#i promise i draw the other phone guys as well

[invited-anarchy]

paint tool sai is Fun and totally did not make me want to burn something once

in other words while sai is fun and all to use, it was pure suffering to figure out since i didn't think looking stuff up was a good idea

anyway, jake :]

still figuring out anatomy and stuff, so apologies if it looks a bit odd!!

[dksfml]

Love 119 [Part Two]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part one] [part three]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: enemies at work, lovers at home. secret dating. jungwon is hot when jealous, suggestive, fluff summary: your coworkers think that you and niki look cute together while jungwon, your boyfriend is literally standing next to you and it's driving him insane. word count: 3.5k author's note: hey everyone! as promised, i'm here to serve another paramedic jungwon brainrot because it's not fair to just devour this cutesy alone. enjoy and leave some notes <3 read part 1 first and reply if you want to get tagged for the next parts!

You’re midway through a lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria when your coworker leans in, voice low and eyes gleaming with intrigue. “So…” she starts, drawing the word out slowly, “who’s the lucky guy?”

It takes you a second, but the question sinks in just as she tilts her head, nodding toward your neck with a smirk. Your hand instinctively rises to the spot Jungwon’s lips had claimed last night, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—a parting gift as you’d curled up together, something you didn’t think twice about until now.

A blush surges to your cheeks. “What? Oh, no, that’s… I scratched it too hard,” you say quickly, heat rising not only from the surprise but the memory of last night—Jungwon’s sleepy grin, the way he’d pulled you close, whispering in your ear as he pressed soft kisses down the curve of your neck.

“Sure you did,” she teases, crossing her arms as her smirk widens. “You’re going to need a better excuse than that. So… is it Niki?”

“What?” you laugh, the idea so out of the blue it’s almost comical. “Niki? Why would you even think that?”

She shrugs, the smugness on her face never faltering. “You always have a soft spot for him. You never scold him like the rest of us. Plus, everyone’s seen the way he hovers around you in the halls, he’s clearly smitten.”

Your eyes widen at the notion. Niki, your young, eager junior who fumbles his way through shifts and who you can’t help but look after because he’s new and a little too starry-eyed for his own good? It’s laughable. “It’s not like that,” you manage, shaking your head. “He’s just… young, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” she says with a knowing chuckle. “Sure, if you say so.”

Before you can protest further, your phone vibrates. Glancing down, you find a message from Jungwon: a photo of his lunch, neatly arranged with a sweet message beneath it. “Eat well, ily.”

The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip, and you feel an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You quickly swipe away the notification, hoping she didn’t see the smile or the faint hearts in your eyes.

The day unfolds in the usual rush of patient check-ins, chart updates, and emergency calls. You busy yourself to the point where the cafeteria conversation drifts from your mind—until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the break room mirror and spot the faint outline of that now-infamous hickey, the concealer having barely managed to mask it. You tug your collar higher, hoping to hide it through the rest of the shift.

The afternoon in the ER has been a blur of movement and urgency, leaving you barely a moment to breathe. Every time an ambulance pulls up, your heart skips a beat, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’ll be Jungwon walking through those doors.

But each time, it’s someone else, and you return to the steady rhythm of your work, instructing Niki at your side as he follows your lead. Despite the tense environment, he’s attentive and focused, learning from you as he manages each step of the patient’s treatment with remarkable ease.

Afterward, you and Niki head back to the department office, the adrenaline settling as you both chat lightly, unwinding from the chaotic pace. As you enter, you spot Jungwon down the corridor, heading the other way with a stack of documents.

It’s almost comical how, even amidst the bustling hospital, his presence stands out so starkly to you. For a split second, he glances your way, and the fleeting moment feels charged, pulling your attention and making it impossible to look away. But as soon as your eyes meet, you glance down, hoping no one notices how that brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

Once back at your desk, you feel your coworkers’ eyes on you, their curious glances flickering between you and Niki. You try to brush it off as nothing, settling into your usual seat, with Niki across from you. Just as you’re starting to sift through some files, Jungwon’s familiar stride enters the department office.

His easy confidence fills the room, and he greets everyone with that understated charm, heading to a nearby colleague to ask for specific documents. You’re not even looking at him, but his presence is impossible to ignore. You focus on your papers, hoping that looking busy might steady your nerves, but the pages blur in front of you, your mind too distracted by the fact that he’s just a few steps away.

Then, just as you’re juggling a pile of documents, you accidentally knock over your iced coffee. The mostly empty cup clatters over, spilling what’s left onto your coat. The moment the coffee splashes onto your coat, Niki and Jungwon are both at your side in an instant. Niki’s quick to pull out a box of tissues, while Jungwon silently holds out a pristine handkerchief, a touch of annoyance already flickering in his gaze.

Caught off-guard, you instinctively reach for Niki’s tissues, leaving Jungwon standing there with his handkerchief, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches you dab at the stain.

Your coworkers notice the scene and immediately latch onto it, their laughter filling the room. "Oh, come on, you two," one of them teases, grinning at the pair of you. "Why don’t you just date already?”

Another chimes in, "Yeah, it’s obvious there’s something going on. I mean, look how attentive Niki is—always ready to help you out."

You wave them off, laughing it away, but the teasing only grows louder. Someone else playfully nudges Niki. "What’s next, bringing her coffee in the morning?"

Niki laughs, scratching the back of his head, visibly flustered. "Come on, guys, we’re just… coworkers," he insists, though his blush only adds fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, you can feel Jungwon’s gaze on you, sharper and more intense than ever. His silence speaks volumes; the usual relaxed confidence he carries seems to be tinged with something harder, a jealousy that simmers just beneath the surface. It unsettles you, tugging at something guilty inside as the teasing around you grows.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps forward to you, interrupting the chatter with a clipped tone. "Enough with the tissues,” he says, leveling his gaze at you, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Stop fussing with that coat—you’re only making it worse. Change into something clean, or the smell will stick with you all day.”

The room falls silent, your coworkers exchanging amused glances. You roll your eyes, unwilling to let him get the last word.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Practicality. I can handle a few drops of coffee,” you retort, folding your arms and meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of your chin.

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

"Right, because dealing with a coffee stain is something you’re well-prepared for," he says dryly, folding his arms to match yours. "Clearly, practicality isn’t your strong suit."

You scoff, refusing to back down. "And since when did you become an expert in coffee stain management? It’s barely noticeable, and I’m perfectly fine with it."

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, the challenge sparking between you both as he leans in just a fraction, his voice lower. "Just because you’re fine with it doesn’t mean everyone else is." His eyes flick down to the stain and then back up to yours, a knowing glint in them.

Your coworkers are watching with raised brows, amused but also visibly intrigued by the tension between the two of you. "Are we interrupting something?” one of them jokes, breaking the silence. "Honestly, the way you two bicker is like a married couple."

The comment makes you blush, but Jungwon doesn’t flinch. Instead, he holds your gaze, his smirk deepening. "At least one of us knows how to handle these little emergencies,” he quips, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something raw behind his eyes—a hint of jealousy that only you can catch. The way he’s looking at you, there’s no mistaking it: he’s anything but amused by the teasing around Niki.

But before you can respond, Niki steps forward, awkwardly placing his coat over your chair. “Um, here,” he says, clearly trying to ease the tension. “You can wear mine for now if the coffee’s bothering you that much.”

The room erupts into more laughter, someone nudging Niki with a grin. "See? He’s a gentleman. Really, you two should just make it official."

Another coworker teases, "Or maybe they already have, and they’re just not telling us."

Jungwon’s expression hardens as he watches the exchange, his eyes narrowing. His gaze flickers from Niki to you, a frustration simmering beneath his calm facade.

You feel the tension growing, an almost tangible weight of jealousy in the way his jaw clenches, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

Finally, he speaks up, cutting through the laughter with a controlled but slightly irritated tone. "Enough of the matchmaking." His gaze falls pointedly on you, something possessive flickering there, though he masks it quickly. "And you should change. That coffee smell won’t just vanish."

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to back down. "If it bothers you so much, why don’t you bring me a change of clothes yourself?"

"Thanks," he says shortly, taking the stack of paperwork with a polite nod. He turns back to you and your coworkers, offering a quick, “See you all later. Take care, everyone.” His voice is casual, but as his gaze lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer, you feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

With that, Jungwon strides toward the door, his usual self-assured calm back in place. You watch him leave, but just as he reaches the exit, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, your pulse quickening as you read the message from him:

“I have something you can change into in the back of the car.”

It’s simple, yet there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You glance up just in time to catch Jungwon’s silhouette disappearing down the hallway, feeling the tension of the moment linger in the air long after he’s gone.

The rest of your shift rolls by with its usual demands, and you brush off the incident from earlier, deciding against getting the change of clothes Jungwon offered. By the time you finally clock out, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the nearly empty parking lot. Just as you step out of the hospital doors, Jungwon’s car pulls up in front of the exit.

You feel a small smile tugging at your lips as you walk over and slip into the passenger seat. “Hey,” you greet him, but his focus remains straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel, his paramedic uniform clinging to his form. The sight of him in that navy blue uniform, complete with the badge and patches, usually makes your heart race, but today his expression is unreadable. A flicker of surprise hits you. Jungwon, who is usually quick with a playful remark, doesn’t even turn his head as you settle in, leaving you feeling a bit deflated.

You tilt your head, watching him closely, noticing the slightest crease of annoyance in his brow. With a slight pout, you try breaking the ice, “So, how was your day?”

He answers, but his tone is clipped, barely more than a few words. "Busy. The usual."

You blink, feeling a hint of tension in the air. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes or filling the car with easy chatter, but now he’s focused on the road with a seriousness that feels almost uncharacteristic.

Leaning back in your seat, you give him a sideways glance. “Is this about the clothes?” you finally ask, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Are you upset I didn’t change into them?”

A quick denial. “No,” he says, a bit too fast, but still refusing to look your way.

You can’t help but smile a little, noticing his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t sound like you’re not upset,” you tease, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.

“I’m not upset,” he repeats, but he’s biting his lip, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead as if he’s hyper-focused on the road. His brow furrows, and he lets out a soft sigh.

“Come on, Jungwon, it’s cute when you sulk,” you say, your smile widening at the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly, revealing his irritation in the most subtle way.

This finally gets a reaction. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing just a little. “I’m not sulking,” he mumbles, but the denial lacks its usual conviction.

“You look pretty sulky to me,” you murmur, enjoying the rare moment of catching him off guard.

Just then, the car comes to a stop at a red light, and you glance over to find him holding a long breath, his expression somewhere between frustration and fondness. The tension in the air shifts slightly as he turns his gaze towards you, and in that moment, you feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his right hand gently on your lap, rubbing small circles with his thumb. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, igniting that familiar spark between you two. It’s a simple gesture, yet it feels so intimate, especially with the way he’s staring at you as if he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say out loud.

He resumes driving as the light turns green, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his voice softens, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the usual bravado. “I’m not upset,” he assures you, though the sincerity behind his words hints at something deeper, something he’s wrestling with beneath the surface.

You can’t help but smile at him, the weight of his earlier mood lifting slightly. “Then what’s with the whole silent treatment? You know you can just tell me, right?”

Jungwon shakes his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face despite his mood.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, his voice maintaining a lightness that’s undercut by an earnest edge. “I don’t want to be the guy who gets all worked up over people assuming you and Niki are a thing.”

You bite your lip, the realization sinking in that his jealousy is more about their perceptions than the spilled coffee earlier.

“Well, I’m definitely not dating Niki,” you reply softly, trying to ease his tension. “He’s just a good coworker. You know that.”

He glances at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile as he focuses back on the road.

“Good,” he mutters, his hand still gently rubbing your thigh, sending tingles coursing through you. The intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race.

He passes another intersection and accelerates, the car moving smoothly through the streets.

“But you know,” you continue, trying to keep the mood light, “if you were just a little quicker with your offer, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this teasing.”

Jungwon lets out a soft chuckle, the tension in the car easing slightly. “I thought I was quick enough,” he says, a playful tone returning to his voice. “How was I supposed to know you’d be so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Me? Never,” you tease, rolling your eyes dramatically.

He shakes his head with a laugh, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh, a subtle reminder of the unspoken bond between you two. As he navigates the streets, the silence stretches comfortably, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic.

“Hey, you should know,” you add after a moment, “if you want to make sure I’m not wearing Niki’s clothes, maybe you should just… keep me in yours.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Is that your way of saying you want me to dress you?”

“Maybe,” you reply coyly, biting your lip again, the playful banter making you feel bold.

He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls into a quiet parking lot. “You really know how to make me feel like I’m the jealous one, huh?”

“Just speaking the truth,” you say, leaning back into the seat, enjoying the rhythm of the moment.

As he turns off the engine, the atmosphere shifts slightly, the playful banter fading into a more intimate silence. Jungwon finally meets your gaze, his expression earnest. “Just so you know, it’s not about Niki. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I want to be the one you lean on, the one you trust.”

Your heart swells at his confession, a warmth spreading through you. “You are, Jungwon. You’re the one I always want to lean on.”

He smiles, a genuine light returning to his eyes, and in that moment, everything feels right.

When you arrive at your apartment, Jungwon opens the door for you, the familiar scent of your space washing over you. As soon as you step inside, he follows closely behind, and before you can even set your bag down, he closes the door and turns to face you.

In an instant, the air between you shifts. Jungwon steps forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. You barely have time to react before he captures your lips with his in a deep, passionate kiss that takes your breath away. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you and the electric tension that crackles in the air.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that surprises you, and you feel your heart racing, responding instinctively as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his mouth coaxing yours open as he explores the sweetness of your taste. It’s intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the moment, your worries and doubts melting away.

In the midst of the kiss, he breaks away for just a moment, breathless and looking down at you with those soft eyes. “I can still smell the coffee,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You giggle, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the reminder of the earlier incident making you giddy. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan for that to happen,” you reply, your voice teasing but breathless.

“Maybe I should get you a proper change of clothes next time,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. But then he adds, more seriously, “You should probably take those off; the smell will cling to you.”

His suggestion sends a thrill through you, and you find yourself biting your lip in excitement. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want me to take them off?” you tease, your heart racing as you lean closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He chuckles softly, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish,” he admits, his breath ghosting over your skin as he moves in even closer.

With a playful grin, you decide to indulge him. “Fine, but only if you do too,” you say, your fingers finding the buttons of his uniform. You start to unbutton it, your hands trembling slightly with anticipation. Each button that comes undone reveals more of his toned physique, and your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him.

