#if I made it you can too so stop complaining

[yourlocalangeldoll]

*ੈ Dom, Sub or switch? / Squid game

characters: Gyeong su / player 256, Thanos / Player 230, Nam Gyu / Player 124, Hyun ju / Player 120, Kang Dae ho / Player 388, Jun ho

a/n: last post before short hiatus 🎀 Trust me y’all will be FED whne i come back. Gyeong su and Thanos are lowk half assed because i wrote them both TWICE than tumblr glitched and got rid of it.

cw: 18+!, mdni, light smut, nsfw talk obviously, degradation, spit, hand kink mention, nsfw link, pegging mention, handjobs, toys mention, overstimulation, restraints, mentions of surgeries(not in an nsfw way), only proofread once.

*ੈ Gyeong su / Player 256

*ੈ 100% a switch. When he’s dom he is ALWAYS a softdom but still a freak. KING of body worship when he’s both subbing and domming. He NEEDS to be physically close to you at all the time but ESPECIALLY when subbing. Doggy position while you peg him will just not work, even prone position is pushing it. Peg him in missionary and he’ll cum in a matter of seconds. When subbing he’s all whiny ‘n needy. More of a handjob than blowjob guy. Get’s sooo subby when you’re giving him a handjob.

- . . Gyeong su’s body is leaning into yours. Your own body behind his while he’s practically wrapped in your arms that were brought around and tugging on his cock. Your neck covered in tears and saliva where his head was hidden. Body shaking from your continued stimulation on his spent cock from his previous orgasm just seconds ago. “Come on, you can give me one more right?” You pout. Your words earned a whine from him in response but a nod nevertheless, his body relaxing further into yours. “Good boy,” You praise while placing a soft kiss to the top of his head, smirk on your face while you sped up your hand on his cock, feeling his cock twitch at your words. . . -

*ੈ Thanos / Player 230

*ੈ Dom obviously. Being a sub is practically unheard of with Thanos. He’s the one doing all the work most of the time. He’s such a good mix between hard and soft dom. He fucks ‘n pleasures you like he hates your guts but then is all soft when talking, still filthy but his words softer. And don’t get me started on of he’s the one to take your virginity. But don’t let that fool you, if you’ve annoyed him and gotten on his nerves a little too much he will not hesitate to put your back in your place. In the rare instance he does Sub it’s most likely because he fucked up and you aren’t getting over it easily or you’ve begged him a lot.

- . . Rough groans escaped Thano’s lips. Your hand working fast on his cock but stopping before he could release. His hands tied behind the chair lazily along with his ankles to the feet’s of the chair. He couldn’t help the pathetic groans that escaped him when you halted your movements again, head thrown back frustratedly. “You’re such a dick, i don’t even know why i’m still with you.” You complain, focusing more on letting all your frustrations out in words instead of his dick, much to his dismay. Thano’s was only half listening, knowing your words were nothing but frustration. But one thing he caught onto -“Can’t even get out of some lazy restraints.”- made him struggle to restrain the smirk that formed on his face, knowing damn well he could snap out of the restraints if he wanted, hell he practically holding them together. But he’d let you believe anything if it means his girl isn’t upset with him anymore. . . -

*ੈ Nam Gyu / Player 124

*ੈ Hard dom, is that really surprising? He’d be so mean and you’d absolutely lovee it. He is SO into humiliating you and gets off on you crying big time. spit spitting spit. He’d have a field day if you have a hand kink because his hands are SCRUMPTIOUS and he knows it 😮‍💨 I feel like despite being such an ass if it’s your first time or maybe not in the mood to be too rough he’d be completely fine with going softer but that’s not typically the mood with him. He’d either fuck you rough and fast as fuck or still rough but deep af thrusts. You’d swear he’s trying to push past your cervix or sum. He’d force you into such awkward positions that aren’t typically the norm. Some positions like corkscrew, prone or sideways 69. He LOVES to fuck you in the ‘Butter Churner’ position.

- . . You’re back’s straining from the position your boyfriend managed to convince you to get into. But god did you feel fucking amazing. The cool surface of the wooden floor was a stark contrast to the warmth and sweat on your body. Nam Gyu was nice enough to help you by holding your ankles in his hands. But his pace was unrelenting and had your back getting littered with light scratches with each jolt of your back against the wood. “So fucking easy to use, like a sex doll.” He’d say while spitting down on you, laughing as your face contorts in disgust as his spit lands right on your eye. . . -

*ੈ Hyun ju / Player 120

*ੈ Soft dom of course !! i really can’t see her as a sub tbh. She’d be so sweet, whispering praises while she fucks you with her fingers. She’d even gently brush your hair out from your face while placing a soft kiss to your cheek 💞💞. I do feel like she’d use toys.. nothing too crazy. Either has a wand or rabbit vibrator and a single dildo, pretty simple ‘n vanilla. She is SO talented with her fingers and mouth. I imagine if she hasn’t had all her surgeries yet she’d be a little less inclined to be naked herself. Controversial take but i don’t think she’d fuck you if she hasn’t had bottom surgery yet.. it’s just hard to imagine.. i mean she doesn’t even like people staring at her.

- . . You’re laying on your back, body comfy on the bed while you made out with Hyun ju. What started as a relatively innocent movie night taking a slight turn as Hyun ju’s hand made way past the band of your pj and panties and started rubbing soft, experienced circles on your clit. Just hard enough to have your thighs closing around her hand. The two of you’s tongue ‘fighting’ for dominance as her hand made way further down. A gasp escaping your lips once one of her fingers pushed past your folds and into you. Hyun ju just chuckled slightly, wrapping arm around your back and up, gently brushing hair out of your face. Her words gentle while you hid your head into her chest. “So pretty f’me.” . . -

*ੈ Kang Dae ho / Player 388

*ੈ Switch. I feel like if he’s domming or subbing would mostly be up to his partner. He doesn’t care much if he’s sub or dom because it feels good all the same ��‍♀️ The only time he’ll be overly rough with you is if you’re being a biggg fucking brat or you ask him to. Bro is a SUCKER for missionary. It’s just such an intimate position and he THRIVES of intimacy. He loves to be comforted ‘n praised ‘n all that so PLEASE do. I said this before here, but he’d either be constantly praising you while you ride him -which is also one of his favourite positions- or staring up at you in admiration. the second king of body worship hello?? Is that even really surprising?? Like Gyeong su he craves being physically close to you, during and not during sex. He’s vocal and IS NOT ashamed of it. He hates when you hide your own sounds aswell… doing that is one way ticket to either getting your hands tied to the headboard or his fingers shoved in your mouth ‘n keeping your mouth widee open. Y’all can and will do some of the filthiest shit together but it somehow still feels so intimate. If he’s subbing then he’s not too different.. but definitely more vocal, desperate ‘n whiny. There is SO much more i wanna say about my man but i’ll hold off for now..

- . . All you could feel was Dae ho’s hands roaming your body, his sloppy kisses to your neck, and the fast pace of his cock ramming in and out of your pussy. The only sounds in the rooms were your moans, the forgotten movie, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin and Dae ho’s own grunts ‘n moans. Your nails clawed at his bare back- sure to leave marks tomorrow for him to explain if anyone manages to see. “Shit.. you feel so good.” He groans into your neck, pulling away just enough to litter kisses to your face. “Look so pretty too.. can’t believe how lucky i am.” He says through kisses, hands coming up to squeeze your chest through your bra. “I love every part of you, you know that right?” And what you say in response doesn’t matter to him, because he’ll be rambling on about each part of your body and how he loves it. . . -

*ੈ Jun ho

*ੈ i feel like he’d be a mix between soft dom and hard dom. Sometimes you guys would fuck all slow ‘n lovey dovey, Jun ho whispering praises in your ears. While other times he’d be using you like a ragdoll and either saying nothing or saying light degrades(i don’t see him being too mean tbh just a bit more rough.) He’d hold your body up with ease and fuck you fast while you’re practically crying from overstimulation- having came from both his tongue and fingers. And he’d do nun but whisper soft degrades in your ear and tease you. Even when he’s soft he’d tease you A LOT. The only difference is that when y’all are soft the teasing is more playful. When you guys finally stop he is SUCH a gentleman and king at aftercare.

- . . “Please- too much Jun ho! too much-“ You’re crying out while Jun ho holds you by your arms. His cock going in and out of you at an almost dizzying pace. Despite the overstimulation your poor pussy is feeling it clenches around his cock at the chuckle that escapes his lips. His body moving forward, abdomen filling the arch of your back while his arm moved to wrap around your waist. His breath hot against the shell of your ear while he spoke. “Come on baby, i know you can last more than three rounds. If not then you shouldn’t have been such a fucking brat. Now quiet down and take it, i don’t want to hear any more complaining.” . . -

⟡ ݁₊ . written by yourlocalangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[fuzzehlogic]

This is why I will always support corporate pride.

People who think it's pandering never grew up knowing what it's like to be the only gay person you know, to hear others use 'gay' synonymously with anything they think is stupid, to see the only representation you have on TV as the butt of all jokes or murdered - I can go on but it's depressing and it's real. That was in the early 2000's. In Canada, gay marriage was only made legal in 2005. I cut out and saved a newspaper article that day, because it didn't seem real that I could actually marry my girlfriend and sponsor her to immigrate here and live together as a family, since gay marriage wasn't legal in the U.S. until 2015. Progress only started in the past two decades, but we're STILL fighting.

What's worse is that we're fighting with ourselves by gatekeeping what little representation we've fought for and earned, complaining that "the representation we have isn't inclusive enough so companies/shows/etc. should just stop," or "that's too much rainbow merch it's clearly just for profits." Well. Guess what? If the message we're sending is that we don't want representation, the ones who end up winning are the ones who want us erased.

It's not perfect by any stretch, but it's not going to get there without our community getting normalized. We need to keep fighting for more representation, not less.

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter two

⭐︎ can you see right through me?

Warnings: angst, misunderstandings, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, grumpy!steve, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5k+

Summary: You didn’t think that trying to get close to Steve would end up hurting your feelings — but you also didn’t expect to get a glimpse of who he once was, before the darkness of this world dimmed the light in his eyes.

Authors note: Buckle up for the next chapter y’all, it’s gonna be something. always a shoutout to @hellfire--cult who always takes her time to edit and write with me 🩷

⭐︎ series masterlist

⭐︎ prologue ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

On the first day of your official stay in Hawkins, Nancy took you to the greenhouse, you spent all day gardening, taking care of the crops, watering vegetables and fruit, picking the ripe ones and planting new seeds – it amazed you how well everything was growing, you didn’t think that it would be possible after seeing the effects this world had on nature but you suppose that miracles exist after all. 

By the end of the day, your knees hurt, your hands felt sore and there was too much soil and dirt under your fingernails, not that you would ever complain, you haven’t felt as much happiness as you did when Steve told you that you were allowed to stay since… well, since your college acceptance letter and that is too long ago. 

On your second you cooked french toast with leftover bread that Nancy had made the day before, using fresh eggs – you were surprised when you found out about the little stable with chickens behind the garden, you thought most animals had died. You made ratatouille for dinner, using the freshly picked vegetables from the greenhouse. Nancy and Eddie had complimented your cooking skills, though the reaction you were mostly looking forward to was Steve’s, he only hummed in approval and he got a second plate, you took that as a good sign. 

Today, you haven’t been assigned to any tasks yet and you don’t exactly know what to do when you walk down the stairs to find the house empty, well, mostly empty. There are no signs of Eddie and Nancy, you don’t hear him humming, you don’t hear her walking around in the kitchen or somewhere else, the only one around is Steve. He is in the living room, standing in front of the window, holding a cup in one hand while the other is propped against his hip. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, it must be his third cup, he already had one before breakfast, another during it. You wonder if he is just addicted to the bitterness of it – it certainly matches his attitude. Or if he is just tired and in need of something to keep him awake, you have a feeling that he doesn’t sleep much. 

“Where’s everyone?” 

Steve doesn’t even flinch, he heard you walking down the stairs, he felt your eyes on him. 

“Eddie is working on the RV,” he grumbles, still not fond of the idea of leaving, nothing will change his mind, he is just waiting for his friends to drop it. “Nancy is with him.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. You look around, still holding onto the railing of the stairs. The house is spotless, clean, not a single grain of dust lying around. Eddie is cooking dinner tonight, so there isn’t anything for you to do around here. 

Steve takes one last sip and then he puts the mug on the coffee table, not even glancing at you as he turns around and reaches for the gear he had left by the doorway. He puts the gun into his holster, secures the walkie into his belt and lastly he picks up his rifle before he starts making his way over to the door. 

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, not hesitating to follow him. 

“Patrol.” 

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head, “I thought you said it’s a two man job.” 

He rolls his eyes and stops walking, turning around, he looks down at you, “Eddie and Nancy are busy–”

“I’m not,” you shrug, giving him a smug smile, knowing that he isn’t fond of your company. “I’m coming with you.”

“Can’t you find something else to do–”

“No, I cannot.” You interrupt him as you reach for the door knob and open it, “can’t let you break the rule and let you go out there by yourself, who knows what you might run into. I’m gonna keep an eye out for you, maybe you’ll get distracted with your shoelaces again!” 

Steve huffs, clenching his jaw. His eyes move up and down your body, eying your belt, the knives tucked into it, the gun in your thigh holster – he has a hard time believing that any of those things have been used by your hands, you couldn’t even kill the man that had attacked you when you had the chance to – he heard your conversation with Eddie that night, heard what happened, what almost happened to you, you could have killed that man, you should have, but you didn’t. 

People like you are not made for this world, it will get you sooner or later. 

“Like you’d be able to do anything,” he murmurs under his breath as he steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. 

“What was that?” You turn around to face him. 

“Nothing.” 

Steve brushes past you, not glancing at you but motioning with his hand for you to follow him, “c’mon.” He makes big steps, fast ones too, forcing you to catch up with him when he is already past the gate and out on the road, walking down the empty street, he ignores the way your footsteps get louder as you hurry to get to his side. 

“Jesus, slow down, cowboy.” 

Steve scrunches his nose up, furrowing his eyebrows at the nickname you have just called him by. 

“Cowboy?” He scoffs as he turns to look at you to see you nodding already, a small but smug smile on your lips, though you look right ahead and not at him. “Why, cowboy?” 

“You’re so grumpy and brooding.”

He scoffs again, like you said something crazy, like you didn’t say the truth. 

“Who says that cowboys are grumpy and brooding?” 

You shrug, “there’s two types of cowboys, the flirty funny ones and the grumpy, brooding ones!”

Steve looks away from you, shaking his head a little. He can’t fight you, knowing you’re right about one thing, he is grumpy. He no longer is the guy he was before all of this, this world that has changed him, and not for the better. He was forced to kill the boy in him when he realized how much he was hurting someone he once loved dearly, he became better, he became a good guy but that guy got his heart broken – that was for the better, as much as it hurt at that time, it was for the better. He became better, he stopped caring about what other people thought of him, he found new friends, he found a best friend, his soulmate. 

Robin.

Robin made his world a better place, she fixed his broken heart, she taught him what it was like to have a real friend, an actual best friend. She taught him that love didn’t always have to be romantic, that it could be platonic and that this love could be just as strong as any other. 

They had so many plans for the future: leave Hawkins, live in a big city, get a place, figure out a future together. 

But then this happened, the world got uglier than before, evil. Their plans got crushed and they were ripped apart. She changed and he did too, and now he can’t be with her whenever he wants, too many things are in the way. 

This world had forced him to kill the person he was before all this, he was forced to kill himself a second time. 

Steve looks back at you, you don’t seem fazed by this world at all. You’ve been attacked not too long ago and not even that has fazed you, he doesn’t know you, doesn’t know half of your story and all the things you have been through since the day the world had gone to shit but from what he heard, you have seen – encountered some ugly things out there and yet there is something about you, something pure, something… good, something he didn’t think was still out there but he can see it. 

He can see it in your eyes, no ounce of hatred resides in them, only goodness, hope that should not even be a thing in this world. You are the complete opposite of him, you are bright, so bright that it almost blinds him, you are all smiles and giggles – and you are so goddamn talkative. 

Thirty minutes into patrolling and he fears his ear might fall off from listening to you jumping from one topic to another. So far you have talked about all your favorite movies, bands and books, told him of a specific cowboy character that he reminds you of before saying how much he looks like Patrick Swayze or well, how much his hair looks like Patrick Swayze’s. 

