you walk here, or
?” the boy trails off, eyes falling to your rubber sandals. 
He hopes you hadn’t. It’s far too hot, and the pool is quite a few blocks from here. From what little he’s learned about you, though, he figures you’re probably crazy enough not to care.
“Bus,” you answer plainly, pausing mid-bite.
Eddie blinks. “The buses stopped running a half hour ago
 You know that, right?”
You freeze. Melted ice cream pools at the edges of your mouth. A very loud answer, even in its silence. 
There’s a very audible crunch-ing sound as you chew through the too-big bite. You bring your palm to your chin to catch rogue crumbs and blink up at Eddie with wide eyes. 
“
What?” you wonder pitifully in response. Though, with your mouth still full, it sounds more like a deep, muffled, and utterly pathetic, “Wah—?”
“They stop running here at six-thirty.”
You swallow, face screwed.“Why?”
Eddie shrugs. “Beats me.”
You turn away — staring far off at the parking lot but looking at nothing, really. Eddie feels like he can finally breathe now, without your eyes strangling him.
He watches you go deep in thought and wishes he could see what the inside of your mind looks like. He imagines it’s full of confetti. Wild, glittering thoughts and a handful of sparkling confetti.
“Well
” you huff after a few moments, a deep and whimsical sigh. You look down at the melting cone in your fist and try to find a silver lining in the swirls of pastel colors. “‘Least the ice cream’s good.”
“Are you gonna walk?” Eddie wonders aloud as his chest pinches with misplaced worry. He crosses his leather-clad arms over himself in a feeble attempt to soothe the ache there — to smother his palpable empathy, which makes him feel like your burden is his to carry. 
He doesn’t have to. Carry it, that is. It’s not like you’re not asking him to. But he can’t ignore the overwhelming urge to help you — this strange, elven princess who needs rescue by a lowly bard way out of his element. It’s an instinct that borders on primal.
“Do I have a choice?” you respond rhetorically. Eddie shrugs and you shrug back, unfazed. “I can walk. The sunset’s pretty
 And there’s a dog park on the way there, so
 That’ll be fun, I guess.”
Eddie’s dark eyes flit to the sky, where the sun’s slow descent paints the wispy clouds in vivid colors of blush and honey. He understands the simple beauty of it but rarely ever gives it a passing glance.
He spends most of his sunsets inside, hiding from the pretty golden hour behind closed curtains. He cowers under his blankets like a child (‘cause his tiny square window is west-facing, painfully so) and tries to tell himself that he’s not as hungry as he feels.
That he’s not hungry at all.
That he’s still normal.
Eddie looks back to you a moment later, features twisted with uncertainty. “I’m pretty sure the park’s gated after sunset
”
You don’t ask him how he knows that, and he’s grateful. He figures you must assume that he’s got a dog of his own, which is a lie he’s happy to stick to. 
It’s better than admitting that Jim Hopper nearly caught him dealing a couple years back and had to make a quick escape through the park — where he then had to hop a locked fence he didn’t know was there. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if he hadn’t rolled directly into dog shit when he fell to the ground. That’s a secret he’ll take to the grave. 
If the Chief takes mercy on him, anyway.
“Well
 The sunset’s still pretty,” you conclude with another sigh, because at least that can’t be taken from you. 
Eddie watches you take another bite and makes a very pointed decision not to tell you that that’ll be gone soon, too. By the time you walk back to work, the sky will be a muddy mixture of orange and lilac and navy. Hardly a thing worth looking at.
He lets you revel in your little nothings anyway.
“I should— I should probably go. I have a
 thing to get to, so
” he trails off, chuckling at his own hopelessness. His worn sneakers scuff the pavement when he steps back from you. He scratches at the small curls twisted at the nape of his neck and tries to find the words to say goodbye. “Uh— Have a good rest of your shift, I guess. Hope it’s more
 eventful.”
You smile at his stammering and his poor excuse for a joke. 
“Thanks,” you nod. “Have fun with your
 thing.”
Eddie nods once. His smile wavers only slightly when he turns away. His cheeks puff as he exhales a deep breath — which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now. 
He stops short at the edge of the sidewalk. Doesn’t even make it off the fucking curb before his guilty conscience catches up with him. It stops him like a force field and weighs heavy on his chest with a similar strength.
He turns quickly again, curls whipping around his face. “Do you
 Do you want a ride?” he blurts with a squint in his deep chocolate eyes. 
The offer is hardly from the kindness of his unbeating heart. He just wants to make himself feel better, if he’s honest. He wants you to decline, actually — so then he’d be alone, and his conscience would still be clear.
Your eyes widen softly at his offer. You shift on the hard bench. It squeaks quietly under your weight. 
“Well, I— I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t wanna intrude,” you tell him, stumbling over your words for the first time in front of him.
Something about it, how shy you’ve suddenly gone, makes you feel a bit more human compared to the glittering creature Eddie made of you in his head.
The boy shrugs. “You wouldn’t be.”
“No?”
“No. It’s just
 on the way
” Eddie insists, sighing to himself, because Hawkins Pool most definitely is out of his way. “So, you know
 It’s no problem.”
There is a beat of fleeting silence, filled only by a whispering summer breeze and muddled conversation from distant mall-goers. Eddie’s eyes dart over your features, twisted softly with a faraway look of worry. 
The anticipation has his heart in his throat. He isn’t sure now what answer he wants to hear. Both might equally break his heart. A double-edged sword.
Your chest deflates with a dramatic sigh of relief. A lazy smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna be, like, too eager, you know? But that would be
 super duper nice.”
“Good thing I’m a super duper nice person then, huh?” Eddie jokes with a tightlipped smile, which ebbs into a scowl the moment he turns away from you. 
He becomes a storm cloud of annoyance as he stalks across the parking lot. Less so because of you and more so because of his deep-rooted sensitivity, where everyone else’s emotions demand to be felt by him and him alone.
It’s a very strange thing, indeed: to be dead and yet still carry the crushing empathy of a person with a bleeding heart.
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
         real to real is living rarity, people stop and stare at me
          we just walk on by, we just keep on dreaming . . .
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
Eddie doesn’t look back to make sure you’re following him. He knows you are. He can tell by your lingering strawberry-vanilla scent, and your rhythmic footsteps in rubber sandals that trail just behind him. The incessant flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop quickens as you rush to keep up with his longer strides, trying hopelessly to finish your ice cream and talk at the same time.
“Adam— my manager— he’s such a hardass. Like, if I was late today, he definitely would’ve fired me,” you ramble and crunch hard into your cone. “Well
 maybe not fire me
 ‘Cause we’re kinda short-staffed right now— But he definitely would’ve given me a lecture! Like, dude, just because your dad owns the joint, doesn’t mean you have any actual authority over me, you know?”
You giggle loudly at yourself. Eddie just nods in response, barely listening, and not bothering to glance back at you.
You continue anyway, through a mouthful, no less. “Except, he kinda does have some authority, I guess. Since, you know, he’s the one who signs my checks and everything, but
 You know what I mean.”
The boy ahead of you stops suddenly in place. Your sandals scuff the pavement to keep from running into the back of him. He turns to face you, brunette curls flouncing, and your heart skips at the proximity. He’s much too pretty for anything else.
You can smell the cologne spritzed on his neck from here. A high-pitched and very boyish cedarwood that makes him somehow more endearing. There’s something floral in it, too — perhaps from the conditioner making his hair all shiny. And the subtle powdery scent, you figure, comes from his old Back Sabbath tee. An evident hand-me-down of some sort. 
You can see more of him like this without having to ogle like a creep. His brown eyes are so dark they’re almost black, but you can see flecks of gold in them, too. His pronounced nose is dotted with pores and faint freckles you think you could count if he let you. There are a couple of spots on his jaw, too — some still red, others already scared over — that make his scowling face more youthful.
He’s got a couple of dark circles under his eyes, which you think means he doesn’t get as much sleep as he should. He’s got a pair of perpetual smile lines beside his mouth, too, which must mean he laughs a lot (even if he isn’t now). And he’s got a subtle furrow between his bushy brows ‘cause he’s totally the quiet, observant type.
You’d like to think you’re taking a closer look at him than anyone else in Hawkins ever has. Where they see a freak with crazy hair and a dangerous attitude, you see an old soul with young eyes and a wild mind.
“Is this you?” you wonder aloud, with ice cream clinging to the corners of your mouth.
Eddie lifts his hand and taps the key fob twice. The rusted tin can behind him unlocks with a hearty ca-chunk. He fakes a tight-lipped smile, “Yep.”
You rush around the hood then, hurrying for the passenger seat and struggling to finish the rest of your ice cream. Eddie eyes you expectantly as he lifts himself onto the chipped pleather of the driver’s side. His deadpan face twists with amusement as you inhale the remaining bits of your ice cream.
Your eyes go wide when you catch him staring, cheeks jutted like a chipmunk’s. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then swipe your palms together. “Sorry— Sorry, I didn’t—” you swallow hard and try not to choke. “I didn’t wanna get ice cream all over your van.”
A laugh sputters from Eddie’s mouth, a more boyish sound than you thought he was capable of, and he hurries to cover his mouth with his fist. He can feel the sharp stinging of his fangs as they stab slowly through his gums, more prominent now that you’re so close to him — smelling as sweet as you look.
“Well, this isn’t exactly a sports car,” he scoffs. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
You swallow down the rest and hop in beside him. The faux leather of the passenger seat has grown distressed with time, sticking to your sunkissed thighs where your skirt doesn’t reach and poking you in places. The smell of his cologne stains the interior, along with a more subtle, skunkier scent.
You have to tug extra hard on the seatbelt — once, twice, and then a third time — before it gives.
Eddie sticks the key into the ignition and twists. A heavy metal guitar solo blares suddenly through the speakers, rattling the old van and making both of you lurch with a momentary panic. 
“Shit!” the boy curses as he reaches for the blasting radio. He turns down the volume with pale, lanky fingers, wide eyes flitting from the console to the pavement as he peels out of the Starcourt lot. “Shit
 Sorry.”
You shrug a bare shoulder. “It’s okay. I listen to my music loud, too. I’m pretty sure I’ve blown out the headphones to at least two Walkmans by now.”
“Yeah?” Eddie hums with a lazy smile. “What kinda stuff stuff do you listen to?”
You purse your lips to the side and avert your gaze as you ponder the question. “Van Halen, definitely
 Dio and Def Leppard occasionally— oh, and don’t even get me started on Ozzy Osbourne.”
Eddie feels like his heart’s in his throat. It settles there and makes it hard to breathe while his anxious hands fidget on the steering wheel.
You can’t be this pretty and like all the music he likes. It’s just not fair. It’s like the universe is trying to kill him. (Even though it kinda already did that once.)
“Are you joking?” he wonders aloud, laughing with furrowed brows. His chocolate eyes dart from you, to the winding road before him, and back again. The soft smile on your lips blossoms into a more mischievous thing, and he nods slowly to himself. “You’re
 You’re joking, right?”
“I might’ve been looking at your cassettes, yeah.”
Eddie’s gaze flits downward to where he keeps his tapes stacked in a cubby beneath the console. His chest aches with a distant embarrassment. “Right
” he huffs.
“Real answer?” you offer with a twinkle in your eye, spinning in the seat to face him more. You tuck your feet beneath you and count each name on your fingers. “Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, ABBA, and Blondie. That’s my top four— Not in that order, though! I love them all equally.”
“That makes
 a lot more sense.”
“Do you have any of their tapes we could listen to?”
Eddie scoffs a faint laugh until he realizes you’re being serious. His tightlipped smile ebbs as he answers, “I can’t say that I do. No.”
“That’s too bad,” you huff and slouch further in the passenger seat. You gaze out the window with a faraway look in your eyes and start rambling before you mean to.
“I’ll let you bum one of mine, if you want. You can borrow my copy of Arrival, that’s one of my favorites! My most favorites. Or Super Trouper, maybe. I love that one, too...” You deflate with a heavy sigh. “Shit. I can’t decide— Which one do you prefer?”
Eddie stammers for an answer. He feels like you’re barely speaking his language.
“Screw it. I’ll just make you a mixtape,” you decide firmly. “It’s impossible to pick just one.”
Eddie nods wordlessly to himself, unconvinced that he’ll ever actually see you again — like this, anyway. With you making a home in the passenger seat of his van, which has never known a pretty girl like you before now.
“You could always swing by the pool if you want,” you offer with a hopeful grin. “Adam lets me man the radio sometimes.”
“Does he?” Eddie hums indifferently.
“When I wear my bikini, yeah.”
His face screws at the thought of someone taking advantage of you in that way, with you perhaps too gullible to understand. “Well, Adam sounds like a dickwad,” he grumbles and shifts his grip on the steering wheel.
“A massive dickwad,” you giggle like it’s your first time ever using the phrase. “One time, I played my Billy Joel tape, and he called it pedestrian. Pedestrian! Not only is that, like, totally sacrilegious or whatever, but it’s also extremely pretentious. Just call it lame or something, you sound arrogant.”
When your rambling ceases, you can hear Eddie laughing. Really laughing. Not just that weird breathy sound he keeps making. It spills from his mouth like sunshine, though he tries to stifle it with a fist pressed to his mouth. And even though you don’t remember saying anything particularly funny, you laugh alongside him.
“Why do you cover your smile when you laugh?” 
“Why do I do what?”
“You always put your hand over your mouth when you smile,” you observe with a curious squint. “Did you know that?”
Eddie’s tongue darts over his protruding fangs, which peek in faint slivers from his pink gums now. You would only see them if you checked his mouth like a dog, but he gets self-conscious about it, anyway.
“No. I didn’t. Must be an old habit, I guess,” he stammers, lying through his teeth as he turns into the parking lot of Hawkins Community Pool. 
The crowd there has seemingly ebbed with the setting sun, which he’s grateful for. He stays on the far edges of the property still, lest he draw any unwanted attention. ‘Cause the only thing more recognizable than his wild hair is the tin can he rides around in.
His ringed hands curl around the gear stick. The van jerks softly when he puts it in park. Eddie clears his throat. “We’re, uh— We’re here.”
You get distracted easily, and he’s grateful for that, too. You drop the conversation entirely as you reach for the seatbelt. The buckle clicks when you unfasten it. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you chirp with a pretty smile.
His head snaps in your direction with enough force to give him whiplash. His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he gapes at you. He struggles to find the words to say. He thinks he’d rather face a hundred demobats (again) than have this conversation.
“You
” he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “You know my name?”
You shrug, oblivious to his otherwise very palpable fear. “‘Course I do.”
His heart would stop if he weren’t already dead. He thinks the force of his current shock could jolt it into beating all over again. Though, he figures he has no right to be so surprised. He is Eddie Munson, after all — the town freak who didn’t murder Chrissy Cunningham but left her to die instead. 
No one knows that she’d been long in the dying before Eddie ran like a coward. No one knows that there was nothing he could do to stop the dark wizard from killing her. No one knows that he died trying to avenge her death despite all that. And no one ever will — save for the handful of teenagers who saved Hawkins alongside him. 
Eddie knew, from the moment he rose from the dead and made it out of that godforsaken hellscape, that he would never be seen as the hero. He didn’t want to be. He just wanted to be a kid.
But here he is now. A half-dead and hated thing. A creature not worth loving.
And here you are, smiling at him like you intend to love him back to life.
“So
 So you know what happened with
 With the
” He talks with his hands and struggles to make the words out. He always has. He always will.
You nod before he has to. “Yeah. I think I just
 I figured that wasn’t something you wanted to talk about with strangers—”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he insists.
“Then me not bringing it up was a good thing, right?”
“I mean, yeah, but—”
“Well, I’m hearing a lot of talking for someone who doesn’t want to talk about it,” you mock, not totally unkind, just a little bit strange. 
Eddie almost laughs at that. “I’m just— I’m confused.”
“About what?”
Now, he really lets himself laugh because the answer’s rather obvious. 
“Because most people are scared of me!” Eddie blurts with a cynical chuckle, gesturing wildly with his pale, ringed hands. “Everyone thinks I’m some— psycho-killing murderous freak.”
“Well, I don’t,” you insist, all pretty in your way, as you shift on the worn pleather seat beside him. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”
You unlatch the glove box ahead of you and help yourself to its contents. The junk inside clatters together while you search very obviously through it, rambling mindlessly to yourself as you do so. 
“You like mint-chip ice cream cones smothered in sprinkles. And your initials are sewn onto the waistband of your jeans— like you’re gonna lose them or something. And
 there’s a Blondie tape hiding in here.” You giggle to yourself and flash him the cassette.
Eddie blinks at you like an owl. “That’s not mine.”
“Secret girlfriend?” you tease with a scrunched nose.
“Secret tape,” he confesses before plucking it suddenly from your fingertips. 
There’s a whole story behind it that he’d tell you if he could. About how he couldn’t leave the house for some weeks after he came back to life and how his friends brought him things to pass the time. Robin Buckley had an elaborate assortment of board games that bordered on concerning, and Dustin Henderson had brought an entire library to his trailer. 
The rest of them put together a selection of tapes for him to listen to. He can’t be sure now if Nancy Wheeler really gave up her prized Blondie cassette or if Mike Wheeler did it without her knowing.
You struggle to bite back your laughter as you sort through the center console next. 
“See! That doesn’t exactly read psycho-killing murderous freak to me, Eds. Honestly, it kinda reads as someone who’s never hurt anyone in their whole life, who probably wants everyone else to stop hurting them—” You cut yourself off with a gasp. “Ah! Here it is.”
You dig a rogue ink pen from the depths of the console. A bright smile tugs at the edges of your lips. Eddie’s still struggling to breathe when you reach for him. “Can I have your hand?”
“Why?” he wonders with pinched brows.
“You’ll see,” you lilt mischievously and take his ringed hand in your smaller one. 
He worries, briefly, that you might comment on how cold he is for the middle of summer. But if you notice it at all, you don’t mention it as you scribble your number onto the back of his hand.
Eddie grimaces when the tip presses hard into his pale skin. “Ow
”
“See? You’re just a big baby,” you joke, giggling quietly to yourself. You click the pen with your thumb as you part from him. “There. Now you have my number.”
Eddie flashes you a dubious glance, unsure of what he ever needed your number for.
You answer his silent question like it’s obvious. “So I can give you the mixtape.”
“Right,” he hums with a slow nod.
“Well, I’m gonna go clock back in before I get a total earful from Adam,” you sigh and reach for the metal door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie.”
“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs nonchalantly as you slide out of the van. The back of your pleated skirt rises softly in the process, flashing a glimpse of your ass. He swallows hard and stammers. “Just— Just, like, be safe, or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” you mock with a lighthearted chuckle.
“Well, this is a crazy world we live in, haven’t you heard?” Eddie jokes to cover up his blunder. He tilts his wild head to his shoulder as a pink smile forms crooked on his mouth. “I hear psycho-killing murderous freaks are roaming the streets these days.”
He expects you to laugh, but you grow strangely serious instead, furrowing your brows as you mumble to yourself. “Crazy World... That’s a good song, actually. I should put that on the mixtape—”
You forget to say a proper goodbye as you close the door behind you. The rusted metal hinges screech before slamming shut. You walk off towards the pool house without another word, flip-flopping the entire way to the front gate. Eddie watches you go with his features twisted in a subtle mixture of shock and awe.
Steve Harrington was right. What the hell was that?
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
         oh, how could i ever refuse?
          i feel like i win when i lose . . .
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
Three days pass before Eddie sees you again. Not that he’s counting, anyway. He debates, however, calling you on the second one — but by then, your number had long disappeared from his hand. He decided, then, to count his losses and pretend he wasn’t as boyishly heartbroken as he felt. 
Missing you was a double-edged sword. He never wanted to see you again, but he mourned for you always. He prayed he’d never run into you like before but searched for you in all the faces he met. It was agony. 
When he drops Dustin off at Scoops Ahoy after a long afternoon of campaigning, Eddie tells himself it’s not with intent to run into you there. He tells himself it wouldn’t be the worst thing, but not to get his hopes too high. That he’d only make a fool of himself. That it’d be better if he didn’t see you at all.
He’s left grieving anyway when he doesn’t immediately spot your face in the dwindling crowd of the ice cream shop.
“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Robin lilts from where she sits at one of the tables, obviously on her break and eating from a bowl of the rainbow gummy bears they use as toppings.
“You dweebs talking about me?” Eddie scoffs as he shoves Dustin light-heartedly ahead of him. 
As soon as he crosses the threshold of the small shop, you come very suddenly into view. You sit ahead of Robin, in your usual uniform, and with your usual rainbow sherbet cone. You steal a few rogue gummy bears from her cup and dip them into your ice cream, which has started to melt with your distraction. 
He stills in place, struck with a bolt of blue. Your pretty, summer scent hits him full force, then — slaps him in the face and demands to be noticed. You flash him a small smile, and he has to remind himself to breathe.
“Not at all,” Robin answers with a knowing smirk.
Steve scoffs from where he wipes down the counter, tendons flexing in his golden arm. “Only for ten straight minutes.”
“We were talking about how I gave you my number. And how you never called,” you explain to the poleaxed boy, tilting your chin to your shoulder to peer at him from beneath your lashes. A mischievous smirk hints at the corners of your lips. “A girl could start to wonder, you know?” you tease, only partially playful.
Eddie stammers for an explanation. He feels like his heart’s in his throat, like it’s closing on him, and like he can’t really breathe.
He blinks rapidly as his head starts to swim. He zeroes in on your heartbeat, though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s a soft and rhythmic whoosh, whoosh, whooshing — like that of an excitable baby deer. His hands ball into fists until his dull nails leave crescent shapes in his palms.
Dustin gapes at the sight of you. “You’re real?” the strange, curly-haired boy blurts.
“Me?” you ask with pinched brows, motioning to yourself with the ice cream cone.
“Dustin!” Eddie scolds, nudging him pointedly on the shoulder.
The boy cowers. “Sorry. It’s just
 I thought you were, like, an imaginary person Eddie made up or something,” he admits, squinting his hazel eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You flash him a dubious look until he elaborates obliviously. “‘Cause Gareth was making fun of him for not having any friends outside of Hellfire and stuff—”
“Hey,” Eddie snaps to get the rambling boy’s attention, tapping the brim of his Thinking Cap. “Shut up.”
“What’s Hellfire?” you wonder aloud.
“Book club,” Eddie lies.
You grin with furrowed brows. “You talk about me at book club?” 
“I mentioned you. Once. ‘Cause Gareth asked— And I didn’t call because the pen smudged,” Eddie answers all at once, swallowing hard when he feels bile building in his throat. He can’t get your heartbeat out of his ears. Or your scent out of his nose. It’s suffocating, all of it. “Does that clear everything up, or
?”
Steve hisses through his teeth. Robin scoffs. You blink at him with wide eyes, hardly expecting him to be so short with you. “Uh-huh,” you nod with a forced smile.
Eddie would apologize for it if he didn’t feel so sick. But now he teeters on the knife’s edge of nausea, unsure if he’s going to faint or vomit or both. So he fakes his own smile and inches towards the exit. “Great. I’m gonna— I think I’m gonna go—”
“And leave us with babysitting duty?” Steve scoffs. “How nice of you.”
Dustin frowns and flashes the makeshift sailor his middle finger.
Eddie fumbles to come up with an excuse. “I just remembered, uh— Wayne wanted me to record Cheers tonight, and I totally forgot. The ol’ geezer’ll kill me if he misses an episode, so
 I gotta run.”
He ducks out without another word, grimacing at himself because he’s usually a much better liar than that. The others can surely see right through him. They know that he’s unwell — that he’s just hungry and impossibly overstimulated. 
But you don’t. You don’t know him at all, and maybe that’s exactly why you rush out of Scoops behind him.
Eddie shoves the glass exit of Starcourt Mall with trembling hands. The summer breeze rushes over him immediately, billowing through his hair and clothes. He takes his first good breath and the swimmy feeling of nausea starts to fade.
The hunger remains even still. The ravenous thoughts remain, too — of your heart between his teeth, beating on his tongue, and your blood tasting of sweet red wine.
When he starts to scare himself, his mind tells him that he’d never hurt you. That he hasn’t yet, and that he never will. But still, the thoughts are there, and they hardly ever leave.
Your fresh berry scent covers him like a shroud as he rushes to his casket (his van, really, but the symbolism fits.) You struggle to keep up with his longer strides, pleated skirt flouncing as you hurry behind him — a kicked puppy who doesn’t know when to stay back. 
“I don’t mean to annoy you, you know?” you call after him.
Eddie stills and spins sharply around to face you. You stumble back on rubber sandals to keep from running into him, trying not to cower when he towers suddenly over you.
“What?” he asks with his features swirled in confusion and distant suffering.
Your wide eyes dart over his pallid features, more sallow than you remember. You forget everything you were going to say as concern drips from your pretty features. “Do you feel okay?”
“I feel— fine,” he stammers, less than convincingly.
“Okay
” you nod, unconvinced, then repeat yourself. “I don’t mean to annoy you, by the way.”
Eddie shrugs. “What makes you think you annoy me?”
“I dunno,” you answers, sheepish in a way he hasn’t seen you before. You shift your weight on your scarlet sandals and talk wildly with your hands, looking everywhere but at him. “I kinda talked your face off a few days ago, and then I made that stupid joke about you not calling, and I just
 I realized you don’t know me all that well. And that I can be kind of a lot sometimes. Or, you know, a lot of the time. But it’s not like I mean to be, you know? I don’t mean to be a burden or to—”
“You’re not a burden,” Eddie blurts.
Your breath catches as you blink at him with wild, glassy eyes. He gets the feeling no one’s ever said that to you before and tries to ignore the stinging in his chest.
“No?” you echo in a mousy voice.
“Not even a little bit,” he answers instantly.
You inhale a shaky breath that leaves through your mouth in a sigh of relief. “So you’re not upset with me?”
“No,” Eddie scoffs. “You haven’t done anything to upset me. So far, anyway.”
You nod to yourself at the reassurance. “Okay. Good. I just— I thought you ran off in such a hurry ‘cause you didn’t wanna be around me or something.”
You chuckle to yourself, feeling silly about it now. 
Eddie shifts awkwardly ahead of you ‘cause you’re not too far off.
“Do you
 Do you want a ride?” he offers despite himself — despite his overwhelming feelings for you and despite the fact the buses are still running for another fifteen minutes. 
He chucks his thumb over his shoulder and flashes you a sheepish look. Because he isn’t sure of what to say now, or if he wants to leave you at all.
You duck your chin and scrunch your nose, too pretty for your own good. “If it’s not too much trouble?” you lilt.
Eddie only grins. “Who says I don’t like a little bit of trouble?”
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
         under those white street lamps,
         there is a little chance they may see . . .
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
He survives the golden hour, but just barely. Eddie hides from the setting sun underneath the covers, writhing on the thin mattress as he waits for the ravenous feeling of insatiable hunger to pass. It never does.
Instead, he feels the absence of you most ardently. He withers away as he grieves for you, like a wilting flower craving sunlight. But he’s nothing but a pale, gray, and exhausted thing now — an unloveable creature aching for a feeding. 
“Wayne
” Eddie grumbles tiredly, half muffled into his pillow. When he receives no response from his uncle, he musters the strength to shout. “Wayne!”
Footsteps trudge down the hall, bulky work shoes heavy on thin carpet. His bedroom door creaks slowly open, and his uncle stands beneath the frame of it — wearing the thick navy coveralls that has his name sewn in cursive on the chest. His weathered hands work at the buttons below the collar.
“What is it, Ed?” Wayne wonders in a gravelly drawl.
Eddie takes in a rattling breath, peeking one eye open to look at his uncle. His vision’s too swimmy for anything else. “Can you call Hopper?” he slurs like a sick child.
Wayne’s graying brows furrow in worry. He squints at his nephew across the bedroom, languishing beneath his covers and growing more waxen by the second. He’s typically only this miserable when he hasn’t fed in weeks.
“You hungry again? It’s only been a couple days.”
“I know,” the boy grumbles, squirming on the mattress like he can’t get comfortable. “I just don’t feel good...”
Wayne can see that much from here, so he doesn’t put up any more of a fight about it. He fastens the cuffs of his sleeves with wise and suddenly anxious hands. “I’ll give him a call before I head to work
 You gonna be alright without me?”
Eddie nods against the pillow, curls frizzing around his head. He responds in jumbled slurs, “Mhm. ‘M alright. ‘M just
 real tired
”
“I’ll call Hopper,” Wayne repeats, firmer this time, before shutting the door behind him.
Eddie spends the next half hour rotting away in the lonely trailer. 
Jim doesn’t bother to knock when he arrives, but it’s not like he needs to. He makes enough deliveries of the riboflavin kind to Forest Hills that he deserves his own key.
Besides, Eddie could smell him when he pulled into the driveway — the pint of blood he carried with him, more so. It’s a deep, rich, and powdery scent. Nowhere near as sweet as you. But then again, he doesn’t think anything could be.
“What’s the special this time, Chief?” Eddie jokes with a small huff as Hopper helps prop him against the headboard. 
The mustached man is still clad in his khaki work uniform, gold badge glinting in the lamplight. His hardened face remains in its usual deadpan frown, though his bushy brows furrow in a subtle confusion. “Do you really wanna know?”
Eddie thinks for a moment, then sighs. “No
”
Jim opens the brown paper bag sitting on the nightstand. He pulls out a plain styrofoam cup topped with a lid typically used for coffee. The thing looks innocent enough, save for a few drops of crimson staining the white of it, likely from an overfill. 
There was a time when Eddie could do it himself. Where he could puncture the blood bag Hopper delivered and pour it into one of the mugs he and Wayne have been collecting for years.
He stopped being strong enough for that a while ago, though. The sight of blood makes him queasy now, which is ironic for very obvious reasons.
The chief does most of it for him now, though Eddie thinks Hopper likes it best that way. 
“Here you go, kid,” Jim says as he passes the boy his cup of liquid scarlet. He holds the lid of it in his other hand, face screwed at the coopery smell engulfing the small bedroom. “Try not to think about it too much, alright?”
Eddie takes the cup in a trembling fist and squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see its contents. He forces himself to down it in one go — equal parts because it’s easiest that way and because he doesn’t want to be too much of a baby in front of the chief. 
The blood tastes like a strawberry milkshake as he swallows it down, but that’s always the easiest part. It’s the after that’s so ruthless. After the overwhelming bout of starvation passes. After he’s half normal again. That’s when the blood starts to taste like blood — all metallic, like a bunch of old pennies. That’s when he feels like a monster.
Eddie groans when the cup is fully drained. He passes it back to Hopper with his eyes still shut. The man takes it with one hand and pats him on the shoulder with the other. “Good job, kid,” he mumbles, dropping the empty cup back into the bag. 
The boy relaxes against the pillows with a shuddering breath.
Jim waits until then to interrogate him. 
“What happened between now and four days ago?” he asks with his arms crossed over his chest, towering over the boy’s bedside. “This is the first time you’ve needed to feed more than once a week. Hell, it took Wayne and me almost a year to convince you to feed more than once a month.” 
Eddie shrugs lazily, lips jutted and eyes lidded. “Nothing happened.”
“I need to know, kid. So I can keep you safe.”
And so I can keep everyone else safe, too, but he doesn’t say that part.
“It’s just— This girl,” Eddie confesses, then grumbles with a sigh. “I don’t know, alright. It doesn’t even matter.”
Hopper squints. “What girl?”
“No one,” Eddie insists, then cowers under the man’s glacial stare. “Fine. Some-one. She just— makes me go all weird or whatever. I don’t know.”
Jim hums, nodding softly to himself and trying not to be too amused at the thought of Munson having a crush. He scratches at the coarse hair underneath his chin. “And is
 staying away from this girl an option, or
?”
Eddie ponders the question for a moment, then exhales a chest-deflating sigh. Just like he did when questioning the origins of the blood in his cup. You were a lot of the same in that way — a thing he needed to survive but wasn’t strong enough to face.
“No
 I don’t think it is
”
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
Hawkins Community Pool is strangely liminal after dark. The property itself is illuminated by only a few amber streetlamps, with most of its light coming from within — from inside the wooden pool house and beneath the sparkling cerulean water. 
Eddie parks his van on the darkened edges of the parking lot and tries to find the courage to leave it. The crowd is minimal now, having lessened significantly since he dropped you off some hours ago.
There are only a few stragglers left, most of them teenagers soaking in the last few minutes before closing. He’s grateful for that much. The fewer eyes on him, the better.
If he wasn’t being ogled at with gazes hardened with disgust or softened with pity, people weren’t looking at him at all. Their attempts to keep from staring were perhaps more blatant than they realized.
Maybe they didn’t want to be rude, or maybe they wanted to pretend he wasn’t there at all. It made Eddie hyper-aware of himself either way, which is why he often preferred to stay hidden.
He idles by the chain-link fence, swaddled in the humid summer air that smells overwhelmingly of chlorine and dewy grass. It takes several agonizing moments to catch your attention.
You dance softly in place and mouth the lyrics to a song Eddie can only make out vaguely from here, while the girl beside you stands perfectly and unenthusiastically still. 