As your fingers glide over the fabric, Jungwon watches you, his expression a mixture of desire and admiration. “You know, this might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” he murmurs, his voice low and enticing.

You finally push the uniform off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. In that moment, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intimate. He captures your lips again, and you feel the heat between you both intensify as you pull away the last barriers that had been keeping you apart.

Just when you think it can't get any more intense, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he admits, his breath mingling with yours, creating a palpable tension that thrums in the air.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice teasing yet filled with warmth.

“You know I can’t let everyone find out I’m dating the hottest doctor in the hospital, or else…” he argues, a playful grin breaking through his earlier seriousness.

“Oh, please,” you bite back with a smirk, playfully nudging him. “Like they wouldn’t notice that the ‘sexiest and charming paramedic’ is completely smitten.”

With a smile that could light up the room, you lean in for another kiss, feeling the world around you fade away once again as you get lost in him.

[part one] [part three]

[prael]

REPLACED

Newjeans Minji x male reader smut

Quickfire challenge 1. Thank you @midnightdancingsol

The prompt: "You know why this happened, @capslocked – yes, you."

Masterlist word count: 3,911 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It's all a matter of perspective. From one side of the room, the world is calm.

And the other? Well, that's Minji.

“Want to know the one thing worse than outright rejection?”

Minji has barely walked in the door and she is already shouting off in riddles. She's standing in the doorway, her hair wet from the rain and a little bit tangled just above her shoulders. The water on her overshirt is so deeply sodden into the fabric that it weighs on her. It sticks to her skin that's so clearly visible underneath the LED spotlight above her and her face is twisted in this way of pure irritation that you've rarely seen. It's almost comical.

Or it would be if she wasn't throwing her bag on the floor with an almighty thud and a little yelp from the floorboards below.

“Minji?” is all you say in some hushed tone as you sit on the armchair by the window, hot drink in one hand and your phone in the other as the world passes by in the distance, drowned in downpour.

You look up to watch Minji as she shouts, "How about getting a part, only for it to be taken away? Being promised the world and then having it rug-pulled so you fall flat on your fucking face?!"

Now, Minji never swears in anger. And never means never (again, in anger, specifically). So, it's pretty much a sign of the end of the world when she does. She's kicking off her shoes now, throwing them in the direction of the door and they clatter on the floor like the battering of a drum.

"I—uh."

"You—uh," she mocks, taking a step forward.

"Woah. Minji. What happened?" You ask, setting down the phone on the sill of the window. Minji's stomping her way toward you. Her eyes are wide and filled with something you haven't quite seen before.

"This complete—"there are some sounds from her mouth but they don’t quite resemble words"—shit for a fuck brain!" See, Minji never swears like this, so she's so bad at it that it's laughable.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, it's a great idea; an amazing concept. I'll write you a fantastic character and it will be romantic and hot and everyone will love it," Minji rants in some sarcastic tone while peeling her shirt off her skin and piling it onto the hardwood floor. She stands in only her sports bra with her arms raised and her voice in high pitch, mocking. "Except, you're not good enough. Oh, no. I have to give the part to this other girl. She's prettier and nicer and just better than you!"

"Ouch." You say, watching as she flops onto the couch opposite. The coffee table in between you is a lousy line of defence. Her socks have little splatters of rainwater on them and not too far above that, her skirt sits just above the knee.

"Oh, shut up," she replies.

"Minji." You throw her a look that says 'Stop taking it out on me', which she understands, but it only gets her to fold her arms dramatically with a little huff and a puff from her mouth, followed by a pout. Then you ask her, "What part even was this? TV?"

"Not exactly."

"An ad? Video game? Movie?"

"Fanfiction."

Fanfiction.

"What?" You blink, to which Minji sighs and rolls her eyes, head tilted to the ground.

"Fanfiction."

"A fanfiction?" you question again. It’s not like you misheard, it’s just an utterly strange thing for her to be so pent up on.

"Don't say it like that." She snaps, leaning back into the chair and crossing her legs so one of her little rain-splattered socks is suspended in the air, and she twists and turns her foot impatiently.

"Just trying to figure out why you're so annoyed about fanfiction."

"Because the guy's a complete moron."

"Probably," you say, drawing your mug of coffee close to your lips. You blow on the surface and Minji is silent. You wait, the steam is coming off the top and through it, you watch her as she thinks as her eyebrows furrow together. Minji shifts in her seat again, the annoyance making her chronically uncomfortable. 

"He replaced me!" She shouts, slamming her hands into the arms of the chair and then Minji stands. She takes a few steps and then stops and turns to face you, her eyebrows furrowed and her arms folded, her legs are slightly apart and she's tapping her foot.

"Does he think I'm not pretty enough? Not funny enough? Not sexy enough? Does he think that I wouldn't be good enough at what he wants me to do, hm? So he doesn't want to write me sucking a dick? Well, screw him. Fucking Capslocked."

You're not sure what's going on here, so you're just sitting back and watching her, coffee nestled in your hand and feet propped on the table. She's standing still, waiting for you to say something, anything, and when you don't, she begins to pace.

"Why would he change his mind and just decide that someone else is better than me? What, does he not like my body? Do you not like my body?"

"Your body is fantastic." You say, taking another sip of the coffee.

"Yeah, and don't you forget it." She snaps, stopping again and placing her hands on her hips, either side of that exposed waistline.

"The fuck kind of name is 'Capslocked' anyway?" You mutter, mostly to yourself. Minji doesn't reply, but you see her take a step closer to you.

"And," Minji begins and then pauses, you look up at her and she's just staring. Her cheeks are flushed and her breathing is a little laboured, her chest rising and falling with each breath. There's a pause. Her tongue runs over her lips and you can see her thinking—gears grinding inside her head.

"And?" you ask.

"Shut up," she hisses, kicking your leg so your feet fall from the coffee table and you almost spill the drink down yourself. She places her hands on your knees, bending over to you.

"Minji, my drink—"

"Shh." her hair falls across her face, a black silk drape half-covering the expression beneath. There's an anger under there, something she's trying to push back down, but it's not quite working. Her nails dig into your thighs as she pushes them apart, and the steam rises again above the surface of the liquid in your cup. Minji is too busy running her hand along your crotch.

"What're you—"

"Replaced me," she repeats to herself, a little huff leaving her as she slips down onto her knees. "Fucking replaced me."

"Minji, I'm sure he—"

"I don't care. Shut up. I'm not talking to you." Her hands are shaking, whether from frustration or some other confused feeling that burns under her skin. Probably a mix of many feelings. They're fumbling at the button of your jeans and she's tugging down the zip, her teeth bared. You're watching, and it's as if she is possessed.

Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears, the heat is rising and Minji is pushing her hair out of her face.

"I'm gonna do this so well."

"You always do."

"I said stop talking. So. Stop. Talking," she sounds out each word with authority, her eyes wide and angry. Minji is pushing down the fabric and reaching into the opening in your underwear. She wraps her fingers around you, the cool touch of her skin making you jerk.

"Minji, my drink." Your hand trembles slightly as you try not to spill it. Minji doesn't listen. She pulls you free. A low hum leaves her throat as she licks her lips and leans forward. Her warm breath is ghosting over you, her eyes are closed and there's a little smirk on her lips. Your cock is only halfway to hard and her hand is wantingly trying to coax you into arousal.

It doesn't take much. It never does with Minji.

"Fuck," you groan, the sound of your voice making her look up.

"Don't," she replies, a warning in her eyes. Minji's hand is moving up and down and it's not with that same gentle caress she usually has.

"God, Minji."

"Quiet." She stops, her lips are pouted and her eyes are locked onto you. Her hand is around you, the pressure is gentle, but it's enough to hold you. You're frozen there a moment, her eyes are staring right through you and you're not entirely sure what's going to happen. "Don't say a word, and don’t spill your drink,” she tells you, her free hand rubbing your thigh.

"Minji—"

"Don't." She whispers, her tongue licking over the surface of her lip. Her mouth opens, and she's leaning in. The warmth of her breath is making the muscles of your abdomen twitch and your head spin. Her tongue is the first thing that touches you. She's holding you still, and the head of your cock is resting on her bottom lip, and the feeling of the smooth surface makes you want to thrust forward, but Minji's hand holds you firm.

You bite your lip as Minji's tongue swirls around the tip. It's light and soft and sends electricity through your nerves. You groan ever so slightly and she looks up at you, her eyes narrowed. Your knuckles whiten as you grip the mug, her hair tickling the inside of your thigh as she lowers her head.

Her tongue runs along the underside and pastes your cock with a wetness. The hand around you moves down, and she takes you in. Her mouth is heaven, and her lips the closing gates. You let out a deep sigh, your chest heaving, and Minji's free hand slides up the inside of your shirt, her nails grazing your skin.

Her mouth moves, her lips tightening, and the movement is slow. It's torturous and the sensation of her tongue swirling around the underside of your cock sends you spiralling. Minji knows this, and she's looking up at you. You want to touch her; you want to tangle your fingers into her hair; you want to grab her and pull her against you.

But her eyes speak many words left unspoken. They command your stillness, your silence, and your complete submission.

Minji is working her mouth over you, and her hand is stroking you, up and down and up and down. She's bobbing her head and humming slightly. The melody is almost hypnotic but sounds as if being played by force rather than elegance.

Her scratches are harder than ever and it feels like fire across your chest. Your toes are curling and your head is thrown back. The heat from the mug permeates into your skin as you grip it tighter.

"Ah, Minji." You moan. Minji stops, looking up at you. There's a drop of spit on her lip, and her face is flushed. You're not sure what to do. She's glaring, and she's holding you. Your heart is beating like the hammer of a drum and just above it, her nails grip, threatening to pierce through flesh.

"I said quiet." Words laced with venom. She digs somehow deeper into your chest as she pushes herself to her feet. "Now, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until I scream and you're going to stay quiet."

You're not quite sure what's happening. This is a Minji you have seldom seen before, but it's all happening so fast. She's pulling up her skirt, sliding down her panties, and she's kicking them off so the fabric lands somewhere to the side. She's stepping forward and her knees are touching the armrests. Closer and closer she comes with her eyes fixed on you. 

Your mouth is dry, and her fingers are on your jaw. Her eyes bore holes in your own and she's lowering herself. In a moment of weakness, you throw a glance at your hand, still holding the half-full cup. There's an angry sound from Minji and she snarls, "Focus on me."

Minji swipes her arm at the cup, sending it flying. You watch the arc of the cup and the contents spill across the floor. She's not waiting, she's not looking. There’s not an ounce of concern within her for something so trivial.

You feel the soft wetness of her sex on your tip, she's rubbing herself on the head, the moisture spreading along the underside and Minji's face is screwed up in pleasure and her legs are shaking. She's panting and moaning and she's trying to slide down.

"Minji, are you—"

She thrusts her hand over your mouth with a growl and wild eyes. Her nails are biting into your cheek. "Not. Another. Word."

Minji's other hand is on your shoulder; using it for balance as she tries to move herself. She's lowering herself down and the head of your cock slips into her.

She's so warm. So unbelievably wet. Minji gasps and her back arches and her breasts heave beneath her slightly see-through sports top as she breathes. Her nails dig deeper into your flesh, her lips are parted and her head is thrown back, leaving her throat exposed—a pale expanse of milky perfection.

"Oh, God," she moans, the sound reverberating around the room as she slowly sinks and the walls of her cunt are tight on you. So tight. She trembles as she speaks. "You can't replace this."

Her skirt is around her waist, the material covering the sight of where your bodies meet. But you can feel it; you can feel every little movement she makes.

"I'm so wet."

So fucking wet.

"You're so hard."

Hard. So hard.

"How could anyone replace this?"

How? How could you possibly replace this?

Her cries are shrill, and the heat of her is all around you. It's the only thing you can focus on—her. You try to answer, but your words never make it past the hand on your mouth. She's panting, and her hair is wild, her eyes wide and her mouth open. And she's just riding until she can't no more. Until her muscles grow weak and until her cum leaks between her legs.

"This is what they want, isn't it? They want to fuck me. Riding them. On my knees. They want me bent over the table, or against the wall, or—or—fuck!" Her words are sharp and punctuated with gasps and moans. "Want me to cum—" she trails off into something close to a scream, her body convulsing. Her back is arched and her hips are pressed down onto yours.

She's grinding into you, and you can feel her clench around your cock. Your head is swimming, and your hips are jerking. You can't breathe. Her fingers are loosening their hold on your mouth, but you dare not speak. You're not even sure if you can.

Minji's hand is moving, sliding down your cheek, around your jaw and then gripping on your neck. She admires the red claw marks on your cheek.

"That's right," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "They want to fuck me, don't they? They all read and write those filthy little stories and keep dreaming of the impossible. But that fucker won’t write it for them."

You can only sit and take in the way that she is glowing with the sweat, the light catching her skin and highlighting the contours of her face and her collarbone. Her small top clings to her sticky chest and leaves so very little to the imagination. Through it you see the smooth curve of her breasts, the stiffness of her nipples and below it the ridges of her toned abdomen that flexes with her slowing grind.

She's climbing off you now and pulling you up from your seat. Her arms are around your neck and her eyes are on yours. You're staring into the depth of her eyes, the black pupils large and the irises a warm, golden honey.

"You're not going to replace me, are you?"

"Never."

"Good."

She leans back a little and pulls your shirt up until it's around your neck. She pulls it to your mouth, feeding the fabric into it before tying some sort of makeshift knot behind your head. "Now. Not another word." Minji pulls off her own top, peeling it away from her sweat-soaked skin.

You watch as she takes a few steps back; her cotton-hugged feet on the ground, her skirt falling back over those long legs and her hands on the hem of the fabric. She's smiling at you, a wide and wicked grin. You watch her and she's watching you. She's pulling it up now and her hands are underneath it. She turns to the window. "Now you're going to pin me against this window and do me, aren't you? Nod if you are."

You nod.

Minji giggles, throwing a look over her shoulder. "I'm the best, aren't I?" 

Minji doesn't wait for you to nod again. She turns away and looks out the window—the city is alive. The rain is falling; the lights are flickering and cars are passing by far below. Minji is leaning her forehead against the glass, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly agape. Her hair is wild and messy and the light is illuminating her.

You're stepping towards her, one hand on her back, the other sliding over the curve of her ass. You can see her reflection, the smile on her lips. Her hands are on the glass, palms flat, and you're sliding a hand between her legs and over her wet, sensitive skin.