You are chattering away, not minding the huffs and sighs that keep falling from his mouth, a signal for you to just shut up. He begins to regret his decision to let you stay. 

“I think I made a grave mistake.” He murmurs as he looks around the empty neighbourhood, looking out for any signs of monsters or sick ones. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you ever shut up?” 

To his surprise, you do shut up and for a moment the only thing heard are yours and his footsteps and the leaves rustling from the wind. With a heavy sigh, he turns to look at you. You are pressing your lips together, looking down at the asphalt. He turns away again in satisfaction, enjoying the silence… the silence that doesn’t last long. 

“You called the monster demobat before, what does that mean?”

He restrains his eye roll, tries not to clench his jaw. 

“Uh…” He pauses, he keeps forgetting that the world doesn’t call the monsters by the names the teens have given them. “Eddie is a fan of a game and he used a name from there to name them…” He cringes at himself. 

“Oh!” You say in that voice, the one that pisses him off, the cheerful one. “What game?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” He replies, hoping that answer is satisfying enough and you finally give him some peace. 

“Do you play?” 

Steve sighs, tightening his hold on the rifle in his hands. It was a mistake to let you come with him, he hates talking, hates answering questions, hates company. 

“No.”

You furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head at him. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the patience to learn all of that,” he shrugs. 

“Why?” 

Steve takes a deep breath, he is getting irritated by all your questions but he still turns to you, scrunching his face up as he shrugs again, “I-I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a nerd like him?”

You raise your eyebrows, lips parting, your head is still tilted – you look like a fucking curious puppy, he has to look away. He almost sighs in relief when he sees the house at the end of the road. 

“It’s a nerd game?”

He huffs loudly, glaring at nothing in particular, “seriously, can you keep quiet for more than two seconds!?” He snaps at you, forcing you to be quiet… for a moment. 

He counts the seconds, one… two… You are quiet, it’s almost nice to enjoy the silence again, almost. 

He hears you taking a deep breath. 

“What was your job before the world ended? Cop?” 

Three seconds. Three fucking seconds. 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath and he finally stops walking, looking up at the sky, he places his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath before he turns to face you. 

You halt in your tracks and turn to face him as well, taking in the sight of his deep frown, of the irritation in his hazel eyes and the annoyance that radiates right off him. You almost get nervous, almost. 

“What the fuck,” he grumbles at you, “are you always this talkative?” He asks, stunned. He will be forced to get used to this. 

“You don’t ask me anything, so I have to make conversation,” you shrug, pulling your hands up in front of you, “I haven’t had a good talk in months, I have pent up words.” 

And you chose him out of… three people – that is… he doesn’t know what to think of this. 

“Yeah, Eddie is the best choice for this, not me.” 

The frown on your face says otherwise, your eyes move up and down before they stop at his face again, he doesn’t know what you are exactly looking at or searching for but he needs you to stop. He shifts and huffs again, tapping his fingers against the rifle that he holds on for dear life. 

“But I want to talk to you.” 

He blinks, staring at you like he didn’t understand what you just said, he tries not to look at anything but your eyes.

“Horrible decision.” 

You break eye contact, looking away to take in the view around you, you sigh at his words and shrug before you continue walking, making him follow you this time. 

“I don’t think so.” You pause and look back over your shoulder to see if he is following. “Don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

He does. 

But he won’t ask. He can’t. He just can’t, the less he knows the better. 

He looks down awkwardly, clearing his throat, “how old are you?” 

This time you scoff and shake your head at him, “seriously?” 

“What?” He frowns, looking up to see you staring at him with a confused pout – jesus christ. 

You sigh and roll your eyes, of course he asks the most boring question. 

"Twenty-two."

His eyes widen and his lips part – this might be the first other expression you see on his face other than the constant frown. He stares like you have grown two heads. 

“You’re a fucking year older than me!?” 

Oh. 

Oh… 

You didn’t expect to be older than him either, though you aren’t as surprised as he is, he looks shocked even. He stops walking again, you do too. 

“So… what about it…?” You ask quietly, lifting your shoulders.

Steve notices the unsure look on your face, the way your eyes move back and forth between his own and the ground, the way you cross your arms over your chest, like you are suddenly insecure.

He clears his throat, straightening up as he blinks himself out of his stupor. 

“I… nothing. Nevermind.” He retorts, ready to drop that topic. 

“No, tell me.” 

For some reason, he can’t look at you when he opens his mouth again. 

“You don’t act your age.”

“Oh?” Your voice is suddenly higher than before, hopeful, “do I act older?” 

He pulls his brows together, not looking at you yet, finding the ground beneath him very interesting all the sudden. 

“...Sure.” 

You don’t reply this time, don’t say anything to it, don’t ask any more questions, you simply turn around after a beat of silence, you start walking again, giving him your back. 

He counts the seconds, one… two… three. You give him the silence that he wanted this whole time. You don’t look at him either. He got what he wanted but when the awkwardness fills the space between you both, he suddenly feels a sliver of guilt rising up in him, he knows he must’ve hit a sore spot and he can’t help but kick himself for it. 

A part of him wants to apologize, the other wants him to stay quiet – the stronger side wins though. 

“I uh–”

Though you don’t give him the chance to keep going, you pick up your pace when you see Nancy on the porch, walking away from him quickly, not wanting to spend another second beside him. 

He watches you basically flee from him, it makes him sigh and it makes him halt in his tracks. Frustration bubbling up inside of him, a voice in his head calling him ‘dumbass’. He sighs softly, brings his hand up to his head, he runs his fingers through it nervously. 

He hit a sore spot, one that made you stop talking to him, one that prevented him from finding out more about you. 

It’s for the better. 

Yeah, he knows it’s for the better. 

-

Eddie cooked dinner and Nancy set the table tonight, neither of them noticed the lack of attention you were giving to the man sitting across from you or how he kept looking at you, not with hatred or anger in his eyes but with guilt. 

He hates that feeling, he hates feeling guilt or regret towards someone he barely knows, towards someone he does not want to let in. He knows that he hurt you with what he said, with how he reacted, he didn’t mean to, he couldn’t have known either – he didn’t react badly, he thought, and yet it shut you up and it made you stop looking at him. 

It’s for the better. He kept telling that to himself, kept repeating it in his head, over and over again until he could no longer stand these words. 

He notices that your plate is still filled with food, you only ate half of it. The whole time you sat there and pushed around the vegetables on your plate, you looked a little lost, your eyes were troubled, you looked far gone, like you weren’t at the table. Nancy and Eddie didn’t notice as they were busy talking about some news Dustin had shared from the radio station earlier. 

“You’re gonna like Dustin,” Eddie says, nudging your shoulder. 

Steve watches the way you blink, the way you plaster a smile on your face before you look at Eddie. 

Nancy hums, nodding, “yeah, he was always my favorite out of my brother’s friends.” 

You squint your eyes, like you are trying to remember something, “your brother is… Mike, right?” 

“Yeah, hold on!” She gets up all the sudden, walking away from the table and out of the room, she comes back a moment later with a book in her hand – a photo album. She sits back down beside you and pushes away her empty plate before she slams the album on the table and opens it, flipping the pages, she furrows her eyebrows as she looks for a certain picture, “wait… there it is!” 

She points at the picture of a group of four boys, dressed in Ghostbusters costumes. A smile instantly appears on your face and your eyes light up, “aw! They’re little Ghostbusters!” 

Eddie chuckles at the picture, even Steve smiles but you don’t notice. 

“That’s Mike,” she points at her brother, before she moves her finger to the boys next to him, “that’s Will and Lucas, and lastly that is Dustin!” She points at the curly haired boy. 

“Adorable,” you smile, thinking of your own brother. “My brother loves Ghostbusters too, although he’s way older than they are.” You chuckle. 

Steve’s eyes are back on you, he didn’t know you had a brother… but then again, he doesn’t know anything about you. It’s for the better. 

“Well, that was a few years back, they’re not the tiny humans they used to be,” Nancy laughs sadly. She flips to the next page, “that’s them now – or well, that was them before the world went to shit, I’m sure Mike is even taller now and his hair is longer too.”

The picture shows them at a skatepark, Dustin is grinning into the camera, Mike’s arms are crossed, a grumpy look resting on his face, Will is smiling, Lucas is looking down at the girl leaning into his side. 

“That’s Max,” Eddie points at the redhead, “she’s kinda scary.” 

You giggle at the serious tone in his voice. 

“I have to agree with that.” Steve snorts, earning a short glance from you. He pulls his sleeves up and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, though you quickly look back down.

There is another picture of Mike and Dustin, both of them wearing the same shirt – The Hellfire Club. 

“What’s that?” You point at their matching shirts to which Eddie straightens up in his seat, already grinning. 

Nancy and Steve groan at him, causing you to frown. 

“I’m glad you asked, sweetheart.” He pauses, looking at Steve smugly. 

“That was his nerdy game club that I told you about before,” he rolls his eyes. 

“You didn’t tell me he had a club!” 

“Shame on you, Harrington. It was the best thing to ever exist beside Corroded Coffin, of course.” 

You know all about Eddie’s band already, he told you about it on your first night here, and showed you pictures of his sweetheart. 

“I beg to differ–”

Nancy sighs loudly beside you, leaning back in her chair as she prepares herself for their banter. 

“Dustin, my buddy, was very passionate about the club.” Eddie grins. 

“Oh yeah, that little nerd you stole from me?” Steve retorts, squinting his eyes at the metalhead. 

“I didn’t steal him, I’m just cooler than you, Harrington–”

“You– You literally play a boardgame, how is that cool? I was prom king!” 

“Oh my god,” Nancy mumbles, shaking her head. 

Her reaction tells you that she is used to this, and sick of it. 

You though, you can’t help but be amused, looking back and forth between them. 

“Cry me a river, Henderson thinks I’m better, in fact, all teens do.” Eddie shrugs and reaches for his beer. 

“Except Lucas,” Steve smirks. 

Eddie nearly chokes on his beer when he straightens up in his seat, “I apologized!” 

Steve shrugs at him this time, taking a sip of the whiskey he poured himself earlier. 

“What about you, sweets?” Eddie asks, turning to look at you, “what did you do in high school?”

Nancy turns to you, as well as Steve – and suddenly all eyes are on you and you can’t help but feel a little flustered beneath their gazes. 

“I uh… I was prom queen…” You admit shyly, not looking at the hazel eyes that stare at you intensely.

Eddie’s eyes widen, “oh, we have royalty up in here, Wheeler.” 

Nancy giggles at his reaction, more so at the look on your face. She’s not surprised, you’re beautiful and sweet. 

“You were prom queen?” 

Out of the three people around you, you least expected him to ask you anything, but just like before, the tone in his voice, his reaction leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You slowly look up at him. 

“You sound surprised and I’m kinda offended. Am I that ugly?” you joke but he notices how your shoulders fall a little. 

His cheeks heat up and he wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at Nancy’s and Eddie’s judging faces towards him. He shakes his head at you, “I– no, I didn’t mean that… I mean it’s not all about looks anyways.” 

You purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows at his words, taking a deep breath, “...so I am ugly?”

Nancy huffs beside you, glaring daggers into Steve. 

“I didn’t say that, I’m just saying that apart from looks… people vote for nice people,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat and under your gaze. 

Nancy is back to pinching the bridge of her nose, begging him with her eyes to just shut up. 

If only you looked to your right, you would have seen the stunned and comical look on Eddie’s face. 

“So you’re saying I’m nice?” You tilt your head at Steve, growing a little satisfied with the way he is squirming around. 

He sighs, clenching his jaw and turns away from you, “I’m done with this conversation.” 

“...You were a fucking asshole in high school. You got prom king because Billy was a bigger asshole.” 

“Were?” You blurt out, making him look back at you stunned. 

Nancy hides her giggle with a cough, earning a glare from him. 

“He redeemed himself at Scoops Ahoy,” Eddie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Scoops Ahoy?” 

Steve shakes his head at him, if looks could kill, Eddie would be lying on the floor, right now. 

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods. “He was an ice cream man, and wore a sailor outfit too.” 

“Wait, what?” You ask, stunned. You can’t even imagine that. “I refuse to picture him in a silly sailor outfit, I need proof or else I won’t believe it.” 

“Too bad. Every picture of me in that outfit is burned.” Steve declares, looking very convinced until he sees the smirk on Nancy’s face.

He clears his throat before he leans closer to the table, “Nancy Wheeler… do you have a fucking picture–”

“No, I was just smiling,” she shrugs but pulls out two pictures from the album and hands them to you, giving him a smug smile.

“No way,” you mumble as you take a good look at them. There he is, the man you thought had a serious job before all of this actually worked at an ice cream shop, wearing a sailor outfit, in the first picture he even wears a silly hat as he serves ice cream to someone not part of the picture. His hair was much shorter back then, so different from the mullet he now has. His eyes are crinkled, his smile so big and bright, his cheeks slightly pink, unlike the pale color in them now. He looked so different, he looked happy, he looked like a different person. 

You glance over at him to find him staring at you already, watching you. His hazel eyes are cold, the frown on his face so deep you are surprised there aren’t any lines on his skin yet, the light in his eyes has faded. There is nothing left of the guy he was before, at least at first glance. 

You look back down and focus on the second picture, placing it on top of the other – it turns out to be a mistake because for some reason, your eyes like what they see, a little too much. With his hands behind his back, he stands against a brick wall, wearing the same sailor outfit, though this time without the hat, his hair styled yet messy, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. You don’t know what it is about that picture, perhaps it’s his broad shoulders, the blonde highlights in his hair, the tanned skin or the way the golden light shines on him but he looks handsome – it’s something you haven’t noticed before, you aren’t blind, he is a good looking man but you couldn’t really see it before, not this clearly at least. His rude and mean attitude made it impossible to see, you couldn’t look past it. 

Your cheeks heat up a little, your ears do too, you sink deeper into your seat, hoping that none of them notice how flustered you feel. 

But Eddie does, he notices the way your eyes are basically glued to that picture, Nancy notices as well – they both glance at each other, amused. And Steve, he notices too, of course he does… The Steve from back then would have loved it, the flustered look on your face. 

As you hold the picture, you notice that the sides are frazzled, like a part is missing, like something or someone was cut out of both pictures. You look over them, taking a look at all the pictures lying around, of the teenagers, of other people you haven’t anything about yet, of Nancy’s family, of Eddie and Dustin and it only now dawns on you, that you stepped into something, that these people haven’t found each other in this world but in the one before – a tight circle, a family. 

A family you don’t belong in, you intruded – and now even more than before, you understand why Steve didn’t want you here, it wasn’t only about him not trusting you, it was about you stepping into something he didn’t want you to be a part of. 

This is his place of comfort that he didn’t want to share with a stranger. 

You hand the picture back to Nancy and reach for the wine Eddie had poured for you earlier, you take a big sip. 

Maybe you should have left when he told you to, maybe you should have done him a favor, you shouldn’t have broken into someone else’s home. 

“Is your brother older or younger?”

It wasn’t Nancy’s voice, nor was it Eddie’s.

It’s Steve’s. 

Not only do you look at him in surprise but also Nancy and Eddie. He ignores them though, keeping his eyes on you. 

You blink, putting the wine glass back down, you lick your lips. 

“Uh… he is older, he’s twenty four.” 

“Is he with your parents?” Nancy asks. 

You nod. 

“Yeah, he was home from college when it all… started. That idiot broke his leg during lacrosse, I don’t know why he kept trying with it, he was never the most athletic,” you chuckle. 

“Yeah, me neither. I always hated anything sport related,” Eddie says with wide eyes, earning a snort from Steve. 

“You’d get along well, he’s a major nerd.”

“Are you calling me a nerd, sweetheart?” Eddie pretends to be offended. 

“Uh,” you look him up and down, “yeah, major nerd just like my brother.”  

He nudges your side with his elbow, chuckling at the look on your face. 

Steve hides the smile on his face, looking down at his hands. 

“I’m hoping to get home, see a big gate surrounding my house, and I bet that asshole has a semi-automatic somewhere and is pretending to be in a zombie movie or something,” you chuckle. “He always dragged dad and me to the theater and forced us to watch the goriest shit. I used to hate it, now I want it back more than anything.” 

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, smiling at you. “Maybe you’ll do it again someday, maybe not at the theater but you could do movie nights with your family.” 

And his smile slowly fades again, he doubts that you will see your family again, he doubts that you’ll find them how you want to. He thinks it’s wrong of Eddie to fuel your hope, he is doing more damage than anything else and it’s gonna hurt even more when you find your family dead. 