You freeze when you catch Eddie’s gaze. Confused at first, then surprised. It takes a matter of seconds for both emotions to mix together and leave you a bumbling ball of excitement. 
The boy raises a ringed hand in a curt wave, which you reciprocate with a much more enthusiastic one. You turn to your co-worker and mouth something Eddie can’t hear before rushing to the parking lot to meet him. The flip-flopping of your rubber sandals grows as you make your way to him, along with the rustling of the windbreaker you wear over your bikini.
It’s a modest scarlet two-piece, with a high waist and a halter neckline — but much more of your skin is on display than Eddie’s used to. (If there was any time he needed to be grateful for a recent feeding, it was now.)
“Hi
” you greet, panting heavily as you stand before him.
“Hiya,” Eddie grins cheekily.
“I
 I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I didn’t either, honestly.”
“Did you, uh— Did you and Wayne get to watch Cheers?”
It takes Eddie a moment or more to recall his earlier lie. He nods rapidly in response, perhaps too quickly to be truthful, but you don’t seem to notice. “Uh, no. Not yet. He’ll watch it when he gets back from the graveyard shift.”
“Okay. Cool,” you beam, eyes sparkling as they dart over his features — which have seemed to gain a bit of their life back. He’s still pale, but his eyes are less sunken in than they were. The dark chocolate of his irises swim with a melted honey color. “You look a lot better, by the way. Than you did when I left, I mean. I was scared you were getting sick.”
“Nah, I just
 Needed a breather, I guess,” Eddie admits with a breathy chuckle. “I was with Hellfire all day, and
 Babysitting’s a tough gig, turns out.”
You laugh alongside him, noticeably less forced. “No, I get it. I basically spend all day babysitting, so
”
“Right. I shouldn’t be complaining.” Eddie scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck and grimaces when his rings get caught in his hair. It takes a very noticeable moment for him to gain the courage to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. “Can, uh— Can I see your hand real quick?”
Your brows pinch. “Why?”
“You’ll see,” he lilts with the same mischievous smile you used on him some days ago now.
He holds a ringed hand expectantly out for you. Your gaze glimmers with intrigue as you put your fingers in his paler, colder ones. You watch him dig in his jacket pockets for a moment before pulling out the same ink pen you’d rescued from the depths of junk in his center console. He clicks it with his thumb, and you jerk your hand out of his.
“Wait!” you blurt. 
Eddie flinches, feeling like he’s done something wrong, like he must’ve hurt you in some way. 
Your features screw in a pinched look of concentration as you stick your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker. “I’m pretty sure I have a marker in here somewhere— Ah! Here it is!” You’re smiling all over again when you pass him the black Sharpie. “So it won’t wash off before I get to call you.”
“Right,” Eddie hums with a slow nod, taking the marker from you. He bites back a smile when he catches you shoving a pack of sparkly stickers back into your pockets. “What are those?”
“Stickers,” you answer, then grimace when you realize that much was obvious. You rush to elaborate. “For the younger kids that have older siblings. They usually get dragged here, and nine times outta ten, they haven’t learned how to swim yet, so
 I try to make ‘em feel better with sparkly things.”
The grin Eddie tries to hide blooms very suddenly across the expanse of his pink lips. His chest swirls with a warmer feeling because you’re sort of his sparkly thing, in a way. A bright and glittering thing that makes him feel whole without trying.
You offer him your hand again, shier now. He wraps it in his larger one with fingertips that border on glacial. You fight back a shiver while Eddie uncaps the marker with his teeth. He mumbles through it while he scribbles his number on your wrist.
“Don’t let this scrub off before you get to call me like other idiots do, alright?” he jokes, flashing you a sparkling stare beneath his lashes.
ïżœïżœI’ll call you the second I get home,” you promise with a firm nod. “I’ll write it down, too, so I won’t forget.”
Eddie caps the marker with a lopsided grin sitting lazily on his mouth. “And it’s only for emergencies, alright? Like, if you need a ride or
 A spare Blondie cassette that I may or may not have in my glove box.”
You nod again, this time with a giddy and very poorly hidden smile. “Emergenicies,” you parrot, so he knows you really heard him.
(You call him the second you’re back from your shift, though Eddie expected nothing less from you. The emergency in question? You missed him too much.)
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
          this is stranger than i thought,
          six different ways inside my heart  . . .
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
You decide to visit him that weekend, unannounced and unexpected — which is basically how you entered his life in the first place.
You’re a smiling thing on his doorstep. A rival to the early morning sun beaming in rays behind you. Eddie squints one eye and grimaces at the brightness of each.
“Morning!” you chirp like a songbird.
“What are you doing here? How’d you even find me?” Eddie grumbles tiredly, rubbing his sleep-swollen eye with his fist. He wears his slumber all over — in the wild curls, and in the wrinkled shirt that used to be Wayne’s, and in the baggy plaid pants sitting low on his waist. 
The complete and utter opposite of you: an angel kissed with the summer season.
The sun sparkles in your hair. The warm breeze billows in your clothes. The scent of something sweet clings to your skin — of fresh cherries, vanilla cake, and swathes of dewy grass. Each is tantamount to your bone-crushing beauty, which borders on whimsical and intimidating now.
It’s weird seeing you out of your uniform. A strange, but welcomed sight. You’ve traded the mandated bathing suit for a flouncier dress. The thin cotton fabric clings to your torso and drapes over your thighs like summer rain. It’s a scarlet number, gingham-patterned, with two white bows for sleeves. 
Eddie’s tired eyes rake over your pretty form despite himself. He gapes when he finds the raging scrapes you wear on both knees, a bright crimson color to match your strawberry aura. “Jesus Chr— Are you okay?!”
You follow his gaze, bending softly at the waist to peer down at your legs. You press the skirt of your dress down with your palms, and your chest pinches at the sight of your raw knees.
Your eyes flit from the fresh scratches to the concerned boy ahead of you. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” you wonder with wide, sheepish eyes.
Eddie repeats, firmer now, “Are you okay?”
“I’m totally fine,” you shrug with a beaming smile before rambling an explanation, talking absentmindedly with your hands. “I decided to buy a bike after I got my paycheck, but I don’t really know how to ride it yet, so I’m trying to teach myself, and I
 kinda accidentally swerved into a ditch on the way here.”
Eddie’s chest flares with a primal feeling. He can’t stand the thought of you hurt — can’t stand the thought of you hurt and him not being there to help you. “Okay
” he wavers with his face still screwed.
“I wasn’t stalking you, by the way! Scout’s honor!” you blurt, holding up four fingers instead of three. “I just knew you lived at Forest Hill’s, and, I mean, the van is a dead giveaway, Eds.”
“Fair enough,” he huffs.
“Besides, I really wanted to bring you something, and I couldn’t wait until I saw you at Scoops because the anticipation was driving me crazy—” You lose yourself in thought and slide past him in the doorway without thinking. 
Eddie just blinks and shuts the door behind you. “And
 What is it
 Exactly?” he wonders cautiously, only partially fearful of the answer.
It takes you a moment too long to answer him, as you get lost in the sights around you. The trailer was bigger than it appeared on the outside, not messy by any means, but very lived in. 
There’s a folded cot in the corner beside the recliner and a small square TV across from it playing morning cartoons. Vintage baseball caps line one wall, and a collection of mugs line the other. Everything feels like a self-portrait of the Munson family.
“The mixtape I promised,” you answer finally, spinning around to face him again. You pull a plastic cassette from the pocket of your dress and gesture with it in a nervous hand. “I was starin’ at this thing all night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you— about giving it to you, I mean.” You correct yourself with a nervous laugh and rush to move on. “I’ve always been super bad with gifts— I can’t keep ‘em a secret to save my life. I’m good for, maybe, five seconds, and then I’m just like, gosh, I can’t wait anymore, you know?”
You realize you’re rambling and trail slowly off. You swallow hard, muster a wavering smile, and motion for Eddie to take the cassette. You watch as he studies it with a careful hand — pale and lanky and devoid of his silver rings.
“You made this for me?” he mumbles after a few moments.
“Well, I told you I would.”
“Yeah, but
 You made this? For me?” he repeats, with a different inflection. ‘Cause he doesn’t know who else to put it. Doesn’t know how to tell you he doesn’t feel half deserving of anything you could give him.
You giggle in response. “You said you didn’t own anything ABBA. Or Madonna. Or Cyndi Lauper— so obviously, I had to make you an entire compilation of their discography. I’m not an asshole,” you laugh. “And I put a few of my favorite songs on there, too
. And songs that made me think of you and stuff
”
Eddie smiles before he means to. It’s a strange thing, he finds, to be thought of in such an innocent way — to be looked for in the places where he couldn’t physically be. He ducks his chin and peers at you with glimmering eyes. “Yeah? Like what?” he humors.
You don’t miss a beat. “He’s so shy!”
Eddie flinches at your singing — the volume of it, more so. Your voice rings across the quiet trailer, and a laugh sputters past his lips.  “Yeah. Alright.”
“That sweet little boy who caught my eye!” you continue and reach out for him, digging your fingers into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His skin is milky white, smooth, cold to the touch.
“Okay!” he chuckles and swats you away with a playful hand. “I get it!”
“It’s the Pointer Sisters,” you grin.
“I’ll take your word for it.” 
His chocolate eyes dart back and forth between both of yours, momentarily lost in the way you’re looking at him — with your eyes all squishy around the edges. He’s not used to being looked at so softly. Or being noticed at all. 
He swallows hard and averts his gaze. Your scrapped knees enter his vision again, weeping a bright scarlet that threatens to drip down your shins. He ignores any instinct of hunger. 
“You’re bleeding pretty bad, by the way.”
You only feel the ache when you’re reminded of it. Your stomach gets all swirly at the sight of your bruised knees, rubbed raw and stained with the grass that partially cushioned your fall.
“Gosh
” you mumble to yourself, clutching the skirt of your dress in your fists. You flash Eddie a sheepish look and a wavering smile. “Any chance I could bum a bandaid?” 
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
The bathroom is a tight fight, but you make it work.
You sit on the counter, per Eddie’s instruction, while he retrieves the first aid kit collecting dust in the medicine cabinet.  He sits on the edge of the bathtub across from you, way out of his element (in more ways than one), as he cleans your cuts with trembling hands.
His throat is tight with nausea. His head swims with it, too. White stars speckle his vision that he tries hard to blink away. The sight of your blood, diluted and pink on the white tissue, makes him weak.
He isn’t sure if it’s instinct or desire that makes him want to swallow you whole, but the primal urge to consume you is there — in the figurative sense, of course; to bury his teeth in your neck and have a piece of you forever. 
Being between your legs in such close confines is ample enough distraction, though.
You push the skirt of your pretty gingham dress up the expanse of your thighs to give him space to work. You sit with them slightly spread, too — enough to reveal a sliver of your underwear, he thinks. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, so he fights the boyish urge to catch a glimpse of the most private part of you.
“Jesus
” he huffs and chucks the napkin into the bin. With the blood and the grass stains now wiped away, he can see the scratches more clearly. Your delicate skin is abraded and raging with it. Like you fell and kept on falling. “Did you get mauled by a bear or something?”
“In the knees?” you quip.
“Looks like it.”
“I just wanted to match my dress,” you shrug. “That’s all.”
Eddie opens an alcohol swab with his teeth, then meets your pretty smile with a scowl. “You’re hurt. It’s not funny,” he deadpans after spitting the package from between his teeth.
“It is a little bit, though,” you argue just to argue, scrunching the bridge of your nose. He presses the damp wipe to your knee, and you flinch at the sudden stinging feeling. “Ow!”
He smiles at your pouting. “Maybe a little,” he concurs.
“That was mean!”
“You told me to distract you, so I distracted you. Sue me,” the boy shrugs, feigning innocence, as he reaches to toss the swab in the trashcan beside the counter. 
The sight of wadded tissue, all stained with your ruby-colored blood, makes his breath catch in his throat. The ground starts to sway beneath his feet. His eyes go lidded and heavy. His mouth waters with need.
Eddie shakes his wild head in a feeble attempt to remove the ravenous thoughts from his brain, but all it does is make him dizzier.
He blinks wildly as he reaches for a bandaid in the opened container beside him. It slips from his clammy, tremoring hands. He fumbles to grab it again and slaps it to the counter beside you.
“You okay?” he hears you ask, sitting right in front of him but sounding much further than that.
He sits up again and clears his throat, gaze dim and glassy. “Yeah. Yeah, just— Just give me a second
” He breathes hard through his mouth. Eyes squeezed shut. Knuckles going white around the edges of the ceramic tub. 
You watch with a wide, inquisitive stare as you smooth the bandages over your knees yourself. Your concerned gaze flits from the pallid boy ahead of you, to the plasters on your skin, and back to him again. 
“If blood makes you queasy, you coulda just said,” you joke, trying to make him smile, ‘cause you hate seeing him so ill. “You didn’t have to torture yourself just to help me.”
“Blood doesn’t make me queasy,” Eddie tells you, though he’s still slurring his words.
“Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?” 
His glazed-over eyes are slow to open. “That’s just my face,” he deadpans.
“No. You have a pretty face, Eddie,” you insist as your giggling swells like sunshine in the tiny bathroom. “It’s just all scrunched together, like you’re gonna be sick or something— like this.”
You swirl your features in a manufactured look of drama and pain. Brows furrowed, nose scrunched, mouth snarled. Eddie chuckles before he can help it. The sick feeling still lingers, though not as obvious now. 
“You are bizarre. Did you know that?”
“I did, actually,” you giggle. 
Your entwining laughter fills the bathroom’s close quarters. The glittering noise echoes through the small trailer and finds Wayne at the doorstep. He toes off his work boots and pauses at the sound of giggling — one familiar and lower in pitch, the other foreign and sparkling. 
His socked feet pad down the length of the carpeted ground until he finds the door between Eddie’s bedroom and the kitchen’s edge, already ajar. It creaks loudly under the man’s calloused palm when he pushes it slowly open.
His tired eyes widen at the sight before him — a pretty girl on the sink with a pair of scrapped knees, and Eddie sitting on the tub ahead of her with bloodied tissue in the bin beside him.
Wayne’s heart falls to ass like a steep drop on a rollercoaster.
You smile brightly at the strange man. “Hello!” you greet with an enthusiastic wave.
He blinks slowly at you for a moment, then nods politely. “Hi there,” Wayne says in a deep and gritty drawl before turning to his nephew. “What’s goin’ on here?”
“Nothing,” Eddie blurts, all wide-eyed and fidgeting. He struggles to be casual as he swipes his clammy hands over his thighs. “We were just, you know, hanging out
”
“Everythin’ alright?”
Eddie nods quickly, then stops when it makes him queasy. “Yeah,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Yeah, she just— fell on her bike on the way over, and—”
He flinches when you gasp. 
“Wait! You’re Wayne!” you shout with a sudden recollection.
The man tries not to recoil at the volume of your voice — much too loud for so early in the day, like a chirping bird outside his window. He forces a tightlipped smile and nods again. “I am,” he tells you.
You smile so wide your eyes squint at the edges. “You have Eddie’s nose!”
Wayne laughs, a single scoffed breath. “What can I say? Big noses run in the family.”
“Well, I happen to like ‘em that way,” you insist with a casual shrug, kicking your feet back and forth from where you’re perched on the counter. Your heels meet the cabinet in several rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunks.
When you look down at your bandaged knees, Wayne and Eddie share a look without you.
The older man raises his greying brows. This girl is bizarre, Eddie can hear him saying. 
He nods wordlessly at his uncle’s silent observation, as though to say: I know she is, and I happen to like her that way.
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
          i guess you’re just what i needed,
          i needed someone to bleed  . . .
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
The plastic case of the cassette you made him clatters on the dashboard of his van, filling a silence that would otherwise be occupied by you. 
Eddie’s passenger seat, cracked and worn with age, feels strikingly empty without you in it. Which is strange, ‘cause your presence used to frighten him once. It does, still, he thinks — but now he mourns the haunt like an old, empty house. 
He drives his rattling tin can across town to Hawkins Community Pool, with a cup of rainbow sherbet rattling in the holder at his side, like an offering for a ghost he no longer wants to exorcise from the home behind his ribcage.
“It’s gonna melt before you get it to her,” Robin remarked with a smirk as she scooped ice cream with an expert hand. “You know that, right?”
Eddie bowed his head and tried to hide behind his curls. “Not if I run real fast,” he joked sheepishly.
The pastel sherbet softens quickly in the summer heat. (Not even the van’s middling A.C., pointed right in its direction, could keep it sufficiently cool.) The muted hues of pink, green, and orange begin to swirl together as the milky concoction undulates in his ringed fist. He hopes you don’t mind and prays you see past his feeble attempt to be kind.
“Well, well, well
” Billy Hargrove lilts with a pretty pink smirk at the sight of Eddie Munson’s familiar face. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his mulleted curls and rests his magazine on his lap. “The dead has risen
”
The poor boy sticks out without trying, despite his desperate attempts to stay hidden — all but swimming in his leather jacket, baggy jeans, and wild hair. He’s a pale, death-touched thing floating in a sea of golden life. 
But, unlike the contemptuous leers from the other patrons, (some who are still certain Eddie killed Chrissy, and others who have always seemed to look at him that way), Billy Hargrove only smiles. A fake, sardonic grin that shows none of his teeth and shines mostly in his eyes. 
His squinted ocean gaze glimmers like he knows all of Eddie’s secrets — which is only half-true. Billy knows what the end of the world did to him, because it almost killed him too, once upon a time.
So, no. He doesn’t know all of Eddie’s secrets. 
Just the biggest one, maybe. 
Despite being largely immune to the summer heat, Eddie still feels the burn of embarrassment stinging his chest. Clawing behind his ribcage like a thousand ravaging demobats. The hot-cold aching of wishing he were dead ebbs when you turn to look at him over your shoulder — when your wide eyes of sparkling hope lock with his darker, dead-er ones.
There’s an undeniable spark of delight in your irises, though Eddie doesn’t know what for. No one’s been this happy to see him in a year. No one’s been this happy to see him ever.
Something about it makes his stomach hurt. Or maybe it’s just the way you and Hargrove are sitting behind the front counter together, like a couple of old friends, with glowing sunkissed skin hugged tight in scarlet bathing suits. 
In that split second, Eddie feels like he’s in high school again — a loser, not yet dead, pining for the pretty girl way out of his league and praying the basketball jock doesn’t shove him into the bleachers.
If you notice the momentary fear in his eyes, you don’t show it.
And if you care that he’s a loser, you don’t show that, either.
“Eddie! Hi!” you greet, giggling as you push yourself off the countertop. Your pleated skirt swishes around your thighs as you rush to him. Your matching sandals pad rhythmically along the stone floor. The flip-flop, flip-fop sound echoes through the shaded breezeway.
Eddie doesn’t know how wide he’s smiling when you’re finally standing ahead of him, but he can feel it burning in the apples of his cheeks.
“You haven’t been around for lunch,” he says in place of a greeting, fidgeting with the cup of melting ice cream in his fist. “I was scared that you keeled over or somethin’.”
“You were worried about me?” you wonder aloud, voice a few octaves higher than he’s used to. You purse your smile to the side of your mouth and scrunch your nose. “Aww
” you croon and dig two fingers into the junction of his neck.
Your touch is soft and warm and less than gentle.
Eddie cringes, effectively set aflame by the electricity of you. He shrinks back with a wavering smile and finds himself grateful that he’s too dead to blush these days — or else you’d see how hopeless he is. 
You ramble an explanation while his skin buzzes.
“I’m a little slow on my bike, turns out, and I couldn’t make it back here in time,” you tell him, which rests his anxieties a little.
Eddie’s been worried about you ever since he patched you up in his bathroom. Everyone’s been worried about you, in truth, ‘cause it’s a well-known fact that you’re a total klutz.
“And after being late for the third time, Adam got kinda mad at me
” you continue, shifting on your feet. “He got really mad at me, actually. I wore his favorite bikini, and he still threatened to fire me. I was, like, oh shit, I’m actually in trouble—”
You giggle to yourself, but Eddie feels like there’s a knife between his ribcage. A sharp, burning, and pulsing urge to get you away from all of these assholes. To get you out of this town. God knows it doesn’t deserve you.
He swallows hard and tries to joke. “Must’ve been real bad then, huh?”
You exhale a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, so
 I’m kinda trying to get back on his good side and everything. It’s easier to just stay here. I would’ve called, but I— I didn’t think you cared that much.”
“I care!” Eddie scoffs, pale face swirled with offense.
“You’re the one that said emergencies only!” you mock through another pretty giggle.
“Abandoning me for a week is an emergency.”
You light up like a goddamn Christmas tree at that. 
“See! I knew you were worried about me!”
Eddie scoffs again and looks away. He focuses on the crowd bustling outside the breezeway because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. Until one of them catches his gaze and flashes him a leery look, anyway. Then he feels like he might puke. 
“Not at all,” he answers in a playful deadpan, clearing his throat when his voice shakes. “That’s definitely not why I decided to bring you a
 half-melted cup of rainbow sherbet.”
His chocolate eyes avert to the plastic container in his fist, swirling the milky pastels again for good measure. When he looks at you again, it’s through his lashes and with his head bowed sheepishly.
You smile with your lips curled under your teeth — obviously giddy and trying hopelessly to hide it.
“I thought it was for me, but I didn’t wanna assume,” you admit quietly, cheek squished into your shoulder.
“It’s basically a milkshake now,” Eddie mumbles and extends his arm. His voice shakes as much as his hand does. “Sorry
”
You beam at the pinched look of worry on his face. “I like milkshakes, too, silly,” you giggle and take the cup of melted ice cream from him. 
Your fingers are gentle and strikingly warm as they brush his colder, paler ones. Warm like dragonfire, or an old house bathed in candlelight, or a freshly sharpened blade through the heart.
Eddie bleeds out on the pebbled concrete as you turn away. 
You rush back to the counter you leapt from, balancing the container in one palm as you bend over the top of it. A satiny summer breeze rolls through the shaded shack and billows through the pleats of your skirt, lifting the thin fabric to reveal the thong of your one-piece — a sliver of soft scarlet running between your thighs.
Eddie’s undead heart lurches into his throat. He turns his gaze to the ceiling until the wind passes.
Billy looks up from his magazine to smile at you with his teeth. “This your boyfriend, sweet thing?” he asks as you pluck your straw from the styrofoam cup you were just drinking from.
The nickname floats on the humid air and strangles Eddie accordingly. Your mouth curls around the end of the bendy straw before you give him a proper answer. You blow hard to dispel the remnants of room-temperature water before sticking the plastic into the milky concoction in your fist.
“Yes,” you answer plainly, then take a long sip of the softened ice cream. You shrug with the raspberry-orange taste on your tongue. “He’s a boy. And he’s my friend,” you lilt. “Jealous?”
Billy laughs. Loud. 
“Of Munson?” 
You nod quietly, straw caged between your teeth.
He laughs louder and slouches in his swivel chair. The golden muscles of his toned chest flex as he flashes you a quieter smile — one that might say he knows a lot more than you do if you cared enough to read the signals.
“I can’t say that I am, no,” Billy hums, faux sympathetically.
“Well, maybe if you were a little nicer, he’d be bringing you food, too,” you tell him, very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, as you spin on the heel of your rubber flip-flop and saunter away. 
Eddie grimaces when you’re ahead of him again. “Please tell me this isn’t the only thing you’ve had today.”
Your face screws as you take another sip. “No,” you answer with a firm shake of your head, though the word comes out garbled from the fruity concoction in your mouth. You swallow it down and confess, “I had half a Poptart for breakfast, so
”
“That’s
 not breakfast,” the boy monotones, then motions his wild head to the cup cradled in your right hand. “And this isn’t lunch.”
“Well, I told you I don’t have time to get lunch,” you argue like a child, soft and sheepish, head bowed to avoid his unwavering stare. You stab at the softened ice cream with the plastic straw, leaving holes in the pastel swirls, as you mutter to yourself, “And I can’t make it for myself, either. I’m not adult enough for that yet.”
Eddie feels it again. The sting of empathy in his chest. The primitive need to help you that makes it hard to breathe most days.
He shrugs his leather-clad shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling hands under his armpits.
“Well— Maybe— Maybe I can, you know, bring you something?” Eddie offers, stumbling over himself the entire way through. He shifts on his feet and swallows through the frog in his throat. “Like, when I have the time, or whatever.”
He doesn’t tell you that he always has the time. (‘Cause he only works nights at The Hideout now, and spends the rest of the day’s many hours rotting in bed.)
Your face pinches into a girlish pout. Something soft, but sterner than he thinks he’s ever seen you before. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Eddie argues. “And I’m not doing it outta the kindness of my own heart, either— It’d just make me feel better to know you’re not totally withering away whenever I’m not here.”
You try hard to keep your scowl. But then your chest starts to glitter like a thousand sparklers in July, and you’re beaming before you can stop it. Eddie watches the pretty smile curl slowly on your lips despite your futile attempt to hide it.
“What’s that look for?” he cautions.
“Nothin’,” you shrug, smiling with the straw between your teeth. “I just like you.”
Eddie forgets to breathe and dies all over again, right at your feet.
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
         only boys who save their pennies
         make my rainy day!
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
Most Tuesdays, some Wednesdays, and every Friday — (the mornings after his late night shifts at The Hideout) — Eddie Munson buys you lunch. 
He stands at the counter of Benny’s Burgers and pays with the rogue quarters and crumpled bills he finds in random pockets of his jacket. The bearded man looks on in slow-blinking bemusement while the boy counts out the $4.89 your sandwich costs.
Benny ends up throwing in free fries for the effort.
It takes Eddie an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were sneaking money into his pockets every time he visited you, even though he told you not to pay him back. Even though you swore you wouldn’t. (He’ll never believe another one of your stupid Scout’s Honor promises again).
Saturday comes, and Eddie’s cleaned out ’til his next shift on Monday. 
He thinks he’s handling it pretty well — the very palpable lack of you — but the contrary is written all over his face.
He’s sprawled out on the sunken-in couch in the living room with the headphones of his Walkman around his neck. Madonna plays muffledly (and far too happily) as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to make constellations of your face from the cracks and water stains.
Dustin watches his best friend grieve from the other side of the coffee table and sighs. “It’s the sandwiches, right? You guys hate the sandwiches?” he wonders aloud, but to no one in particular. “God, I knew I put too much jelly in them—”
“The sandwiches are amazing, Dusty-Bun,” Robin insists from Wayne’s recliner, with a mouthful of PB&J jutting out her freckled cheek. Her chipping maroon nails are stained with crumbs as they flash an ‘ok’ symbol in his direction.
With grape jelly on the corner of his mouth, Steve mumbles from the floor in front of her, “Doesn’t explain why Eddie’s still sulking over there, though.”
“Exactly!” Dustin huffs, flailing his arms.
Eddie rolls his eyes. He exhales a heavy breath that makes his chest deflate, then turns to face the eyes staring back at him. “I’m not sulking,” he grumbles like a rain cloud.
“Yeah. It’s the pouting that’s so convincing,” Max scoffs from Dustin’s other side, blinking at him from behind her glasses as she fakes a tight-lipped grin. 
Eddie just squints at her. She’s not nearly as menacing as she used to be. Not when her ocean eyes are bugged out from such thick lenses, anyway. Now he finds her sort of adorable, in a subtly intimidating way — like a kitten holding a pocketknife.
“I’m not pouting, either,” the wild-haired boy retorts, features scrunched in a soft pout.
Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He just misses Barbie,” the boy croons playfully.
Eddie blinks at him with a flat face. “Barbie?” he echoes.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, voice high. “Barbie.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is, or
?”
“Oh, you know who she is,” Lucas nods with a boyish chuckle. “Very well.”
He keeps on laughing about it until Max elbows him hard in the shoulder. Steve misses the silent cue as he tears off a piece of bread crust, snickering to himself at the inside joke.
He pops it into his mouth and meets Eddie’s gaze, emotionless and expectant. His eyes widen as he stammers for a response.
“The girl— Your girl— She was at Jazzercise the other day,” Steve explains, then swallows hard. “She was with that pretty lifeguard, too. What’s her name again?”
He looks instinctively up at Robin for an answer. Eddie beats her to the punch. 
“Billy Hargrove?” he monotones.
“Ha-ha.”
“Heather Holloway,” Robin tells him.
“Heather!” Steve exclaims, snapping his fingers. “I’m pretty sure I dated her freshman year, actually
 Or was that Heather Hart?”
The boy loses focus quickly as he goes deep in thought. Fluffy brows pinched, honey eyes squinted. A heavy silence lulls over the crowded living room, and Madonna’s muffled voice grows louder. ‘Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl!—
Before Eddie has time to be embarrassed, Steve shrugs at himself. 
“Doesn’t matter. Anyway. She was at Jazzercise with Heather just, like, dripping in pink. Pink leg warmers, pink leotard, pink tights
” Steve trails off again, stare glazing over like he's imagining you all over again. “It was crazy
”
Eddie’s face swirls in disgust. Not at the thought of you, of course, but at the notion that your beauty is perceptible to others. That he isn’t the only one who can see you, admire you. He is not the only one you’ve threatened to kill with your piercing stare, and the thought alone makes his stomach twist.
“You’re such a boy,” Eddie scoffs.
Robin leans forward, freckled face solemn and serious. She rests her elbows on her denim-clad knees and slowly shakes her head. “No
 It was crazy,” she echoes more earnestly.
It sounds different coming from her. It means something different coming from her, too. Eddie’s brows raise and disappear beneath his curly bangs. “Oh, yeah?” he hums with bated breath.
“Yeah,” Robin answers with a disbelieving sigh.
“Hence, the nickname,” Lucas nods, seemingly missing the meaning ‘cause the only other girl he’s cared to notice besides Pheobe Cates is the redhead sitting beside him.
The girl with magnifying glasses over her eyes and legs that don’t work as well as they used to. Despite the circumstances (involving dark wizards and a certain death), Max hasn’t changed at all. And neither has the way Lucas’ teenage boy heart beats for her.
Eddie scoffs a tired laugh. He turns back to the ceiling and throws an elbow over his eyes. “I’m gonna tell her you guys call her that behind her back, by the way.”
“It’s a compliment!” Dustin defends, a few octaves higher than normal.
“Or you could tell her to her face,” Max offers with an absentminded shrug, folding her napkin into a weird shape in her lap — only ‘cause she’s fidgeting, of course, not because Dr. Owens said it would help ease the stiffness in her fingers. (Being dead might’ve taught her some things, but listening to figures of authority is not one of them.)
“She’s working today. Billy said so.”
Eddie peeks at her, flat-faced. “Did he?”
“Yeah. Means you can go visit your girlfriend instead of bitching and moaning about how much you miss her all weekend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, Mayfield.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“No. That is entirely the point,” Eddie argues, laughing more sincerely now. “Other than the fact that the sun will literally kill me.”
Max’s light eyes narrow into thin slits behind her clunky glasses. She says the hard thing out loud, without blinking. that the rest of them are already thinking, anyway.
“You’re already dead, Munson.”
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
          hey, you, with the pretty face,
         welcome to the human race!
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
No wonder the streets seemed so apocalyptically empty, Eddie thinks to himself as he walks through the front gates of Hawkins Community Pool. Because every goddamn person in town has chosen to spend their Saturday here.
Benny from the diner sits by the kiddie pool next to the entrance, watching his daughter wade in the shallow water. He looks like a different person without his grease-stained apron on. His swim trunks are bright red and slightly too short for him, his Hawaiian shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his beer belly, and his face is burnt everywhere but under his sunglasses. 
Jason, Andy, and all the rest of their goons hog the picnic tables while pretty girls sit on the tops of them — wearing their expensive bikinis and basking in the sun like it’s shining just for them. The boys laugh and shove at one another, trying to pretend like they’re far too cool for it all.
Familiar faces fill the blue water, but it’s hard to make them out in the crowd. Everyone’s swimming and splashing and stuffed within the chain-linked fence like cattle. They all go blurry, like a bunch of indistinct shapes before a backdrop of bright colors. Like a Claud Monet painting, if he ever cared enough to paint uninspiring Midwestern towns.
It’s far too packed to feel self-conscious ‘cause this is the kind of horde you drown in. But that just means it’s catastrophically overstimulating. For Eddie, most of all, who’s sorely out of place in his leather jacket and baggy jeans and dirty sneakers.
The boy cranes his neck to search for you, dark eyes flitting wildly over the crowd — once, twice, and then a third time.
You’re nowhere to be found, and he knows this because your face is far too pretty and not easily missed. Your sweet hibiscus scent is equally absent, drowned out by the overwhelming smell of chlorine, sunblock, and sweat.
If you were around, he’d know it.
“She’s not even here!” Eddie huffs, lifting his arms only to drop them dramatically at his sides. Any arguments about his pouting are surely moot now. Even he can feel the petulant scowl pinching his features.
Max, equally confused, stands at his side and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Billy said she was working today. I heard him on the phone. He definitely said it,” she observes, mostly to herself, ‘cause she can’t stomach being wrong. “Well
 He said he was opening with the two prettiest girls in town, so I figured one was probably Heather and the other was—”
“Barbie?” Eddie finishes flatly.