She's shivering and letting out little gasps as your fingers dance along the flesh and your fingertips tease her folds. She's whimpering, and the sound makes your cock twitch.

"Fuck me," Minji whispers, her nails scratching the window. You can't deny a woman so insatiable.

You adjust your jaw; it's so uncomfortably pinned open and you're unable to say a word. You can't tell her just how nice that ass is and how the view inside the window makes a mockery of the one outside. You can't tell her how her hair is so beautiful, or how her eyes are the prettiest you've ever seen. You can't tell her anything.

But you can tell her in another way—through touch. The thought sends a chill down your spine and your teeth sink into the material of the shirt. Minji's whining and you're slipping your fingers between her lips. She's hot, and the heat is dripping from her. It's on your fingers and it's soaking into your palm.

Minji is moving her hips, trying to find purchase on your fingers, the tip of one brushing her clit. She gasps and throws her head back. You're sliding a finger inside her, the movement easy and Minji is bucking her hips, her body trying to pull you further and deeper.

"Fuck me like I'm the only woman in the world. Like you'll die if you don't fuck me. Like there's no one else in the world who can make you feel like I do."

You're pushing her against the window, the foggy condensation from her breath and the heat of her body mar the surface. Minji is laughing—the hot and breathy kind of laugh—as you press her into the glass.

"That's it. Come on. Fuck me now,” she orders and just like that, you're doing it. She's moaning and her back arches. You're inside her and the tightness is enough to make you come undone. You're pressing her harder and harder against the window.

"That's it. Oh, yes. Harder. That's what they all want."

You're slamming into her, and she's taking it. You're not holding back. Minji is moaning and her fingers are curling, nails raking. Her voice is echoing in the room and the sound makes your skin prickle.

"They all want me like this. Bent over and begging. Oh, fuck yes."

"They can't have you." You growl through the shirt, your teeth tearing into the fabric.

"No." Minji screams, "They can't have me. They can't touch me. He can't touch me. Won't even write about me. If only he could see me now. I bet he would change his mind. Wouldn't you?"

You fuck her until the muscles in the back of your legs stiffen. You fuck her until she's screaming. You fuck her until the glass is a mess of fingerprints, sweat, and spit. Until the golden skin of her back glows with moisture.

You fuck her until your vision starts to fade and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears that it’s unbearable. You fuck her until you can't anymore.

And she's still going, her screams echoing and her body writhing against yours, and it's all too much. You need to release, and it needs to be inside Minji.

You're coming undone and your hips jerk and stutter and Minji's body is convulsing. Your cum is spilling into her, and she's cumming again and she's screaming, the sound so shrill that it hurts. You're groaning and she's shaking, the walls of her cunt clenching and drawing your orgasm out until you can't think and you can't breathe and everything is both too much and not enough.

Leaning forward so her back is flush with your chest, and she is truly pinned. Your breathing is hard, and hers is heavy and the two of you stay there for a while, frozen in ecstasy. The room absorbs the sound of your combined pants, the rain and the distant hum of the city.

Minji is the first to move, twisting herself free from the weight of your body against her. Your cock slides out. The feeling of the cool air and the absence of her body sends a shiver through you. You stumble, the shirt falling from your mouth and your vision is blurry.

Minji is laughing and you're looking at her as she is plucking away the strands of hair which stick to her face. And when she finishes, Minji steps forward and slaps you. "I told you not to make a mess."

"Minji, you made the mess."

"Shut up."

"But I—"

She grabs you by the neck and kisses you. Her lips are hot and the kiss is hungry and messy. Her tongue is in your mouth and her hands are all over you. The kiss is hard and deep and it's leaving you breathless.

She's pulling you to the ground, her legs wrapping around you and your hand is on her thigh. The heat of her core is against you and her nails are digging into your back. She's biting your lip, and she's pushing you over onto your back.

She's straddling you. Her hands are on your chest, her palms pressing down.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" you pant. Minji's looking at you with a disregard for your words.

Your cock is so tender under her rough motions, and there’s no stopping your whimper. Minji is smiling, and the sight is so sweet. "Are you complaining?"

"No," you manage to say, as a shiver runs down your spine as she lowers herself and brushes her lips against your ear.

Her tongue is running over your earlobe and she's nibbling at the sensitive flesh. Her hands are on your shoulders and her legs are squeezing your waist. "Good boy. We're not done. Not even close."

[albertasunrise]

Work Wife - Four

Masterlist

Summary: Working as a Secretary at Miller & Sons Construction, you fall hopelessly in love with the eldest son Joel. What you don’t realise is that Joel’s completely in love with you too. What will it take for the two of you to realise whats’s right in front of you?

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any so the plot isn’t spoiled. This fic is 18+ (So, managed to get this finished before my trip this weekend! I hope you all enjoy and don’t forget to share and comment 🥹♥️ I love hearing what you all think 😘)

Series Masterlist - One Two Three

Joel sat beside his daughter's cot silently sobbing to himself, allowing the guilt he felt for how he'd shouted at you to eat him alive. He hadn't meant any of it. Not a single word. Now, the image of your face after he'd said those cruel words haunted him.

It had been three days since your argument. Sarah was a little improved yet the doctors were still concerned. Her tiny body was doing its best to fight but was just so weak. The nurses were kind to him. Ensuring he ate and sent him home when he needed sleep, always promising to call him if anything changed. But the person he was most desperate to see was still nowhere to be seen. Not that he had told you what hospital Sarah was at or even hinted at wanting you to come. He'd made it pretty clear the other day that he didn't.

...

"Why the long face Pip, sweetie?" Asked Mrs Miller as she placed a steaming mug of tea beside you.

You had been quiet for a few days and she was worried. After racing back to be with Joel, she and her husband were taking turns to keep an eye on things at the office and stay at home with Tommy.

"I'm fine Mrs Miller." You replied, trying to make yourself sound believable.

"Pip darling if-"

"How's Sarah?" You asked, desperate to change the subject and learn about how the little baby you'd come to love so dearly was doing.

"Have you not been to see her?" She asked, her dark brows drawing together.

"Oh, no..." You trailed off, looking down at the mug now in your hands "Joel doesn't want me there."

"What are you talking about." The older woman pressed "Of course he would want you there."

"He told me differently." You mumbled, trying to fight back the tears that started stinging your eyes as you remembered what he had said to you.

"Pip, what's going on with you and Joel?"

"Nothing's going on."

"I wasn't born yesterday dear." Mrs Miller chuffed "He's a mess... and not just because Sarah's sick." She continued and you looked at her with a mirroring look of concern "You have been looking miserable for days. You haven't been to the hospital so clearly something happened between you."

You looked back at the mug in your hands for a moment, pondering over how much you should tell her. She had been so good to you since your own mother had passed away.

"We had a fight." You confessed, "I have been seeing someone for a few weeks and the morning Sarah got sick Joel called me, the guy answered and hung up on him."

"Oh." The older woman replied as she perched on the edge of your desk.

"I went round the following morning and Joel arrived shortly after me." You continued, pausing to take a sip of your tea "He told me what happened but... well he got angry with me for not answering the phone when he needed me... I did promise that I would be there for him day or night and I wasn't... I let him down."

"You did nothing of the sort." Mrs Miller asserted "Joel's a good boy. He's a great father to Sarah and he's done a fine job running this company but he's also still a boy.

"We forced him to grow up so quickly."

"You're both amazing parents to Joel and Tommy." You defended and Joel's mother chuckled.

"Thank you dear but no parent is perfect." She replied, taking a long pull of her own mug of tea "I know he'll never forgive me for telling you this but... Joel's been smitten with you since the day you started here."

"Sure." You snorted, surprising yourself with the sound.

"It's true!" You rolled your eyes at the older woman's statement but she pushed on "The boy is just hopeless at expressing how he feels. Always has been but he takes after his father in that respect." She chuckled and you smiled at her reaction "Go see him. I know he would like to see you."

"I don't know-"

"Okay, go see Sarah then." She said softly as she placed her hand on yours and gave you a sweet smile "I'll go with you. Just in case he decides to act like a typical man." She finished with a wink.

You smiled and nodded as you said "Okay. We can go after work."

...

"You have some visitors." A nurse said softly a few hours later, pulling Joel from his pit of self-loathing.

"Who is it?" He asked as he scraped a hand over his tired face.

"Your mother and someone else." She replied and he nodded, his heart speeding up as he looked towards the door, waiting for his mum and this other person to emerge. Praying it's you.

His heart skipped a beat when his prayers were answered.

She appeared first, followed by you poking your head in first then locking eyes with him. In a moment fueled purely by instinct, he was out of his chair and scaling the room in a few long strides. Pulling you into a tight hug, he buried his face into the crook of your neck and sobbed.

"I'm sorry." He choked and you held him back, burying your fingers into his thick curls and scratching his head affectionately "I didn't mean it... None of it."

"I know." You cooed as you squeezed him tighter, eyes shifting to Joel's mother as she smiled at the two of you "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Joel said as he shook his head "You've done so much for us... I was being a jealous asshole and-"

He stopped dead upon realising what he'd just confessed. Your eyes widened as the two of you just stared at each other.

"I'll give you two some privacy." Piped up Mrs Miller and you both looked at her a moment, the woman grinning like a cat that got the cream.

When the door clicked shut, the two of you were left alone again, just the beeps and clicks of the machinery in the room filled the tense atmosphere.

"Jealous?" You asked and Joel nodded as he let out a shaky breath "Why were you jealous, Joel?"

"Because I'm in love with you too." He said plainly, no longer wanting to hide how he felt from you.

"Oh."

His stomach dropped. That wasn't the reaction he had been expecting when he decided he'd confess how he felt about you. You looked uncomfortable and the colour drained from Joel's face as he removed himself from your embrace and took a few steps back.

"Oh." He repeated as he chuckled humourlessly.

"Joel-"

"No, it's fine." He said, waving you off "I left it too long and you've moved on. I understand."

"No... Joel its not that... it's just..." You trailed off, unsure how to say what you needed to say without hurting him "I do still love you." You confirmed, stomach tightening at the look of hope that then lit up Joel's features "But it's clear that we aren't good for each other."

That hope vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Pip-"

"We just keep hurting each other Joel. Not on purpose but, it keeps happening all the same."

"But we love each other." He sobbed and you gave him a sad smile.

"Sometimes love's not enough." You choked and he nodded sadly at you "I don't want to lose you, Joel. You're so important to me and I want us to remain friends but I think it's for the best if we both just move on."

"Okay." He managed to choke out, not hiding how devastated he was by this turn of events.

Your eyes drifted to the cot behind him, noting the wires that smothered Sarah's tiny form. You let out a choked sob at the sight of her, looking at Joel and nodding your thanks when he motioned for you to go to her. She was sleeping soundly but her breathing was so strained. There was a tube in her mouth, obviously providing her with sustenance whilst a tiny nasal cannula rested beneath her nose, supplying her with oxygen to help her breathe.

"Oh, baby girl." You cooed, as you stroked her plump little cheek with your thumb "You need to get better... You're scaring us all, but especially your daddy." You said softly as you smiled sweetly at the sleeping baby "You get better and I promise I'll buy you the biggest stuffed bear I can find."

"Do I get a say in that?" Joel pipped up and you looked at him and shook your head.

"No... this between me and Sarah." The smile that spread across Joel's face was magical.

"Fine." He chuckled before sitting down beside you and resting his head on your shoulder, just like he had the first time you met Sarah "But can I at least pick the colour?"

"I'll think about it."

...

Three weeks later...

Monday

"Is that funny little madam?" You chuckled as you fought to change Sarah's nappy "Are you kicking me in the boobies?"

Sarah screeched with delight and gave you a huge gummy smile, bringing a delighted chuckle from you.

"You're lucky you're cute!" You said to her as you finished fastening the nappy and dressed her again.

"She beatin' you up again?" Asked Joel as he walked into the lounge with two mugs in hand.

"She's a little bruiser." You chuckled, accepting the coffee Joel handed you with a smile and a mouthed thank you.

"She's getting stronger every day." Joel beamed and you grinned at him.

It had taken another week and a half before Sarah recovered enough to be let out of the hospital. Since then you had been staying a few nights a week to help Joel out. He had assured you that you didn't have to but you had confessed that you still felt guilty about the phone call incident and despite him telling you over and over that you hadn't done anything wrong, you wouldn't budge.

Ant had been surprisingly understanding. The two of you had practically been in each other's beds every night, unable to get enough of each other. It scared you a little how intense things had gotten between you. You had both agreed it was just casual and that neither of you was looking for a relationship, yet, before this arrangement with Joel you were going out for meals together and practically playing house.

The nights you weren't staying at Joel's you were at his. Your apartment had been lying dormant for a few weeks now. You popped in once or twice to water the plants and to get a change of clothes but you were practically living out of your suitcase.

"Have you and Ant got plans for the weekend?" Joel asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

"We're not a couple, Joel." You chuckled and Joel snorted.

"Could have fooled me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"So you're not spending every free moment you're not here with him?" Joel asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Yes but-"

"Whether the two of you want to admit it, you're together, Pip." Joel said as he placed his coffee down on the side table and accepted Sarah when you handed her to him.

"To answer your question, no we don't have plans." You said, hoping to kill the conversation of your relationship with Ant dead.

Things with you and Joel had been better in recent weeks and the subject of feelings had been avoided like the plague. You did feel like laying everything out had made things easier. Now you both knew how the other felt, it was easier to navigate what was spoken about around each other. Both of you desperately trying to avoid hurting one another.

"Well, if you're free I thought maybe we could go to the Aquarium. Gloria said it would be a great sensory experience for Sarah." Joel's eyes were the size of saucers as he waited for your reply.

"Isn't that something you do with family?" You ask, feeling like you might be encroaching on territory you weren't welcome in.

"You're as much family as my parents." Joel argued, "You've been the

closest thing Sarah's had to a mum since she was born."

"Joel-"

"If you don't want to come just say." He pleaded and you could hear the hurt in his voice at what he believed was you rejecting him.

"I would love to join you."

Joel's shoulders relaxed and he smiled brightly at you.

"Great. Pick you up at 10?" He asked as he stood to place a now sleeping Sarah in her bassinet.

"Sounds perfect!"

What neither of you knew was that the events that were about to unfold in the remainder of the week that followed would change everything.

...

Tuesday

Joel walked into the office to find your usual seat empty. His brow furrowed as he walked towards your desk, noting that the computer was still powered down and everything was neatly put away. No sign that you had been there at all.