There is no hope for anything or anyone in this world, it’s a foolish thing to have. 

You shrug, a smile on your face as you get up from the table to rush upstairs. Everyone just sits there wide eyed, looking at each other, hearing how there’s some stumping and then, something falling, and then you are cursing. Two seconds later you are coming back downstairs with something in your hands.

“This is my family.” You put the polaroids on the table, the ones you took back to camp so you would not miss your family so much. “That’s my mom, my dad, and the idiot of my brother.” 

They all grab a picture each. Eddie’s picture was of the four of you smiling while camping. Nancy’s was a picture of a family trip to the grand canyon, but Steve’s picture was something that made his heart shrink for some reason. The four of you were laughing, surrounding a christmas tree. You were younger, probably a teen, and it made him think of how now your personality made sense. 

You were never shown anything but love. Something he never experienced from his own family. He was slightly jealous at your picture, and he knew you were the only one between the four of you that had a normal and loving family. Nancy’s parents didn’t seem to love one another, Eddie’s father was an abusive asshole that ended up in jail and his mother passed away, and then there was Steve. Even with the apocalypse happening, his parents didn’t even care to find him. Find out if he was dead or not.

His eyes moved upwards to find you looking at him, and he wondered why you had a frown on your face. It wasn’t a second later that he felt his eyes burning and you could see the glistening of tears forming. He can’t cry. It’s stupid to cry about his family now. It’s stupid to cry about something he knew all along. It’s stupid to cry over people that he knew never cared for him.

“Your brother looks like Eddie.” Nancy suddenly speaks, making him look at her as well as you and Eddie. The metalhead tilts his head as he grabs Nancy’s picture and– 

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Sure, it was a picture of you four in the grand canyon, but it was your dad’s birthday, and your dad has a fear of pigs. Your brother had the greatest idea to put a pig's head over his head for the picture, and your dad was simply screaming bloody murder while you and your mom laughed.

“I mean, my brother doesn’t play that game you do, but he is a fan of star wars, and he read a lot of books! He liked one called The Hobbit?” Nancy and Steve groaned loudly at your words, which made you confused for just a few seconds and then you realized your mistake when Eddie was talking your ear off about why your brother was so cool, and the reason for that was because the plot for the hobbit was incredible.

And he explained it bit by bit and you didn’t know how to escape him. He was still talking about it like a kid on christmas as Nancy and Steve started washing the dishes, and you wanted to hit yourself for your big mouth. In all fairness, you didn’t know Eddie was gonna get as excited as he did.

“Anyways, what matters is, your brother is cool, so is Dustin and the other teens and Steve sucks.” At the sudden insult, Steve turns around with his hands covered in soap.

“What?” Eddie opened his mouth to probably repeat his words, only for Steve to shake his hands on his face, making the soap fly all around as well as water, and getting into Eddie’s mouth.

“GOD–” He screeched loudly as he got up from the table, rushing towards the sink to try to wash his tongue with the water while Nancy screamed at him to not waste it. Steve was smirking and all you could do was just stare at him. He was being playful. He was being more than the grumpy self he claimed to be with you. You started laughing loudly when Eddie insulted Steve with his tongue out, trying to not taste the soap anymore.

Steve shrugged as he wiped his hands away, turning to look at you doubling over in laughter and it made him feel less guilty for his actions of before. You weren’t immature. Your world was just always filled with love and affirmations, and you just wanted people to feel the same exact way you felt. It was a lost cause for him, but he felt good for making you laugh like this. It’s been a while since he made someone laugh.

It’s a good sound.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry

[edward-munson]

I don't care | S.H.

Summary: Taking care of Steve after he was attacked by an army of demobats seems like a lot of work, only because apparently he doesn't like you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of injury, allusion to smut

Word count: 2.2k

☆°•○♡

"You want them spicy or not?" You ask Steve as you make nachos for dinner for both of you.

He's lying on the couch, on his back. He still recovers from the attack of the demobats. His neck is almost fully scarred, but the bites on his stomach and his sides are still painful. You've been laying low together for close to two weeks.

Your friends didn't want to make you team up with them to find Vecna and kill him. Not that you're not brave or strong enough to do so. But you're still pretty new to all of this and someone had to stay with Steve. So you didn't even bother opposing the idea, even though he's not your biggest fan.

God knows why, he never told his reasons. And your friends didn't know either. Maybe Eddie did, but he wouldn't open his mouth about it.

"I still think this is really unnecessary. I'm not a fucking child" He complains as he walks past the kitchen door, leaning against the sink.

With crossed arms, he looks at your food. You made chilli beans, guacamole and cheese sauce for the spicy nachos. You look up at him, trailing your eyes on his neck for an instant before raising an eyebrow to him.

"You can't even hold your own weight, Harrington. Stop being a crybaby".

Steve scoffs at you, but doesn't move an inch from his position. "Jesus, I wish we had another plan".

You drop the spoon you were using, turning your face to look at him. "I'm only doing this because they asked me to. Get off your own ass".

You leave the kitchen, walking out to the bedroom you were sleeping on. You were staying at his house. It's not like there were other options, but you couldn't refuse to stay there when he's alone and barely walking. Well, he can walk. The worst part is that he needs rest because of his wounds.

The past two weeks you've been quite getting along. Not that much, really. It's not like you were friends. Probably more like close acquaintances. Because obviously, he was the one pushing you away.

You didn't leave your room for a while, you were too annoyed to eat, and since it was dinner for the two of you, it didn't feel like you should eat anymore. You decided to spend your time watching something on the TV, which would easily make you get bored.

And then you would read books, or write stuff. It's been pretty tough lately since Vecna appeared. Max almost got killed and now she was staying at Dustin's house. The other kids were coming back to Hawkins to help, maybe Eleven might be able to do something about that.

You actually wished you were doing something fun. Like, taking a trip to the beach or snowboarding since it's fall and the weather has been cold. Your thoughts were pushed back by a knock on the door. Steve didn't open it and you didn't mention doing it either, so he just stayed there.

"Sorry I was an idiot" His voice came out muffled through the closed door. "I know I've been cranky and annoying".

You only opened the door after a couple of minutes, not exactly sure if he was still there. But he looked up from the floor at you. "You used to be nice. I mean, way before this curse happened".

He stayed quiet, because you were right. But what else can he do if the world was turned upside down (almost literally) again? And you almost got them killed once, not on purpose of course.

You were also the one to get too close to Robin and he hated seeing his best friend sharing her friendship with someone else. Because up until then, he was the only one she was the closest he had to a friend, even though he had a strong relationship with Eddie too.

None of it was your fault, but he grew annoyed over you. He couldn't lie to himself and say you weren't too kind and helpful. But he started to become extremely unenthusiastic over you through the year.

"A lot has happened since then. I'm trying to live up to the fact that we're against another monster again" Steve leans an arm against the doorframe, but refuses to keep his gaze at you.

"Which isn't my fault, by the way. Not to mention I'm the one who pulled you out of the watergate before you were eaten".

Another few seconds of silence, which was followed by a sarcastic nasal laugh. He shook his head and hung it low to the floor.

"Oh, you want a prize for that? Because I remember clearly when I didn't ask for your help!" His words were harsh, even if not intended.

But now you were the one who didn't know what to say. Until you feel the bitter taste on your tongue.

"Guess I should've let them rip your skin apart, then".

He saw the door shutting in front of him, cursing himself for being extremely idiotic and insensitive. He almost felt like punching his own face for that.

Steve heard you talking to Eddie that night through your walkie talkie. It was a little bit hard to hear because the reception was static for you. But you could listen to Eddie and God, you missed him and the others. It started to become unbearable to live with Steve. He heard you lament the whole situation, complaining about the way you were treating each other.

He was bitter about the things they were going through. He was angry he couldn't have done more. And he was taking it out all on you. He couldn't face another apology on the same day, because he knew he didn't deserve to be forgiven. Not right now.

The next day, he made breakfast by himself. It took you by surprise, but by the time you were up, he had already eaten. And you wouldn't want to eat with him either. You remember Nancy saying the bickering was just "sexual tension" but you knew it didn't have anything to do with that.

Even though you felt your ears burning from the thought, you couldn't deny to yourself that he was pretty charming. And seeing him shirtless whenever he would change the gauze made you feel weird. God, his hair was always pretty while yours looked like a bird nest after waking up.

The day seemed to have lasted longer since you haven't exchanged a single word to each other. He was focused on watching movies, playing video games and listening to music. He was getting bored out of his mind, but there wasn't much he could do being injured.

You, on the other hand, went out to do some errands. In fact, you didn't care you left him alone. You were getting tired of staying inside. So you went to see Max, and invited her to eat at Burger King. She seemed to feel better to do something like that too. Everything seemed pretty fuzzy lately.

Will, Mike and Eleven were pretty close to Hawkins. Thanks to Argyle who thinks he's a speed racer, and Jonathan who encourages him to drive long hours so they can arrive as soon as possible.

It was almost 7 PM when you came back home. You've finally had some fun after a week. You obviously couldn't be going out since they still haven't found Vecna and he knows about you too. The man in front of you seemed pretty pissed that he didn't see you were out until he woke up two hours ago.

"What? Don't give me that father look" You dropped your backpack on the floor and followed upstairs.

He's got a whole show prepared and he wasn't feeling like he would regret it this time.

"You know you can't just fucking go out and yet, you still do" He walked behind you, like a mother scolding a child.

"Yeah, dad. I know so. But here I am, back in pieces" You turned on your heel to look at him before closing your door.

Much to your dismay, he was faster this time, holding it with his right foot and right hand. Even injured, he was still stronger than you.

"No, don't push it. You can be an easy target for him, you know that?"

You huff, dropping your arm to your side. "Look, Harrington. I'm an adult, and I'm very aware of what I do or don't do. So please, just stop making a scene and leave me the fuck alone".

Steve couldn't even stand arguing with you anymore, it was so tiring. But he knew he would blame himself if something ever happened to you out there. He couldn't let this happen to you, even though you've been annoying him for whatever reason.

He took a step towards you, his hands balling into fists. The way your eyes were boring into him in an unamused face irritated him even more.

"Look, honey" His tone was purely sarcastic and you felt it not only in his voice, but in his demeanor too. "You know you're putting yourself at risk doing that. If I'm not fucking sure you're safe as well, I won't live with that".

At each passing second, you could feel him walking to you, but you couldn't walk back. You couldn't run from him, you couldn't get away from him. You wouldn't, you didn't feel like you wanted to.

"And not just because of my friends, they sure would kill me. But because I couldn't lose another person" You feel his breathing hitting your face, his eyes flicking as he looks at you.

He looks down at you with such intensity, it's crazy how there's a magnetic pull towards him.

You hold his gaze, feeling a cold shiver down your spine. He didn't look like he was about to snap at you, even though his tone was a bit loud.

He furrows his brows when he sees your lip curling into a smirk. "Well, Steve" His fingers move by the sound of his name, you always call him Harrington. "I thought you didn't care if I died or not".

This time, he was the one to smirk at you. "Honey, I don't remember saying I never cared about you".

Your stomach sank at that. Because now as you think of it, it comes crashing down as a realization that he never really said anything related to that. He truly never spoke about it.

"Doesn't seem like it"

"You see, this is why you annoy me so much" His nose bumps into yours, but he still gazes at you like he doesn't mean to avoid eye contact.

"Yeah? Then you should–" He doesn't let you finish your sentence.

Steve crashes his lips against yours, his hands flying down your hips. He feels your immediate reaction as you don't correspond right away. For a few seconds, he thinks he's done the wrong thing and almost regrets it, until you grab him by the neck with both hands. You wrap your fingers around his neck, your fingertips grazing the nape of his hair.

Your lips are smacking his lips in a hurry, while he runs a hand to cradle your face. He slips his tongue into your mouth and holds his breath when he feels your tongue moving in sync with him. He doesn't want to admit this is what he wished he could've done before.

Steve has been so stressed lately that he could only think about defeating Vecna. He didn't realize how much you were willing to take care of him these weeks. All he knew was that he also had to take care of you. And this is why he became so angry when you left without him knowing.

Especially because if something did happen to you, he would feel the regret of being an asshole to you.

He rips a low whimper from you when he gently grasps your lower lip by his teeth as he heaves against your mouth. You're both too absorbed into your own feelings, leaving grunts and gripping each other everywhere.

His fingers were digging your skin every time you would kiss his jawline and he was growing eager. He didn't want to look like he was trying to take advantage of you, only noticing now how much you also wanted this.

He then roughly pulls your shirt off, watching as your chest is quickly rising and falling. And his eyes sparkled when he saw your cleavage for the first time like that. Your bra perfectly hugging your round big breasts.

Steve didn't wait any longer, holding your waist and pushing you back against your bed.

That night, he pounded on you just like you dreamed about. He slapped his hips against your ass just like you wished someone would one day. The air was filled with sounds and lust.

You didn't even notice when your friends arrived right after he had an orgasm. You didn't have time to get dressed, only getting caught when Robin opened the door to you both naked. He didn't have time to remove his condom. She saw you naked. And worse. She saw her best friend naked.

And you thought it was going to be awkward, until Eddie turned the awkwardness into "I knew these idiots would fuck".

The night was all about this. They decided to leave the Vecna subject for the next day.

[adilqalbi]

What's True Love If Not Necromancy?

pairing: ramdevi

tagging: @rc-catalog

word count: 799

tw: light mentions of death

rating: g

summary: a different take on devi waking up for the first time in hertfordshire, finding ram and their conversation.

additional note: A SUPER LATE birthday present for the one and only JB/ @webanglikethat!! Jbaby you're one of the greatest people I have had the honour of knowing. i did my best here but forgive any mistakes. i hope you have an amazing year and whatever troubles you, i hope it goes away asap. i'll always love you (platonically)

Ram hadn't realised just how much he missed Devi until the night she showed up to his room, complaining of a headache. 

She had been unconscious for weeks, but the British physicians had seemingly done their best to help her recover from her injury. 

Now, here she was, sitting on Ram's bed, breathing deeply and massaging her temples. 

Ram sat on the floor at her feet, watching her, his palms resting on her knees, waiting patiently for her to break their silence. 

Finally: ‘’Where are we?’’ Her voice was a whisper, and Ram had to lean in to hear the question. 

He sighed. She didn’t know. Of course, she had been dead, roaming around in the afterlife probably, and now she was back but in a foreign place. 

‘’We are in Britain. Hertfordshire.’’

‘’Hertfordshire? How? This…doesn’t make sense.’’

‘’Shh, I know it doesn’t. I’ll explain everything, rakshasi.’’ Ram ran his hand through Devi’s messy hair, trying to calm her down. 

‘’Please, Ram. Just tell me. I was dead. Dead. What happened?’’

Ram bit his lip. There was no delaying this. She had to know. 

He sat down next to her on the bed, took her hand in his and began. 

‘’You did die. Dixit stabbed you. But, you killed him before your final breath. And, then you died.’’

Devi was silent. 

‘Ram continued: ‘’I figure you would be upset to know that the last time you breathed was in…Christian’s arms.’’ 

‘’By the gods. Dying in the arms of a foreigner.’’ 

‘’Yes, well, it’s okay though. We got you back very quickly.’’

Devi looked up at Ram. ‘’Yes, how did you manage that?’’

Ram rubbed his neck, nervous, ‘’There’s this ritual that can be done. It had never been successful before but it worked with you for some reason.’’

‘’A ritual?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’It had never worked before?’’

‘’No.’’

‘’But, here I am.’’

‘’Indeed.’’

Devi rolled her eyes. ‘’Of course, you would know a ritual. But wasn’t it too big a risk?’’

Ram looked at the bedroom floor, dark oak. He was silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. 

It was risky to have done the ritual. He could have made everything worse. But, he knew one thing was true, which would never change. 

‘’I wanted to do everything in my power to get you back. I don’t think I could live without you.’’

Ram looked directly into Devi’s eyes, ‘’Five years, Devi. Five years of stolen glances, and flirty jokes, and searching for each other in the crowd and yet not being able to talk openly. I’d already suffered for five years, without you by my side.’’ Ram stopped here, his voice failing him. 

Devi completed his thoughts: ‘’And after five years, once we just began taking steps towards…happiness…that’s when I was taken away from the world of the living. And you…’’

‘’Couldn’t bear it. Not for one minute.’’ 

Devi curled her lips inwards, not sure what to say to Ram’s sudden confession. 