“Yeah.”
“Well, she’s obviously not here, so
 Let’s just go back home and do— literally anything else.” 
Eddie spins on the heel of his worn sneaker with the intention of going back the way he came. His van is parked crooked, anyhow. Steve complained as much when he parked his shiny new BMW right beside him. He figures he should probably get back before someone slashes his tires. Again.
He nearly runs into someone the second he turns around. Someone standing far too close for comfort, in a bright red bathing suit and matching skirt, with too big sunglasses on the top of her head.
“Who’s not working today?!” the person shouts loudly in his face, with the evident intent to scare him.
Eddie stumbles back into Steve, who promptly shoves him forward again. It takes him approximately that long to realize it’s you.
You guffaw when the rest of them jump in fright — a loud and heavenly sound that refuses to be drowned out by the droning of a million different conversations.
“I totally got you guys!” you exclaim, giggling so hard your head tilts back. 
Eddie laughs with you, mostly in shock, as he clutches his chest where his heart isn’t beating.
“Admit it! I got you a little?” you say, pinching your thumb and forefinger and squinting through the sliver of space between them.
“Yeah,” the boy huffs a forced laugh. “Yeah, a— a little bit.”
Visibly delighted by his words, you beam brighter than the golden hour sun.
“I knew it!” you grin before your eyes flit over his shoulder, to the group of friends gaping wordlessly behind him. You scrunch your nose sympathetically. “Sorry
 You guys were just collateral.”
“You know I have a bad heart,” Steve complains for the sake of complaining, clutching his chest over his short-sleeved button-up. He flashes you a stern look and gripes, “That shit’ll kill me.”
Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You’re twenty-one years old, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “And being around you ages me five years.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re gonna have a very long, very happy life together. Aren’t we, Stevie?” you retort with a sickly sweet smile that Steve meets with a scruffy-faced scowl. 
Eddie watches the brunette boy roll his eyes like he wasn’t getting half-hard at the thought of you at Jazzercise an hour ago. It makes him only partly jealous.
He could never dream of being so casual around you. ‘Cause when your eyes find his again, it feels like his stomach’s doing backflips. It’s like he blinks, and he forgets how to speak.
“So!” you chirp. “Family trip?”
Eddie opens his mouth and doesn’t realize until that moment that every word in the English language has left his brain. Robin shoves him hard in the back to put his head back on straight. The words fly from his mouth like a pull-string doll.
“I didn’t wanna bother you, but these idiots forced me into it.”
“Good. You need to get out of the house from time to time, Eds— You’re getting so pale,” you ramble and reach suddenly for his face. Eddie freezes when you take his chin by your thumb and forefinger. The warmth of your velvety touch sets his skin aflame; more so when you look directly into his wide-eyed gape and say, “There’s nothin’ wrong with needing a little sunshine, Eddie Spaghetti.”
“Weird,” Max muses with a sarcastic lilt. “That is exactly what we’ve been trying to tell him, too.”
Eddie shoots her a glare — the best he can, anyway, with your hand still cradling his jaw. He can only see the redhead from the corner of his eye, but the smug smirk on her freckled face doesn’t go missed.
Your fingers slip from his face, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He feels strangely empty, still, without you touching him — like he’s starving, or like he’s never been touched before now. Sometimes, it feels like both are true.
He wonders if that’s just the price he has to pay. If being near you means feeling like he’s dying and coming to life all at once. There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that tells him he’ll pay it, with your pretty fingers strangling his neck and all.
“You’re MADMAX, right?” you wonder aloud to the girl with auburn plaits draping her freckled shoulders.
She’s mostly a stranger to you now, but you think she must mean a great deal to the rest of them. They talk a whole lot about the redhead with chunky glasses who acts like she’s way too cool for it all but defends her Dig Dug high score like her life depends on it. 
The girl nods and crosses her pale arms across her chest, flashing you a suspicious, tightlipped smile. “Yeah. Which means you must be Barbie?”
“Barbie?” you echo.
Eddie chimes in then. “That’s what these freaks call you when you’re not around,” he says, nodding his wild head to the group of aforementioned freaks behind him.
Your face twists as you bring your hand to the center of your chest. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me before,” you respond, strangely sincere.
Lucas smiles from over Max’s shoulder, nodding like he’s proud. “You’re welcome,” he tells you.
Dustin stands just beside him with a conspicuous paper bag under his arm. You squint past Eddie and over to the curly-haired boy. “What’s that?” you blurt.
It takes him a second too long to answer. “Oh. Uh. A sandwich—” he stammers vaguely, extending his arm towards you. You take the sack from him without thinking twice and rifle blindly through its contents.
“PB&J?” you guess with an inquisitive arch to your brow. Dustin nods, looking pleased by your assumption. Your arm stills suddenly within the crinkling brown sack, and your eyes narrow into thin slits. “With the crust cut off?”
“Uh
 no.”
“Good. That’s obviously the best part of the whole sandwich,” you respond, almost to yourself, as you pluck the snack from the bag. 
You unwrap it from its plastic seal and take a hefty bite in one fell swoop. Your eyes flutter shut like it’s something gourmet, and not just something Dustin slapped together on his kitchen step stool at home.
“Thank you for this,” you mumble through the wad of food in your cheek. “You’re officially my new best friend, Dusty-Bun.”
“Rude,” Eddie scoffs.
You swallow hard and fight back a smile, like you were hoping for that exact response. “And who said you were my best friend in the first place, hm?” you argue playfully, waving the half-eaten peanut butter jelly sandwich in his face. “That is very presumptuous of you, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Your pleated skirt flutters at your hips when you spin on the heel of your plastic sandal. You flip flop, flip flop out of the shaded shack and towards the sunshine and unadulterated chaos. The rest of them follow behind you — save for Dustin, who migrates to Eddie’s side with a far-off gaze.
“Sure she’s not your girlfriend?” the kid wonders, never once taking his eyes off the back of you.
Eddie looks down at him with a flat face. “I’m sure,” he monotones.
Dustin grins wide, likely forgetting that other people can see it, too. “Good,” he hums to himself.
“Don’t get any ideas, Henderson,” the older boy blurts before he means to, then tries not to cower under the expectant glance he gets. “You’re obviously way out of her league.”
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
The group fits in pretty well despite being the self-proclaimed outcasts of Hawkins, Indiana.
Steve most of all, but that usually goes without saying. He looks like small-town royalty in his brand-name polo and too-expensive navy swim shorts. He’s lost his touch since high school, though, as he tries and fails to flirt with Carol Perkins’ sister.
“So, Amber— What’d you say you were studying again?” you hear him ask as he lingers awkwardly by the longue chairs.
“My name is Autumn,” she corrects in a drawl that’d give a valley girl a run for her money.
Steve, oblivious to his blunder, only smiles. “Oh, cool. That’s, like, definitely in my top four favorite seasons—”
Robin, in a strange turn of events, is much more casual in her flirting than her co-worker-slash-best-friend. She spotted Vicki the second she walked in, sitting with a few girls from yearbook and rubbing sunscreen onto her supple skin.
She pretended she didn’t, though, which only made it that much more obvious that she had. Vicki waved at her once, then again to invite her over, and Robin was far too awkward to decline. 
Now, she sits gracelessly with a bunch of half-strangers and her biggest crush, looking only slightly out of place in her frayed shorts and Steve’s baggy tee. She nods politely in conversation and thanks the universe for making it so damn hot today. At least now she can blame her burning freckled face on the golden setting sun.
Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, stuff their faces with ice cream sandwiches in a feeble attempt to consume them before they melt. The softened vanilla leaves messes on their fingers and faces, making them look somehow more boyish than their respective Spiderman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle swim trunks.
Max sits off to the side of them in her own chair, partly overstimulated, and trying to let the piercing sunbeams ground her again.
Eddie Munson, however, in his attempt to blend in, only draws more attention to himself.
He sits beside your post, shaded beneath a wide umbrella, in the same attire you’d see him in on any other day. The baggy jeans, and the thick leather jacket, and the Corroded Coffin merch. He’s dripping in black and silver but hasn’t yet broken a sweat. You don’t know how, though. ‘Cause you’re hot just looking at him.
You pluck your plastic whistle from your mouth to ask, “Are you sure you’re not burning up over there?”
Eddie laughs before he means to because the answer’s obvious to him. 
The last time he felt an ounce of heat was when he was bleeding out on the dirt floor of an alternate universe — when crimson blood ran warm over the mangled skin of his chest and ribs. He’s been colder than ice ever since. And he keeps forgetting you don’t know about any of that.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” he answers, angling his head to face yours.
There’s a white cast on his grey face from sunscreen deliberately not rubbed in. It feels like a shield in some way. Not in the warm-blooded human kind of way, of course, but in the vampiric curse kind. The kind that would otherwise make him debilitatingly weak sitting outside like this. Now, he feels somewhat normal.
The golden hour sun sits like a halo behind your head. He squints one eye to see you better. “If you wanna see me shirtless, you can just say that,” he jokes. “Instead of beating around the bush and everything—”
“I wanna see you shirtless,” you blurt in a strange monotone that makes it hard to tell if you’re joking or not.
The boy falters. Tries not to choke on his own spit. There isn’t a world where he can flirt with you where you don’t immediately snatch the upper hand. It’s like you’re immune to that sort of diffidence. Eddie wishes he was, too.
“Wow,” he scoffs after the few long moments it takes him to recover. “Way to be blunt, sweetheart.”
“You told me to say it!”
You give him a lazy shrug and a lazier smile as you swap the bright red lifeguard buoy to your other arm. Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as though physically affected by the way you look at him, and the plastic pool chair makes a weird squeaking noise beneath him.
“Yeah, well, most people tend to be more subtle about it.”
“I’ve never been subtle about anything in my life.”
You turn back around to scan the busy pool, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. A laugh rattles through his tight chest as he quips, “I’m starting to realize that about you, actually—”
“God. Stop flirting,” Max groans from your other side, who has otherwise been so silent that Eddie was starting to forget she was there. She doesn’t turn to look at either of you from where she lazes on the lounge chair. “Sitting with Steve would be more bearable than this.”
“Yeah, Eddie. Stop flirting with me,” you grouse, obviously playful, and without missing a single beat. You glare at the boy over your mostly bare shoulder and try hard not to smile. (He can’t see it in your eyes, anyway, though.) “I’m trying to talk to my new friend MADMAX. Gosh—”
You spin on the heel of your plastic red sandal, and your matching skirt twirls with you. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the back of you. He forgets how to blink when the fabric swishes to give him a brief glimpse of your ass.
He’s always hated the sun, but he loves the way it kisses your skin — leaving you glistening and mouthwateringly supple. 
His fangs threaten to make an appearance when a warm breeze carries your cotton candy cloud scent to him. His gums start to burn with the sharp ache.
“—Hi, MADMAX,” you singsong to the scowling girl, grinning with your cheek pressed to your shoulder.
“You can just call me Max,” she deadpans. “You know that, right?”
“But MADMAX is so much cooler. And it suits you way better.”
“Does it?” MADMAX wonders with an unenthusiastic hum.
“Yeah. Maxine is a name for an old woman. Or, like, one of those ridiculously expensive French poodles,” you ramble and turn back to the pool again, head bobbing as you scan the crowd. “But MADMAX? Now, that is a name for a badass with really cool hair and a sick pair of reading glasses.”
There’s a beat of silence, filled only by the sound of splashing water and the buzzing of a thousand distant conversations, as Max tries to bite back a laugh. It sputters past her anxiety-bitten lips before she can stop it — a strangely airy giggle from such an intimidating girl. 
She shakes her head, still, to pretend she’s above the childish giddiness.
Your face screws in feigned offense. “Don’t laugh!” you scold.
Which, of course, only makes her laugh harder.
Eddie lifts his head, finally taking his eyes off you to gape at the redhead across the aisle, who hasn’t laughed like this since the world ended. 
It must be something strange you alone bring out of them, he realizes. Something special in you that the end of the world didn’t steal like it did everyone else.
“These guys bothering you, newbie?” you hear your manager call to you, only partially drowned out by the surrounding laughter and shouting from the bustling crowd.
His voice is annoyingly distinct. It’s deep and articulate in a way that makes him seem smart. You don’t know if he really is, but you do know that he’s really a raging asshole. 
Adam stands before you, gold and glittering under the setting sun like God’s first creation himself. He’s got veins up and down the length of his muscular arms, and a bulging chest that he waxes every two weeks like clockwork. He’s Steve The Hair Harrington pretty without an ounce of the charm.
“Huh?” you call back, brows raised and eyes wide, just to make him repeat himself.
“I asked if these guys were bothering you,” Adam repeats, flicking his cleft chin back to get the blonde curls out of his eyes. “You look distracted.”
“What guys?” you wonder with an innocent furrow to your brows.
The man’s emerald eyes flit instinctively over your shoulder at Eddie, who everyone has been trying and failing not to stare at this whole time. 
You wonder if Eddie notices it, too — if he’s gotten immune to the constant leering or if he’s bone-crushingly aware of it all. Either way, no one deserves to be ogled at like that. Like some kinda zoo animal. 
Everyone always walks on eggshells around him, refusing to look him in the eye out of fear he might bite. But you know he doesn’t have the teeth for it.
Despite that, you look at Eddie over your shoulder like he’s a stranger. His eyes are wide and swimming with apprehension as the chocolates of them dart between you and the man made out of chiseled marble. 
Adam knows that you know him. You know he knows it, too. Which makes lying to him all the more fun.
“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” you shrug.
Adam squints and crosses his too-big arms over his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s loitering. Along with the rest of these kids—” He looks around him with a visible disgust. 
Max pretends he isn’t there. Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, forget to be casual as they cower under his stare with their ice-cream-stained faces.
“It’s a public pool, Adam. Everyone's loitering. Duh.”
You turn away and stick your whistle back in your mouth. You chew absentmindedly at the plastic and scan the pool for any reason to use it.
Adam’s neck twitches. An angry sort of tic he didn’t know he had until he met you. “You’re still on the clock, newbie. If I see you gettin’ distracted again, I’ll—”
You blow the whistle. Loud. And for far longer than you probably need to. 
The high-pitched chirping rings in Adam’s ears from the close proximity. He flinches away accordingly.
“No running, please!” you shout sweetly to the pudgy middle school-aged boy on the other side of the pool. (His babysitter always brings him here so she can sunbathe, and he’s always roughhousing in the deep end. Billy’s developed a personal vendetta with him over the summer.) 
The suddenly quiet pool returns to its deafening chaos a second later.
You flash Adam a cheeky smile. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that I’ll take it out of your paycheck,” the man bites, angled jaw clenched tight. “You’re already on thin ice. Understand?”
Your lip juts in a feigned pout. You nod slowly, eyes wide like a puppy he’s just kicked.
“One more strike, and you’re cleaning toilets, newbie.”
“Ah, I knew that’s what this was all about
” you lilt seductively, lips curling into a mischievous smirk. “You just want to see me bending over—”
You lean closer toward him until your spearmint breath fans across his chiseled jaw. Your bottom juts out in Eddie’s direction, until he can see the very bottom of your ass from beneath your pleated skirt. It makes him as flustered as Adam the Asshole, who stalks off on long legs quickly after, sufficiently embarrassed.
You laugh at the back of him until he disappears into the crowd again. The bubbly sound ceases the moment he’s out of earshot, and your smile ebbs into a girlish pout. “Dickwad,” you mumble under your breath.
You recover from it all rather quickly while Eddie struggles to remind himself to breathe. His mind reels as he, for the first time ever, grapples with the very real possibility that he might actually be in love with you. Or that you’re not real at all, and that this is just Vecna’s doing — long gone but still putting visions in his head somehow.
He doesn’t know which is worse.
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                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
         oh, what a strange magic!
         oh, it’s a strange magic!
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
The golden-orange sky turns a milky pink and lavender. Eddie’s friends, sunburnt and sufficiently pruned, don’t leave until the first star blinks faintly in the sky. The rest of the crowd goes with them, bustling bodies spilling out in a swarm.
It takes the rest of the gang several long moments to realize Eddie isn’t behind them. (You told him you forgot your sunglasses, and he offered to get them for you, ‘cause he’s nice like that and everything.)
(He doesn’t know the sunglasses are currently hiding in the pocket of your windbreaker.)
“What, where’s Eddie?” Dustin wonders aloud to the rest of the group, head flitting wildly in search of the misplaced metalhead.
“He went to the bathroom, I think,” you blurt the first lie you can think of. “He was talking about a nervous tummy or something. I don’t know.”
Steve scoffs like he senses a non-truth. “So, he’s leaving me with babysitting duty again?” he quips with a cynical, lopsided smile. “How predictable.”
“You say that like we’re the spawn of Satan or something,” Lucas jokes.
“You aren’t?” the oldest boy deadpans.
Dustin flips him off with a chubby finger and a flat face.
They bid their leave tangled in mindless arguments and lanky limbs. You watch them leave with the understanding that Steve’s 733i will be a tighter fit than it should be, crammed with a bunch of rowdy teenage boys. You feel sorry for Max and Robin most of all. 
Steve’s car peels out of the parking lot one moment, and Eddie returns the next.
“I couldn’t find your sunglasses anywhere,” he confesses sheepishly, face twisted like a puppy’s as he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I think some asshole might’ve stolen ‘em—”
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shrug with a tightlipped smile. “I found them in the, uh— In the lost-and-found bin.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Eddie stammers, nodding slowly, just before a smile tugs at his lips. You watch from beneath your lashes as the subtle realization curls on his face. “You had ‘em the entire time, didn’t you?” the boy wonders in a low voice that makes your stomach do whirl.
“Yes,” you squeak in a mousy voice, then ramble before you can stop it. “But only ‘cause I wanted everyone else to leave! You know, so we can have a real date and everything
”
“As opposed to the fake ones we’ve been having?” he jokes with pinched brows.
“Exactly,” you nod, strikingly sincere. ‘Cause the constant carpooling and melted rainbow sherbet dropoffs had to have meant something. 
“As tempting as that sounds, sweet thing,” he humors, scrunching the bridge of his nose. “I do think I might be actually coming down with sunstroke.”
You turn your head wordlessly to the entryway of the shack. There’s only a sliver of the night sky visible from here, but it’s navy blue and sparkling with so many little stars. You look back to Eddie with a dubious glint in your eye. “The sunset twenty minutes ago, Eds.”
“Yeah, but
 I’m still sick.”
He removes his hand from the pocket of his leather jacket and balls it into a fist over his mouth. He coughs once, trying hard to make it believable ‘cause he hasn’t been truly sick since the winter of ’84.
That’s perhaps the only cool thing about being a vampire — he’s basically got Superman’s immune system now.
“Well, I actually learned how to treat sunstroke while I was in training,” you lilt with an air of mischief in your voice as you take a daring step closer. The scent of sunscreen and cheap musky cologne clings to his skin. Something about the combination of the two is maddening.
You’re filled suddenly with the primal urge to bite into him like an apple. But you refrain, lest you scare him off.
Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma, but with perhaps realer consequences than that. Your natural marshmallow-passionfruit scent suffocates him like a pillow to the face. His fangs threaten to force their way through his gums as his head starts to swim.
He ignores every vampiric instinct swirling in his mind and focuses, instead, on the pretty smile curling at your lips.
“Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?”
Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “No, I— I don’t think you ever told me that,” he stammers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. He puts both hands back in his jacket pocket, balling them into fists until his nails bite into his palms.
“First, you gotta take off your clothes—”
“You’ve been trying to get in my pants all day,” the boy laughs. “You realize that, right?”
“—And then you gotta cool off in a very luxurious community pool.”
Eddie gets what you’re playing at, then. His smile ebbs almost instantly. “No,” he dismisses with a stern shake of his head. His deep chestnut curls, frizzed with the late-summer humidity, sway around his jaw. “No. No way.”
“Oh, c’mon! Please,” you whine. “The pool closes in, like, half an hour— Then it’ll just be us! We can swim together!”
“I don’t know how,” Eddie whines back, head tossed and face screwed. “Seriously. I grew up in a trailer park. No one ever taught me how to swim, alright? I’ll drown.”
Something about that seems to please you, as your pout curls slowly into another smile. You meet the boy’s wet brown eyes with a gaze that glitters something wicked.
Eddie can see your head spinning with a thousand bad ideas from here. His heart would race at the thought of getting into trouble with you if it was beating still. 
You’ll bring him back to life yet.
“Don’t worry, Eds,” you shrug with a sure grin. “I’d give you mouth-to-mouth in a heartbeat.”
                            ꒷ꒊ꒷꒷ꒊ (㇏(â€ąÌ€á”„á”„â€ąÌ)ノ) ê’Šê’·ê’Šê’·ê’·
The pool glows a vibrant sapphire color. It makes the surrounding amber streetlamps seem dull in comparison. The water is as blue and crystalline as an early summer sky. Eddie figures you must be the sun, swimming in the center of it all. 
You wait patiently in the shallow end — out of both your windbreaker and pleated skirt for the first time in front of him — and swipe your hands over the water, letting it drip like liquid diamonds from your fingers. You hum quietly to the slow song playing on the boombox across the way, which now houses the mixtape you made that Eddie seems to take with him everywhere. 
The boy shifts uncomfortably at the head of the pool, feeling awkward in the pair of swim trunks you found for him in the break room.
You’ve never seen so much of him before. His paper-white legs are a lot longer than you expected, ‘cause his baggy jeans hardly do him any favors. And his arms are a lot muscular, too — likely from moving band equipment and bussing tables.
He’s already so pretty to begin with. You don’t know what he’s got to be such a Nervous Nelly about.
Eddie knows he’s making it harder for himself. It’d be a lot less awkward for the both of you if he just took his shirt off and jumped in the water. But he’s paralyzed by the misplaced panic that strikes that lightning in his chest. And by you, ogling at him like he’s a pretty thing that deserves to be ogled at.
“Stop staring,” he calls to you, pretending to be playful but meaning every bit of it. “It’s makin’ me nervous.”
“Would it make you feel better if I closed my eyes?”
“Much.”
You put your hands over your eyes, to make him feel better and all. Though, you can’t help but peek between the slivers of your fingers as he strips himself of his Corroded Coffin tee.
His torso is as long and lean as you imagined, with sprinkles of hair on his chest and the pudge of his tummy that trails into his borrowed trunks. You try very hard not to stare too long at the gray scars embedded in his pale skin.
Everything seems to come easier to him when you’re not looking at him. He slides the black fabric off his pale, pale torso, tosses it to his feet, and hurries to hide in the water in one fell swoop.
The chlorine makes his nose burn, but the water feels like satin on his skin. It’s soft and warm and smooth against the cold, sharp edges of him.
“You can open your eyes now,” Eddie scoffs when he notices your hands still over your eyes. He can see you blinking at him through the slits in your fingers. “I know you’re peeking.”
“I was not!” you gasp, mouth agape with a playful offense.
“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it, sweet thing.”
“These are very nefarious accusations you’re making, Eddie Munson
” you scold with arched brows and wide eyes. The water ripples faintly around you as you stalk towards him like a predator to prey, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint. “Are you prepared to back them up?”
The boy cowers slightly under your unwavering stare. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me right now—”
And he was right not to. ‘Cause you’re lunging suddenly towards him in a flash.
The water splashes violently around you as you wrap both arms around his neck and sweep him off his feet. Literally. You kick his legs out from underneath him, then catch him before he can fall completely backward. Both his downfall and his savior, ironically.
“Ha!” you shout in his face, the tip of your nose brushing his.
“Jesus!” Eddie gasps in response, still heart lurching in his chest.
“I asked if you were prepared!” you defend like you’re innocent, like you aren’t still cradling him in your arms — the only thing keeping him from going under.
“Not for this!” he yells back. 
Only then is he able to take a good breath in. He can smell the velvety scent of your blood from the achingly close proximity. He can feel your heart beating in his own chest from where you’re pressed so intently against him. It makes him instantly dizzy.
He fights back the primal urges that would otherwise drive him mad.
“Jeez
” he huffs, fangs burning. “You’re a lifeguard— You’re supposed to stop people from drowning.”
“Yeah, but no one ever needs saving,” you whine. “It’s so boring.”
His chocolate button eyes flit back and forth between both of yours. “You tryin’ to save me, sweet thing?” he jokes.
You squint. “Is it working?”
“Yeah, actually
 If you let me up now, at least.”
He’s grateful when you do, though he mourns the lack of you when you step back a few paces.
His damp hair sticks to his skin when he rises to full height. He shakes his head like a dog, and you giggle when a few rogue droplets fly your way.
“You have freckles on your shoulder,” you observe distantly, eyes darting across the faint amber spots on his pale skin as you try to make constellations out of them. “I didn’t know that ’til now.”
Eddie’s lips jut downward as he peers at his arm from the corner of his eye. “Not really,” he shrugs.
“You do!” you insist. “There’s not many, though. I could probably count ‘em if I wanted.”
“Maybe on our second date.”
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo here, either—” You poke him in the chest, a little harder than you probably mean to. 
Eddie winces and rubs his palm over the fading black widow under his collarbone. “Well, you don’t know everything about me,” he quips. “I like it that way. It keeps you on your toes.”
Your face pinches into a girlish pout. “Only ‘cause you never tell me anything.”
“I tell you loads of things,” Eddie laughs.
Your frown deepens. “You never told me about the picture of Ozzy Osbourne you keep in your wallet.”
“
How do you know about that?”
“Dustin told me.”
“Of course he did,” Eddie huffs. “Remind me not to tell that little shit anything ever again.”
“You never told me about how you got those scars, either,” you blurt, eyes trained on his milky white torso. Beneath the clear, rippling water, you can see the parts of his supple stomach that are marred and turning pink.
You don’t realize what you’ve said until your gaze flits back to his startled one. Your eyes widen as you ramble quickly, “You don’t have to! I’m not trying to
 I’m just— I’m just saying. ‘Cause, you know, Steve has the same ones
 On his ribs
”
“I’m not even gonna ask how you know that,” Eddie jokes with a (mostly) feigned jealousy.
“Billy does, too. He’s got the same lookin’ scars on his chest,” you continue. “And then I started thinking, you know? I thought, since you all know each other and everything, maybe something happened to you guys. Like, in the earthquakes or something.”
Eddie swallows hard and debates on spilling his guts. 
He swallows his secrets down like bile, in the end.
“Yeah. You’re— You’re not too far off, actually,” he answers with a breathy, bitter laugh. He scratches at the back of neck, if only to busy his anxious hands, and flits his gaze to the velvety night sky.
The blinking white stars there ground him when the world starts to swim — reminds him that he’s on Earth, in Hawkins, and not in the hellscape he died in.
That was his final thought as he took his last breath that spring. How strangely fitting it was that there were no stars in the Upside Down.
“We, uh
 We kinda went through hell and back, but, uh
 ‘Least lived to tell the tale, right?” Eddie scoffs at himself, then remembers Chrissy — how young and full of life she was one moment, and how her wide blue eyes were sucked out of her skull the next. He recoils then, feeling like he’s said the wrong thing. “Wait. That was— That was insensitive. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What are you talkin’ about? You’re right,” you assure him with a quiet, emotionless laugh. “You guys survived. You got lucky. We all did.”
Eddie peeks at you beneath his lashes, through the wild curls sticking to his face. “Where were you?” he murmurs. “When
 When everything happened?”
“Crying into my milkshake at Benny’s Burgers,” you answer without missing a beat. The memory’s far too vivid for anything else.
A laugh sputters from Eddie’s throat. He’s sure you must be joking. You blink at him like an owl, and he goes solemn all over again. “Oh. You’re
 You’re serious?” he mumbles.
“Yeah, I was
 feeling sorry for myself over something stupid, and then the ground started shaking outta nowhere— like the universe was trying to say, ‘Hey, this could be soooo much worse, dude,’” you ramble quietly to yourself, skimming your fingers over the water’s surface. “
But then I found out people actually got hurt and everything, so I was like, ‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t make this about my stupid broken heart, actually.’”
Eddie’s tight chest deflates with a wavering exhale. He didn’t know you back then, but something about knowing you were okay makes him feel better. ‘Cause, yeah, he died and all, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of Vecna taunting you.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” the boy confesses in a honeyed whisper.
A soft smile quirks at the edges of your lips. “I’m glad you’re okay, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Your hand reaches out for him. Almost instinctively. Like he’s a whole universe with his own gravitational pull.
Your palm settles soft and warm on the outside of his torso. Your thumb grazes the marred skin over his ribs, and Eddie tenses at the foreign feeling. You jerk back instantly.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer, face twisted apologetically. “I didn’t— I should’ve asked first.”
“No. It’s— It’s okay. Seriously,” Eddie assures with a rapid nod. There’s a faraway look in his chocolate eyes, almost like he’s daydreaming. He feels like he is, anyway. ‘Cause he’s never let anyone this close before.
“I just
 I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”
Do it again, he says in so many words. Please, I think I might need it.
You reach for him again, more hesitant this time. Your hand settles over his scars again, and you breathe hard through your nose.
Your stomach twists with a phantom sort of ache, like you can feel every ounce of the pain he surely experienced back then. Thinking about how hurt he must’ve been makes you hurt, too.
Eddie can see it written all over your face. How much you ache for him.
He can’t stand it. 
He cups your cheeks between trembling, unsure hands. His touch is softly calloused and colder than ice. He tilts your jaw gently upward, urging you to meet his gaze once more. Your eyes are wet and glittering when they lock with his heavily lidded ones. Your mouth parts to say something, anything. But your brain doesn’t work fast enough.
‘Cause Eddie's kissing you before you can blink.
He tastes distinctly of nicotine and boyhood. Of midnight, full moons, and neon lights. You can feel every groove in his bottom lip from where he picks at it with his teeth. Every sensation is new to you, like cool sparkles of excitement in the pit of your tummy, but it’s strikingly familiar all the same. Nostalgia for something you’re experiencing for the first time warms the center of your chest.
You breathe hard through your nose. The gust of air tickles Eddie’s cupid’s bow as he parts from you, lips smacking apart in protest.
Your eyes, still yet to blink, remain wide and glazed over. “Whoa
” you sigh to yourself.
Eddie’s unsure of how to gauge your reaction. His face swirls with horror.
“What?” he mumbles, still cradling your face between worried hands. He can’t tell if your cheeks are heating or if he’s just colder than usual. Perhaps both are equally true.
“Nothing,” you answer quickly, still slightly faraway. “I just
 I got a weird sense of deja vu just now
”
The boy forces a quiet laugh. “Who else have you done this with?” he quips.
“No one!” you blurt. “
But I think I might’ve dreamt about this once.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.”
“Was it better than you expected? Or should I just see myself out now—”
You lean forward to chase his mouth. The cerulean water ripples faintly around you. Your lidded gaze never wavers from his rosy lips, which you’re realizing now are all but begging to be kissed. You don’t know how you never noticed it before.
Eddie’s smiling too wide to respond appropriately.
“Why are you laughing?” you frown.
“I’m not!” he responds through breathy chuckles.
“You are—”
Eddie leans forward in a flash, pressing another chaste kiss to your pout.
You’re all smiles again the second he pulls away, bursting at the seams with a sort of giddiness that could give the sun a run for its money. 
He knows, somewhere deep down, that he shouldn’t make you this happy. He doesn’t even deserve the chance. But here you are anyway, smiling so wide at him that your eyes are starting to crinkle at the edges — showing him that there’s still sunshine in the dark, reminding him what it means to be living.
“Does this mean we get to do this forever?” you wonder in a mousy voice.
“What?” he chuckles. “Kiss?”
You nod wordlessly, blinking up at the boy with wide, wet eyes.
Eddie nods quickly back. 
“Then yeah
” he wavers, chest aching and gums burning. 
He loves you so much he’s gone hungry for it. For you.
He longs to devour you, in every way imaginable, and you want to devour him just the same. He can tell in the way you stare at him when you think he isn’t looking — in the way you stare at him even when he is looking — and in every one of your movements that urges him closer, closer, closer.
Your gaze is debilitatingly intense. Your attitude is mind-bendingly strange. You’re ruining his life, and Eddie can’t believe there was ever a time he wasn’t kissing you.
“Yeah,” he repeats, firmer now. “As long as you want.”
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if you made it this far: i love you. so sorry for making you read something so long. i'd kiss you on the forehead if i could. also pls consider reblogging! this took me so so long to write, and it really helps a lot! thank u, love u (▰˘◡˘▰)
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rubyreduji · 1 year ago
Text
king size bed — kmg & jjk
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summary: mingyu has a problem: he's in love with his best friend's girlfriend. but does it go deeper than that, in ways that maybe even mingyu doesn't realize?
tags: smut (minors dni!), p.rnstar!au warnings: gyu is kind of a perv, explicit unprotected sex, filming explicit content, sending nudes, masturbation, sexting, fingering (f. rec), oral (m. + f. rec), threesome, cuckolding, creampie, cum eating, hair pulling, double penetration, anal, kinda voyeurism, multiple orgasms, squirting, maybe mingyu is a little bisexual in this
for only a second wc: 10.1k  an: this idea came to me randomly and i quite literally ascended to heaven and then fell straight down to hell and produced this :D also this fic is very mingyu centric as it’s told in his pov (sorry armys who may find this)
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Mingyu wants to go home.