When he poked his head into the break room and saw that you weren't there either his concern grew. It wasn't like you to not turn up to work.

"Hey, Simon." Joel shouted, grabbing the man's attention "Seen Pip today?"

"She called in sick." He replied and Joel's concern grew even more.

You had been fine yesterday when he had seen you last. What had changed between then and now?

He tried to call you that evening but got your answering machine. His worry was then starting to grow into full-blown panic but, he decided to wait and see if you were in the office tomorrow before he turned up at your door.

...

Wednesday

When Joel arrived in the office, again you weren't there. Simon confirmed again that you had called in sick and Joel was then beside himself. He decided that he needed to go by your house and check on you.

So after asking his mother if she could watch Sarah for a few hours that evening, he went to the store and bought you all your favourite things. Hoping that they would cheer you up. Pulling up outside your house, he scaled your yard and sprinted up you porch steps. After a few hard knocks on your door, you answered, looking more than a little worse for wear.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, wrapping your gown around you a little tighter.

"I was worried about you." He answered, readjusting the tote of supplies on his shoulder "Brought you some stuff. Soup, your favourite candy-"

"I don't want to get you sick, Joel." You sighed "Thank you for checking in but just go home."

"Pip-"

"Please." You pleaded and he nodded.

"Okay." He took a step back and placed the tote in front of your door "I'll leave these here."

"Thank you."

He nodded and turned, walking down the steps of your porch and towards his truck, looking over his shoulder to see you grab the bag and close the door.

Something hadn't been right. You had looked like you'd been crying. Had Ant broken things off with you? He just hoped that you were feeling up to speaking to him about it when the weekend came around.

...

Thursday

When Joel walked in and saw that for a third day in a row, you had called in sick again he knew something else was going on. It wasn't like you to be sick for this long and not call him to come over.

You were super clingy when you were ill and he was always happy to oblige you. He loved to take care of you just as much as you loved to take care of him. He was going to check on you again that evening and this time he wasn't going to let you turn him away.

.

You knew you couldn't go on avoiding Joel. When you had called that morning and Caleb answered, he told you that Joel was going out of his mind with worry.

You weren't surprised. This was abnormal behaviour for you and Joel had always been a worrier. You just didn't know how to tell him what the problem really was.

"You feeling okay?" Asked Ant as he sat down next to you and pulled you into a comforting hug.

"Mhmm." You replied, staring at the TV but not taking in what was playing.

"It's gonna be okay you know." Ant piped up and this dragged your attention to him "I know this situation isn't exactly ideal but- "

Ant was interrupted by frantic knocking at your front door.

"Pip. It's me... Please, answer the door... talk to me." Joel said from the other side of the door and you sighed.

"You can't avoid him forever you know."

"Yeah, I know." You sighed, getting up from the couch to answer the door.

Joel was frantic on the other side, his hair a mess from where he had clearly been running his hands through it. He seemed to relax a little upon seeing you but his hackles seemed to rise when he saw Ant behind you.

"Hi, Joel." You piped up, pulling his gaze back to you "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you." He sighed "I want to check in on my friend who hasn't been at work for three days."

"Joel-"

"I know when someone's avoiding me." He growled out and you felt a pang of guilt pull at you "I have been going out of my mind worrying about you and I have turned up twice to check in... only for you to ask me what I want."

"Joel... I'm just sick." You said, trying your best to sound believable.

"Can I please just come in?" He pleaded and you let out a long sigh before moving aside so he could enter.

He and Ant gave each other a nod in greeting and then the latter put his arm around you and placed a kiss on your temple.

"I'll give you two some space. Grab you some supplies."

"Thank you." You mumbled and he smiled at you sweetly before returning his attention to Joel.

"See you later man." He said, putting his hand out for Joel to shake, giving the man a quick nod when Joel accepted it.

Once Ant had left, you walked to your couch, curling up into the blanket you had departed to answer the door. Joel followed you, sitting in the armchair that sat proudly in your bay window, the two of you sitting in tense silence for what felt like an age.

"What's going on Pip?" He asked breaking the silence, his voice soft and sympathetic.

"Nothing."

This reply earned you an eye roll and you watched as he scraped one large hand over his face before he looked back at you.

"What did I do Pip?" He asked and your heart broke at the crack in his voice "Monday we were making plans to take Sarah to the aquarium and then suddenly you're sick and avoiding me and I just don't get what I did-"

"I'm pregnant!" You blurted out. Unable to cope with Joel blaming himself for your behaviour.

"What?"

"I'm pregnant." You repeated "I woke up on Tuesday and felt awful. Couldn't keep anything down and all these smells that never bothered me before just made me hurl. I thought perhaps I was coming down with something but then the next day I still felt awful.

"So I went to the pharmacy and the pharmacist recommended I take a test. Was positive."

"Is it...?"

"Ant's?" You finished for him and he nodded "Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"Well he was a little freaked at first but it takes two people to make a baby... As you well know." You chuckled but there was no humour in it.

"Is he happy?"

"He asked me to marry him." You announced and all the colour drained from Joel's face.

His eyes widened as he took in what it was that you had just told him. You were pregnant? Were you happy you were having a baby? You didn't seem to be particularly excited about it. Did you want to marry Ant? You had maintained that you had he were just casual. Joel felt sick as all these thoughts raced through his mind.

"And what did you say?" He asked although he didn't really want to know the answer.

"I said yes."

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[montimer]

Please please if you could..can you make

self aware!Deadpool x gn!reader that got suddenly transferred to the marvel universe?

Like the reader is trying to survive while Deadpool just knows this specific person has a crush on him or.. something else? Your choice!

>insert this anime girl gif as a signature

Mhm sure sounds good! Hope i did good

Self aware!Deadpool x reader who got transferred to marvel universe

Gn!reader

You've been a big fan of him since a long time. You could say you even had a lil crush on him. Smiling so widely whenever hes on screen. Excitedly reading his comic books and buying other merch. Drawing him, perhaps even writing fanfiction.

One day your phone started glowing and you panicked that this old piece of crap is gonna explode or something. Turns out it did not blow up instead when the bright light that made you almost blind stopped, you were in a complete different place. It looked like you were in a middle of a street.

Never been here before, what just happened? And what is that noise? Sounds like someones getting hit, no-shot?

You shaked ur phone trying to do the same affect but stopped as you heard someone coming closer.

"Hmm, whats this? My chimichanga senses are tingling" you turned around upon hearing the familiar voice. There not too far standed deadpool himself. You would be happy if you weren't to notice the dead body as you looked down to his legs.

"Oh uh, don't worry about that. He was a bad guy anyways ya know? Plus as long as you aren't one of those guys, which you don't seem to look like then you'll be fine!" He tried reassuring you. You just stared at him. He squished his eyes into a smile, you seem so adorable when you are surprised.

"Anyways mission completed! And i need my money to take this hot stuff one a hot date!" You still quietly standed there, confused. Is he still talking to you or to himself?

He came up close and you tried your best not to sound too nervous.

"W-wait, before you go can you tell me where am i and how do i get home? I mean my phone flashed and now im here i-" he put a finger to your mouth "shhh, calm down sweets, talk slow" you shut down from this, it made your face feel a bit warm

"I know you aren't from around here. You are a lovely fan of mine!" his eyes turned into hearts and he put his hands together with one of his legs up in the air.

Oh right, he is very much aware. That is rather embarrassing..but wait

"How do you know that?"

"Oh you know when you look at me on tv i kind of look back. And if you want more juicy details then you better accept my invite to this great restaurant that i found!"

He sounds like as if he knew you were gonna transport here..oh well its better to stay with him then all alone for now. Maybe he can help? You don't mind that much anyway

"Fine fine, i'll go if you promise to help okay?" He nodded happily, took your hand and dragged you with him.

Then he quickly grabbed the dead body by the arm and started dragging that too.

"Wha-" "I gotta show evidence that i did the job. I have to get paid first to actually take you out. We'll be quick"

Now holding hands with him you just walked where he did hoping this to be over soon. He did not shut up on his way and he definitely won't keep quiet any time soon either. Stuck with him you accept your fate (secretly you very much enjoy this)

Should i make part too cuz this got a lil too long? Or just a shorter ver explaining more

[zerocoded]

summary: headcannons about what is like do date zayne.

authors note: yay i love headcannons and i hope you guys enjoy this one! this is all written upon my perspective of zayne and his character, things that i think would suit him bla bla bla, pls don't take everything too seriously. i found this beautiful drawing on pinterest, credits to the beautiful owner.

warnings: husband material zayne i guess? • suggestive but nothing nsfw

word count: 0.8k

☆ zayne who actually laughed when you told him your favorite song was snowman by sia.

☆ i get a feeling that zayne is actually ambidextrous which means he has the ability to use both hands equally well, which brings me to the topic that zayne is the king of multitasking.

☆ like you are having trouble with some buttons on your shirt? this man is helping you without even blinking while scrolling through his cell phone with the other hand.

☆ he been through an exceptionally tough day at the hospital? imagine him getting home and discarding his tie with one hand while already unbuttoning his shirt with the other, all of this while making eye contact with you.

☆ speaking of eye contact, i feel that zayne is another level of control freak with everything in his life. do you see how this man built his whole career around wanting to save mc from her disease? man NEEDS to have everything within his reach and on HIS conditions.

☆ that translates to the bedroom when you both are fooling around. like do you think you are closing your eyes anytime here? no, zayne is making sure you are looking at what he is doing to you or his eyes so he could turn your mind into puddy.

☆ are you embarrassed of your sounds or think you both are in a place too public to let yourself go? zayne is not having it. this man is pinning your hands wherever he feels like it and makes it particularly hard for you to shut up.

☆ well, maybe i should go back to the sfw first, i'll make another post about what i think zayne is like in bed hehehe

☆ BRO IS THE MOST GENTLEMAN A GENTLEMAN CAN BE. like in every sense and that is canon.

☆ you will not be opening any doors from now on and will never have to worry about paying in a date. or in anything.

☆ you know what else he does? he is not only a gentleman in his mannerisms but also in his attitude. you would never catch my man zayne raising his voice at you or anyone ever.

☆ he takes his time to listen to you speak. and i mean listen. be it two minutes or three hours about your new favorite tv program, this man will be devoted to each word you say.

☆ zayne is usually a silent type of guy, being the listener of the relationship instead of the speaker. even if you also don't talk that much, he is happy to enjoy a few minutes of silence with you at home. he really likes the fact that you love him and don't judge his more reserved persona.

☆ i see zayne as more of an insecure man at the beginning of your relationship. i mean, he doesn't let it show but later confesses to you how much he was scared you would go away after a few weeks with him.

☆ on the other hand, doctor zayne knows exactly what he wants. he has his opinions and preferences and he doesn't let anyone change that. i mean that in a sense that you guys would probably have arguments over everyday things like the way he thinks grocery shopping should go or how to dry clean twice a week the kitchen because he is certain that that is the dirtiest place at his house when you come over.

☆ zayne is a hard headed man and you are probably the only one who can convince him to change a little of his demanding habits.

☆ regarding his health, you guys argue over that a lot. somehow this man tends to overprotect you so much that it pisses you off when you see him not sleeping at all. how dare he demand something from you and not pay attention to himself daily?

☆ he always says sorry when you guys fight by building little snowmen throughout the house and leaving a corny note on the fridge promising he will pay more attention to his sleep schedule for now on.

☆ also i think that zayne is a big words of affirmation partner, he LOVES to praise you while making eye contact - again, control freak - and waiting to see your flushed cheeks because that is his favorite look on you.

☆ miss here have a late-night craving? zayne is running to the closest store at the darkest crack of dawn to buy you your wish, even if you try to stop him he is like "don't worry, love, i'll be quick" and proceeds to kiss your forehead while putting a jacket on and rushing outside.

☆ you’re so his passenger princess. this man will be moving mountains to do what you want and he’s so good at it.

☆ you can disagree with me but i will say it: zayne matches SO MUCH with a little age difference. like he is "too sweet by hozier" and you are a little "messy by lola young".

☆ but my favorite trope is zayne with a badass partner that is also a genius like him and they both make the perfect power couple at akso hospital.

☆ i'll stop here but i have so many of these that i could make 😣 let me know if you guys would like to see more.

author's note: pls, i would love to hear what you think of this work! sorry for any misspelling. send me a request • my masterpost

[dolphincultleader]

Woozi being the first person you ever felt comfortable enough with to show your art

T/w- Reader sorta has self esteem issues, a few curses

A/n- Guys i am so sorry for the inactivity. Life has been throwing shit at me nonstop and I was in a horrible place the last week. I managed to get myself together and write this. I hope you enjoy this and I'll try to write more

Word Count- 1027

---

...

You loved to draw. You loved how it expressed feelings that could not be said in words. But in no way did you consider yourself an artist. It was always a silly hobby for you. You never even thought of expanding it into anything more. Showing others what you drew made you feel very silly.

The few months you had been dating Jihoon has been no less than a dream to you. He's just so... perfect. In every way. You truly felt like you had hit the jackpot. Sure, he prioritised his work a lot, but being a workaholic yourself, his habits never bothered you.

You admired him and his confidence. You admired how he could just put words from his mind together and make something so amazing.

You had never wanted to share your art with anyone else because of the fear of being judged. That was until you met Jihoon. He was so wonderful, in every way imaginable. You knew he would never judge you. He'd never criticise you unless you asked for constructive criticism. Being around him was so easy for you. Yet your fear was way too deep engrained

---

Now, as you paced back and forth in front of his studio door, you contemplated everything. What if it's so bad that he can't stop his face from morphing into one of disgust? What if it's so bad that his idea of you, as a person, gets affected.

He wasn't a mean and judgmental asshole, you reasoned with yourself. For god's sake, you were dating this man. You cursed under your breath and you turned away from the door, sketchbook in hand. If it was just a silly hobby then why did it matter so much to you?

You looked at the door again, hesitating.

The door suddenly opened.

Shit.

Jihoon stood at the doorway, phone near his ear, clearly talking to someone. Your widened eyes made you look guilty. What if he thinks you were eavesdropping.

Double shit.

He narrowed his eyes at you, you stood there frozen for the first few seconds. The muffled sound of a woman's voice came from the other side of the phone. You opened your mouth to speak just as his eyes dropped to the sketchbook you clutched to your chest deeply. He met your eyes while you smiled sheepishly. He gestured you to go inside while he left to get something, humming to whoever was on the phone with him.