‘’I’m sorry, maybe this was too much altogether.’’ Ram quieted down, mentally berating himself for not keeping his mouth shut. He was always so good at it, so what happened now?

The next thing he knew was that Devi was holding his hand tighter. ‘’No, Ram. It’s…I appreciate you so much. I love you dearly. It’s just that…I don’t know. I just wasn’t expecting it.’’

Ram raised his eyebrow, askance. 

‘’You were the one who said that what we have can’t be anything more than a secret.’’ Devi smirked, her old self coming back slowly as her mind got used to being alive again. ‘’What changed?’’

Ram looked at her again, her sparkling eyes, her smile. He thought back to how she laughed. 

‘’I want to make you laugh, I think. I want to do that for the rest of my life.’’ 

Devi blinked. She had expected a sarcastic joke, but this was serious. 

She smiled softly again, rubbing her thumb against Ram’s palm. 

‘’Ram…truly…I’d love to laugh with you forever. But-’’

‘’Oh god, there’s a but.’’ 

Devi, ironically laughed, ‘’Listen to me, you rakshasa. But now was not a good time to confess. I came back to life  half an hour ago. I’m pretty sure my body isn’t used to being alive currently. I think I need to sleep, actually. So, if you would please continue your tale of true love later on, I’d love to be able to sleep.’’

‘’True love? What do you mean true lov - wait!’’

It was no use. Devi was already under the covers with her eyes closed.

Under the covers. Sleeping. 

On Ram’s bed. 

In Hertfordshire. 

Where the maids liked to gossip. 

He looked at the empty side of the bed. He thought about it for perhaps one minute. Then he cuddled in right next to his true love.

[slimybeth69]

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

w/c~ 8k

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself. 

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

--

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now. 

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you? 

Hurting you.

You like it. 

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister. 

You’re being bad. 

You like it. 

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it. 

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake. 

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize. 

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a  flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you. 

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell. 

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move. 

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps. 

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly, 

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets. 

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs. 

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table. 

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you. 

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little. 

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead. 

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate. 

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that. 

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst. 

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing. 

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either. 

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list,  but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on. 

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here. 

Now you’re gettin’ it. 

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. 

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then. 

But ya’ didn’t! 

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished. 

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate. 

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly. 

--

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat. 

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’. 

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing. 

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying. 

He’s got a collar on. 

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen. 

It makes him smile. 

--

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face. 

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach. 

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little. 

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair. 

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick,  heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks. 

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands. 

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here. 

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe. 

Who made sure that he was safe? 

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of. 

The only thing you wanted in return was his company. 

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it. 

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other. 

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain. 

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed. 

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink. 

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip. 

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone. 

The romance novels are almost bare. 

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it. 

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf. 

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition. 

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through? 

No. 

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one. 

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker. 

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times. 

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase. 

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition. 

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach. 

Sad. 

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape. 

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun. 

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it. 

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists. 

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to. 

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion. 

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at. 

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate. 

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm. 

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand. 

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep. 

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court. 

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.” 

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?” 

“Yup.” 

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time. 

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement. 

He wonders if you’re even real. 

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off. 

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me? 

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined. 

Why does he even care? 

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart. 

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–” 

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here. 

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.” 

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower. 

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly. 

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you. 

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend. 

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter. 

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing. 

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually. 

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man. 

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind. 

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick. 

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair. 

Joel. 

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth.  “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem

please don't hate me if I forgot you, I have a hamster brain, ok?

[jinmindeulle]

vulnerable | k. mingyu, j. wonwoo (1)

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 kim mingyu x fem!reader x jeon wonwoo

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 3.3 k

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angst, fluff | friends-with-benefits!mingyu, neighbor-and-highschool-crush!wonwoo | you decide! mingyu (pt. 2) or wonwoo (pt.3)

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 mentions about sex i guess?

when mingyu realizes that things are not going like he'd like between you two, he asks for some distance. lucky for you, your high school crush was waiting for you some doors away.

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

“I don’t wanna fuck tonight”

For how Mingyu plopped himself onto your couch as soon as you opened the door to your apartment, it was pretty clear that he had just come by to spend the night cuddling with you — and you weren’t complaining. You loved being engulfed by your friend’s bulky arms and how he couldn’t get enough of you, even when you were fully clothed and talking about Love Island.

“What’s got you so sulky?” you asked, kissing the top of his head as you walked past him on your way to the kitchen. “You’re lucky I just got started with dinner”

“My boss is a pain in the ass — by the way, those shorts look fire on you” after giving the longest sigh you had ever heard coming from him, the man turned his head your way and winked.

You looked down at your legs and chuckled. Those shorts were the oldest, most worn-out you had in your closet. “I bet they do. Wanna talk about that boss of yours?”

“Nah, work belongs at work. Whatcha cooking?”

“I was craving some japchae.”

“Remind me again, how are you just my fwb?”

A soft giggle escaped your lips, and you just turned around to get started on your dish, not noticing how serious his question had been. The truth was, he was your best friend, with benefits, of course, but that was a line that Mingyu had never wanted to cross when you first started fooling around. 

The first time had been your fault, and Mingyu was always ready to throw that on you whenever he had the chance. You were a little bit drunk, not enough not to remember what happened the next day, but far away from the perfectly reasonable woman you normally were. 

The thing was, even when you were in all your senses and could discern wrong from right, Mingyu had always been an attractive fellow. Aside from his obvious heavenly looks, you felt satisfied and joyful when he favored you over other plans and even other girls. Mingyu looked at you with a softness that you knew only saved for you, and that had gotten into your heart… just a little. 

The pint of beer he treated you that night for helping him set up his new wardrobe made it easier for you to lean a little closer and press your lips to his. 

He looked at you with extremely big eyes but a smirk that you rarely saw while alone with him. “Sorry. You wouldn’t stop rambling” you said, which was partly true. Gyu had just started working as the editor-in-chief of a well-renowned newspaper and liked to tell you all about his new co-workers.

When you took it back to your place, it was obvious that Mingyu was okay with the idea of you kissing him. Now, he was the one bringing his lips to yours after you closed the door behind you. 

“I wanna keep being friends” 

Though it broke your heart a little, you had to admit you were fine with his proposal — just because it meant you gained new rights with the one man you had shared most of your life with. In between hot kisses, you nodded and in a mutual agreement, decided to let it happen. 

“You cannot violate the contract, Gyu” taking the veggies out of the fridge, you reminded him of the spoken agreement you had come to that day. We can kiss, we can have sex. We are not exclusive, we cannot be jealous. We can make it stop when one of us asks to. Keep it private.

“We never said anything about the label” Mingyu got up from the couch and decided to help you out, chopping the carrots you had saved for later.

“What part of ‘We are not exclusive’ equals having a label?” you asked, too concentrated on measuring the right amount of sauce to see the look he gave you.

“But we act as exclusive” 

What was wrong with him today? He had never dared to question whatever thing you got going on after the ‘main event’, so him throwing so many daggers at you regarding your situationship was weird enough to trigger you.

“What’s on your mind? It’s been almost a year of our little fuck-buddies thing and you never asked such dramatic questions”

He sighed and stopped working on the carrots, pressing his left hip to the kitchen counter and leaning on it. After some minutes of silence, he crossed his arms on his chest. “I don’t know. I guess the not-exclusive part but quite literally being exclusive has been on my mind lately. What makes us different from a couple?”

As you finished seasoning the beef, you cleaned your hands and faced him, not sure if you were getting his troubles. “Are you worried that because we are not fucking other people we are becoming ‘a couple’?” 

“Don’t you think so? I mean…” he scratched the back of his head, avoiding your eyes as the thought of you being a couple started to become a reality in his mind. “We act like boyfriend and girlfriend when we are around, we have amazing sex, we-w-we,” he stuttered “We adore each other”

“What I don’t get is,” you came closer to his broad form, looking up to his eyes “Why are you so worried about that?”

“Because I-I” his stutters were not so common on him, and that made you arch an eyebrow. He was not being his usual self “I don’t want us to be a couple” He sentenced.

Bold of you to assume that he was falling in love with you.

Nodding with a lump forming in your throat, you took a step back and dealt with your disappointment as well as you could “What do you suggest, then?”

“Go out with other people. Reject me from time to time, tell me you’ve got plans even when you don’t. Share your bed with another man. Just… don’t let me be the only one around you.”

“Then leave. I’ve got other plans”

. . . . . . . . . .

You hadn’t seen him ever since he left your dorm that eerie evening — over a week ago. He had shot you some texts, but the realization that you were actually feeling things for him beyond what he was willing to offer put a restraint on your replies. They were shorter, emojiless, and a bit bitter. 

Mingyu had wanted to see you two times, Thursday first and Saturday last. I’ve got plans, your default reply to both, and probably to all the invitations that were to come from him. He was getting what he had asked for: no more couple behavior.  

As you finished massaging your night cream with the ‘miraculous’ gua sha onto your jawline, your phone buzzed. An unknown number had sent you a text. 

Hi, Y/N

I know this is weird, but I heard you recently moved

And I think we’re neighbors

What an idiot, this is Jeon Wonwoo

The heat that you felt creeping on your cheeks was not normal, but you were used to it. Jeon Wonwoo had been the crush of your teenage (and not so teenage) years, all the way through high school and even your part-time job at Mrs. Lim’s café right before starting college. 

The seventeen-year-old version of you would be giggling and running around your dorm at just the thought of him and his cute-ass rounded glasses.

Oh my, hi Wonwoo! 

That’s awesome! I moved here a month or so ago, but I never saw you around

I’m at 12A 

Wbu?

As you saved his contact, you thought about how bad in love you had been with him in the past. 

He was the type of guy you had fantasized about for many years, even after meeting Mingyu. Wonwoo was serious at work and even in high school — his responsibilities had always come before anything else and you loved that about him. You just knew he was going to be a successful man in whatever he decided to do in life. And he got all the girls ogling at him, no matter where he went. 

That had been about eight years or so ago. You couldn’t wait to see how handsome he had gotten with time. 

No way

I’m at 16B

You home now?

I’d love to catch up

Just finished preparing some bibimbap

Oh. Dear. Lord.

You entered your closet as fast as you could and discarded the pajama set you had on with the ease that not even Mingyu could master. Your eyes fell on a casual summer dress that was your go-to whenever you needed an easy but cute way out and quickly threw it on.

Before throwing your night skincare routine to the trash with some light makeup, you replied to Wonwoo’s texts.

Sounds yummy! 

Be there in 5

After combing through your (thankfully recently) washed hair, you sprayed your favorite perfume on and took a deep breath. 

“Okay, little Y/N, here we go”

Nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting for you behind the 16B door. 

Jeon Wonwoo was as painfully handsome as he had been as an adolescent. Years had perfectly sat with him and that made your gut relive that tingling sensation you hadn’t felt for a long time. His glasses were still there — a more modern version of his older ones, but they screamed Wonwoo. 

“Oh wow,” he smiled, eagerly blinking, as if he had a blurry vision “I-I didn’t expect you to be quite literally the same as in high school” he smiled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Should I feel offended by that?” you giggled, looking down at your feet to avoid displaying the same dorky smile you did when around him. 

“Of course not! You were always a sight to see. I-I mean, you look beautiful, Y/N. It’s so nice to see you again”

You couldn’t help but think about how many times you had wished for him to look at you like that. To tell you those sweet things and leave you a blushing mess. After what had happened with Mingyu, having your longest-to-date crush in front of you seemed like you were already using all the luck you had available in life. 

“Come in!” he interrupted your thoughts, moving aside so you could enter his place. 

What came after that felt like a dream. Wonwoo was a dream. 

His apartment was very similar to yours, and what didn’t surprise you at all was how well-kept it looked. Though it was all neatly white and gray, bits of his personality were spread around them. Some artwork hung behind the couch, in front of which stood a very big SmartTV. He had two shelves with a handful of PlayStation games and cutesy plants.  

But what caught your attention the most was a small cat scratcher in the corner of the living room.

“You have a cat?!” You asked, eyes sparkling with anticipation as you turned to face him.

“Well… I’m about to have a cat” he chuckled, signaling you to walk to the kitchen with his head. As you followed suit, he continued “I’m waiting for my brother to bring it home tomorrow”

“Oh my God, it must be the cutest thing ever!” you cried, holding your cheeks with your hands as he showed you a picture of the small creature on his phone “It’s so tiny!” you whined, feeling excitement for what was about to come for Wonwoo “Please invite me over when it arrives” you pleaded, taking his arm to emphasize the importance your request. 

“You will be here, don’t worry”

The security with which he delivered that statement sent shivers down your spine. That confidence was new to you — this Wonwoo was new to you, and you couldn’t wait to explore him.

His bibimbap was delicious, and conversation flowed effortlessly between the two of you. 

Wonwoo had been working as a corporate lawyer for quite some time. Just as you had predicted, he handled big responsibilities like negotiating contracts, dealing with lawsuits, and advising companies on legal matters. He even mentored younger employees and, in his words, was respected but not necessarily liked. 

“I don’t believe that” you shook your head, putting down the chopsticks after finishing the delight he had cooked. 

“That’s me at work. I have a hard time with stupid-ass people”

“Now that I think about it… you did have a hard time with stupid-ass people at the café too”

“See? Not much has changed” He smiled at you, taking the empty plates and putting them into his small dishwasher. “So.. how’s life?”

That was a hard one. Of course, you were not about to rant about how Mingyu, a guy he had never met, had decided to end whatever you had just because he didn’t like commitment. Wonwoo didn’t need to know the hardships of your recently deceased situationship, so you opted to open a door you were now comfortable with opening. 

“26, single, working from Monday to Friday, reading books, and watching reality shows from Saturday to Sunday. A great catch, huh?” the joke-not-so-joke was well-directed because it had the effect you had intended. 

“If you take into account that I’m 28, also single and working from Monday to Friday, playing video games and maybe working out from Saturday to Sunday, I surely think you are an amazing catch” 

But that left you speechless. Wonwoo had never been that direct, even when you had teased him about the long lines of girls drooling on him during high school.

“That job of yours did wonders for your flirting skills, let me tell you” you giggled, feeling the same old tingling sensation on your stomach. 

When it finally hit you that the following day was Monday and the clock was close to 12 sharp, you regretfully made your way to the door. “It was so good to see you again Wonwoo. Thank you for the delicious food”

“I had a blast. Thank you for accepting the last-minute invite. So.. ’ll see you tomorrow?” his gentle smile and glistened eyes made you want to kiss him right then and there. But it felt too rushed, too desperate. And Mingyu was still on your mind, no matter how much you hated him lately. 

“I get home from work at around 7. Sounds good?”

“Do you still like ramen?” 

“Hands down my favorite dish of all time” you nodded eagerly, excitement creeping around you.

“You will taste the best one as of yet”

“Can’t wait”

. . . . . . . . . .

You loved your high-pressure job. As expected when working in finance, your team usually makes big decisions about the company’s mergers, stock trading, and investments. It demanded a lot of strategic thinking, and thankfully you were quite good at it. However, that also meant that you would end up exhausted, literally collapsing on your couch every single day.

But that Monday evening could not be the case.

As soon as you went out of the elevator, you could see his tall frame resting on the wall beside your apartment door, clearly waiting for you. You stood still for a second and considered going down the hall again before he could see you in an attempt to avoid the awkward conversation that was about to happen. But Mingyu was faster and turned around just when the elevator door closed. 

“Are you moving anytime soon?” he crooked his eyebrow, waiting for you to get inside.

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to make up with you”

You felt silent as you opened the door, Mingyu’s gaze burning into you, his body too close for your liking. You could smell his manly perfume and that hit in places you would rather not. He had the same effect on you as he always did, and you hated yourself for letting him in so easily.  

“I have to leave soon, so make it short” you discarded your bag and waited for him to speak, hands on your hips. 

Mingyu stood by the door, studying your every move. You could see his brain making mental gymnastics to understand your new demeanor with him because you had never treated him like that. So crude, so direct, so painfully detached. But that was what you wanted him to feel — he had made you want that. 

“When I said that I didn’t want us to be a couple I didn’t mean to stop seeing each other. I suggested you start seeing other people and spending a little less time on our own. But you cut ties altogether” It hurt you to see him looking at you with glistened eyes, and even though he tried to hide it, you noticed how his lower lip trembling. That… you didn’t expect that “I love hanging out with you. I love what we had.”