Around him, the walls thump to the music blasting throughout the club. If this was four years ago and he was still in college this would be great, but it’s not. All Mingyu does is sit in a booth and stare at the dance floor, watching as the bodies grind up against each other.
The reason Mingyu is even out tonight is to try and find someone to take home, but he’s not in the mood. All of his recent hook ups have been unsuccessful and he’d rather go home and try his luck with his trusty fist rather than try and flirt with some half-drunk, half-interested person in a stuffy, overly noisy club.
It’s not like Mingyu doesn’t want to get his dick wet, he’s honestly been more horny recently than he ever has been, but for some reason the idea of going home and watching porn sounds much better than actually trying to get with someone here. Maybe Mingyu has a problem, or maybe it’s because of Mingyu’s most recent discovery.
He’s not sure how he lucked out so bad, but one day all of his normal Twitter porn creators weren’t doing it for him, and he happened to stumble across a new page. A reblog from one of the accounts he already followed. The person in the video was stunning. No face, but still the most beautiful body Mingyu has ever seen.
When he clicked on the account he was surprised to see such a small following on the account, only to find out the creator only started posting recently. It’s needless to say that Mingyu spent the rest of the night jacking off to the few photos and videos on her page. “Sweetheart” that’s what her screen name was listed as. 
Even since discovering her, Mingyu’s become slightly obsessed and he’s taken liberty to getting off to her almost every night, even going as far as to subscribe to the content she has behind a paywall. 
Mingyu’s not sure why he’s so attached to her. Maybe it’s her soft aesthetic or the way she’s like a little secret gold mind he found. Or maybe it’s because she reminds Mingyu of
.
He glances across the room, his eyes landing on where his best friend stands. Jungkook is leaned up against the bar, a small smirk on his face, his arm wrapped around the waist of the prettiest girl inside the whole club. Your body is pressed up against Jungkook’s as you press your lips to your boyfriend’s neck, marking his skin up with your lipstick.
You’re dressed in a tight, short dress colored in the most flattering shade of red. Mingyu’s favorite color. He does his best to not focus on your tits and the way your cleavage is accentuated by your dress, barely held up by the skinny straps on your shoulders.
Mingyu knows it’s an issue. He shouldn’t have such a huge crush on his best friend’s girlfriend, and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking of you like that either. Especially when you’re his friend as well. It’s not like he wants to, but he can’t help but think that you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever met. Inside and out.
You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend though, and he would never make a move on you or ever make you uncomfortable. Though, that doesn’t stop him from doing very shameful things in the dead of night, locked away in his bedroom, his hand wrapped around his cock as his eyes are trained on the video of the girl that reminds Mingyu of you just a little too well.
Mingyu must have gotten lost in his thoughts, staring at you, and when he focuses in again, he makes eye contact with Jungkook. The younger man winks at his best friend before guiding you out of the club. Mingyu’s eyes trail after you two the whole time, and he already knows you two are off to go fuck. If he’s being honest, you two most likely won’t even make it out of the parking lot, taking advantage of the tinted windows on Jungkook’s car.
The whole reason Mingyu even came tonight was to appease Jungkook, and now that the other man has left, Mingyu takes that as his cue to leave as well. The drive back to Mingyu’s apartment feels like an eternity and all he wants to do is crawl into bed, masturbate, and go to bed.
And yeah, maybe it is a little sad. Jacking off at home alone while his best friend fucks the girl of his dreams while all he can do is imagine it’s him in his place, but it’s not like there’s any other options.
Now if Mingyu was really being childish, you were always Mingyu’s first. 
You two went to the same high school together, but you two didn’t get close until college. You had a gen-ed together and when Mingyu was the only familiar face in the room, you latched on. Mingyu didn’t mind, you were sweet and funny and always let Mingyu study in your dorm when his roommates were too loud. 
Later, after Mingyu and Jungkook became best friends, that’s when the three of you started to form a friend group. Then you and Jungkook started to hang out one and one, and eventually those hang outs turned into dates, and now three years later, even after graduating college, you two are still going strong.
Mingyu’s only a little salty, maybe it’s because Jungkook knew Mingyu had something for you, or maybe it’s because really if it wasn’t for him Jungkook wouldn’t have even met you. It doesn’t matter though, because in the end you got with Jungkook and Mingyu respects that.
When Mingyu finally gets home he’s quick to lock his door and drop his pants, crawling into his bed and pulling up Twitter. Right on the top of his feed is a post from Sweetheart and Mingyu groans. She’s dressed in a pair of sexy red lingerie panties, and it automatically makes Mingyu think of the dress you had on tonight. That’s not the best part of the photo though, no the best part is the fact she's not wearing a bra, her chest bare and her nipples staring right at Mingyu.
His cock is already hard, it’s been hard since he watched you kiss up and down Jungkook’s neck, and he shoves his hand into his boxers unceremoniously to pull his cock out. He spits into his palm before wrapping it around his length and starting to pump.
He clicks on Sweetheart’s page, hoping she’s posted more or something, and he’s grateful to see a post from only a few minutes ago.
Live show on my OnlyCarats, come check it out ;)
Mingyu’s finger is clicking on the link in record time and it takes the video a moment to load before his screen reveals Sweetheart. She’s still in the pretty red panties from earlier, but now they’re pushed to the side as she slides her fingers in and out of her wet pussy. She’s laid out on a large bed, dressed in all white bedding that contracts nicely against the panties.
Sweetheart has done a few live videos before, but this is the first one Mingyu has been able to watch in real time, rather than a video uploaded after the live. He’s entranced as he watches her finger fuck her pussy. She’s letting out soft pants as she gets lost in her pleasure.
“F-fuck,” Mingyu whines. His hand is slick with pre-cum as he pumps his cock furiously in his fist. 
Mingyu wonders if you’re going to pull out a dildo, like you sometimes do in your videos, but rather another person appears on camera.
Clearly the body is a male figure, clad in black slacks and a black dress shirt. Sweetheart has done a few photos and videos with a guy before, but Mingyu’s never seen him in one of her lives before. It’s not that he minds too much, but a part of him wishes that he could stay pretending like the whole thing was for him, that he was the only person watching.
Mingyu can’t dwell on his disappointment though, because the man in the video is unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. It’s big, though Mingyu doesn’t think it’s bigger than his own. The man grabs the camera before laying back, allowing Sweetheart to climb on top of him.
She grinds against him for a little bit before lifting herself up and lining the man’s cock up to her entrance. Mingyu can see the way her legs tremble as she sinks down, and suddenly Mingyu doesn’t mind the other guy too much. From the angle he’s filming at, it’s almost like Sweetheart is riding Mingyu, and that drives him just a little bit insane.
Mingyu pumps his fist at the same speed Sweetheart is bouncing on the man’s cock, imagine that it’s Sweetheart
imagining that it’s you. Mingyu whimpers and bucks his hips up, letting himself get lost in the fantasy.
Now Mingyu can’t get the idea of you in his lap, your thighs straddling his as your pussy clamps down around him, out of his head. He thinks about your soft tits and how they’d bounce as you rode him, his cock hitting inside of you deep and rough.
It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to let out a strangled moan as his cock twitches and he spills cum all over his hand. He lays in bed, his chest heaving with his pants. Mingyu opens his eyes and glances at his phone to see Sweetheart’s body trembling as she cums as well. Mingyu watches intently as Sweetheart pulls herself off of the man’s cock, his cum dripping out of her as she does so. 
Sweetheart ends the live soon after and Mingyu gets up to clean himself off. He decides to take a shower, scrubbing himself off like it will clean away the sins he just committed. As soon as he gets out of the shower he dries off and stumbles back into bed, deciding to call it a night.
Mingyu doesn’t see you or Jungkook again until almost a week later when Jungkook invites Mingyu over for dinner. Mingyu stops by the store to pick up a bottle of wine before heading over to the apartment you and Jungkook share. 
As soon as Mingyu knocks on the door you throw the door open and pull Mingyu into a hug. Mingyu hugs you back and if he holds on for a little too long, well you do too. When you pull back Mingyu gets a good look at your outfit. You’re dressed in a short skirt and a low cut tank top. You have a large cardigan draped over the whole outfit and Mingyu blushes slightly. You just look so cute.
You clasp on to Mingyu’s arm as you walk with him into the kitchen. “Kookie, look who’s here!”
“Hey Gyu,” Jungkook smiles at his best friend. Jungkook is standing at the stove, dressed in a blue apron, as he tends to the food. “Glad you could make it.”
“Of course man. I brought some wine as well.” Mingyu places the bottle onto the counter.
“Sounds great. Hey, babe, could you grab some glasses? The food is almost ready.”
Mingyu watches as you two move around each other, the flow between you natural and domestic. It makes Mingyu’s heart twinge a bit. You two have always been a good pair. When you and Jungkook started dating it didn’t surprise anyone, and though Mingyu was a little upset by it, he could see it as well. Even three years later you two make the perfect pair, if not more so than back then, settled into your domestic life with one another.
It doesn’t take long for the three of you to be sat around the dining table.
“So Mingyu, how that’s project at work coming along?”
Mingyu is surprised that you remember, as he only mentioned it offhandedly a couple weeks ago. He shouldn’t sell you so short though. It’s one of the things that attracts Mingyu to you so much. You’re just so charismatic and attentive to everyone you meet. 
“It’s going well. My boss actually promoted me to head of the project because he liked my ideas so much. We should have the prototype done by the end of next week,” Mingyu tells you. 
“That’s amazing Mingyu! Congrats!” You cheer.
“That sounds like a reason to drink.” Jungkook raises his glass and Mingyu chuckles before picking his own up and clinking it against Jungkook’s and then yours.
The rest of the night follows the same pattern. You guys continue your easy flow of conversation during dinner and then after you move into the living room where you put on a random movie to watch in the background. The scene is just a little too nice for Mingyu’s well-being. It’s too
comfortable, too sweet. Like Mingyu is meant to be there, with you sitting on the other side of the couch as Jungkook sits a chair nearby as you joke and talk. Like Mingyu is a part of your couple. Like he’s yours.
Those thoughts are shoved to the back of his head as the night goes on and as more alcohol enters his system. It’s clear you’re also feeling the effects as you move closer to Mingyu’s side of the couch, draping yourself over him. Mingyu takes a sharp breath at the feel of your tits pressing against him as you rub your head on his shoulder.
“I love you so much Gyu,” you slur. “You’re my favoritest ever.”
“Hey!” Jungkook cries from where he’s still sitting in the chair, not too far off from where you and Mingyu are in drunkenness.
“Shh, don’t listen to him,” you say, pressing even closer to Mingyu, your breath now brushing up against his ear as you continue in a whisper. “You’re my favorite. My best friend. My number once since freshman year of college. Am I your favorite?”
Mingyu giggles, despite his growing flusteredness. “You’re my favoritest.”
“Good, we are each other’s most favorite. And Jungkook is neither of our favorites, because I love you Gyu!” You press a giant kiss to Mingyu’s cheek.
“Hey, what are you two saying over there?” Jungkook stands up and moves over to the couch. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap as you giggle and playfully thrash around.
“Nooooo! Let me go. I wanna cuddle with Mingyu!” You squirm in Jungkook’s arms as Jungkook holds you tighter, kissing your neck. “Mingyu save me!”
Mingyu moves forward and grabs onto your arms, pulling you towards him. Jungkook still has a hold on you, and you three end up in a big pile together, all giggling. You three lay there for a moment, in silence, before you let out a big yawn.
“Well I think that’s my cue to get this one to bed,” Jungkook says. “You good to get a ride home, Gyu?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for having me over man.”
“Yeah, we love having you over. You’re our best friend, you know you’re always welcome.”
“Sleep well Gyu!” You give him a giant hug before allowing Jungkook to pick you up and carry you to the bedroom. Mingyu watches you two retire to your bedroom, sobering up enough in the moment for a pain to clench his heart.
In the cab ride home Mingyu can't help but think about you. The way your breath brushed against his face as you leaned in to tell him you love him. He wonders what it would be like to actually tell you he loves you. What it would be like for you to cradle his face and lean in and kiss him. He imagines holding you, waking up next to you in the morning, going on sweet dates. 
Mingyu groans. He’s got to stop doing this to himself.  
As soon as he gets to his building, he stumbles through his apartment before falling into bed. Out of habit he pulls out his phone, opening Twitter. Directly at the top of his feed is a post from Sweetheart. 15 minutes ago.
A mirror selfie in her bra and underwear. It’s not much, but it still has Mingyu twitching in his boxers. Against any of his better judgment that he would make when sober, he clicks on her account and taps the message icon.
pup: Hey :)) love the new photo
Mingyu’s not sure why he sent the message. He’s not expecting a response. Not at 3am and not when he’s a total stranger. It’s clear Sweetheart has a boyfriend, or at least someone who does videos with her. He didn’t even send her money.
Mingyu’s about to just go to bed when he hears the chirp of his phone’s notifications. When he checks his phone, his eyes widen when he sees the Twitter notification.
Sweetheart: hehe thank you
Sweetheart: would you like to see more? 😉
pup: Yes. Yes, of course. How much?
Sweetheart: no charge baby. i see you in my notifs all the time, and you’re a subscriber on my OF. think of this as a treat for my biggest fan 😘
Mingyu groans. He has no clue how he’s lucked out so hard. His cock is already half hard at the thought that Sweetheart knows who he is.
pup: Holy shit. Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.
Sweetheart: nothing to say, just enjoy :)
Sweetheart: took these just for you, so don’t go spreading them around, okay?
Sweetheart: [image]
Sweetheart: [image]
Sweetheart: [image]
Sweetheart: maybe you can tell me what those do to you

Mingyu’s mouth drops open at the photos. The first one is a selfie of Sweetheart from the neck down. Her bra has been removed and her arms are pulled in to push her tits together. Mingyu wonders what it would be like to put his mouth on them, or even better, put his dick between them.
The second photo is a photo of Sweetheart sitting on her bed. The large bed is still dressed in the normal white bedding it has on it during her streams. Sweetheart is sitting back on her calves and Mingyu can see the slight wet patch starting to form on her panties.
The final photo has Mingyu’s mind reeling the most. A cropped down photo of Sweetheart’s lips wrapped around a dildo, her lips gently suckling the tip.
Sweetheart has never posted anything above the neck and this is Mingyu’s first time seeing the lower half of her face, and it’s her sucking a dildo no less. Mingyu groans and gives in, reaching down to fist his cock. He imagines that it’s his dick that Sweetheart is sucking, her pretty lips wrapped around his tip as she takes him in his mouth, using her lips and tongue to pleasure him.
pup: Oh my god. Fuck. You’re gorgeous.
pup: Thank you so much.
Sweetheart: i’m glad you like hehe 
Sweetheart: how about you show me how much you like them
👀 (if you’re comfortable)
Holy shit. Sweetheart is asking him for a dick pick.
Mingyu fumbles with the camera on his phone before he snaps a few photos. You can see the glisten of pre-cum already coating his tip and his hand is wrapped around the base of his cock, holding it up. Mingyu presses send to Sweetheart and anxiously waits the reply.
Sweetheart: wow you’re big
Sweetheart: i wouldn’t mind taking a ride on that rodeo hehe
Sweetheart: fuck i want a dick inside of me :((( you’d reach so deep inside of me, fill me up nice and good
Sweetheart: would you like that pup? my tight pussy wrapped around your cock?
pup: Yes. Yes, so fucking much.
Sweetheart: i’d milk you so well
Sweetheart: ugh this isn’t fair
pup: I want you so bad. You’re perfect. Literally the most sexy body I’ve ever seen.
Mingyu struggles to type as his right hand jacks off his cock furiously. He can’t believe he’s sexting Sweetheart. He can feel his balls tighten the closer he gets to his orgasm and before he can do anything to stop it, his cock is twitching and he’s spurting cum all over his chest and hand.
Mingyu lets out a low groan before opening his camera app and snapping another photo.
pup: Look what you made me do.
pup: [image]
Sweetheart: fuck that’s so hot
Sweetheart: wish it was inside me though :( or that i was there to lick it up
Sweetheart: fuck i’m touching myself
Sweetheart: imagining that it’s your big cock inside of me
Sweetheart: [video]
Mingyu nearly nuts again just from the video Sweetheart has sent. A ten second clip of her thrusting the dildo from earlier inside of her sopping wet cunt. Mingyu truly thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.
Sweetheart: fuck i came so quickly
Sweetheart: god i’m going to be thinking about your cock for weeks now
Sweeheart: thanks for the orgasm :)
pup: No, thank you. I’m never going to forget this.
Sweetheart: good. hope you jack off to those photos more, put them to good use ;)
Sweetheart: thanks for a good time. night pup
Though Mingyu would love to say he went to bed right after, he of course jacks off again before eventually passing out for the night.
After that night, neither Sweetheart nor Mingyu try to contact each other again, but Mingyu does in fact jack off to her photos again and again and again. Especially after days where he hangs out with you and Jungkook.
Look, he’s not proud of it, but at least he can get a release somehow.
Like right now, as he sits propped up in bed, rubbing at his half-hard cock through his boxers, as he watches the beginning of Sweetheart’s stream. Currently she’s just finishing setting up the camera and getting everything situated.
Earlier, Mingyu went out with you and Jungkook to a new cat cafe you wanted to check out. Though both Jungkook and Mingyu are more dog people, it’s no secret they would do anything for you. The whole time you kept gushing to the two best friends on how cute the cats are and how much you want one. It was just so fucking cute and it didn’t help that you just happened to be wearing a shirt that did nothing to hide the outline of your hard nipples. It’s not like Mingyu meant to stare, but to be frank they were kind of staring at him first.
And then when you reached over to pet a cat that had hopped into Mingyu’s lap and you just happened to accidentally brush his dick with your hand. You didn’t notice, or at least didn’t mention it, but it has Mingyu quickly standing up and displacing the cat in order to head to the bathroom to try and adjust himself so you and Jungkook didn’t catch sight of the halfy he was sporting. 
On screen, Sweetheart has finally positioned herself right in the middle of the large, white bed. She’s just unbuckled and thrown off her bra and now she’s groping her own tits, squeezing at her chest and flicking at her hard nipples. Mingyu wonders what it would be like to suck on her tits. Tug at her nipples with his teeth and leave marks all over the supple flesh.
When Mingyu pulls himself from his fantasy to go back to watching the stream, he notices the man who’s always in Sweetheart’s videos has appeared. He sits behind Sweetheart on the back, his arms wrapped around her torso so he’s now the one groping her boobs. His head leans down slightly and his mouth presses to her neck. Mingyu catches sight of the lip ring in the right corner of his mouth.
It’s then that Mingyu takes in the full appearance of the man. He’s considerably dressed down this time. While he’s usually dressed in full black dress pants and dress shirt, most likely to better keep his identity hidden, this time he’s in a white t-shirt and jeans. The outfit’s familiar to Mingyu, too familiar.
It’s understandable why the man has never showed off his full arms before, as they’re covered in a sleeve of tattoos, an identifiable mark. Mingyu can't look. His mouth goes dry and his stomach drops. 
It’s undeniable. Mingyu knows every piece of that sleeve like the back of his hand. He was there when half of them were inked. Mingyu’s stomach turns. It all makes sense now. The whole reason why Sweetheart drew him in the first place was because of her resemblance to you. Now Mingyu gets it. It’s not that Sweetheart resembles you, it’s that she is you. And the mystery man in each of her (your) videos
is his best friend.
On screen Jungkook has moved on from your tits and down to your clothed pussy. His fingers rub soft circles into your clit as his other hand keeps your thighs spread. Mingyu’s cock twitches at the sight.
No.
No, it’s wrong. It’s dirty.
It’s not fair that Mingyu knows your identity when you try so hard to keep it a secret. Not to mention it’s immoral of him to continue to jerk off to your videos. You and Jungkook are his best friends. And even if he has the occasional fantasy about you
it’s completely different than actually watching your sex work and knowing it’s you.
But then again
you are uploading them for a reason. Your bio even says “just here to aid and please” and this would be aiding and pleasing Mingyu. A lot. 
Before Mingyu can even talk himself out of it, he’s lost his boxers and has his hand wrapped around his cock. He strokes it slowly as he watches Jungkook slowly sink a finger into your cunt. You squirm slightly in his grip, letting out a soft whine as he pushes a second one in.
Jungkook pumps his finger in and out of you, the digits getting more shiny with your slick the longer he goes on. Your fingers dig into his forearm as your legs twitch. Mingyu can hear Jungkook chuckle and he wonders how he’s never noticed before.
Jungkook pulls his fingers out of you and you quickly push your panties off as Jungkook climbs off the bed. In a matter of seconds Jungkook is back on the bed, completely naked now. He grabs the camera as you situate yourself on the bed laying down.
The camera moves to show a POV shot of Jungkook fucking you in missionary. Mingyu watches intently as his best friend’s cock moves in and out of your cunt, his hand fucking his own cock at the same pace.
God this is so fucked up.
Even so, it doesn’t take Mingyu long to blow his load. It’s almost embarrassing. Before the stream is even finished Mingyu quickly logs off and gets up to clean himself.
Fuck.
You’re Sweetheart. The girl of his dreams is the other girl of his dreams. It’s been you all this time. Of course it has. That’s just Mingyu’s luck.
Oh God. He’s sexted with you. You’ve seen his dick. Does Jungkook know? He has to, right? There’s no way you’d cheat on him. You’d never do that to him. No, no, he has to know.
He has to.
“Mingyu, my man!” Jungkook slaps a hand onto Mingyu’s shoulder as soon as he approaches.
“Hey Kook.” Mingyu really hopes his voice doesn’t waver as he greets his best friend. He hasn’t seen Jungkook since the other day and this is the first time he’s facing him since finding out that well, he’s been jacking off to porn of him and his girlfriend for months now. 
“Look Gyu, we’ve got to talk about something.”
Oh no. Jungkook knows. He knows and he’s mad because Mingyu sexted his girlfriend and he’s ruined a three year long relationship.
“Talk? A-about what?”
“Not here. Let’s go back to my apartment. No one’s home right now.”
Though Mingyu is glad that he won’t have to face you, he’s still a bit concerned about what Jungkook has to talk to him about. And in private no less. There’s no way it’s not about what Mingyu thinks it’s about. But also, how could he know?
The trip to Jungkook’s apartment is eerily quiet and it isn’t until Jungkook closes and locks the door that he finally speaks up.
“You want anything to drink?”
“N-no, uhm, I’m good.”
“Cool. Come on, come sit on the couch with me.” Jungkook leads Mingyu into the living room and sits down. Mingyu cautiously follows.
“So
what did you uhm, want to talk about?” Mingyu stares down at his lap, trying not to make eye contact with his best friend.
“Mingyu
I want you to fuck my girlfriend.”
Mingyu thinks he blacks out for a moment.
What in the fuck did Jungkook just say to him?
“I- excuse me?”
“I want you to fuck my girlfriend. If we’re being honest, she’s kind of wanted to fuck you for a while now, and we’ve been talking about it and I thought I’d offer you into our bedroom.”
Mingyu knows he looks like an idiot right now, but he can’t believe what Jungkook is telling him. He has to be pulling his leg. He knows that Mingyu knows about the porn account and he’s making fun of him. There’s no other explanation. His best friend is the most jealous man on the planet, there is absolutely no way he’s offering Mingyu to fuck you. 
“Stop saying stupid stuff, Kook,” Mingyu grumbles. “That’s not funny to joke about. Does she know you’re saying this?”
“I’m not joking! Seriously. I know you’ve always had a crush on her, and now here’s your chance to be with her! I don’t know why you’re not jumping on this opportunity.”
Jungkook is right, any other time Mingyu might be ecstatic, but there’s no way Jungkook is being serious. “Because you’re just pranking me!” 
Jungkook sighs. “Okay, I didn’t want to bring it up, but I know you know about the porn account.”
Mingyu stiffens and his mouth goes dry. “I- I don’t know-”
“Yes you do. Sweetheart? I saw the photos left open on your phone the other day, and I know those are photos she only sent you.”
Mingyu’s face heats up and he’s sure he’s red. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know at first and I wasn’t planning on keeping watching and-”
“It’s okay. I literally just offered you to fuck my girlfriend.”
“But why? You hate when other guys even look at her.”
“Because it’s you, Gyu.” That’s all Jungkook answers, staring at Mingyu sincerely, like Mingyu truly is the only person he’d be comfortable sharing his girlfriend with.
Mingyu thinks about it for a moment. Could this really just be his dreams coming true? “I swear to god if you’re messing with me.”
“I promise I’m not. Look, just come over on Friday and you’ll see. Okay?”
“...Okay.”
Mingyu is nervous.
He’s still not completely sure that Jungkook is telling the truth, but if he is then that means Mingyu is going to fuck you tonight. 
His heart is beating intensely in his chest as he drives over to your apartment. It takes him nearly fifteen minutes to get the courage to exit his car and enter the building. Before he can fully chicken out he knocks on the door.
Jungkook is the one to open the door and he ushers Mingyu in before closing and locking the door behind him. Jungkook then leads Mingyu to the bedroom and Mingyu suddenly realizes that oh shit, this is real. This is real and he’s about to fuck you.
As soon as they enter the room, Mingyu feels his throat go dry and his pants tighten. You’re laid out on the bed, the same large bed from all of your photos and videos. The same bed that Mingyu has wished countless of times that it was him on it with you, or at least with Sweetheart.
You’re dressed in a red, see-through babydoll set. You stare up at Mingyu, your eyes already hooded with lust. Mingyu watches as your eyes trail down his figure, stopping at his crotch. Your eyes then move back up to Mingyu’s, making eye contact as you wink at him. Holy shit.
Mingyu feels Jungkook shove him forward slightly. “Go buddy, she’s all yours.”
It takes Mingyu a few more seconds to process. He truly can’t believe this is real. That you’re here and he’s allowed to touch you, to feel you, to let all of his fantasies run wild. The thing that finally get Mingyu in motion is you giggling.
“C’mon Gyu.” You’re motioning him towards you and Mingyu stumbles forward until he makes it to the bed. His heart is thumping so rapidly it wouldn’t be a surprise if he went into cardiac arrest.
Mingyu crawls onto the bed and over to you where you smile at him and reach forward. Mingyu crawls on top of you and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so he rests his weight on you. You move one of your hands to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb over it.
“Hi pretty boy. Are you excited?” Mingyu nods his head stupidly, his mind too focused on your touch. “Well are you going to kiss me?”
Finally, Mingyu’s mind seems to catch up and he surges forward. With your hand still on his cheek, you guide him to your lips. Right away, Mingyu’s desperation is apparent as he presses into you hard.
Kissing you is somehow even better than Mingyu expected. Your lips are soft and you smell so good. You hold onto Mingyu, kissing him deeper and deeper. If Mingyu is being honest he already feels a little drunk on you.
Mingyu swipes his tongue over your bottom lip and you open up, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. He can feel you smirk against his lips slightly before you start to suck on his tongue. It catches Mingyu off guard and he whines right into your mouth, his hips bucking forward against you.
Mingyu’s cock is already half hard just from kissing you, and he can’t help but rut his hips into you. You don’t seem to mind though, just threading your fingers through his hair. Your hands feel good against him and Mingyu allows his own hands to roam over you as well.
Your body is warm and soft under his palms as he drags them over your torso. The rough lace of the babydoll scratches at his hand as he cups your breast. The material is thin and Mingyu can feel the pebbling of your nipple through it. His fingertips brush over the bud once more and you gasp and arch your back into his touch. It only makes Mingyu needier.
Mingyu breaks the kiss so he can have a second to catch his breath. You don’t need the time though, and you don’t waste time pressing your lips to his jaw. You duck your head down as you slowly trail your kisses down the column on his neck, stopping to suck on the skin every so often.
As much as Mingyu loves you leaving marks all along his neck, he wants to put his mouth on you. He pushes off of you slightly to pull away.
He takes a moment to stare at you, laid out under him. Your chest rises and falls with your heavy breaths and you’re staring up at him with hooded eyes. Your lips are puffy from all of the kissing and your hair is mussed from rubbing against the pillow. You look gorgeous.
“Gyu,” you say, your voice slightly raspy, “you’re trembling.” You reach up to caress his face once again.
Mingyu didn’t notice it, but now that you’ve pointed it out, Mingyu realizes he’s shaking. His heart is pounding in his chest, like how he feels when he’s drank too much caffeine. 
“Are you nervous, puppy?” You ask Mingyu. The nickname makes him whine slightly. You’ve always called him that, but in this context it hit so differently.
Mingyu nods slightly. “I’ve- I’ve wanted this for so long. I don’t want to mess it up.”
You smile gently at him. “You won’t. I like you a lot Gyu, and I want this too. Don’t be nervous, okay? Just enjoy it.”
“O-okay,” Mingyu tells you.
“Now, can I take this off of you?” Your fingers play with the hem of Mingyu’s shirt and he nods. You help him tug the shirt off, revealing his bare torso.
If Mingyu is proud of one thing, it’s his physique, and you seem to appreciate it as well as you trail your fingers down his chest and abs, feeling the grooves of his muscles under your fingertips.
Mingyu is still shaking slightly, but he leans down to start pressing kisses to your chest. Your boobs are soft under his mouth as he starts to suck the subtle skin into his mouth.
There’s a small ribbon holding the front of your lingerie together and Mingyu tugs at the bow until it unties and the fabric falls away from your body, exposing your bare tits to him. Your tits look delicious and Mingyu cups one in his hand and brings his mouth to it. His lips suck on your nipple, his tongue flicking at it every so often.
Your body writhes under him as your fingers dig into his shoulder muscles. Mingyu’s cock is hard and straining in his pants and he so desperately wants to touch himself but also doesn’t want to pull any of his attention from you.
Mingyu’s hands move down your torso even further, his hands running over your waist and down to your hips. He balls the fabric of your panties in his fist, tugging at the lace slightly.
“F-fuck you’re perfect,” Mingyu mumbles into your chest before going back to mouthing at your tits. 
Your hips buck up slightly and Mingyu drags one of his hands from his hips to press against your clothes slit. You’ve soaked through your panties and Mingyu moans into your skin at how wet you’ve gotten. He’s watched you touch yourself a million times and has seen how wet you get, but feeling it for himself makes his mind go fuzzy. His fingers push against your panties, slightly pushing them into you, collecting more of your arousal. 
“G-gyu, please, need you.”
Mingyu pulls his mouth off of you to sit back. He looks over to the side, acknowledging Jungkook for the first time since he’s crawled onto the bed. His best friend is seated on a plush chair in the corner of the room, his eyes trained on where you and Mingyu are on the bed. 
Jungkook makes eye contact with Mingyu before smirking and nodding slightly. “Go on Gyu, give her what she wants.”
With Jungkook approval, Mingyu hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down your legs, leaving you fully unclothed. Your legs part and Mingyu can see how slick your pussy really is.
Your cunt looks even prettier in person and Mingyu grabs your thighs and pushes them even further apart so he can slot his shoulders between them. He trails kisses along your inner thigh, move his mouth closer to your sopping heat. Mingyu hesitates slightly, before finally pushing forward and swiping his tongue through your folds.
Your arousal coats his tongue in a thick layer and Mingyu moans into your pussy at the taste. Your cunt is warm as Mingyu presses his face between your thighs, wrapping his lips around your clit. He tongues at the bud, stimulating you as you fist the sheets under you.
Mingyu can’t count the number of times he’s dreamt of this very scenario. His hands tighten their grip on your thighs as he doubles his efforts. His lips are restless as they play with your clit. Your moans are muffled above Mingyu’s head and they encourage Mingyu to keep going.
He can feel his chin already messy with your slick as he makes out with your cunt. His tongue intermittently darts out, lapping at your entrance. Mingyu’s brain gets more and more muddled as he continues to eat you out, already too lost in pleasure.
Mingyu squeezes his hand between his face and the bed so he can prod his fingertips against your folds. He traces your entrance before finally pushing a finger into you. Your cunt is warm and wet around his finger and he’s able to push a second one in as well.
His mouth doesn’t stop sucking on your clit as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of you. His digits drag against your walls, pressing into you, looking for your sweet spot.
As Mingyu fingers you, his hips rut against the mattress, humping the bed to the rhythm of his fingers. His cock is leaking inside of his boxers and he’s relieved to have at least some kind of pressure against him. Mingyu’s letting out soft whines that mix with your own moans.
Your cunt is clenching around Mingyu’s fingers and he pushes a third one into you. His fingers curl into you and you whine, reaching down to pull at Mingyu’s hair. Mingyu knows that he’s found your sweet spot and he continues to abuse the spot, leaving you a mess of moans.
Mingyu’s lips suck hard on your clit, shaking his head back and forth against you. Your body tenses under him as you cry out, your legs shaking as you reach your high. Mingyu helps you through it until you fall limp to the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. 
Mingyu finally pulls his mouth away from you, panting himself as he wipes your slick off his chin. His whole body feels warm from lust. He needs more of you.
“Such a good boy,” you mumble. 