As you entered his home studio, you let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding. Did he think you were eavesdropping? Fuck. Before you could spiral more, he reemerged in the entryway. Still on the call. His other hand clutched a wattle bottle.

After a few minutes, he bid goodbye and cut the call. He didn't look at you as he settled in his chair. Your mind thought of excuses to leave. He was your boyfriend for fucks sake. Why were you so scared?

You didn't even realise that he had gotten comfortable in his chair and turned to you. He looked over at you with curious eyes.

"Wanna tell me something, love?" He eyes the sketchbook, a teasing emphasis on the word love.

You cleared your throat.

"Well, I uh... want to show you something..." you paused, gawking his reaction. He hummed, amusement displaying in his face. Why the fuck did he look so hot? He waited patiently for you to show him.

You suddenly dropped your head in your hands and groaned.

"Never mind it's dumb" you muttered as you quickly made a beeline for the exit.

He gripped your wrist, preventing you from going. He sure had strength.

"No it isn't. Why don't you show me?"

His voice made shivers run down your spine in the best way known to humanity.

"Promise to not laugh?"

"I can try" he stated, clearing teasing. But the shit eating grin got knocked off his face as soon as he saw your face drop. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Just joking, of course I wont laugh."

You silently handed him one of the many sketchbooks you have. This was your most recent one and your proudest pieces laid here.

You sank to the couch again, head in hands as you heard the sound of pages turning. After a few minutes, you looked up at him.

Motherfucker had a poker face.

You immediate thought was-

He hated them and couldn't think of how to tell you.

And then a smile flashed his stupidly cute face.

"Do you... hate them?" You asked in a soft voice.

That made him look up from the sketchbook, brows shot up at your question.

"What do you mean by 'hate them'?"

"I uh... It's always been just a silly hobby"

He got quiet at that. Just staring at you. The fuck does his guy want?

"For just a silly hobby, you're damn good at it"

Pink tinted your cheeks at that. You were never good with compliments.

"You mean it?"

"Do you have eyes woman?"

You laughed at that.

"No, I am serious. How come I never noticed how talented my baby is?"

"You're the first person I have shown my part to... ever"

His eyes widened in shock and he muttered something silently that sounded a lot like "holy shit".

"You're joking, right?"

"It has always been silly to me..."

He shook his head at that. Placing the sketchbook gently on his desk, he got up and made his way to you. A slight grin playing at his lips. He inched closer to you while having a lovesick look on his face. How the fuck did he get so lucky, he wondered.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you back as he placed his lips on you. The kiss was so tooth rottingly sweet and gentle that you felt like you could melt. Your lips parted, giving entry to his tongue. After a few moments, you both pulled away, breathless.

"Sometimes I want to shake some sense into you"

"Well, you can fuck some sense into me..."

You knew your words would go straight to his dick.

---

Masterlist

[slcmml]

tech support! charlie & reader. fluff.

you hate making phone calls.

absolutely despise it, actually. something about talking to a stranger, especially for customer support, makes your skin crawl. but your laptop is acting up, and after scouring the internet for a solution and coming up empty handed, you seemingly have no other choice. so, you dial the number, swallow your nerves, and wait.

“hello! this is charlie from tech co’s customer support! how can i help you today?”

you weren’t expecting the voice on the other end to sound so… cute?

it’s warm, gentle, and just a little scratchy, like he’s been talking all day but still has patience to spare. suddenly, making this phone call doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.

“hi, um. yeah. my laptop isn’t working? i mean, obviously, that’s why i’m calling, but, uh, it won’t turn on, and i have no idea why.”

“gotcha! let’s see if we can get that fixed for you!”

his voice is so reassuring you almost forget you’re actually supposed to be fixing something.

he walks you through the steps, patient as ever while you fumble through them. when you press the wrong button, he gently corrects you. when you let out a frustrated groan, he laughs—not in a mean way, but like he finds you endearing. and god, it makes your stomach do a little flip.

“it’s okay, take your time! i’m here to help, promise.”

and help he does.

except at some point, your laptop starts working again, but you don’t want tell him.

“huh? still not working? that’s weird.”

you lie straight through your teeth just to keep talking to him. it’s shameless, really, but you don’t even care. he’s kind, patient, and his voice is the nicest thing you’ve heard all day. so you keep up the act just a little longer, drawing out the conversation until there’s truly nothing left to say.

“well, i’m glad i could help! and if you need anything else, you know where to call.”

oh, you do. and you’re already thinking about it.

“you’ve been super helpful, by the way,” you say, hesitating just a little before asking, “um, what’s your name? so i can leave a good review?”

“oh! yeah, of course. it’s charlie.”

charlie. yeah, that suits him.

“thanks, charlie. i really appreciate it.”

“anytime.”

—

you call back the next day.

you shouldn’t. there is no reason to. your laptop is fine, perfectly fine, but—

“hello! tech support, how can i help you?”

your heart sinks for a second before you realize it’s not charlie.

“oh, um,” you stammer, scrambling for an excuse. “i, uh, had an issue with my laptop the other day, and i wanted to follow up? i think the guy who helped me was named charlie?”

“oh, charlie! yeah, give me a sec, i’ll transfer you over.”

your stomach does a whole flip before you hear the click of the line transferring.

“hello?”

oh, thank god.

“hey, charlie,” you say, and you hope he doesn’t hear the stupid little smile in your voice. “it’s me. again.”

“oh, hey! did something go wrong with your laptop?”

“yeah, it’s, uh. still kinda acting up.”

lie.

“oh no,” he says, immediately concerned. “what’s it doing now?”

you make something up on the spot, some vague, convoluted problem that doesn’t actually exist, but he still goes along with it. walks you through another set of steps, laughs ok when you struggle, and just—keeps talking to you.

and this time, you swear he’s stalling, too.

—

it becomes a thing. you call every couple of days with some tech issue you made up, and he never questions it, just helps you like normal and talks to you like he’s actually happy to hear your voice. (spoilers: he is)

until the one time you say, “ugh, this laptop hates me,” and he hums thoughtfully before going, “you know, for a laptop that’s given you this many problems, you sure seem to like using it.”

does this mean he knows?

“what?” you say, playing dumb.

“i mean, you’ve had, what, like five different issues this week?” he teases. “i’m starting to think you just like calling tech support.”

heat rushes to your face. “okay, first of all,” you say, indignant. “it was three times.”

“mmhm.”

“second of all,” you start, then stop. because what is your second point? that he’s right? that you do like calling tech support? or, more specifically, that you like calling him?

“whatever,” you mumble instead, hoping he can’t hear how flustered you are.

but if the way he’s laughing is any indication, he totally can.

—

a week later, you take it one step further.

you don’t call this time. you show up.

you made a small google search to find the address of tech co, the store he works at, before stepping inside with a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing under your skin. you don’t even know what he looks like, but somehow, you just know when you see him.

he’s standing behind the counter, light brown hair, slightly messy, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. he’s cuter than you imagined—not just cute, but like, unfairly pretty. and when his eyes meet yours, shining with kindness, you know you made the right call.

“hi,” you say, leaning onto the counter.

“hey,” he says back, smiling. “fancy seeing you here.”

“yeah, well. my laptop broke again,” you say, suppressing a grin.

he raises an eyebrow. “oh, did it now?”

“yeah.. completely fried. tragic, really.”

“oh, so tragic,” he echoes, playing along.

you both know you’re full of shit. neither of you really care.

“so,” he leans in just a little, resting his arms on the counter, closer to you. “now that i’ve seen you in person, should i expect more tech issues? or was this a one time thing?”

you laugh, feeling a little bold. “you think i’d come to your job just to say it’s a ‘one time thing’?”

“i hope not,” he says with a slightly nervous smile.

your heart flips. he’s so cute.

“well, it’s not,” you say, mustering all your courage. “‘cause, you know, i’ve got a real issue that could use your help.”

his grin widens. “mmhm. and what would that be?”

“i need your number. y’know, in case of emergency. i mean, what if my laptop explodes?”

he blinks.

then he laughs—soft, surprised, pleased—before pulling a receipt from the register and scribbling something on it.

when he slides it over, his fingers brush yours, and you think, yeah. totally worth it.

© slcmml

[satoruxx]

sorry to go feral in your inbox but ghostface!miguel who is crazy about you (in a good way I promise) and does everything in his power to protect you and keep those horrible college guys from your classes away from you but you only know him as the mysterious gravelly voice who calls you every night that you’ve grown fond of as your personal lullaby-

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader | 1.5k words summary: ghostface!miguel, stalking, possessive miguel, violence, death, killing, obsessive behavior, suggestive, killer miguel ofc, reader is WAY too trusting, miggy just loves you so much !! rheya’s note: NONNIE BABES YOU GENIUS !! he absolutely would oh my fucking god. i am so normal about this (going feral) i was literally squealing while writing this it was rough. why is this concept hot? do i need therapy? probably. anyways he's a creep in this but in a good way? (the way this ask literally got me inspired to draw ghostface!miguel UGH) anyways ENJOY !!

miguel isn't a bad guy. he's not. he's one of the good guys actually, a hero. he's always been a hero.

it's not his fault that there are some assholes in the world that are fucked up, preying on innocent people who just want to live their lives.

sweet, innocent people like you.

how a girl as sweet and precious as you managed to get yourself surrounded by such horrible people is beyond him. and you're so nice too, always assuming that nobody has it out for you or that everyone has some good in them. with that mindset, you were just asking to be put in danger.

so, being the hero that he is, it's his obligation to look out for you, right?

it starts off quietly. he doesn't make an effort to connect with you, choosing to watch you from the shadows as he silently tracks your day. miguel is nothing if not observant, mentally noting every single person you interact with or looks your way. and if they get a little too close, a little too comfortable? well, then he'd just have to take care of that for you, wouldn't he?

he hates that one flirty coworker of yours, always leaning a little too close to you and chatting like he's your fucking boyfriend. miguel can see the little crease of discomfort in your brows whenever that coworker is nearby, and he decides that he hates that expression on you. but you feel fine afterwards, because when your coworker goes missing the next day, you send a quick thank you to the heavens, trying to push down your guilt.

he finds out that you try to make some extra money by tutoring a guy at your school. and when miguel watches the two of you through the windows of the library he feels hatred like no other run through his veins because he doesn't like how this guy looks at you. that asshole probably didn't even need tutoring to begin with, using it as a pathetic excuse to get close to you. what a fucking joke. but you don't have to stress about tutoring anymore because the next day you get a text saying the kid has transferred schools. you never hear from him again.

oh but the worst ones are the ones who ask you out on dates. they don't even know how lucky they are, getting to see you all dolled up and pretty for them, only to absolutely destroy your hopes for a good time. it makes miguel so angry he sees red. every fucking time one of those losers makes a comment that has your shoulders slumping with disappointment, a miserable frown on your pretty lips by the end of the night, he feels sick to his stomach. but he hopes that when you see your date's body on the news the next morning, you won't be so disappointed anymore.

only after watching over you for a while does miguel decide to finally talk to you, finding the perfect hiding spot to watch you through your window as you pick up your ringing phone. he has to stop himself from groaning because your voice sounds so much sweeter when it's in his ear, smooth and precious as you ask who it is. and he can't resist playing with you, dying to hear more as he sighs behind his mask.

"tell me your name and maybe i'll tell you mine." miguel answers, gravelly voice practically purring through the speaker. he can see the confusion on your face as you pace your kitchen, reaching for a bag of chips before walking back to your couch and settling in to watch a movie. he hears the screams from the tv and bites his lip. "what's that noise?"

"a movie." you reply, the expression on your face getting less guarded as you listen to his voice.

"a scary movie?" he asks, leaning against the edge of the roof so that he's got the perfect view of you. you take a chip and pop it in your mouth, chewing quietly, and he follows the movement of your lips with eager eyes.

"mhm," you nod, and miguel thinks it's so fucking cute the way you move your head even though you think he can't see you.

"you like scary movies?" he asks with a hum, and you voice out a yes. his eyes remain hooded and attentive as he effortlessly continues the conversation. "you got a favorite, sweetheart?"

he catches the way you melt under his sweet words, and miguel decides then and there that he's never letting you go. he listens to your answers with a grin, tucking his knife away and watching you animatedly talk to him for the remainder of the night.

and the rest is history.

you tell him about a guy who's bothering you? he'll bury him. someone made you cry? he'll break their legs. your date stood you up? he'll stab them so many times he loses count. and then after all of that, he'll call you like he always does, rumbling honeylike words into his phone as he casually watches you from behind his mask.

"and how was your day today, sweetheart?" he'll drawl out, late at night as he perches on the neighboring roof to your apartment. with the way he's angled he can perfectly see the innocent little smile on your face as you settle in bed, talking on the phone like you're not scared of him at all.

and you shouldn't be, because he'd never hurt you, of course.

some nights you'll giddily tell him about the most exciting parts of your day, smiling and giggling until you fall asleep without a care in the world. but on the nights when you complain or whine about somebody that's made you upset, wronged you, or god forbid, showed interest in you? well, those are the nights miguel has to grit his teeth and clench his fists, trying to control the flare of pure rage that courses through him. he lulls you to sleep with sweet words, trying to keep his cool but still vibrating with anger because who the fuck do they think they are, getting near you like that?

"don't worry, pretty girl," he sighs into the phone, twirling his knife between his fingers. "i'm sure they'll stop bothering you soon enough."

and they do. but you being the precious oblivious little thing you are, assume that you're just lucky. a guardian angel, you had said, was watching over you. miguel had just chuckled into the phone, deep and rich as he smirked at you from the roof once again.

"guardian angel? well lucky you, huh?" he had asked, feeling all too pleased with himself. you agreed with a nod.

well, if that's what you wanted to see him as he had no problem playing guardian angel for you.

and no he doesn't even want you to find out, because the last thing he wants to do is scare you. no no, he'd much rather protect you from the shadows, eliminating every single threat could ever harm a hair on your pretty little head. his reward comes in the form of you living your life, carefree smiles and all.

and granted he feels much more rewarded when he calls you late at night, deep voice teasing with an underlying sense of possessiveness as he speaks to you about anything and everything. he doesn't understand why and how you decided that he was safe to talk to, but you do, laughing and sighing into the phone until you've dozed off.

and if you've accidentally left your windows open, well of course being the gentleman he is, miguel will close them for you. but not before he stands at your bedside, raising his mask to watch you sleep peacefully. such a pretty little thing, so sweet and gentle. and after pulling himself away from your sleeping form, he quietly shuts the window behind him, yanking his mask back down with a smirk because he doesn't want anyone else to see you all vulnerable like that.

you were too trusting to begin with, but you trusting him is alright. after all he's the only one who's been looking out for you. anyone else tries to get near you and he'll have no choice but to tear their limbs off. they could be a threat to you, right?

but that's why he'll never let you out of his sight.

you're his after all.