“I don’t get you,” you shook your head when you finally wrapped your head around what he was saying “You were clear when you said that you wanted us to still fuck around but not all the time. And I understood. So, when I finally comply with your wishes, you tell me you loved what we had?”

“I don’t see what you don’t get” he took a step forward, reaching out to brush your fingers with his “I was happy with how things were going, but I just… I needed to make sure we were following the rules”

The contradiction was so clear to you that your head was about to explode. “You were happy but because we were not following one stupid rule, which you considered to be more important than what we had, you had to ruin it”

Mingyu opened his mouth to respond, but you shook your head and prevented him from saying anything else “You clearly have some shit to reflect on, Gyu. I love you and I had a great time with you, but I just cannot keep on doing this if you are worried about what we are rather than how we feel. Have you stopped to think about why we never slept around with other people? Why we were so comfortable with one another, no matter if we had sex or not?” you pressed your hands to his cheeks, taking in how vulnerable he looked. His eyes were fixated on yours, standing still in his place, listening attentively “The rule was there because we decided to create it at a time when we didn’t know where this was heading. It felt natural because we were transforming a friendship into something else… we thought we were going to stop on a middle ground between friendship and a couple's relationship. But by now you and I know we were exclusive, we were around each other all the time — we just were private.”

“I-I…,” Mingyu mumbled slowly reaching to put his hands on yours, still holding his face “I never realised it” The weakness with which he delivered it made your heart twitch. 

“I know. I think, deep down, we were aware of what we were — putting on the label was the scary part. But, Gyu…,” you smiled a little and decided it was best to end the conversation there “We don’t have to do this. You don’t want commitment, and that’s fine” 

“I don’t know what I want” he closed his eyes, slowly taking a breath. 

“Go home and take your time.” 

It felt like a farewell. You were sure he was not ready to commit with you, or any other woman. You loved him, yes, and you were willing to wait for him to decide, no matter how disadvantageous the situation was for you. But you also knew there was someone else waiting for you in 16B.

So you kissed Mingyu, taking his lips with soft care, sighing when he took you by the waist and pressed you against his hard chest. He hugged your lips with his in a desperate attempt to get all he could from this last one, and hopefully remember how you felt for the nights that he was about to spend all alone, wishing to have you by his side.

“Go” you whispered against his lips, taking him by the arms and pushing him away.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N”

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

part 1 | you decide... mingyu (2) or wonwoo (3) soon!

please like and reblog!

[just-wrting]

Think I Like You

Title: Think I Like You

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Half Mink!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Master List

Summary: You try to figure out why Zoro won’t take you seriously even if the answer isn’t what you expect.

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m just all over the place with a lot of stuff. I sleep a lot which I can’t tell if it’s a sleep issue or a depression issue, but I’m always tired. I still work full time but also do school part time now. Plus I’ve still got a boyfriend! But he wanted to end this weekend on 1062 which means Zoro brainrot for me.

You stretch and roll over, burying your face into your pillow. Ever since you changed where you nap, you've started sleeping so much better. Something about being more comfortable or something like that. The actual reason doesn't really matter. You're just happy you're sleeping better.

"You owe me for this."

"I don't owe you shit. Not my fault you nap in my spot." You reach up and pat his cheek. "What do I need to do for you to be quiet?"

"I already told you, you owe me."

You open your eyes just a little. "What could I possibly owe you? I don't like to drink, I don't keep money, not to mention I can't even tell if you're the type of man to be swayed by physical charms. What could I possibly offer you, Roronoa?"

"For starters, you can start referring to me by my name like everyone else does." He looks pissed. "You should fight me."

"You didn't take me seriously last time, Moss Head. Why would I bother trying again?"

He pulls on your ear. "I said like everyone else, not like how that idiot says my name."

You ignore him and bury your nose in his stomach. Dinner has been started, and if you don't ignore it you'll end up going to the kitchen early. It's less that Sanji minds seeing you, it's more of the fact that you struggle to suppress the urge to knock shit off the counter and dip your fingers in the sauces. Such is the life of someone like you.

You let yourself doze a little. You can still hear what's going on, but just like every common house cat, you ignore it. What you can't ignore is the gentle scratching behind your ears. As far as you remember, no one has done this since you were a kid. You don't hate the feeling, but you start to feel flustered over it. Ever since you left home, you've made sure affection comes at your own terms so you haven't had this in years.

There's no point in asking him to stop. You're clearly fond enough of him to nap on him, what's the big deal about getting ear scratches? Besides, he's the type to get embarrassed and loud if you point out you're awake. That's not something you feel like dealing with right now. You're too touch starved to complain.

Despite the comfortable conditions, you don't actually fall asleep. You spend the next forty-ish minutes pretending to sleep, waiting for dinner to be done. The time passes by relatively quickly, though you're sore afterwards. You couldn't bring yourself to even twitch, worried that he'd stop.

The dinner call goes off, and you pretend to wake up. You have no clue why you're acting, but it was too late to stop twenty minutes ago. Standing up, you stretch halfheartedly. At first, he doesn't say anything. It's only once he catches up to you that he starts asking questions.

"What's the deal with the noise you make?"

Raising an eyebrow, you look at him. "I don't snore, so I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not stupid, I can tell you aren't snoring. The other noise, the one that's relaxing. I can usually feel it when you're laying directly on me."

"What do you mean? The other noise?" You pause to think it over before it clicks. "We aren't talking about that."

You know what he's referring to. It's not like it's something you can control, but it's still embarrassing. Of all people to be you around, it's been Zoro. No one on the crew has judged you for being what you are, it's just embarrassing to be a mix. Your mother's human, and your dad's a mink. You look decently human, just with a few quirks.

"What do you mean, we aren't talking about it? We're talking about it right now."

Your face starts to heat up. "I mean I don't want to tell you."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why not? Is it supposed to be embarrassing or something?"

"If I say yes, will you drop it?"

"Yeah, sure."

His face instantly relaxes. If you could smack him, you would. The last time you tried, it hurt. So you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a push. The only thing it does is cause his other shoulder to hit the doorframe, but you use it to march past him.

You take your seat, leaning back against the armrest of the booth seat. Kicking your feet up on the space next to you, you watch the crew carefully. Everyone is smiling and in a good mood, so you don't have anything to worry about. You don't ever admit it, but you care about them even if it's difficult to show.

Zoro picks up your legs and lays them in his lap. Since it doesn't seem to bother him, you're tempted to just sit normally. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his, and you doubt he does either. However, you actually do enjoy touching him, so you'll stay like this for now.

There's more commotion as Sanji brings out the plates. The one you're most interested in is a large tuna fillet that gets set in the middle of the table. You can't stop staring at it, the tender flesh a beautiful golden color. It's hard to tell if it smells better than it looks or looks better than it smells. Sanji has never failed to impress you with his dishes, so you can't wait to sink your teeth in.

Before you can even start to load your plate, Sanji sets a small plate in front it you. It contains a disk of packed rice, some avocado slices, and chunks of fish. You're assuming it's more of the tuna. Whatever it is, it was made specifically for you.

You don't mind the special dishes. You'll try almost everything, and unlike Luffy, you'll eat it slow enough to give a review. Everything tastes good so you don't get the point, but it probably makes Sanji feel better to have honest reviews and not just someone who loves food fawning over his cooking. Though if you're not careful, you worry that he'll start having write an essay about it.

"And for you, a special tune tartare! If you like it, I'll make it again for everyone some time."

You nod. "Yeah, I'll let you know. I always do. Not that you've ever made a bad dish."

You can't stop the tip of your tail from flicking back and forth in mild annoyance. By the time you get halfway through the tartare, all of the fillet is gone. It's not like it's the biggest deal, you just wish you could've had some of that too. It's not fair that since you got a special tuna dish, that you don't get the other one.

"If you tell me what that noise was, I'll share," Zoro teases while pointing at you with a bite of tuna. "I bet you can't resist answering now."

"I'm a cat. I was making a normal noise that cats make. Consider it a compliment."

You lean forward and take the bite of tuna. It's flakey and melts on your tongue with a slightly sticky glaze that has hints of honey and garlic. You lick your lips savoring the balance of flavors. None of them are overwhelming, but it's hard to gauge in just one bite what you think about it.

"You can't just," Zoro stutters. "You can't just take the food off of my chopsticks. Get your own!"

You grab his wrist and lick the glaze off of the chopsticks. It feels like there's another flavor there that you can't quite tell what it is. It's some sort of herby flavor, that while you enjoy, you can't pin down.

"Here!" Zoro doesn't look at you as he shoves his plate towards you. "Just take it since I don't want your germs."

You want to tease him, but you'll leave him alone. It's better to leave it in front of other people since Robin's insinuations are becoming too much. For now you'll just eat the food. Later, you'll tease him.

—-

"You're still not taking me seriously, Roronoa. Why did you want to fight if you won't take me seriously?"

You lunge, hand reaching for his throat. He blocks it with his arm, causing your claws to dig into his skin. Using his arm as leverage, you pull yourself closer to him, swinging your sword at his side. His parry is effortless, and he looks bored. It's so aggravating that he won't take you seriously in a simple sparring match. Perhaps he'd take you more seriously if you actually tried to kill him.

You disengage before leaping over him. This time, you swing your sword at his neck as he turn around. It's once more blocked, and he smirks. You're just barely faster than him as he takes a halfhearted swing at your sword arm with his other arm. You catch the flat of the blade with your knuckles, steeling your arm against the shock wave of the blow.

Kicking your leg out in front of you, you aim for his knees, intending to bring him down. Despite the grip on his sword, he catches your ankle in his hand and pulls your leg to the side. You let your body pivot with the movement, twisting until your leg is behind you. You yank your foot forward as hard as you can, pulling him into your back.

He's quick to let your ankle go and grab your shoulder to steady himself. In a fluid motion, you swing your arm and grab your dagger. You flick it in your fingers and thrust towards his ribs. His hand trails down your arm to your wrist and pins it behind your back. He gives it a squeeze trying to get you to drop the dagger.

"Are you actually trying to kill him?" Nami tells from the side. "Are you stupid?"

You roll your eyes, sweeping your leg behind you and hooking Zoro's. Despite your efforts, you can't get him off balance, only causing him to take a step back. By now you're getting pissed off. You aren't a bad swordsman, it's just that this jerk is ridiculously smart in battle. This is probably the only time he'll use his brain all day.

You jerk your head back, hitting his jaw. The sound of the impact makes you regret it, knowing you'll feel like shit later. You manage to free yourself as he loosens his grip, and you elbow him as you twist back around. The only reason you're still going is because he won't take it seriously. It's like he finds it funny that he's able to fend you off so easily.

You rush towards him, tossing your weapons to the ground. Digging your claws into his shoulders, you use your momentum to knock him over. It only works because he's too busy rubbing his jaw to notice you in time. The two of you tumble to the deck, and you lean in as close as you can.

"Why won't you take me seriously? Is this just a game?"

Faster than you can blink, he's able to flip and pin you under him. He's even more smug than the last time you sparred, and you can't tell if you want to smack him or if you should kiss him. Not that you could smack him, he's got your hands above your head. While kissing him would let you win, you're not willing to fight that dirty in a friendly match.

"You're a brute, Zoro. You can't just manhandle the other crewmates just because you feel like it." Sanji pulls him off you. "If you were in the mood to fight I would've taken the offer."

You tune out their fight as Chopper checks your head and shoulder. You're a bit sore now, but you'll be fine in a few hours. Nothing keeps you down for long, even if it's usually just you going against the doctor's orders. The only thing actually bothering you is the fact that for a moment you thought he was going to answer your question. Though the fact you thought about kissing him is also an issue.

It's not difficult to figure out why you thought that way. Your parents made sure that you knew to find someone strong enough to protect you in case of something happening, even if you knew how to take care of yourself. That, and he's easy on the eyes. Even if he's an idiot half of the time, that doesn't matter. Your parents never said to find a smart man, just a strong one. Everything else was your choice.

Chopper hands you a damp towel, and you use to clean under your claws. Tiny spots of blood rest under them, probably from when you grabbed Zoro. If the pinprick wounds bothered him, he doesn't show it. He's too busy trying to shove Sanji off the boat. As long as you stay dry, it doesn't matter if they end up overboard. They can both swim.

After a few minutes, Nami separates them. You watch her glare at the men before you stalk off to take another nap. The sun is just starting to dip below the water, so finding a nice patch of sun to lick your figurative wounds isn't possible. You'll have to settle for sulking in some weird spot. Perhaps it's time to torment the fish in the tank once more.

Lounging on the sofa is probably the second best place to nap. The sound of the tank constantly humming while you watch the fish swim in tempting circles puts you at ease. You stretch out fully, let your arm and tail hang off the edge. The tip of your tails twitches slightly as you trace the movement of a particularly large bass. That should be tomorrow's lunch, perhaps in a stew. Even though it hasn't been long since you had food, your mouth starts to water at the idea of seafood stew.

"He really doesn't take you seriously, does he?"

You recognize Robin before she even speaks. Her stride is longer than Nami's with her steps being lighter than everyone else's. Not to mention she smells floral. It's never overpowering, but it allows you to pick her out from the crew.

"I guess not. Maybe I should've gone for his other eye."

She laughs, sitting down next to you. You aren't opposed to the company, especially if it's Robin. There something about her that puts you at ease.

"I don't think he'd like that," she muses. "What did he say to you?"

You scoff. "He didn't say anything. Bet he's too proud to take me seriously, like the jerk he is."

Robin smiles knowingly. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Maybe you should talk to him, just the two of you. I'm sure he'd tell you when no one else is around."

You frown. "What is he? A shy school boy? There's only one reason for not taking me seriously in a fight, and it would be him not thinking I'm even worth it. No point in having him tell me that in private, he can just keep it to himself."

She reaches out her hand, gently brushing your hair from your eyes. "Then what do you think about him?"

"I think he's an idiot who swapped out his brain for more muscles."

"Let me rephrase that. What feelings do you have about him?" There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "At least figure that out."

You shift so you can place your head in her lap. "I guess he's fine most of the time. I don't know why I enjoy his company, I just do. He's never really pushed me on anything, just sort of letting me do my own thing. Not to mention he's comfortable. As much as I hate admitting it, I suppose I like being around him."

She continues to brush your hair with her fingers silently. It's one of those tactics of hers. She'll stay quiet until you keep talking.

"What do you want me to say? He's nice enough to me, I can respect him as vice-captain, and he's decent looking. Everything else I think about him is my little secret." You're starting to get irritated talking about him. "Actually, I think I'll go talk to him now. I'll drag that answer out of him if I have to."

Robin looks at you with worry as you sit up. "Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding. What are you going to do if his answer isn't what you expect?"

"I'll deal with it when it happens," you say with a shrug. "It's not like it'll be anything surprising."

You take your time wandering around the ship. It's not hard to tell where he is, you'd rather put it off for a little bit longer. This weird feeling in your chest has been bothering you a lot lately. It can't be ignored anymore, but that doesn't mean you're one hundred percent ready to admit it.

Thankfully, he's exactly where you knew he was. You won't tell him that you enjoy finding him when he's working out. Something about him being shirtless is nice. Not that he usually bothers with wearing a shirt, so you can usually just stare whenever you want. Maybe he just likes the attention, and you'll gladly give it to him.

As soon as he leans back on the bench, you sit on his lap and stretch out over his torso. You rest your chin on your hand, pressing your palm on his chest. Watching as he sets the barbell back on the stand, you wait for him to start talking. It would be fine with you if he kept working out, but he seems opposed to the idea.

"Is bothering me amusing to you?"

You tilt your head slightly. "You're not cute when you're mad, so no. I was just hoping we could talk."

"You don't have to sit on me to talk."

"That's just personal preference. Besides, you tend to avoid talking about certain things and this keeps you from leaving." you say with a Cheshire grin. "I enjoy your touch, so this is ideal for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zoro looks away from you. “You keep saying weird stuff.”

You don’t even blink as you respond, “I enjoy your touch. That’s what that means. I’ll even be nice and tell you the answer to your question from earlier. As a cat, I sometimes purr when I feel comfortable and content. Though some cats purr when scared.”

“So you’re scared of me? Is that what that means?”

“No. The only thing particularly scary about you is the fact that you’re an idiot.” Your ears twitch. “But since I answered your questions, you can answer mine. Why don’t you fight me seriously?”

He looks at you for just a moment, before looking at the ceiling. It’s like he’s embarrassed by the answer and is hoping you’ll forget about it. However, you’ve already made up your mind about what you want. You’re just waiting to see what he’ll do.

“I-,” Zoro cuts himself off to hide behind his hand. “I could hurt you really bad. That would be bad.”

Your tail swishes on the ground in mild irritation. “So you think I’m incapable of defending myself. That would explain the times you’ve interrupted my fights.”

“It’s not that!” He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don’t tumble to the ground. “I don’t want you to get hurt if I’m around. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”

You’re nose to nose with him now. Even at this distance, he can’t seem to make eye contact. You can smell the liquor from dinner on his breath. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him, but for some reason the thought makes you nervous. You’re usually close to him, so why is this time different?

“Why should you keep me safe?” you mumble. “Do you save me out of obligation for the crew? If so, aren’t there better people on the crew to swoop in and save?”

“Does it matter why?” The way that his lips almost touch yours as he speaks makes you flustered.

You close your eyes. “Yes. I don’t want to get my hopes up if you think of me as nothing more than a burden of a crew-mate. Just be honest with me for once, Zoro.”

You don’t regret the soft begging tone as you say his name. You regret not saying his name in that almost pathetic tone sooner. The way that he kisses you makes your head spin. Even though he’s holding you close, you have to wrap your arms around his neck to make yourself feel more steady.

Zoro kisses you like he’s been wanting to for months. His hold on your waist makes it impossible to move, and the way that his hand grips yours hair makes you moan. You can barely breathe as his tongue explores your mouth, your grip on reality slipping as his fingers dig into thigh.

Even when he pulls away to let you breathe, you find yourself lost in the way he touches you. Sloppy kisses trail down your jaw and neck, coming to an end with his teeth on your collarbone. The way that his fingernails scrape gently against your scalp as he tugs lightly on your hair causes you to expose more of your chest to him as you lean into his palm.

You’ve never felt like this before. Hot, heavy, and breathless all while being lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it in you to resist him if he wanted more. In fact, the pathetic words of begging him to ravish you weigh heavy on your tongue. Yet he just continues to press kisses along every inch of skin exposed to him, ignoring how hard you’re panting as little moans escape you. He’s oblivious to everything but the act of kissing you.

Zoro only pauses after you tug his hair harshly. You didn’t mean to, you couldn’t help the reaction to him biting down on the side of your neck. You couldn’t even help the strangled groan that leaves you as he leaves a mark. For some reason, your body is shaking like you have some sort of withdrawal.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

You kiss him again, desperate to get as close as you can. Desperation courses through your body as you realize just how badly you’ve waited for this. You’ve spent months being almost attached to him so it makes sense, you just can’t figure out how you missed it. The long nights spent curled up in his lap, face buried in his neck has left you craving him so much.

You whine as he pulls away, unwilling to let this stop. It doesn’t even matter anymore how prideful you’ve been up until this. It’s so obvious how much you want him. Nothing could hide it anymore.

“Zoro.” You don’t even open your eyes. “Please.”

He gives your thigh a tight squeeze as you whimper. You can tell that what little restraint he has is fading with each whine of his name. Yet he’s able to pause and hold you close, breathing heavily into your ear. Eventually, he covers your mouth with his hand, stifling your words.

“Not like this,” Zoro says, his tone meaning he’s serious. “If you really want it, I want to make it special.”

“S-special?” You don’t know what that means. When was the last time someone told you that you were special? “How?”

“Just better than in the exercise room on the Sunny. You deserve to be treated better than that.”

You nod, and he lets his grip loosen. Despite the fact that nothing much happened, you feel drained. Maybe it’s because you really enjoy naps, but the exhaustion is hitting you hard. You don’t hide it, letting yourself go limp as Zoro picks you up.

“You can sleep in my bunk tonight. Not that it matters if I say you can as you usually show up anyway.”

You caress him jaw before giving his cheek a kiss. “Thank you, Zoro.”

The flush on his cheeks goes unnoticed by all beside you. Not that it matters, you don’t want to hide your feelings for him any longer. If he agrees to it, you’ll parade your feelings for the world to see.

[windser]

tw: caleb x reader x zayne, possessive caleb (isn't this just caleb?), exhibitionism-kinda a/n: sequel to this. giving zayne the opportunity to melt some of that ice.

zayne is disciplined.

always has been.

it’s what sets him apart, what’s always made him different.

he never needed much—not the forced friendships, not the social distractions, not the late-night calls or whispered confessions.

he’s always known his path. it’s clear, it’s clean, and there’s no room for error.

but lately, there’s been a hesitation. a hesitation that lingers in his fingers when he turns the page of his textbook. a hesitation in his breath when he almost steals a glance. a hesitation in his pulse—steady, rhythmic, only to spike in the moments he shouldn’t be paying attention.

this has been going on for weeks now.

at first, it was easy.

caleb was reckless, predictable in the way he tested boundaries, but zayne knew how to maintain the distance. he was just an extra body in the room, his presence a silent blessing that allowed josephine to sleep easier at night, to trust that things were as they should be.

and for a while, they were.

until the first time he looked. really looked.

it was an accident—at least, he told himself it was. a stray movement caught his eye, some peripheral flicker of motion, and before he could stop himself, his gaze followed.

and for a moment—just a breath of a moment—he saw everything.

he saw the way caleb moved, slow and purposeful. the way your breath caught and released in soft, broken exhales. the way your fingers curled into the fabric beneath you, holding on as if you were meant to be held.

caleb had you on the floor this time, both the position and his intensity sure to rub your knees raw. but you never complained, not like this. for all your spite and fire, when caleb had you like this, you were compliant and frankly—his gaze dipped just low enough, catching the way the peak of your breasts rubbed against the flooring—

zayne turned away so fast his vision blurred.

he forced himself back to his work, pen pressed hard enough against the page that the ink bled through.

he thought that would be it.

then it happened again.

this time, he lingered. just a second longer. long enough for his throat to go dry, for the heat to coil low and unbidden, for the sharp realization to sink in that caleb knew he was watching. that you knew.

but neither of you said a word.

and that silence? it ruined him.

it made it worse.

now, he swears he can feel it—them—even when he’s not looking. he can hear the quiet murmurs, the way the air shifts, the barely-there sounds of movement that he’s trained himself to ignore.

but it’s getting harder.

the tension is creeping in, slow and insidious. he catches himself reading the same line in his textbook over and over, unable to absorb a single word. he starts staying later than he needs to. he finds himself hesitating in doorways, taking a moment too long to pack his bag, fingers deliberate as he gathers his things.

he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

until one evening, when he arrives ready to slide into the same seat and soak in his own frustrations, caleb—calm, composed, knowing—finally speaks.

"why don’t you come over here?"

zayne’s fingers tighten around the strap of his bag.

caleb tilts his head slightly, watching him like a predator waiting for prey to realize. "no rush to the books, right?"

you don’t say anything, but the look in your eyes is unreadable. open. expectant.

and something cracks in zayne.

a slow, dawning realization that he’s been standing at the edge of something for weeks now—hovering at the precipice, toes curled over the ledge, waiting for an excuse.

caleb just gave him one.

he swallows, pulse threading high, but he doesn’t turn away.

for once, he lets himself want.

"yes," he hears himself say, voice steady but not quite. "i think i will."

zayne takes the first step.

that should be the most glaring sign that something is different. that something in him has shifted, tilted, realigned itself into a shape he no longer recognizes.

he’s not sure what he expected—maybe for caleb to laugh, to pull back, to say just kidding, you can get to work now. maybe for you to hesitate, for you to stiffen in the way people do when something unfamiliar enters sacred ground.

but neither of those things happen.

instead, caleb moves.

not toward zayne, but toward you.

and that’s when he understands.

caleb has no interest in handing anything over. he’s not stepping aside. he’s allowing.

this isn’t zayne’s to claim. this is something to be granted.

he watches caleb, his hands easy, familiar, claiming the territory zayne has never dared to touch. the weight of his presence alone is enough to make the atmosphere shift, a low thrum of tension that curls through the room like a slow-burning fuse.

zayne stays where he is, still standing, still waiting, his fingers curled loose around the strap of his bag. there’s an unspoken invitation in the way caleb’s eyes flick up to meet his. a silent dare.

but not permission.

not yet.

“come closer,” there it is. caleb finally says.

zayne takes a slow breath, his mind curiously blank as he sets his bag down and steps forward.

closer.

close enough to hear the way your breath stutters as caleb’s hands move, mapping out familiar places, as if reminding both of you—this is mine, this is mine, this is mine.

zayne swallows hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. he’s never been shy, never been unsure of himself, but this is different. this isn’t medicine, isn’t a test with the right or wrong answer.

this is trust.

and caleb doesn’t give that easily.

caleb’s hand slides up your thigh, slow and deliberate, before his gaze flicks to zayne, sharp and assessing. he nods once, a silent go on then.

zayne hesitates.

he’s always been a fast learner, but this is new territory.

so he starts small.

a touch, barely there, the backs of his fingers grazing along the curve of your knee. he half expects caleb to stop him immediately, but there’s no interruption.

encouraged, he moves higher to your waist.

caleb shifts then, pressing in, and for a split second, zayne wonders if he’s gone too far—if he’s crossed the invisible line that neither of them has laid out yet.

but instead of pulling him back, caleb’s mouth curves into something unreadable.

"hey now."

zayne stills.

caleb’s grip tightens just slightly, a possessive anchor.

“don't be so timid. you can use your mouth too,” he murmurs, voice low but firm, directive. “but only below the neck.”

and that—that—makes something tighten in zayne’s chest.

because this isn’t freedom.

this is control, measured out in careful allowances, in boundaries that exist not to exclude him, but to remind him exactly where he stands.

he lets out a slow breath, tilting his head just slightly, waiting—waiting—because now he understands that this, too, is a test.

he leans in.

lets himself learn.

a kiss to your shoulder, featherlight. a press of lips against your collarbone, reverent, exploratory.

and caleb allows it.

but never looks away.

zayne isn’t sure when his heartbeat started pounding in his ears. maybe it was when your fingers found his wrist, guiding his hand against the warmth of your skin. smaller hands cupping the curve of his knuckles until his palms reach your chest and you just press so. maybe it was when you let out that first, soft sound—a reaction to him, to something he did.

or maybe it was when caleb made his presence known again.

zayne had almost forgotten he was being watched. almost.

but caleb never really disappears, does he?

even now, his touch is there—ghosting along the back of zayne’s neck, the weight of his hand steady, instructive. not controlling exactly, but not absent either.

instructive.

because zayne is still learning.

and you—you—are encouraging him to misbehave.

it starts small, subtle. the way your breath hitches when his mouth skims a little lower. the way your fingers clutch at his sleeve, anchoring him instead of letting him hesitate.

then your hand slides over his, pressing his palm down, urging him on towards the apex of your thighs.

zayne barely has time to process the way heat pools low in his stomach before caleb’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and knowing.

“ah-ah.”

zayne freezes.

caleb doesn’t pull him away. not yet. but his grip tightens, just enough to be felt, his voice dropping into something smoother, quieter.

“you’re getting ahead of yourself, sweetheart.

there’s no irritation in his tone, no warning, just the firm, unwavering presence of someone who knows better. zayne hears it often when caleb speaks to you. it's often a consequence of a sharp cry from your lips. a sound so choked, so full as if you'd try to take on something more than your body would allow.

and zayne—still breathless, still so close to losing himself in this—listens.

he swallows hard, his breath shaking as he lifts his head, barely realizing how eager he’d been to follow your lead. how quickly he’d let himself forget who was really in control.

caleb shifts, adjusting his hold on you like a reminder.

“you don’t set the pace,” he murmurs, and though it isn’t directed at you, you shiver at the way he says it.

zayne’s stomach tightens.

but then, caleb exhales.

lets go of the back of his neck.

lets him try again.

so zayne does.

this time, he’s careful. not hesitant, not like before, but mindful. measured.

not moving unless caleb lets him. he's uninterrupted as his fingertips skirt your waistband, unhindered as they slip between to meet the frilly edge of your panties.

he watches for your reactions—how your breath shudders, how your fingers twitch against his wrist. how you still encourage him, still want him, but never try to take control again.

and for the first time, zayne realizes this isn’t just about learning.

this is about trust.

and caleb—possessive, patient, in control—is finally letting him earn it.

and he's oh sosososo careful now, every movement measured, every touch intentional—his fingers ghosting along your mound as your pretty thighs part further for him. he feels the way you respond beneath him, the subtle arch of your spine, the quiet invitation in the way you press into him.

you’re encouraging, but not leading this time.

zayne’s learning.

his lips trail lower, testing the boundaries caleb has set, but never crossing them. he follows the curve of your shoulder, the heat of your skin, the slow, deliberate pace that he knows he should maintain.

but there’s still a hesitance—still an uncertainty in the way his fingers press in, applying just enough friction to smear the wetness you give him, the mess he made.

and then caleb is there.

not stopping him, not pulling him away, but correcting.

a hand at the back of zayne’s neck again, firm but not forceful, fingers pressing just enough to make his pulse stutter.

"faster," caleb murmurs, his voice low, steady. "you can feel that she likes it. she can come like this, don't let her be stubborn."

zayne exhales shakily, twisting his wrist, letting himself listen—to you, to the way your breathing shifts, to the way you melt beneath him in places and tense in others.

he wants.

he’s never wanted like this before.

but more than that—he wants to do it right.

so he lingers, taking his time, making sure his touch is firm and intentional as his thumb strokes your throbbing clit. he’s still waiting, still seeking permission with every motion, and caleb—possessive, patient, watching—lets him have it.

for now.

not just physically, but intimately—close enough to feel the warmth of your breath ghosting across his skin, close enough that every shift of your body sends a slow, sinking weight through his chest. close enough that the heat between you and caleb curls around him, wrapping tight, pulling him deeper into something he doesn’t yet understand.

there’s an electricity in the air, a hum that zayne swears he can feel between his fingers when they brush over your skin. he barely has time to process the way your breath shudders at his touch before caleb’s voice cuts through the haze, low, measured.

"flick your thumb."

zayne obeys.

not because he’s afraid, but because something about caleb’s control, his quiet authority, makes it impossible not to.

so he lets his fingers follow the notes of caleb's commands, reverent strokes. he listens—to the way your body responds, the way your breath stutters, the way your fingers tighten around his forearm like you’re grounding yourself in him.

that alone sends a sharp, new kind of thrill through his chest.

he lets himself move with you, lets himself feel the weight of every breath, the way anticipation coils in your muscles. and you let him. you guide him without leading, letting him explore, letting him earn each reaction, each quiet sound, each shift in the way you press closer.

he wants to touch more. he wants to taste more.

but then your fingers slip over his, fingers intertwining as you raises his touch just high enough to curl against the elastic of your panties, urging him under—just a fraction, just enough to test.

you’ve always been the little trouble maker. wrapped so sinful and sweet in sugar ‘n spice.

then hand at his neck squeezes.

the moment is razor-thin, the tension between them stretched so tight that zayne can feel caleb’s control like a weight against his form.

"ah, ah. i didn’t say you could touch there."

zayne stops.

his body feels like a live wire, his pulse a frantic staccato against his ribs, his skin burning where caleb's fingers press into him.

there’s no irritation in caleb’s voice, no sharpness—just possession, thick and undeniable.

"you wait for me," caleb murmurs, almost amused, almost indulgent. "you don’t just take it."

zayne swallows hard. his breathing is unsteady. his body is tight with restraint, every nerve strung out from the weight of this.

so zayne exhales, shaking his hand away from yours and returning his touch to the cloth barrier. the wet spot is bigger this time, easier to finger as zayne grinds the heel of his palm into it. pressing and rubbing insistently until you squirm and quiver against him.

and when you respond in a way that makes it clear this is right, this is wanted—zayne understands exactly what he’s been missing.

caleb is forever a steady presence, lingering just enough to keep zayne tethered, to remind him not too fast, not too hard, not too much.

and Zayne listens, because there’s no other choice.

he measures every touch, every press of his lips, every movement—watching for your reactions, for the way your body shudders beneath him, for the moment when you finally break.

and then you do.

a soft, wrecked sound slips past your lips, and zayne feels it like a shock through his body. the sharp, unmistakable realization that he brought you to this—that he did this.

his breath stutters. his hands tighten on your waist, grounding himself, trying to push past the tightness coiling in his chest, the heat flooding through him.

it’s too much.

he’s never felt this way before, never been so wrapped up in someone else’s pleasure, in the way it makes his own body react, the way his pulse pounds beneath his skin.

and then—your hands are on him.

just a light touch, a brush of fingers over his belt—offering.

zayne jerks back like he’s been burned.

his breath hitches. his mind blanks.

his body is still thrumming with leftover tension, still tight with heat and want, but the sudden shift—the attention turned to him instead of you—sends a shock of panic through his system.

it’s too fast. too new.

he stumbles back, nearly tripping over himself as he gathers his things, movements frantic, hands shaking.

"i—" his voice is strained, breathless. "i should go."

caleb watches him, gaze unreadable, but doesn’t move to stop him.

you, on the other hand—your expression shatters.

"did i—?" your voice is small, hesitant, the weight of uncertainty creeping into your tone. "did i do something wrong?"

zayne should say something, should reassure you, should tell you that it’s not you, that it’s him—but his throat is too tight, his thoughts too scrambled.

so he doesn’t.

he just shakes his head in a poor excuse for reassurance, mutters a barely-there apology, and bolts.

the door clicks shut behind him, leaving behind only the ghost of his presence—his lingering heat in the air, the tension he couldn’t quite process, the heavy silence in his absence.

your breath stutters, heart hammering against your ribs as the weight of it sinks in.

he left.

and without thinking, you move to follow.

you barely make it to your knees before caleb is there, an arm looping around your waist, pulling you back—firm, unyielding.

"shhh."

his voice is a quiet command, but his hold is stronger than usual, not just guiding, but keeping you still.

you squirm against him, instinctual, the need to fix it clawing at you, but caleb doesn’t let you go. instead, his hand finds your hair, long fingers stroking slowly, deliberately, a steady rhythm meant to calm, to soothe.

"shhh, sweetheart," he murmurs again, voice dipping lower, rich and steady as it settles in your chest, pulling at something deep inside you. "he just needs some time. let him go."

your breath catches, muscles still tense, but caleb doesn’t let up—not until you stop struggling, until the tension in your limbs slowly melts under the slow, hypnotic drag of his fingers through your hair.

"there you go," he breathes, his mouth just at the shell of your ear. "that’s better."

only when he’s sure you’re still does he loosen his hold, his hands settling against you in something softer, no longer restraint but reassurance.

"you didn’t do anything wrong," caleb finally says, voice firm, certain. "zayne’s just… figuring it out."

you exhale shakily, still frowning, still feeling that knot of uncertainty tighten in your stomach. "i shouldn’t have—"

"you overthink," caleb interrupts, cutting you off before you can spiral further. his tone shifts, something teasing in the way his fingers drift to your cheek, warm and grounding as his thumb traces the heat still lingering there. "you used to be just like that. all anxious, all in your head."

his smile turns sharp as he tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. "and now look at you."

the way he says it—now look at you—sends something warm through you, makes your breath catch, because you remember.

you remember the struggle of those early days, of feeling lost in sensation, of thinking too much, hesitating too much, never just feeling.

you remember the way caleb had guided you—patient, unyielding, possessive in his teaching until you learned how to let go.

and now—now you are more receptive, more open, more in tune with the way caleb wants you to be.

the realization flutters in your chest, slow and lingering, as caleb watches it dawn across your face. his smile firms, something smug and knowing, his fingers squeezing lightly against your jaw.

but then—a flicker of something else.

his expression doesn’t change, but his eyes shift—just barely, just for a second—as he casts a glance toward the door.

the one zayne ran through.

the sharp edge of amusement fades into something more thoughtful, more pensive.

because caleb knows.

knows that zayne isn’t gone for good.

knows that running only lasts so long before something pulls you back.

until you draw him back in.

and when zayne comes back?

caleb will be waiting.

[lapdoodlebop]

Stole A Breath

A small little ace x reader drabble I made! it was supposed to be part of a series but then it got out of hand and slowly stopped becoming part of what I originally intended. Not proofread!!

————————————————————————

What sorta loser gets all sweaty when they start holding hands with their crush?' Little does Ace know that he IS that sorta loser, as much as he'd loathe to admit it.

Don't get him wrong. When the two of you become friends, it's nothing to bat an eye over for him. Pats on the back for getting test scores that would send any student spiraling? You guys shared those all the time.

Playful hair ruffles for when either of you say something stupid? He's already messing up your hairdo despite your constant complaints. The sight of you taking his hand while you're pushing through the halls of a bustling crowd isn't even uncommon. You two became best friends in a flash, with physical affection as easy as breathing air.

But all the sudden, it's gotten a bit harder to not choke around you.

————————————————————————-

You and Ace just got out of class, and already swarms of students was taking up every bit of surface possible. There's not even a special occasion, maybe other than a special lunch deal that's been plastered on the walls as posters. Ace clicks his tongue; he's interested to try the new breakfast sandwich on the menu, but he's not sure he wants to weave through hangry, desperate students for it. Thats when you seem to cut off his airflow.

“Come on,” you wordlessly raise your hand and take his before he can get a chance to breathe.

Your fingers are a lot softer than he gave credit for. Did you have some sort of deal with Vil for moisturizer or something? It’d explain why he feels the need to feel your palm at least one time and at most a dozen or two dozen. And your grip is firm, but it’s so gentle too. The way it’s wrapped around his own rougher fingers suddenly has him praying he doesn’t have sweaty palms. He doesn’t, right? That would be so lame. But you haven’t complained yet. You shouldn’t, y-you’re the one that initiated all the skin contact, not him!

His cheeks pinken, eyebrows furrowed as the corners of his mouth twitch into a dismayed expression. What the hell was he thinking? This wasn’t any different from all the other times you took his hand.

So why can’t he follow a single word you’re saying? Something about the cafeteria and cats and sandwiches, he can’t even remember what he wanted right now. Sure the crowd’s a lot bigger than expected, he’s getting pushed against you and his chest bumping into your back is causing him to choke on what little breath he has, b-but that’s a given! Great Seven, he never pays attention in class but this is ridiculous. His eyes keep looking from the back of your head to the hand you interconnected with his, slotted like a puzzle piece waiting to be complete. His hand (all on its own, that’s what he’ll tell you) turns to hold yours (his ‘lead me away’ doesn’t sound so sarcastic anymore when it’s for you). The casual squeeze you give him back sends him further than he thought, goosebumps suddenly running under his sleeve and across his arm. His breath catches in his throat again and now he has to breathe manually before he forgets to.

And then, an idea hits him. A stupid, stupid idea.

You have to be thinking the same thing, right? That’s why this feels so weird. You two are on the same wavelength so often that you must be somehow projecting your thoughts into his own. That HAS to be the reason! It’s totally not him trying to save face over the fact he’s becoming the guy clamoring over one bit of contact from a person he thinks is kinda (really) nice to look at and kinda (really) nice to be around and he wouldn’t mind hanging out with them (forever, in a space together, seeing each other all the time and more).

The butterflies twirling around in his stomach must be what you’re experiencing too, certainly not caused by how you turned back and smiled at him, him of all people you share your smile with all the time as if it was reserved for him only. You must think the same about the wry smile he’s giving you back, one that holds a little too much affection than he wishes he held. He’s pretty great, right? At least, he hopes you think he’s great..

The cafeteria’s a lot closer than he thought. When you guys get there, he lets out the air you kept hostage from him. But now he’s definitely teasing you for wanting to be so close to him afterwards. Taking his hand and dragging him around, no shame in being interested y’know!

That night, unfortunately, he’s clutching his pillow against his reddening face, scowling at the idea that he wouldn’t mind you dragging him around like that on a date.

[theambitiouswoman]

When i try to be positive , people tell me to be realistic. is being too positive or positive not realistic ?! what’s reality of life? is the world a dangerous place? is every man cheaters? what is life? i’m very confused

Adults have a serious issue with people who are happy, positive, have childlike wonder and don't look at life in a negative "realistic" lense. It is very unfortunate. Personally, I hate when people try to project negativity in my life. I find it incredibly disrespectful. I do not have negative thoughts. I am, by societal standards, very delusional. Because society has somehow decided that getting what you want is delusional. Seriously, stop being realistic. Ignore those people.

Yes there are bad people, yes bad things can happen. But not everyone is a horrible human being and if every man is a horrible man and a cheater then thats exactly what you are going to continue to attract into your life. A lot of things in life are learning experiences, and a lot of people do not choose to learn. They blame everyone else for their problems.

They cling to victimhood because it’s easier than accountability. It’s easier to say “life is unfair” than to admit they made choices that led them to where they are. But the truth is, your mindset shapes your reality. If you believe the world is against you, it will be. If you believe people are inherently bad, you will only see proof of that everywhere you look.

I can't imagine living inside such a negative mind.

Meanwhile, the people who win in life refuse to think that way. They don’t entertain negativity. They don’t sit around complaining about how hard life is—they figure it out. They take responsibility, they adapt and they move forward. They don’t wait for permission to be great. They decide to be.

Being “realistic” is the death of dreams. Realistic people live average lives. Realistic people settle. The most successful, fulfilled and extraordinary people in the world were never realistic—they were visionaries. They saw possibilities where others saw limitations. They believed in things before they existed.

So stop thinking like the masses. Stop listening to miserable people. Stop taking advice from people who have nothing you want. Choose your reality. Be delusional in your belief that everything you want is possible, and then go make it happen.

Stop being realistic.

End rant.

[runninriot]

was tagged by the lovely @sidekick-hero to share a snippet of something out of context 🖤

   “Why do you even care?” There’s no bite in his question, none of the frustration and anger he feels inside. Eddie sounds pathetic, like he’s desperate for attention, for someone to tell him he’s worth the struggle.

   “Because,” Harrington takes another step forward, “I know you can do better. And I hate to see you throw away your life for nothing but an act.”

Eddie swallows roughly, feels his heart rate pick up. Mostly deaf to his words, he can only focus on the movement of Harrington’s pretty pink lips. It’s distracting, and it must be obvious, because one hand comes up to grab him by the back of his neck, giving him no other chioce but to look into a pair of green-speckled eyes.

  “Always pretending it’s all about ‘fucking authority’ when the real problem isn’t authority, it’s you not being able to follow the simplest rules.”

Eddie feels heat spread where the broad palm is splayed across his neck. Heat pooling in his lower half, too, where something stirs, and pulses, and rattles at invisible bars.

This is bad. He should probably tell the older man to let go, should bring distance between him and the coach, but he’s stuck. Feels trapped despite having every possibility to step back, walk away, run if he must but he can’t.

Because he doesn’t want to.

   “Make me,” he grits through his teeth, fists curled at his sides to keep his hands from trembling.

   “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Harrington chuckles, low and vibrant, and Eddie can barely swallow the noise that tries to slip from his throat.

    Fuck. FUCK!

Why is this so hot? Doing things to Eddie he won’t be able to hide much longer, not if his body betrays him.

   “Want me to tell you what to do, is that it?”

    No.

    Yes?

Eddie’s mind is reeling; he’s fighting for clarity, needs to get level, needs to get out before he does something stupid.

   “What makes you think I’d listen?”

    Shut up. God, you fucking dumbass, just SHUT UP!

That has always been Eddie’s problem, hasn’t it. He just can’t keep his big, stupid mouth shut. Has heard others complain about it so many times before but did he learn? No. So, here he is again, talking himself into trouble rather than out of it. And this time, he can't even blame anyone but himself.

   “Don’t challenge me, Eddie.”

    Oh, but he does. Can’t stop himself from taking yet another step forward. One step that brings him way too close to the man whose hand suddenly tightens in his hair, pulling enough to make it sting.

   “This is your last warning.”

There’s something dangerously dark in his voice and his eyes but not enough to scare Eddie off, to make him stop. He should, obviously, but he can’t shake the feeling that they both want something else instead.

It’s stupid, risky, wrong. So, so wrong. But when has Eddie ever made smart choices?

   “I said- MAKE. ME.”

tagging (no pressure, all love) @steddie-island @steddieas-shegoes @adverbally @yesdangerpls @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe

@hotluncheddie @mugloversonly @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 in case you want to share something 🖤

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Jesse Duquette

* * * *

The coup rolls on, but we will prevail.

February 2, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

Although I usually do not publish a Sunday edition, I am making an exception given the emergency facing our democracy. I will focus on the most significant development—Musk’s seizure of the Treasury’s payment system with the blessing of newly confirmed Treasury Secretary Bessent. It took Bessent less than a week to place his loyalty to Trump above his loyalty to the Constitution and, derivatively, to the American people.

Before addressing the hostile takeover of the Treasury, I want to take a moment to repeat comments I made on the Substack livestream event on Saturday morning.

Let’s start with the positive framing of where we are: It is up to us. It always has been, and it always will be. Every generation faces a moment when it is called upon to redeem democracy from an existential threat. We must not bemoan the fact that we are playing our part in the long arc of redemption that has safely delivered us to this point. Our task is to serve as a bridge in the arc to the next generation. If all we do is hold back the forces of darkness, that will be enough. If all we do is endure and outlast the bastards, that will be enough. But I am confident that we can and will do much more.

In our lifetimes, we have overcome the trauma of the Civil Rights battles of the 1950s and 1960s, the political assassinations and campus protests of the 1960s, the Viet Nam war, Nixon and Watergate, the S&L collapses of the 1980s and 1990s, the internet bubble burst in the early 2000s, the terror attacks on 9/11, the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, the Great Recession of 2008, the Covid pandemic, January 6, and more.

We will not only survive this challenge, we will prevail. That is not a close question. The specific path to victory is not yet clear, but Trump is breaking the guardrails of democracy and the fundamentals of the economy so quickly that some unseen calamity of his own creation will overtake his ham-fisted effort to install himself as a supreme dictator in violation of the basic precepts of our great charter.

But . . . despite confidence that we will win, it doesn’t feel great to be in the middle of chaos and uncertainty. In fact, it feels bad. Really bad. If you feel that way, welcome to a club that includes 200 million Americans. You are not alone.

This moment is particularly challenging because of the seeming impotence and cluelessness of Democrats in Congress, in state houses, and governors’ mansions across the nation. It feels like they do not understand the urgency of the situation. If they do, they are failing to communicate that urgency, mount a vigorous opposition, and inspire confidence in Americans yearning for leaders to lead.

We must demand that our elected officials stop acting like this situation is “politics as usual” or that “There is nothing we can do about it because we are in the minority.” Such excuses are unacceptable and unseemly. Elected officials ran for office to be leaders. So, don’t complain that leading is hard when the chips are down. We know that. That is why we elected you. Step it up, now!

Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo captured the reasons for our discontent in his post on Saturday morning entitled, A Few Thoughts on Messages and Morale.

Josh writes,

The overarching thing that is missing from what Democratic leaders in Washington are saying right now is a clear statement that “This is bad, that it’s likely to get worse for a while. But we don’t accept this; we have power too. We’re going to fight this in the courts; we’re going to gum up the works in Congress; and more than anything we’re going to fight this in the court of public opinion. And we’re going to win. And to do that we need all of you to be on our side. And as we claw back power we’re going to repair the damage and hold the people who broke everything accountable and build something better.”

Josh makes an important point: Despite our anger at our elected leaders for their miserable performance to date, we must support them so that they can lead us to victory.

Marc Elias makes the same point in his post in Democracy Docket, Things We Can All Do to Protect Democracy. The second thing we can do to support democracy is to “Help Democrats.” Marc writes, “Next time you want to attack a Democrat for being too much of this or too little of that, realize that you are only helping the GOP. Instead, find a Democrat you support and volunteer or contribute to their campaign.”

It is okay to be angry at our Democratic officials—in moderation. But they are not the problem. Trump is the problem. So, if you are thinking about how to allocate your emotional energy, devote 99% of it to resisting Trump and 1% to criticizing Democrats—which, to be clear, is a healthy and helpful thing to do.

If you are looking for someone to articulate and channel your outrage at feckless Democrats, I recommend this video by Politics Girl on YouTube, What The F***?! I found Leigh McGowan’s rant cathartic; you might also find some release in hearing her tell Democratic leaders to get off their behinds and start acting like they are in a fight for the future of democracy.

But in the end, we don’t have the luxury of waiting around for elected Democrats to start acting like we are in a five-alarm fire. It is up to us to act now to redeem democracy. It always has been. It always will be. Don’t regret or resent that fact. It is our sacred duty--both as a repayment of our debt to those who brought us to this moment and as an investment in future generations who will carry democracy forward long after our struggles are forgotten.

Musk succeeds in seizing control of the Treasury payment system

When I last wrote, Musk was attempting to seize control of the Treasury payment system. Late Friday, he succeeded in doing so. Treasury Secretary Bessent handed control over to Musk and privateers from Silicon Valley. Musk tweeted on Saturday suggesting that the move was necessary because the Treasury was strictly following the orders to pay the debts and obligations of the US as directed by Congress in budgets enacted as law and as implemented by agencies acting under the watchful eye of the OMB.

In Musk’s fantasy re-telling of the story, that stringent process results in the payment of funds to known fraudsters and terrorist organizations. Musk provided no evidence to support his outlandish claim.

To state the obvious, the role of the Treasury is to pay money as directed by Congress. If there are legal reasons that a congressional appropriation should be stopped, there are two routes: asking Congress to amend its appropriation bill or filing a lawsuit asking the judiciary to enjoin the payment to determine its legality.

But Musk wants to introduce a third way to challenge payments duly authorized by Congress: He gets to decide which payments are not “legitimate”—and then he presses the “delete” button on the computer that Secretary Bessent handed over to Musk.

The illegal, extra-constitutional takeover of the Treasury payment system is explained in detail in this article in the NYTimes (accessible to all): Elon Musk’s Team Now Has Access to Treasury’s Payments System.

I highly recommend reading the entire NYTimes article. You will be shocked. Elon Musk now has unfettered access to private information about your Social Security earnings and benefits, your tax refunds, and your bank accounts into which federal funds are deposited.

Remind me, who elected Elon Musk? When exactly did Trump say during his campaign that Musk would be given access to private data about nearly every American?

While the Times gets high marks for detail in its article, the Times continues to miss the story. The NY Times dutifully reports Musk’s social media claim that he needs access to the payment system to stop fraudulent payments and payments to terrorist groups.

That explanation is so bad it is not even wrong. As noted above, fraudulent payments and payments to terrorist organizations could be handled by the Secretary of the Treasury, Congress, and the courts. We do not need Elon Musk to swoop in to stop those payments—if they even exist.

The obvious story, the huge scandal, the constitutional crisis that is staring the NYTimes in the face is that Musk has seized control of the Treasury payments system so he and Trump can unilaterally enforce the draconian budget cuts to be proposed by DOGE.

Such budget cuts should require congressional approval—unless you control the check-writing function at the Treasury. Once you can “delete” any appropriation by simply refusing to write a check, Congress is an unnecessary appendage, a spectator to a coup.

The plan is transparent to even the most naïve and gullible among us—and should be mincemeat in the hands of seasoned NYTimes’ political reporters. But they do not mention the elephant in the room.

Why?

Because they are afraid. Because they are obeying in advance. Because they do not want to provoke the wrath of Trump.

As always, it is up to us. It always has been, and it always will be. Every generation faces a moment when it is called upon to redeem democracy from an existential threat. We must not bemoan the fact that we are playing our part in the long arc of redemption that has safely delivered us to this point. Our task is to serve as a bridge in the arc to the next generation. If all we do is hold back the forces of darkness, that will be enough. If all we do is endure and outlast the bastards, that will be enough. But I am confident that we can and will do much more.

And yes, I realize the preceding paragraph is repeated from the introduction to this edition. I thought it deserved to be emphasized.

Coda: The Wall Street Journal editorial board’s headline on Trump's tariffs on Canada and Mexico says it all: The Dumbest Trade War in History. (This should be a gift link.)

Concluding Thoughts

Stay strong and maintain perspective. There is no doubt that we will make it through this difficult period--and prevail. Do not collapse the future into the present moment. The future comes at us one day at a time no matter how much we worry. The invariant pace of time gives us space and opportunity to plan, react, and adjust. Find community. Support others in distress. Lead by example, using words only when necessary.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Hello, I hope you're having a wonderful day so far! I was wondering if you had any general fluff with Candy or Terrors, I love your take on them and they make me smile every time. Maybe just silly little moments or cute accidents.

(have a good day and remember to drink water!!)

I hope you enjoy the fluff! I gave you both of them because I like writing soft stuff for both of them :)) There's a single romantic moment but I followed it up with a platonic alternative, so whether you'd like to view this as platonic or not is up to you when it comes to the bits with your involvement :)

This popped into my head when I first saw this request, but I feel like sometimes Terrors pretends to be Candy, but like, not on purpose. While their general demeanor and voices are different, sometimes I feel like when Terrors is really relaxed he seems a bit more similar to Candy, and people might mistake him for Candy. This leads to incidents where someone will run up to Terrors and either like, high-five him, maybe try and hug him, or update him on something, before going about their day, and Terrors just accepts it, making his best impression of Candy (which is actually quite good), because he's too embarrassed to admit that he accepted a high five from someone. The only people who can tell whether it's Candy or Terrors from a glance alone are you, LJ, Jason, and Slender. Nobody who has mistaken Terrors for Candy knows they've done so because Terrors would rather die than have someone be aware they treated him so casually. Terrors absolutely whines to you about it because he can't stew in his embarrassment alone.

I feel like after the last couple hundred years Candy and Terrors have gotten to a point where they *kind of* value each other's feelings, and so, in a moment of fluff for each other, they take each other's likes and dislikes into account. I feel like they have designated times scheduled for when they'll switch with each other, so for example, if one of them knows the other will be out for dinner, but a food they don't like is going to be the main dish, they'll request for something else to be made alongside it so that they can have something to eat. Slender was quite confused the first time Terrors walked up to him and was like, "Ah, could you prepare an additional side dish for this? Candy quite dislikes this meal." very bluntly before walking away. Slender was SO confused and shook, but he absolutely did so. Candy has more tact and is usually like, "Hey, you know what goes good with this??" and starts suggesting other things to be made with it, rather than outing Terrors for not liking specific foods. It's one of the few ways they're kind to each other. Part of it that neither of them will mention though is that, considering they share the same mind, they don't want to have to keep listening to each other complaining about the same dislikes after all these years.

I mentioned before that you are one of the only people who know who's who just by looking at them, but I feel like it would be a bit silly if every now and then you tease them and say the wrong person. If you "accidentally" call Candy 'Terrors' he gets so dramatic about it, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, dramatically swaying back and forth, saying, "I cannot BELIEVE you could do this to me, oh my GOODNESS, what have I done to deserve this, how could you possibly mistake me for another?!" He'll just ramble on and on, and the only way to get him to stop is to somehow maneuver yourself up to his face and cover it in kisses, in which case he'll forgive you and say it's alright unless you'd like the more platonic route, which is apologizing just as dramatically as he's being. If you refer to Terrors as 'Candy', he looks SO aghast at you. I'm talking mouth hanging open, hand on his chest, eyebrows quirked up in disbelief, saying, "Well I NEVER! I would have believed that by now you'd know me better, but I suppose I was wrong, wasn't I? For you to betray me in such a way! I could not have seen this coming-!" He's being a bit silly because with the giggles you're poorly concealing it was obvious you were teasing him, but he makes you repay him by doing him "favors" like getting him (and yourself) a drink, and turning on his (and your) favorite music in the background, and you know, telling him about your day, and about your plans and, oh? This is just what you were going to be doing with him anyway? But of course! Your repayment is simply spending time with him, just as you were meant to because that's the best repayment you could ever give him.

[moonjellysfeast]

My Own Galatea- Crybaby x Top Male Reader Cont.

cw; Manipulation, abuse, unethical science, dehumanization, murder plotted but not described, minor hornt at the end, you answer a call while fucking, Crybaby is @yanderefarm's character

Of course, you weren't only there to train Crybaby into an obedient weapon. Elias needed a gentle touch too and as soon as he stopped remembering what he did as the other persona he was ready to be trained in a new way. After all, you planned to bring Elias home and make him yours.

"Elias, please come here" He refused to move due to his earlier training, "You know you can trust me, right? We're friends, you can listen to me"

"But... only Crybaby listens... Right?"

"Oh, lovely, no. Crybaby obeys because he is a conduit, You ought to listen of your own choice. Because we are friends, Elias. Because I want you to" You smiled at the boy who looked like a kicked puppy even as you repeated your request and he scrambled to kneel in front of you and rest his head on your lap.

"Good, thank you, my sweet" You pet his head, letting the gentleness be his reward.

"I'm so glad we're so close now, when we first met I had to be so... careful with you" You laced your fingers through his hair as you spoke, soon wrapping the locks around your fingers to pull his head up at an uncomfortable angle to ensure he was looking up at your grin. "Now you're so malleable~"

He whined a bit at the strain in his neck but made no move to escape, in fact, leaning into your touch and staring up at you with adoration. You had to stifle a laugh at how pathetic he looked, the perfect little puppet for you to toy with. So eager to please that anything could bring him immense pleasure if it were from you. This included the torture he underwent to make him a perfect warrior.

When you could not be the one to administer his treatments he had to be restrained as Crybaby to ensure your Elias would stay sweet and to help him learn to be angry and more aggressive as Crybaby. If it was you, he only had to be restrained to keep himself from pushing the tools further into himself and ruining his body. It was bad enough that you were very soon only permitted to give him injections or other, less torture focused treatments. Though, you made sure to get recordings of his torture so you knew every single thing that was happening to him, as well as to entertain yourself in times where you missed his big wet eyes.

Eventually, you decided he needed a test run to ensure he could kill efficiently. You even had a victim in mind, one of the other scientists in the building who worked with him often and yet still seemed to believe they had moral superiority over you. They always looked at you with disgust and often commented on the fact you were a darling, seeming to believe the gene made you subhuman. To guide Crybaby in the correct direction you complained a few times to him about that person, even showing him pictures so he could recognize them. You knew if he were to simply focus on killing them he'd likely be taken out by the security, so to keep him safe you told him about your usual trip home so he could have a second goal and not let himself die.

You reasoned that if it didn't work you could likely find someone else to train into a perfect doll, though you had put so much work into Elias, you couldn't say you weren't worried. You finally determined he was ready and told him very directly that you wished for the death of your coworker before you went home for the day. You did not get to see exactly what happened, sitting at home and waiting for either a masked, blood soaked puppet or a message from your boss on the death or major injury of Crybaby.

After a few hours, you became very concerned, imagining his death at the hands of some stupid guard, so far from you. Finally a gentle knock came from the door before it opened and he stumbled in, dropping to his knees and bowing down towards you like he was praying. You couldn't help but grin as you lifted his head and peeled the mask off, the adorable, tear stricken face looking up at you with baited breath, awaiting his next order.

"Very good job, Crybaby~ You finally came home~ Now, Elias, let's get you cleaned up and in bed, You deserve a reward, don't you~"

He was now ready to be trained as your housepet, at your beck and call. This portion of training would be so much easier, he was already prepared to be obedient, he only needed to be guided. As it turned out, he also needed to be subdued as he was far too excited to receive your attention. You didn't even have the chance to pull out of him when your boss called to explain that he'd escaped. You did answer and she did hear him very loudly whining about your attention being away from him for even a moment. Suffice to say, you got to keep him in your home most of the time after that.

[rypnami]

Theiara Drabble

self- indulgent theiara drabble about a time they see a dragon, feat. some stuff i made up on the fly (hehe get it) about the hebridean black. not beta read or edited so keep that in mind heeh. literally no plot i just wanted to write them.

word count: 1081 no warnings, just fluff and the classic theiara bickering lol. established semi-new relationship <3 idk if any of this makes sense byeee

tagging @amethystandemma since chatting w/ you about the dragon pics inspired me lol

The Scottish highlands are, in Chiara's opinion, the most beautiful place in the world. Granted, she hasn't been to many places in the world, and perhaps being a Scot herself, she's biased, but simply nothing can compare to the rolling green of the mountains or the glistening water on the scattered lochs. Now that winter is, for the most part, over, and spring is finally showing its face, it’s the perfect time to take a long walk and enjoy seeing the sun for the first time in ages.

The only thing that could make the day better would be if she had someone to share it with- as luck would have it, she does. After quite a lot of convincing, she has brought Theseus Scamander in tow for this mini-adventure. They’ve been coworkers for a few years now, but recently it’s developed into something more. They haven’t technically labelled it yet, but it is certainly more than just friends, or coworkers that drive each other mental at any given opportunity. 

Where she has opted for more casual clothes for once- a simple white blouse and knee-length grey skirt, he is in his full blue overcoat, the grey blazer she’s rarely seen him out of, and his incredibly fancy shoes; perhaps not ideal for a trek in the highlands. It’s hardly different from what he would typically wear to work, as if they are about to be called on a very important case, and not out trying to enjoy themselves on one of their few days off. He does look good, however, so she can’t complain too much. 

They’ve stopped in an open meadow-like area, surrounded by hills and dotted with purple flowers. She flops down in the grass, just off the well-worn dirt path, and breathes in the freshness of the air. Her pale blonde hair spreads out amongst the green.

Theseus leans over her, eyebrows raised. “You’re going to get insects in your hair doing that, you know.”

“Spoilsport.” 

“I’m only sayingggg, I don’t imagine you, of all people, want crawly things all over you.”

Hm, true. Chiara hates just about anything with more than 4 legs. Honestly, who needs that many? What are they even used for? “You’ll pick them out for me.”

He sits down beside her, smiling slightly. “Of course I will. But… is this really what we came all the way out here to do? Have you lay on the floor?”

“It’s called appreciating nature. Try it sometime.” She sticks her tongue out at him. “And ‘all the way out here’ is an exaggeration. You can still see the hamlet.” Chiara points left, back down the dirt path, where just peeking over the rise of the hillside, the thatched roofs of Bainburgh are visible.

 

“Yes, but we could appreciate nature from there.” 

“If you’re going to whinge the whole time, you can just go on back and I can enjoy myself.”

“Hey, now, I didn’t say I want to go back.” Almost absentmindedly, he reaches over and starts playing with her hair. “Just pointing out that someone truly in awe of the natural world could do it anywhere.”

“Have a sense of adventure, Scamander,” Chiara huffs, sitting up and crossing her arms. “There’s more to see out here than at a mouldy old hamlet!” She gestures as a couple shaggy, long-horned cattle that meander by. "See?!"

“Ah, yes, we can see all the cows. I love cows. Very interesting.” A grin spreads across his face, and accompanied with the twinkle in his eyes, it would be obvious to anyone that he’s only trying to rile her. Unfortunately, Chiara has never been one for attentiveness to such things- or emotional regulation, honestly. 

“Cows are brilliant!” 

“Have you seen their expressions? It looks as though they operate on about 2 brain cells.”

Chiara narrows her eyes. “Two more than you have.”

Theseus chuckles. “Alright, alright. You know I’m teasing. I love spending time with you, wherever. Even amongst the livestock.” He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in so she’s sitting in his lap. He rests his chin on her shoulder as Chiara leans back against his chest. “I’ll admit, it is nice to be just us.”

“Mm.” Chiara sighs. Yes, he might drive her up the wall sometimes, but she truly can’t imagine her life without him. “There’s not just farm animals around, anyhow. Could see… I dunno. Hippogriffs, maybe some Puffskeins, or- a dragon?!”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up about a dragon-”

“No, look! A dragon!” Chiara gapes.

Overhead, a handful of kilometers away, is, in fact, a dragon. It is positively massive- so big, in fact, that she can still make out what it looks like rather clearly. It has a massive wingspan with orange membranes spreading between long, finger-like segments. It seems to have dark brown or grey scales, but a lighter underbelly. As it flies even closer, close enough that they can almost feel the wind from its wings, she can see what looks like a large, vibrant purple eye. 

Although there is something incredibly unnerving about such a powerful, dangerous predator so close to them… it’s also oddly mesmerising.

“It’s beautiful,” Chiara murmurs.

“It is.”

“What species do you think it is?”

Without missing a beat, Theseus answers. “Hebridean Black. Looks like a female, too. See, she’s got two sets of horns, one curling forward. Males have three, and they all curve back behind the ears.” He squints at the dragon as she flies away. “Her tail is also pointed- a male would have more of a club shape, for defence.”

Chiara stares at him, her jaw hanging open. “How in the hell do you know that? Just off the top of your head?”

“Oh. Er, I dunno.” He runs his fingers through his hair, smiling a bit sheepishly. “I- suppose it’s my brother’s fault. He’s quite passionate about magical creatures. My whole family is, really, but him especially. When we were younger, he used to always talk my ear off about beasts and creature identification…only ever listened to humour him, but I reckon I was paying more attention than I thought.” 

“That’s… unexpectedly sweet.”

“I beg your pardon? I am plenty sweet. All the time!” 

“Of course you are.” 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Yes, well. Perhaps we ought to go back inside, on the off chance she comes back around and spots us… I don’t fancy being dragon food today.”

“...Fine.”