“Take your pants off Mingyu.” The voice startles Mingyu for a moment, before he realizes that Jungkook’s still in the room. When he glances over, his best friend looks the same as earlier, just now rubbing himself through his pants. Mingyu nods and starts to undo his belt, before he’s stopped by your protests.
“Let me help.” You move to stick on your knees, reaching over to undo Mingyu’s belt for him. When the belt is discarded on the floor, you start to work on his jeans. Mingyu can feel his cock twitching desperately as you slowly unzip his pants.
You lean down and start to trail kisses down his happy trail before putting your mouth directly on his bulge through his boxers. While still mouthing at him, you push his jeans down until they’re out of the way. Mingyu’s dick strains against his underwear which are already slightly damp from his precum.
You hook your fingers into Mingyu’s waistband before pulling his boxers down, letting his dick spring completely free from all confines. Mingyu helps you fully remove his clothing before you wrap your hand around his length, pumping slightly.
“Fuck Gyu, it’s so pretty.” You lean down and lick at his slit, collecting his precum in your mouth. “What do you want to do with it? Want it here?” You kiss his tip again. “Or here?” You sit back up and move forward to rub your pussy against his cock.
The idea of your lips wrapping around his cock, choking down his length makes Mingyu feel like a mad man, and under any other circumstances he would jump on the chance, but if he’s being honest he feels like he’s about to burst any minute now and needs to get inside of you.
“T-this one,” Mingyu whines out as you continue to rub his head between your swollen pussy lips.
“Good, I was hoping you’d say that.” You move away from Mingyu, only to lie back down on the bed and spread your legs, inviting Mingyu to come forward.
Your cunt is shiny with your arousal and your pussy lips are swollen from Mingyu eating you out. It’s nothing Mingyu hasn’t seen before, but now seeing it up close and in person has Mingyu mesmerized. He moves forward, hovering over you as his cock rubs up against your folds.
He leans down to suck at one of your tits again, busying his mouth as he lines the tip of his cock up to your entrance. He can feel your slick on his head as he slowly starts to push in. Mingyu whimpers into your chest, his hands clenched on your hips, as he starts to rut into you. His cock stretches out your walls and it takes him a moment to get all the way inside of you.
After a moment he bottoms out, his cock pushed all the way into your tight, warm walls. Mingyu’s never felt something so heavenly in his life. His cock is twitching with excitement as he drools precum into you. Your walls flutter around him as you adjust to his size and Mingyu has to put all his focus on your tits in his mouth so he doesn’t go completely mad at the feeling.
It doesn’t take long for you to start pawing at Mingyu.
“Please move,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”
Mingyu’s response is muffled against your chest as he pulls his hips back before slamming them back into you. He repeats the action over and over again until he’s thrusting into you in a quick rhythm. You’re panting as you dig your fingers into Mingyu’s shoulders. 
With each thrust Mingyu buries deeper and deeper inside of you. He finally pulls his mouth off your tits to sit up, adjusting his hold on you so he can pound even harder into you. From this new angle Mingyu looks down at you. Your head is thrown back and your eyes are closed, completely lost in your pleasure.
Your tits bounce with each thrust and Mingyu realizes he’s not going to last much longer at this rate. He pushes your legs forward against your chest, spreading your pussy more as he fucks you even harder than  before. Your moans grow frantic as you fist the sheets in your fingers.
“G-gonna cum,” Mingyu mutters. His cock is throbbing, desperately needed to find release.
“D-do it inside,” you whine. “Need your cum in me.”
Mingyu glances over at Jungkook, who’s eyes are still trained on the two of you. He’s stroking his own cock, which is starting to pearl at the tip.
“Don’t make her wait.”
That’s all Mingyu needs before his hips are stuttering inside of you and he’s painting your inside white with his cum. Mingyu’s whole body is coursing with pleasure and he thinks he whites out slightly. When he’s completely come down from his high he pulls out of you, his body slumps down against the bed beside you.
Mingyu takes a moment to recollect himself, trying to clear his mind from his post nut haze. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so good in his life.
When Mingyu opens his eyes again he’s surprised to see Jungkook has moved closer. Jungkook has stuffed himself back into his pants, but the bulge it leaves is still apparent. He stands next to the bed, looming over you as his hand rubs at your pussy. Mingyu watches with awe as his best friend rubs at your clit. Your eyes are closed against as you buck your hips into Jungkook’s touch.
“You made quite the mess,” Jungkook says, addressing Mingyu. Mingyu doesn’t look at him though, his eyes still trained on Jungkook’s hand on your pussy.
Mingyu’s cum is leaking out of your cunt and onto the bed and Jungkook scoops it up with his fingers before pushing it right back inside of you. You gasp but otherwise accept the intrusion. The sight alone makes Mingyu’s cock twitch to life.
“Did her pussy make you feel good, pup?” Jungkook continues. 
And shit well, Mingyu’s never been attracted to his best friend, or any man for that matter, but the sight of Jungkook fingering Mingyu’s cum back into his girlfriend while calling Mingyu a pup definitely makes his cock twitch.
Mingyu watches intently as your body starts to shake, your back arching up off the bed as you whine. Mingyu has watched your videos enough to know what you look like when you’re cumming and he watches as you fall apart on Jungkook’s hand.
Your hand reaches down to grab his wrist, stopping his motions.
“Sensitive,” you mumble. Mingyu just expects you to leave it at that but he’s sorely wrong as he watches you pull Jungkook’s fingers to your mouth, sucking your juices and Mingyu’s seed off of them. You’re making intense eye contact with your boyfriend as you do so, your tongue swirling around the digits, and Mingyu starts to feel like he’s witnessing something way too personal for him to be there.
When Jungkook’s fingers have been thoroughly cleaned by your tongue, you pop your mouth off his hand and start to paw at his pants. You pull him closer, your fingers fumbling with the zipper of his pants as you attempt to strip your boyfriend down.
“Insatiable little thing,” Jungkook smirks as he quells your struggle and frees his cock for you. You don’t waste a moment, leaning forward to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.
Jungkook lets out a low groan and he automatically reaches down to push the back of your head further down onto his cock. Mingyu watches the bob of your head as Jungkook’s dick disappears farther and farther down your throat.
There’s a bit of saliva dripping down your lips, making a mess of both you and Jungkook. The wet sound of your mouth and the slight gag from Jungkook’s length hitting the back of your throat fills the room, making everything seem even more erotic and dirty. Mingyu feels a bit perverted, just laying next to you watching, but a part of him knows that you and Jungkook want him to see this.
This whole experience is new to Mingyu, and he’s taking in every moment that he can. As Sweetheart you never share any part of your face, and there’s a delight that fills Mingyu knowing he’s now the only person besides Jungkook that has seen what you look like with your lips wrapped around a cock, gagging on the length. It’s almost too hot to handle.
From the angle Mingyu’s at he has the perfect view of your pussy. Your lips are spread slightly, still shiny with slick, as you arch your back. Mingyu thinks about you being spit roasted between him and Jungkook. Your mouth working diligently at Jungkook, while your pussy squeezes the life out of Mingyu.
The thought is too good to be true though, and Mingyu embarrassingly still hasn't recovered from his first orgasm. That doesn’t stop Mingyu from imagining it though, staring at your juicy pussy as he does so.
“Fuck,” Mingyu hears Jungkook hiss. He looks up to see Jungkook’s forearms tenses as they grip onto your hair tight, helping you bob your head up and down. His head is tilted back and his eyes are squeezed shut as his hips shallowly thrust into your mouth.
Mingyu’s never been interested in seeing his best friend cum, but in this moment, he can’t take his eyes off of him. It only takes a few more bobs of your head and Jungkook is shuddering as he holds you down against him, your lips at the base of his cock.
When it’s clear Jungkook is finally done spilling into you, he releases his grip on you, allowing you to breathe properly. Your mouth is full of Jungkook’s cum and some of it starts to drip down your chin and fall right onto your tits. You giggle as you scoop it up and put it right back into your mouth.
“Can’t waste a drop, right?” You say to Mingyu, winking at him. “Still doing good there, big boy?”
“Y-yeah,” Mingyu stutters out, his voice hoarse from panting so hard earlier.
“Good, because I’m just feeling sooo empty and I would love if my two handsome boys could fill me up.” You spread your legs again, reaching down to push your puffy folds apart with two fingers. “Would you boys do that for me?”
Mingyu doesn’t understand how you have so much energy after being eaten out, fucked, fingered, and then sucking a dick, but he has to admit it’s incredibly hot and definitely doing it for him.
You move from where you’re laying and you crawl over to Mingyu, straddling his lap and pinning him to the bed. He can feel your heat press up against his cock and you grind down slightly and you lean in to whisper into Mingyu’s ear.
“Will you let me ride you, puppy? Use your fat cock to get myself off?” Your voice is somehow a mix of innocent and sultry at the same time and Mingyu involuntarily bucks his hips up against you. You chuckle slightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
You lift yourself up off of Mingyu slightly, only to reach down and line his cock up to your pussy. Your folds wrap around his head before you sink down, flushing your hips to his. Mingyu whines, his hands flying up to grip your waist tightly.
Mingyu only pulled out a few minutes ago, and yet he missed the feeling of your pussy around him. Your walls are warm and tight and Mingyu swears you’re clenching down on him on purpose. 
“Mm, you fill me up so nicely,” you moan. You slowly start to bounce in his lap, lifting yourself up and down his cock. Your hands are planted firmly on Mingyu’s chest, using him as leverage. Mingyu pathetically helps guide you up and down, too distracted by how sexy you look like this. 
Your skin is shiny with a light sheen of sweat and what Mingyu also thinks might just be a post-orgasm glow. Your naked body is warm and tantalizing as you roll your hips against Mingyu’s. You’re staring down at him, your eyes trained on Mingyu’s face as you smirk at him. It’s all almost too much for him.
When it’s clear that you’re satisfied with Mingyu, you lean forward, placing your tits right above Mingyu’s head. He can’t help himself, closing the rest of the distance to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. You gasp slightly, reaching down to cup Mingyu’s jaw.
“F-fuck,” you shudder out. “C’mon Kookie. Need you in me too.”
Mingyu can feel Jungkook climb onto the bed, and he’s thankful that you two own such a large bed or he doesn’t think all three of you would fit comfortably. Jungkook positions himself behind you, hovering over Mingyu’s legs.
Mingyu can feel you jolt slightly as Jungkook starts to open you up. You bury your free hand in Mingyu’s hair, tugging slightly. Mingyu doesn’t mind though, in fact he whimpers slightly against your breast.
Mingyu can hear the sound of Jungkook pressing a kiss against your skin before he spits and then a few seconds later you gasp. Mingyu can feel the bulge of Jungkook pressing into you, stuffing your other hole full of his cock.
“S-shit, you feel so good,” you whine. “Baby, please move.”
Your walls move as Jungkook slides out of you, only to slam right back into you. Your body lurches forward slightly, and you tighten your grip on Mingyu. Slowly Jungkook starts to build up his pace, until he’s fucking into you at a steady rhythm. 
Mingyu takes this as his time to start thrusting up into you as well. He does his best to match Jungkook’s pace, as you start to grind down against both of them. Despite being completely composed a few moments ago, you’ve turned into a complete mess with two dicks inside of you. All you can get out is moans and whines and a few noncoherent sentences as you hold onto Mingyu like your life depends on it.
Your back arches as Mingyu tightens his grip on you, doing his best to fuck into you as hard as he can. Your walls are already spasming against him, your body trembling with pleasure. Over your shoulder Mingyu can see Jungkook and he doesn’t think his best friend has ever looked as good as he does right now. His hair is pushed back and his face is completely focused as he stares down at your ass, watching how his and Mingyu’s cocks split you open.
Above him, you bury your face into Mingyu’s neck, deciding to bite and suck at his skin to muffle your moans. Your body is on fire atop of him and Mingyu wraps his arms around your waist to pull you further against him, using the new grip to help his thrusts.
The whole situation seems so erotic, your gorgeous bare body pressed into his as he and his best friend destroy your holes. Mingyu can feel the blood pumping in his cock as his whole body starts to tingle.
“G-gonna cum,” he stutters out. “P-please let me c-cum in you.”
“Me too,” you mumble into his neck. “Fuck, cum all inside me. Fill me up.”
You move your mouth from Mingyu’s neck to his lips. You kiss him desperately, licking into his mouth as you cup his face.
“Go on both of you,” Jungkook finally pipes up, his voice deep and sultry. “Cum.”
Mingyu’s whole body shakes as he lets himself go, spilling right into your waiting pussy. It doesn’t stay there long though, as you quickly lift yourself up off of Mingyu, your legs trembling as a stream of liquid gushes out of you and right onto Mingyu’s lap. You break your mouth off of Mingyu’s so you can moan as you finish squirting.
Behind you, Jungkook is still fucking into you, quick and hard. You can’t hold yourself up anymore though, and you slump against Mingyu. Mingyu’s still out of it as well, and he absentmindedly rubs your back as Jungkook grunts, finishing inside of you as well. 
Jungkook pulls out of you and leans down to kiss the small of your back before walking into the connected bathroom. You press a few more kisses to the corner of Mingyu’s mouth before rolling off of him. Jungkook walks back in with towels and hands one to Mingyu before starting to clean you off.
Mingyu wipes his lower half off before standing up, his legs slightly giving out on him before he gains his footing again. Mingyu feels like he’s moving in slow motion, his brain still slightly fuzzy. 
Mingyu starts to pull his clothes back on as you and Jungkook do the same. Mingyu’s not quite sure what to do as he stands in the corner of the room, watching as Jungkook starts to strip the bed of the sheets. It's a bit weird to see the large bed without the now iconic white sheets on it.
The thought of just slipping out the front door crosses Mingyu’s mind, and he’s heavily considering it, when he feels someone wrap their arms around his waist.
“So, did you have fun?” You ask Mingyu. You’re staring at him with wide eyes and a grin. 
“Y-yeah! Thanks for uh, letting me do this,” Mingyu responds.
“Of course! I’m wasn't joking Mingyu, I do really like you.”
The confession makes Mingyu’s heart flutter. Realistically, he knows that you’re with Jungkook and nothing will happen from this, but it’s still nice to know he’s not a complete fool or being so head over heels for you.
“She’s been talking about this since your little Twitter conversation,” Jungkook says as he walks back into the room from putting the sheets in the washing machine. “I’d be a little jealous if it wasn’t you, Gyu.”
“You know who I also think would really like you?” You ask, shooting Jungkook a mischievous look. “My viewers. They would love you. Don’t you think so Kookie?”
Jungkook just smirks. “You have to ask him first.”
“What about it Gyu? Wanna become a permanent stample on the Sweetheart page?” You hug Mingyu a bit tighter.
The idea drives Mingyu a little wild. Going from watching your content to being in it? Being able to fuck you on a regular basis? 
“I- that sounds
yeah, I would,” Mingyu stutters out and you giggle.
“Yay! Looks like you have a competition Kook,” you smirk at your boyfriend.
“Competition?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Not when it’s Mingyu. I think both of us are going to have lots of fun with him. Won’t we pup?” 
You and Jungkook both send Mingyu matching grins and Mingyu feels the excitement grow in him. Oh yeah, he’s going to have a lot of fun.
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always-just-red · 4 months ago
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A/N: So I threatened a while back to write MC arresting Sylus since he literally won’t shut up about it. Thought this would be a silly fic but it ended up an angst-driven exploration of how his time with MC is probably finite and ill-fated?? Anyway Sylus is too soft for this, I’m sorryyyy (Sy I love you! I would never do this to you! ‘Didn’t it come from your imagination, though?’ Ssshhhh you don’t know what you’re saying!! đŸ„°)
To Remain Silent
Sylus x Reader đŸ©ž
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Summary: Sylus has told you to arrest him one too many times...
Genre: Emotional rollercoaster honestly? Some angst, some comfort (and a lil spice for flavour)
Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, vaguely established relationship, gets a little steamy at the end (mostly kissing tbh), artistic licence applied liberally since this would be WAY too risky for MC to actually attempt ïżœïżœïżœïżœđŸ˜­
| Word count: 2.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!
Sylus knows this isn’t real.
You watch him through the glass of his cell, and the subtle tint to it lets you know that he can’t watch you back. He’s sat on the single bench inside, leaning against the far wall, his long legs stretched out before him. His hands are cuffed— tucked away behind his back— but he still looks comfortable. More than comfortable: at ease. At home. Bored.
“You think I can’t feel those pretty little eyes of yours on me?” he mutters, head back, eyes closed. “I’m at your mercy, kitten. Are you really only going to look?”
You tap a button on the glass. “You should start taking this seriously.”
He smiles at the sound of your voice, but his eyes don’t open; there’s still nothing to see. “I’m taking it very seriously, sweetie.”
“I don’t think you are.”
The smile turns even more smug: a confession, all by itself. He sits up and leans forward, like someone who’s found a change of conversation to be interesting. His eyes open— managing to find you, somehow, and— can he see you? No. It’s an educated guess, he’s just selling it with confidence.
Leisurely, he rises from his seat and saunters over to the glass. “Let me see you,” he orders, then bargains: “Please? This is so very—” he toes the division— “one-sided.”
You can’t look him in the eyes, can you? This is hard enough without the windows to your soul baring your heart and your mind to him, like they always do. You should have worn those sunglasses he bought you for that undercover assignment. This is what they’re for, right? Hiding.
With a circular swipe of your finger, the glass before you clears and Sylus meets your gaze.
“Hi,” he teases.
You fold your arms across your chest. “Hey.”
“This is quite some effort you’ve gone to, kitten. And all for me, no less.”
“What effort?” you dismiss plainly. “You practically slapped those handcuffs on yourself.”
It’s not an exaggeration: from the cuffs to the ride here, not a single stage of his arrest has been resisted. The closest he’s gotten to a lack of cooperation was when you’d first restrained and dragged him from his study, where he’d been inclined to point out that the bedroom was the other way.
“Well, I didn’t want to cause a fuss,” he smirks. One of his hands is brought forward, and his handcuffs now hang uselessly from a finger. “Tell me,” he says, letting them swing as he holds your gaze, “what am I to expect now I’ve been so masterfully captured?”
You glance at the restraints, unmoved. “That isn’t for me to decide.”
A door behind you slides open, and— right on time— an altogether more impressive presence joins you before the cell. Sylus glances her up and down as the click of her heeled boots come to a stop; he has never met your captain, but he knows her face.
“You really cashed in all your favours, didn’t you, sweetie?” he observes. He turns to address the woman beside you: “We haven’t been introduced. I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Jenna interrupts, her tone as incorruptible as yours.
Sylus’s arm lifts, resting on the glass above you so he can tower over you, despite the partition. “Is that right?” he purrs absent-mindedly, dropping his head so he can speak into your ear. “Sweetie
 I thought you could keep a secret.”
He’s goading you into your usual game, but the stakes don’t interest you. “You were wrong.”
You’re at your own table, dealing your own cards. Does he want to play? You think he might. His lips are curving at the delicious prospect of a challenge. You’ve given him a taste of it. He wants more.
Jenna is studying her clipboard, acting oblivious. She senses the impasse. Asks Sylus: “Do you know why you’re here?”
He huffs impatiently. “Enlighten me.”
“Sylus,” you scold.
Red eyes widen a fraction.
You see it.
Good.


Sylus thinks this might be real.
You said his name. His real name: the one with sharp, bloody strings attached. The one on all the posters. The one in your precious Association’s archives, linked to stacks of files and crime scene photos, most of which he isn’t even responsible for.
Sylus. You said: Sylus. 
It was worthy of a grand reveal— the sort of plot twist that delivered the suspense of so many thrillers— but here you are, speaking it like it’s nothing. Not a slip of the tongue; not a mistake. And it’s different here. He’s not your Sylus. He’s theirs.
Their murderer. Their monster. Their convenient little scapegoat for everything dark and unholy.
The captain is reading him a list, reeling off every crime— each alleged sin. As if he needs a reminder. As if all the time in the world could ever let him forget. “Needless to say, Mr Sylus,” she summarises, “due to the nature of these crimes, you may prove exempt from our standard procedures. A case like this is
 unprecedented. Onychinus has much to answer for. You have much to answer for.”
Sylus hasn’t really been listening; it’s all senseless bureaucracy. “You have the wrong man,” he says, because whatever you’re doing— whatever stunt this is— a confession is sure to derail it. You know that, don’t you? You must be counting on it: holding that guilty breath of yours and hoping he’s smart enough to not be Sylus.
You don’t look worried in the slightest. You must have an awful lot of faith in him.
He studies you, waiting for a small, deliberate smile or a moment of weakness. Give him a sign, don’t give him a sign— it doesn’t matter; he’ll find one. His intentions must be clearer than yours, because you step up to the glass to face him.
Do it, your silence says, even though the rest of you is illegible. You want to look? Look.
His eye could light like a crimson fire— could burn the truth out of you— but it won’t. It’s a promise he made what feels like a lifetime ago, not long after you’d met: Your thoughts and desires are yours to give, not his to take.
Even here. Even now. He’s a man of his word, after all.
Impressed? You smile faintly, but there’s no warmth to it. “Captain,” you speak, your eyes not leaving his, “can you give us a minute? Please?”
“Of course,” the woman answers with a nod.
Sylus does not see her go. He hears it: the retreating rhythm of her shoes. He feels it: it’s just the two of you, alone again. Well, the two of you and that ‘hidden’ camera in the far corner of the room. “Whatever game this is,” he grins good-naturedly, his teeth gritted, “it stops. Now.”
“It’s not a game, Sylus. I told you to take this seriously.”
“What are you doing?” he snaps, and that good-natured grin didn’t last very long. 
Your hands land on your hips. “My job.” When he scoffs, you continue: “Did you really think this would end any other way? After everything you’ve done?”
He laughs and it’s deeply sardonic. He’s no saint— to try to convince you he was would be a crime worthy of punishments far worse than this. But you know him. You know the line and what stands on each side of it: everything he’s done, yes, and everything he’s been made to take the fall for.
You wouldn’t do this to him. Would you? “You want to play pretend? Fine,” he hisses. He wants to wrap his Evol around that godforsaken camera and annihilate it. “You caught the big, bad boss of Onychinus— congratulations, sweetie. Sure. Let’s say that’s who I am. A man like that has power, right? So what’s to keep him— me— from escaping? Right now?”
“You’re not going to leave, Sylus. Wanna know why?”
He’s sure you’re going to tell him, and you do:
“Because you’re all talk. All smoke and mirrors. You want to go? Go. But there’s not a single person in this building who wouldn’t give their life to bring you back. Someone will catch up to you eventually, and what then?”
“I’ll have a lot of fun, I imagine.”
“You’ll do nothing,” you correct. “Because those people out there? They’re my friends. My family. You hurt them? You hurt me. Make all the threats you want, Sylus— we both know the truth.”
He towers over you, still, but it’s hard not to shrink at your next words:
“You don’t have it in you.”
Your eyes are sharp: whetted with resentment. Sylus is your reflection— your worthy opponent, always— but he just can’t look at you like that.
There’s a quiet hiss as you slide a finger over the cell’s control panel. White, neon light carves through the glass partition: two vertical lines that bleed upwards, either side of him, before bending to meet each-other. The glass between them shimmers, then fades.
Sylus stands on the precipice of the doorway, cool air crawling past him. He stares up at the camera, then down at you. Your arms have folded again as you watch him— a narrative of apathy.
“How about it, Sylus?” you ask bitterly. “Still think you can outrun fate?”
“No.” Not since it started wearing your face. Fate is you, putting a bullet in his heart, and him, waking up so you can do it over and over again. Maybe this is real. Maybe it isn’t. “What do you want from me?” he entreats softly, because you’ll get it— either way.
“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer, and your hand shoots out, grasping a fistful of his shirt. You use it to drag him out of the cell, closer, lower, so that his face is mere inches from yours.
“No,” he repeats. “Say it.”
Your eyes burn like pyres: so dangerous, so beautiful, so suited to being the death of him. “I want you—” you begin, as they flit briefly to his lips— “to tell me
”
“What?”
“How you cheat at kitty cards.”
Oh. Oh.
You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?
Sure enough, you drop his shirt and burst into laughter— irrepressibly you again. The fire in your eyes has simmered down into something warm, safe, and comfortable, and— gods— you’re even crying. You’re doubled over, holding your stomach as though it hurts. You lift a hand to wipe your wet cheek. “Your face,” you get out between gasps, “oh, your face!”
Yours is not the only laughter, but it’s the only laughter Sylus hears.
“We so got you, Skye!” Tara’s vaguely familiar voice resounds from an intercom.
There’s some confusing static with it— more tittering voices— and Sylus suspects he’s found himself the star of your colleagues’ after-work entertainment. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks up at the camera. “Is the whole office—”
“Yeah,” you manage, wiping away another tear. “Figured it would be good for morale. Good practice, too.”
“Practice?”
“Mmhmm,” you confirm with a hum. You’ve apparently gotten a handle on the hilarity of the situation, because you approach him with something close to composure. Meditatively, you smooth down the fabric of his shirt. Straighten his collar. “For when we catch the real Sylus one day.”
He captures your wrists; that’s a lot of tenderness for someone who just tried to give him a heart attack. Maybe he’s a little too rough, because you pout at him in a way that makes him instantly soften his grip.
“You ok, Skye?” you enquire with an ironic smile and an adorable tilt of your head.
His thumbs are feathering over your pulse points, and slowly, he leans in to deliver a message, just for you: “If I say no, will you make it up to me?”


Sylus knows this is real.
His mouth is on yours and it’s relentless, desperate; you made him wait for it. How long has he been wanting to trap you against the nearest wall, just like this, so he can kiss you until he forgets just how cold you can be? 
He’s been very patient. He didn’t roll his eyes or utter a word of complaint when you’d dragged him to join your colleagues for dinner. It was your victory party, your ‘I made you look like an idiot’ party, but he was his usual, charming self, and your friends all adored him for it. They’d spun him the tale of his ‘arrest’— the planning, the preparation, and your lightbulb moment: 
“Hey, guys, have you ever thought about how Skye kinda looks like Sylus?”
Only he could understand how wickedly clever it was. His eyes had sought yours as he listened, lazy, content, and so obviously biding his time. You’d smiled at him. He’d smiled back. 
And he’d stayed smiling, even after the party was over and you’d had to walk a slightly-tipsy Tara home. She’d refused a taxi, insisted Sylus escort her— oh, and you could come, too! He’d lent her his arm: humoured every squeeze and chuckled at each remark about the size of it. You’d had to swat her away, in the end.
“I’m just teasing, y’know?” she’d giggled as the three of you arrived at her front door. “Skye knows I’m just teasing. You’re such a sweetheart, Skye. Imagine! You— the leader of Onychinus!”
She’d laughed, much too loud for such a quiet street, and with a less-than-subtle wink, left the two of you alone. Which is how you’d ended up here, in an alley around the back of her building, because it was Sylus’s turn to drag you somewhere. 
His attentions have moved lower; there’s a subtle clink as his fingers find the clasp of your shirt collar and he peels it back, exposing your neck. His lips leave yours, trailing down, down— past the line of your jaw and over the soft, vulnerable column of your throat. You gasp as he brushes over a sensitive spot, and you could swear you feel him smile.
He’s always been passionate, but this is a different fire, fuelled by something you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to:
Relief. 
“Sy,” you murmur breathlessly, your hand in his hair, tugging gently. “Sy, stop.” 
“Mmm?” he acquiesces, voice sinfully low as the cold evening air takes his place kissing your neck. His eyes shine like blood spilt in the dead of night— lingering on you. He looks drunk.
You lift a hand to cup his face and run your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Sylus. You know that, right?”
Those dark eyes find clarity with your words, full of apprehension for just how naive you can be. The future will turn on you just as quickly as a wild animal someone boasts about having tamed, and aren’t you foolish, thinking you can control something like that? 
Besides, that’s his job.
“I know,” he says like he’s supposed to— ever the martyr, following the script. He goes to nuzzle into you again, but your hand is still tight in his hair and he groans as you use it to pull him back. 
“I mean it,” you reassert, forcing him to look at you. You don’t care that it’s ridiculous. You don’t care that fate is so hot on your heels that you have to keep running. You’re tired. He’s even more tired.
Isn’t it nice to stop and catch your breath?
Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant. 
The world can wait; he wants to punish you first. 
“Do you really want to know—” he distracts as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck again— “how I cheat at kitty cards?”
The pad of his finger is chasing the path of his mouth; it tickles. You whine: “Tell me later, Sy.”
“Ok,” he breathes against you.
Later. There’ll be a later.
Won’t there?
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satosugusandwich · 1 year ago
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His Angel and His Brat
Part 1!!! Part 2
Hard!Dom!Geto x Brat!Gojo x obedient!afab!reader
(I also try to write my fics to be racially ambiguous! No mention of skin tone or hair type!)
Summary: Gojo is a mega-brat to y/n and Suguru and likes to push buttons cuz he can so Suguru decides to overstimulate Gojo until he thinks he’s broken. (Key word: thinks.) To add to Gojo’s humiliation, he ensures that the reader is getting princess treatment while watching Gojo suffer endlessly. But, of course, things don’t always go as planned with Satoru Gojo.
CW and whatnots: Overstimulation, vibrators, cuffs, finger sucking, condescending!geto, usage of the word “cock”, gojo’s boundless stamina and cocky attitude, anal play, cum licking (off the floor and gojos pp) praise, cocksucking, angel ass reader that ends up in trouble cuz gojo can’t shut his mouth, geto is actually so mean to gojo but so soft cuz he’s actually a teddy bear dw. Use of “brat, princess, angel.” There will be aftercare in future parts cuz imagine leaving pathetic satoru a cum drenched mess. Poor baby. :(((
There will be additional tags in future parts. This is how I cope with ch 236.
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Suguru runs his thumb along your bottom lip, licking his own lips while you whimper. Your pretty eyes fixated on his blushing face and half-lidded eyes. He looks at you with so much lust and is so gentle with you, just so in love with how much you please him and how willing you are to do what he wants. You eagerly await him and his orders, always ready to obey.
But.
“Suguru!”
Satoru’s cry makes his face go from pure admiration to utterly sadistic. “Satoru.” He says, looking at the man to the right of you, the same man that’s panting and whining as the vibrator in his tight hole runs relentlessly. “Jealously doesn’t look very good on you.” He grins and hits a button on the small remote he holds in his hand that isn’t occupied with your mouth.
“Fuck—FUCK!” Satoru’s eyes clench shut, the whirring sound coming from his bottom getting faster and bit more high pitched. You’re grateful you aren’t in his position, you don’t know if you could handle Suguru having full control of how much pleasure you get to feel. Especially if that pleasure is ongoing
 and nonstop.
Satoru looked unusually pathetic and
 weak. It’s insane to think that the so called strongest sorcerer, the cocky, the arrogant, the man on top, bends to the will of his pretty best friend. Suguru’s change in character comes as a shock too. The sweet, soft-spoken, gentle, and empathetic sorcerer is now grinning down at his partner, showing no mercy, no kindness, and is only sending Satoru into deeper throes of overwhelming pleasure. You almost didn’t want to look at Satoru, what if Suguru surmised you wanted the same treatment. Would he show you mercy?
“Now, now,” Suguru muses, “if you can beg me properly, I’ll stop your torment. And of course you’ll need to apologize to Y/n and I for being such an impatient little shit.” He chuckles softly and withdraws his thumb from your mouth. “She’s being so well-behaved while you whine and whine and cry and cry about how much it is.” He mocks him, furrowing his eyebrows together in a false pity. “I suppose I should expect it, after all, you’ve cum how many times? That pressure against—“ Suguru crouches as he speaks “—your prostate—“ he runs the tip of his fingers up Satoru’s base “—it’s been nonstop for 30 minutes now.”
You can’t help but watch as Suguru’s hand starts to stroke Satoru now, giving expert attention to his neglected yet tortured cock. Suguru notices how you eyeball his actions and can’t help but smile wider.
“Ah, do you feel left out?” His false pity changes back to his gentle expression. “It’s alright, princess, why don’t you show Satoru how impressed you are with his stamina. Give him a little reward?”
Suguru is evil.
“I don’t think he could take it, Sugu.” You answer honestly.
He looks a bit disappointed but he relents his ministrations. “I suppose you’re right. But he still owes us an apology before his punishment ends.”
You nod and meet Satoru’s eyes. He can barely speak as his next orgasm approaches. “I-I’m so—“ his body is shaking. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been so—Suguru—so impatient! Please, I’m so so soo!!! So sorry!” He’s almost in tears now, you can tell Suguru is even beginning to feel pity for his best friend and his brat.
“Ahh
 cum one more time and I’ll take it out. Show me you deserve mercy by pleading. Plead for mercy.” Suguru’s fingers tug at your nipples now, clearly losing interest in Satoru’s torment. You know that you aren’t being punished, but seeing Suguru like this
 makes you a little weary.
“Please please!” Satoru repeats the word over and over. “I’m so sorry! Please, mercy!” He keeps prattling on, thrusting into the air as he struggles to keep together.
“Y/n.” Suguru looks to you. “Clean up his next mess for me. Lick his cock clean and then it’ll be your turn.”
Satoru starts to mumble and moan out different variations of thank yous and Suguru’s name as he reaches his final high. And when he cums, It’s a mess. Semen spills from his cock and your immediately there to catch it. Suguru’s eyes widen, absolutely loving your eagerness to take his cum down your throat.
“Good boy, good girl.” He pets your head and clicks the toy off, causing Satoru’s to collapse completely, his body weight bearing into the now standing legs of Suguru. He catches his breath, still whimpering as Suguru pets his head. Satoru looks you in the eyes, his beauty keeping your gaze fixated on his body. His six eyes are a little red, probably from the tears that he held back, and his body is flushed beautifully, his pretty cock slowly going soft as he does his best to calm down.
Satoru relaxes back on his knees while Suguru goes behind him to remove the toy from his ass and undo Satoru’s hand cuffs. You breathe a sigh of relief for him, always impressed by Satoru’s unwavering stamina and attitude. You wondered how Satoru enjoyed pissing Geto off so much, does he really enjoy these punishments that much? Suguru seemingly loves the after effects of a good punishment, his adoration of Satoru is evident in the way he kisses his head and gently rubs his back while Satoru regains his strength.
As much as you love watching, you are wondering why Suguru invited you to observe Satoru’s punishment. You’re not really complaining and it definitely isn’t the first time you’ve seen it, but, all you’ve had is a thumb in your mouth and a little bit of cocksucking. After all, Suguru can’t ever stay entirely focused on Satoru, he needs some pleasure himself.
Satoru seems to be wondering the same thing. “So, baby, why did you bring her in to watch?” He asks, rising from his knees to give them a break.
Suguru looks down at you. “Just on a whim.” He strokes your face before looking back toward his brat. “And I’ve noticed you get more worked up with an arousing audience.”
“Well, wouldn’t you if she was licking your cum from the floor?” Satoru grumbled, sitting on the bed.
Suguru turns his attention back toward you. “She does love cum in her mouth.” He strokes himself slowly, catching your attention.
“I want yours next.” You tell him, shifting your weight and sending him a smile.
Satoru watches as you lean forward to lick Suguru’s cock, taking his precum on your tongue. He doubt he could handle anymore cumming, but he certainly loves to see you take cock down your throat. If he had more energy, he’d love to stuff his down as well. “Like it that much, y/n?” He chuckles.
Suguru’s eyes shoot to Satoru. “Jealous again, Satoru?? Well, the question is are you jealous cuz my cock is down her throat or are you jealous cuz it’s not down your throat?”
Satoru sucks his teeth. “I want to watch her take me balls deep.”
Uh oh.
Suguru removes his cock from your mouth. “Satoru,” you start, “I don’t think you have enough energy to keep that attitude up.” Indeed, his stamina is incredible.
Suguru waits to see his reaction.
And of course, the other man grins and only adds fuel to the fire. “Think she’d look better with my cock in her mouth. She’s been paying more attention to me than you anyways.”
“Satoru
” you sigh and in seconds Suguru has him pressed back into the bed and is beckoning for you to get on with him.
Satoru laughs. “Aw, did I bruise your ego, baby? What are you gonna do about it?”
Suguru points to his mouth. “Sit on him to shut him up and I’ll give him a nice view of my cock in your mouth.”
Fuck, that sounds hot. Satoru just grins and motions for you to ride his face, pointing at his eager tongue that’s already out and waiting.
“Y/n, make sure he stays quiet I don’t want to hear him make a single peep. And since he likes being punished so much, I’ll punish you instead if he speaks.”
What?
You blink. Undeniably aroused but a bit scared of his now very evident sadism. “You know he’s going to try to speak now on purpose?” Mercy isn’t exactly his thing right now but you’ll pry at it for sure.
Suguru gives you an evil grin as you lower your weeping pussy onto Satoru’s face. “Then keep his mouth shut.”
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blqstar · 6 months ago
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: ̗̀➛ K. BAKUGO | PERSIAN RUGS
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» [summary] ── you get a phone call from your old best friend Bakugo and end up doing more than just catching up.
cw: (2.7k) x black fem reader, p in v, this is my first time writin a fic so bear with me if its not particularly the best😭 (would love constructive criticism though), swearing, not proofread ngl
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Low, honey-colored lights finely lit the room as you look into the tavern. Sultry jazz music reverberates throughout the space, as people gather around the bar. Men and women dressed elegantly sit in the red leather booths, engaging in long, meaningless conversations. Glasses clink, drinks being passed around to the folks circling the lounge. You walked into the bar, the familiar sounds you haven’t heard in so long washing over you like a warm wave.
You never thought you would come back here despite all the memories you’ve had under this roof. However, an unexpected call from your phone ultimately led you right back here. Where you and your old best friend first met.
You vaguely remember him sitting in one of the booths by the bar, slightly drunk from the number of drinks he gulped down since he’d been there. It was a funny interaction, to be quite honest. You didn’t know how famous he was at the time but you recalled his spiky hair and his scarlet eyes and knew that he went to the same high school as you.
You sat down and tried to talk to him but he started blabbering on about himself and bragging about how he would be the #1 pro-hero in Japan. You knew him to always be like this, never fraying from his goals.
His name was Katsuki Bakugo. A man with a fiery temperament, undeniable strength, and fierce loyalty to all who were lucky to be his friends. And surprisingly, you were one of them. Honestly, the closest friend to him to say the least.
You had an unbreakable bond, a friendship forged in the fires of shared feelings and unyielding support. You both connected on such a deep level that the magnifying connection could never disappear.
You spent countless hours talking to each other, ranting about meaningless things. Late-night calls and conversations happened frequently between the two of you, staying up till the crack of dawn just to listen to each other’s voices and hear the stories that happened over the day during your time away from each other.
But little by little as time went by, those calls soon turned into texts, and later, texts turned into absolutely nothing. You knew Kats had a lot on his plate, quite aware that he was one of the most famous pro-heroes in Japan now. But it still hurt a little that he wasn’t texting or calling as much as he used to. It felt like you both were just drifting away from each other. Until a few hours ago, you got a phone call from him.
“Hey, Kats. What’s up?” Your heart thumped when you heard his voice, hearing him let out a slight sigh. You hear people talking and glasses clinking in the background before he speaks again. You sensed a feeling of anxiousness from him but you let it be, only curious about what he was calling you for at such a late hour.
“Hey. You busy right now by any chance?” You’re surprised by his question.
“No, not really. What’s up?”
You audibly hear him clear his throat. “I was thinking
remember that bar where we first met? The one where I was drunk as a lord?”
“Oh, of course. How could I forget, ‘future #1 pro-hero’?” You answer, letting out a little giggle. Katsuki grumbles quietly, “You know I didn’t mean to say that out loud—shut up! Anyway, I was thinking maybe you should come by.”
You gasp sarcastically. “Are you actually inviting me to hang out? This is new for you, Kats.”
Katsuki stutters slightly, sounding a bit flustered. “Don’t get any weird ideas! It’s just
I haven’t seen you in a while, and I figured it’d be nice to catch up.”
Your heart started to beat faster at his response, feeling your face getting warm to the touch. You can’t deny, you had feelings for the man but you could never tell him that. He already has lots of tasks to do. For him to pursue a relationship with you would be a one-in-a-million occurrence, especially with how much fame he’s gotten now. Nevertheless, you digress.
You give him a soft chuckle. “I’d love to catch up with you, Kats. What time should I be there?”
“Just
whenever. I’ll be here. Just don’t take forever, alright?” Katsuki replies, a hint of excitement in his tone.
“Okay, okay! I’ll be there soon. See you.”


You made your way to the bar, ordering a drink while glancing around. Your heart raced a little at the thought of seeing him again, your feelings for him rekindling like embers that had never truly died out. The last time you were together had been a welcome filled with unresolved feelings—now, here you were, not knowing if you were seeking to get a long-lasting friendship back or perhaps something more.
As if summoned by your thoughts, he appeared. Katsuki, with his signature spiky blonde hair and those fiery red eyes, looked just as intense as ever. Dressed casually in a fitted black shirt and jeans, he exuded confidence, but there was a softness in his gaze when he spotted you.
His eyes went from studying your face to looking at your body, looking at the orange dress you had on. The way it fits your curves so perfectly made his cheeks go red. You even had his color on too. He gulped and realized he was staring a little bit too long and his expression flickered to a genuine smile, disguising his admiration toward you.
"There you are, finally decided to show up, huh?" he said, crossing the space between you with that familiar swagger you remembered so well.
You chuckled, trying to hide the butterflies in your stomach. "I couldn't resist the call of the infamous Katsuki Bakugo."
He scoffed, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "Whatever. You just missed my last explosion. Would have impressed you."
You took a sip of your drink, feeling a rush of warmth as he leaned against the bar, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. "I've seen enough explosions for a lifetime, but it’s nice to see you again. How’ve you been?"
The conversation flowed naturally, with laughter and teasing remarks exchanged like old times. As the minutes turned into hours, the noise of the bar faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared history. However, an undeniable tension started to hang in the air, thickening with every glance, every lingering touch.
As Katsuki continued to talk to you, he brushed his fingers against yours while he spoke, a spark igniting where he touched. Your heart raced with the accidental contact, the proximity between you becoming closer and closer.
This is when you take a really good look at your best friend. His fitted black top clings to his muscled frame, accentuating the curves of his biceps and the hard line of his shoulders. The fabric is cut just low enough to reveal a teasing hint of his toned abdomen, each subtle movement highlighting the power beneath his skin.
His voice fades out as you drool over his physique. Within seconds, you zone back in as he calls your name, eyes focused on his face now.
“S-sorry, what’d you say?” Katsuki stares at you, aware of your reverence for his body. He smiles slyly at you. He feels the tension as much as you do, his eyes in a haze as he starts to speak.
“Hey,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, “are you doing anything later?”
Your breath hitches. “Not at all. Why?”
His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching. “What do we say we get out of here? My place is nearby, and I
I don’t know, I just feel like talking somewhere a bit more private?”
Your pulse quickened at his invitation. You felt a thrill of excitement course through you and without thinking too much about it, you nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”


The air outside was cooler, the summer night alive with the sounds of distant traffic and the chirping of crickets. Katsuki led the way, his pace brisk and confident. You walked beside him, heart hammering as the anticipation built within you. What would happen next? Would the tension that had been brewing all night simmer over into something more?
When you arrived at his apartment, he opened the door with a casual ease, stepping aside to let you in. The space was cluttered but cozy, with a few mementos from his UA days scattered around, remnants of the determined hero you had known and admired.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, tossing his keys onto the small table by the door, then heading to grab something to drink. You took a moment to soak in the nostalgia before following him to the kitchen.
As you leaned against the counter, he poured a glass of wine and handed it to you, the heat of his presence growing palpable. You could feel the weight of his gaze as he watched you drink from the chalice, and for a moment, the silence stretched between you—a heavy, pregnant pause charged with unspoken desires.
“Katsuki
” you started, unsure of what to say or how to breach the growing tension.
“Just
 let’s not pretend,” he interrupted, closing the distance between you, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine. “We both feel it. This is more than just catching up.”
Your breath caught as he stepped closer, the heat radiating off him enveloping you.
You stare into his piercing orbs. There was a fierce intensity in his eyes as he searched yours for confirmation of your unspoken feelings.
“I know,” you replied softly, your heart racing. “I’ve always felt it.”
He moved even closer, pushing you against the counter. He shifts to the side of your face and puts his lips close to your ear.
“So what are we gonna do about it?” He whispers, his voice low and raspier than before. You press your legs together, warmth building up in your lower region.
“I-”
Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a fierce kiss, igniting a fire within you. His lips were warm, and demanding, sending sparks shooting through your veins. You melted against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you returned the kiss with equal fervor.
Katsuki deepened the kiss, his hands roaming your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was everything you had imagined and more—intense, passionate, and primal. You could feel the heat radiating off him, matching the storm brewing inside you.
You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his spiky hair as he explores your mouth with his tongue.
Katsuki's hands roam down your body, cupping your breasts through your dress. He squeezes them gently, his thumbs brushing against your hardening nipples. You gasp at the contact, your hands moving down to grip his firm ass, pulling him against you.
"I want you," he growls against your mouth, his breath hot on your skin. "I've wanted you since the moment we met."
You look at him in surprise. You then smile against his lips, your body buzzing with desire. "Then what are you waiting for?" you whisper, biting his lower lip playfully.
Katsuki growls in response, picking you up in his strong arms and carrying you towards the bedroom. He kicks the door open, laying you down gently on the soft bed. You watch as he strips off his shirt, your eyes roaming over his well-defined chest and abs. He kicks off his shoes and removes his pants, leaving him standing before you in nothing but his boxers.
You sit up, your hands reaching for the zipper of your dress. You slide it down slowly, revealing your curves inch by inch, enjoying the hungry look in Katsuki's eyes as he takes in the view. You slip the dress off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your lacy red bra and panties.
Katsuki's eyes darken even further as he takes in your near-naked form. "So fucking beautiful, mama" he breathes, climbing onto the bed to join you. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss as his hands roam down your body. He cups your ass, squeezing it gently before hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties and sliding them down your legs.
You shift, helping him remove your panties, your eyes never leaving his. Katsuki sits back on his heels, his gaze burning as he takes in the view of your wet pussy. "She’s so fucking pretty, ma," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire.
You feel your face warm up at his compliment and nod, lust taking over you. He lowers and bites your inner thigh, licking at the mark afterward. A low moan bubbles in your throat when his tongue starts lapping at your entrance to your clit. “Fuck, Katsu.”
Your legs tremble as one hand pins your hips down to the bed, the other hand spreading your thighs to accommodate his broad shoulders. He eats you like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. His plump lips wrap around your throbbing clit as he sucks harshly, making you keen.
You felt the knot in your stomach appear and before you could come undone, he stops and hoists his head up from your pussy. You whine at the loss of friction. Katsuki lifts his hips, sliding down his boxers, his hard length springing free. You bite your lip as you take in the sight of his thick, erect cock, your pussy growing more wet at the thought of feeling him inside you.
"Your turn to get comfortable," you purr, pushing him gently onto his back. You straddle his waist, your hands roaming over his broad chest. You lean down as you kiss him deeply. Katsuki groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as you begin to grind against him, your wet core brushing against his shaft.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps, his head falling back as you continue to move against him. You reach between your bodies, guiding his cock to your entrance. You tease him, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit before sinking down slowly, impaling yourself on his length.
Katsuki hisses at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You're so tight," he grunts, his eyes screwed shut as he enjoys the feeling of being encased in your warmth.
You bite your lip at the stretching sensation, slowly lifting yourself up and down on his cock, getting used to his size. Katsuki opens his eyes, watching you ride him with a hungry look. "That's it, fuck yourself on my cock," he growls, his hands gripping your ass, helping you move.
You moan, picking up the pace as you bounce on his lap. Your breasts bounce with each movement, your sensitive nipples grazing his chest with every downward motion. Katsuki sits up, his mouth latching onto one taut peak as he sucks and nibbles gently.
"Oh God, Katsuki!" you cry out, your head falling back as pleasure washes over you. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"
Katsuki smirks against your skin, speeding up his thrusts as he meets your movements. His cock slides in and out of your tight pussy, the wet sounds of his hips meeting filling the room. "You like that, huh?" he teases, his free hand moving down to rub your clit in circles.
"Yes! Oh yes, right there!" you cry out, your body trembling on the edge. "I'm so close, please don't stop!"
Katsuki growls, his mouth claiming yours in a passionate kiss as he increases the pressure on your clit. You cry out into his mouth as your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking uncontrollably as waves of pleasure ripple through you. Katsuki continues to thrust into you through your climax, his own approaching fast.
"Cum for me, baby," he grunts, his eyes locked on yours. "Let me feel you tighten around my cock."
You whimper, your sensitive walls clenching around him as your orgasm continues to wash over you. Katsuki groans, his hips stuttering as he reaches his own climax. "Fuck, I'm cumming!" he roars, his body tensing as he fills you with his hot release.
You collapse against him, both your bodies sticky with sweat as you try to catch your breath. Katsuki hugs you tight, pulling you into his embrace.
“Hey,” he starts. “Y’know I like you too, right?”
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tired-and-ticklish · 1 month ago
Text
Employee Training
Disclaimer: This is a tickle fic, so if that isn’t your thing, then just ignore this. 
Summary: Jax isn’t taking his job seriously, so Gangle decides he needs some extra
 training.
TW: Tickling (maybe a bit intense?), Restraints, Jax Being Jax, Spoilers for Episode 4: Fast Food Masquerade.
(Let’s face it, a lot of us saw that scene and were all thinking the same thing.)
Working a normal fast food job wasn’t at the top of Jax’s list of adventures. He’d rather be back at the circus, putting more centipedes in Ragatha’s room or stealing Zooble’s parts. But instead, he and the others were forced to work a terrible minimum wage job with an annoying Gangle as their shift manager.  Hell, it was the crybaby’s idea in the first place!
“Ooooh Jaaaaax~!” Speaking of the pain in his tail, Gangle called out from behind the rabbit, that stupid smile from the mask Zooble gave her still plastered across her face.
“The bathroom looks like a biohazard and needs a good scrubbin’!” Gangle told him.
“Shouldn’t like, a biohazard crew take care of that?” Jax asked, not wanting to put in anymore effort than the job was already requiring.
Gangle laughed. “Ohoh, Jaxy boy, don’t you want to be a model employee?”
“No, I don’t care about any of this.” Jax responded, crossing his arms.
“Well, that doesn’t sound like a can-do attitude to me!”
God, was she getting more annoying? “It’s not.”
Another laugh, simply followed by one word. “Bad.”
“I like you better when you’re sad.”
There was a sound, like glass cracking, but Jax ignored it. Honestly, the whole ‘chipper, happy-go-lucky’ attitude Gangle had at the current moment was making him wish they had stuck to the butcher adventure Caine suggested in the first place. Darn Pomni, darn suggestion box, darn not being able to actually swear in this Hell hole called a circus.
“Well..” Gangle replied, Jax either not noticing, or more likely, not caring, how close she sounded to strangling him. “Maybe you need some more
”
She paused, like Caine did sometimes, it was a bit uncanny to see. “More-”
“Training!” Gangle interrupted before he could finish.
Suddenly, two hands grabbed Jax, squishing him like a squeaky toy before dragging him into the back of the restaurant. Once they let go of him, Jax was shocked to find himself in a completely empty, dark room, save for the TV that suddenly turned on. On it was an employee training video, complete with the ‘motivational music, staring and made by Gangle, explaining how it would teach him how to be a good team member and asset to the cooperation.
Jax questioned when Gangle even made the video. Or maybe it was Caine’s doing? The adventures made no sense, so why did he expect a ‘normal’ one to make sense? The way the Gangle in the video spoke made Jax uncomfortable, talking about how dreams were unrealistic, and to stop trying. It was like she was losing it.
“But before we get into all that, first things first!” The Video-Gangle asked, smiling. “Are you smiling?”
“Uh, no
?” 
The music stopped. “Why not
?” Gangle wasn’t smiling anymore, just staring right at him.
Faster than Jax could respond, he was suddenly in a chair, four mechanical arms coming out and grabbing his limbs. They twisted him a few different ways, before shoving his face right into the TV. “Wait- Wait wait! N-Nobody can see this
 right?” Jax asked nervously, suddenly regretting any and all decisions in his life that had led to this moment.
“Time for your employee reevaluation!”
With that, the robotic limbs pulled Jax back into the chair, his arms pulled up as far as they would go, his legs pinned down to the leg rest. Jax’s eyes darted around the room, trying to see anything he could use to try to free himself. He couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, couldn’t stop whatever Gangle had planned for him. 
“As an employee, you have to remember to smile!” The video continued, Gangle sounding more and more manic. “Don’t worry, we can help you with that!”
More arms popped out of the chair, Jax feeling his heart skip a few beats when he saw what the hands were doing, wiggling their fingers at him teasingly. Gangle couldn’t be serious, right?! His dread only grew as two of the hands removed his shoes, another unbuttoning his work shirt.
“G-Gangle wait wait wait! I-I-I’m smiling! I’m smiling!” Jax cried in a panic, trying to pull his arms down. “Y-You don’t have to do this!”
The Video-Gangle tsked lightly “Silly, we have to make sure our employees know that we serve with a smile~!” A sinister giggle came from her as she said that.
Jax swore he was going to find a way to break that plastic mask Zooble gave her! However, his thoughts of revenge were put on hold as one of the hands made a few test pokes to his stomach, causing him to jolt. This was bad, the way Jax’s body had been designed in this digital world physically made him unable to bite his lip, so that strategy was out the window. Seems like the jolts he made were all the hands needed, descending upon him.
“W-Wahahahit wahhait nohhohohoho!” Jax snorted, trying to twist and turn away from the devilish hands.
“See, isn’t that better~?” Video-Gangle asked, her ribbons wiggling as well “I’ll check on you in a while!”
A while?! How long was a while?! The darn clock seemed busted, what if he was in there for hours?! Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Gangle, or the robotic arms cared, the TV turning off as a pair of hands attacked his armpits.
“N-Nohohohoh nohohoho come bahahahack!” Jax pleaded. “I-Ihihihih’m smihihihihihling!”
The robotic hands continued their assault, gently tracing around his armpits, while the ones on his stomach dug right in, causing him to attempt to kick his legs. They hadn’t exactly gotten to his absolute worst spots yet, but Jax had a feeling it was only a matter of time. His paws were exposed, and he could swear he could sense two hands just behind his ears, waiting for the go-ahead to strike.
“Cohohohohome ohohohohon!”
He really hated how much they could actually feel in the circus sometimes. Sure, it was funny to see the others in pain, or watch their panic as he attacked their own worst spots, but having the tables turned on him? It also didn’t help that, thanks to Gangle, the arms knew exactly where his worst spots were, and how harshly or softly to tickle them to drive him up the wall. 
Case in point, one hand swirling a finger right on his navel, threatening to tickle the inside, while also cruelly never actually doing it. The ones on his armpits spidered up and down, even attacking his ribs at a few points. Jax wasn’t sure how long the tickling had gone on for, before the TV turned back on, Gangle’s face smiling at him. The hands stopped, allowing the rabbit to catch his breath. The relief Jax felt was short-lived, however, as the Video-Gangle spoke again. “Step one of your employee reevaluation is complete!” Gangle told him, sounding proud. “Now that you’re smiling, we’ve got to work on your attitude! Being rude to customers, or other coworkers, especially by throwing them in the deep fryer, is strictly forbidden at Spudsy’s!”
“Come on, it’s not like Rags was hurt all that badly.” Jax tried to argue, before immediately regretting it as he noticed the arms were grabbing something just out of his field of vision, making him dread whatever would be next.
“That’s the kind of attitude I’m talking about!” Video-Gangle huffed, before smiling again. “So, I thought you could use some extra motivation!”
Jax’s heart, or, what he supposed he could call a heart in this digital body, nearly stopped as the mechanical hands came back with paint brushes.
“Oh
 [trumpet honk]...” The rabbit responded in disbelief. “Y-You’re not actually [quack]ing serious, r-right?!”
Unfortunately for him, Gangle was dead serious, as the paintbrushes glided up and down his paws, making him snort. The pair of hands by his head also got in on the action, softly, slowly, and tortuously rubbing up and down the insides of ears, making him scream out in ticklish agony.
“GA-GAHAHAHANGLE NOHOHOHOHO!”
“Aww don’t worry, I’ll check on you in a while again!” More random noises came from Jax’s mouth, trying to swear, but instead there were a few more musical instrument noises, a car honk, and even a cow moo at one point. That only seemed to encourage the hands to be even harsher toward him, one of the paintbrushes going in between his toes. Jax howled with laughter, trying to twist and turn away from his fate.
“IIHIHIHIHIHIH HAHAHAHAHATE THIHIHIHIHIHIS STUHUHUHUHUHPID AHAHAHAHAHAVEHEHEHENTURE!”
Jax then let out an uncharacteristic squeal as he felt feathers brushing up and down his ears. This was maddening! As the paintbrushes picked up their pace, Jax felt a horrible thought enter his mind. Would Gangle actually let him out of here? Or would she just keep him there until the end of the adventure, making sure he couldn’t destroy anything or cause problems for anyone else? “P-PLEHEHEHEASE PLHEHEHEHEASE IIHIHIHIHI’LL BEHEHEHEHEHAVE!” Jax cried out desperately.
It seemed to work, as the tickling suddenly stopped, the arms releasing him. Jax caught his breath, feeling a few phantom tickles linger. He brought his hands up to his ears, trying to rub the tingling sensation away as the TV turned back on.
“Thank you, valued employee, for deciding to be a team player!” Video-Gangle told him, looking happy, proud, and
 relieved? Maybe Jax was imagining things. “Of course, here at Spudsy’s, we respect our employees needing time for themselves, so you may take a few moments to get yourself together before heading back out there!”
Small mercies, Jax supposed. “You’re uh
 not going to tell anyone about this, right?”
Video-Gangle simply giggled, before the TV turned off once again, leaving Jax alone with his thoughts. Well, he supposed this made both of them even, in a way. Jax knew about the figurine thing, and Gangle managed to make him beg for mercy. He shook his head, getting his dumb uniform back in order. Once he was more composed, one of the large hands from before gently pushed him out of the room and back into the work area, patting his head before disappearing to God knows where.
Back to work, Jax supposed.
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minisugakoobies · 7 months ago
Text
Whipped | KMG
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Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (no agab)
Genre: fluff, idiots to lovers, slightly crack-ish, non-idol!AU
Rating: T
Warnings: Mingyu's a stubborn idiot, but he's also the softest human alive, Minghao's kind of a jerk tbh, use of they/them pronouns for reader, this is honestly just fluffy nonsense meant to give you warm fuzzies
Word Count: 3.9k
Disclaimers: Obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me
Summary: No matter what his friends say, Mingyu is definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not whipped for you.
A/N: Yep, another Mingyu fic. I can't help it. đŸ€·â€â™€ïž
Unbeta’d as usual. If you liked this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile đŸ„ș) 💕
SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist
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Kim Mingyu is not whipped.
This is what he forcefully reminds himself when you walk into Minghao’s party, looking sweeter than a spring day, a phrase which if he’s being honest is maybe a little more poetic than he’d normally use. That’s okay. He can be a little dramatic if he wants. Why not? Seokmin does it all the time and no one bats an eye.
In any case. Mingyu is not whipped.
That’s why he turns his head, pretending he doesn’t see you dazzle everyone around you with your beautiful smile. While he’s pretending, he also acts like he can’t feel his own lips tug upwards at the soft chime of your laughter, a Pavlovian response to your happiness. No, his smile is unrelated to whatever you’re doing. He’s just in a good mood, one that didn’t suddenly ascend to the heavens when you entered the room.
Mingyu’s not whipped.
He sinks further into the couch where he’s sitting, a little off to the side of where Minghao, Jeonghan, and Seokmin are talking. Theoretically, he’s part of the conversation, adding the occasional hum or laugh, but he’s really not contributing much of anything. He’s too busy thinking about you. Not like that. 
(But not not like that, either.) 
In any case, Mingyu remains firmly unwhipped - solid, unshaken, definitely not falling apart over you. He’ll be absolutely fine, as long as you stay on the other side of the room, where your charms can’t reach him. Except that he can’t stop watching you, and now you’re looking at him, and even though he averts his eyes, it’s too late. He can sense you walking towards him, his heartbeat increasing with every step you take.
Not. Whipped. 
“Hey there, stranger.” 
Instinctively, at the sound of your voice, he glances up at you, like a flower tilting its face towards your light. He nods at your greeting, mumbling a hello of his own. The others sitting around him all greet you as well, but you merely nod in reply, your full attention on Mingyu. 
“Do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”
If Mingyu had a list of things he loved about you, which he does not, being straightforward would be near the top. Of this totally fictional list that does not exist. He admires it, actually, the way you have no patience for dishonesty or deception.
Even though your question is blunt, your smile remains soft as you wait for his response, and Mingyu rethinks his ranking. Item number one on that imaginary list - the way you smile, at him, specifically. It’s so warm, like being hugged by the rays of the sun itself. It makes him happier than he ever thought possible. He wants to curl up like a cat and bask in the feeling. If he’s not careful, he might start purring right now.
He’s totally super normal about you.
“Me?” he asks, stalling for time, praying that a somewhat reasonable explanation falls into his lap in the meantime. He’s only a fair-to-moderate bullshitter, so his hopes are low. He can feel the others staring at the two of you, very obviously listening, because no one in your friend group seems to respect boundaries. It’s not helping. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” you chirp back, and he does, he knows exactly what you mean, just like you know exactly what he’s doing. “You’ve been ignoring my texts. What’s going on?”
What’s going on is that Mingyu is not whipped, even if it feels like his insides are turning to melty goo beneath your inquisitive gaze. 
“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve just been busy,” he shoots, aiming for breezy and landing just shy of nonchalant. 
“Busy doing what?” 
“You know. Stuff.” Oh god, he really sucks at this. “And things.” Jesus Christ.
You fold your arms, and Mingyu thinks it’s cute the way you’re squinting at him, one eye closed as you assess his response. Unbearably cute, actually, and getting worse the longer it goes on.
“Yeahhhh, that’s not good enough,” you inform him, and with one hand on his arm (Mingyu ignores the electric current that lights up his nervous system when you touch him. It’s just static and definitely not anything else), you pull him to his feet and lead him out of Minghao’s apartment and into the empty hallway. He follows, not because he’d follow you anywhere, but because he’s curious.
Once the door is closed behind you, you turn to him, a serious expression on your face. “Gyu. Be honest with me.” Always, he thinks reflexively. “This is about what those guys said the other night, isn’t it?” 
Of course you know exactly what it is that has his head spinning right now. The two of you have been friends for ages, but Mingyu still can’t get over how easily you always seem to read him. 
A few nights ago, Mingyu and you had been out to dinner with a few others, and it had been like any other time you were hanging out with your friends, lots of laughing and teasing and just being happy dumbasses together. Only on this particular evening, the food had taken a very long time to arrive, but the drinks kept coming in the meanwhile, and you’d gotten a little drunker than usual, and a little clingier, sticking to Mingyu like a magnet.
Not that Mingyu minded having you hanging on his side all night. Nor did he mind keeping a close eye on you, making sure you were drinking your water and eating to help soak up some of the alcohol. None of that bothered him at all - you were his best friend; why wouldn’t he take care of you? Especially when you smiled at him and thanked him for being so sweet, so good to you, over and over.
(He can’t even begin to explain how that made him feel.)
The others noticed. And commented. Mingyu tried to ignore them, but they just wouldn’t shut up. By the time they joked that Mingyu was your trained puppy, suggesting you buy him a pretty collar and a leash to go with it, he’d had enough.
And when he tried to express that, Minghao had shut him down with a scoff, a wave of his hand, and one word. 
“Whipped.” 
Mingyu admits that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a whipped man. He’s not. He’s not, no matter what the others say. No matter how you’re looking at him right now, concern etched all over your lovely face, lip tucked between your teeth as you wait for his answer. He’s strong. And proud. 
(And maybe a stubborn idiot, but that’s neither here nor there.)
He considers just not responding at all, but he knows how persistent you are, so he settles for a half-shrug. You sigh, leaning back against the wall, arms crossing in front of you. 
“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” you say softly, shaking your head. “They were joking. They said so! And you know I didn’t take it seriously for a second.” 
“You didn’t hear everything they said!” he protests, crossing his own arms. You’d missed most of the barbs flying his way that night, too busy enjoying yourself. Which weirdly made him happy. He hated the thought of those guys ruining your night. “They said I was your pet!” 
“So? Jeonghan always tells Seokmin he’s got the zoomies when he gets hyper. He knows he’s not actually a dog! It’s just stupid jokes! Our friends are dumb!” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “That’s what we like about them!”
Mingyu can’t help it, he starts to laugh with you, but then he catches himself, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.” 
“Then help me understand.” 
How can he help you understand, when he’s not entirely sure he understands it himself, this storm inside him, clouding his mind? 
“I
” He glances wildly around the hallway, but there’s nothing out here to help him. He can hear the bass from whatever song is playing inside the party, a low, steady thrumming that contrasts the erratic thumping of his heart. “I don’t like being called weak.”
You tilt your head. “Is that what they said?” 
“Yeah. Or I guess
 they implied it. When they said I was whipped for you.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing he’s pouting and it doesn’t help his defense, but it’s just his default setting. “But I’m not.” 
Because he’s staring into your eyes as he speaks, he catches it - the quick expression of sorrow that pinches your brow at his explanation - but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant. If he weren’t watching your face so intently, he would’ve missed it. 
“Gyu,” you sigh, the corners of your mouth lifting in what is clearly meant to be a smile, except it doesn’t reach your eyes, and for a moment, the confusing tide of emotions inside him still, and he feels only sadness. That’s not how you smile. “Can you please let it go? Everyone was being an idiot. That’s nothing new! Besides
” You trail off, staring at the floor.
He waits a beat. “Besides what?”
You huff and shrug. “It’s nothing, forget it.” 
The uncertainty in your tone unnerves Mingyu even more than your fake smile. Where’s that directness of yours? 
“No, tell me. Besides what?” 
With a deep breath, you look him straight in the eye. “Besides, I’m not delusional. I know you don’t like me like that. I’m not your type.” 
Your voice grows quieter at the end of your sentence, just as the music coming from the other side of the door fades out, and to Mingyu, the silence only amplifies your words, leaving them ringing loudly in his ears like a sonic boom. You’re not his type?
He blinks rapidly, as if that will somehow help. 
“You - you’re not - “ He pauses, searching fruitlessly for the end of his sentence, but it’s nowhere to be found.
“Right. I’m not.” 
The laugh you let out sounds so fake that he winces, and a terrible realization hits him. You’ve taken his stammering to be a complete thought - a confirmation of what you’d said, that you aren’t someone he’d like like that. Curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your stomach, you shrink away from him, only a few inches but the distance feels so vast. 
“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” 
Mingyu’s speechless. As his silence grows, so does the space between the two of you, until you’re standing by the door, hand on the knob. He feels like he should be doing something right now, snapping into action of some sort, but his brain is still stuck on your declaration.
“Okay,” he finally croaks, because it’s clear that you’re waiting for him to speak, and he doesn’t know what else to do but agree with you, because you’re usually right and he usually agrees with you. 
“Right,” you say again, but you look slightly unsure, and it rattles Mingyu, making him feel even more unsettled than before. “Okay.” And then you open the door and slip back inside Minghao’s apartment.
Alone in the hallway, Mingyu slumps against the wall. Well. That was a spectacular failure. He’d tried to explain how their comments upset him and all he’d done was upset you. The shift in your demeanor was so obvious to him, a flashing neon sign basically screaming “you fucked up!” in blazing red light. 
He gives himself a minute to try to pull himself together, then he returns to the party. As soon as he’s inside, he scans the room, until he finds you standing in the corner, hanging out with another friend, Chan, talking and laughing like everything is fine. Which, as Mingyu feels deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows it is not. 
His previously vacated spot on the couch remains open, so he slips back into it, ignoring the curious looks of his friends. He doesn’t want to answer any stupid questions right now, doesn’t want to deal with any of their crap while he tries to wrap his head around what just happened in the hallway. 
Naturally, his friends immediately start nosing into his business.
“What was that all about?” Minghao asks, turning to face Mingyu. Seokmin and Jeonghan both twist towards him, eager to hear his answer. 
“What was what about?” Mingyu replies, eyes flitting to you again. Chan must be bringing his A game with his jokes tonight, because you’re giggling Mingyu’s favorite giggle, the one that makes your nose twitch like a little bunny’s. It always makes him swell with pride when he coaxes it out of you with one of his dumb jokes, so seeing it right now and knowing he’s not the cause of it, well, it’s not exactly helping improve his mood.
“What was that dramatic exit?” Minghao gestures towards the door. 
“It was nothing. We were just talking.” Again he looks at you. And again, your attention is focused solely on the man beside you. Mingyu doesn’t understand. Can’t you feel him looking at you? 
“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jeonghan drawls, miming the crack of a whip with his hand. Seokmin and Minghao crack up beside Mingyu, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying to catch your eye. He wants to see you smile at him. Just one smile. That’s all he needs to make him feel better. 
His friends lose interest in teasing him when he doesn’t respond, and the conversation moves on. As does the evening. Mingyu bonds with the couch, not leaving except to grab refills of his drink, but otherwise he’s a fixed point in this party, unlike you, who are constantly moving, floating from friend to friend, spreading joy across the room.
Spreading joy to everyone except him, that is. No matter how much he watches you, your light never shines on him again, not like it did earlier. He knows what this is. You’re the one doing the avoiding now. And oh my god does he hate it. He feels cold and lonely, withering away, dying for your attention. For your affection. Because he needs it to thrive.
Oh. 
Oh wow, he’s stupid. The others are right. 
Kim Mingyu is whipped. 
For you, and you only. 
Like it has been every few minutes since he returned from the hallway, his gaze is drawn back to you, and this time, it’s different. Because the mask you’ve been wearing all night finally slips, and Mingyu sees the wrinkle of your brow, and the slight downturn of your mouth, and he understands. You’re just as miserable as he is.
That absolutely will not do. He needs to fix this right now.
Mingyu rises to his feet again, not even waiting for Minghao to finish the story he’s been telling, not that he’s been listening anyway, and starts walking towards you. When he’s a mere arm’s length away, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have any plan, just an urgent need to make you look happy again. And also pay attention to him, because he needs your attention just like he needs you, so he panics, and grabs your hand. 
You look at him in surprise as his fingers slip between yours.
“Come with me. Please,” he adds, a bit hasty in his anxiousness, already tugging you out of the room and into the hallway. A pair of voices follow you both out, as Minghao and Jeonghan both jeer loudly at the sight of Mingyu dragging you away, but thankfully the door drowns them out, letting only the beat of the music through.   Which would be a good thing, except that now it’s just Mingyu and a very quiet you. With your hand still in his. 
“Is everything o-”
“You are my type.” 
You start speaking at the same time he does, but he’s louder, blurting his entire sentence out before you can finish yours. Your mouth freezes in an ‘o,’ and oh, Mingyu can’t believe what a dumbass he’s been for so long. How did everyone else see it but him? 
“I just. Wanted you to know. That you are the type of person. That I like.” Why can’t. He complete. A whole sentence? “Smart, funny, gorgeous
.” 
You glance away from him, suddenly shy at that last word, and it just reinforces Mingyu’s point. 
Unfortunately, it does not make it any easier for him to say what he’s trying to say.
“But you’re not just my type? You’re the person I like. Hao’s right. They’re all right. I am whipped for you.” He frowns. “Damn it, I hate it when Hao’s right.” 
That makes you laugh, a quick “ha!” that makes your eyes light up, and Mingyu finds himself feeling stronger, so he doubles down. Might as well own it. 
“But he did, he got this one right. I’m down bad.” He brings your entwined hands up, clutching them in front of him, maybe pressing his luck a little, maybe laying it on thick, but it’s barely an exaggerated version of the truth if it’s not pure simple fact. 
“‘Gyu,” you groan, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch in the corner of your mouth that won’t cease, and it makes his heart sing. “Knock it off. I know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t think you do.” He takes a deep breath and steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. Your hands are caught between you, and he presses the palm of yours against his chest, wondering if you feel the spike in his heartbeat when you inhale sharply. 
“Maybe you should tell me,” you say, eyes wide but voice calm, and again, he marvels at how you strike straight at the heart of the matter, and he decides he can do the same. 
“I’m telling you that I like you.”
The next few seconds are the longest in Mingyu’s life. Nothing has ever lasted this long in the history of time. Entire civilizations are built and fall within the blink of your eyelashes. You keep looking back and forth between his eyes, and he hopes that you see whatever it is you need to believe him, and tries his best to convey clearly what he feels. Even if he’s having trouble speaking his thoughts, at least his gaze can express it. 
“You like me
” 
He nods. “A lot.” Now that he’s said it out loud, it’s hitting him just how much.  
“You like me
” you start again slowly, frowning slightly, “but you don’t like it when others point that out?” 
“I just - “ Mingyu breaks off, a sharp puff of breath exploding out in frustration. How to explain it? “I didn’t like them saying it the way they did. It
 it made me feel like they were calling me weak or something.” Your frown deepens and he stumbles on. “But - but that’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid. And I - I don’t care anymore.” 
He clings to your hands, a lifeboat in a sea of turmoil, the warmth of your fingers locked between his giving him hope that this isn’t going completely downhill, this sudden confession of his. It’d be just like him to ruin this with his impatience. He’s always too eager. 
“So what do you care about?” you ask, gaze burning into his. 
And then there’s you. Always so calm and direct. God, he adores you. 
“You. How you feel.” 
As soon as the words leave his lips, you lower your eyes, in the briefest of glances at his mouth, and Mingyu feels that electric shock again, tingling all the way to his fingertips. He barely breathes as he waits for you to speak.
“If you really are whipped for me,” you finally say, “you should go tell them that.” You jerk your chin in the direction of the door.
If that’s what you want, then that’s what he’ll do. Without a second’s hesitation, Mingyu spins, his hand gripping yours to pull you back into the apartment with him. 
Seokmin gawks openly as Mingyu stomps across the room. Minghao and Jeonghan exchange a glance that last night would’ve set Mingyu spiraling, but now rolls off him like water. Mingyu comes to a stop directly in front of his friends, squaring his shoulders, trying frantically to corral his thoughts into something coherent. 
But before he can open his mouth, Minghao leans forward, placing his chin in his hand. “Shhh, guys, I think the puppy’s going to speak!” 
“Hao, shut the fuck up.” 
Minghao bristles when Mingyu snaps at him. Jeonghan and Seokmin both cackle, but then Mingyu glares at the two of them, and they fall silent. He takes a deep breath. 
“I just wanted you to know that I don’t care what you guys say about me anymore, because I like YN.” 
The words spill out of him so easily, not even the tiniest nudge needed. He glances at you to find you wearing a delighted expression and his heart goes buoyant again. He decides to ride the wave. 
“They’re amazing. I’d do anything to make them smile, so if that makes me whipped, then I guess I’m fucking whipped.” 
He’s facing you now, not caring if the others can see the obvious lovestruck look in his eye as he keeps talking, not to them, but to you. Aware that they’re probably all smirking at one another, because they figured it out before he did, but he doesn’t give a single goddamn. 
“I can’t get enough of their smile. And the way they laugh. I like how sweet they are. How honest.” Mingyu can’t stop talking at this point. It’s all gotta come out. “But never mean about it. Even when it’s something you don’t want to hear. Especially when it’s something you need to hear.” 
Your hand twitches in his with every sentence he states. He squeezes back gently as his statements get louder.
“I’m not kidding when I say I’d do anything to make them smile. I’d walk the ocean floor for them. Climb a volcano and surf the lava down barefoot. Capture a star fr-”
“Oh my god, we get it, you like them!” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Enough with the bad poetry.” 
“Also? We know.” Minghao snorts. “No need for the dramatic announcement, it’s not news.” 
Mingyu barely hears him, too lost in the way you’re smiling at him now. Forget his earlier rankings. This smile beats all the others. Shoots directly to the top of the list, which, now that he thinks about it, he kinda wants to write down and give to you, maybe framed. Or maybe he’ll stick it on his fridge - with a heavy magnet, of course, because it’s such a long list.
He completely loses all interest in the rest of the room, even though he’s pretty sure most of the party is staring at the two of you. Instead, he finds himself hanging anxiously on the breath you take, hoping for you to say something, to give him an indication of where things stand between you now. Because he knows you’ll be straightforward and get right to the point, whatever’s on your mind. 
You step closer, close enough for him to feel your soft laugh on his lips as you give him a look that sends his pulse rocketing. You’ve never looked at him like this before.
Forget a list. He’s gonna write a whole book. 
“Come on, whipped boy. Take me home.”
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© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.
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roosterr · 1 year ago
Text
whatchya got, boy?
note: requested by @wetsocksinbed :D this fic came to me in a prophetic vision as soon as i read that ask, all i have to say is i was cackling maniacally while writing it. bon apetit.
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pairing: john 'soap's mactavish x gn!reader
wc: 4.4k
summary: soap is scared of dogs, you're a k9 handler. your dog is good at finding bodies, he doesn't ever want him to have to find yours.
warnings: angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence
ao3
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soap has never liked dogs.
when people ask him why, he tells them that it's just how he is. he wasn't bitten by one, it's not a trauma response, he just doesn't like them, plain and simple. being in the military and having a phobia of dogs is like painting a giant red target on his forehead, so in the interest of not getting relentlessly made fun of, he keeps it to himself.
until recently, it hasn't been a problem.
then you came along, with your quick wit and charming smile, and he was a goner from the moment you first met.
price had given them your files, told them you and your partner are on loan to the one-four-one for the next few months while they track down a particularly slippery target. the term partner had initially disappointed soap, but then you'd both marched into the room with your heads held high, and he realised;
oh. your partner is a dog.
a german shepherd, to be precise. you're a canine handler, like the universe is playing a trick on him – he hasn't been genuinely interested in someone in god knows how long, and when he finally finds somebody, you're accompanied at all hours by one of the few things he fears.
he's about ready to give up on pursuing you before the briefing is even over, but as the others all stand and file out of the meeting room, your partner comes bounding up to him in all his fanged, furry glory and soap almost has a heart attack.
"he doesn't usually trust strangers," you told him as your dog sits at his feet and wags his tail so hard it might be at risk of dislocation. johnny’s moments away from bolting, the fear climbing up his nerves like constricting vines.
"lucky me, eh?" he smiles at you, which was honestly more like a grimace, but somehow you're not offended by his obvious dislike of your partner. you let out a laugh, and the sound is so melodic he almost forgets about the beast waiting at his heel.
"you can pet him," you grin knowingly, and soap gets the sinking feeling you've figured him out already, "he doesn't bite – not unless i tell him to."
"cheers, but i'll pass
" johnny attempts to protest, in the motion of taking a step back, but you grab his hand before he can escape and drag it down to your dog's face with an amused grin.
"his name's rex." he hears you say, but the way your dog is sniffing at his hand has every muscle in his body tensing involuntarily. he's mortified that you're seeing him react like this, he already knows he'll never be able to live this down once the others find out.
when rex chuffs and starts to lick at his hand, johnny feels like his soul might leave his body. the sharp teeth so close to his skin is so unnerving, the only thing stopping him from making a run for it is your soft grip still around his wrist.
he looks to you for help, but you're watching him with a mischievous grin that sends his heart aflutter.
"see? that wasn't so bad." you chuckle, crouching down next to your dog and thankfully taking rex's attention off him. johnny breathes a quiet sigh of relief, wiping his wet hand on his trousers as he watches you fuss over the canine.
you're endearing, and johnny has to admit that seeing you coo at rex like he's a baby makes him slightly less terrifying.
"price put you up to this?" he asks, holding back a flinch when rex looks up at the sound of his voice.
"he did." you nod, standing back up and meeting his eyes again. "but rex actually does like you. guess you're just charming like that."
"well, thank god for that
" johnny grumbles, his voice dripping with sarcasm. you laugh again, and with the way his pulse quickens, he can't help but send you a cocky grin. "but what i wanna know is, do you like me?"
"hmm
" you feign indecision with a poorly concealed smirk, tapping a finger on your chin before leaning closer and placing a hand on his bicep. "i may need a little more convincing."
after that, johnny can hardly keep himself away from you. 
whenever you're next to him he's got an arm slung over your shoulder, you’re always talking – texting when you’re apart – and any free time he has is spent following you around base, not unlike rex at your heel.
you ask him if he wants to watch you when you train rex, and initially he tries to say no, because he thinks seeing rex practising attacking people might break whatever spell you've cast that makes him not hate the dog; but you drag him along anyway, and he ends up being glad that you did.
it's fascinating, watching rex sniff a shirt from your hand and track down whoever it belongs to with expert precision. it looks almost like a game to the canine, the way his tail swings back and forth the whole time as he effortlessly completes any task you give him.
he finds the dummies you hide with ease, even when they're buried under piles of boxes and clothes and various other obstacles. johnny actually finds himself respecting the dog, which is shocking since a few weeks ago he never would've been able to handle even being in the same room as one.
you give johnny the treats to feed rex, which makes him nervous all over again when the canine looks up at him with wide eyes and all his sharp teeth on display. it takes some coaxing from you, but eventually he gets comfortable enough to let rex take a treat from his hand. he may not admit it, but the only reason he even lets rex get so close is because you're there. simply your presence gives him the courage, makes him feel secure.
"when this is over," johnny begins, hand twitching under rex's tongue and looking at you with such fondness it feels like his heart is about to burst, "i'll take you out proper, treat you right."
you blink at him, surprised, but not a moment later a wide smile is taking over your face. "i look forward to it, mactavish."
the others, particularly gaz and ghost, give him hell for how infatuated he's become with you, but their teasing doesn't deter him. he likes you, and he doesn't care if everybody knows it; you like him too, and that's all he really cares about.
now, sitting in the heli on the way to what they hope will be the final location for this mission, he was almost disappointed to be done with it. you were only on loan for this mission, so once they have their target, you'd be gone. he was hoping, optimistically, that once everything was said and done he could convince you to stay with the one-four-one. he was sure he could talk price into it, and though it was selfish of him, he just wanted you to stay by his side.
you're sitting next to him in the back of the aircraft, rex between your legs with his head resting on your thigh, staring up at johnny with those big brown eyes. without even thinking, he reaches a hand out and ruffles the fur on his head, earning a nudge and an adoring smile from you when he looks over.
"he might like you better than me," you tease, scratching behind rex's ear who was yet to take his eyes off of johnny.
"don't be jealous now, bonnie." he chuckles, returning the nudge to your shoulder. "you can have 'im on weekends."
you grin again and lightly shake your head, taking rex's face in your hands and bending over to press a kiss to the top of his head. "you love me the most, right boy?"
before long, the helicopter is landing and the five of you – plus rex – are following the captain out into the forest. it's cold when they exit the heli, night vision goggles highlighting the terrain through the darkness of the night.
the silence buzzes as you all stalk through the trees. johnny pays more attention to you than he should as you walk beside him, anxiety lighting up his nerves for how this mission will go.
as according to the plan, once the manor is in sight, you all split off into teams of two; him and ghost, price and gaz, and you and rex. he trusted you to do well, like you have been doing for the last few months, but he can't help the way his shoulders tense as he watches you disappear around the corner.
the building is guarded, which was expected of course, but they only had to take down a dozen or so guards until the place was barren.
the corridors were eerily deserted, bathed in a moonlit glow as johnny crept around the manor, following closely behind ghost with both of their heads on a swivel. the radio was quiet, by design for the mission plan, but somehow this time felt different, like they wouldn't hear him if he did call out.
it's the beeping that gives it away. so faint, he almost missed it, but his senses are sharpened like a blade – and as a demolitions specialist, he knows the sound of an explosive when he hears it.
johnny carefully pushes open the door to his right, scanning the room for any movement and finding none, but when his gaze lands on the centre of the room, his pulse skips a beat.
propane canisters, fuse linking them all together, and most concerning, a timer on top blinking at him; two minutes, ticking down with a sickening green glow.
"ghost," he calls, his voice hard and serious as the anxiety builds again, "it's rigged."
ghost steps into the doorway next to him, following johnny's arm as he points to the device.
"fuck." he spits, stepping back and clicking the radio on his vest, but no sound comes out. ghost curses again, looking back to johnny with a tense expression that the sergeant mirrors. "radios aren't workin' either. let's move, c'mon."
there's no room for argument in his tone, marching back the way they came with johnny in tow.
as they emerge back out into the night, price and gaz appear from around the corner, both lifting their goggles and approaching with concern evident on their faces.
"what happened?" price's gaze darts around behind them as he speaks, as if waiting for someone to jump out and attack.
"the place is rigged, we have to go." ghost explains, already moving past them and away from the manor.
the captain nods, gesturing for johnny and gaz to follow as he tries his radio with no luck, just like ghost. the pit of anxiety lingered, getting heavier by the second.
"move it, soap." price commands, a deep frown creasing his brow.
but johnny doesn't move. "hold on, where's k-9?" he asks, a frown of his own pulling his features downwards.
"radios are down, we don't have time to look for 'em." ghost calls over to them, earning a solemn nod from the captain, who tries to move him with a hand on his shoulder.
the radios are down, you have no way of knowing the building is rigged. there's no way johnny's about to leave you on your own in the blind, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did.
"no. i'm not leavin' without 'em." johnny growls, his face morphing into a frown as he brushes off the captain's arm and turns to go back inside.
"they might already be outside." gaz tries to reason, stepping in front of him and blocking him from the doorway. kyle's regretful gaze cuts through him, and there's the distinct feeling that everyone else has already given up on you. "we have to move, mate."
johnny scoffs. "fuck that! i can't just leave 'em!" he hisses, insulted by the very idea of leaving one of their own to fend for themselves. no, that's not how they operate, that's not how he operates.
a flash of anger shoots through him and he's about to shove past gaz, but before he can move, price is yanking him away.
"soap!" he growls, shaking him slightly as he grabs johnny's other arm. "get it together, you are not goin' back in there."
before he can argue, he's being grabbed by ghost and dragged away from the manor with him as the other two jog ahead of them into the treeline. 
"oi!" johnny shouts, struggling in the lieutenants iron grip, but to no avail. ghost practically drags him along as he digs his heels into the dirt, writhing in an attempt to escape and go back for you.
he's desperate, he can't lose you, not before he takes you on that date, he promised, you can't die yet–
johnny blinks, the deep, rumbling boom completely derailing his thoughts and starting a piercing ringing in his ears.
white hot fire bursts from the windows of the manor, showering the surrounding area in shards of glass and debris as the heat escapes the building in waves. 
no.
everything seemed to stop around him. ghost stopped trying to drag him away, the trees stopped blowing in the wind, he almost stopped breathing. the world pauses as the walls of the manor are engulfed in flames.
no.
johnny rips his arm out of ghost's grip and stumbles back towards the manor, his mind floating out of his body.
"no!" johnny wails, ignoring the heat on his face and taking a shaky step over the jagged stone and glass that crunches under his boot, "no! they're still–" his voice breaks, "they're still in there, for fucks sake!"
"johnny!" ghost shouts, grabbing him by the strap on the back of his vest and yanking him sharply away from the blaze. "they're gone." he mutters, purposefully avoiding soap's glassy eyes.
"shut the fuck up!" he cries, thumping his fist against ghost's chest and clawing at the arm holding him back. the tears spill from his eyes hard and fast, constricting his throat and blurring his vision.
he falls to his knees with his head in his hands and ghost lets him, the debris that litters the ground sharp against his flesh, but nothing compared to the pain in his chest.
it wasn't supposed to go like this.
you were supposed to come back, and he was supposed to take you out and give you a perfect date and he'd kiss you at the end of the night and now he'd never get to do any of that because–
you're gone. slipped through his fingers like sand into the ocean.
"c'mon, johnny." he hears ghost mutter, his voice distant even though he's right there, pulling him to stand by his arm. "let's regroup."
he doesn't struggle this time, shaking himself free of his lieutenant's grip and shuffling past him with his head hanging low. if there was a god, he's sure they're laughing at him by now. it all felt like some kind of cruel joke; give him hope by granting him someone to love after all these lonely years, and then rip you out of his arms before he can know the happiness you would bring him.
he and ghost don't get far before he hears the lieutenant stop in his tracks, but he doesn't care to know why, the hollow feeling in his chest won't allow him to.
"the dog
" ghost utters from behind him, an air of disbelief in his monotone voice. johnny freezes, a cold dread travelling up his spine as he hears the unmistakable sound of rex's claws padding towards them.
he turns slowly on his heel, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
your dog is standing in front of him.
"rex
?" he calls softly, taking in the dust and ash and dirt and blood caked into his rich brown fur, illuminated by the fire still raging. rex barks, tilting his head like he's confused, and johnny falls to his knees again, uncaring for the way the rubble tears through his trousers and his skin. "no, no no no no–"
rex is alone. you're not with him. he doesn't go anywhere without you, and that can only mean one thing.
the confirming thought alone shatters the dam completely.
the sobs wrack his body and johnny gathers rex into his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest, burying his face into his thick fur despite the filth that coats the both of them. he whimpers and whines in johnny's ear, and the sound only makes his heart hurt even more.
a few months ago he never would've dreamed he'd be hugging a dog, but you changed that; you'd helped him work on his fear, and even if rex was the only one he could tolerate, it was still leagues better than what he could accomplish without you.
but now you’re gone, and neither of them have you to fall back on.
johnny sinks his fingers deep into rex's fur, sniffling pathetically because he may have lost you, but your canine lost his entire world and he would never understand where you went, why you left him all alone, why you weren’t coming back.
rex begins to wriggle in his arms, and soap knows he wants him to let go but he can't bring himself to. this dog is all he has left of you now; he would take care of your beloved canine, it doesn't matter if he was still terrified in the back of his mind.
after a painful few minutes, jonny regains the awareness to remember where they are and the fact that ghost is still watching him break down with the dog in his arms. with a trembling sigh, he loosens his hold on rex and pulls back, wiping a dusty hand over his eyes.
as he pushes himself to stand rex barks again, startling johnny with a jolt of panic before bounding back the way he came, away from him and ghost.
johnny frowns. "hey, don't run," he mutters, ambling after the canine as he pads backwards. every time johnny gets close, rex slips just out of reach before he can grab him.
ghost sighs, but allows him to go after the dog, keeping a watchful eye on them as they get further away.
the way he was running along and looking back to make sure johnny was following reminded him a worrying amount of how he acted in his training. the training where you would hide a dummy for him and johnny would reward him with treats when he led you to the fake body.
"no, no rex," except this time, the body wouldn't be fake. "please, boy, just come back
"
rex doesn't react to his pleading, determined to lead him to what johnny knows he’s found, but desperately wants to deny anyway. he tries to stop, to turn back and never have to face the reality of you being gone, but the canine won't let him. he takes johnny's trousers between his razor teeth and growls, deep and threatening, as he tries to pull him along.
the sound makes johnny freeze, fear clawing at the back of his mind as an instinctual reaction, but he blinks hard and pushes through it. "alright, i'm comin'..."
rex lets go once he’s sure he’ll follow again, trotting ahead with the occasional check behind him to make sure johnny was still there. he follows the canine past the rubble, through the treeline, and into the underbrush where the sick feeling in his throat only grows stronger.
he doesn't bother with the night vision goggles. the fire provides enough waving light for him to just about see where he’s going, and he really has no desire to see what rex is guiding him to.
johnny almost trips over him when the canine comes to an abrupt stop, his wide eyes trained on a bush to johnny’s left.
the dread pooling in his stomach becomes suffocating.
"wh
?" he swallows thickly, crouching down to rex's level and placing a hand on his back, feeling his laboured breath that matches his own. "...whatchya got, boy?"
rex barks and noses at the branches of the bush, before stepping backwards a few paces and looking expectantly between johnny and the shrub.
johnny stares at the bush. no amount of training could've prepared him for the terror he feels imagining what he’ll find on the other side of it. as if sensing his hesitation, rex barks again to spur him on, but it only makes his heart sink further.
his hand shakes as he reaches for the branches. there's a stutter in his heartbeat, a hitch in his breath, as he pushes them aside to reveal–
"bleedin' fuckin' jesus–" johnny cries, jumping through the foliage to couch over your weakened form, forgetting his fear all together as he ruffles rex's fur with both hands and a breaking smile when he barks again. "oh good boy rex! good boy, fuckin' hell!"
it's you, blood and ash smeared across your skin and your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and johnny's just so happy you're alive he can't think to be afraid when rex snaps at his hands in a misdirected effort to protect you. he presses both hands against the slice in your abdomen, using the few medical supplies in his vest to help stop the bleeding as the tears being to well again.
"shit, stay with me, hun, i've got ye
" he mumbles, putting all his weight onto your stomach. "ghost! help me!"
the rest is a blur.
they carry you to the helicopter, rex barking protectively between their legs the whole way until he can lay on guard between your legs on take off.
when they finally touch down back at base, johnny has to grab rex by the vest so the medics can carry you out, wrestling him away as he barks and whines in protest. johnny stays with the canine while you're in surgery and for the days you're asleep, making sure he's fed and allowing him to sleep in his room so he won’t be alone – despite how uncomfortable it makes him, and how little sleep he gets because of it.
it's four days until you wake up.
he's not the first to find out, but as soon as the words reach his ears he’d racing down the corridors and bursting through the infirmary doors with enough intensity to make you jump out of your skin. the sight of you sitting up and talking to price almost has his eyes watering again, but he pushes that urge down.
he approaches your bed more carefully, a wobbly smile pulling at his lips under your warm gaze. with an understanding look, price is patting him on the shoulder as he passes by and leaving the two of you alone with each other.
"aren't you a sight for sore eyes," johnny grins, taking a seat in the chair next to your bed and grasping your hand in his. a smile lifts your features as he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there as a heat rises in his cheeks.
"i could say the same, my knight in shining armour." you reply, moving your hand to cradle the side of his head and smoothing your thumb over his brow. he revels in the contact, the tension bleeding from his muscles under your touch. "where's rex?"
"he's fine, i made sure." he reassures you, and you let out a sigh of relief at his words, visibly relaxing into the pillows holding you up. "tried sneakin' him in here, but the nurses wouldn't have it."
a laugh escapes you, the sound still managing to make his heart feel light, even all these months later. "can't imagine why," you tease, gently nudging his head as he chuckles along with you.
it feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, finally having you with him again. his eyes flutter shut as the relief washes over him, and a minute passes where neither of you speak, simply basking in each other's presence.
there's a scratching sound at the door that interrupts the peace and quiet, and the two of you share a knowing smile. not a moment later, the door is being pulled open just enough for rex to slip through and skid towards your bed on the linoleum floor, wagging his tail at breakneck speed.
before the door can completely close, johnny catches a glimpse of gaz’s mischievous grin and groans, but he doesn't have time to yell at him before he’s out of sight and rex is distracting him by leaping onto your bed.
you wheeze as your canine braces his paws on your chest and begins his assault on your face, licking every inch of skin he can reach with a series of excited chuffs and narrowly missing johnny’s head with his swinging tail.
"hi rex! you saved my life, didn’t you boy?" you giggle, affectionately ruffling his fur and planting kisses of your own on his face. "who’s a good boy? who’s the best sniffer dog ever?"
johnny clears his throat, drawing your attention to him as you cuddle rex to your chest. "i don’t want’a blow my own horn here, but i saved yer life too
" he gives you that lopsided grin, a playful glint in his eyes that makes you laugh again.
"you want some pets too?" you chuckle, reaching over and dragging his head over to you by a hand on the back of his neck. "good job, johnny, you’re a good boy too." you coo, pressing your lips to his forehead and the tip of his nose as you ruffle his mohawk like rex’s fur.
the effect is immediate. his cheeks burn again with a striking red blush, and he chokes on his breath in bashful embarrassment under your ministrations. he hopes you haven't noticed his reaction, but the way your laugh bubbles up again he can tell you’ve caught on.
"i think i like that more than i should, bonnie." he mutters, pressing his forehead against yours and allowing his eyes to flutter shut. you hum sweetly, your warm breath fanning over his face.
"don’t short circuit on me yet, soap, you still owe me a date."
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tagging: @cheezbites
3K notes · View notes
russellbee · 3 days ago
Text
I MIGHT SAY SOMETHING STUPID (MV1)
max verstappen x driver!reader (team & gender are ambiguous) summary. you've never been good at talking to people. you can never form the right words, hold eye contact, or in worst cases, think before you speak. so truthfully, you're not really surprised when you end up confusing max with your spontaneous confession. unbeknownst to both of you, lando brings you back together. (writing, texts, + a bit of smau) (3.3k) warnings. for self-hate & mentions of hate comments, mentions of anxiety(!!!), everyone is confused and oblivious (except lando!), george and max rivalry is very present, mentions of alcohol & intoxication, use of y/n, reader has parents (and is close-ish with them), sorry if your name is spencer (the name is used for a friend), george doesn't have a gf(!!!), mentions of sex (but it’s really nothing), and cursing. andi's note!! inspired by my beautiful adhd brain 😍😍 (and my max obsession, ofc!) the title is from 'i might say something stupid' by charli xcx but the song doesn't have anything to do with the fic!
nav+masterlist
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You've seen multiple media outlets say that your mouth is disconnected from your brain with the amount of (accidental) out of pocket things you've said. Your first post-race interview in F1 ended with you severely embarrassed because you tried to make a joke but the way you worded it made it sound rude. You had backtracked as soon as you realized how it came off (honestly, it took too long) but you still had the comments you'd seen online stuck in your head.
Every season in F1 you get increasingly more nervous to talk in interviews or to the other drivers; the comments and articles gnawing at your self esteem. But with Max it's always been different. He can laugh off an unintentional brash remark or just raise an eyebrow and in a snap you'll realize what went wrong. So, because of how easy it is to talk to Max you've become close.
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You're in Abu Dhabi, the season's ended and George Russell is getting on your nerves. He's in your sight, talking to Lando and Alex; laughing. You don't dislike George, he's always been nice to you but your love for Max trumps your like for George. Love?
You're just a little tipsy. It's fine.
As long as George doesn't go near you maybe you won't open your mouth. It's always hard to stop talking the second you get alcohol in your system; not a single word is filtered, it all just comes out.
Someone is staring at you, it better not be George because he knows what you'd do for—
"Are you alright?" Max sits down next to you, gin & tonic in hand. He's so— warm. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body through his jeans. (It's not really warm enough for shorts but you couldn't remember the weather from last year, so you're stuck in a pair of shorts you brought to Qatar.)
"Huh?" What he said comes back to you and you stammer, "Oh, sorry. I'm fine just thinking. I guess."
"Thinking?"
"Yeah, y'know." You really are thinking; thinking about how good his cologne smells and wondering if it clings to him night and day. Does he always smell this great? How have you never noticed this?
"What are you thinking— Do you ever feel like, really obsessed with someone? Like you see them and you want them. Bad." You cut through his question with your own (stupid) question. Neither of you are looking at each other. You're too focused on not looking at him, actually. Why do you always do this? Did you never learn how to talk to people?
You're so busy panicking that you don't notice your eyes are still on George, and Max has noticed; his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Had he been reading things wrong?
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You're waiting at your gate when you get the text. You feel your phone buzz against your thigh and you hope, and hope that it's Max. You're terrified to message him first, worried he heard the meaning of your question and didn't want to acknowledge it. He hadn't said anything last night. Maybe he's finally sick of you. Can't even let him speak, or think before you talk with a single drop of alcohol in your body. You squeeze your eyes tight and will your brain to stop talking. Then, after a deep breath you open Whatsapp and see it's from Alex.
alex albon
did you tell max to apologise to george?
You blink. What? Never in your life would you think Max would apologize to George. You wouldn't tell him to either. What had gotten into him? Who would be able to change his mind like that?
alex albon
y/nnn
you have read receipts on ik you saw this
You sigh, trying to slow down your brain so you can make your thoughts coherent for Alex.
you
sorry i was thinking
didn't tell him to do that
idk why he would, it's not like him
alex albon
alright thanks 👍
i think we're all confused rn haha
Your boarding group is called and you feel a little bit of annoyance bubble in you. This is gonna be stuck in your mind for the entire flight.
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the best rookies
lando
i think y/n likes george
or that's what max thinks at least
alex
and how did you come to this conclusion?
george
That makes no sense
Y/n and I don't talk that often
lando
i saw them together b4 y/n left
they were staring at us
prob george tho
considering everything
george
Many people stare at us, Lando
lando
you don't getttt it
max looked like
mad but confused?? he was very focused on you
and y/n looked like they wanted the earth to swallow them
v embarrassed yknow
alex
y/n probably just said smth wrong
can't really see them liking george
george
If anything, Y/n likes Max
lando
max doesn't care when they do that tho
ik y/n likes max thats like super obvious
ugh u guys dont get it at all 😒
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You had practiced your speech for the awards, had repeated it over and over in your head. P3 in the championship, a first for you. Then you made a fool of yourself, stumbled over your words. People had laughed a bit, but in the back of your mind you acknowledge it had nothing to do with the jokes you attempted. At least you didn't have to take any more photos.
Lando finds you as you're about to leave, wiping the tears off of your cheeks and steadying your breathing. "You weren't that bad you know?" Lando teases and you let out a breathy laugh. "Fuck off." He laughs and you both start to leave the venue.
You make meaningless small talk. Lando is going to ski with friends and you'll be visiting a childhood friend, Spencer, in London. You're both anticipating a better season. The valets go to retrieve your cars, and you're both left standing on the sidewalk. It's a little humid, but not enough to make you want to blast the AC.
"Did you see George's post on Insta?" Lando asks after the silence has settled. Your face scrunches up, "Sorry?" You would've been fine to stay quiet until one of your cars arrived and you'd say goodbye. Lando had other plans, apparently.
"His post saying goodbye to Lewis. The last picture was nice, wasn't it?" You feel like there's something Lando's searching for but you can't put the pieces together. "I don't follow George on Insta. I— It's not like I don't like him, it's just. We're not really close?" Lando raises a brow, and it's not like when Max does it. It's something else, and you don't understand. You want to ask why, what he's thinking, but the valet parks your car in front of the sidewalk before you can.
Lando moves forward when the valet gets out, holding the driver's side door open for you. What is going on? You look at Lando, questions floating in your head and then hesitantly get into your car. "Have a nice off-season." Lando's grin is triumphant. Not like when he's at the top of a podium, something different and unfamiliar, yet kind.
"Yeah, thanks." Maybe you just don't know him well enough.
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Lando double checks everything. He looks through his and George's mutuals and looks through the likes on George's end-of-season posts. He's never been more determined to prove Alex and George wrong. (And getting you and Max together, of course!)
Oscar looks at him weird 'cause he's grinning at his phone, then teases him, asks him if he's got a girlfriend. Lando laughs it off, because how is he supposed to say that he's investigating into some grid drama? That he's trying to understand what happened after Abu Dhabi, with you and Max? George has been ruled out as a player in this game, none of you are that close.
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In London, you facetime your parents. They show you everything in their little villa that you rented out for them, the sandy beaches and the bright ocean. They tell you that they miss you and you repeat the sentiment. A part of you misses Max more, and you try to push that down.
Spencer orders pizza, and you both relax on the couch as you wait for it to arrive. They make a noise, a bit contemplative but unsurprised, and you look up from your own phone. Spencer's looking at you with a wolfish grin. "Oh, no."
"Have you seen this?" Their voice is teasing as they hand you their phone. It's opened to a post on the F1 Instagram account, the caption reads: Celebrating Max's 4th WDC with pictures of the best friendship on the grid 🏆. You gape slightly at the first picture; it's of you and Max in Zandvoort '23 on the podium. You both have bright smiles, your focus is on drenching Max with your champagne. He's laughing, accepting the spray. You don't bother to look at the rest, a sick feeling building in your stomach that you've begun to associate with Max. You know what it means, but you can't acknowledge it now. You haven't talked in over 2 weeks.
The pizza arrives and Spencer makes you pay. You can't get yourself to eat a lot, too stuck in your mind to acknowledge your hunger. When you lay in bed later that night, you feel sick. You know it's not the food, you know what it is. In the back of your mind you wonder if you'll ever be able to accept your feelings or if you'll just have to get over it.
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lando norris has made a groupchat
monaco dinner 😁😁 (alex albon, george russell, max 🏆, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, you)
lando norris
alright everyone. need to know when you're all returning to monaco
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"You're up to something," Oscar says from beside Lando. Lando raises a brow, a teasing grin on his lips. "Whatever do you mean, Osc?" His teammate rolls his eyes before scanning the table, landing at the empty seat next to George. Everyone is here, except you. Lando pretended he got a text from you saying that you'd be late, when in reality that's not the case. He told you the reservation was for twenty minutes later than he told everyone else. His plan needed to work and he didn't want you arriving earlier than intended.
"Y/n, someone who is always scared of coming late they come fifteen minutes early, isn't here. I'm assuming you have nothing to do with this?" Lando's grin grows wider. "Mate."
"Just wait."
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You arrive at the restaurant 5 minutes early, since you had to walk and that led you to being noticed by some fans. When you go up to reception and say who you'll be sitting with, the host raises a brow before directing you to a table in the far back of the restaurant. Everyone is already there, drinks on the table. Worried, you look at your watch to see it isn't even the time Lando sent. You're early.
The only seat open is at the end of the table, to the right of George. It's also right across from Max. He looks surprised to see you, putting away his phone as you sit down. George says hi and asks you how your break has been so far. You make pleasant, friendly conversation with him. When Charles asks you a question you turn your attention to him, and notice that Max's mood has visibly soured. He must notice you looking, because he inserts himself into Alex and Carlos' conversation. You bite your cheek, trying not to seem annoyed or disappointed. You still haven't talked, and it's been seven weeks. He's liked your posts; the one from your trip to London, a set of gym photos your team took, and your photos from your other trip. No comments, just likes.
He doesn't talk to you for the rest of the dinner, instead he watches you make conversation with your other drivers. You stumble over your words, make mistakes and try to laugh it off. It's nice to talk to them, it just requires more energy. With Max, you don't have to worry about your never-ending rambling or your stories that tend to not make sense. It's easy. You miss it.
Dinner ends, you all split the check and go your separate ways. After getting your card back you head to the bathroom, just standing in silence for a few seconds. You need a break, especially if you run into some fans on your way home. The more you talk and force your brain to try, the more exhausted you get. The easier it is to snap or say something completely wrong. No one deserves to be on the receiving end of that.
You scrub your hands over your face, trying to wake yourself up. In your pocket your phone buzzes once. Then twice.
max 🏆
Are you still here?
I didn't see you leave.
Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you make yourself type slowly. Your hands are shaking. You need to get a grip.
you
yeah, haven't left yet
you're still here then?
max 🏆
Yep. Meet you at the entrance?
you
sure
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As you leave the bathroom your brain has fired up again, what the fuck, repeating in your head consistently. Because, what the fuck? Why has Max all of a sudden decided to talk to you? What changed his mind?
He's standing in the waiting area, his plain white t-shirt covered by a jacket you recognize from the Alphatauri website. The corner of your lip twitches, as you fight back a smile. He's so predictable.
"Hey." His voice is quiet, like he was scared that you were lying. Like you'd hide in the bathroom till he left. Even though you're mad at him, you can't see yourself doing that, ever.
"Hi. Um, nice break so far? We haven't talked a lot," You let out an awkward laugh, cringing internally. Why did you bring that up? And in the first sentence too?
"I'm sorry about that, I've been busy," Max's smile is weak and your heart deflates a bit because you know when he's lying. He doesn't do it often, so it's easy to tell. "I meant to text you, really." But that isn't a lie. Huh. You stare at him for a second trying to make sense of what's going on.
"Did you drive here?"
"No, didn't have time to get gas. I mean— I did, I just forgot because I've been doing other stuff." Max smiles and everything feels almost normal again. The seven weeks of silence still looms over the conversation, like it's preparing to end your friendship forever. "I'll drive you. You didn't move, right?" He has a smile on his face, the one when he's trying to be funny. You feel that sick feeling building, and your skin warms.
"No, I should though. Apparently my neighbor almost set the complex on fire, and the one across from me she— she did something weird, I can't remember. But I know it caused a meeting for the building about some policy and everyone was really mad at her," You ramble, voice picking up as you get that giddy feeling, when you know you're really being listened to. Max leads you to his car and you get into the passenger seat. On the drive to your building, you finally remember the reason why your neighbor got in trouble.
"She got in trouble because she had sex on her balcony or something, and then someone saw and reported it. Holy shit, I can't believe I forgot that!" You laugh, face scrunching with your smile.
"Your neighbor?"
"Yes!" It feels really good to talk to Max again, to feel a true connection when you talk to him.
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lando norris
hey mate
how's y/n?
max
Good?
Do you not have her number?
lando norris
no haha sorry
thought you guys were dating
things seemed off just wanted to make sure
max
Right.
We're fine
lando norris
but not dating? (max has reacted with 👍)
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Everything has been good with Max. It's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders now that you can talk to him again. You flew with him to Bahrain and now Australia. Media day is tomorrow, and Lando has texted you asking if you want to go explore, like neither of you have ever been to Melbourne. You say yes, anyway.
You're in the elevator going down to the lobby, when it stops at another floor. George is standing on the other side of the doors, and he smiles at you as he walks in. "Hanging out with Max?" He asks as the doors slide shut.
"No, Lando invited me out. He said he wanted to explore, which I don't really understand because he's been to Melbourne multiple times. Also, Oscar's his teammate so, I don't—," You stop yourself. "It'll probably be fun though, it's Lando."
"Lando invited you out?"
"Uh— Yeah? Why?"
"He invited me out as well, that's all." Oh.
Is he trying to set you and George up? The thought hits you like a truck and your nose scrunches up involuntarily. First, the questions about his Instagram and then making you sit next to him at dinner. You feel warm, anger building inside you. Is Lando oblivious?
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↳ user since when are they friends????
↳ user you left out the part that lando was with them 💀
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You and George walk back together, an awkward silence hanging over you. It was a fun day. You took pictures, ate good food. You had fun. It was just awkward because it seemed both you and George knew what Lando was trying to do.
You're waiting for the elevator when George turns toward you. You shift your eyes toward him, trying to make sense about what he's about to do. "Do you like me?"
Your eyes widen and for a moment all you can do is stare at George. "No, I— I don't know where Lando got the idea that I like you, but I don't." You're trying to be nice in case George does actually like you, but he lets out a breath of relief.
"I'm really sorry, Lando is..."
"He's Lando, I know." The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You both walk in and George hits the button for your floors. "You do like Max though, right?" Once again you find yourself speechless. George laughs, cheeks turning red.
"Sorry, it's— It's really obvious, I don't know how Lando missed it." You're burning with embarrassment when you look away from George and mutter, "It's not that obvious." He cracks up, and you feel yourself growing warmer.
Thankfully for you, George gets off soon enough and it's just you. When you step off the elevator, you notice someone leaning against the wall by your door, scrolling on their phone. They look up when you come to a stop. It's Max, in another plain t-shirt and skinny jeans. You may hate the skinny jeans but they really show off his thighs, so it's not that bad. "Hi."
Max walks over to you, stopping so there's only a few inches between you. You can smell his cologne, see how blue his eyes are, and how his hair is a little out of place. He opens his mouth to speak but you speak before he can. "You look good, I mean—," You cut yourself off to prevent the inevitable ramble about how good he looks; your friends have heard it numerous times. Max blinks, the beginning of a smile on his face before he leans in and kisses you.
You make a little noise in surprise before you reciprocate, you reach for him blindly, grabbing onto his shoulder. It's easy kissing Max. You've been waiting for this, the soft press of his lips against yours, the heat of his hand against your face. The same sick feeling rests in your stomach, and you feel it; the way your heart speeds up when he's near and the hot flush that builds on your skin when he touches you. You never want it to end.
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yourusername close friends story
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[caption: @.maxverstappen1 đŸ€]
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lando OMG DID IT FINALLY HAPPEN??
yourusername yes...? lando oh thank god my plan worked i was so close to locking you two in a closet yourusername HUH????
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176 notes · View notes
aventurineswife · 1 month ago
Note
you said you would do it if someone requested soooo


Could you make a part 2 of the Pirate!Aventurine x Mermaid!Reader ? Do what you want I just want a part 2 honestly hehe
please please please please please please please please please please please please Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please
Compass of the Heart
Summary: Aventurine, a cunning pirate with a taste for risk, finds himself haunted by the memory of a mermaid who once sang him into peril. When you reappear, drawn by a shared pull neither of you fully understands, an unlikely partnership forms. As you navigate the open seas together—he on his ship, you alongside it—the lines between adventure, freedom, and love begin to blur. In each other, you uncover the courage to face the past and chart a new course, proving that even the most restless souls can find their anchor.
Tags: Pirate!Aventurine x Mermaid!Reader, Romance, Found Family, Pirate/Mermaid Dynamic, Slow Burn, Emotional Healing, Forbidden Love, Adventure and Freedom, Soft Moments Amid Danger.
Warnings: Mild references to past trauma and betrayal, Brief mentions of danger at sea, Emotional vulnerability and introspection.
A/N: I DID NOT EXPECT PEOPLE TO ACTUALLY LIKE THAT FIC WTFF!! 😭😭
[Part 1]
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The cove was quiet, save for the rhythmic lapping of waves against the rocks. Aventurine stood where you’d last disappeared, his elaborate coat billowing slightly in the sea breeze. He turned the glowing blue gemstone on his belt absentmindedly, the faint light reflecting in his eyes. Months had passed since he let you go, and yet, the memory of your voice haunted him.
Perhaps it was foolish to hope the sea might bring you back. But Aventurine had always been a gambler, and this was a wager he was willing to take.
He didn’t have to wait long.
A hauntingly familiar melody rose from the depths, weaving through the salty air and settling over the cove like a mermaid’s lullaby. Aventurine’s heart leapt, though he schooled his features into their usual mask of cool confidence. The water shimmered, glowing faintly under the moonlight, and then you emerged—graceful and radiant, your tail catching the silver light.
"You’re late," Aventurine drawled, tilting his hat. His smirk softened as he caught your eye. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me."
You floated closer, your expression unreadable. "And yet you stayed here, waiting. Why?"
He chuckled, stepping closer to the edge of the rocky shore. "Why does anyone gamble? For the thrill, of course." He paused, letting his gaze linger on you. "And perhaps... because I couldn’t quite forget you either."
You tilted your head, a small smile curving your lips. "Careful, pirate. I might think you’re getting sentimental."
"Sentimental?" He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Perish the thought. I’m merely staking my claim on the most intriguing treasure the sea has ever offered."
Your laugh was soft, musical—a sound he realized he’d missed more than he’d admit.
The days that followed were a strange kind of bliss. You joined Aventurine aboard his ship, though you kept mostly to the water, swimming alongside the vessel. His crew, wary at first, quickly warmed to your presence. You warned them of storms and hidden reefs, and in return, they treated you as one of their own, tossing you trinkets and sharing stories from the deck.
Aventurine, true to form, kept his cards close to his chest. He entertained you with his wit and charm, though every so often, his gaze betrayed something deeper.
One evening, as the ship rested in calm waters, Aventurine found you perched on the railing, your tail trailing in the sea. The moonlight painted you in silver and gold, and for once, he found himself at a loss for words.
"You’re quiet tonight," you observed, glancing at him.
"Just thinking," he replied, leaning against the railing beside you.
"About what?"
He hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. "About how much trouble you’ve caused me. First luring my ship into a trap, and now... this."
You arched a brow. "This?"
"This," he repeated, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "You’ve gone and made me care, haven’t you?"
Your laughter was soft but genuine, and for a moment, Aventurine forgot the weight of his past.
Weeks turned into months, and together you charted a new course—not for treasure or conquest, but for freedom. Aventurine’s ship became a sanctuary, a place where neither the laws of men nor the bindings of the sea could reach you.
Over time, your relationship deepened. Aventurine, ever the enigma, began to let his walls down, sharing stories of his past—of loss, betrayal, and the relentless drive to survive. In return, you shared your own tales, of the sea’s cruel bindings and the song that had once been your only solace.
"You’re not the man I thought you were," you said one evening, your voice soft.
"And what man did you think I was?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes searching.
"A villain," you replied, meeting his gaze. "But you’re not. You’re just... lost."
He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "And what does that make you, then? My compass?"
"Maybe," you said, your smile mirroring his. "If you’ll let me."
Their legend grew, whispered in taverns and sung by sailors. The pirate with the jeweled eyepatch and the mermaid with the haunting voice, defying the odds and carving their own path across the waves.
Together, they became a force to be reckoned with—a pair bound not by chains, but by choice. Aventurine, the gambler who had always played to win, had finally found a game worth staying in. And you, the mermaid who once sang of loss and betrayal, had found a home beyond the sea.
In the end, it wasn’t the ocean or the treasures that defined their story. It was the gamble they’d taken on each other—and the happiness they’d found in the unlikeliest of places.
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Your welcome 😇💖
212 notes · View notes
sapphiresandferrari · 1 month ago
Text
Sweet encounters
Pairing: Eddie Munson x oc!reader
Summary: Eddie meets the new student, and he inevitably falls for her
Warnings: none, pure fluff and slightly simp Eddie
A/N: hi, I finally wrote a new fic, about Eddie Munson this time.
I hope you will like it and, as always, comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated, let me know your thoughts, please, it helps me improve
Also English is not my first language, so I'm sorry if I made some mistakes or typos
Enjoy đŸ«¶đŸ»
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Eddie hated early mornings, he absolutely hated them.
The only occasions he woke up early without a groan and a big instinct to kill the first person in front of him, were when he had to drive to go to a concert or to shop for new records and band shirts.
Other than that, he utterly disliked waking up early, his brain doesn’t start to function until 11 am.
However, this year Eddie was focused and determined: he wanted to graduate, so he could finally leave this town for good and try to make it to the music scene.
He knew his band was good enough to make it, sure they need way more practice, and definitely a bigger crowd than the 5 drunks at the Hideout, but they could make it, he knew it in his bones.
In order to graduate tho, he had to put lots of effort this year, so that means waking up on time and actually show up for classes even if they were boring, do all the assignments (possibly on time too) and most importantly, try to get at least all D.
That's why every morning he woke up with a living will up to 0 but he was stubborn: he wanted to graduate and he will.
After drinking the biggest cup if coffee known to mankind, he hopped on his van and drove to school.
He checked his schedule and headed to the chemistry lab.
He arrived surprisingly early, so he could sit alone and doodle in peace, until he heard the chair beside him moving.
He turned his head and saw a girl, curly hair, all pink and laces, never seen before, she looked at him, her eyes wide, scared "is this seat taken? Can i sit here?".
He couldn't belive his ears, was she aware of his reputation? Did she know anything, honestly?
He couldn't tell, so he simply told her that yes, the seat was free and she could stay there, turning back to his doodles.
"Oh thank you, I'm new you know? Ao i don't know anyone and everyone here seems to be pretty close to each other and i saw you alone so i thought i could sit here but then I thought it was better to ask cause what if you were waiting for someone, and...maybe is better if i shut up"
Jeez she talked a lot, but Eddie found it somehow cute, she looked like a lost kitty, he didn't know if he should try to be friendly or keep staying silent and let her go.
She didn't seem to have things in common with him so he didn't see the point into trying to be friends, but she also looked scared and he could help her, at least at the beginning.
"Hey calm down, is fine, i wasn't waiting for anyone, the seat is all yours", she nodded at his words but he could see in her eyes that she was worried, on edge.
He felt bad for her, maybe he sounded too harsh than he wanted to, the poor thing was already scared to death, he definitely didn't make it better
He decided to try again "so first day...you must be nervous" she looked at him, breathing heavy "I'm more than nervous, I'm terrified, i was actually excited to start school even if I don't know anyone here, and yes, Hawkins isn't Chicago, but i thought maybe i could make some new friends but then as soon as i entered school everyone looked at me like i have three heads and...I'm rambling again, I'm sorry, I talk a lot when I'm nervous...but also when I'm not nervous...to be honest i just talk a lot, 'm sorry"
Eddie definitely never met someone like her, she was the cutest thing he even seen.
He smiled, she was so different from the other girls in Hawkins, he wondered if they had anything in common "is okay really, i get it, i moved to Hawkins too, few years ago, so i know how you're feeling, I'mEddie by the way" he could see her eyes glowing at his words, her breath steadying "yeah being the new student sucks, but it seems i already made a friend, I'm y/n, nice to meet you Eddie" she smiled back at him, before focusing on Mr Ripley, ready to start his chemistry lesson.
Eddie didn't see her for the rest of the day after first period, so he couldn't wait to see her during lunch break, he hoped to spot her so he could invite her to his table
She didn't show up at the cafeteria, leaving him disappointed, wondering where she was.
He met her again for Mrs O'donnell class, during last period, she was sit alone writing on her notebook.
Eddie immediately sat besides her, he couldn't believe that they were together for this class.
"Hi, i didn't see you all day, you disappeared or something?" She jumped when she heard his voice "oh hiiii, I'm so happy to see you again, I was hoping we could share more classes together but i didn't see you in history and spanish, oh and then i got lost on my way to the cafeteria and ended up in the library so i ate there instead while i read my book" Eddie laughed, her excitement over literally everything made his heart flutter "sweetie i'm sorry you got lost and I'm sorry i couldn't help you, did you ask anyone for help?" Hearing this, her smile faded a little "i did actually, i met a small group and asked them where the cafeteria was, but the indications they gave me were for the library"
Eddie couldn't believe it, it was her first day, why were they this mean with her already? He can't wait to graduate and stop seeing these jocks faces again "oh sweetheart, those are idiots, gimme your schedule, i will walk you to every classes from now on"
Y/N tried to tell him it wasn't necessary but he didn't want to listen to it, he decided in that moment that he wanted to protect her, no matter what.
And Eddie kept his words, he would walk her to every class the next morning and for lunch he straightly led her to his table.
He couldn't wait to introduce her to the hellfire and maybe, if he was lucky, she would want to know more about DnD.
But his sweet, sweet Y/N surprised him once more: turned out that not only she knew DnD, but she used to play with her friends back in Chicago, she had a character of high class and level.
"I'm so excited that you guys play too, i was worried i had to stop playing but I'm so happy i found you, can i join the next session? If you're okay with that of course, i don't want to intrude, you know...if you're already far along on your campaign" everyone at the table started shouting "if we are okay? You must join us, our fair maid, is been a while since a cutie like you joined us and to be fair, I'm tired of always do the female voices" Gareth reassured Y/N and Eddie didn't like his flirty tone.
He knew he just wanted to make her feel comfortable, and he also knew that if he told him about his interest for y/n, Gareth would back off immediately, but Eddie still couldn't help but feel jealous at their small interaction.
He quickly noticed how she nice she was to everyone, so he wasn't surprised that she got along with the Hellfire club as soon as she sat down on their table.
"I really can't wait for you to join our sadistic campaign, but I'm afraid we might have to postpone this Friday, the drama club needs the room, so I will keep you posted on this guys, milady" Eddie informed his little sheep
"Oh well if you have an issue with that, we might do the session at my place, both my parents work the night shift so is just me and Pluto at home" Eddie grinned at her words "Aw sweetie, that's nice of you to offer you castle for our session, and Pluto? You named your dog after Mickey's dog?"
"Dog? Pluto isn't a dog, is my black cat, I named him after the Poe's short story, especially since my baby is also missing one eye, like in the story"
"That's sick baby, you have a one eyed cat? And I didn't think you liked Poe, I thought you were more of a Austen girl"
Y/N giggled, she was totally expecting this reaction "yes Austen is amazing but I love Poe's work a lot, I try to not stick to one genre only but to keep my books collection varied, currently I'm reading Salem's lot and The hobbit"
"The hobbit? Girl, please, you have to stop, or I'll fall for you more than I'm already doing"
Y/N blushed, she wasn't used to men flirting with her, and whenever it happened, she just got embarrassed and they gave up in the end, but Eddie seemed to be obsessed with her since they met and she couldn't help but wonder if he was actually interested or if he was having pity of the new girl.
Either way y/n couldn't believe she found new friends so early and that also played DnD, she was so excited.
Friday evening couldn't come sooner, y/m spent the afternoon baking brownies amd cookies, she wanted to make them feel comfortable and what's better than something sweet to fuel the brain?
Besides all these boys definitely were hungry.
Eddie's mouth watered at the sight, he doesn't remember the last time he ate something sweet that weren't candies or chocolate bars, and definitely didn't remember the last time he ate something homemade.
The session went incredibly well, they all had fun and y/n was a big addiction to Eddie's club, he felt truly happy after a long time.
He finally found a girl who wasn't afraid to be herself, and mostly, that seemed to like him a lot and wasn't afraid to show it.
He couldn't wait more, he needed to tell her that he liked her back, he needed to show her how much.
That's why he stayed after the session, he said he wanted to help her clean everything, when he actually wanted to be alone with her.
"So, how did you find everything? I hope you will join us for the next session" Eddie asked her while he was taking the plates away
"Oh, I thought I was part of the club already, of course I will join you for the next session, I had so much fun, you're an amazing dungeon master, Eddie the banished" and with that Eddie couldn't help himself anymore "do you want to go on a date with me? Tomorrow or whenever you want?" He blurted out, he planned to ask her in a smoother way but he genuinely couldn't wait anymore
Y/N blushed at the question, she thought he would never ask, and she answered with way too much eagerness "oh yes, I would love to, we could go to the drive in or the movies or the arcade, whatever you want really, I like everything and I know I will have fun because I love spending time with you, sorry I didn't mean love I meant like, yes I like..."
Eddie loved listening to her rambling, she was so cute when she was nervous like this, so he decided to put her out of her misery and simply do what he thought was the best way to calm her nerves: he leaned and gently pressed his lips on hers.
When they separate, y/n whispered "you kissed me" still in shock "yeah, sorry maybe I should've ask is you were okay with that or wait for our first date" Eddie replied
Hearing this, y/n chuckled and kissed him again, this time with more confidence, and in that moment, Eddie understood that she wasn't planning to go anywhere, and neither did he.
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sehnsuchts-trunken · 9 months ago
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Pinch Me
Gally x reader summary: Gally isn't dead after all. In fact, he's very much alive. And so is that weird feeling in your stomach whenever you look at him.
a/n: god the lack of maze runner fics on my blog is unbelievable!!! needed to change that desperately
maze runner masterlist | main masterlist
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You eye Gally carefully from the side as you wait. There's only one telescope and it's not like you're gonna line up behind Thomas to use it - no, you take the time to sit down on the ground and narrow your eyes at the newly un-dead glader next to you instead.
He's taller than when you'd last seen him. You'd noticed how much he'd grown the very first second you'd lain eyes on him. But he's got broader, too. He looks older, much older. More like an adult now. And that hoodie suits him. A little too well, actually.
"You're staring", Gally says, pulling you from your silent assessment of him. He doesn't even turn to look back at you. Some voice in the back of your head pipes up, tells you that you should probably feel embarrassed that he's caught you - but you don't, somehow. Instead, you hum in agreement. Yeah, you had been staring. You are staring.
"Are you trying to check if I'm real or what?", he asks with a chuckle, one that's surely supposed to cover up the fact that he sounds quite a bit nervous underneath. It doesn't really help. You hear the shake in his voice anyway.
It has you grinning just a little.
"Honestly?", you smile, trailing your eyes along him once more. "I kind of am."
He looks back at you then, finally, turns his head to yours and meets your eyes.
"You wanna pinch me to make sure?", he asks, seemingly serious with his eyebrows raised, but with a twinkle in his eyes that you've rarely seen in them. Your grin widens even further.
Without another word, you lean forward and pinch his arm. Just like that.
He doesn't even flinch.
He's warm under your fingertips, warm despite that thick, woolen hoodie he's wearing that looks so comfortable you honestly want to steal it from him. You pull back with a satisfied grin.
"Very much real", you approve, and then the corners of his lips tug up and you almost black out. Your heart really skips a beat. Just because he's smiling back at you. Oh, lord.
You settle a little further back and let out a breath.
"I'm glad you're not dead, Gally", you mutter, trying to keep your voice down so Newt and Thomas won't necessarily hear you. It's not that you want to keep it a secret, you just want to keep it private. It doesn't concern them. This is something between you and Gally. Something personal. Something that tugs at you and pulls you to him.
You don't know what it is exactly.
Maybe just relief, relief that at least one other glader is alive after you've already lost so many others. Maybe it's happiness, happiness to see an old friend. Or an old acquiantance? An old.... God, you don't even know what you and Gally were back then. Two people who threw glances at each other, who smiled at each other, who... Did barely anything else for the three months you'd spent there before Thomas had come up the box. Two people, three months and absolutely nothing that happened.
Ever.
But now he's back. And that something that never happened? That's back now, too.
...
You're nowhere near safe, really. You're anything but safe. You're the absolute, complete opposite of safe. You're running through a city on fire, your legs burning, burning, burning with the strain of carrying yourself- Fuck, fuck, fuck!
You can see the aircraft already. It's right there, you just need to run a little faster. If you had any oxygen left in your lungs, you'd shout for Minho and Gally to check if they're still right behind you - but you don't have the oxygen and you don't have the time either, so you push on, on and on until you're close, closer and closer and then, finally, inside the aircraft. You collapse onto the floor and gulp down what feels like a litre of air.
"Serum", you wheeze. "Serum. Newt."
You hear a body collapsing close to you, then another. You force your eyes open and turn your head to one side - Gally, his chest heaving and his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to calm down.
You're safe.
He's safe.
And you're both still alive.
Your ears ring so loudly that you barely hear how Jorge starts the aircraft. You don't care, either.
You're safe. And alive.
For the moment.
And that's all that matters.
So you steady a palm against the floor, heave yourself up and reach over him. Your hand comes down next to his head just as he opens his eyes.
Fuck.
Your heart is racing. You don't know if it's him or the adrenaline. You're not really bothered to think about it either, to be honest. He's too close to think. So close. Closer than ever before.
And you truly are drunk on adrenaline. Which is definitely the only goddamn reason for why you lean down, just like that, and press your lips to his.
You catch him off guard. You catch yourself off guard, too.
He tastes like sweat and blood, bitter and metallic and absolutely perfect considering you're still very much in a life-threatening situation, blood rushing in your ears and minds reeling with the heaviness of everything that's happening.
You shouldn't be kissing him. You shouldn't be planted half on top of him, with your hands shaking and your body so heavy you almost collapse. And then his fingers close around your waist and you do collapse, right on top of him.
He's broad and tall and most definitely more comfortable than the floor. Fuck, his hands on you feel so good. They're so wide and big and he's such a good kisser, his lips against yours so perfect.
God, how have you never done this before? He's always been right there, you've always felt that tug. And now that you've given into it, you never ever want to stop again.
He's heavenly. And he's holding you so firmly, so easily on top of him. He's so broad and tall and comfortable and firm and perfect and-
"Shit!"
Jorge's voice startles you so hard you flinch away from Gally, your head jerking up, your eyes searching the inside of the aircraft -
Everyone's staring at you.
Absolutely everyone.
Oh, god.
Oh, lord.
Oh, fucking hell.
Heat rushes to your cheeks. With a start, you push off of Gally and turn onto your back again. Your eyes squeeze shut as your breath evens out. Slowly, but steadily. Ever so steadily.
You can't think.
You're exhausted. Simply and just exhausted. This entire day has been too goddamn exhausting. And it's not even over yet. It's nowhere near over.
But as Gally reaches out for you, as he slips his hand into yours and interlocks your fingers... Yeah, you'll be fine. You'll be just fine.
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