[magics-neptunes-things]

We are Infinity

Hi guys!

I had several asks for a new Luna one, I feel like I’m writing a lot for them those days but I think we all need some fluffy stuff after Mariona’s departure 😔 I’m still mourning.

TW : pure fluff honestly

It was hard for Lucy to let Ona go to the Spanish camp, where she knows that the staff and the head coach won’t really take care of her girlfriend. She got hurt on her face and near her eyes and to get better soon it would have been better for her to rest at home.

But it wasn’t on the Spanish’ plans, so Ona had to take her plane with Alexia, Mariona and the other player from the Barca to go to camp. Lucy specifically asked Alexia to have a close look at Ona, the younger girl being a little too reckless at her taste sometimes. Lucy’s request activated Alexia’s protectiveness and Ona couldn’t make a meter without having her captain near her, slapping her hand away from her face, asking her to hydrate herself or checking several times a day her wound.

It was pretty cute to be honest and Alexia doesn’t stop, even if Ona walked on her feet almost three times before she gets called by the medical team to have a closer look of her injury. Alexia was there too, listening to the discussion and even giving her opinion.

Ona wasn’t really happy to go back home, to be honest. She loves camp and Leila, who she liked very much and doesn’t see a lot, was called too. She was happy to be able to play with her again, but it would be for another time.

They gave her only two hours to get her things together before leaving and she even run into Jana at the airport, who were coming at her place.  Ona was excited for her friend too; she knows how much Jana would be happy to be here.

While she was waiting for her plane, she finally calls her girlfriend, who is herself in England for the camp. Lucy doesn’t know for now that she was leaving.

“Hola Bonita” Lucy says happily, making Ona smile.

“Hello beautiful” Ona answers back.

She can hear noises in the background, and she wonders what Lucy is doing. She sometimes forgets that there is one hour less in England. It’s not a lot, but it’s sometimes very much too.

“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?” the Spaniard says.

“We are at diner but it’s alright. Is everything’s fine?”

To be honest, Ona thought about making a little joke to Lucy about here face going suddenly not good as a revenge for asking Alexia to look after her. She then changed her mind, but she haven’t thought that Lucy would be the one asking if there is a problem.

“Yeah, I mean… You know, how you asked me to be careful with my wound?”

“Mhm?”

Lucy’s tone was perfectly neutral, but Ona knows better. She can draw with precision the face of her girlfriend right now. Lips pinched, eyebrows raised and waiting for the end of the sentence while knowing that she will not like what will follow.

“Well, they decided to send me home” she finally say, not wanting to play with her girlfriend nerves.

“Oh, thanks God” Lucy sighs.

Ona hears someone piping in the background and she frowns slightly, trying to hear who it was. Lucy answers to the girl but her voice is almost muted, like if she putted the phone against her chest or something.

“It’s Ona, she’s going home.” She hears from afar before that Lucy’s voice is clear again. “I’m so glad Onita, it’s really a great thing.”

“I don’t know, I’ll be all alone in Barcelona.”

“What do you mean? You will be with your parents, your brother, Mapi and Bruna, the dogs…”

“Well, they are not you.”

“I will be back before you know, I promise.”

Ona can hear Lucy’s smile in her voice and if she’s not able to hear what is said next to Lucy, she easily can catch the teasing tone with which we are talking to her girlfriend.

“Who is talking to you?” Ona asks when she hear Lucy answer a « fuck off ».

“Maya. She’s so annoying.”

There are protestations and Lucy is laughing, making Ona smile. She misses her girlfriend laugh so much and they are separated since only two days.

“Oooh I miss her! Say hello to her for me”

Ona knows Maya very well; she played with her at Manchester United for three seasons before coming back to Barcelona. They were both playing on the last line on the pitch, being a lot next to each other during the games.

“I miss you too Ona!”

The Spaniard chuckle when she hears her friend’s voice, probably stuck against Lucy. She then hears Lucy groan something and asking Ona to wait for several seconds before she’s talking again. Without any noises or voices behind her this time.

Even with Lucy reassurances, Ona hated her time at Barcelona without her. Sure she went to her brother’s house, she went for a lot of walk with their dogs, she ate lunch almost everyday at her parent’s house and she saw Mapi, Pina and Patri sometimes too. Not Bruna because she went to the camp after she left.

But the time is long without Lucy.

Even longer now that she knows how much her girlfriend is struggling with her knee. It’s not a surprise to be honest, their schedules are insane. Even if she hates being at home when her team is playing important games, she’s happy to have several days to rest correctly. This is something Lucy would have needed too.

And worse, Sarina made Lucy played the two games, every single minute. Saying that Ona is mad is very far from the truth. She’s fuming while looking at her girlfriend playing with her extra bandage on her knee.

Lucy complained about her knee several times on the phone during their calls and Ona knows how much Lucy is in pain to talk about it like that.

“Just ask to go home” Ona said during one of their FaceTime.

“I can’t, Ona. There isn’t anyone to replace me if I left. The team would be into deep shit.”

She knows Lucy is right, but having seen her girlfriend so upset after the first game and their lost crushed Ona’s heart. She almost jumped in a plane to England, but Lucy begs her not to do it. Ona wasn’t really happy about that, wanting to take care of her girlfriend if the England squad doesn’t seem to be able to do it.

Ona is jumping and stressing so much during the last game that her brother put several shots of tequila in her hands to try to relax her. It kind of worked, even if she’s a little bit tipsy when she FaceTime Lucy latter that night.

“Ona are you drunk?” Lucy asks after hearing her girlfriend giggling about everything during several minutes.

“Nooooo, not at all my Love, why?”

“You are” Lucy laughs. “What have you done; you burden?”

“Nothing” Ona giggles again. “It was Joan, he forced me.”

“He sure did” Lucy says, rolling her eyes, before asking with a softened voice “You are at home, right?”

“I am. At home and safe” Ona smiles too “I can’t wait for you to come home though. I really miss you.”

“Tomorrow you’ll have me in all for yourself again. It won’t be long now.”

“I can’t wait”

Ona rolls on her side to get under the cover of their bed. The dogs are sleeping on Lucy’s place in the bed, but Ona didn’t say it to Lucy. Dogs aren’t allowed in their bed usually.

“How is your knee?” Ona asks with a suddenly sleepy voice, the alcohol starting to kick in.

“The ice was very welcome, to be honest.”

She shows her knee wrapped in ice and Ona frowns. She hates seeing her girlfriend in pain and even more if she’s not with her to help her to get better.

“This is so bullshit, honestly.”

“I know” Lucy shrugs.

What can she say more? She knows her girlfriend’s opinion and she know too that if things were reversed, she would have the same. But she doesn’t want to pick a fight now, she would rather look at Ona falling asleep.

“Sleep well Bonita” Lucy whispers when she spots Ona’s heavy eyes.

The younger girl only answers with a vague groan before falling asleep for good. Lucy smiles and for the first time since they started talking, she doesn’t hang up. She cute the sound on her side not to wake her girl up, but she falls asleep a half-hour later looking at dead-asleep Ona.

Ona is more excited than ever. Lucy was only several minutes from her now, Ona can follow her on the app on her smartphone. Of course, her girlfriend told her when she left Paris and when she was in Barcelona’s airport, but being able to follow her like this help her to be patient. Or to be even more excited, maybe.

“Mommy is coming home Narla!” Ona sings, making the dog waltz in the living room.

Narla barks and Ona really think that the dog understands what she was saying. Laughing softly when she tries to lick her face, Ona put her softly on the ground, to hug a jealous Coco. She kisses her head several times but stops when she hears a car stopping at the bottom of their building. She just has to take a look by the balcony to see her girlfriend collecting her suitcases before going in the building.

Ona is almost running when she goes to the door and Lucy just has the time to open it before being struck by a brunette storm. Lucy laughs when Ona jumps on her arms, securely passing hers around her girlfriend’s waist.

She lets Ona hiding her face in her neck, allowing herself to do the same in her hair, breathing with pleasure the comfort that her smell offers her. She smiles when the younger one start to kiss her cheek and then every part of her face she’s able to reach.

“Hi” Ona says happily when she retracks her head to have a better look at Lucy.

“Hi” Lucy laughs in return.

She puts slowly Ona down, kissing her lovingly on her lips this time. She doesn’t remember who and when they close the door, but it doesn’t really matter. After the kiss, Lucy grabs very softly Ona’s chin between her fingers to tilted it a bit and have a good look at Ona’s injury. Rolling her eyes but still smiling, Ona lets her do, waiting patiently while Lucy is looking at it.

“It’s look better, sì?” Ona asks after several seconds.

“It does” Lucy approves softly.

She then takes Ona in her arms again to hug her, enjoying Ona’s heath against her. The Spaniard sighs of well-being and closes her eyes to enjoy the moment.

“I missed you so much” Lucy mumbles against Ona’s hair.

“I missed you too” Ona smiles, raising her eyes to look at her.

The sweet moment is interrupted by Narla, who seems to think that all of this is very cute but she waited enough for her humans to have their reunion and that it’s now her turn. The small dog nudge Lucy’s knee with her nose, making both girls laugh.

“You know I missed you too!”

Lucy manages to take Narla in one of her hands without letting Ona go. But it was before Coco came too, barking with what could be vexation.

“Oy and you too of course! I’ll never forget my boy. Sorry, Bonita” Lucy grins at Ona when she needs to let her go.

Too happy to have her girl back to even imitate a pout, Ona let Lucy with their dogs, taking her suitcases directly to the bathroom to start the laundry. She smiles hearing Lucy’s talking to the dogs, even if she can’t really understand all she was saying. They both are barking happily, and Ona doesn’t hear when Lucy asks “Alright, where’s Mama now?”.

She’s soon spotted though, Lucy’s hugging her from behind only ten seconds after that.

“Fuck the laundry, Babe. I need to catch all the hugs and kisses I missed” Lucy mumbles against Ona’s neck.

“Mh I don’t know if you deserved it, you choose the dogs after me just two minutes ago” Ona jokes before turning in her arms.

“You know very well that I’ll make it up to you”

Lucy has a smirk and a playful face, who make Ona smile wider. She knows that they will be separated again during the Olympics – if Ona is selected of course – but those separations aren’t easy anyway. Ona feels like it got even harder every time. She just too used to have Lucy next to her in her daily life.

Lucy drags her on the couch, and they put something on TV that none of them is really watching, too busy to hug, talk, look and kiss each other. Maybe not in that order.

“I’m hungry and I probably should go take a shower” Lucy yawns when the sky is almost dark.

“Go shower and I take care of the food” Ona decides before getting up from the couch.

She was already turning her mind upside down to know what to cook to Lucy, when the girl takes her by the arm and make her sit on her lap. She stoles a rather hard kiss to the younger one before letting her go.

“Now we can go” she smirks, getting up to even left the room before Ona.

Ona stays still in the kitchen for several minutes after deciding that it was better to command something for tonight. They are both tired and the fridge is empty, they really need to go grocery shopping tomorrow. When she’s alone, she’s usually feeding herself with fruits, avocado toast and Iberic ham, much to Lucy desperation.

Lucy finds Ona sitting on the table in the kitchen when she’s showered, smiling at her with her phone in her hand.

“What?” Lucy asks.

“Nothing. You’re here, walking with your two knees. I’m just happy.”

How can someone be so cute, adorable and dramatically hot at the same time? Lucy asks herself for the hundred times since she met Ona.

“Happiness looks good on you.”

With two steps, Lucy is in front of Ona, passing her arms around the smallest girl. She just can’t help herself, with time she even sometimes forgot that they are supposed to be private about their relationship in public. So, in private, she just can’t keep her hands away from Ona. The Spaniard being touchy, she never complained about it.

“You can congrats yourself, you are the reason of my happiness.”

“Look at you, who is the sweet talker now?”

Ona laughs, it was one joke during the first days of their relationship. Lucy liked to hit on Ona with the most random sentences ever. It wasn’t in attempt to flirt really, she just wanted to hear Ona’s laugh every single second. She had other things to flirt with Ona and make her fall for her. She never had to try hard to be honest.

“But I see no food cooking. Were you planning to give yourself to me for diner?”

“You wish” Ona laughs when Lucy wiggles her eyebrows. “I ordered to the Thai restaurant across the street. It will be here in like ten minutes.”

“Perfect.”

She made Ona squeak when she takes her suddenly in her arms to go to the couch again and dropping her on it before wrapping herself around Ona.

“We have time for more hugs until they come” she decides.

“We have” Ona confirms, smiling softly.

Looking at the ceiling, she starts to stroke Lucy’s back under her shirt. She can feel her muscles contract under her soft skin, and she just have to take a look at Lucy’s face to realize that she’s half-asleep. Lucy must feel her girlfriend’s gaze on her though, because she mumbles

“’m not asleep”

“Sure, Beautiful” Ona laughs slightly.

She smiles again when Coco jumps on the couch to install himself next to them and raise her head a little bit when she hears noises that she can’t really identify.

“Oh. Looks like Narla wants to show you her new rocks” Ona informs Lucy when she sees the dog starting to align to rocks in front of the couch.

If Coco groans before heading back to sleep, Lucy groans and sit down, rubbing her eyes. But she can’t be mad at her dog who have a strange thing for rocks when she looks at her with so much happiness, wiggle her tail with excitation. And she just has to look at Ona’s smile to feel her heart melt. She’s the happier girl in the world. She would never complain about anything.

[sherlocks-blanket]

Drunk Confessions

A/N: Finally, after having not posted for such a long time... I can post a fic I had as a WIP since last year... I hope I get to write more again, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Words: 1k

Warnings: Nothing, just some drunk sherlock?

After you received a message from Sherlock, that you should come as soon as possible to Baker street, minus the spelling errors; which you dismissed he messaged while being in trouble… You dropped anything you where doing and hurried outside to hail a cab; to take you to 221B.

