#how domestic of these two maniacs

[hellsdogs]

🍳 — for junji & mai!

The light in the kitchen is dim, casting soft shadows on the countertops. The space is open to the living room, allowing the entire room to embrace them in what feels like a cozy night. A cozy night—that's right. It’s been weeks since Mai found him, weeks since he pressed a knife to her throat, and since she calmly said she would walk by his side. Madness, recognizing itself in madness. Together, they have brought new life to his dark social experiment, ideas that have ignited his art in ways he never imagined. The man they kidnapped remains locked in the house, cameras constantly watching him, a twisted reality show they monitor from screens wherever they go. Sometimes they laugh, sometimes they brainstorm new ways to push their "art" further. But tonight, it's different. Tonight, they are behind the kitchen counter, sharing their first homemade meal. They’ve been to restaurants before, but never had the freedom to speak openly like they do here, in the dim light of his apartment. He’s working on the udon, stirring the noodles with slow precision while she chops vegetables at the counter, the soft light falling over her shoulders. The air is warm, filled with the sweet hum of simmering water, a rare moment of calm. "Alright, the noodles are almost ready. I haven’t had homemade udon in a while. Just the smell of it—I’m already impatient." Impatient, yet there’s something soothing about the process. The quiet rhythm of the kitchen. The simple ritual of cooking. He glances over head, as he watches her work, captivated. Her movements, her thoughts, the ways she concentrates—quite often, she fascinates him. In her, he’s found an evil genius that mirrors his own, a partner in the madness. A match. Trust? Perhaps, perhaps not. He is convinced she could expose or kill him if she wanted to. He hates the thought as he likes what they have but but he enjoys the fact of her being capable of it, it's exciting. He grabs a piece of the carrot she’s chopping, quickly biting into it, savoring the crunch. "What’s your recipe? Do you preheat the veggies, or do you like them raw in your udon?" He passes her the larger knife for the leeks, watching as her hand wraps around the blade. But just as her fingers curl around it, his hand stays on top of hers, keeping the knife in place. "Hold on, hold on..." His lips curl into a smirk. "You’re not going to stab me, are you?"His smile widens, manic but pleased. "Not that I wouldn’t be into it," he adds with a dark snicker. He would be madly into it. "But I’m too famous to die now. Well, we are." They are. The press talks about them constantly and he even gets a higher raise, a higher position a the Daily Japan as he writes most of these articles himself.

send 🍳 to cook with my muse // accepting.

[love-toxin]

MEAT - thomas hewitt (leatherface)

a/n: i had to be a little silly ehe <- delusional

(cws: fem!reader, DDDNE, extreme violence, blood, gore, broken bones, a whole array of weaponry, domestic abuse, forced relationship, evolution of victim -> perpetrator, psychological torture, mentions of very dubious consent, breeding, huge size difference, ownership marking, protective tommy, implied cannibalism, unnamed victims of the tcm.)

wc: 10.7k

Lungs burning in your chest with the humid Texas heat, you forced the corn stalks aside as you stumbled through them in a frantic sprint. Each leathery pod whacked against your shoulders, your hands, your chest, and your bruised-up legs, but you wouldn't stop for nothing.

You couldn't stop. The people you'd hitchhiked with were all dead, or at least very well on their way to being so–they had been hunted one by one, by bear traps and shotguns and hay hooks, and you were sure you were the only one the family were left hunting. It'd taken all night to spread you thin and weaken you all with sadistic tortures of every kind. Now your group was down to one. You. Hauling ass was not enough to describe how frantically you were tumbling through the crop field, practically hand-over-foot crawling with how dizzy you'd gotten. Blood loss and a few hits to the head would do that to you.

Finally, the maize parted one last time to spit you out into the dewy grass, the labyrinth of sameness finally coming to an end. But when you tilted your head up to the starry night sky, your heart dropped into your feet at what laid before you. The farmhouse. You'd run in the wrong direction. Warm light glowed from within the drapery behind the windows and you spotted the older woman standing on the porch, a rag tucked between her hands as she called out a name. Terrified and hoping for the blessing of going unseen you army crawled your way right back to the corn–

Thunk. Only halfway there, the grass split with the force of a sledgehammer dropping into it. A boot stepped into view right by your head; attached to it was an enormous calf, and your eyes trailed upwards slowly to reveal the whole of that crazed maniac you'd seen manhandling the others into that house of horrors across the lawn.

Greasy hair hung down in long tresses, wary eyes pierced into your skull, an apron sat snug around his midriff stained with dark blood. Up close, you could listen to the way he breathed heavy through the mask that obscured his lower jaw, only the bridge of his nose and his forehead visible through it. He stunk of sweat, rot, and fresh meat. His weighty hand tightened round the handle of the hammer he'd set down, veins popping out with the sheer size and strength of his enormous, hulking body.

“Tommy!” The woman's voice cracked out in the night, the name finally ringing clear enough for you to hear. His head whipped around to the source and he stared in her direction; you watched her turn a blind eye to your predicament in the grass and step back inside the house. It felt as though your heart might burst in that moment, the fear and tension running through you like a taut wire about to snap in two.

The giant grunted overhead. You looked back at him again and squeezed your fists against the dirt, expecting him to lift that hammer and crush your skull into the ground with it. But upon resting his palm on the blunt end of it, the monster instead used it to lower himself to one knee. With a hand outstretched, he slowly, carefully brushed your damp hair aside, and pressed his fingertips firmly into your cheek. You shuddered as they moved downwards, probing around the soft spot beneath your ear and the curve of your jaw. He tilted your chin back and slid his whole, grubby hand down your neck…and with the most tentative squeeze around your throat, you swallowed and he all but jumped back. Your skin ran cool again as his warm hand ripped away from you, but with just as much hesitation he grazed your lips with his knuckles and trailed them across your forehead, leaving smudges of wet blood behind.

“Tommy!” A harsher voice tore through the quiet night, yanking his attention away from you again. The sheriff–the fake sheriff, that is–came stomping up from around the back of the barn, the shotgun hanging at his side causing you enough panic to scramble to your knees. But you wouldn't get far. Not even a couple feet. Your body hit the earth within moments of you climbing to your feet, and you heaved out a pained moan at the mountain of weight that pinned you down and crushed you underneath him. The giant had thrown himself forward and taken you down without thinking twice; his beefy arm came around your neck and tightened, his muscles flexing under the coarse fabric of his shirt for him to hold you in place.

“Attaboy, Tommy.” The older man came around his side as you struggled, clawing at the bicep that was crushing your windpipe with barely any effort. The sheriff kicked your flailing leg with a holler, cackling at the way you squirmed under his nephew's brute strength. “Stupid bitch. Gonna learn your lesson now, aint'cha?”

Dying squeaks for mercy escaped your throat, your words barely tinged with any discernible syllables. Thomas’ grip only grew tighter. Your arms went slack, then your legs slowed to a trembling halt…and before long your head slumped forward as you passed into unconsciousness, hoping to god this would be the last time you woke up in this sweltering Texas hell.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The chatter of voices melted into the gentle clatter of silverware. It wasn't the sounds that stirred you from your sleep rife with nightmares, though–it was the sliver of a sunbeam cast through the window that shone gently on your face. You blinked blearily as your head lolled in a stuttered circle, slowly and quietly coming to. Clink. Clack. Eyelids cracked half-open, you raised your head up despite the weight of a pounding headache, and watched a pair of wrinkled hands set down a teacup on a saucer in front of you.

Although there was much to see, you instantly turned your gaze to the woman you'd seen on the porch. Your nerves jittered and you flinched as she reached out to touch you, but it passed with her gentle shushing as she tenderly caressed your cheek. The age showed in creases all across her face, her eyes soft but wet with something terribly uneasy behind them.

“Such a pretty girl,” She crooned, a smile like nothing had happened plastered across her face. The eagerness with which she watched you unsettled you to your very core, but it would be second to the nightmare that was waiting to explode on you across the table. “I always wanted a little girl. Never seen one so pretty.” Despite the sweetness of her words, a shift of your hand rattled the chair you'd been tied to; both wrists buckled under the tough ropes used to bind you, indented where you could see dry blood crusted over the fibers. Either you moved a lot in your sleep, or someone really wanted to punish you for trying to get away.

As tenderly as if she was your own mother, the lady brought your teacup up and tilted it for you to drink, which gave you a moment to let your eyes wander. With a glance around you took a mental sweep of the place. Your chair sat at the end of a dining table, and aside from the woman you spotted two other older men; the frightening man with the shotgun, and an elderly man in a wheelchair. Framed photos hung around the room against peeling wallpaper, and aside from a decent amount of clutter and antique decorations of a house long lived in, nothing struck you as out of the ordinary from the cutlery to the frayed rug that cushioned your bare feet.

The aging woman tottered around the table to pick up a plate and slid a few eggs on from a saucepan in the middle. That and a few strips of bacon made their way down to your placemat, still sizzling.

“Why're you givin’ this bitch special treatment, mama?” The fake sheriff glared you down from his seat at the head of the table, spitting off to the side with his hands still clasped in front of him. “Already got enough mouths to feed.”

“Hush.” She finally snapped, and gestured with the spatula still in hand. “This is your fault. You wanna play sheriff so bad, Charlie.”

“It's Hoyt, mama, for god's sake!”

“Don't you cuss at me!” The old woman warned, aiming the spatula right at his chest.

“U-Um,” You whimpered softly, and drew the attention of all three of the frightening strangers, who turned their heads in your direction. The focus on you made you falter, but the problem at hand was far more pressing than fear. “Th-The rope…please..” You managed to squeak out, and only then did they seem to notice your hands were changing colours. They were so tight the blood wasn't circulating, and you feared even a few moments more of the ache would result in something very unpleasant in the near future, especially when you knew there was a chainsaw floating around here somewhere.

Just then, the floorboards creaked at your back. Too afraid to turn your head you only shifted your gaze, and in your peripheral you saw it. Two thick, fat-fingered hands reaching downwards to tug at the binds round your wrist. For someone so huge, he made short work of untying you even without the aid of one of the knives scattered round the table settings. The rope loosened and dropped to the floor in a coil like a dead snake, but as he reached over you to undo the other–and you got a whiff of soap amidst his sweat in the process–the man naming himself Hoyt grumbled and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

“Goddammit, boy–what'd I say? We ain't keepin’ her, for Christ sakes!”

“Watch your mouth!” The woman–mama–shrieked, and her fist shook as she dumped the spatula down on the table with a thunk. The other cuff came loose and you released a sigh of relief as you touched your wrists, wincing at the open cuts that had only half dried over. And while the two continued to bicker about one thing or another, a great shifting of clothes and a thump beside you caught your gaze. Thomas, the giant that you'd watched haul the others off to the slaughter, had knelt down by your chair like a dog and still came up to eye level. God, he was just massive. Somehow it made him less intimidating though, since he looked at you like he was waiting for scraps from your plate. It was somewhat pathetic, but…endearing? Was that a word you could even consider using for a maniac like him, or was it beyond all common logic to even think of him in such pleasant terms?

“A-Are you…hungry?” You whispered, only to be met with a slow shake of his head. Thomas raised a melon-sized arm and pushed the plate closer to you, as if to say ‘eat up, it's getting cold’. Emboldened by his tender gesture, you shakily plucked your fork off the placemat and leaned in to examine the bacon. It looked like…bacon. Hot, crunchy, cut in strips like you would see any day in the supermarket. Still, you tentatively went for the eggs first, and raised the tiniest bit to your mouth as the two older ones finally managed to settle down whatever argument they'd been having.

“Boys, time to say grace.” Suddenly flushed hot with embarrassment, you lowered your fork in an instant and followed their lead. You bowed your head with them, listened to mama say her standard prayers of thanks–and then, when everyone else began to eat, you cautiously lifted the bite to your lips and chewed thoughtfully. It felt like forever for you to discern whether or not it was normal, if it tasted like it should, but after a while of chewing you had to relent to the fact that it didn't taste abnormal, so it was about as fine as you could expect. You ate in silence alongside them, but just when you pondered whether the food might be drugged or other awful possibilities, the sheriff cleared his throat and drew your attention to him once again.

“Now,” Mama scowled at him, but he continued to speak nonetheless. “You got two options here, kid: eat, or be eaten. Them's the laws of life.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, readying himself to say more, but an interruption came with a grunt from your side. Hoyt raised a hand and waved the wordless concern off. “Don't you mouth off, boy. Gettin’ to it.”

You shifted your gaze to Thomas, who only nudged your plate closer to you to urge you into eating more. Something gnawed at the back of your mind. Their behavior was so strange, the looks exchanged even stranger–there was something that wasn't being said, like a plan was brewing right under your nose.

“See here, this is how it is. You got choices. Now, my nephew here happens to like you,” His honeyed southern drawl couldn't hope to mask the hopelessness that stirred in you at those words. “Ugly as sin, but he's a good enough boy, ain't that right?” He looked to Thomas, but the ‘boy’ in question stared right at you when he nodded. “So you choose. You wanna eat-”

“I'll eat,” The answer flew from your mouth without hesitation, so much so that even the most uninterested of folks around the table caught your gaze. Your breath hitched in your bruised throat. “I'll eat, I swear. I'll eat.”

“Mm-hm.” Hoyt eyed you and nodded. Something about the way he watched you made you feel overexposed, like your skin had been stripped raw from the bone and he was peering into every inch underneath. “Fine then. Whore's all yours, Tommy-boy.”

At those words, your world shifted with a violent blur of motion. Before you could even gasp there were huge, strong hands under your armpits, and you were lifted out of your seat like a child who weighed less than nothing. You'd be thanking yourself later that you at least polished off most of your plate, because aside from an accidental thump of your foot hitting the table on the way by, you wouldn't be touching the rest of your breakfast again. Thomas slung you over his shoulder and cradled your lower half in the crook of an enormous arm, and with a shriek you felt yourself being carried off by the giant and taken away into another world.

The basement.

It had been a month and a half since you'd been taken in, now. Life had gone on despite you vanishing from the world you knew, and regardless of whether or not you woke up each morning and wondered why you were still kept alive, the earth continued to turn. Time went on and you adjusted, albeit shakily, to the routine of a life in the backcountry of rural Texas. You learned to help on the farm and Luda Mae, or momma as you were taught to call her, passed on her generations-old knowledge of cookery and cleaning and caring for the household. Sometimes you'd get driven out with momma and one of the uncles to tend the store, but that was on the rare side since they didn't trust the locals not to mess with you. Pretty things like you didn't come by often and you had values to uphold, now.

Plus, you had a man at home. Tommy was the reason you survived that awful first night, but now it was expected that he was also the reason you kept on living.

The rest of the family kept out of your business together for the most part, but you'd long been perplexed by the dynamic that had ensued since you'd first arrived. For as hulking and strong of a beast he was, you came to find out that Tommy's appearance was a shell that sheltered a soft-natured, sensitive boy at heart. His penchant for murder was not so, rather it was a duty carried out regardless of will in the service of a family he was lucky to have, despite you certainly thinking otherwise. He liked to work, and eat, and make things. His rage could certainly be a problem, but it was a rare thing that only cropped up once in a great while. He would endure more than ten times a normal person before he finally snapped, and even then he wouldn't ever let you see it. The few times he got mad, he would stomp out to the barn or head to the now-abandoned slaughterhouse, and take out his aggression on the thing he knew best. Meat. And most of the time it was a beating from Hoyt or a few too many bouts of yelling before he felt the need to get away.

After all, it wasn't anger that led his interactions with you. It was odd; he'd pointed you out specifically as the one he wanted to keep, but he seldom showed any entitlement in taking whatever it was he wanted from you. He'd lean in for kisses but most of the time he missed anyways. You weren't exactly sure what you could call your one occasion of intimacy with him that you recalled, because he didn't ask if you wanted it, but you didn't really tell him outright that you didn't. Would it have even mattered? Maybe not. But he barely managed to find the hole he was looking for anyways, and by the time he did it was obvious he had no clue what he was doing. Fumbling hands and a bit of awkward thigh-humping later and he'd finally left you be, albeit soaked and sticky with sweat and the residue he'd clumsily left behind on your bare stomach. Since then, it'd been just a few fingers on your thighs and some tame through-the-mask kisses, nothing more.

Not that you should really be questioning the love of a serial chainsaw butcher, but as the days passed it grew harder to see him in that light alone. You witnessed too much of the deformed, mentally-disturbed man who refused to eat before you did, who wouldn't lay a hand on you like he'd had laid on him all his life. Thomas showed affection in odd ways but they were more endearing than you thought they would be, from picking you flowers off the side of the road to cleaning up the small room you shared so you'd feel more at home. Sometimes his arousal would grow against your back while you laid in his arms, but a bit of shuddered hip-rocking through your pajamas while he thought you were asleep and the moment would pass. He was pretty easy to please.

There came a time when new visitors drove through town, however, and you knew what was going to happen as soon as Hoyt came home and called for Tommy to come upstairs. You stood at the sink washing dishes while you peered through the window; out in front of the same cornfield you'd crawled out of nearly two months ago, a van sat parked next to Hoyt's stolen Dodge. You watched with your breath held tight in your throat as five people hopped out the sliding door one by one, all seemingly chipper for where they were. Three girls, two guys. Their sunbleached hair and fancy beach clothes said all you needed to know about what type of people they were. One of the girls had a pendant hanging round her neck that caught the light just right, and you found yourself staring at it as it jostled against her sweat-soaked collarbone.

Chnk, thuuunk. At the sound of the basement door sliding open you turned your head, and there stood Tommy in the kitchen. Quiet as ever he came walking up and placed his thick hand on your head. The look in his burning eyes said it all. “Everything's okay. Don't fret.” He touched your hair a moment until Hoyt's voice rang out again, and with a silent huff he stepped away and made his way out to the lawn.

The light in each and every one of their eyes left the moment they spotted him approaching. One of the girls even grabbed her friend’s arm, stepping behind him halfway out of fear of the hulking giant that couldn't sleep without cuddling you at night. A dish slipped from your hand into the sink and splashed you, but as you pulled a rag from your apron pocket to dry the counter a bang and a high-pitched scream cut through the peaceful din of your quiet afternoon. You hopped up to see what was happening, but struggled to piece together the aftermath of the last five seconds.

On the ground lay one of the girls with a cavernous opening in the back of her head, collapsed in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared through you from across the lawn, they pierced into your very soul as she choked listlessly on her own blood, and you dropped to your knees behind the counter. Hands clamped over your mouth, you heaved each breath and hoped not to puke all over the freshly-mopped floor. Momma would have a fit if you ruined your own hard work.

Blind to whatever senselessness resided in their screams, you held back the churning of your stomach on your own bruised knees while the two of them took care of the rest. Within a few minutes you'd managed to pull yourself back up on shaky feet and finish washing the dishes. Within the hour, Tommy and Uncle Hoyt had gathered up the remaining survivors and taken them in. Two in the barn, one in the guest bedroom…and one locked up in the basement.

“Momma?” You called out softly into the hallway, wiping your fingers on your apron. Your chores for the day were finished, and the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Now would usually be the time you headed out to the chicken coop to lock it up, but with new visitors around, you didn't know the protocol. The last time this happened was���well, you didn't like to think about it.

“Down here, darlin’.” Luda Mae popped her head out from the living room, and you hurried down the hall with your skirt fluttering around your legs. All your dresses were pretty modest and most of them were out of a trunk stored up in the attic, since momma had a whole collection of clothes she'd worn in her younger days that she figured would suit a young lady just fine. When you stepped in, you weren't expecting to see what you saw lying on the couch near uncle Monty's favourite spot.

It was one of the guys from the hippie van. His long hair had been soaked with blood and he was gagged, his face sporting bruises from an undoubtedly rough encounter with uncle Hoyt, who stood on the opposite side of the living room glaring at him.

“Fucker tried to escape.” He sniffed, nursing a bloody nose with a hanky as he spoke with momma. “Other one's putzin’ around somewhere. You two keep an eye out, you hear me?” He pointed in your direction and you nodded out of instinct. Your eyes flicked towards the bound man on the couch as he made muffled noises of panic, but he was soon silenced by Hoyt whacking him over the head with the butt of his shotgun before he left to continue the search. Meanwhile, uncle Monty sat in his wheelchair unbothered, listening to the radio as it played on the windowsill and reading without a care in the world.

“Momma-” You tried again, but she turned to you with gentle eyes and gripped your shoulders lightly.

“Go clean up the kitchen for me, sweetheart?” She asked in earnest, and the plea you had to beg her not to make you take part died on your lips.

“Yes, momma.”

“That's my good girl.” Your hands fell at your sides, while she petted your hair lovingly and turned you away from the scene, patting you on the back as she ushered you back towards the kitchen. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you resigned yourself to at least being a bystander to the horrors that were about to come, and made your way down the hall with your arms crossed over your chest in contemplation. Was there nothing you could do? No way to get out of playing a part, or at least ensuring they wouldn't ask? You had no doubts that you didn't have the stomach to do anything to the visitors, but then again, momma didn't have to do much either. Maybe you'd be saved by the tradition that dictated the six generations-deep household, and be regulated to the homely chores you'd tended to since first becoming a part of the family.

As you pushed through the door that led into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clattering already grabbed your attention. It would be too late to do anything, however–because before you could even take a breath, someone's chest hit your back and there was a knife pinned to your throat.

“Don't you fucking move!” An unfamiliar voice whispered harshly in your ear. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the hand he had at your neck, but he jolted and the blade sunk deeper into your skin, causing you to cry out–and immediately be hushed by the stranger now holding you hostage. The bruising grip he had on your wrist now moved to clamp over your mouth, his body moving with you as you struggled in a momentary panic. Despite his warning, you brought your elbow backwards and loosened his grip on the knife as he choked in pain, throwing his arms off you as you stumbled forward and tripped over one of the dining chairs. Your skirt ripped as he tried to grab ahold of you again, but in his scramble to pick his weapon back up you kicked it away; and that was when fear truly started to pulse through your limbs like a heartbeat, when he glared daggers into you with a murderous rage, and you cried out the one name through tears that came to mind.

“Tommy!” You sobbed, crawling away and trying to use the table to hoist yourself up, only to be kicked down again with a harsh shoe planted in the middle of your spine. Coughs ripped through your lungs as they seized in desperation, the wind having been knocked clean from your chest, and the sticky wetness of blood started pooling under your chin from hitting the floor face-first. Your nose wept with scarlet-red blood into your trembling palm, but that realization couldn't come close to the terror you felt at being grabbed by your hair and painfully lifted up off the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed, voice hoarse and frighteningly loud so close to your face. “I'll kill you–I'll kill all you psycho motherfuckers!” He brought the knife so close to your heart you felt it cutting through the air–but before he could bring it anywhere near your skin, a muffled thump from close by yanked him right to attention. He turned his head frantically towards the source, and you took the opportunity afforded to you. You brought your foot up hard into his groin, and released his grip on you for the second time for you to drop to the floor in a heap. Your dress smeared the blood you'd left on the pristine, freshly-mopped floorboards as you shuffled away from him, fearing the worst of retaliation from the panicked, indignant captive.

That is, until the thumping grew so loud you heard it clearly coming up the stairs, and without so much as a hint of ceremony your savior burst through the kitchen door; his eyes wild, his fists clenched with indomitable rage. His gaze swept over the scene to you, so small compared to him, huddled in the corner between the cabinets with a blood and tear-stained face. What could only be described as a growl erupted from his broad chest, and he grabbed the legs of your hunched-over assailant and dragged him closer between his feet.

“No!” He cried, but it was far past too late. Tommy grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked him upwards to the height of his shins, and slammed the guy's head so hard into the floor that you could hear the sickening crack of his skull. Dazed but still semi-conscious, he fumbled for the knife he dropped or for anything that could save him, but it wouldn't be enough even so. With his nose ten times as smashed up as he'd done to you and his eye sockets bruised, Tommy's grip trembled on his head like he was considering whether or not to end him right here, right now. Evidently he figured that would be too easy, and before your very eyes he hauled the man up and carried him screaming down into the basement, where you heard the thwacks of him being cuffed down to the workbench before footsteps came echoing back upstairs. He found you in the same spot, still shaking like a leaf, and pushed the table aside to waste as little time as possible getting to you.

“Tommy..” You winced, touching your own face for your fingers to come back bloody. He knelt down like a mountain sinking into the sea and felt around your neck, his concerns for the shallow slash you'd gotten in the struggle that you hadn't even noticed was bleeding. He grunted in reply; one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, while two meaty fingers lightly pinched the sore bridge of your nose. Knowing what he was about to do wouldn't make it hurt any less, but you still gave him the go-ahead to do it anyways–he forced the bone back with a gut-churning twist, and you squealed out in pain, but it was momentary and the ache that followed was a dull one, thank god.

But still, you sat with a face full of blood and bruises and cried, half out of pain and half out of pure misery. This wasn't the life you wanted to lead, and you hated that you had no choice in the matter. You wanted to go but you knew it would mean the end, and you hated that whenever you thought of all the things you despised about this life, your mind would always wander to Tommy and you'd feel guilt over hurting him or leaving him behind. You hated it all, but somehow you couldn't really hate him, and it left you trapped in this cycle that you loathed to think would never, ever end.

While the tears continued to streak down your face, Tommy took to patting your cheeks gently. He held them and squeezed them carefully, so tender and cautious when it was you that was the meat between his destructive hands. He moved in close, his breathing hot and stifled beneath the mask he never took off in front of you. His head tilted, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, and he-

“Boy!” Uncle Hoyt roared as he burst through the kitchen door, alerting you both and tearing Tommy's reverent gaze away from you. He stood fast and took you with him, your elbows cupped in his rough hands as he hauled you singlehandedly to your feet. “You find that fucker yet?!” He swung his shotgun around and you flinched at the way he aimed it so carelessly. The ‘boy’ in question tucked you under his arm out of habit and shielded you almost entirely with the sheer enormity of his titan-esque frame. Wordlessly, he gestured towards the direction of the basement door with your trembling self still pinned tightly to his chest. The pseudo-sherriff narrowed his eyes at the both of you, namely the blood caking your otherwise pretty face, and scoffed. “Hose her down, Jesus almighty..” He muttered that last blasphemy under his breath as he moved past out the back door, leaving the two of you wide-eyed and uncertain; his arm squeezing you tight against him, and your calloused fingers digging into his dirty sleeve as the crickets chirped outside the screen door.

“You..” You swallowed dryly. The words came to you when no others did the same justice. “You're a good boy, Tommy. You did a good job.”

Your praise hit his ears just right, as it always did. Tommy nuzzled his face into yours just so gently, barely grazing your skin with the damp leather as he tended to your wounds. With your broken nose already re-set, he rummaged through the drawers around you without taking his hand off your arm, sparing little time before his hand clasped around a roll of familiar gauze and he nudged the drawer closed. Though it was shallow enough to have stopped bleeding already, he wrapped some around your neck for the cut that would surely leave a scar, and used a clean rag to mop up your face with a bit of water from the tap. As he moved down your body to your waist, clearly concerned by the generous bloodstain marring your pretty, cotton dress, something caught his eye that froze him in place and sent a throbbing anger right into his dense fists. Worried, you set your hand on his shoulder, but it would do no good at comforting him after what he saw.

Your skirt. Torn like it had been yanked apart, desperately, and it had. Was he worried you'd be upset over the damage? You wondered for a passing moment, but as his fists shook with rage and your dresses’ hem balled within them you knew it to be a different reason entirely. He thought–

Oh. So that's what he thought. You sought to comfort his fears but he'd had enough. Your delicate hands tugging at his mammoth arms made barely a dent in his intense march towards the basement, your begging too saccharine to even reach his ears. He walked with purpose into the hallway, wrenched open the sliding door with a force that bent it slightly, and with a palm outstretched to ward you off from following, he slammed it shut with an enormous bang that rattled the whole house. Standing there in shock and horror, you listened to his footsteps pounding the stairs before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen.

You had quite the mess to clean up in there, and there was nothing better to distract yourself from the howling screams of agony that would persist until dinnertime.

Maybe this was exactly how awkward it was when you'd been sat in that familiar chair. You remembered little of your first meal, the very first breakfast of many you would share with the family that had adopted you in to their home.

This was a lot less…friendly, though. Out of the five people who had arrived, two of them were dead. The one that had attacked you in the kitchen had grown silent in the basement. The other two–the hippy with the long hair and a redheaded girl–had their wrists bound to two chairs diagonal from each other. The guy sat at the very end where you'd once been, and the girl to his right with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing softly as you filled everyone's bowls. Luckily for you, Monday was chicken soup night, so you had no worries over what kind of meat Hoyt would want to prepare for the special occasion. You'd been the only one to stir the pot, and the only one who made it at all for every Monday that rolled around. It had quickly become Tommy’s favourite, hence why he was only a few minutes late to arrive outside the dining room for dinner. Though you could tell that he'd barely cleaned up, his apron and his pants still soaked liberally with clotted blood.

“Hands?” You questioned, your ladle poised over the pot of hot soup, and waited until the hulking giant tentatively stepped in the doorway to hold out his massive hands for inspection. When it was your turn to cook, you learned that you held the authority over the table for that evening. So you rarely followed the lead of uncle Hoyt or the others, and wouldn't wait until after grace to invite Tommy into the room. You checked over his knuckles–bruised, but scrubbed clean–and only then did you nod towards the seat you saved for him and waited until he settled uncertainly into the chair to pour him a bowl and set it down in front of him.

If not for the whimpering captives at the table, it would be a better-than-average night. You'd improved on your recipe with a bit of creative seasoning, and the night had cooled off considerably to offer a bit of respite from the oppressive heat. You led grace, and smoothing out your fresh dress to fan out under your thighs as you sat, the table commenced with clinking spoons and bread being buttered that you thanked the stars hadn't gotten stale yet. Though of course, the unexpected visitors weren't so keen on your homemade cooking and didn't so much as look down at their bowls.

Tommy was too distracted to be frustrated by it, though. With his head dipped down to the table like a mutt, he slurped up his soup through the mask and chewed noisily on bits of chicken and corn. You'd saved the biggest roll for him and he tore into it like it was nothing, ripping chunks of bread off with his teeth and enthusiastically gulping down broth to wash it down. You hadn't even had time to butter his bread for him first like you usually did, but it pleased you to see him enjoying your cooking even more than usual.

“Please,” A wobbly voice pricked at the tense silence. The redheaded girl pulled at her restraints again, shaking the table in the process. “We didn't do anything…please, please, let us go!” She sobbed, wailing even louder as she thrashed against the stiff arms of the old chair.

“C'mon, man! We won't tell anyone, swear!” The hippie chimed in, only for Hoyt to slam his fist down on the table to silence the whining of his two captives.

“Shut the hell up!” He snarled, whipping out a revolver from his holster to point at each one of them. “Had enough of your shit today. Shut your mouths.” He motioned towards his still-bloodied nose, and endured yet another scolding from momma for cussing at the table as he tucked the gun back into its place. You peered over at the two of them, but regret came immediately when the hippie's green eyes locked on yours like he saw a glimmer of hope within them. You forced your gaze back down to your bowl. You couldn't be their saviour, no matter how much they wanted you to be.

“Lovely soup, sweetheart.” Momma smiled over at you, while uncle Monty nodded quietly in agreement.

“Mm-hm. Momma taught you all her secrets, eh?” Hoyt added with a slurp off his spoon, the irritation from earlier having vanished. You thanked them politely, keeping your pride to yourself at the coveted praise directed your way. In a household where anything could go wrong at any time, you had to hold the good things as tight to your chest as you possibly could.

From beside you, Tommy lifted his head from an empty bowl and sighed softly with satisfaction. The remnants of spilled soup dribbled down his mask and his grimy neck, so with your own cloth napkin you reached over and did the job that was normally momma's; you wiped his face clean with a gentle hand, and he sat still for one of the only people he didn't flinch away from when you touched him.

“Good, Tommy?” He wasn't used to being asked his opinion, much less on something as scarce as food, when you didn't have much choice on what you ate. He nodded slowly, looking at you like you held the world as you finished wiping up the mess he'd left on the table.

Just then, one of the captives–maybe both of them–kicked their legs out in frustration, and shifted the table with a jolt that sent hot soup splashing out of the pot. The redhead's bowl tipped over and dumped her untouched meal all over her lap, but the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor wasn't what had Tommy rising out of his seat.

Wasteful. That's what they were. Insulting your cooking. You saw it in Tommy's eyes as anger overwhelmed him again, and for the second time tonight your reassurances weren't enough to halt him in his tracks. His chair legs scraped the floor loudly as he got up and maneuvered around the table, the tense quiet peppered by the screams of the girl as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down into the slick tabletop. Not nearly as hard as he'd done to the other guy, but enough so that he brought her back up with a nose gushing blood and a harsher sob on her lips.

“You teach her a lesson, Tommy!” Hoyt eagerly encouraged the violence, but you reached your hand out over the table and pressed your palm flat against her forehead. At the resistance you gave her, Tommy's grip grew slack and a look of panic came over him at the distress etched clear on your face. He looked conflicted, peering over at Hoyt and then back at you. Was he being bad, or being good? Was what he was doing right, or was it wrong? Hoyt started shouting and cussing at you for stopping him, but Tommy skirted back around the table to your side and put himself between you and his furious uncle. A swat to the back of the head wasn't totally uncommon for you, even if it didn't happen often, but the punishments Tommy received were always far worse. The belt or a two-by-four were considered light work in Hoyt's sadistic mind, but after what you'd been through today you were certain Tommy wouldn't be keen on letting you endure any more pain. He would take punishments and beatings for you whenever he had the chance–sometimes Hoyt had even asked him what he preferred, and not once had he put you up for the chopping block if he could take it for you.

“Enough of this shit!” Hoyt finally roared. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the basement and shoved both you and Tommy towards it. “Take these sons a’ bitches downstairs, and don't come up until they're meat!”

Both of the captives shrieked and flailed in their chairs at his demand, but you managed to undo their binds despite the struggling and let Tommy haul each one up in his arms; one over his shoulder, and one tucked up under his armpit. Your heartbeat thudded in your throat as you followed Tommy's lead towards the stairs, and when it came time to shut the door, you had to swallow your fear with a gulp as the metal scraped on metal and a heavy thunk pitched you into darkness.

The only times you'd watched Tommy work before was when he'd taken you to the slaughterhouse. It was an aging, now-abandoned building that had seen generations of hard workers come and go, and despite it no longer being in business he still came by to do some work when he wasn't needed for chores at the house. You weren't sure why he didn't usually take you along or why he decided to on those few occasions, but regardless of the stench, the blood, and the intensity of chopping and cleaning meat, it was easy to tell that Tommy was good at it. Real good.

It was a little different today. About a week had passed since the visitors came through town, and by now all five of them were taken care of. You'd barely eaten since you couldn't stomach the fresh meat, and with you excusing yourself to throw up that first dinner after you'd had guests, the rest of the family had been looking down on you. Momma was sad for you, and Monty was mostly indifferent when he wasn't straight up disappointed in you. But Hoyt was vindictive and angry. He thought you were turning your back on the family, judging them, acting “all high and mighty” and worst of all, risking your family's safety. You'd gotten caught leaving the locks loose on the two survivors' shackles, and they'd nearly escaped out the basement before Hoyt caught both of them in the cornfield and finally shot them dead.

You swore it was an accident. Hoyt thought otherwise. He would've killed you right then and there if Tommy hadn't stepped in for you, and even then the air had been strained in the house ever since, as uncle Hoyt demanded you be properly punished for your sins.

That's why you'd been dragged along with Tommy to accompany him to the slaughterhouse. By the end of the day, Hoyt wanted a proper apology–one in the form of a bloody limb, an organ, or maybe just your head on a platter as recompense for betraying your family. And worst of all, he wanted Tommy to be the one to do it, to decide what would be a fitting price for you to pay. To ‘grow some balls and be a man’, as Hoyt put it so delicately.

But since morning, he'd just been chopping meat. Tommy hadn't even looked at you the whole time you'd been here, not even on the walk down the side of the road to get here in the first place. He'd picked you up under your arms and sat you up on the table behind him, and then he'd turned his back to you as he brought down his cleaver on the piles and piles of dripping meat. Sometimes he would turn around and hand you chunks to wrap up in butcher's paper, but for the most part he indicated nothing towards the task he had primarily been sent here to do. Somehow it just made it all worse; you felt on the edge of snapping from the anxious terror that tightened up all your muscles, wondering what on earth Tommy would do to you before the day was done. Was he just procrastinating? Because if he arrived back home with nothing to show for it, it wouldn't save you in the end–it would just make it worse for both of you when he got punished too.

“Tommy.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. He brought the blade down on the chopping block with a thunk. With the bone separated, a squelch hit your ears as he slid the sections apart and dragged over another hunk to slice through. “I'm sorry.”

Thunk. Not even a passing glance over his shoulder. And it was hard to tell if he was mad when he wouldn't even look at you.

“I didn't want to get you in trouble…”

Thunk.

“I was just scared.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Tommy-”

The slow escalation of his measured cuts finally culminated into an uproarious clatter, his cleaver smacking down on the soaked table before he turned himself to face you. Blood marred the clothes you'd taken off the laundry line for him that morning, apron slick and sticky with viscera as it almost always was. Sweat poured down his arms and his hairy chest and beaded at his dense forehead. Every inch of him was dirty, and yet you didn't cringe away from it when he closed the distance between you and came up harrowingly close. The stench of blood and meat wafted off of him from barely an inch away. His hips edged in between your knees as you sat on the lip of the counter, keeping personal space far from his mind when he grabbed your arms and dwarfed them under his massive fingers. Each breath heaved beneath his mask like swallowing a bubble, ready to pop.

This time, Hoyt was nowhere around to interrupt him. Momma wasn't there to scold him. Nobody would hear for miles what he would do to you, and you had no idea what he'd had brewing in his mind since he'd choked you out in the cornfield that first meeting. That intense stare of his was like a bear honing in on a rabbit, and if you had the thought to run, it was already too late.

Thick fingers clamped down around your neck, dug into the scar that had formed from the asshole that had sliced you, and you felt your heart stutter as Tommy pulled you along the length of the table and slammed you down into it by the throat. This way you were laid out like a cow would to be butchered, plenty of room for him to work as he held you down and reached over to pull a leather strap over your midsection. He affixed the buckle tight to the opposite side and tightened it more when you squirmed against the pressure, but not quite enough to be as painful as the ropes that dug into your wrists at your first family meal. With that in place he didn't need to hold you down to keep you pinned against the table, and although you whimpered in fear and fought against the bindings he paid your resistance little mind, instead looking through his tools on the cutting table to find a decently-sized paring knife–drenched liberally in blood–for him to hook under the neckline of your dress and make a cut down the middle. Once he hit the tough leather over your stomach, the tool skittered across the table as he abandoned it in favour of ripping your skirt apart with his bare hands, the thin layer of cotton offering no resistance to his brute strength.

Why did it make you so wet? You couldn't shake the feeling of arousal from how animalistic he was behaving, nor the sheer, overwhelming musk of man and sweat and blood. Tommy was never rough with you but he was certainly making up for it now; you flinched at the firmness of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving trails of thin blood and dirt behind as he tore your cotton bra into loose pieces. His hands trembled at the sight of you exposed like this, too much skin to handle, and such soft flesh that filled out his palms when he cupped your breasts in each eager hand. A hitch of breath was enough to show him that you liked it, whether it was the attention itself or exclusively because it was him touching you. It didn't matter.

Tommy massaged each one with such eager reverence, his handwork clumsy compared to the ease with which he handled so many other forms of meat. He wasn't keen on ripping these off your body and eating them; although he did want to test how they would feel in his mouth, especially those plum, soft nubs of yours that perked when he brushed his thumbs over them. By now you weren't completely certain he wasn't going to butcher you, but you had a pretty good idea that this was his plan B–take out that inner aggression on you that would not make his god-fearing family proud.

A deep, weighty groan slipped out of him at the taste of sweat on your skin. Every bruise he left with his teeth would have to be covered up and powdered, but god, god it was so easy for him to undo every vestige of purity you'd put on for show. Your back arched and your worn shoes squeaked against the steel table as you wiggled, the globes of fat he held in his palms jiggling with a mesmerizing glow every time you moved. As much as you wanted to wrench yourself free in some moments, in most others you couldn't bear the breaks he took to catch his breath, leaving your chest prickling with goosebumps as a draft hit your spit-sticky skin. He squeezed and kneaded to his heart's content and took a twisted glee out of making you squirm, especially when you made those gurgly noises that were so traitorous to the pristine image you painted for momma. She'd made it clear that you weren't to go off messing with boys when they came strolling up to the store's counter, or return any of their flirtations no matter how many times they called you pretty.

Obviously she didn't think her son would be the one you had to keep from tempting, but that train had long left the station now. Thomas’ index finger tore through the thin fabric of your panties with a swipe, and there you laid bare and naked to his wandering eyes while he yanked the shreds of them down the rest of your legs. He probably didn't know what positions were which and how girls had their periods, but he knew enough to slide those thick fingers through your folds and to keep going when you moaned like a dying animal. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy”, it was a mantra that hit his ears just right and urged him into clambering on top of the table with you with wild eyes. They drank in every inch of your sweltering body, the pulse of your heart through the hole he was jamming his fingers into, and on instinct he was guided to push down his waistband and throw off his apron as he knelt back on his haunches.

You might've thought he was nothing but hair if he wasn't so thick. Clearly he'd never shaved in his life with the erroneous bush he sported, curly hair matting down his thighs and his belly too once his shirt started riding up. But that fat, drooling knob of his swayed to hit his thigh, and you got an eyeful of pure, veiny, gut-smashing terror that you were sure would kill you if you didn't manage to relax. The further he leaned over your body, the more you felt like he was going to crush you as soon as he lined himself up with the hole he'd be stretching out like a little homemade cock sleeve. His hands slid under your knees to prop them up, but rather than sling them over his shoulders he bent them back and pinned them to your chest. An aching burn raced up your thighs but he paid no mind to your trembling; Tommy knelt over you and settled between your legs, and without warning, started sinking slowly into that hot opening he'd been dying to get deeper inside.

“H-Hold–wait, T-Tommy, hold oh-!”

Were you really so convinced he would play nice with you? Maybe you'd become complacent with the gentleness he showed you at his best, because when Tommy finally pressed in past the tip, he was gone. Forcing your knees back even further, he let out a groan and pushed himself up higher over you; all just to settle himself into your deepest pits and trap you in a violating mating press. After doing nothing but enjoying your heat, smushing his hips down against yours in a grinding motion, he soon seemed to realize he could move–and move he did, drawing back just to crush your hips with a deep, stomach-punching stroke.

“Unh,” What most resembled a moan fell from his scarred lips, and he fumbled around the back of his head to unclasp the leather from his face. This was the first and only time he'd ever felt safe enough to take it off since you'd met, and it was when he'd finally listened to his body and acted on his need to force every inch of him inside you. To be one. Now you finally were, and his synthetic face dropped on your chest before slowly sliding off to hit the floor.

If your jaw hadn't already gone slack from his violent thrusting, it would probably fall from the realization of what hid under that mask day after day. The sallow, sunken nose, the scars, the jagged skin and self-inflicted wounds…why wasn't it as scary as you thought? You figured, in the moment, you'd just gotten too used to him in personality, or maybe because you were just too distracted at the moment, but…

“Tommy-!” You squeaked out. The wet smack of his balls on your ass stuck in your ears, the strings of creamy slick linking you flesh-to-flesh as he went to town on your pussy. If he truly was losing his virginity to you, then all that pent-up frustration must be the source of him absolutely ruining any semblance of tightness you might've had. “A-Are you tryin’ to–you wanna gimme a baby? S'that it?” You slurred, slowly losing your good sense the longer he showed you your place.

Though you thought it would be to your horror, his slow nod only sparked something dark and tremulous within your loins. Something more than sweat and slick and the vile squelching of his seldom-washed dick rubbing up to your womb. It hit you then; this was your punishment. Every clap and sticky smack of flesh on flesh was a promise, an urge fulfilled to tear your meat from the bone and thrust a new purpose unto you. A homemaker. Tommy's little bride. A momma. Make his momma a grandmama like she was always praying for.

Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. No doubt in your mind that was exactly what he was doing, and exactly why he brought you all the way out to the slaughterhouse to do it. The leather strap over your stomach kept you from wriggling away, but that would only be if you could somehow get him to pull out, and that for sure wasn't happening. He didn't bother with long strokes and leaving the tip in, your cunt was a home for him to bury himself in and he wasn't about to waste a second of this. His thick thighs trembled over yours, and he ground the swollen head of his cock deep against your cervix. So deep it was painful, but why would he care? He was doing a good thing. He was being a good boy, giving you what uncle Hoyt told him all women wanted, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Tommy's moans grew to a higher pitch once he affixed his hand like a necklace round your throat, swelling with the faster, faster, faster pace of his thrusts downward. He pressed his other meaty hand into your knees and shoved each one further apart, which made you whine but gave him easier access to pound you into greedy, delectable mush. Whereas it might've turned off weaker men, your nails digging deep, long scratches up his back made Tommy groan and tilt his head back in delirious pleasure. His knees kept you pinned at your sides and his weight–his stomach squishing into you from above–held you down where you belonged, where you'd be the most beautiful and of best use. Beneath him with a womb spilling over with cum, sown by his seed and his seed alone. His picturesque, pretty little wife. Hewitt property. He wouldn't stop, and you wouldn't beg him to even if you weren't being choked of any air you had left, and the world started to spin as the ecstasy took hold and Thomas was squeezing your moans out of you with trembling fervour. It felt as though your lower half exploded and left you with a warm, full, tingly sensation, marred by pearly-white globs of a load he'd had saved up since birth.

In contrast to the violent lovemaking he'd just shown you he was capable of, you were slowly brought back to life by small, soft little pecks. Kisses like the fuzz of a bumblebee brushing by your cheeks, pressing into your lips with a sweetness you weren't used to. This felt like Tommy again, like the gentle touch he used when nobody was around to laugh at him for being so sweet on you. He shuddered with bliss as his cock pulsed with your heartbeat and milked him of what little he had left, but with his chubby fingers rubbing at your jaw and brushing your sweaty locks aside he managed to drag himself off of you. Slowly, like molasses on a cold day, he brought himself back down off the table and let his feet hit the floor, having to brace himself against the table to keep from stumbling to the ground. Click-shuuunk. The leather belt snapped back into its holder as he released it, which left a sizeable indent across your abdomen that you'd have to hope would be covered enough not to show bruises. All you could do was watch as Tommy did up his pants on his way around the table, only to return to your side with the biggest, sharpest knife you swore you had ever seen. You flinched away and nearly cried out-

Shlip. With a strand pulled taut, Tommy made quick work of separating a lock of your hair from your head. Just a short one, so as not to make much difference–but he held it to his face and sniffed deeply, and it ashamed you to say that the gesture in itself just made your clit throb with need you thought you'd been completely overdosed on. Despite that, you laid still while Tommy reached over and retrieved his mask, tucking the tuft of hair inside it so he could smell it all the time. To calm him down, to cool him off, to just enjoy…all the things that you brought to him when no one else did, or could. From his pocket he produced something small and shiny, and dangled it over your face to show you before he set on fixing it around your neck. The pendant you'd seen that girl wearing a week ago now hung against your collar, the gleam of gold in it polished clean of the blood spilled to take it.

You barely let out a moan as he set on rearranging your limbs, turning you over, letting his cum spill down your thighs and all over the table like the blood from a fresh cut of beef. His calloused digits traced down your spine and up again til he found a sweet spot, and padded down your springy flesh that separated bone from his fingers. The carving knife had tinged when he'd sharpened it but he didn't show it to you–that would be too much for you, given what he was about to commit to.

Every arc, long and curved or short and straight, burned. The tip of the blade dug into your flesh like a red-hot needle, but Tommy's warm palm on the back of your neck kept you from moving out of his reach. He needed to start and to finish and his hand was already unsteady, mostly from the way his breath still hitched and his cock stirred all over again at the sight of your writhing body. Your blood turned him on. He hadn't touched any of the victims before you, not in that way, but you weren't really the same as them–no, you were special. If you weren't, Tommy wouldn't be carving those words into your back, and putting on display his ownership over the one and only thing he would ever see as more than meat.

If you didn't get pregnant this time, then this would surely be enough for the family to forgive. The letters scrawled in bloody ecstasy that would heal over, scar, wounds to be reopened over and over again.

Tommy's girl

forever

[sigh-tofm]

if you’re asexual… (18+)

… price

- understands.

- respects your limits to the fullest. asks ‘is this ok?’ or ‘can i touch you here?’ a lot in the beginning, until you sit him down and explain that you’re not made of glass. he can touch and hold and kiss you like he would any other partner, just not shove his hand down your pants or flip your skirt up to get access to you.

- fills your relationship with domesticity instead. has your tea ready and brewing when you get up in the morning and knows exactly how you like the bed to be made. holds your hand when you’re out shopping and buys the special brand of cookies that you like. doesn’t watch ahead on your shared tv-shows and always cuddles you on the sofa.

- if you’re sex neutral/positive, he loves messy blowjobs and getting to fuck you silly in missionary. he’s a little bit of a dom and also completely whipped for his wife.

… kyle

- understands.

- does not push it. does not even attempt to initiate anything. lets you have all the control. after a couple long conversations where you explain your needs and limits, he’s all set. once he knows how he can best spend time with you, that’s all he needs. it’s actually a little refreshing to have a partner not chomping at the bit to jump his bones (curse of looking like an angel).

- gains a newfound appreciation for the sensual aspect of your relationship. running his fingertips over the stretchmarks on your hips, playing with ice cubes on your bare back, admiring the indents ropes makes across your skin after it’s been left on you a while. there’s no penetration, no orgasms, just two people exploring each other together.

- if you’re sex neutral/positive, kyle loves the lotus position. thinks it’s the peak of sexual intimacy and absolutely adores being face to face so up close.

… johnny

- understands (after a little while).

- has a mini crisis because he thinks this means you’re not attracted to him. you explain that’s not true, you actually find him super hot, but that you just don’t want to sleep with him. that it feels like a chore to you, like doing dishes. not horrible, but maybe a little gross and just something you’d just rather not do.

- embraces the romantic side of your relationship. loves the intimacy, getting to hold and kiss you. drapes over your back like a warm cloak when you chop vegetables at the kitchen counter and just enjoys the closeness. finds a new peace in himself he hasn’t felt for years.

- if you’re sex neutral/positive, he loves it when you ride him or tease him with your hand. still a complete maniac if he really lets lose. loves getting to let lose with you.

… simon

- understands.

- is almost relieved. has always had a complicated relationship to sex. knowing that you don’t want it from him settles some part of him that’s been restless and anxious for years. chaste kisses on the lips and constant handholding become your new normal. is very matter of factly about it if he does ask you for sex.

- finds that he most of all just wants to spend time with you. follows you around like a lost dog, no matter what you do. always comes to run errands with you or sits in the shade outside while you work in the garden. even when you get up to pee at night, he lumbers after you and stays just outside the bathroom door, squinting at the dim light. you’re so used to it that it’s second nature when he catches the bottom of your sleep shirt and lets you guide him back to bed. feels so at peace when you’re close by.

- if you’re sex neutral/positive, simon will sometimes ask if he can eat you out or if you can lay back on the kitchen table so he can fuck you. you tend to oblige.

[hajiberry]

3:56 am - Katsuki bakugou

domestic fluff + pregnancy

Bakugou would give anything right now to switch quirks with someone and be able to teleport home. He feared he might explode if he spent one more moment in this car.The thirty five minute drive from the airport was starting to feel like an eternity and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand it. He knew he was in for a headache when his connecting flight got delayed, getting him home hours after he had planned on arriving. Glancing out kirishimas passenger window he started counting down the seconds till he could see you. He hated when missions took him away from home but this one was extremely difficult, considering you could go into labor any day now. He had felt like a maniac the whole trip, constantly calling to make sure you weren’t at the hospital moments away from giving birth.

Opening his eyes he was about to ask how much fucking longer when the car pulled into the neighborhood and two seconds later Kirishima was pulling into y’all’s driveway. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been happier to see the home the two of you shared. “Fuck it’s good to be home”, he mumbled, stretching out his limbs before sitting up. “Thanks for picking me up”, leaning back he grabbed his luggage, hauling it over before opening the door.

“Yeah of course man tell y/n I said hi”

“Will do”, closing the passenger door he gave him a wave before heading up the driveway. Selfishly he was hoping you were still awake, so he could at least sneak in a kiss and an ‘I missed you’, before drifting off to sleep. But he also knew you’ve been struggling with sleeping lately so he was hoping you at least were getting some rest.

Opening the front door he smiled at all the packages littered in the foyer, boxes that he assumed were filled with baby stuff. He kicked his shoes off before making his way up the stairs to your bedroom. Opening the door he smiled when he saw your sleeping figure curled up in the bed. Setting his bag down he made his way over to you, kneeling down in front of you to press a kiss to your forehead before moving his attention to your belly. “I missed our little chats buddy”, he still was baffled at how much he missed talking to his unborn child. “I’m back though, I had to go out of town for work but that’s the last trip for a while so I definitely won’t miss you being born”

“Thank god”, you mumbled, slightly startling him.

“Fuck I didn’t know you were awake”

“I’ve been in and out of sleep for the past hour”, sitting up slightly you gave him a tired smile. “How was your flight?”

“Awful”, leaning forward he pressed his lips against yours, “just glad to be home”

“Glad to have you home”, wrapping your arms around his neck you littered a few kisses on his cheek. “It always sucks when you’re gone but this time just really fucking sucked”

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled as he started kissing you again, “not leaving on a mission like that again anytime soon”

“Good or I’d have to make a phone call”, you said with barely any bite in your words.

Chuckling, he stood up, pulling off his clothes to get ready to hop in the shower, “how terrifying”

“I know right”, standing up, you followed him into the bathroom, sitting on the toilet while he got in the shower.

“Go to sleep I’ll be in bed in a minute”, he said over his shoulder as he stepped under the hot water.

“I wanna hear about your trip”, the sleep that laced your voice caused him to smile.

“Well you’ll get a kick out of this but apparently icy hots dating someone”

Gasping, you pulled the shower curtain back a little bit, mouth wide open. “No way”

“Yup, deku was filling me in on the plane ride there”, he wasn’t sure when he started pocketing away stuff that was going on in his friends lives so that he could fill you in on the gossip but he wasn’t mad about it.

“So he’s keeping it quiet I’m assuming”

“Mhm only the nerd knows”

“Cause he snooped?”

“Yup”

“Well now I have to invite shouto over for dinner”

“What? Like he’s gonna tell you?”

“Everyone eventually caves and tells me”, he couldn’t even argue with that statement.

“But the trip itself was fine just standard shit”, turning the water off he stepped out, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

“Well I missed you”, smiling down at you he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I know I missed you too”, resting his hand on your belly he gave you a tired but genuine smile. “Let’s get you in bed though”

“Me? You’re the one that’s been traveling all day”, you said, standing up to follow him into your bedroom.

“But you’re growing a baby which I assume is a little more exhausting”

“Can’t argue with that but let’s just say we’re both tired”, you said with a yawn before laying down on your side of the bed.

After quickly throwing his boxers on he climbed into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. “Wanna grab breakfast in the morning?”, he asked softly, a volume of his voice only you got to hear.

“Of course I do”, smiling you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m so glad he waited till you got home”

“Me fucking too”

Letting out a sigh of contentment you closed your eyes, finally being able to let yourself sleep.

[elllisaaa]

fjhkvdhfvd I LOVE YOUR BF THOUGHTS SO MUCH!!! you write them so well 😭😭😭 can we please get a vernon one!!! ahhh

thank youuu so much ! i'm really glad this concept gets attention because i really like doing this, hope you'll like it !

BF!VERNON who's maybe not the most expressive but who knows how to show you that he loves you through many other ways.

vernon says "i love you" without any words, and actually, you love it that way a lot. for example, whenever you recommend a song to him or when he sees you listening to something he doesn't know, he's gonna go listen to it too. you have a shared playlist and he also made you a playlist filled with songs that reminded him of you, and the lyrics or vibes sometimes hit so deep it makes you tear up how much he gets you. this is something recurring between you and vernon - the non-verbal communication. you can literally spend hours and hours with each other without even speaking because you don't need words to understand each other. that's something vernon loves a lot because sometimes he just wants to hold you in his arms, scroll on his phone and not talk at all. both of you often have stay at home dates rather than going out, but vernon always makes sure to plan a fun activity - like building legos, trying to learn how to paint or doing scrapbooking with pics of the two of you. it allows you to test some activities you wouldn't usually have and it's fun when it's with him.

"what are we doing tonight baby ?" - "it's a secret, but i know you're gonna love it."

he stares at you a lot whenever you're doing mundane things - washing the dishes, simply reading or when you're putting on makeup. it's so domestic, it makes his heart beat faster and think about marrying you soon. vernon also does this when you're talking with someone else, staring at you because he just loves to see you live and shine. he always has a faint smile on his lips when he's watching you, and generally, he smiles a lot around you. that's something his members quickly noticed, even before the two of you got together. and you never fail to tell him that you love his smile, and that flusters him every time. actually, every one of your compliments makes him shy. however, he often flusters you very easily with some random words or gestures and gifts that make you fall in love with him even more. vernon is the type to just look you in the eyes and bluntly tell you that you're gorgeous just because it crossed his mind suddenly how pretty you are.

"why are you looking at me like that ? is there something wrong with my makeup ?" - "you're so pretty, i don't understand how it's possible."

if sometimes vernon just wants to stay quiet and not say a word, there are other times where the two of you end up talking for hours, jumping from subject to subject because one of you always has something to tell, something to debate about. when you are talking together, it's like you're inside of a little bubble where only you and vernon exist and you love it. that leads to the both of you having so many inside jokes that nobody gets - you're laughing like maniacs when everyone else around you is just confused and doesn't understand anything. honestly, sometimes your couple looks a little awkward from the outside, but it all fits perfectly and the way you're just so right for him is something vernon still has trouble understanding. sometimes, when he thinks that he doesn't deserve you, that he thinks he doesn't do enough to make you happy, you need to remind him that he's been perfect from the start. you can count the times you saw vernon crying with your fingers, but he knows that every time he's down, he can just let go in your embrace and let himself be vulnerable.

"i feel so safe when you're here, i don't ever want you to leave."

BF!VERNON who's just going with the flow because as long as he's inside of you, it doesn't matter if he's in control or not.

he's much more talkative when it comes to sex because he just cannot shut up when you're doing so good for him. whether it's praises, just some random thoughts, babbling or degrading words, he needs to speak to you through it. when he wants to tease you, he whispers his dirty words directly in your ears, knowing how much it turns you on. when he's just so lost in how good you feel, he just says whatever is on his mind - mostly compliments and swear words. when he's in a more romantic mood, he's constantly praising you, telling you again and again that you're perfect and gorgeous. and vernon also likes it when you're talking to him too, loves to hear you say how good he's making you feel, that you're close or that you want more. generally, the noises you make are really appreciated, even going as far as stopping you from putting your hand over your mouth when you think you're too loud because vernon wants to hear it all.

"shit… you're taking me so well, baby, i don't think i'm going to last if you keep squeezing around my cock like that."

just like vernon loves doing new activities with you, he also loves to experiment in the bedroom. you want to test something ? he's down. you have an unusual fantasy that you want to try ? no problem. after all, there's no harm in doing something out of the ordinary - if you both like it, it's good, and if you don't in the end, then it's okay too, you just won't do it again. that's how he discovered some things he didn't think he would like but that slowly became his favorites, like hair pulling for example. you ask him to pull on your hair all the time when he's taking you from behind, and he loves to do it to punish you too, but he came to wonder how it would feel if you pulled on his instead. so he asked, you did it, and he never wanted you to stop. no matter if he's eating you out or fucking you, vernon wants your fingers tugging on his strands hard enough to make it hurt a little. sometimes, you're pulling at each other's hair, moaning together at the feeling.

"want me to pull on your cute ponytail ? then pull on my hair too, yeah ? fuck, just like that…"

as stated before, he loves to watch you do almost anything, but he loves to watch you get off even more. when you're fucking, he cannot detach his eyes from your glistening folds, from his cock thrusting inside of you or from your face contorting in pleasure. so sometimes, he just leans back and asks you to touch yourself for him. he knows you're frustrated because he's just one feet away and he won't touch you, but he can't help it, he loves to see you masturbate. the fact that you whine about how your fingers cannot reach as deep as his, and that it's not fair gets him so hard. if vernon is in a teasing mood, he will even jerk off in front of you, just to make it "even". the feeling of cumming together, eyes in eyes, while you're both touching yourselves is unmatched for him. also a lot of phone sex is involved, whenever he's away, he calls you at night and asks you to facetime him and show him your cunt, to touch yourself in front of the camera for him. sometimes, he's jerking off too, but sometimes he only watches you reach your orgasm while biting his lips.

"show me your pretty cunt, baby. you're needy ? then put one finger in for me."

[magewritesstories]

[ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ ] ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ

summary: i honestly don't even know how i got this idea, but it's literally just toothrottingly sweet fluff. domestic!gojo, domestic!gojo,domestic!gojo trigger warning: none this is pure fluff, no pronouns used note: just testing the waters to see if anyone's interested in jjk fics, also i was today years old when i learned that 'huffy' is a word. words: 2592 i have so many thoughts about this overgrown paintbrush man jujutsu kaisen masterlist

SATORU GOJO HAS BEEN CALLED MANY THINGS BY MANY PEOPLE. The strongest, the honourable one, arrogant idiot (that one was courtesy of Utahime and Nanami), etc.

But he has to admit, the things you call him have to be his favourite. And by now, he can easily tell the difference between the names.

GOJO was the first thing you called him, all the way back in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. Nowadays there's rarely an occurence where you call him that name. But when you do? Oh boy, he knows he's screwed up big time.

"Eh, I don't know, Shoko," You said, using your hand as a cover for you eyes, "I think the first Human Earthworm was better than this one."

The two of you were sitting on the podium next to the basketball court as Gojo and Geto play around.

It was midday at this point and you were already feeling sleepy from the sun shining in through the windows. Eventually, both Geto and Gojo got tired too and walked over to the two of you.

"You guys wanna get some drinks from the vending machines?" Geto asks, grabbing his wallet out of his bag.

You shake your simply shake your head and lean back, laying down on the podium floor, "Nah, I don't wanna get up."

Gojo declines as well and hops onto the podium next to you. "I'm good—bring me a coke though."

"Seriously?" Geto asks annoyedly at his friend, a vein popping on his forehead.

Shoko grins and grabs a pakket of cigarettes before hopping off the stage, "I'll go with you. I need a smoke anyway."

The two share some form of secret glance and grin like maniacs before making their way out the door.

You quickly sit up. "Oh! Suguru, Shoko, get me a coke too!" You shout after them, only getting a thumbs up from Geto as confirmation that he heard you.

"Ah, I'm so tired," You yawn, laying back down as Gojo stares at you, "By the way, Gojo, how'd you mission go? Suguru told me you spent half a day at the infirmary."

You turn to him with curious eyes and he quickly looks away.

"Eh, it was fine," He shrugs, "Suguru's exaggarating—the mission was a breeze, I just didn't have time to buy the cake I wanted."

"Of course that's what you're annoyed about after breaking three ribs," You chuckle as he turns towards you with a smug look on his face, "Don't try to hide it from me. Shoko told me all about how you got your ass handed to you by that special grade."

Gojo let out a another playfull scoff, "Oh please, that's a huge exaggartion."

"Whatever you say, Gojo," You reply with a smile before placing an arm over your eyes again.

A couple of minutes of comfortable silence pass when Gojo decides to speak up again. "By the way, since when are you on a first name basis with Suguru?" He asks, trying to sound as casual as possible.

You turn to him with a surprised look in your face, "Huh?"

"Last I checked you still called him Geto," He replies, using the palm of his hands to lean back, "Did I miss and episode on Y/N' Life?"

"Not really. We've just been friends for almost two years now, I figured it was time to stop calling him Geto," You reply simply, not noticing the annoyed look on his face.

But, Gojo has never been one for beating around the bush anyway so it's fine. "We've known each other for the same amount of time."

You sit up slightly and raise your brows at him teasingly. "Is this a complaint that I don't call Suguru Geto or that I don't call you Satoru."

He's pretty sure that if he hadn't been sitting his knees would've given in right then and there.

"Neither," He huffed haughtily, "I don't care."

You smile at his childish nature before leaning back down, "Okay, sure, whatever. Satoru."

From your position on the stage floor you have a clear view of his red ears as he continues to insist that he doesn't care.

SATORU is for when you're at your wits end with him. Which happens quite often. You call him that in that exasperated tone with your hands on your hips and he knows he's in for a huffy lecture. He'd never admit it to you (he knows better than to do that) but sometimes he likes to do something stupid just for the sake of hearing you say his full name.

"Babe," You call out from the kitchen, head stuck in the fridge as you try to find a specific thing. Finally, you give up and let out a sigh walking into the living room.

Satoru sits on the sofa, legs widespread as he surfs through the channels on the flatscreen hung parallel to the him.

You hang in the doorway next to the TV, "Babe, do you happen to know what happened to that cupcake Utahime gave me yesterday?"

"What cupcake?" He asks, feigning ignorance as he kept staring the TV. "Maybe Megumi ate it."

The blue-haired boy sat at the dining table not far from the sofa looks up from his homework. "Don't drag me into this."

"Well than maybe, Tsumiki—" He starts but you're quick to cut him off, "Tsumiki is allergic to strawberries, I know it wasn't her."

You're standing in front him with your arms crossed now, brows raised as you stare down at him.

Satoru just gives you a dopey grin as he looks up at you. "Well then I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I really have no clue what happened to the cupcakes Utahime brought you."

"Really? You have no idea?" You ask again, "Are you completely sure about that, Satoru?"

"Mhm, yep, not a clue," He replied, "But hey, why don't you forget about the cupcakes and come sit down—this is the best part of the movie."

You roll your eyes, "Satoru, if you ate my cupcakes just admit it."

The white-haired man continued the innocent charade as he patted the seat next to him. "Don't know what your talking about, babe." He puts his arm on the back of the sofa so that you can snuggle up next to him.

Finally, you roll your eyes and sit down, placing your head on his shoulder. Satoru smiles victoriously as his arm moves from the back of the sofa to your shoulder.

The victory is short, however.

About halfway through the movie through the movie, Tsumiki walks into the living room. "Hey, Gojo, do you have any more of those cupcakes you were eating this morning?"

Uh oh.

You turn to your boyfriend with a raised brow as he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Well the thing is..." He trails off, trying to come up with an excuse. You just sigh and return to your previous postion of cuddling into his side, "What am I gonna do with you, Satoru?"

'TORU is one of his favourite nicknames. For the sole reason that he's the only one that gets to hear you say it. That one is reserved for those lazy sunday mornings where you're still half asleep and cuddling and neither of you want to get out of bed.

The sun shone through the window as the curtains of your bedroom fluttered along with the soft summer breeze.

The ticklish feeling of soft kisses being placed on the nape of your neck stirrs you out of your sleep.

"Hmm, morning," You hum, smiling as you turn towards Satoru, who is wide awake at this point.

He pulls you closer until you face is buried in his chest, and tangles his legs in yours. "Morning, beautiful," He replies, in that low morning voice that makes your heart skip a beat.

The moment of peace is short, though, because not soon after the white-haired man jumps up. "C'mon get up, we should get coffee from that new place down the street."

You groan and pull the covers that had fallen off of you pack up to you.

"Aw, Y/N, get up," Satoru whined shaking you a little.

You just groand and grab his shirt to pull him back down. "Shut up, 'Toru," You mumble, "I'm tired, 's too early for this."

A small laugh reverbrates through his chest as he grins down at the sight of your grumpy face and messy hair.

"But it's to 10 o'clock?"

"On a sunday morning."

"So?"

"So, 's too early."

"That makes no sense." You groan and shuffle closer to him, if that's even possible. "D'you really wanna chose right now to be logical, 'Toru?"

Another loud laugh resonates through your room as Satoru finally gives in and lays back down next to you.

One arm slung over you waist and legs tangled into yours as his wolfish grin turns into a soft smile, he says softly, "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, 'Toru."

BABE is a pretty basic nickname and he knows it, but Gojo loves it anyway. Especially whenever he remembers the first time you called him that and he almost had a heart attack from cuteness overload.

You skip ahead of Gojo as the two of you make your way through the night market.

The sound of people laughing and kids running as they played was enough to put you in a cheerful mood—and the added fact that you were on a date with Gojo just made it all that much better.

The many stalls lit the area around you as you happily looked around with a wide smile on your face. Satoru following behind you like a good boyfriend.

In the few hours that you'd been here you'd almost tripped over your kimono three times and each time your boyfriend had laughed his ass off.

"It's not funny," You groan, red blush coating your cheeks as you pull yourself out of his arms. He's saved you from the embarassement of falling flat on your face four times now.

Satoru shakes his head as he tries to muffles his laughter.

It was funny to him though.

I mean, this guy had seen you efficiently and ruthlessly taken out a special grade curse without fumbling even once, but here you were tripping over your own feet.

Plus, he got a little bit of an ego boost everytime he managed to catch you in his arms.

You dust yourself off as you turn away in a—failure of an—attempt to hide your embarrassed blush.

"You're so cute," Gojo laughs as he pinched your cheeks, which only made you go even more red.

Thankfully you see a ice-cream stall not to far from your position and quickly change the subject.

"Satoru, c'mon—" You grab his hand and start walking towards the stall— "I want some ice-cream."

He smiled and followed you, continuing to tease you as you stand in line. Which is very long by the way.

Eventually you manage to get some ice-cream. And hey you got two scoops just because you stood in that line for so long.

The two of you make your way to the docks hand-in-hand for the fireworks show which has already started.

Staring up at the dark night sky as it's filled with bright, beautiful colours you don't notice the small chip in the wood of the dock.

Your shoe gets stuck in the small hole, making you fall over.

Thankfully, Satoru manages to grab you by the waist and pull you into his chest. You don't have time to thank him though as you stare at the depressing sight in front of you.

One of the scoops of your ice-cream had flown away and landed a couple feet away from you.

"Why me, God, why me?" You whine as you stare at the fallen ice-cream.

Gojo—who still has a hand wrapped around you waist—starts laughing loudly, burying his face in the nape of you neck to muffle the sound.

You groan as he continous to laugh. Finally he manages to straighten up and wipes away a stray tear form his eye.

You stand in front of him, arms crossed and an adorable pout on your face as you mumble, "It's not funny, babe."

And in that moment—as the fireworks light your annoyed face—Satoru Gojo knows he's a goner.

HONEY. Of course I've saved the best for last. If he had to pick, Satoru would say that this is his favourite nickname. Again, it's a simple one, nothing creative or out there but that's exactly why he loves. It sounds so simple and domestic that it makes a warm fuzzy feeling rise in his chest every time.

Gojo is tired. Really tired.

He searched his pockets and finally manages to fumble out the keys to the apartement.

As soon as he enters it, he drops his dufflebag on the floor and lets out a loud groan.

"I'm home!" He announces, stretching. This mission took way more out of him than he'd expected.

The house is surprisingly quiet, nothing but the sound of your footsteps echo-ing through the halls.

You round the corner of the kitchen and run towards him, knicking him back a little as he catches you in his arms.

"Hey, honey, how was the mission?" You ask, arms wrapped around his neck as you look up him.

He smiles down at you and places a chaste kiss on your forehead. "Boring—didn't even take me ten minutes to exorcise that curse," He brags in the same boisterous tone as always.

You pretend to not notice the tiredness in the way his entire body is leaning into you. For now, alteast.

"Yeah?" You kiss him again, "Well, you need to be quicker next time—I got bored waiting for you so I decided to bake and now our entire kitchen is a disaster."

He laughed as you both walked into the kitchen, eyeing the frilly kitchen apron that said 'Kiss The Chef'.

Well, it used to say that. A couple days ago Tsumiki had used a needle and some yarn to sew it so that it said: 'Do Not Kiss The Chef (Unless You're Satoru Gojo.)'

Of course, the white-haired male had complained about the fact that he couldn't kiss himself.

Megumi had retorted that Gojo wasn't allowed in the kitche anyway. (You set fire to the kitchen while trying to make tea one time...)

Satoru smiled as he rounded the counter and placed a kiss on the top of you head.

"Oh, by the way," You remember as you tell him about your day's events, "I need you to talk to Megumi's teacher again—apparantly he got in another fight."

"Did he win?" Satoru asks, pulling a slightly. You frown as you playfully shove him, "And then you ask why I told the school I was the kids' primary guardian."

The kids.

Something about that phrase warmed his heart, washing away the coldness he'd felt as residue of his mission.

He kissed you again. "I'll go tomorrow," He smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist. You smiled at the action, raising your hand to run a hand through his hair—wedding ring glinting in the kitchen light.

"Thanks, honey—" You tip-toe to kiss him— "I love you."

Satoru pulled you as close as humanly possible. Taking in the peace of the moment, the peace he was feeling right now. "I love you too, Y/N."

[ummmlife]

Domestic Kento Nanami headcanons ;

warnings! : also relationship headcanons , nsfw (masturbation , cockwarm)

• He snores, loudly, like a bear... i won't elaborate

• Gets jealous easy but it's the type of pout and cross his arms offended when this happens

• Also, this only happens in private with his partner, never in public, oh no how embarrassing

• Pouty king

• After sex doesn't take his peewee out from his partner but instead sleep while keeping it deep inside to cockwarm

• Drinking at 10 a. m? if Ken-chan is stressed or anxious, sure thing

• Likes to sleep with 5 pillows: two under his head, one to hug, one on his back and one between his legs

• On a good week, Kento will cook the most tasteful and healthy gourmet meals

• On a bad week, plain bread and 7-Eleven sandwichs will make it, maybe some white rice

• He collects tote bags, a lot, he has, at least, 6 per every day of the week

• Kento once got a trojan virus on his laptop, now his laptop mines cryptocurrencies at night

• He cuts his toenails on thursdays every 3 weeks

• Kento usually doesn't get drunk but when he does it happens at home, he gets super cheesy and also clingy

• Will also accept to try new things in bed, but please just put him on sleep

• Collects a lot of books (canon), but he does it just for the need of consumism

• Cleaning maniac, but to the point of washing your own a-hole when showering to keep it clean for him he'll slide his fingers inside and–

• Loves to comb his partner's hair, he's the type of making you fall asleep just by combing your hair

• When going to the beach don't even try to play sexy by asking him to apply you sunscreen on your back, Ken-chan will bathe you in sunscreen like an overprotective parent

• Kento has an PS4, does he plays with it? Absolutely, in fact, his partner is not allowed to touch his PS4 unless he's with them

• He's the type of savings his partner's phone number by [Name][Last name]

• But when he decides to make his relationship more serious it will be [Name][Nanami]

• Religiously naps after lunch on his days off

• Kento masturbates when he gets insomnia to get tired and finally sleep

• Also, Kento suffers from insomnia most of the time

• Is the one in charge of getting rid of the bugs that get into your home, but if a cockroach starts to fly, babe you're on your own

• Get him a pompompurin plushie and it will sleep with him from now on

• Good night and good morning kisses are a must for Kento, beware of this before deciding to fall asleep/get out of bed without kissing him and break his heart

im kinda drunk and i decided to write this so if something doesn't makes sense don't blame me 🍷 cheers

[bahrtofane]

about time

things have always been easy with trent, attached to the hip since you could remember. your other half, his biggest supporter. things were bound to turn romantic no? everyone was rooting for it, secretly you always were too. 

your first date as a couple goes more or less how you planned, awkward and full of teasing. 

word count : 3.1K+

watch it : mild jealousy, cuties, fluff fluff, kinda domestic near the end?

—--

“eat your food." 

you squint, "what the hell else am i doing, you eat your food."

he scoffs, "im literally half way done with my plate."

"it's literally not even a proper portion of course you're almost done." you point at his tiny little section of steak on about a tablespoon of mash potatoes. 

he waves you off and makes a comment about the "liberty of a kitchen."

you ignore this and take another bite of whatever the hell you ordered. you don't remember. you were too busy trying not to focus too much on the man in front of you.  the all black outfit is insanity, you know he only went for it because you told him ages ago all black looks the best on him. and now here you are. suffering

you just nodded to whatever the waitress was saying. though she could have done with less ogglying at your date. your trent. 

you take pride in knowing your his go to, his best friend, his #1. you've been by his side longer than you can remember being without. he's your other half in every sense. before the fame and money, lavish life and dwindling time. he's always been yours somehow. 

maybe you should've known at some point that feelings were bound to be brewing. 

everyone and their mother had told you. hell, even your own mother had told you so. but you waved them off. he's my friend, no trent is my best friend, ew no that would be so weird, i can't even stand hin on a good day, he's annoying, nope just friends. 

now look at you. seated across from each other, his sleeves rolled up while you eat in candle light. the dark blue drapery of the establishment makes this feel way more intimate than needed. and the chandeliers that hang over your head are enough to make you stare in wonder. 

his sharp features almost soften like this, tucked away in a far corner away from prodding eyes and unnecessary media attention. where it's only the two of you in your little bubble, and the soft live piano that travels from the main foye. you enjoy this, but mainly you enjoy him. 

you noticed he cleaned up his facial hair for this, it makes your heart melt. the silver jewelry that shines on his golden skin is a mirror of the silver that drapes across you. he told you to wear silver. the maniac. he planned this all the way down to the damn jewelry. 

(the both of you are matching in general, which makes you feel something closer to insanity, it gives you a thrill when people’s gazes wash over the two of you and they can so easily tell you are here together. for each other. the stares you got while walking in don't go unforgotten.)

he's the one who dragged you to this restaurant, one much more fancy that you care for. any establishment that calls for floor length dresses to eat is above you, but he insisted. even taking time to tell you how stunning you looked on the way here. your cheeks were on fire the whole time you tried to come up with a counter, failing miserably and just telling him he looked handsome too. 

what a gentleman, driving you here and keeping a hand on yours the whole time. you were sweating the whole time. this whole thing is new to you. but you try not to explode while you sit across from him, sipping on your water to avoid eye contact. 

trent pretends to suddenly be very interested in the silverware, but you don't miss the way his gaze still manages to shift over to you, landing somewhere between your eyes and lips.

you sigh loudly, your appetite disappearing while you push your plate in front of you. 

"do not even start." he warns, fork raised and pointed at you. 

"i didn't even do anything ! what's with you tonight. "

"could ask you the same thing," he mumbles between mouthfuls of his steak, "you're being, very weird."

"im on a dinner date with you how else do you want me to act."

he coughs awkwardly at this, "i don't know ! normally. you haven't made fun of my shoes yet. where's the old grouchy evil and conniving friend i know. you're too, " he waves his fork in the air trying to find the right word, "civil."

you snort, "that's a mouthful. i don't know this whole dynamic shift is taking a while to get used to, " you shrug.

"we need to stop saying i don't know so often." he sighs, rubbing his eyes aggressively. 

you choose to ignore that bit, "and i need to be civil in public or your adoring fans might have my head."

he rolls his eyes, "that's a stretch."

you wave him off with a hand, "you never know. crazy people do crazy things."

he looks at you fondly at this, giving you one of his signature smiles, you look away and change the subject as fast as you can think. you don't need weak knees in a high end establishment. 

"you know i would've been just fine with takeout and a movie." you mumble softly.

he gives you a soft look " i know, but i wanted to make it special. take you out somewhere nice for a change. we never do that."

"you're not going to let me pay are you?" you muse.

he gives you a look, "im offended you even brought that up. i hope you know you're never going to be paying for things ever again right."

"and i hope you know i'm going to fight you over it the whole way through."

he finds this amusing, "yeah yeah yeah shut up and eat your food, i think my socks are sliding off my foot."

"i don't want to hear about your sweaty foot while i eat trent, gross." you fake gag. 

"cry about it." he dead pans. 

you narrow your eyes at him, "i'm going to talk about the pimple i popped on my shoulder, in great detail. is that what you want?"

"ew gross hell no. no more socks or feet geez." he scoffs. 

you cackle, "problem solved then."

he rolls his eyes but goes back to eating anyway, cutting his steak with way too much force than necessary. 

you on the other hand have to play tug of war with the fabric of your dress in order to keep it where you want it. 

"you want to leave don't you?" he comments. 

"that obvious?" he nods, "yep," popping the p.

"i don't want it to seem like I'm ungrateful for the effort or anything, because i swear it's not like that. i'm happy to be with you regardless and yeah. we don't have to leave." you try to explain. 

as much as you enjoy spending time with him this isn't your scene. you're aching to go home, and so are you poor ankles. these heels can only be worn for so long and they are coming up on their expiration date for the night. maybe trent can help take them- no fuck. bad. bad bad. this is a dinner, you're at dinner be civil. 

trent seems to be none the wiser as his attention remains on you. 

"why would we stay if you don't want to ?" he looks at you confused, brows drawn together, arm propped up against the table while he waits for an explanation. 

"because you're the one who wanted to come here?" "so? if you wanna go home then we'll go home."

home. oh. he's starting to refer to his house as home. for the both of you. that does something to you, you're almost dizzy. god how can one person be so sweet. 

"we can finish up and head home? i really don't mind." you suggest. 

he hums at this, "alright then. we’re stopping by the chinese place you like so much, you didn't even eat. "

"to be fair, the portions are the size of my pinkie and i think they took too much creative liberty in the kitchen." you wrinkle your nose. 

he giggles, that shy little spurt of laughter, the one you love so much and always try to coax out of him, "i forget the flavors can be uh, adventurous with most of their dishes. "

you chuckle, "definitely adventurous."

he flags down the waitress from earlier who bats her eyelashes one too many times at him while you roll your eyes. he gives you a glare while he pays, before you can open your mouth. while you get up, dusting your dress down, he presses you flush to him, effectively shutting down any advances. you can't help but grin at the little act. even if your skin is on fire from the contact.

your lead out the back by one of the valets to avoid the busy main section and the endless cameras that wait for you from the front.

you step out to a colder night than you expected, rubbing your arms in a futile attempt to warm yourself up. the valet steps away to retrieve his car while you shiver harder than a skeleton animatronic in a halloween pop up store. 

trent notices, coming up behind you to wrap both arms around your waist, pulling you close. 

"cold?" he has the nerve to ask, flush against you and the damn dress that clings against your skin, his breath tickles your ear while you lick your lips nervously. his arms are much more muscular up close. the whole of him is, you can feel the efforts of his training as they hold you. good lord you're going to lose your mind. and the chest you're pressed up against? do not.

"a little." you whisper back, afraid to say much more.  

he hums, rubbing your arms for you, sending goosebumps all the way down your spine, and he has the audacity to chuckle at your reaction. 

"cars gonna be here soon."

you can only nod dumbly.

he unlatches when the car comes into view. thanking the man with a clap on shoulder, almost like an old friend, and a generous tip.

he opens the door for you, holding his arm out to help you balance, sweet of him. 

you duck inside while he says his last thanks and goodbyes to the valet, turning on the heat first thing when he gets inside. 

the drive is silent, not much to talk about after you confessed your love to each other just days before. 

you could almost laugh at the complete 180 from this week to the last. youre so so glad it ended up this way nonetheless. you don't think you could handle another second suffering in silence. 

how it all went down makes you cry in full honesty. it was an argument. over fucking instagram. you were bitching about the girls who are on his dick and he called you over protective and you defended yourself because duh. that somehow had spiraled into how he's insane, and then your relationship. and then you stormed out, don't ask, you don't remember. 

he tracked you down at your place with flowers as an apology and you just lost it, because what kind of friend gets flowers and calls in just platonic?

lucky for the both of you it wasnt platonic, not to him, not to you. 

he confessed first, that you were more important to him than any of the women he follows combined and so much more. you're his everything can't you see that? he loves you, in every sense. he hates seeing you upset so please, don't cry. 

you kissed him, slow and hesitant while he broke out in giggles. 

"does that mean what i think it does ?" he had whispered against your lips. 

you nodded, shy and tender. 

"i need to hear it. please, say it." breathless, at the cusp of losing his grip on everything. 

"i love you trent, more than i think i can explain. you are my other half yeah? my everything."

and so here you are, watching the shapes of the city breeze past you as the gps guides you to your beloved chinese take out. you can almost taste the noodles you're so ready for it you're starving. 

a hand rests on your thigh, softly tracing shapes the rest of the way there and you hide a smile. you don't think you'll ever get used to any of this new found affection. things you once only day dreamed of having now right in front of you.

you're drowsy by the time you pull into the familiar parking lot. you giggle at just how ridiculous the two of you look. stepping out of a probably hundred thousand dollar car, if not more. dressed like you're going to the ballon d'or. all while walking into a quiet little family own take out spot. 

trent takes your hand again, while you fight to bunch up your dress to get over the obnoxious curve. 

he fights a smile while locking the car behind you. 

"you try getting over this mountain in heels and this long ass dress i dare you." you hiss. 

he snorts but keeps his mouth shut as you inside the familiar space. sighing in glee. 

the kind older woman who always takes your orders doesn't bat an eye at your dress, but welcomes you with a warm hug. 

“the usual?” she beams, even at this time of night. cheery as ever. 

“yes please !”

she smiles, getting to work making your order while you drum against your thigh. bad habit. 

you’re very thankful it’s as late as it is, the place is dead empty. a little safe haven. 

you reach into your purse but mr “i’ll pay for it all” stops you. 

you tsk, “come on this is my spot. i want to tip her well. let me at least have this after that fancy meal.”

“i said i would pay,” he states firmly. 

“i know, but paying here is special to me. and i want it to come from my hand. she deserves it after all the kindness she’s shown to me over the years.” you gesture to her wrapping up your boxes. 

you remember when you used to be a student low on cash, she would always fill your plate with double of everything or just give you the next size up, and extra dessert, free drink. the little things, life is all about the little things. 

he sighs, “fine fine. i won’t take this away from you. “

you smile, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. he waits for you on the side while you go up to the counter. 

she smiles at you knowingly, “finally made a move on that one huh?” 

you blush, “we both made moves and things worked out well. “

she grins, “finally. i thought it would never happen, you know. maybe i’ll get to see your kids too huh?”

you chuckle, kids with trent huh. not a bad idea, “maybe you will.” you sigh fondly. handing her the money. 

you hand a few boxes to trent and motion to the door before she catches on. but it’s a little late. 

you sneak out of there while she’s yelling at you to take your change, “keep it ! it’s all for you !!” you shout back. giggling while you and trent make your escape. 

the ride to his house is filled with laughter and you don’t ever remember being happier. 

its all giggles and shy smiles as he leads you up to his home, hand in hand while you race up the steps and make a dash for the elevator. the door man gives you too a look but doesn’t comment, yet. you know he will sooner or later but you don’t care. 

the take out boxes are split in between the two of you as you hold them snug against your chest. humming softly as the elevator opens. 

the ride up is filled with soft teasing, and more compliments. 

"im serious!" he shoves you gently, "you look, incredible." 

your face burns with enough heat to power an oven, his words do a number on you and all you want is to hear them over and over. but you don't say this. 

"you look so handsome trent." is all you find to reply back. 

a shy smile is what you get in return as the elevator opens. the walk is familiar but your feet are making it feel much longer than needed. 

he opens the door and you dont waste a second collapsing on his couch, groaning at the pressure finally being off your feet. he takes the boxes from your hands and sets them on the living room table, kicking his shoes off somewhere as he organizes them just how you like. 

"eat first then change?" he takes a seat next to you. 

you shake your head, "don't wanna ruin the dress."

"alright," he nods

you attempt to get up but your feet are swollen by the looks of it and you could cry at the though of taking another step in these damned heels. 

you reach over carefully to begin the effort of getting them of you but holy fuck is it taking much longer than needed.

"you're taking so long," he groans, scooting down to raise right ankle to rest gently in his knee, hands working slowly. 

you sigh in sweet sweet relief when the intricate lacing finally comes undone and your foot can breathe. he does the same to the left, bringing it up to rest against your right.

 your head falls back against the couch cushions, eyes closed and relaxed. it gives you a moment to really appreciate it all. to appreciate him. 

you crack your eyes open when he gives your leg a gentle tap, all done. 

you swing your feet back to the ground, scooting up closer to him. it's a beat of silence where he watches you, wait for your move. and you press gentle kisses on both cheeks, then nose, one on his forehead, and finally his lips. 

he can't keep his hands to himself at the end, a hand finds your waist, tugging you closer to him, impossibly close. the other cups your cheek gently. 

you won't part till you run out of air, panting gently against each other's skin.

"thank you." you mumble against his lips.

he hums, "anything for you. you know what."

you could reach the clouds like this, could reach the stars.

[metranart]

My one and only wants you, so he’ll have you (Part 2)

ft. Sensei! Gojo Satoru, sensei! Suguru Geto, reader insert.

Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto happily married, you, their lovely student and the cause of their ragging temptation. The problem: their son, Megumi, your best friend.

- 𖦹 Warning tags: Gojo x Reader x Geto, threesome, married couple, Suguru and Gojo happy married couple, polyamory, Teacher-Student Relationship, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, breeding, obsessive behavior, horny sorcerers, idiots in love, being the willing pet of your senseis, best friend! Megumi, Jealous! Megumi, anal plug, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, falling in love, Pregnancy Kink, Hurt/Comfort, smut, rough sex, shameless smut, creampie, explicit sexual consent, sexual tension, shameless flirting, scratching.

-

Most of the time it was just you and Satoru Gojo, as he was still the same self-centered egoist who accidentally forgot to call Suguru, ups! 

On several, many occasions, he was vigorously scolded by his accomplice and husband for his lack of empathy. 

"Send me a text, an email, a damn carrier pigeon...make me stupid smoke signals, you selfish idiot." Suguru Geto complained in chilling calm, "...you're terrible at sharing." 

Satoru Gojo just smiled apologetically and did it again.

Dragging you to the building's gym so he could fuck you in the basketball storage room, or taking you to the bathrooms between classes and eating your pussy but not allowing you to come, keeping you on that thin edge between overwhelming and unbearable until you were shaking like a leaf against the wind, the low, hoarse noise of your poorly concealed gasps in the cubicle indescribably sweet.

“G-Gojo-san…someone might come in-”

“Gojo-sensei.” He was prone to correct, almost eager to do it.

It was fun, watching you fight the frustration and desperation of wanting to come, clinging to the orgasm with nails and fists and teeth, and sometimes, if Satoru was feeling in an especially naughty mood, he would wait until the bathroom was completely empty to lean you over the sink, locking the door and fucking you in front of the mirror, the thick tears rolling down the sides of your burning face, a thousand times more charming under the fluorescent lamp than in the battered dim-darkness of the cubicle.

“(Y/N), I’m so happy that you chose to be mine.” He beamed too gone into his own pleasure to measure his brain correctly.

“… Yours and Suguru’s?” your feeble voice asked with a hint of curious cynicism, and he hurried to comply.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, pretty.” 

The smug grin on his face and the mischief glittering in his eyes made haste to a confident swagger on his hips while ramming his fat cock deeper inside you, making sure to kiss your cervix with each pump. Oh! how low Satoru could go sometimes; how desperate he was to pump you full of his own pups. He would certainly love and spoil any child of your being his or Suguru’s… but deep, very deeply hidden inside he wanted it to be HIS. At least the first one, and maybe the next one… and perhaps, the third one…. 

“Stop g-grinning like-e a maniac, Gojo-san.” You shared between ragged breaths, too little air in your lungs to waste it.

“Gojo-sensei.” He merely replied with the same maniac grin.

That was the usual, the regular thing since he had easier access to you. Nevertheless, Suguru Geto managed to show up without warning, watching him fuck you mercilessly until your ass was probably sore and Satoru's dick was bare. Still, he made an effort to be part of the activity. 

“Such a lovely sight you two make.” He teased all too pleased, his previous annoyance disappearing at the way his heart throbbed like a drum at the mere sight of your sweaty face and flushed cheeks.  

Sometimes he would come up to Satoru and hug him from behind, dropping his hands casually on his hips and guiding the movement with which he fucked you, deeper thrusts, bolder movements, precise and raw to make you scream your lungs out, rubbing his own erection against his husband's ass—

“Do you want me to put it in you, my love?" Suguru asked and Satoru's affirmative words melted with his moans. "My sweet boy wants me to stuff him with this fat cock?" the pulsing, warm meat glued to his naked asscheeks, teasing and prodding his tight ring with insistent pokes.

The white-haired professor convulsed with every vulgar tease of his beloved husband, the black-haired sorcerer knowing exactly what buttons to press to make him come indiscriminately fast... so he could have you to himself.

“Baby, I don´t want to come yet.” But they knew each other too well and Suguru’s tricks were easily discovered by his lover. "Sugu let me have her a little more...pleeeease, pretty, please."

The head of his husband’s cock nestled subtly inside his tight ring of flesh, which throbbed with studied excitement to the prospect of wrap around him. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Toru, I just want you to come hard and yummy inside our puppy," each word was tattooed on the sweaty skin of the prodigy while his husband kissed his neck. "Come on Satoru, I know you are eager to be the contact for my, fat and throbbing, plug-" 

Suguru snickered when felt him shudder under him, for some reason, Satoru really enjoyed that kind of suggestive metaphors.

“Don’t-” Satoru growled lowly.

His narrow hips colliding with your bare, bruised ass cheeks all while he refrained himself from burst his heavy load. 

"Baby." He sounded like a wounded animal, even so, the thrusts he delivered to your poor, defenseless cunt were without an inch of restraint or mercy, almost forcing the thick, vulgar cock between his thick thighs automatically inside you. There was no falter in his pumping motion, as if were way too natural for him to be nested inside you.

"Sensei!" you mewled brokenly aiming to aid him burst, fingers white from grabbing so hard to the bathroom sink, "...I’m almost praying for someone t-to happen u-upon us to finally take m-me away from you," you grunted severe and could see their perplexed expressions in the mirror before a smirk grazed your mouth making them realize you were teasing, "-you, feral mass of hormones masqueraded as the strongest sorcerers." You ended up sharing with a cute giggle, “how is it even possible for you to be even hornier than Megumi or Yuuji-"

“Oh, pup if you knew how many times a day, our dear Megumi beats his meat, you wouldn’t say that.” 

You made a pitiful sound, shaking your head. “Megumi d-doesn’t do that, he’s such a g-good boy.”

At this, both teachers burst out laughing because of how little you knew the real Megumi, no doubt their boy had tried hard to hide his true intentions from everyone, but it was transparent to them who had raised him since he was a puppy. Megumi had a wild and voracious side, which he would undoubtedly love to share with you. And right there lay their biggest concern.

"If you only knew, pretty,” Satoru chuckled breathlessly, rutting into your honeyed softness with frenzied exhilaration, he was getting close.

"That's your cumming face, Toru." Suguru scoffed, his smile showing all his teeth, one stab would be enough to break him. His girthy cock trespassed Satoru's tight ring in one blow and the prodigy screeched scream was muffled against your sweaty neck as he came, vast and plenty.

"Take it all in, my sweet girl. Let me live inside you." Gojo kept repeating like a mantra as he splashed your insides in ribbons of his musky essence. Sharp fingers keeping you effectively anchored to his groin as he emptied his balls.

"Fuck," Suguru laughed merrily in response to his husband's pathetic expression as he continued to sloppily gush away into your resistless, utterly conquered pussy. "That's my good boy, my husband really knows how to-"

"(Y/N)! are you in there?" You heard Nobara call, and everyone stilled. "Are you okay, it's been more than thirty minutes."

Quick as lighting Satoru slipped out of you, his precious cum slipping freely down your thighs as he hurried to pull your panties up. Poor Suguru, blue balled into frustration also help you look presentable, ignoring his throbbing erection and how uncomfortable it felt inside his own suffocating pants.

“She looks presentable-” Satoru stated questionably.

“Presentable enough, can you walk on your own, baby?” The raven-haired asked conversationally as he had you wrapped in his arms, too worried by your trembling legs which refused to carry your weight completely. “Toru, you idiot, you need to be gentler with her-”

“I’m fine, Suguru-san,” You defended, “it’s just a minute of weakness before I’m back to normal.” You said all smiles and Bambi legs. 

“So eager to defend me, I adore you so much, my pretty pup-” Satoru almost jumped you, disturbingly stretched grin and unfaltering baby-blue gaze betraying his jovial tone and innocently cocked head. “Makes me wanna dismiss Suguru and rammed you against the wa-”

“Knock it off, Toru.” Suguru pushed him back irritated, “do you feel better?” 

You nodded your head, and a sweet, syrupy kiss landed on your flushed cheek. “Soon.” Was all he said before almost drag Satoru out through the window to avoid been seen.

That same day, the unsatiated couple ended up fucking like crazy when they got home, teeth and fingers and lips covering every bit of skin they could find, bruises the color of Satoru's eyes blooming over the ridge of his pelvis the next day after Suguru pushed him face first into the floor, fucking him so hard that the neighbors would surely have noticed by now.

But those times always felt like something was missing, like your mere absence made their balls produce less cum and their cocks stay erect for less time. It was a meager relief that forced them to look for you almost immediately since you have already kidnapped their every thought.

Their eyes lit up like streetlights when your beautiful voice echoed through their home, and soon their joy turned to confusion when realized why you were there.

"Hello, I'm home." They heard their adopted son shout from the floor below, both clean up as best they could, pulling a t-shirt over their heads and adjusting their pants so they could go down. "I brought (Y/N) for dinner, I hope you don't mind."

Megumi continued saying to his parents, or as he tagged them, guardians. A little taken aback by their unusually, stunned faces.

"...Is there a problem?" Megumi asked them, airily. The young sorcerer almost looked radiant, besides his usual stoic expression. Yes! There was a fuckin’ problem, even so, they numbly shook their heads until Suguru found his voice again.

"N-No problem, Megumi. You're always welcome, (Y/N)."

You looked just as bewildered as them if not more. The only one unaware of the tense discomfort, Megumi, who actually looked quite satisfied. Both professors just couldn't stop following you with their astonished gazes while their set the table and prepare dinner, growing something beyond confused and why not, jealous… since what was driving them internally crazy was the infuriating fact that from the moment you set foot inside the house and until that moment: Megumi and you were holding hands.

COMING SOON PART 3....

⭕️ In my PATREON you will find scenes from this chapter and NSFW art of the story and lots of content from JJK, exclusive smut fanfiction and animation like THIS ONE . Plus! voting poll privilege for the exclusive Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the anime, couple pairing and kinky mood for the story, and of course, my eternal and immense gratitude for your support!!!

[l44serbeam]

hello, can i request college! ellie simping over oblivious reader 💝

eee i lov writing simp ellie shes such a munch

— ALL FOR YOU 𖤐 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings — some good ol’ homosexual pining and loser lesbian syndrome, cursing, drinking, smoking, some fratty guy being creepy, sooome jealousy

For the past few years, Ellies followed y/n around like a lost puppy, accompanying her to all the parties, events, and get togethers. The two are attached at the hip, but lately somethings been eating away at Ellie and she just cant seem to let it go.

“Ellie. Im not gonna fucking smell it.” Y/n laughed as she swatted away the jar Ellie aggressively shoved at her face.

“C’mon y/n. If i had to suffer so do you.” Ellie menacingly cackled, her hand following y/ns nose as she attempted to dodge the scent of the four month old jar of moldy tomato sauce Ellie had grabbed from the fridge and instinctively took a strong whiff of.

“You’re distracting me.” Y/n whined as Ellie threw the jar in the trash and plopped onto the seat next to y/ns on her 2 chair dining table.

“You’ve been doing that shit since you got here this morning. Im feeling quite neglected and unwanted in my own home.” Ellie huffed, crossing her arms.

“I have two pages left, fifteen minutes at most. Then we can do whatever, I swear.” Y/n finalized, biting her lip as she scribbled on the bright yellow paper.

Ellie watched her work, eyebrows permanently scrunched and lips a gelatinous red from her chewing. The way she shifted uncomfortably in the seat as her lower back ached and would quietly huff whenever a question got too complicated.

In the past few years of their friendship, this had become a sort of ritual. Y/n would show up at Ellies house a good 15 minutes within Ellie waking up and shed study on Ellies table and Ellie would sit with her and watch her.

Well the last part of the ritual Ellie didn’t exactly want y/n to know about, but she couldn’t help herself. How could she not stare when she looked so sanctified, in her barest form, wearing her most comfortable clothes and her hair still not tamed from slumber.

It almost felt domestic. At least thats what Ellie thought. Shed order breakfast and they’d eat together is silence as y/n played out loud lecture recordings as they ate to not fall behind and Ellie would occasionally pretend to listen, but end up distracting y/n and laughing throughout, making her have to rewind and get back into the lesson.

Pretty much everything about y/ns and Ellies relationship was domestic, the two constantly together even at the most uneventful and peaceful moments.

They’d met the summer after their senior year, both attending a party near their new campus a month before the start of their college years.

In all honesty, when Dina had first introduced y/n to Ellie and they first exchanged greetings, shed set her mind on sparking a casual hook up and then forgetting about her, but how could she do that when after an hour the two were sat on the curb outside the party, nursing a joint and laughing maniacally at each others jokes with the haze of the alcohol. How could she just fuck y/n and leave when in the two hours they were sat on that curbside, she rambled endlessly about her personal ideologies and opinions, painfully pretty, passionate and giggly

That was one of the first things Ellie picked up within their conversations. Y/n was surprisingly intelligent and beautifully put together, made up of thoughts and theories that constantly molded her mind, making her practically impossible to figure out. She was complicated and beautiful and Ellie couldn’t help but feel a sense of adoration paint her chest.

The next years to come, Ellie and y/n were attached at the hip. They went to parties together, left together, ate together, studied together. All of it. And through all of it all Ellie could feel was warmth wrapping around her and a lightheaded buzz of euphoria. But even then, Ellie was convinced all y/n experienced was oblivion.

It wasn’t like Ellie hadn’t thrown hints or made it obvious that she yearned of her, but y/n had a tendency to not realize the things that were right in front of her. So, Ellie decided it’d be for the best if she just waits for her feelings to subside and not let anything change.

Ellie felt the buzz of her phone on her lap and flipped it over to see a message from Dina.

ELLIEEEEE ik ur with y/n ask her if u two r coming to jesses tonite

first of all how do you KNOW im with y/n 🤨🤨 and second.. she said yes

you two are practically a married couple ofc ur with her

Ellie chuckled at Dinas statement, making her cheeks redden in the slightest (not that shed ever admit it).

be at jesses at 7 or you will face ur doom mwahahahhahaha

Ellie lifts up her phone and faces the screen towards y/n. “I think she lost it.” Ellie laughed.

Y/n laughed at the message and Ellies comment. “Noo, she lost it a good four years ago.”

Y/n suddenly slammed her textbook shut and threw her pencil onto the table. “Im DONE.”

“Jesus, finally.” Ellie said. “Im gonna get ready i can drive you to your place so you can get ready and we can go kill time till 7 then off to Jesses.”

“Alrighty ill pack my shit up.”

“Look its my favorites!” Dina yelled out as she practically launched from Jesses couch and ran over to the two, pulling them both into a hug. The scent of alcohol and weed radiated from her, exciting y/n for the night.

Getting drunk and high with her best friends was one of y/n’s favorite things to do, all of them losing any sense of dignity or embarrassment and just letting loose with one another.

Y/n spotted a few unfamiliar faces littering Jesses apartment, red cups at hand and smoke clouding the home.

“Lets go get you started off. Im feeling quite lonely at my level.” Dina laughed, grabbing y/ns hand. Y/n looked back at Ellie and stretched out her purse to her which she responded to with a nod, grabbing the purse and beginning to back away towards Jesse.

“Cant believe you didnt wait for me.” Y/n said in a dramatically offended manner. Dina rolled her eyes, pulling y/n forward.

“I love you y/n, but its not my fault if you took forty thousand years to get here.”

When they reached the kitchen, a counter had a display of multiple bottles and differently tinted alcohol bottles and chasers.

Dina grabbed a bottle of tequila and two cups, pouring a double shot in each and handing one to y/n.

“God this shit can kill a grown man.” Y/n groaned at the intense scent of the alcohol wafting from the cup.

“C’mon.” Dina said, tapping her cup at the table and bringing it up to her lips, y/n following suit. The two gulped down the shots, both immediately reaching for the bottle of sprite as a chaser.

“Oh jesus.” Y/n coughed, her face sourly contorted. She shook her head quickly to shake it off and recover.

She grabbed two cups and poured some hawaiian punch that was on the counter, pouring some of the tequila on top. She made sure to pour one of them heavy handedly with the alcohol. “Im gonna go take Ellie a drink.” She told Dina.

“Ill be waiting for you on the dance floor.” She excitedly yelled before rushing off to the area next to the kitchen where the majority of swaying bodies danced to the loud music.

“Youre actually an idiot Williams. Like not in a joking haha funny way but you are genuinely dumb.” Jesse laughed, Ellie rolling her eyes and slumping back on the couch, her legs spread widely and arms defensively folded in front of her chest.

“Shut up Jesse. The only reason you and Dina got together was cause you don’t know how to take a hint and started talking about her to me on facetime and you didn’t know she was next to me. Not because of your unwieldy intelligence.” Ellie retorted, Jesse playfully punching her shoulder.

“You’re just mad dude. I think you’d loosen up if you juts fucking told her how you felt. You’re getting quite tense.” He finalized with a whisper as they watched a cheerful y/n making her way over with two cups in hand.

“Hello there.” Y/n said, stretching out the O as she plopped down on Ellies lap, handing her the drink that had more alcohol.

“Greetings.” Ellie said slickly, grabbing the drink from y/ns hand and smirking at her pinkened cheeks and already loose demeanor. She found her hand instinctively flattening on the lower part of y/ns back and bringing the drink to her lips, eyes squinting at the burning flavor masked by the slightest bit of fruit.

Jesse eyed the two and laughed to himself, shaking his head. Ellie looked at him and gave him a indicative look that read shut the fuck up.

“Where’d Dina go?” He asked y/n, taking in Ellies look.

“She went to go dance. Im gonna join her in a sec.” She responded, taking a swing out her cup.

Ellie reached into the pocket of her loose black denim button up and pulled out a tin. Y/n immediately recognized it as the tin Ellie kept her joints in. According to her it was the perfect place to keep them cause they stayed fresh longer.

She brought the joint up and pinched it between her lips, then searching through her pockets but not seeming to find what she was looking for.

“Got a light?” She asked through lips.

Y/n nodded and reaching to her purse that was in between Ellies thigh and the corner of the couch. She pulled out the lighter and brought it to the tip of the joint at Ellies lips, Ellie silently taken aback when she expected her to have just handed it to her.

When the smoke bloomed from the lit end, Ellie took a lengthy drag that further lit the cherry.

She grabbed it from her lips and handed the joint to y/n, letting her take as much she wanted before getting up and going to Dina.

Ellie watched y/n under the dimly lit lamp next to them on the night table, being one of the few sources of light. She looked peaceful, looking ahead at the crowd of people quietly with a hidden grin and swaying to the music. Her lips delicately wrapping around the joint and the lip gloss she insisted on applying right as Ellie parked her car and making her wait glimmered against the light.

Suddenly, y/n turned her head and her eyes caught Ellies, catching her in her tracks. She separated the joint from her lips and smiled.

“What?” She laughed at Ellies stagnant gaze.

Ellie laughed lightly. “Nothing. You just look happy.” She dismissed.

“Of course i am. Fucking studying shits been kicking my ass, i was dying to get out.” She said, not reading further into the look on Ellies eye as she watched her.

“Alright, im goin’ in.” Y/n said, patting Ellies leg and handing her the joint as she stood up.

“Have fun.” Ellie said, leaning back again and fixing herself on the couch.

Jesse leaned back once again, his lousy conversation with a guy who stopped by them as Ellie and y/n spoke ending, but that didnt mean her didnt hear the entire conversation between her and y/n.

He looked at her and laughed. “Youre a fool Ellie. A fool.” He said, Ellie groaning and planting her hands on her face, trying to cover the slight laughter that escaped.

“Y/N!” Dina called, seeing y/n search for her closer to the edge of the crowd. At her name, y/n beamed and pushed towards her. “Thought you were never gonna make it!” She yelled in y/ns ear slightly louder than necessary.

“Ellie sparked up.” Y/n said back.

“So you weren’t dancing with me cause your were blue balling Ellie?” Dina laughed and said in a sarcastically offended manner.

“Shut the fuck up.” Y/n said firmly, but playfulness playing at her tone.

“Oh how you torture that poor girl.” Dina laughed.

“Stop i do not.” Y/n huffed. “We’re best friends Dina. She doesn’t see me like that.”

Dina sighed and twirled around to the music. “You’re so oblivious.”

“She would never.” Y/n stated in a stonier tone.

“But would you.” Dina asked sharply, raising her eyebrows knowingly and crossing her arms.

Y/n rolled her eyes but remained silent.

“Whatever dummy. Forget about that.” Dina said, grabbing y/ns hands and urging her to start dancing with her which she slowly caved into, losing herself in the beat of the music.

The two jumped and swayed, only stopping to gulp down a portion of the drinks in their hand and keep dancing.

Y/n felt a pair of hands wrap around her waist, the persons body pressing into her back and the scent of heavy liquor and pungent cologne invading her senses.

When Dine turned towards y/n and saw the man behind her, her face contorted as she made confused eye contact with y/n.

Y/n turned around and gently put her hands on the mans chest, softly pushing him away as she backed up.

“Sorry im not interested.” She yelled over the music.

“What were just dancing!” The man said back, still stepping towards her. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be dancing alone baby.”

Y/ns and Dinas faces both painted with disgust, y/ns push becoming slightly harder.

“Thank you, but no thank you.” She insisted, this time turning around the push out the crowd.

Behind her the man followed, keeping track of her through the people and still trailing behind her as she walked toward the kitchen.

“C’mon. Whats your deal.” He said as she stopped at the drink counter and started making another drink, not paying attention to the guy. “Don’t be a bitch.” He said, grabbing the back of her hips and pressing against her backside. She quickly grabbed his wrist and turned to aggressively push him off and in all probability, probably punch him square in the face, but before she could do that a hand gripped his shoulder and he was harshly pulled off of her, stumbling back.

“Shes obviously not into you dude. Fucks wrong with you.” Ellie said, getting frighteningly close to his face, chests touching. Ellie was practically the same height as him if not taller, by this time her jacket off, revealing her built arms from her black wife beater.

It seemed like a fight he did not want to pick, putting his hands up and backing away with a shit eating grin. “Alright, definitely mot worth it.” He said, walking away and out of the kitchen. The few people that lingered around there looked at y/n, one or two asking if she was ok.

When everyone cleared out and went about with their business Ellie looked at y/n, her hand brushing her forearm. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah i am, just got me a little nervous.” Y/n wearily laughed as she spoke, turning back around and finishing pouring the alcohol in her drink with shaky hands.

“Careful there.” Ellie said, her hand pulling down the end of the bottle for y/n to stop pouring seeing how much she was putting in.

“Im good Ellie.” Y/n said in a firmer manner, looking back at her.

“I know.” She softly responded. “Cmon, lets go to the couch.”

“Im gonna use the bathroom really quickly then ill meet you there.”

“Need me to wait for you?”

“No its ok, go make sure no one takes your spot.”

Ellie nodded and walked back to the couch, Y/n finding the vacant bathroom and locking herself in it. She set down her cup on the counter and turned on the water, splashing some of it on her neck to combat the heat that seated to be radiating from her body. She looked in the mirror and took a breath, recomposing herself.

“Alright.” She said to herself, swinging open the door again and walking towards the sofa. When the made it into the living room, the first thing she spotted was Ellie in her spot at the couch, and next to her a pretty blonde girl with big round eyes looking up at her, a smile on her lips.

Y/n stopped in her place and watched as Ellie seemed to explain something to her, her hands moving and making signals and the girl eagerly nodding along.

Something shot up y/ns spine in that moment and she considered just walking up to them and taking a seat on her usual spot (that being Ellies lap) but her words to Dina rung.

She just sees me as a best friend. She sees her as someone to be with.

With that thought ringing through her head she turned towards the balcony door besides her, stepping out and being hit by the cool breeze.

A man ashed his cigarette and y/n asked if she could bum one off of him, to which he said yes and gave her one then exited, leaving her alone.

She lit the cigarette with a random lighter from the chair and drew from it.

Her drunkenness had taken a turn with the sighting, going from a jolly and joyful to sad and sulky. Its not like she felt like Ellie had any obligations to her or the other way around, but that didn’t stop y/n from feeling a sharp tiny stab to her gut.

There was a knock on the glass door of the balcony causing y/n to whip back around. A tall girl stood at the glass waving at y/n almost as a warning that she was coming out.

“Hey sorry to bother you. Mind if i smoke out here?” The girl asked.

“No not at all.” Y/n said turning back towards the view and taking another hit of the cigarette.

“I know you.” That girl said in a recognizing tone as she pulled out her own cigarette. “We have Microbiology iolgoy together. You sit next to, whats her name?”

Y/n laughed lightly. “Yeah, a friend of mine, Leah.”

“Yeaah.” The mystery girl responded.

“Whats your name?” Y/n asked but before the girl could answer, the glass sliding door of the balcony swung open.

“Y/n i was fucking worried about you.” Ellie said sharply, eyeing the girl that stood besides her hastily. “Sorry im gonna have to take her.” She said as she grabbed her arm and began pulling her, not a drop of genuine apology in her voice.

“Ellie what the hell. She was nice i was having a conversa-”

“You had me scared y/n. I mean what the fuck you said you would be there i a minute and almost twenty go by and no ones seen you. You don’t even know her and you were practically on her.” She said, not making eye contact. Y/n shook her arm out of Ellies grasp, making both of them stop in the empty hallway.

“And you didn’t know that girl but that didn’t stop you from go for her. You can have flirt with people and get with girls but i cant?”

“What girl y/n? What are you talking about?” Ellie questioned harshly.

“From the couch Ellie. You were going for her and i didnt want to barge in. You were obviously into her.”

Ellie scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. At the realization the tense muscles of her face softened, but were still written with gentle confusion. “The blonde on? I wasnt- why would i be into her?”

“Because shes pretty and obviously ready to suck you off right then and there so what else.” Y/n shrugged, annoyance building onto her tone.

A chill ran up her spine at the sight of how Ellies face shifted at her statement.

“You’re really are fucking obvious are you?” Ellie huffed.

“About what Ellie?” Y/n desperately asked, Ellies lips pressing together.

“Im not doing this here. Grab your shit, im dropping you off at your house.” She said demandingly, y/n cursing at herself when her legs didn’t even waiver a second before speeding towards her purse to collect her things.

The car rang with the low tones of the gentle rock music that played from Ellies playlist. Other from that and the sound of the road rolling against the tires there was no noise within the car.

Y/n sat looking out the window, occasionally looking over at Ellies tense figure besides her.

Question hung heavily in the air and unspoken words riddled y/ns tongue. In the past 10 minutes of the car ride, y/n had repeatedly gained the confidence to strike up conversation but allowing her anxiousness eat away at it and retaliate.

Ellie suddenly turned and parked in front of the entrance to the apartment building which y/n lived at. She put the car in park and turned towards y/n her hand placing itself onto the back of y/ns seat.

“You really dont see it y/n?” Ellie said, speaking her first words in the entire car ride.

“See what Ellie? You keep talking about this it like i know what thats supposed to be.”

“It is whats right in front of you y/n! Me! The way i feel about you and the way you make me feel. I’ve tried so many times y/n i mean so many times to show you or hint to you that i like you more than what we say we are to each other.”

Y/n couldnt help but let her jaw slack, her lips parting open in surprise at Ellies words. Ellie hissed and rubbed her hands against her face, groaning.

“God.” She hissed. “Look y/n. I dont want to lose you. I dont care how youre in my life but i need you in it. If you dont feel the same way we can go on and forget tonight happened.”

Ellies shoulder slumped at the sound of giggles escaping y/ns throats, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“I dont think laughing is what i was expecting.” Ellie said.

“No no no, im not laughing at you. Im laughing cause Dina was fucking right.”

That response didnt exactly ease Ellies nerves, almost taking offense to it. These feelings were quickly eased at the sight of y/n spring out of her seat and the feeling of her lips searing into hers.

A wave of euphoria rushed through Ellie at the feeling of y/n. On her. Her hands on Ellies neck and on her knees as she bent over the arm rest.

It was as if the kiss almost spoke hundreds of words of exchange that neither of them had said. Their lips moved against one another, clutching onto a string of reality.

The two separated to breath desperate breaths of air, their foreheads against one another and noses brushing against each other.

“I think i let how much i like you and how much i dont want to ruin us not let me see the obvious.” Y/n said barely above a whisper, Ellies lip curling into a smile.

“You’re so stubborn.” Ellie responded, leaning back and brushing her thumb across the apple of y/ns cheek. “Its almost three im the morning and you have class at nine, get yourself to bed.” She said even though those very words caused her so much dread.

Y/n groaned but couldnt contain the sheepish smile on her face. “Alright. Ill be at your place by 11. That ok?” Y/n asked almost nervously.

Ellie leaned forward and kissed y/ns lips once again. “Whats expecting anything different. Im not done with you.” She smirked, making y/n blush.

“Ill see you tomorrow.” Y/n said as she opened the car door.

“Text me when your upstairs.” Ellie said before y/n closed the door, her response being a thumbs up and happy wave before running into the lobby.

Ellie drove all the way back to her apartment with a cheesy smile on her face and her hands excitedly tapping the steering wheel to the drumming of the music she played lauder than before.

Just wait till Jesse hears this.

a/n — heres a lil fic for you guys just to keep u fed <<3 love yall and i hope your having a wonderful pride month 😽😽

[jade-len]

dude i sound fucking insane trying to explain why a borderline insane bipolar manipulative two-faced vengeful maniac manwhore tyrannical domestic terrorist demonic emperor is my pathetic poor little meowmeow and how much i wanna put him in a warm blankie as i read him a nice bedtime story

[lovebugism]

i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus

summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!

a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.

The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.

This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element. 

As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.

This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you. 

Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.

It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.

He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful. 

He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.

Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.

And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.

It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals. 

No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”

“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”

It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice. 

Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.

“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”

The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”

“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”

This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back. 

You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.

Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.

There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.

“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious. 

He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.

You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”

Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.

It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.

The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.

“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.

“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”

“I meant as a reward, dummy.”

“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”

“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.

You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”

That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin. 

You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.

Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.

“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”

“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.

“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter. 

“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”

A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.

“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”

You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”

He wants to. He always wants to.

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Then just stay over.”

Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.

The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache. 

You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him. 

And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.

Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.

“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.

His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”

“Right… Okay.”

“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”

The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.

“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.

“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it. 

Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh. 

The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.

Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.” 

You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.

“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High. 

The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.

“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”

You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.

“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you. 

You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.

He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep. 

It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side. 

The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.

You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.

“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”

“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”

“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”

“It didn’t.”

“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”

“You weren’t.”

“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”

Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now. 

The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.

“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. “And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.

“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin. 

“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.

He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.

“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.

And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.

Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.

You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.

You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he’s done something particularly sweet.

It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.

The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna. 

He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.

“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.

You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.

The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.

Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you. 

His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.

You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.

He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.

“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.

Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”

He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”

And, of course, by “fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.

You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.

“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.

“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word. 

The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.

The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place. 

They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.

Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.

He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.

You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.

You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.

Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.

So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.

Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.

“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused. 

Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”

“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”

“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”

Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.  

Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.

Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.

“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”

Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.

“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”

The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.

His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”

“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.

“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.

You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.

You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.

It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.

Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”

“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”

“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”

A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing. 

Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.

“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”

“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?”

“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”

When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.

With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.

It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”

The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.

Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”

Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.

“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”

“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.

“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.

It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.

Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.

She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.

Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.

And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.

Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another. 

“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.

Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”

“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”

That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”

“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.

He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. 

“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”

“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.

“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”

Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.

“You think so?”

“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.

Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.

He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.

The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty. 

See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes. 

All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.

It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.

He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same. 

He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.

“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.

“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”

Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills. 

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.

He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you. 

He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him. 

Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.

Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.

He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything. 

He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim. 

He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.

The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.

The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.

He kicks it back under his bed again.

Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag. 

“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”

Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”

“Should be good to go now, though.”

“Sweet,” the boy nods.

Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”

“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?

You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?

“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”

“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”

The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.

He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.

Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”

The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.

“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”

The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”

“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”

Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.

The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”

Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.

“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”

“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.

“…What is it?”

Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”

Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.

“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.

The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something. 

It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.

“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.

The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”

“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.

The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.

But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.

Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.

Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.

“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.

“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”

His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”

“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”

The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.

“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.

Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year. 

It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.

“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.

Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”

His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.

He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something. 

And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are. 

But it’s different. 

Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.

Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.

That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined. 

But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special. 

And Eddie was really special and then some.

There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.

Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.

You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.

You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.

Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.

The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.

You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.

Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.

“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.

The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.

Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it. 

He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.

It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.

He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.

Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather. 

She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.

You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her. 

“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly. 

Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.

You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.

“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”

You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.

“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too. 

Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you. 

“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”

“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.

You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.

“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.

It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.

“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.

Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it.  The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed. 

“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”

You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.

“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”

A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.

The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.

“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.

“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”

The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway. 

Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.

“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck. 

You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.

Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.

One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.

His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.

“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.

He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.

He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.

“No, it’s because you’re smart.”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.

His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.

“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...” 

His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.

“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone. 

A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.

“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”

Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit. 

And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”

A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.

Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test. 

You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.

It’s not fair to either of you.

You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.

“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?” 

“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”

You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you. 

He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.

“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”

Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.

Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words. 

His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.

He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.

All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.

Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.

You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

He got so damn lucky with you. 

He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.

Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.

It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.

Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.

It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.

“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.  I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”

Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.

It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.

So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way. 

He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.

Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.

The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.

Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.

You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.

He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.

“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.

Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”

“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”

You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.

Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two. 

“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.

“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.

One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.

He looks at you and all words lose meaning.

“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.

You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.

Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it. 

You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.

But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.

Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.

You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.

The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.

The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.

But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.

The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.

In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.

He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.

You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.

“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly. 

Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.

“Hm?” the boy hums back.

“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”

Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.

“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.

The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.

“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”

Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”

“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.

Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.

“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…” 

There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.

Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.

It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?

“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?” 

You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.

Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.

You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.

He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.

Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.

You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.

“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.

He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.

It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.

For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’

Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.

But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.

Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do. 

Eddie’s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.

You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.

The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely. 

Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.

“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.

“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”

“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”

His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.

Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.

You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.

All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.

You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees. 

“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.

“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”

You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.

Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.

“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”

“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”

“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.

Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”

You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.

You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.

It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 

His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.

His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.

“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.

He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.

“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.

“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.

Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.

Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.

“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.

“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.

It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.

You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.

Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 

When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.

A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.

The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.

“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 

Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.

“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.

Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.

You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.

It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 

It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.

Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.

“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”

The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.

The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 

You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.

“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.

He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.

Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.

Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.

You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.

And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.

It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.

The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.

It just has to be.

There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.

Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.

You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.

You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.

And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.

You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.

You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.

“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.

With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.

You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.

His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.

It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.

“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”

“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”

His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.

“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.

You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.

It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 

“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”

His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.

“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”

You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 

Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 

You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.

Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 

He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.

He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.

He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.

“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

[yuri-is-online]

Okay so Trey in the Blotpocalypse timeline or where Yutu comes from also Overblotted right??

And I like to imagine he became an extreme sadist or really really evil once he overbloted, and his Yutu does NOT buy the stories of Trey being actually a very chill and “I don’t want problems, don’t involve me with whatever shenanigans you have” guy.

And when goes to the timeline of now he just.

“Wait, this guy fr??? I saw this guy overbloted and being a sadist maniac, the FUCK you mean he is just the son of the baker”

¬‿¬ you read my mind camrastuff. Overblot Trey is a sadistic bastard, and his children are three of his favorite people to pick on... because yeah the original idea for Trey! Yutu passed peer review, and Furubatsu was kind enough to give us the names Yutres and Yushi for the other two triplets. You will regret giving me this power because I am going to use it to hurt you ψ(｀∇´)ψ

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. This post is heavier on the angst than the other Yutu posts and contains references to gore, depression, and major character death. Please engage responsibly.

They grew up associating home with violets.

Yuu would always keep a few plants on their bedroom windowsill, but the violets spilled all over the house. "They remind me of your father." They would always say, with a gentle look in their eyes that turns sad when they reach for the memories that just aren't there. As the triplets grow, they take turns caring for them so Yuu can rest and wonder about what that man was like and how Yuu came to associate him with the flowers. Yutres is the one who brings up their association with newlyweds and wonders if they were planning a wedding.

"There would be a record of it if they got married." Yushi says it like she's searched for the license already, and knowing his sister like he does Yutu is pretty sure she has. Yutres pulls her blanket around herself in embarrassment and Yutu finds himself speaking up before she can feel any worse.

"She was just saying it's romantic." Yutu doesn't like fighting with his sisters. He likes it even less when they fight with each other, everyone who isn't the two of them says it's because he's the oldest. That he has an instinctive need to protect them as their big brother, . "A lot of the things they say about dad are very romantic." Yushi rolls her eyes, but doesn't disagree. Domestic is the word Yutu would prefer to use for how Yuu talks about his father. They think about him most when they're cooking or taking care of him and his siblings. It's not enough to give him a clear picture of the man, but it's enough to feel like he might have loved him. He's willing to go with what Yushi theorized after looking far harder than he or Yutres, that Yuu ran away from home and settled down with their dad, only for him to die and ruin the good future they were trying to build with each other. It does nothing to dissuade Yutres from seeing it as romantic, or Yushi from blaming him for all their problems. Yutu refuses to take sides, forever the peacemaker destined to drown his own opinion under the weight of not wanting to make anyone mad. Deep down though, he doesn't care about what his dad was like. He just wishes someone was there to help, to make things less financially strained so he could play a sport at school and maybe make some friends.

When he meets his father he takes it all back. He wishes he never met the man at all.

Yutu per tradition is the oldest sibling, Yutres is the second born and Yushi the third. I like to think they have darker colored hair since Trey's green hair is rather dark, their eyes are "normal" for Yuu's world but turn yellow when they arrive in Twisted Wonderland. Yutres inherits Trey's height and poor eyesight, and she's deeply insecure about both due to the large amount of bullying she received growing up. Yutu is also tall, just not as tall as his sister while Yushi is at least a half foot shorter than her siblings and enjoys complaining about it. She accuses her siblings of stealing her height in the womb, but says it's ok because she got all the brains.

The kids grew up extremely poor. Three kids on a single parent's salary is no joke, Yuu was deeply stressed for a lot of their younger years. None of the fyuuture kids like Yuu's home town but the triplets especially hated it there. They felt like animals in a zoo or cast members of a freak show with how acceptable it was to point and stare at them. When they moved away once Yuu managed to secure a place with a better middle school for them to attend they were ecstatic. It was a nice change of pace to just be bullied for being poor.

They spent a lot of time as children playing made up games with each other, a lot of them revolved around cooking since Yuu seemed to really like doing that. They used to run pretend restaurants, or ice cream parlors, or cafes, anything that served food really. They always colored the menus together and asked Yuu to give them good reviews (5 stars for the babies obviously, yuu has a bunch of them in a folder somewhere they look at when things get rough)

I really like the idea of Trey being with a Yuu who has a vague interest in candy making? Because it's a similar interest to baking but still very different and I really like the idea of one of the triplets being interested in it. As the three get older, Yutu and Yutres learn as much about cooking and baking as they can, from Yuu, from the internet and the local library while Yushi applies herself more to experimenting with making things like taffy and caramel. She convinces her siblings to sell their product on the down low at school to bring in some money they can hopefully use to start a business someday. She's the most business minded of the three of them, Yutu privately thinks she has the biggest personality in an effort to make up for being the shortest.

The three of them are obviously major sweet tooths, but they disagree about what desert is best. Yutu loves custards and ice creams, Yutres thinks cake is best especially if it's fluffy, and Yushi likes things made with jams and candied fruits. It made trying to do something for their birthday a nightmare until Yuu realized they all loved hot chocolate and was able to convince them to have a "tea party" for their birthday where they got copious amounts of hot chocolate and some homemade cookies. It's a memory they all treasure and recreate when they arrive in Twisted Wonderland.

That arrival is much easier on the three of them than it is on a lot of the other Yutus. It helps having two other siblings you're deeply connected to when learning you're from another world, your parent is dying from a curse, and that magic is real but only two of you have it. NRC has ceased to be a boys only or even a mage's only school at this point, but it's still hurts for Yutres to learn that her siblings have something special about them while she's still just her. Crewel takes her aside to speak with her as the ceremony goes on without him, asking her if she thinks poorly of Yuu for just being themselves and Yutres can't fathom why she would do that. "Because that's what you're doing to yourself. Your siblings won't love you any less and you won't be of any less help. You are your parent's child after all." Something that Crewel sees as being made all the more true when two first year Heartslabyul students burst through the door and start whining for their sister to do their make up.

Yutres draws a Spade on Yutu to represent a knight's spear, because she thinks of her brother as someone who wants to protect people, and she's deeply grateful for all of the times he's stuck up for her. Yushi gets a diamond because Yutres thinks her sister is very classy and well put together, "diamonds are a girl's best friend or something" is how she words it, but that trademark Clover smirk is there to suggest there's more to it than that. She settles in to Ramshackle almost immediately after meeting the ghosts, who are overjoyed to have another Yuu in their happy haunt.

Heartslabyul suits her siblings well enough. Yutu thinks all these rules are exhausting but he tries his best to do his best so as not to rock the boat. Yushi is more or less the same, but she sort of wants to become Dorm Leader so she can throw a bunch of Unbirthday Parties because those sound fun. The lack of fresh food available to cook with is a drag sure, but she's sure she can at least find some good teas to serve... she just feels like the people around her could use some hope and she drags Yutu into figuring out how to find it.

That journey is long, at the end of it are six known phantoms wreaking havoc on their father's world and one that so few people know about they aren't sure he exists. At some point, all three triplets join a mission to the Queendom and debriefed by S.T.Y.X. about the phantom that roams there.

"Your quest is not to kill the Queen or her mini boss level minions." Idia is a strange person, Yutu can tell he's on the same page as his sisters without bothering to look. "You're just there as support for the front line mages and to get a realistic idea of what they're fighting against." He lets his hands fall to his sides and drops eye contact, chewing on his lower lip as he hesitates. Finally he takes a deep breath and turns towards the display, flicking through footage of the various monsters he had been talking about earlier. "A phantom is a husk using what's left of an overblotted mage to find and feed off of new magic sources. They can get very creative in how they do that." He focuses on a video of the Phantom Hatter, enlarging it so the triplets can get an uncomfortable look at it's facial features and know why Idia was struggling to talk to them. The monster is tall, with glasses and a top hat that would be sort of comical if he wasn't overseeing a table filled with rotting cakes and pastires for a party attended by corpses in varying states of decay. "This one talks. Don't listen to a word it says."

Trey has lines during lessons and in various other places suggesting he could never obey the Queen, and since Riddle is more Queen now than himself Trey has a degree of independence when compared to the other card soldiers. The S.T.Y.X. staff classify him as a rogue phantom and highly dangerous. He can talk, he uses his unique magic to make people confused about their surroundings, to mimic the voices of their loved ones and lure them towards packs of monsters where he'll watch silently as they die. He's picky about who he "invites" to his mad tea party, it's difficult to get a drone close enough to his base to analyze who the victims are.

Idia was vehemently against sending the Clover triplets anywhere near an area that the Hatter could be. That's beyond cruel to them and extremely dangerous, he just knows that Trey will find them and that it won't go well. Phantoms corrupt the natural instinct of the person they're feeding off of, and while Idia thinks Trey was always a sketchy bastard he knows that he was a domestic one too. If there's enough of him left to recognize his children... his worries are soothed by Ortho promising to keep an eye on them and the fact the mission isn't in Trey's usual territory.

It doesn't help. A familiar sees the strange looking children and speeds off to fetch its master. The Phantom Hatter doesn't show himself immediately, he watches, waits for everyone to relax just a little bit before he strikes, chasing everyone into one of the Queendom's many hedge mazes and isolating them from one another. The stress causes Yushi to discover her unique magic as she desperately tries to feel for her siblings, she is able to form a brief telepathic connection with someone she knows and see things as they are. She can tell that Yutu and Yutres are in danger, and decides to run for her brother first. She's sure he'll be half way to their sister by the time she finds him, he's the oldest. He always knows what to do. And while she's right she's also wrong, by the time she finds Yutu he's already found Yutres, but someone else has too. The Hatter doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe either she notices, but her sister still shrinks back, pulling an injured Yutu closer to her.

"Well that's just rude." It's not a voice they've heard before, but he's somehow so familiar. Like they heard this voice before, sometime long ago, whispered into the warmth that existed before they were torn from this world to be born in another one. "I'm just trying to say hello." Yushi doesn't think he's noticed her yet, she focuses on holding her breath and looking for a way out. Yutres maintains eye contact with the monster as she applies a potion to Yutu's wound and prays, to who or what she doesn't know, that he heals. "Have we met before? You seem awfully familiar." The monster summons bones up from the ground, closing in around the triplets and knocking Yushi out of hiding as the phantom looks over his shoulder to tip his hat and wink. It's an opening Yutres immediately takes, throwing Yutu behind her and jumping to hit at the monster's rib cage, landing a blow that causes a sickening crunch.

"RUN!" Yushi screams, she thinks she grabs her sister and brother's hands and drags them on instinct and adrenaline back to the base camp until a senior smites down the phantom the Hatter had mimic her sister and takes an unconscious Yutu to the medical tent.

Ortho tries to track down Yutres, but he's unsuccessful. It's months later when Idia finally thinks to send drones to check what's left of the Clover family bakery and finally finds her body. She's been laid in a children's bed, covered with a blanket. He can't tell if what's left of Trey couldn't bear to look at his dead daughter or if the phantom thought he was just putting her to sleep. It's too much even for Idia, he personally retrieves her and helps the surviving kids plan the funeral. It's not the first time he's felt responsible for getting someone's child killed, but it's the most personal.

Yutu's numb. Yushi is looking to him for guidance, and he doesn't know what to say to comfort her or to make it better. They're missing a part of themselves and are much too quick to agree to Idia's plan to send them back in time, their parents are the last thing on their minds they just want their sister back. When Yushi arrives in the Queendom she's able to tell where everyone is and go searching for them. When Yutu arrives at NRC he's terrified he's lost his only remaining sister, and that's before he has to deal with his dad.

Trey is a freak, but he's a domesticated freak. A domesticated freak who is deeply in denial about being in love with you or anything other than normal. He appreciates that Riddle feels comfortable enough to invite you to Heartsabyul, whether it's for a casual tea or for an Unbirthday party since it saves him the trouble of having to do it himself and you're always so eager to help... but then Yutu arrives and suddenly your attentions are a bit split. You still come around for the parties, but casual teas are becoming less and less. He tries to tease you about it, asking where else you're going to get your cakes from and that's when you mention it. "Oh Yutu bakes a lot and he's really good at it. I always feel bad for bothering you so, it's nice to not have to do it so much anymore." Oh? Well isn't that just cute, Trey isn't bothered by this at all. He might not think there's a difference between something bought from a store or something "made with love" but he certainly thinks there's a difference between him and another guy. And he wants you to choose him.

Yutu is terrified of his father. He still has nightmares of what happened to Yutres, and he's afraid he's lost Yushi now too. No one had much to say about Trey in the future, most all of his friends were either dead or phantoms and while Grandpa Crewel was enthusiastic in describing his interest in science he didn't give them much backstory. Idia never spoke poorly of him, and tried to impress on him that what killed his sister was a monster using his dad's magic and not actually his dad but when that thing kills your sister...

He doesn't know what to make of him. Trey's extremely chill so long as no one is causing trouble, he convinces himself to keep an eye on the Phantom Hatter, but he doesn't see any signs of that. The guy is really weird about teeth, and definitely in denial about his feelings for his parent but he is, weirdly enough, closer to that word Yutu would have associated with him before he came to Twisted Wonderland than he is anything that would describe that monster. He's domestic, a guy who looks like he'd be more at home in socks and sandals than surrounded by corpses. He overworks himself and takes naps on the Guest Room couch, he confesses that he was hoping to join some sort of cooking club but settled for the science one, and the way he looks at Yuu when he thinks no one is looking is so soft Yutu wants to choke. Idia's original warning, that a phantom isn't a person anymore and that the monster will do anything to convince you otherwise. But what would his sisters think if he ever thought about forgiving him?

"Is there a specific reason you wanted to grow violets?" Trey tries to keep his voice down, but Yutu still starts when he hears him. He didn't jump 10 feet in the air this time, so he likes to think he's making progress, though towards what he doesn't know. Yutu looks at the flowers, Trey can't see his eyes, but his grip on the watering can is tense. "Not judging, just curious." He tries to soothe him in the same tone of voice he would one of his younger siblings, and it does seem to work somewhat. "I really like them myself."

"My sister..." Yutu chokes on what sounds like a half sob, and Trey immediately regrets trying to help. "My sister really liked them she... she always thought they were romantic." The past tense catches Trey's attention immediately and something in him aches, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose one of his own siblings and he does talk about them a lot... was he being insensitive? Did he hurt Yutu by reminding him of his sister?

"Are they?" He isolates a few particularly well tended blooms and snips them to add to his basket next to Riddle's strawberries. "I'm not really good with those sorts of things." Yutu snorts, and Trey can't help but feel slighted somehow. "To me they just taste good."

"They taste good?" Yutu squeaks. He sounds indignant and Trey just shrugs.

"Yeah, candied flowers are really popular in the Queendom of Roses. I really like candied violets, ha when I was a kid I didn't realize you needed to cook them first and my parents had to stop me from eating them off the ground." There's quiet for a moment, Trey wonders if he's pushed it too far but Yutu's mouth finally lets out a small noise before he breaks into loud peels of laughter that sound like a weight is lifting off of Yutu's shoulders.

The first thing Yutu thinks when he hears about his father eating flowers is how Yushi tried to do the same thing when she was little. The second is how funny Yutres had thought that was, how she had smiled and laughed and Yutu cannot keep himself from laughing as well. How did this man become that creature? Did the loss of his home hit him that hard? Yutu doesn't know, but he's not afraid anymore. Some of his tension lifts, Yuu tells Trey during one of their hang outs that he's started speaking about his sisters more and that they now know he's a triplet (trey: wow those poor parents yuu: i know right? i could never). He starts getting into lighthearted (from his perspective anyway) spats with Trey over who can bake better. Trey says he has no complaints because he doesn't have to make as much for Unbirthday Party's now but ooooooh he'll be so upset if you say you think Yutu is better than him. If that was the case why's the little shit so interested in listening to what he has to say huh? And how did he pick up on Trey's feelings enough to reassure him he's got nothing to worry about?

The truth about Yutu is revealed during another monster attack. It happens during a science club trip to Crane Port, the sky grows eerily dark, and Yutu tenses out of instinct. Everyone else is confused, is it going to rain? And why is Yutu sprinting away from the group like a bloodhound with a scent? Rook is the one to give chase, Trey tagging along begrudgingly determined to keep the two of them from causing more trouble. But a bunch of trouble is exactly what they find, a monster that resembles an undead, overblotted version of Yuu is thrashing about as a group of... mages they don't recognize attack them. Trey and Rook prepare to help when Yuu notices them and their eyes narrow onto Trey and two of the unfamiliar looking mages absolutely lose it.

Yutu's disguise is knocked off, and Yushi was never wearing one to begin with so it's difficult to deny the similarity between the two now that Trey has a look at them. It's the eyes that he notices first, yellow just like his but bereft of glasses. Yuu's story about Yutu being a triplet rings dully in his mind as the fake Yuu fades from view, banished back to wherever it came from and Trey closes his eyes to do some math.

"There's one of you missing." It's not the statement they're expecting clearly, all justifications for their existence die on their tongues as they exchange a painful glance. Yushi was able to use her magic to see some of what Yutu's life was like at NRC, and she warmed up to what she saw of her dad much faster than Yutu did. Yutu doesn't want to be the one to tell Trey he killed their sister, but he also doesn't want to push that burden onto Yushi so he steels himself, and explains his story. Trey listens and he thinks. He's silent, arms folded as Yutu stumbles through his story before he interrupts his grief by pulling both of his children into his arms. He's a big guy, but they're big kids and he can barely get his arms around them both but he still feels empty.

Trey hates doing work he isn't responsible for, but he loves his family and doesn't see them as constant work. Three children? That Yuu was forced to raise by themselves? Unacceptable, the closer he has been getting to Yuu the more plans he's made for the future he wants with them. He knows what he wanted for these kids, and none of it is what they're describing. Trey might not want to be the best of all time, but he still wants to be the best he can be. Changing the future sounds like a big ask, something that Trey Clover should see as none of his business and easy to ignore. But it's not, it's different when it's his own family. If Idia thinks he's scary now just wait until three Clovers show up on his doorstep demanding he get in their party and stop the apocalypse. Four technically if you count yourself, something they really hope you do.

[pine-rhyme]

Pine I’m going insane please clear something up about tlt

I keep seeing art of two(?) v similar looking people, one with short hair and another with pigtails and I’ve seen both being referred to as Harrow or Nona or similar. I thought they were the same person (with Nona being a nickname of Harrowharks family name) but I saw some art that’d imply they’re two different people???

I always interpreted it as ‘Nona is what Harrow would be without the Horrors’ since she’s v cheerful. Like a sort of collective fandom oc. But now I think that’s wrong. Pls advise T^T

(Also hiiiiiiii hope you’re having a nice day ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) )

OMG THANK YOU I AM SO GLAD I GET TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU BECAUSE THIS IS GENUIENLY MY FAVOURITE THING OUT OF THIS SERIES!!!!!

That and the wild contrast between Harrowhark and Nona makes me giggle maniacally every time.

Here is some sketchy art and rambling under the cut because I LOVE LOVE LOVE NONA!!!! And by extension the book she stars in!

Nona is a real character! But very well pointed that her name derives from Harrow's NONAgesimus! She is the narrator and main lady of the 3rd book (Nona the Ninth :DDD).

The thing about Harrow and Nona is that yes! They share the same body! Harrow is such a haunted character that it is already ridiculous how many other ghosts could take over her body if she falls unconscious (which already happened a few times and ngl it was very sexy).

But this time, in Nona's case it is unclear if it is one of her many ghosts piloting her body or if it is really Harrow whose trauma caught up with her and got her brain reset (you already know it wouldn't be her first rodeo given that she already has had the lobotomy experience :)) but the thing is, Nona can't remember a thing from before she got saved by Harrow's... friends? Acquaintances? People that owned her a favour?

The beautiful thing is that you have this vulnerable person, who doesn't know anything about herself is getting taken care of by these people that? Genuinely cared about the old Harrow? And are actively trying to figure out who Nona actually is. And how she can be helped. All we know is that Nona is uncharacteristically kind and sweet-natured for the tlt world :)))

She is deeply aware that she is unlikely to survive for much longer and experiences everything around her with a deep sense of wonder. She has only been alive for 6 months and it was a gift. The world is slowly crumbling around her and her body is slowly dying but she loves the people that take care of her nevertheless. She looks in the mirror and finds herself truly beautiful and she is openly grateful for the girl who let her borrow her body to experience this life. It is a bittersweet story and a very big tonal shift from the intense and alienating POV of the previous book (Harrow the Ninth), focusing more on the domesticity and closure nurtured in a wartorn refugee camp, between unlikely characters.

AND IT IS JUST HILLARIOUS to encounter characters with whom Harrow has been AT LEAST highly disagreeable, getting absolutely showered in affection by Nona. Nona herself being so full of love and admiration for everything and everyone she meets is just amazing when you remember that's HARROW'S body she's piloting. Harrow who is easily the most people-allergic character out of this whole series lmao. AND NONA IS WEARING HER HAIR LONG AND BRAIDED! AND PARADES AROUND IN THE MOST INSANE GRAPHIC T-SHIRTS. SHE WANTS TO DYE HER HAIR ELECTRIC BLUE LIKE HER CRUSH!

I absolutely love Nona she is my favourite character in this series. It is because of her that Harrow started to grow on me as well. It is just wonderful to find, after how distressed and alone Harrow is during the 2nd book, she has people that would go to such lengths to care for her, despite the fact that she lost her necromacy, genius and aptitudes, along with her memories and, in fact her body might be the only thing that remained out of her because, by the end, Nona might indeed be somebody else entirely.

More than that it is a story about a girl with no past and no future loving unconditionally and getting unconditionally loved in return by her friends and family. Even when it gets very complicated and twisted and at times you are forced to question what is everybody's hidden intentions or what is the meaning of it all. It is just as grim (and upsetting at times) as the rest of the series but having for once an optimistic pov (even tho it comes with her forcing herself to suppress her ugly feelings because her life is very short and she needs to enjoy everything while it lasts) feels almost like a fever dream.

"Life is too short and love is too long."

(This is Nona with Pyrrha! Pyrrha loves Nona so much it makes me sick to my stomach and I could talk for hours on end about them. )

Thank you so much for this ask and for indulging me in my madness!!!!!!! MMMMWAH!

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Two

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Two: One Hell of a Rat

Summary: Sebastian and (Y/N) handle a crook kidnapping Ciel.

            “It seems we have a rat problem,” said (Y/N) as they and Sebastian passed by Finny, Mey-Rin, and Baldroy running around like maniacs.

            “I’m sure that if you went after it, the issue would be solved quickly,” said Sebastian with a smirk.

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched at the tease.

            Sebastian smirked as he opened the door to the parlor. Ciel and his guests looked up as the maid and butler stepped inside with a cart of tea.

            “Today, we have prepared some Fortnum and Mason’s Darjeeling tea,” declared Sebastian as (Y/N) carefully poured.

            “What a wonderful scent,” said Lau, Ran-Mao sitting on his lap and nodding silently. “When it is properly prepared, there’s no comparison.”

            “Grell!” called Madame Red.

            “Y-Yes?” exclaimed Grell, stiffening.

            “Watch and learn,” said Madame Red, nodding to (Y/N) and Sebastian. “In any case…you really are fine servants!” She patted Sebastian’s rear and moved for (Y/N), but they were quick to sidestep (they were a cat that preferred the “look don’t touch” policy). “Why don’t you stop serving at a manor house and come to work with us?”

            Ciel coughed after regaining his composure. “Madame Red!”

            “Oh, my! Pardon me!” chuckled Madame Red. “I started kneading them without realizing it! Doctor’s habits!” Ciel’s irk mark appeared.

            “Is it true that one of your previous guests was in the smuggling trade?” asked Lau.

            “Yes,” replied Ciel.

            “You should have left the extermination to me,” said Lau pleasantly.

            “No one knows where a rat nests better than a rat,” said Madame Red.

            Lau raised a hand “innocently.” “I’m a domesticated marmot. If it is the Earl’s order, then I shall do the dirty work.” He ruffled Ciel’s hair.

            “Don’t you dare try to lay a finger on my precious nephew!” cried Madame Red, dragging Ciel into her own arms.

            “Oh, my! There’s no way I’d try to lay a finger on him in his own home,” said Lau.

            “Are you saying that you’d do it somewhere else?!” shouted Madame Red, affronted. “That is quite the criminal proposal. How dare you!”

            As she berated Lau, Ciel sighed in exhaustion at their antics and walked out of the room. Sebastian and (Y/N) followed dutifully.

            “Young Master, today we have prepared an apple and raisin deep pie,” said Sebastian. “It has almost finished baking, so please stay with the other guests.”

            “Bring it to my room,” said Ciel. “I’ve had enough socializing.”

            “As you wish,” said Sebastian.

            “Very well,” said (Y/N) as Ciel turned once more and left.

            As they stood there, the rest of the servants, dressed in cat costumes and carrying mousetraps, ran around them. Sebastian looked at (Y/N) and raised an eyebrow.

            “I do believe a rat calls for a cat to catch it,” said Sebastian with a smirk.

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched before they dove to the side and rolled to their feet. In their hands they held two dead rats, caught expertly. “I guess it did,” they said with a pleased smile, dropping the rats into Baldroy’s net.

            Sebastian smirked before leveling a look at the rest of the surprised servants. “All of you, please stop playing around and do your jobs.”

            “Yes, sir,” they said. They nodded hurriedly and ran away to their assigned jobs for the day.

            “(Y/N),” said Sebastian.

            “Yes?” They glanced up at him.

            Sebastian took their arm. “You got blood on your gloves,” he said as he pulled the glove from their hand. “Unbecoming for a Phantomhive maid.” He flourished a clean glove and slipped it onto (Y/N)’s hand.

            They looked at him and furrowed their brow. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping my uniform neat.”

            “Well, what type of butler would I be if I didn’t have an extra pair of gloves on hand?” questioned Sebastian. “This was simply more efficient.”

            (Y/N) shrugged, used to Sebastian by now, and pulled their hand back. They were not as averse to his touch as they were others’, but that was only after years of knowing him, and even then, it wasn’t…normal.

            “Let’s get the Lord’s tea, then,” said (Y/N), turning away.

            “Yes, let’s,” said Sebastian, leading the way to the kitchen with a slight frown on his face.

l

            “Young Master, we have brought you your afternoon tea,” said Sebastian, knocking on Ciel’s office door. When he received no answer, he pushed the door open. “Young Master?”

            The floor of the study was littered with throw papers, books, and chairs. There had been a struggle.

            “Ah, what a predicament. The tea will all go to waste now,” sighed Sebastian.

            (Y/N) held out their hand. “I think you should give me that bloody glove back. I have a feeling it will be getting dirtier before the day is up.”

            Sebastian smirked as he held out the glove. Yes, indeed, this was the demon he trained. Efficient and deadly.

            And lively, came the unbidden thought, always has been awfully spirited for a demon.

            Now that was a thought Sebastian hadn’t had for a long time. At least, not since he and (Y/N) parted ways last time.

            Luckily, before Sebastian had to deal with any more troublesome thoughts, Mey-Rin came running down the hall.

            “Sebastian! (Y/N)! This letter just arrived at the entrance,” said Mey-Rin.

            “To whom is it addressed?” asked Sebastian.

            “To the attendant of Ciel Phantomhive,” said Mey-Rin.

            (Y/N)’s eyes flashed as they glanced outside and saw the sniper, horribly hidden from their demonic eyes, in the tree. “Sebastian.”

            He understood, and as Mey-Rin tripped, he caught her while (Y/N) took the pie so both were preserved as a bullet ripped through the window beside them. (Y/N) crouched to the side with the pie balanced in their hands, and Sebastian lay on his back with Mey-Rin on top of him.

            “Mey-Rin, the letter,” said Sebastian calmly.

            Beet red, Mey-Rin stammered, “Ah, y-yes!” She handed it over as Sebastian set her back on her feet.

            “If you want your master to be returned, bring ‘the item’ to Bethnal Green’s Nova Scotia Gardens,” read Sebastian. “This is a somewhat inelegant invitation.”

            “I think it qualifies as a ransom letter,” said (Y/N).

            “Sebastian, (Y/N)!” said Finny, appearing beside Baldroy worriedly.

            “Just what is going on here?” declared Madame Red, walking into the hall with Lau.

            “We apologize for the noise,” said (Y/N).

            “It’s nothing,” said Sebastian with a smile. “Please do not worry.”

            “Nothing?” Madame Red looked at the broken window, unimpressed.

            “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but could you please take care of cleaning up?” asked Sebastian, looking to Baldroy and Finny.

            (Y/N) handed over the pie to them. “Take care of this.” They walked past them with Sebastian.

            “By ‘take care of this,’ do you mean it’s alright to eat this?” asked Baldroy excitedly.

            (Y/N) smiled to themself as they walked away. They’d let them figure it out.

            “So, after the trespassers?” asked (Y/N), tugging at their gloves once more.

            “I can hear their car leaving. How rude, they never even called on us properly,” said Sebastian. He smirked as he ran after them with (Y/N) by his side.

            The assassins screamed when they saw (Y/N) and Sebastian catching up to them, but as much as they swerved to avoid them, they couldn’t. (Y/N) smirked as the rats screamed. They pounced.

            Kicking the driver away from his seat, (Y/N) pulled the car to a jolting stop, half off a cliff, and while the men cried out in fear and babbled for help into their phone, they just grinned back in satisfaction as Sebastian balance them off the cliff as he crouched on the front.

            “I think this is for you,” said (Y/N) with a smile, handing the phone to him.

            “Thank you,” said Sebastian. “Good day,” he said into the receiver. “I am one of the Phantomhive servants. I was just wondering if our young master had been intruding upon you? Hello? Is that the case?”

            “Woof,” said Ciel across the phone.

            “Understood,” said Sebastian. “We shall come and collect him immediately.” He handed the phone back to (Y/N), who passed it to the men. “Thank you for allowing me to borrow this.”

            “Very kind of you,” said (Y/N) with a faux smile.

            “We also have two or three things to enquire about,” said Sebastian. “Firstly, what is the name of your owners?”

            “I’d suggest answering, we’re not very patient,” said (Y/N), smiling. “And you wouldn’t want to fall, would you?” The men’s scared faces made (Y/N) smile wider. Rats like them were fun to play with before they died.

            “It’s Azzurro Venere of the Ferro family!” said one man, panicked. “His base of operations is in the northern part of East London!”

            “Thank you,” chirped (Y/N), standing up. Sebastian extended a hand, and (Y/N) took it to stand on the bonnet of the car.

            “Wait! We were just hired hands!” cried the other man.

            “Oh, is that so?” remarked Sebastian. He gave a closed-eye smile. “I’m sorry I held you up when you were so busy, then. We’ll let you go one.”

            The two demons hopped back off the car. They watched as the men fell to their deaths in the forest below. (Y/N) looked at Sebastian, who was consulting his pocket watch.

            “We’d better hurry up,” he decided, “or dinner will be delayed.”

            “I’m glad I’m wearing my dirty gloves, then. I might get more blood on them,” said (Y/N) with a bright smile as if they weren’t planning on ripping anyone they came across apart.

            Sebastian smirked. Yes, it was good to be working with them once more.

l

            Sebastian and (Y/N) jumped over the gate and assembled men before they could even be glimpsed. The mercenaries were foolish enough to believe they had successfully locked down the mansion. Of course, no one could fault them too much. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

            “My, what a splendid mansion,” said Sebastian.

            “Not to my taste. It has a rat problem,” said (Y/N).

            The mercenaries turned in shock. “Who the hell are you?!” Weapons were raised at the two demons.

            “I beg your pardon. We serve the Phantomhive household,” said Sebastian.

            “And we have a job to do,” said (Y/N).

            They moved an instant later. Sebastian and (Y/N) were merciless, tearing through bones and clothes and skin until blood flew and men laid limp on the ground. Sure enough, (Y/N)’s gloves were staining red.

            “Pardon us, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” said Sebastian to the fallen men. He sighed. “5:34 pm.”

            (Y/N) pushed open the door and walked into the mansion. “We should get to the Lord soon, then.”

            “Indeed,” said Sebastian, entering alongside them.

            Instantly, snipers began shooting. Sebastian blocked with the pie platter he still had, and (Y/N) dodged with a handspring and a twist in the air. While Sebastian ran down the dining room table and frisbee-d the platter to take down several men, (Y/N) gathered up plates and sent them flying into snipers.

            “With all these rats scattering everywhere, there will be no end to this,” sighed Sebastian.

            “Let’s speed this up, then,” said (Y/N) with a grin, pulling silver knives from their pockets.

            “It appears you brought some claws,” said Sebastian with a smirk as he brought out silver forks.

            “You’re really enjoying the cat jokes today,” said (Y/N), nose twitching. They jumped into the air and sent the knives into the throats of several snipers while Sebastian’s forks impaled others.

            “It keeps me entertained,” said Sebastian, turning on the reinforcements and beginning to thin the masses.

            “A millennium and it never changes,” pouted (Y/N) as they stabbed a man behind them before whirling on the rest and attacking before they had a moment to think.

            Sebastian smirked. (Y/N)’s reactions to his teasing were even more catlike than their usual characteristics. That was partly why the jokes were so amusing to him.

            “5:43,” he said. “We keep moving.”

            “Judging by the layout of this mansion, the office is likely that way,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Then the Master will be there,” said Sebastian.

            The demons carefully opened the door. Azzurro stared at them with shock, but his gun didn’t move from being trained at their chests.

            “I have come to collect my Master,” said Sebastian, bowing.

            “Huh. I’m surprised,” said Azzurro, his gun dropping slightly. “Here I was wondering what kind of monsters would appear, and it’s just Romeo and Juliet in a tailcoat and apron? Just what are you? You aren’t just any butler and maid, are you?”

            “No. I am one hell of a butler,” said Sebastian with a smirk.

            A sinister grin split (Y/N)’s face at his quip. They shrugged. “I’m just here to have some fun.”

            “I see…At any rate, I have no intention of going at it with you,” said Azzurro. “But you know…” He dragged Ciel to hit and pressed the muzzle of his gun to the boy’s head. “You brought the item, right?”

            “Yes. Right here.” Sebastian removed a golden key from his breast pocket.

            Bang!

            He was immediately shot through the head and fell. Flecks of blood landed on (Y/N), who just looked down at Sebastian after the rest of the shots rocketed through him.

            Azzurro cackled. “Sorry, Romeo. Looks like I win this game! The opponent was a master of games, but I had an ace up my sleeve. Now all that’s left is Juliet and the brat.” He knocked away Ciel’s eyepatch as he cackled.

            (Y/N) put their hands on their hips. “I thought you used to teach me melodramatics were unnecessary.”

            “Sometimes a little fun is necessary.”

            Azzurro’s eyes widened as Sebastian spoke. “Th-that’s impossible!”

            The other men stepped back in horror.

            “Modern guns really have improved.” Sebastian lifted himself off the floor. “They are completely different from those of a hundred years ago.” With a bloody cough, Sebastian spat the bullets out of his body onto his hand. He smirked. “I shall return these to you.”

            “What are you doing?! Kill him!” shouted Azzurro.

            The men raised their guns again, but Sebastian flicked his wrist first. The bullets he held fired through the mercenaries, and they dropped like flies.

            “Oh, dear, my clothes are all full of holes,” sighed Sebastian.

            “I guess we have to replace more than just our gloves,” said (Y/N).

            “It’s because you were playing around,” scoffed Ciel.

            “Young Master, they don’t appear to have treated you very well,” said Sebastian. He took a step forward towards Azzurro and Ciel.

            “Don’t come any closer!” shouted Azzurro.

            “You look like a caterpillar, at once both disgusting and splendid,” said Sebastian, teasing Ciel once more. “It quite fits your small, weak stature.”

            “I-If you get any closer, I’ll shoot him!” cried Azzurro.

            “Hurry up. His breath stinks,” said Ciel, unconcerned.

            “If I get any closer, you’ll be killed,” said Sebastian, just playing around.

            “You bastard. Are you trying to break the contract?” questioned Ciel.

            “By no means. I am your loyal servant, after all,” said Sebastian.

            “My Lord, he has a tendency towards some dramatics,” said (Y/N).

            “What the hell are you three talking about?!” cried Azzurro.

            “Young Master…I told you what to do if I ever disregard my duty, did I not?” said Sebastian, a darkly cunning look on his face.

            Ciel’s eye opened to reveal his contract seal. “This is an order! Save me this instant!”

            “Shut up!” cried Azzurro in a panic.

            Bang!

            Ciel turned to face him, completely unfazed.

            “Why didn’t he die?” gasped Azzurro.

            “Is this what you’re looking for?” Sebastian stood over Azzurro, a bullet in between two fingers. “I shall return it to you.” He dropped it into Azzurro’s pocket and then snapped Azzurro’s arm.

            “The game wasn’t fun this time,” muttered Ciel as Sebastian picked him up.

            “Hey! You! Wait!” cried Azzurro. “Come and be my bodyguards! I’ll give you five, no, ten times the pay he’s giving you. I’ll give you all the women and alcohol you want, so please…”

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow and sneered. “I hate rats like you, constantly climbing on top of others for your greed.” Mortals who cruelly used and abused one another were (Y/N)’s least favorite kind.

            Sebastian snapped the belts holding Ciel hostage. “I’m sorry, Signore Venere, but I have no interest in the waste made by man. I am a demon and a butler, after all.” His eyes lit up fuchsia.

            “A-A demon?!” cried Azzurro.

            “Demon,” said (Y/N), their own eyes turning more catlike and fuchsia.

            Sebastian’s shadow began to elongate around the room, and black feathers danced in the air as he stared at Azzurro. “By the key of the contract my young master holds, I am but his loyal dog.” He pulled his glove off with his teeth. “Through sacrifice and wishes, I am to abide by the contract and be bound to my master.” He held up his hand, branded with the contract seal. “This, in exchange for his soul.” Azzurro stared, horror-stricken.

            “Sorry, but this game is over,” said Ciel.

            Azzurro screamed as Sebastian descended upon him. A moment later, there was nothing left of him to attempt to scream. Sebastian smirked as the shadows receded back to him and his eyes went to normal.

            (Y/N)’s fuchsia eyes faded, but they were aware of how Sebastian’s demonic presence swirled around them for a moment. They glanced at Sebastian, wondering if this was his direction. No, he was focused on Ciel. (Y/N) shrugged, ignoring the shadow reaching up to touch them for a moment. They were not getting more attached to Sebastian.

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how seventeen would confess to you - pu vers.

-> pairing : svt pu × gn!reader

-> words count : 2.9k words

-> genre : svt members crushing on you, fluff

-> warnings : while make you giggle and kick your feet, sex implied in chan's part

-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist hhu vers. | vu vers. | pu vers.

MOON JUNHUI - RUSHED

to me, he really has two different sides.

sometimes, he’s a goofball, joking along with you, making you laugh to the point you’re crying.

would 100% do something ridiculous if it made you at least smile. 

he’s also very happy about the fact that the two of you have some inside jokes that only you understand and can laugh about (makes him feel like he’s special). 

and the rest of the group would look at the both of you giggling like maniacs without understanding a word you said. 

besides that, i think he’s very observant and knows a lot of things about you and your body language.

he would certainly notice the little changes in your mood by the way you act or talk, and he would be more than delighted to get you out of uncomfortable situations.

he loves it every time you rely on him for little things like opening a jar for you or getting things from the higher shelves, whether you could have reached them or not.

 and all this feels so domestic that he doesn’t even quite realize how much he needs you until he’s about to go on tour again.

he’s spiraling every night, thinking about how he’s not going to be able to live without you being so far away and suddenly he needs to see you, even if his plane is going off in less than two hours. 

“- Jun !? What are you doing here ? Don’t you have to go to the airport soon ?”

He was completely disheveled, his hair ruffled by the wind that also colored his cheeks and nose. And he seemed lost, as if he didn’t even know why he was there in the first place. But the moment his eyes found yours, it was as if the world around you two blurred out. Suddenly, he wasn’t thinking anymore, the only thing in his mind was you.

“- I- I had to tell you something.

- Well, you could have told me over text, you’re gonna be late !

- No, no, I have to tell you in person. It’s important, please.”

He sounded desperate, you had never seen him like that, never seen him so anxious. You simply nobbed, encouraging him to go on with his thoughts. Jun took a deep breath, but he knew that he had to say it right now. If you said yes, he’ll be the happiest man on earth, and he would hold on to the thought of you during his tour. But if you said no, at least, he’ll be away and would not have to see you everyday, he could let you process everything. Either way, it should end relatively well, even if he hoped for the first option. 

“- I couldn’t leave without telling you this, and I know that I’m selfish to do it just before going away for months but I couldn’t find it in me to tell you before. You can ignore me all you want if you’re not okay with that but I hope you won’t because I need you so bad, I need you to be part of life for everything to be alright.” 

A small smile was tugging the corner of your lips, having figured where his speech was going. You could’ve stopped him, but he was so cute, fumbling over his words, talking with his hands out of nervousness, his eyes focusing everywhere except on you. You leaned against the doorframe, listening patiently to his rambling. 

“- And I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you Y/N… I love you so much I can’t even bear the idea of not seeing you, of not having you by my side everyday. And I know that you’re probably not feeling the same, we're supposed to be friends after all, and friends don’t dream about kissing each other, but if I have the slightest chance of bei-”

Jun’s next words died in his throat when you grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, forcing him to lean down, just enough for you to meet his lips. He freezed for several seconds, making sure that this wasn’t another crazy dream, but the way he could feel the tiniest movement of your lips against his definitely grounded him into reality. He let his own hands slide to your waist, closing the space between your bodies and finally kissing you like he fantasized about. 

“- You’re an idiot Moon Junhui. You’re an idiot for thinking that I would turn you down, because I’m in         love with you too. And you’re also an idiot for telling me just before leaving. I’m going to miss you even more…”

“i promise i’ll make it worth the wait, i’ll take you out as soon as i’m back.”

KWON SOONYOUNG - SMILEY

he’s a funny guy, really funny and you’re a funny person too so be prepared to always laugh when you’re with him.

he knows that no matter what he’s on, you’re going to follow him and he loves that you’re in the same mood as him.

act as if he’s annoyed everytime you tease him along with his members, but truly, he’s all warm inside whenever he thinks about how comfortable you are around the other guys. 

bet that he would not miss an occasion to tease you either, finding you especially cute when you playfully hit him, with your cheeks all red. 

will bicker with you about everything and anything, just like an old couple fighting. 

the moment he really fell for you was when you offered him a little tiger plushie that he could hang on his bag for his birthday, saying it was nothing when it meant the world to him.

it wasn’t even that deep, he was aware, but it was so cute of you to encourage him in his little (big) obsession. 

everytime you participate in his horanghae agenda, he’ll smile like an idiot.

i think that mario kart nights will be a regular thing between the two of you, always making stupid bets to challenge each other.

“- Kwon Soonyoung ! I warn you, if you do that, we’re not friends anymore !”

How hot you looked when you were angry didn’t deter the said Soonyoung as he hitted you with a red shell. Your scream of frustration made him burst into laughter as he drove past you and won the race a few seconds later. He didn’t even have the time to celebrate his victory that you were already pushing him on the floor, ready to take revenge.

“- You really are a little piece of shit ! Why did you do that !?

- Because it’s funny seeing you all mad about nothing.”

His cocky smile was soon wiped off his face when he noticed that you were picking one of the cushions of the couch, apparently ready to hit him without any regrets. Soonyoung grabbed your wrists just in time to stop you, not giving in when you tried to squirm out of his hold. 

“- It’s not my fault you’re bad at this game !”

His snarky remark infuriated you even more, and you knew very well that he was doing it on purpose. It was obvious from the look on his face, but you gave in to his provocation anyway. You finally freed your hands, throwing the cushion aside and going to tickle his sides instead. Soonyoung couldn’t help the little giggles that escaped him, trying to wiggle away from your touch.

“- Ahah ! Please Y/N ! Please stop, I’m sorry !

- Not stopping until you beg my pardon !”

And you kept your promise, tickling him to no end, even straddling his lap to get better access to the exposed skin of his tummy. But as you leaned in, you finally realized how close to his face you were, your eyes zeroing on his lips. Soonyoung didn’t know who kissed the other first, he just knew that he didn't want to let go of you. Soon enough, you were forced to anyway, desperately needing to breathe. He held your gaze, and tenderly tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind your ear.

“- Please, tell me that it wasn’t just the spur of the moment. I might cry if you say yes.

- It wasn’t, don’t cry you big baby.”

The pout aborning his lips was really cute, but he didn’t let you focus on that, circling your waist with his arms, pulling you down on top of him. You gasped out of surprise, but quickly, you relaxed into his warm body, while Soonyoung buried his face in the crook of your neck, not once thinking about the fact that you were still laying on the floor of your living room.

“i may be a baby, but I’m your baby.”

XU MINGHAO - LONELY

he’s not very talkative at first, only greeting you when you arrive, saying goodbye when you leave and if he really needs something. 

but he always makes sure that you don’t want something, or are uncomfortable (my sweet guy). 

one time when the guys invited you for dinner, you sat beside minghao, and as the night went on, you found some common interests with him.

you ended up spending the whole dinner passionately debating with him.

he’s indeed a very smart man and it’s really interesting to discuss with him, even if you don’t always share the same opinion about things, he’s always respectuous and interested in what you think or say.

and that’s what minghao feels for you at first : respect.

he admires you so much, because you’re such a clever person, you’re doing a job you love and for which you worked very hard, and you also find the time to laugh with him too.

and even if you’re more educated on a subject than him, you never make him feel like he’s stupid, always explaining it to him in such a simple way.

and adding to that, you’re beautiful, breathtaking, which is not helping him to hide the crush he developed on you. 

Minghao stood in front of his mirror, he was there for a good thirteen minutes, trying to recite the text he so carefully wrote. He spent all his free time perfecting every little detail of his confession, because he wanted it to be just as amazing as you were. And even if it has been almost two weeks since he finished preparing his speech, he couldn’t bring himself to tell it to you. Every time he saw you, it was as if everything else dissolved, the world around was suddenly blurred and the only thing in his mind was ultimately you. 

That’s why he repeated to himself that he should practice. By now, he knew every word by heart, not needing to check the written text anymore. He spent hours and hours telling it to his reflection in the mirror, but it didn’t compare to what it was when you were in front of him, looking him in the eyes and smiling so brightly. Minghao took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that what he did was effective as he started over again. 

“- You always say that you have a rational and logical mind, but still, you believe in ghosts, fate and soulmates. You always say that you don’t like romance movies, but still, you cry in my arms everytime we watch one. You always say that you don’t like it when people do something for you, but still, you always ask me for help. And I find all of that so cute. Because even if you’re the smartest person I know, it reminds me that you’re not coherent sometimes. And I’m not either. I have never been when it comes to you. Everytime you look at me, I feel like I don’t even know how to breathe anymore. You make me forget about everything except you. Since both of us are a little silly sometimes, maybe we could be silly together.”

He stopped, looking at himself and shaking his head in disappointment. 

“- Gosh… This is so stupid, I am ridiculous…”

It’s only when he had finished talking that Minghao noticed you, standing close to the door. He met your eyes in the mirror, and they grew wide in surprise. For how long were you there ? Did you hear his whole confession ? And if it was the case, how would you react ? He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he nervously ran a hand through his hair. 

“- You know, I don’t think you are.”

The puzzled look on Minghao’s face made you smile even more than you already were, unable to hold back your grin now that he was finally looking at you. 

“- You’re not ridiculous. Try it out on me if you’re not sure.

- I… I just… Okay…”

And Minghao told you again, this time trying to look into your eyes, also trying to control his shaky voice. When he reached the last word, you stepped towards him, until your face was only inches away from his, one of your hands coming up to stroke his cheek. 

“- That’s a lot better, don’t you think ? Now I can tell you how much I would love to be silly together.”

“it’s all i’ve been dreaming of.”

LEE CHAN - COMPLICATED

part time idol, full time comedian.

he’s so funny for real, and it’s what you like about him first, that he’s able to make you laugh so easily. 

he loves to know everything about you, and he remembers even the slightest detail about everything that you love and don’t. 

and that transfer in the bedroom because after some time, you fool around while being drunk and until there, you didn’t stop. 

he knows you and your body like the back of his hand, and that’s quite practical as well as it is annoying because he can always tell when you’re in a good mood or not. 

likes to make you discover the music he appreciates and encourages you to do the same. 

has such sweet gestures for you, even if you’re just supposed to be fuck buddies and everyone can see how in love he is with you. 

but it’s only because he wants more with you but doesn’t want to cross the already blurry lines of your relationship, or even worse, lose you. 

that’s why he treats you like his girlfriend without saying that it is what he wants, and it's confusing and hurtful for the both of you.and if you want to get out of this situation, you’d have to take the matter in your own hands. 

The more Chan spent time with you, the more he found himself unable to leave your side in the morning. That was his only unspoken rule : he could stay the night, but he would always go away before you wake up because he had “things to do”. And you respected that, that he needed to settle his own limits. But still, it hurt to find his cold and empty space in your bed every time, his smell still lingering in your sheets. You wanted him to stay, to really stay. 

It hurt even more when you fell asleep in his arms almost every night. What was supposed to be only meet ups from time to time ended up being an everyday thing. When you came home from work, he was often already here, having cooked for you and ready to get all the stress of the day out of your body. And then, you drifted off in his embrace, with Chan kissing you all over your face. You craved all of that, you craved him, his presence, his affection, his love.

“- Chan… Don’t leave me, please…”

The boy jumped at the sound of your sleepy voice, turning around to look at you, still half naked. He wanted to stay, he really wanted to, but he knew that if he did that, he was going to fall even more deep, and he couldn’t stop it. 

“- I-I can’t, I have to go.”

Chan tried to not let you hear how much his voice was shaking as he focused on searching his discarded clothes on the floor. He heard you shuffle in the sheets behind him, but he was not expecting your arms to sneak around his waist, your warm body pressed against his back.

“- I know you’re lying. Please, stay with me.”

The butterflies erupted in his stomach, but at the same time, he felt a heavy weight on his heart. Was this what he was thinking ? Or were you just emotional for some reason ?

“- Don’t do this to me, it’s already hard enough. If it’s like that, we better stop.”

Tears were prickling at his eyes as he tried to not melt in your hold. He knew he was going to harm you so much, that it would mean the end of everything but it was certainly better like that. 

“- I don’t want it to stop. I want it to last forever. I-I think I’m in love with you…”

Your eyes were closed, as if it could help you forget what you just said. But to your surprise, Chan only turned around so he could hug you tightly. His head fell to the crook of your neck, and your eyes grew wide as you felt some tears soaking the material of the shirt you were wearing - his shirt, in fact. Your hand flew to his hair, grazing his scalp with your nails to get him to calm down. 

“i think i’m in love with you too, i think you’re all i ever wanted.”

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