The moment the cab halt, you paid the driver and rushed up the stairs to find Sherlock with John sitting towards each other with notes attached on their foreheads and from the liquor in their hand; you could probably tell, that they had too much for this evening, with how wasted they are…

As you gasped for air, you let yourself drop on the doorframe, drawing the attention from the two men. You noticed a smile spreading on Sherlock lips the second his eyes where on you, but it wasn’t a fake one; it radiates warmth like he was pleased to see you came, which was unlike for Sherlock to do. Not that he can’t do it, but when he does; it’s either false ones that you can tell apart from the real, since the real ones are rare and shows how comfortable he is with someone, that he shows it; unlike the fake ones, where he drops his smile immediately the moment the person turns they face away from him; which you noticed a few times…

A giggle from John broke the awkward silence in this room. You turned your gaze to the doctor and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I kneeeeeeeew it!” he exclaimed, pointing to Sherlock, then he took a sip from his drink.

You furrowed your brows in further confusion, but shaking your head; you got your phone out of your pocket and wrote Mary; telling her she should pick up her drunken fiancé… Just as you were done writing the text; a client walked into the flat and asked for Sherlock; but you kindly explained she should come tomorrow, since it gotten late. It made you wonder if clients show up at any hour of the day…

Sherlock, of course…He protested that the client shouldn’t leave even after the client had already left. After all, who knows? It could’ve been a missed opportunity for a case that could have gotten his interest; but you simply pushed him back in his armchair when he tried to stand up.

“You can work tomorrow…Now you better rest, so you’ll be sober for the next day…”

He stared with a sharp glare, like he wanted to prove with some deductions he’s capable of working, but he faltered instantly; which you took as a sign that he gave in. When you turned to help John downstairs; where Mary would pick him up; still you felt his eyes bore onto you.

As Mary left with John; she gave you an apologetic glance before they got into a cab; leaving you to deal with a drunken Sherlock.

When you stepped through the door, Sherlock sat still in his armchair, his posture relaxed; his eyes on something. You never saw him resting like that, but it most likely came from the alcohol…

His eyes wandered to you, noticing you were present again. There was this again…

This warm smile.

“Well…let’s get you sobered up…” you mumbled, leaning your hand on his shoulder to animate him to standing up, which he didn’t and instead, he took your hand in his own; staring at it like it was a piece of art.

“You have such soft hands...”,he murmured, keeping his eyes on your hand; rubbing his thumb along your palm.

You gently withdrawn your hand feeling the a heat rise on your cheeks; before you could say something again that he needs to rest, he slowly stood up wobbly on his own; leaning his hand your shoulder for support.

With you by his side, you brought him to his bedroom and only helped to remove his shoes and his suit jacket. It didn’t need to get more awkward than it already was for you.

Just as you turned the night light off and wanting to head to the living room; you felt your hand taken again and a warm feeling on it. You peeked over your shoulder; seeing Sherlock lean his cheek on it, with his eyes closed.

You tried to withdraw your hand, but at the same time, you didn’t mind it much. So, you stayed for a while and heard Sherlock snoring softly.

**********

The next morning you were preparing some tea and some water with some painkillers. You assumed he'll have a headache after yesterday…

Just as you wanted to get your stuff from the couch and leave for your own flat; you heard a door open followed with some footsteps.

“Morning.” You greeted him with a smile, which disappeared the moment you thought about yesterday again... It made you wonder if he remembered his drunken behavior or if he ‘deleted’ it from his ‘hard drive’.

Sherlock acknowledged you with a slight nod and went for the water and painkillers.

You watched him silently drink the water but felt uncomfortable for you staring at him. So you thought it was better to go. As you took a single step; Sherlock called your name, drawing your attention back to him.

“About yesterday-“

You interrupted him, holding your hands up in defense; ”No! It’s alright…I know you didn’t mean that…“

Sherlock stared at you, and you could tell he thought for his next words, as he slowly opened his mouth to only closed it again.

“I..I really like you, and I mean... It”

You raised your eyebrows in confusion from this explanation about yesterday until he added.

“ I mean…I like you more than a friend…”

You froze on the spot at his confession as weird as the situation was you wanted to show him you felt the same, so you got out of your stupor and hugged him. It definitely caught him by surprise.

“Do you…feel the same?” he asked cautiously.

You only nodded and said while chuckling; “Yes.”

Sherlock hummed in thought. “I might have to thank John for this…it was his idea to text you…”

You thought again before you slowly connected the dots about yesterday. Like when John said he knew it…Did he see that you liked Sherlock or Sherlock, you or even both? You shook the thoughts away since they didn’t matter anymore. The only thing what mattered…

…was now.

[lovebugism]

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

[kurara-black-blog]

That entire video (you know the one) could've been a phone call:

Thomas: *calls Lee and Mary Lee* Hey, friends! Sorry for the sudden call, but I got something important to talk about with you two— nothing, uh, drastic or anything, just. Yeah.

Lee and Mary Lee: Hi, Thomas! Sure, buddy, what's up?

Thomas: Well, you see... Do you guys remember that big production I talked about some time ago? Well, I just got a callback!

Friends: That's incredible, Thomas! Congratulations! We're so happy for you!

Thomas: Thank you, thank you! But, uhh... There is a problem. The day of the callback is– *deep breath* it's the same day as your wedding, and I don't think I'd be able to make it to both even if they weren't around the same time. So I'm calling because I've... I've been wondering if you guys would be too upset if I were to go to the callback? It's just—! It's a really big chance that I might not get again and I— I want to be there for you guys, I know weddings are also a one time in a lifetime thing and there will always be another production to try— and I promise, I promise I'll make it up to you guys after—!

Deceit, at the corner of the room for support: Thomas, you're rambling, please take a breath.

Friends: Thomas, buddy, calm down.

Thomas: Sorry.

Friends: It's ok. And, sure, we would be bummed if you weren't there, but are you kidding me?! You get a callback for that big production that'd be such a large step into your dreams and you think we'd want you to miss it?!

Thomas: Well...

Friends: Nope! You're going to that callback, mister, even if we have to drive you there from our wedding parlor! We can hangout after or something, maybe do an special event in one of our anniversaries, wink wink. It's ok, man, we'd hate for you to lose that chance, I think we'd be even more upset to see you at our wedding knowing you could've gone to the callback and gotten the role.

Thomas: I dunno about getting the role, but...

Friends: Oh, shut up, we know you will get it! You better tell us all about it after, ok?

Thomas: Ok, yeah, ok... Yeah! Yeah, thank you guys so much! And I'm sorry again, I just–

Friends: Started overthinking about what we'd think of you if you were to not go to our wedding to chase your dreams?

Thomas:... Yeah...

Friends: It's like we know you or something!

Thomas: Haha, yeah, it's like we've been good friends for many years!

Friends: Exactly! So don't you dare think we'd stop being your friends just like that, ok?

Thomas: Ok. Thanks again. I'll let you two go back to wedding planning now

Friends: Ugh, don't remind me. Bye, Thomas! Take care, love you!

Thomas: Bye, love you too!

Deceit: Would you look at that? It's almost as if drawing conclusions on how others will feel based entirely on your own rigid perception of right and wrong is counterproductive! But, no, that couldn't be, yes?

Patton: I'm so happy right now that I'm going to ignore the taunt and HUG THE STUFFING OUT OF YOU!!!

Roman: Can't believe I'm saying this but SAME!! COME HERE, SCALY SPAGHETTI!!

Janus: DO NOT—!

Thomas: Aaaaand there they go. Back to the mindspace, I guess. I'm sure they'll be back soon.

Virgil:... Twenty says they'll catch Janus in ten minutes.

Logan: Twenty says nothing, it's a number. But I bet it'll be five minutes. And it'll be Roman with a tackle.

[livelaughloveloak]

𓂅 WISHUROSES ⊰ 🎡

𖦹 pairing : earth1610!miles morales x reader

𖦹 summary : random scenarios and headcanons of miles as your boyfriend

𖦹 author's note : y'all I'm literally running out of ideas so I would appreciate it if you guys sent me some requests 😭 btw this isn't proofread

you and him definitely have a snapstreak but it was on accident. he randomly snapped you and you'd snap him back on a daily so now you two are just stuck with a 200+ snapstreak.

he bought you a Polaroid camera for your birthday and you ended up using up most of the film on him.

you have the pictures up on the board hanging up in your room

HE'S A COMPLETE SWEET HEARTTTT through actions or through text he'll show his love for you either way.

you pulled back from the tight hug miles pulled you into and looked up at his face. "miles you have that smug look on your face again." you poked his cheek and laughed. miles gasped and was quick to defend himself although he was in fact smiling like an idiot. "I do not!!"

if he's not busy with spiderman business, school, family problems, or hanging out with you then he's busy texting you instead.

he might go to an advanced private school but he refuses to write sentences properly.

you'd receive messages from him like these

inaminit

whaddup

nuhuh

luv u

wya?

he'll abuse the living hell out of emojis when texting you

"yup 😎😎😎😎😎😎💪💪💪"

"wdym no ☹️☹️😒😒🤨🤨🤨"

omw Mami 😋😋😋🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿

he'll ask you for help when it's washday for his hair. his scalp is sensitive so you make sure to be extra careful

he has your contact saved as mi alma. one time his mom saw the contact name pop up on his phone and questioned him about it. he freaked out and started blabbering nonsense

he tells you stories about his adventures when his uncle aaron was still alive.

he has a picture of you as his wallpaper and a pic of you guys together as his lockscreen

he draws you two matching pfps

will definitely give you a new drawing everytime he can

was sweating bullets when he finally revealed to you that he was spiderman.

the pressure was quickly lifted off of his shoulders once you said that you accepted him and understood.

he's still scared that you'd be his canon event and swears he'll never let you die

"even if I have to destroy this universe as long as you're alive I'll be alright." you pinched his cheek and smiled. "don't be silly miles" a groan escaped his mouth as you giggled. "mami stopppp I'm being serious right now."

he let's you win in games just to see you happy but if it's basketball he's not gonna hold back 😭🙏

has his face buried in your neck while sleeping. he says it's because "I'm cold and you just happen to be warm" but yet again it's the middle of summer.

will be jumping up and down our of joy when you bought him new Jordans for his birthday

he has a bracelet with your name engraved into it and he wears it proudly

his phone album is filled with pictures of you. you and him fight eachother whenever you catch him trying to take a candid 0.5 picture of you

he 100% calls you "my heart"

says the most old man type of comebacks when playfully arguing with you

"yeah well you can go kick rocks!!"

"boohoo buckaroo"

"too bad so sad"

"nuh uh" or in other times "yuh huh"

"whatever pal"

"listen here buddy"

you two wear matching pajamas when you have sleepovers

don't get me started on this man and saying the "rizz" jokes...

"rizzanator is what I am"

"let's have a rizz off"

"call me the rizzmaster"

he'll airdrop you the most random memes and burst out laughing when seeing your reaction

he gifted you a promise ring with both of your initials engraved into it as an anniversary gift

miles won you a teddy bear in a fair and now you both call it your "child"

don't expect to get a warning because miles will randomly FaceTime you out of nowhere.

he'd give you a spiderman suit so you could match with him

when you first met his mom she liked you without hesitation and asked to take a picture with you. she made miles take the picture 😭

overall a sweet guy and will give you the princess treatment you deserve!!

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

July 4, 2023 | All rights reserved to @livelaughloveloak • Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own. ✮

art in the polaroids are made by purpletunabread on twitter and koscribbls on instagram

[7ndipity]

He Forgets Your Birthday

Jin x Reader

Summary: Jin just wants to make your birthday memorable, but what happens when life gets too hectic and makes him forget?

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, swearing

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took me a little bit to get to.

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Life moved quickly with Jin, in multiple ways.

The first time you ever met, he asked for your number, fearing you wouldn’t cross paths again and he might not get another chance. You both said ‘I love you’ less than two months into dating, after he accidentally let it slip out during one of your first nights together, you even ended up moving in with him after less than a year when the apartment you were subletting fell through(or more accurately, flooded through, but whatever)

Things also moved quickly because of your careers. Sometimes days would flick by without your realizing, a week would turn into two before either of you noticed, and then suddenly it’s been nearly two months since your last technical date.

Despite your reassurances that you understood, Jin felt guilty at times for the two of you missing out on special occasions like holidays or anniversaries with each other, but one day he promised he wouldn’t let slip past was your birthday.

You weren't exactly a fan of making a big fuss for your birthday, but Jin wanted to make it special for you.

“I’ll cook,” He’d promised you. “I’ll make all your favorites, as well as traditional seaweed soup for good luck, and then we’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the day.”

“What if I don’t want to do anything?” You’d asked, raising a brow as you sat on his lap.

“Then we’ll do nothing together,” He’d replied, pulling you closer. “And have a wonderful time doing it.”

It’d been an easy promise to make when your birthday was still almost a month away, but as the days and weeks passed, things became increasingly hectic. Comeback season was drawing close, and with it came the pressure and chaos of constant rehearsals, video shoots, and promotional activities, leaving Jin little time to think about much else. Half the time you were already asleep before he got home at night, tiredly wrapping himself around you for a few precious hours before starting the cycle all over again.

He didn’t even know what day of the week it was until Jimin spoke up as they slumped against the wall, trying to catch their breath during rehearsals.

“Oh, how’s Y/n? Did they like their gift?” Jimin asked. “I haven't heard from them since I texted happy birthday this morning.”

Jin felt his heart screech to a stop as he looked over at the younger man, hoping he had misheard. “What?”

“The flowers you helped us pick out? I figured they would’ve-” Jimin’s voice trailed off as he noticed the growing look of horror on Jin’s face. “Tell me you didn’t forget?”

Jin’s whole body felt cold as he fumbled for his phone, stomach dropping as he read the date, and then the numerous text notifications from you.

His hands shook as he read your words, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

‘You left this morning before I got to say it, but love you💖’

‘Do you know what time you’ll be home?’

'Ngl, I'm kinda excited for tonight, it's been ages since I had your cooking😋'

‘Jinnie? Is everything okay?’

‘You’re not coming, are you?’

‘You could at least answer your phone so I know you’re okay.’

Shit.

Sparing no time explaining to the others, he grabbed his things and bolted out the door, nearly sprinting for the elevators.

He couldn’t believe how badly he’d fucked up, you must’ve been so upset with him. How would he even explain himself to you? Would you even talk to him when he got home? He wouldn’t blame you if the answer was no.

“Y/n?” He called as he opened the door but the house was silent, all the lights off, the stillness seeming to loom over him as he kicked off his shoes.

Tip-toeing through the house, he caught sight of the bouquet of flowers the guys had sent you sitting proudly in the center of the dining table, their cheery brightness almost mocking him now.

As he neared your shared bedroom, he caught sight of a sliver of light slipping out into the hall from the crack in the door.

Peeking in, he found you curled up on your side of the bed, sound asleep, but he could tell by the puffiness around your eyes that you’d been crying, shattering his heart completely.

He slowly sank down on the bed next to you, gently brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He choked, tears blurring your image in front of him. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world, how could he have forgotten something like this?! He had promised you!

He’d always tried so hard to live up to his commitments and responsibilities in your relationship, no matter how small, but in the moment when it mattered the most, he’d failed you.

“Jinnie?” Your cracked, sleep laden voice snapped his attention back up to you, meeting your tired eyes.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He said, crying in earnest now.

“ ‘s okay.” You said drowsily, too tired to fight with him.

“It’s not. I made you a promise, and I fucked up.” He said, wiping his face.

You didn’t speak, sitting up slowly and pulling him into a hug. As upset as you might’ve been, you couldn’t stand to see him cry.

You wouldn’t lie, you were deeply hurt, but it wasn’t just for you. You’d seen how hard he’d been working lately, coming home late sore and exhausted, bags under his eyes from fatigue. You hated seeing him so tired all the time, so stressed and not able to do anything about it. You knew that under normal circumstances, he would’ve never forgotten, but your lives weren’t normal.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He cried into your neck. “I’ll find a way.”

“Jinnie, I don’t care about the dinner,” You said, trying not to start crying again yourself as you pulled back to look at him. “All I really wanted was to be with you.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Just come hold me, please.” You half dragged him under the covers with you, winding your limbs around each other tightly.

Neither of you spoke much as you slowly drifted off to sleep, clinging to each other desperately, needing to feel each other to be sure you were both still there.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found his side of the bed empty.

Sitting up slowly, you glanced around, questions only just beginning to form in your mind before you heard a faint noise from somewhere in the house, the scent of one of your favorite dishes drifting through the open bedroom door.

Still groggy, you climbed out of bed and followed the smell to your kitchen, where you found your missing boyfriend, his back to you as he stood over the stove, fussing at something he was stirring.

“Why are you so salty? I didn’t even add that much.”

“Maybe it’s just in a bad mood.”

He turned at the sound of your voice, eyes softening as they found you in the doorway, messy hair and sleep clouded eyes, wearing one of his pajama tops as a sleepshirt.

“I thought you were still asleep.” He said softly.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Fulfilling my promise to you.” He said, turning back to the stove for a moment as he spoke. “It’s not quite all of your favorites, but it’s a start. Plus, we’ve got the whole day to do whatever else you want to do.”

“I have work.” You said, not unkindly.

“No, you don’t.” He responded. “I left them a message saying you were sick and couldn’t come in today.”

“Sick with what?” You asked.

“Bad boyfriend-itis,” He said, coming over to hook his arms round your waist. “It’s a very serious condition, it requires a lot of rest and care to recover from.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.” You said quietly, fiddling with his shirt collar.

“I’m not so sure about that.” He said, frowning.

“Well, I am.” You pushed up on your toes to press your lips to his softly, making him melt instantly. You let your hands slowly trail up and around his neck, earning a slight shiver from him before you pulled away to look at him. “What about rehearsals?”

“I told them the same thing as your work.” He said with a slightly dazed grin.

“You have boyfriend-itis too?” You raised a brow at him questioningly.

“Are you kidding? I’m patient zero.” He replied, earning a giggle from you, making his heart swell as he smiled down at you.

“Go back to bed,” He said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“I don’t wanna go back to bed.” You said, wrapping your arms around his waist, looking up at him seriously. “I told you last night, I just want to be with you.”

“Alright then.” He hooked his hands under your thighs, boosting you up to sit on the counter with a surprised squeak from you. “You can sit here and be my lovely assistant.”

“I don’t even know what you’re making.” You giggled again.

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead and make yummy noises when I show you something.”

The two of you talked as he continued cooking, stopping each time he passed by you to leave a kiss on your waiting lips. Once everything was ready, you moved to the table, sitting close enough that you could reach over and grab his hand as he settled next to you.

He glanced up at you. “What is it?”

“Just thank you.” You said.

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“Being you. Being here.”

Jin felt the familiar twisting in his chest as he leaned over to press another kiss to your lips.

“Always.” He promised.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again, he swore to himself, he would be there for you, no matter what else was going on. You were his world, his heart, and he would make sure you knew that from now on.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan

[blue-jisungs]

YELLOW CAB

author's note. i kinda slayed w the banner ngl

summary. 3rd time is a charm, right? especially when the guy whose ride home you stole is kinda (very much) cute

word count. 2111

genre, pairing. crack and fluff lmao!! graphic design hybe worker!yn x idol!seungkwan;; sassy kwan.

warnings. one or two curses, mention of throwing up

letting out a deep sigh, you stepped outside the hybe building. holding the file with your notes and sketches, you pressed it closer to your chest as you whipped out your phone. the weather was quite stuffy, air no better than in the office. 

some of your coworkers passed you by and walked towards the parking. 

shaking your head, with a few swipes you ordered a cab. living without a car was manageable but quite a pain in the ass, especially on days like this when you didn’t feel like taking the metro. 

you stayed overtime, again. it’s really a bad habit, you should work on it. your eyes were struggling to keep open, even while standing. speaking of which, your legs hurt too – probably a result of sitting for too long. and your back; oh god, your back. leaning over the drawing tablet for the whole day will definitely cause you to have a hump… fun. 

someone left the building and sat on the bench, doing something in their phone. it was good to know you weren’t the last one to leave. yawning loudly, you struggled to stand still.

then, you noticed a yellow cab arriving. finally! you marched towards it, absentmindedly. you opened the door and greeted the driver, sitting inside.

before you closed it, you heard an offended:

“yah! that’s my cab! check the number, miss!” 

but the door closing shut the voice down as you muttered the address. letting yourself relax for a while, only halfway home you realized you just accidentally took someone else’s cab.

well, at least they won’t be left alone – in such case yours should be arriving at the hybe building soon.

you observed in deep thought the water droplets racing down the window. someone tapped your arm and you jerked, blinking.

“y/n, we’re leaving. you should too, tomorrow is an important day” your co-worker smiled gently and patted your arm “you should get some sleep, okay? i’ll see you tomorrow”

nodding in agreement, you waved them goodbye and started packing your things. 

tomorrow you’re going to be presenting your new album cover and other details for seventeen’s upcoming comeback. you were nervous, you didn’t know if they were going to like it. considering the time you spent and how much tears, blood and sweat you put into the design you tried to be optimistic that they would enjoy it.

you left the office and already ordered a cab while in the lift. you hoped that because of it, you weren’t going to wait in the rain for too long. 

a distant chatter echoed and bounced of the lobby walls, mixing with the elevator-type-of-music. 

then, your phone dinged with a notification that your cab arrived. 

taking a deep breath and putting your scarf around your head, you headed out. running towards the yellow cab in the rain, droplets hitting your face. water splashed under your shoes and in a few leaps you reached the car. 

you decided to hop on the seat behind the driver, putting your bag on your knees.

“sorry for the mess” you breathed out and tucked the hair that got stuck onto your face. 

suddenly the door opened again and someone entered the cab. 

your eyes widened and you looked at the stranger. he blinked, flabbergasted. 

then you yelped upon realizing its seungkwan. boo seungkwan. the boo seungkwan from seventeen.

you bowed yet were speechless, too stunned to mutter even a single word. 

his brows knitted as he pointed at you.

“hey, you stole my cab last time” he grunted and ran his hand through his wet locks. your cheeks grew hot with realization, fingers nervously playing with the material of your bag. that’s not good. not good at all.

“i’m sorry i promise it wasn’t on purpose! i was just so tired and didn’t realize–” you started.

“are we going or what? it’s not a cafe to chat endlessly in one place” the driver grunted impatiently.

“yeah, right. um, i’ll just leave and you take this one. i’m deeply sorry, mr. boo” words spilled out of you like the rain from the dark clouds. 

before you could open the door, seungkwan leaned and smacked your head gently. you halted in shock.

“are you out of your mind? i mean, respectfully. whatever happened, happened. just be sure to check next time… and let’s just take this one. i assume you’re heading home?” he asked, catching the driver’s annoyed look in the mirror “you should go first” 

you nodded and after saying the address, the car started. 

“do you work here?” seungkwan asked, interested. you felt a little shy – even though you knew they work at the same building, you never met an idol. and yet here you are.

“yes, i’m a graphic designer” you smiled politely “oh, i’m sorry. my name is l/n y/n”

the idol returned your smile and reached his hand out. you shook it and he hissed dramatically.

“aigo, your hand is so cold!”

you giggled and took it back. 

the nervousness gradually left your body as you had some small talk with him (and he insisted not to call him mr boo or mr seungkwan as – quote – “that makes him old and he’s still young!”), genuinely feeling comfortable. he seemed not to be faking his engagement into the conversation either.

before you realized, you arrived in your neighborhood. it was pouring now but luckily the driver stopped quite close to the building. the driver asked for seungkwan’s destination, wanting to put it in gps already. 

as he did, you reached for your card. then, you asked the driver how much it would cost to take seungkwan to his place. the man replied and the idol smacked your hand once again this evening.

“you are really crazy” he grunted and shook his head.

“no, no. let me pay, as a form of sorry for the last cab incident” you frowned, discreetly nodding to the driver. he nodded back and put the full price for the route; seungkwan didn’t seem to notice.

“no, i can’t allow that. it’s literally nothing, i swear i already forgot” he whined. 

the driver handed you the terminal and you paid with a bright smile. 

“okay, fine. um, thank you for the ride, seungkwan” you said and grabbed your bag “it was nice meeting you. have a good day!”

with that you left and seungkwan observed as you ran to the building, heavy rain slurring your silhouette. he kept his eyes on you as long as he could before the driver was too far away. 

only then he noticed something on the seat. 

worker id.

he huffed and took it in his fingers, not realizing he’s smiling. it must have fallen out when you pulled out your card.

“the lady paid for you, by the way” the driver said softly, glancing at him through the mirror. 

seungkwan rolled his eyes, not sure why his mood is so bright now. 

you dug through your bag, heart rate being faster than when you took your friend’s niece to the rollercoaster park. feeling the guard’s displeased sight on you, you decided to turn your bag around and spill the contents on the floor. then, you dropped to your knees and ignored the weird looks from other workers.

“i promise i have it! i have no idea why it’s not here!” you whined, glancing at the clock. 9:55am. you had about three minutes to enter the building and arrive at the meeting place since it starts at 10am. 

and currently you couldn’t find your worker id. 

“i can’t let you in on a promise. i’ll need to escort you if you don’t have it” the bodyguard said, unbothered. 

you looked through all the papers and sketches that fell out, sweat dripping down your temple. that’s not how it was supposed to go. 

with shaking hands you wiped a tear that gathered on your cheek and checked your wallet again. nothing. 

a sudden pat on your arm caused you to turn around sharply and the person jerked in surprise due to your dramatic reaction. 

it was seungkwan.

“now that’s just embarrassing” you grunted, blinking the tears away. 

“are you looking for this?” he asked with a soft smile, reaching for something from his pocket. your eyes saw the goddamn plastic card “and before you think it’s creepy, you left it in the taxi. i figured i’d drop it off at your office but you’re here so…”

nodding your head vigorously, you gathered all your stuff and put it into your bag. 

“thank you, thank you so so much. i was just about to be late for a meeting as if the meeting itself didn’t make me nervous as fuck” you breathed out and took the id “thank you…”

“i get it, i get it. now shoo, you can’t be late! and good luck, fighting!” he grinned and you sent him a wide grin. 

seungkwan watched you disappear in the lift before a gasp ripped out of his chest. 

“what am i even doing?! i have a meeting too–”

he rushed to get another lift and cursed underneath his breath when it came late. seungcheol will whoop his ass for being late but first of all, it’s only like five minutes. second of all, he was helping you. 

the man pushed the door from the meeting room, sending all eyes on him. he rose his hands in a defensive manner and then bowed.

“i apologize for being late, there was a small… incident” he mumbled and before he looked up, he heard a voice.

“it’s alright, mr. boo. we didn’t start yet” 

your voice. 

his eyes met with yours, causing his face to lit up. some of the members noticed the strange exchange between you, especially when a shared smile bloomed on your faces. 

seungkwan sat down next to minghao, earning a smack on the arm. 

needless to say, everyone came to a conclusion that for the first time ever seungkwan was laser focused in the presentation. and you. 

“i feel like i’m gonna throw up” you mumbled to yourself, squatting down on the sidewalk. hiding your head in your knees, you heard a chuckle.

“i thought people usually got nervous before presenting?” seungkwan’s voice reached your ears and you looked up with a smile. 

“well now i’m waiting for the decision, it is nervous too” you sighed and stood up, raising an eyebrow.

“you don’t need to worry about that. i know those guys and they liked your project, a lot. and if they didn’t, i’d convince them” seungkwan grinned and whipped out his phone “cab? let me pay this time”

“aish, we’re gonna be pushing and pulling all the time?” you scoffed and shook your head “wait, did you like it?”

seungkwan nodded, noticing the yellow cab approaching. good thing this was a busy street and there were lots of taxis. 

“obviously!” he grinned and led you towards the car, opening the door for you. once inside, he waited for you to tell your address to the driver and continued. “i really like your art style, it’s very unique and original. the colors fit well with the concept, as well as the design. did you create the font yourself?”

you stared at him in shock, causing a giggle out of him. 

as you indulged him into the details of your work progress, you failed to realize how quickly you got home. not even done with explaining how you got the idea for the design, you saw a mischievous spark in his ebony eyes. 

“let me pay, please” seungkwan pleaded and you huffed “and… if you want, i’ll let you pay next time. for coffee”

he stared at you hopefully (ignoring the fact that he obviously wouldn’t let you but he somehow wanted to have an excuse), seungkwan noticed a cute smile bloomed on your face. 

“i’d love to. tomorrow? 3pm?” you asked, unable to control your face muscles from grinning. seungkwan nodded energetically “we’re set then. get home safe, mr boo” 

you leaned in, led by an impulse, and tried to place a goodbye kiss on his cheek but you accidentally pecked the corner of his lips. 

blood flowing to your face, you left the cab panicked, yelping a nervous bye! 

“hey there, misses! what’s with your kisses?” he mumbled, fingers ghosting over the area your lips brushed against. 

looking at the whipped man in the mirror, the cab driver smiled. 

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @eternalgyuuu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu