#its good at its job in keeping readers at the edge of their seats

[csoisoi]

THE CLIFFHANGER ON THIS MOST RECENT CHAPTWR HAS ME FROTHING AT THE MOUTH I JUST WANT RO FALL INTO A COMA UNTIL THE NEXT KNE JS OUT

anon you are so right i felt like collapsing onto my knees right then and there, i was in so much despair kirio would come out of my phone screen and eat ME instead

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

[2neaky]

ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𓍼ོ.𓍢ִ໋

𝓜𝓓𝓝𝓘 ☆ 𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢 - reader is aroused from getting a tattoo (soft core) / Eren x Blackreader | mini drabble—working thru a writing slump so bear w. me on these shorter fics, enjoy <3

Over a hundred times per second, thousands of times per minute—the needle keeps hitting delicate skin.

Sometimes it breaks, leaving droplets of blood in its wake. Other times, it’s just strong enough to withstand the attack, leaving the skin raw and swollen.

‘It’s probably red,’ she thinks as her thighs clench around the chair.

There’s a moment of clarity; The needle has been lifted.

“You good?”

His voice almost makes her shiver.

Her closed eyes squeeze together.

“Mhm.”

She hears him moving around some tools behind her. “Use your words.”

“Yeah…”

Low, green eyes bore into the back of her head, watching closely.

From their first meeting, she could tell that Eren was an ‘all-about-the-details’ kind of man. Analytical, almost to a fault (noting the times he’s kept her in his chair longer than needed, just to perfect a tattoo). She doesn’t appreciate him any less for it.

Yet, she’s burning up under his stare. She almost wishes he would look away, as stupid as that sounds.

“Tell me when you need a break.”

She nods and turns her head to the side to rest against the headrest, eyes still closed.

“𓊆ྀི⋆˖ ⭑˚⊹𓊇ྀི.”

Soft mink lashes blink as she peels her eyes open to look at him—as best as she can from this angle, anyway.

“Tell me.”

He’s a soft-talker, quiet most times. But the added edge to his voice at times just gets her.

Usually, she laughs it off, making a joke about him. It makes it easier to ignore the way his tone fires her up.

She can’t laugh this time.

Her body inches up higher against the back of the chair, her wide hips do a meager half-drag against it.

Why did she wear jeans?

“Okay.”

The whine of her voice almost alarms him. His gaze lingers on her for seconds more as his mind replays the way her full lips twitched into a pout.

He saves an apology to continue his work.

The second the needle touches her skin, her spine tenses beneath his hand. It isn’t so much of a big movement that he has to take a pause. Just a tiny shift beneath the skin. Still, he notices it.

He also notices the restless sway of her right knee every time he lifts the needle. And how her hips keep anchoring down against the seat. Even how her breathing picks up.

During their first ever session, he wondered why she would never tap out for breaks. But, it’s too obvious that she enjoys more than she should. Even when she tries to hide it.

A breath of amusement leaves through his nose.

The needle trickles half an inch lower, closer towards one of her back dimples. He applies more force behind the gun.

Her eyes roll back shut. Her arms shield her face, keeping him from seeing her tug her bottom lip between her teeth.

A stifled whimper sneaks out.

“This is gonna be a long one,” he mutters.

He doesn’t lift the needle.

It’s getting harder and harder for her to keep still. She releases her bottom lip and it trembles.

Eren glances up at her and presses a little harder. The sting reaches deeper.

Her lips part as her face pulls together.

“I’m almost done, you could hold out.”

A tiny mewl slips from her. It’s soft and broken, so unlike her strong, brazen attitude.

Something in his chest drops; It free-falls down his stomach and to his dick. He lifts the gun with a sigh.

His breath fans against the raw skin of her back. She shivers as her hips twitch against the chair again.

“Good job.”

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

So Much To Teach

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: quite a few; dom Spencer kinda, oral (f receiving), age gap; reader is 21+ but it's a lil dubious by default bc he's her professor and therefore an authority figure but shhhh its fine shhhh, fingering, marking a little bit, p in v sex, they both talking diiiiirty, minor praise, risky sex, multiple orgasms, edging- I think I got everything??

Genre: Smut

Summary: You want your professor's attention but you had no idea what would happen if you got it- you also had no idea you'd get it by talking to a classmate

Part 2

***

Professor Reid is by far your favorite teacher ever and you make sure to make it as obvious as you can get away with. You're always early to his class, you sit in the front row, ask questions as often as you can, take full advantage of his office hours- all of it. You're determined to make Spencer Reid think of you as often as you think of him. Unbeknownst to you, you didn't need to put so much effort into capturing his attention. Not that you'd ever be able to tell, Spencer is always the epitome of professionalism. Well, almost always. He's human after all and you- you might as well be a siren. On the days you come in wearing your shortest skirts, toying with the hem absentmindedly, it's practically impossible for him to keep his gaze above your desk. He's not careless though, only allowing himself to stare when he's not the focus, during exams for example. He especially loves presentation days because he can spend them shamelessly eye-fucking you while you're busy addressing the class. You never seem to notice the way his attention drifts to you, and he's counting his lucky stars for it. He's plenty aware of the implications of his little crush. He wouldn't be so stupid as to make a move on you, especially while you're still his student. Spencer has spent more than enough time convincing himself that the risks outweigh the reward. For now, he'll have to be content watching you from a distance, even when you saunter into his office in your tight blouses to discuss your homework. On those days he knows the memory of your boobs practically spilling out of those shirts will keep him up for at least another hour later that night.

Weeks of your silent game that you're sure he's not actually picking up on have you growing bored of focusing only on getting his attention. Sure you want him to think about you, but you're not so crazy to think he'd risk his job to say, bend you over his office desk like you so desperately wish he would every time you go in there. You're young and in college and while the boys here do not hold your attention the same way, you're not above a little distraction. Which is why today you walk into class chatting with another student, a guy named Matt who has been trying to get you to notice him for a while now. Professor Reid isn't in the class yet and you hop on top of your desk as you talk to Matt about some sports thing. You're not totally following but he's cute so you giggle and pretend you get it, swinging your legs and batting your eyelashes in the way you know college boys respond so well to. You hardly even notice Spencer enter the classroom, but he zeros in immediately on the sight of you smiling at some kid. Matt's a good student, Spencer really has nothing against him, but he rolls his eyes at the two of you knowing that Matt would never be able to keep up with you.

"Quiet down everyone. Miss y/n your butt belongs in a seat, not on a desk and Mister Lewis I suggest you find somewhere to sit as well so we can begin." Spencer addresses you and Matt sharply, catching you off guard. He's never spoken to you that way but you can't help the amused look on your face as you mutter an affirmative and hop off the desk to sit in your chair. Maybe something's going on that put him in a bad mood. The class goes by smoothly after that and Matt is at your desk as soon as Spencer dismisses you all. Spencer has to turn his back to the room to hide the way his face twists up watching you.

The next class again, you walk in with Matt, this time Spencer is there already so you sit directly in your seat but Matt stays and talks to you while you wait for class to officially start. Spencer has to tamp his desire to break the conversation up for no reason until enough students pile in that he begins the lesson. This goes on for two more sessions, you walk in with Matt, twirling your hair, giggling at him, flaunting your gorgeous figure in flattering outfits that he openly gawks at you in, all while Spencer tries to keep himself from the edge of insanity. He has no right to be so put out by this, you're a student for crying out loud. He tries to remember that, tries hard to keep himself in check even as Matt basically invades your personal space as you're sitting on your desk before class again. You let him get entirely too close for Spencer's liking and when he sees you lean forward he can't stop himself from interrupting.

"Miss y/n." Spencer drawls out in a way that makes you want to shiver. "I've already told you desktops are not for sitting. Don't make me tell you again." Spencer says effectively ruining whatever was about to happen between you and Matt. He even backs off to let you get down from your desk.

"I'll see you after class okay?" You tell Matt sweetly and Spencer absolutely cannot take any more of this. He begins his lecture though his mind is somewhere else through most of it. He's busy planning. When the time comes and he dismisses the class Matt is quickly making his way to you and Spencer realizes he has to move now.

"Miss y/n. You don't have a class after this do you?" Spencer asks.

"No professor. Is something the matter?" You ask.

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you. Come with me to my office." He instructs.

"O-okay?" You frown. Matt does too from where he stopped when Spencer called your name. Spencer waits for you to finish collecting your things before he heads towards the class's exit. "I'll- I'll catch you later I guess Matt." You say over your shoulder before following Spencer. You try to think what this could be about. Your last paper was great, you know it was, plus there's no way he's through grading those yet, you aced the most recent test you took- there's no way he's calling you into his office because of the desk-sitting thing- is there? When you reach Spencer's office he shuts the door behind you and stands on the other side of his desk. He doesn't sit- which you find strange but nothing about this has been normal thus far.

"Is there a problem sir?" You ask sitting down.

"Is there a problem?! You- never mind. No y/n, no problem." Spencer forces himself to restrain that overwhelming urge he has to yell over Matt or simply split you open on his desk, or in his office chair, or against the wall- he shakes the thought from his mind, scrambling for an excuse for calling you to his office. "I just wanted to discuss something from- your paper."

"Oh you've started grading the papers?" You ask. He's only just gotten to them. He doesn't even think he's graded yours all the way through yet but he can't tell you the truth, that you're only here so you didn't walk out with Matt.

"Yes I have and there was something interesting... in your paper. I just need to find it, give me- a minute." Spencer shuffles through things on his desk, he's stalling and he hopes you don't notice.

"Professor Reid?" You tilt your head at him.

"Just a minute y/n." He mutters.

"Professor." You frown, your voice is forceful enough that he glances up at you. "I know you know exactly where my paper is. And I know that if there was really something you wanted to discuss in said paper you'd already have it memorized. You're almost irritatingly punctilious, I've been in your office more than enough times to know that. So what's really going on?"

"I suppose I should've expected this from one of my smartest students." He muses with a shake of his head.

"I know we're not friends by any means since you're my professor and all but we're both adults and I hope you'd respect me enough to tell me the truth." You tell him.

"Believe me I am trying very hard."

"To tell the truth or respect me?" You cross your arms.

"I respect you implicitly and because of that telling the truth here is- conflicting."

"Professor Reid, what am I doing in your office? I've asked you much harder questions than that in class."

"If only you knew." He scoffs.

"Professor-"

"You're right. I didn't call you in here to discuss a paper." He sighs knowing he's out of escapes. "It's that boy you've been draping yourself over all month." Spencer says through clenched teeth.

"Matt? You called me in here to discuss Matt? Why? Is he failing or something?"

"No. He maintains a solid B average in my class."

"Okay, then I'm really not understanding professor. What does Matt have to do with anything?" You shake your head.

"It is infuriating to watch him with you as if he has even the slightest chance of satisfying you in any way." Spencer walks over to you as he speaks, punctuating his sentence by leaning against the arms of your chair which forces you to lean back.

"And- what makes you the authority on who could satisfy me?" You ask breathily, blinking up at him.

"Considering you haven't even tried to move away from me I'd guess you know as well as I do." Spencer stares at you intently.

"Are you making a move on me professor?" You ask with feigned innocence that you know he sees through.

"Am I not being clear enough?" He asks.

"I dunno."

"Then allow me to make myself unequivocal." Spencer closes the small gap between you two, pressing his lips against yours fiercely. His hands hold your face as he pours all of his feelings and frustrations into this kiss. You grab hold of his wrists as you surrender yourself to the feeling of his mouth on yours. When he finally pulls away you're both left panting but a dam has been broken with that single kiss and your hands are pulling off his tie before he's even realized it. You stand up and kiss him again, fingers tangling in his hair, while his hands settle against your waist easily. He doesn't let you lead things for long, turning you both to sit you on his desk. "I'm going to show you everything that silly boy could never give you." Spencer grumbles against your lips.

"I never pegged you for the jealous type Professor Reid." You giggle.

"I've never been good at sharing." He quips kissing his way down your throat.

"Go figure." You mutter with a breathy sigh when his kisses turn to nips and sucks. "Careful. If you visibly mark me I'll have to lie." You tell him which only seems to spur him on and you yelp after a particularly harsh bite.

"Lie?" He frowns at you.

"I mean I can't very well say 'Professor Reid gave me those hickies' now can I?" You say and Spencer laughs as he drops into the chair in front of you.

"No, I suppose not, but you can absolutely use them to let people know you're taken." He says shuffling closer to you and pulling your underwear off from under your skirt.

"By people you mean Matt don't you?" You smile, amused at how miffed he is over your little distraction.

"Say his name again in here and I'll turn that ass of yours so red that you'll still have trouble sitting by next class." Spencer glances up at you with a warning look that has your exposed cunt clenching around nothing. An action he doesn't catch, seeing as your skirt is still hiding your center from him. He bunches your skirt up at your hips as he lifts you onto his desk and adjusts your legs so your feet are on it, knees wide so he can simply watch how your pussy glistens for a moment. His gaze is intense and soon you're squirming against the dark wood he's displayed you on.

"Professor Reid, touch me- please." You pout at him.

"Someone's getting impatient huh? You just look so pretty I can't help but want to stare." His words make you blush and the restlessness gets worse as he leisurely folds the sleeves of his button down shirt to reveal his forearms.

"Please professor-" You sigh.

"I like hearing you beg." Spencer's grin is nothing short of sadistic but he leans forward and lets his tongue drag through your wetness with a satisfied groan. He shifts to hold your legs open as he feasts on you like a man starved. It's hard to keep track of his tongue, thrusting in and out of you, circling your clit, disappearing entirely as he suckles harshly on the bundle of nerves all with incredible veracity. It's like he figured out how to read your body before he even began and he's got you teetering on the edge faster than you'd like to admit. Your hands tug desperately at his brown hair as you feel your orgasm building. Before you can even warn him of your incoming release he's switching his tactic, dragging you back from that end, still pleasing you but rather than feeding the fire he's simply maintaining it where it is.

"No!" You whine before you can stop yourself when you feel your orgasm slipping further away. His responding chuckle only adds to your frustration.

"If you're gonna cum princess it'll be when I'm ready for you to. Understood?" Spencer doesn't even lift his head as he speaks. He nips at your swollen clit when you don't answer and after a yelp, you manage a response.

"Y-yes sir." You get out.

"Good girl." He mutters lapping at your juices yet again. Same as before, he easily works you towards the edge with his tongue in all the right places, and like before, when your orgasm is in reach he walks you backwards. This time you manage to hold back your sound of frustration and then his fingers enter the mix and your small whimpers become full on whines as he curls two digits inside you just right to have you arching off of his desk. With his mouth focused solely on your clit while his fingers thrust in and out of you diligently, not to mention the previous denials, you're practically shaking as he works you up again.

"Professor Reid please let me cum this time, please sir- fuck I can't- I need to cum so bad. Please professor- I- I can't. Oh god." Your breathless pleas are barely sensible, but they satisfy Spencer and he doesn't pull back this time, doesn't stop until you're clenching around his fingers and spasming on his desk, struggling to handle the impact of your own orgasm. He watches the way pure ecstasy washes over your face with a smirk on his face as he helps you through it with gentle strokes of his fingers. When your breathless gasps become more subdued he pulls his hand away from your center. Before you can fully recover, Spencer pulls you off of the desk and turns your back to him, bending you over the desk with a hand at your back.

"Fuck- I need a condom." He mutters.

"Do you have any?"

"I- no? I don't regularly fuck people in my office y/n."

"I- have one in my bag. Front pocket." You mutter. Spencer reaches for your backpack and grabs the condom quickly, rolling it on with ease.

"I'm going to absolutely ruin you for anyone else." He tells you before thrusting himself into you. Inch by inch he slides deeper inside you and pinned against his desk all you can do is moan at the fullness. He sets a rhythm as soon as he bottoms out, his dick dragging against your walls with each hard thrust. 

"Fuck- god that feels good." You mewl.

"Yeah? You like the way my dick splits you open don't you? Knew you would. You're absolutely perfect for me. Just me. Isn't that right?" He grunts through his filthy words, each one punctuated with another forceful thrust.

"Yeah- yes. God- yes."

"Say it. Say your mine princess."

"I- I'm yours sir. All yours. N-no one else's. No one else could fuck me like this- m-make me feel like this. Just you. Holy sh-shit." You pant out. Spencer's thrusts are rocking the entire desk at this point and you are sure the skin where your hips are ramming against the edge will be sore tomorrow but right now all you can focus on is how good it feels to be fucked like this. Better than you imagined and god you hope he never stops.

"Good girl." He breathes out.

"Feels so good Professor." You whine.

"I know, fuck I know. You feel so perfect y/n." Spencer groans. His hand wraps around your throat and pulls your back against his chest as he fucks you. Spencer's other hand, slides across your waist, finding your clit easily. He toys with the bundle of nerves and your hands grip the edge of the desk as you whine.

"Oh my god." You gasp.

"Let go for me y/n. Wanna feel you on my dick."  Spencer says, kissing your shoulder. Your hand grabs at his arm desperate to ground yourself as your orgasm washes over you. Spencer hisses, your nails digging into his skin deliciously. His hips stutter and he groans, long and deep, as he spills into his condom, face buried in your neck. You both remain where you are, panting in the aftermath of it for several moments before Spencer breaks the silence.

"Did you have a condom because you planned on fucking Matt?" He asks and you can't help but laugh.

"No, I just always carry some. I like preparedness." You say, stuttering a bit when Spencer chooses to slip out of you while you speak.

"I'll have to start keeping some in here." He says, pulling his condom off and disposing of it.

"Planning on building a roster for yourself Professor Reid?" You quip adjusting yourself to lean back against the desk instead of still bending over it. Your tone is light but you'll admit you won't take it well if he says yes. Spencer frowns at you as he reaches into his desk for something.

"Is that a serious question?" He asks walking over to you with a packet of wipes in hand.

"Well it was a joke really but if you want to take it seriously be my guest." You shrug. He kneels in front of you, his frown deepening as he considers your words.

"No y/n I'm not 'building a roster'. The only person I'm planning on fucking in here is you, but it shouldn't be your responsibility to provide contraceptive methods for that. Also I've been inside you, I think you can call me Spencer when we're alone." He says gently cleaning you up. You try not to squirm at the intimacy of the whole thing.

"Oh. Okay." You can't think of anything else to say.

"Let me make something clear to you I'm not- I didn't just fuck you to get it out of my system and move on after this y/n. I'd actually like to continue something with you- unless of course, you have no interest in that, I won't pressure you. Although I can't imagine you can go back to Matt after that."

"You really hate him huh?" You laugh.

"He's a fine student. I just don't particularly like the way he drools over you." Spencer shrugs. "But it won't matter if you choose to see me again."

"I will. See you again I mean. This was fun." You say. A knock on the locked office door stops Spencer from speaking.

"Professor Reid?" A voice calls on the other side of the door. A student.

"Just a moment!" Spencer says, he quickly takes a moment to adjust your hair for you and pick up some of the scattered things from his desk while you fix your clothes.

"Spencer where is my underwear?!" You whisper at him.

"Oh I'll be holding onto that." Spencer winks at you, tapping his pocket where your panties are no doubt stuffed. You shoot him a look but grab your backpack and head towards the door.

"Thank you for answering my questions Professor! See you in class next week." You say loudly as you open the door. A boy you don't recognize is on the other side of it. He must be from one of Spencer's other sessions.

"Yes of course. See you next week." His response is almost dismissive, enough that this other student should have no idea what was going on before he showed up and only once you're practically out of the building do you let your giddy smile take over your face as you walk back to your apartment.

***

Part 2

[seratopia]

hobie brown x reader (fluff) - eyeliner → she/her pronouns!

hobie loves asking you to do eye makeup for him

"Sweets! C'mere for a sec!"

Your ears perk up when you hear Hobie from the other room, amidst slathering on a moisturizer onto your face.

"Hold on! I'm doing skincare!" You exclaim, hoping he heard you.

"C'mon already!" Hobie yells, and you fight every urge to roll your eyes as you rub in the last bit of your face lotion.

"Okay, okay!"

Hobie smirks when you dip into his bedroom, reaching out his hands to beckon you closer. The fluffy lounge set you're in makes him want to handle you more, his fingers subconsciously drawing in towards you.

You stick out like a sore thumb against the different shades of black in his room, studded belts and punk magazines scattered on the ground. Lazily, he's seated on the edge of his bed, his worn-out guitar sprawled across his charcoal-black sheets.

Those silver-ringed hands slip onto the curves of your waist, snaking their way up your back to tug you closer to him. You almost shiver at the feeling of so much metal. Cockily, he stares at your face, cheekily dragging you so that his face his a hair close to your chest.

"What is it, Hobie?" You ask, smoothing your fingers through his kinky hair. Hobie likes it when you trace your thumb over all of his piercings.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Hobie pulls out an eyeliner pen, flipping it smoothly through his fingers. Hobie chuckles a little, squeezing at the fat of your sides. There's a glint in his eye; excitement.

"Y'always talk about puttin' makeup on me, so I'm givin' you a try."

Hobie's smirk widens when he sees you light up in excitement, allowing you to slip the eyeliner pen from his fingers.

"Right now?" You ask, and Hobie squeezes you. He nods, shoving his face right up at you to emphasize.

"Do an edgy look for me, yeah? Don't be afraid t'smudge it a li'l."

So, while Hobie sits at the edge of his bed, he indulgently allows himself to wrap his arms around you, tilting his head upwards so you can paint on the makeup properly. You're parked right in the gap between his legs, closing in the little distance you have with Hobie to perfect the look.

While you stand there, bracing Hobie's face with one hand, he just takes it upon himself to stare at your concentrated expression. He hates to admit but he loves the close proximity.

"Hobie, you gotta close your eyes for me to do it."

The boy shuts his eyes closed, flinching just the tiniest bit when the tip of the pen first meets his skin. You build up a fine line at the outer corner of his eyelid, making it an effort to upturn the wing just the slightest bit.

For the last part, you draw a somewhat messy line underneath his lower lash line, smearing black onto only the outer side. Taking your finger, you smudge the black while its still wet, blurring out the line until whats left under his eye looks like black shadow.

Hobie resists every urge to open his eyes, every nerve screaming at him to keep them shut. For now, he makes due with what he can, squishing a little too close to your butt, or running his thumbs over where your rib cage is.

"I finished the first eye, wanna see?" You ask.

He opens his eyes back up, relishing the sigh of you until he has to close them again. You step away elsewhere to search for a good-sized mirror, and Hobie reluctantly lets go.

You come back with a hand mirror, and Hobie feels his eye itch just a little, probably from the eyeliner. You hand him the mirror, and it makes you a little nervous. At the end of the day, you just want him to like it.

You watch as Hobie examines the first eye, tilting his face from side to side with a smile forming on his mouth.

"Wow, y'did a nice job. I like the smudging right 'ere." Hobie explains, pointing his finger up to his under eye.

You smile, taking the mirror from his hand so you could continue the other eye.

"Y'know... I think I might ask'ya to do this more often." Hobie says, mindlessly tapping his fingers against your back. The way you handle his face almost makes him melt.

"You're good at makeup."

You chuckle a little, swiping the pen away to press a gentle kiss to Hobie's forehead. The way he smiles is so cute, how you can feel his cheeks warm under your fingertips.

"If you wanted to be with me, you could'a just asked, Hobie." You giggle, gently poking the corner of his other eyelid with the pen.

"I'm serious!" Hobie laughs, his eyes still closed. "I look like Cooper, y'know who Cooper is?"

"The guy that gave you a spare guitar string?" You ask.

"Yeah, he's a good man, had this really wicked eyeliner on."

With a final swoop of your wrist you finish his other eye, your vision ping-ponging between the two wings to make sure they're symmetrical.

"Done!" And you hand Hobie the mirror again, intently watching his expressions. Again, he tilts his head from side to side, an impressed smile on his face. It looks really good on him, perfect for one of his shows.

"Wow, sweets, this is really sick. Bet I'd give Cooper a run for his money, yeah?" Hobie says, standing up from his bed. You giggle into his chest when he pulls you in, repaying you for the earlier kiss with one on the crown of your head.

"You think so?" You ask, and Hobie nods.

"Get dressed and I can take us to The Crown, bet Cooper's there havin' a drink or two." He cockily states, making you playfully roll your eyes. You're expecting him to show up Cooper, pridefully pointing to his eyes to say, "Yeah, my girl did that."

"I'd like that." You say, untangling yourself from Hobie to search for something on the floor to wear. You leave some of your clothes in his room anyway. He lets go of you, watching you skim through his wardrobe.

"How 'bout that l'il dress, the short one you always like? We can match." Hobie suggests, placing his hands underneath his head and leaning back into his bed.

"It's all the way over at my flat." You reply, and Hobie springs back up, already pulling his spider mask out of his worn-out vest pocket.

"I can go get it, if you want."

"I think you want it more than I do, Hobie." You shrug, Hobie already a third of his way out the window.

"Be back in a sec!"

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Golden Ratio - Part Two

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, smut, virginity loss. Word count: ~4.7k

Chapter summary: Her and Michael struggle with the social side of university, and with each other. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is halfway through her second can of Carling, having downed the first as soon as Michael handed it to her, before she feels ready to speak.

In a rare display of empathy, he had handed her a lager the moment he’d opened his door to her, clearly having taken note of her miserable state. There isn’t a mirror in his room, so she has no idea of how puffy her eyes may still be from crying.

The beer is warm, but it’s doing its job and that’s all she really cares about right now. With every pass of the fizzy, amber liquid down her throat she feels lighter - she doesn’t normally drink, so it doesn’t take long.

“Go on then,” she says miserably, drink held in a loose grip between both hands as she perches on the edge of his bed. “You can say ‘I told you so’.”

“About what?” He says, eyeing her carefully, from where he is seated on his computer chair, turned away from his desk to face where she currently sits, the frame of it creaking slightly as he sits forward.

She exhales, keeping her gaze fixed on the ring pull of her beer. “Rich…he’s…he’s been cheating on me.”

“Oh.” 

Michael clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and for a moment she thinks he won’t say anything else. Her mouth turns downwards bitterly, thinking it’s best she just leaves.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it.

Her head snaps up, eyes locking with his, and he leans back as though wary of her reaction.

“For what?” She asks, a mirthless smile tugging at her lips as she cocks her head.

He bows his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I dunno,” he glances back up at her, “just something people say, isn’t it? When something bad happens…”

“I don’t want your empty words,” she tells him, setting her can down by her feet before resting back on her palms. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.”

“You’re already upset,” he states matter of factly, “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Fuck what you think!” She exclaims, shifting back to the edge of the bed. “Tell me.”

“Alright, fine,” Michael sighs, “I think Rich is a fucking loser, and him cheating is the best thing that could have happened–”

“Wow, thanks–”

“No, let me finish. He’s reading art, for fuck’s sake! What could you possibly have in common? You can do better, you’ve got a brilliant mind.”

Brilliant. 

In two years, Rich had never once called her that. A feeling of warmth passes through her as her eyes meet the vibrant blue of Michael’s.

“You really believe that?”

“I know that.”

They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, and she has no idea what possesses her, but suddenly she is leaning forward, pressing her lips to his. He is hesitant to respond, and when he does it’s chaste and uncertain, a marker of inexperience or unwillingness which she cannot decipher, so she pulls away.

But then he is chasing her, large hands cradling her head as he tugs her back, his mouth finding hers once more. This time the pressure is equal, their breathing heavy as the sticky sound of their saliva grows more significant. 

Moving from the bed, not breaking the kiss, she straddles his lap, ignoring the way the chair wheels back against the desk with a heavy thud. Her fingers thread into Michael’s short, sandy hair, as the embrace deepens, her tongue brushing against his. She grinds herself down upon the rapidly growing bulge she can feel beneath the zipper of his cargo shorts, causing a rumble of approval to vibrate from deep within his chest.

It feels good to feel wanted, but as their hands paw haphazardly at each other through their clothes, doubt creeps into her mind. If this is his first kiss, then it would be his first time too. He is her friend, her project partner, she has just broken up with her boyfriend. None of this is a good idea.

Reluctantly, she pulls away, sheepishly climbing from his lap. They’re both breathing heavily, and Michael gingerly adjusts his glasses as he looks up at her in silent question.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, running a hand through her hair, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m a bit pissed and got carried away…”

“Oh,” his eyes widen, as he nods in understanding, subtly moving to adjust himself in his shorts, “of course. I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

She reaches out a hand, not quite touching him, but wanting to placate him as she fervently shakes her head. “No, no, it’s me taking advantage. I don’t want to ruin things between us. We’re friends.”

“Friends?” The way his eyes light up as he says the word makes her smile, hopeful that she hasn’t caused irreparable damage between.

“Yeah, friends.”

She needs that more than anything right now.

“So, what are you hoping to do once you graduate?” Michael asks, glancing between her and their collective notes.

It’s the day before they are due to present back to Professor’s Byrne’s class, and they have met in the library to go over everything one final time.

In the days since their kiss they have grown closer; sitting next to each other in the remainder of their introductory lectures and meeting up to work on their project, though they both know it is complete and needs nothing else doing to it.

She has grown used to Michael’s intensity, would go as far as to say she is fond of it, and genuinely looks forward to seeing him each day. Oxford feels far less lonely with him by her side.

“Something in the field of medical research,” she says, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the delicate softness of the petals of the sunflower head they’d cut down a few days prior. I read Professor Byrne’s paper before I applied here. It inspired me.”

“The one on biomedical systems?”

Her eyes light up as she smiles at him. “You read it?”

“Hmm. An interesting read, though I much prefer mechanics.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ve been reading a lot about random matrix theory. I’d like to go into the field of statistical mechanics.”

“I look forward to reading one of your research papers one day.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, though she doesn’t miss the faintest of pink that tinges his cheeks.

It’s the day of the presentations, and just as she’d suspected, almost every group in the glass has presented back a table relating to how the Fibonacci sequence creates a spiral. Her and Michael share a knowing look, a smug smirk of satisfaction on each of their faces.

Aside from one presentation, which did in fact focus on rabbits, but delved too deeply into mating habits to be considered mathematical, theirs is entirely unique.

She beams with pride as she catches the impressed smile of Professor Byrne from the corner of her eye as they stand at the front of the lecture hall, talking through their findings.

“Very well done, both of you,” she tells them as they return to their seats.

The compliment makes her heart soar, providing her with a rush that lasts long after the class has been dismissed.

“Let’s go to the pub,” she says excitedly to Michael as they walk down Woodstock Road, away from the Mathematical Institute.

“You want to go to the pub? It’s the middle of the day.”

“There are no more lectures today, and I feel like celebrating. We really impressed Professor Byrne.”

Fifteen minutes later they’re sitting in the Lamb and Flag. A bright pink straw juts out of the neck of her bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and she rolls it between her fingers playfully as she watches Michael sip his pint.

The pub is half full with other students, all either skipping lectures or making the most of a free period.

“I told you that focusing on flowers would make us stand out,” she says, unable to suppress her grin.

Michael swallows his beer, wiping his mouth the back of his hand once he’s settled the pint glass back down on the beer mat. “Yeah, you did. We made the rest of the class look like losers,” he says with a chuckle.

“Yeah, we make quite the team, don’t we?”

He smiles, lowering his gaze and nods. There it is again, that adorable pink flush that dusts his cheeks.

“I’m gonna go to the loo. Will you watch my drink for me?”

He nods, watching as she stands and walks to the ladies.

Five minutes later, she can no longer see him at their table as she returns, though both their drinks are still there. She peers around the corner, seeing him standing before a larger group of students. A few she has seen around before, though they’re not on their course.

“So, is she your girlfriend then?” She overhears one of the guys ask Michael.

“No, not my girlfriend,” he responds, “but I’m helping her get over a break up, if you know what I mean.”

She swallows, feeling her heart lurch as she listens, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

“Oh yeah? Really helping her get over it, I bet,” the guy says, earning raucous laughter from the rest of the group.

She storms towards them, deciding she’s heard enough. Despite wanting to sound angry, her voice trembles as she speaks, betraying the tears she’s fighting to hold back. “I haven’t slept with you!” She shouts at Michael, meeting his shocked, wide eyed stare. “I would never sleep with you!”

Turning on her heel, the pub door swings open with a squeak of hinges as she pulls on it. She walks quickly down St. Giles’, swiping angrily at the tears that have begun to roll down her cheeks.

How could he? They were supposed to be friends and he’d talked about her as though she was something cheap. She had thought Michael was different to everyone else.

Back in her room, a hollow ache has burrowed its way into her chest, as she lays flat on her back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The high of that morning’s presentation is long forgotten as her mind races with thoughts of what she’d overheard in the pub.

Why had he spoken about her like that? Had he been pretending to like her all this time just for the sake of the presentation?

Nausea swirls in her gut as she’s startled from her throughs by a soft knock at her door. She knows who it will be before she even answers it, and is half tempted to simply ignore it, she doesn’t want to see him. However, curiosity gets the better of her and before she can stop herself, she’s moving towards the door to open it.

Michael stands on the other side, posture not as straight as it usually is, as his shoulders slope and he looks at her imploringly. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked remorseful, but he is too self assured for such emotions.

“What do you want?” She asks tiredly.

“I’m sorry,” he says meekly, his voice softer than usual. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she snaps. “So why did you?!”

“When you went to the toilet, that group called me over, started asking questions and I…I don’t know…I just wanted to feel what it would be like to be normal, just once. I–”

She feels anger run hot in her blood, nostrils flaring as he speaks and cuts him off. “I’m not here to act as your fucking cloak of normality, Michael! Fortunately, we’ve already given the presentation.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, brows pinching together with concern.

“I mean that the need for us to continue speaking to one another is over.”

She slams the door in his face, choking back a sob.

Fuck Michael Gavey. She is so incredibly angry with him, she wants nothing more to do with him. And yet she can’t understand why it hurts so much, somehow this feels worse than what Rich had done to her.

The next few days are torturous. She avoids Michael as much as she can, sitting away from him in lectures, looking away when she catches him staring at her. Seeing him online on MSN makes her heart ache, yet she can’t find it in herself to simply block and delete him. It feels too final somehow, worsened by the fact that she stares obsessively at his username, a part of her hoping a message will pop up from him. It never does.

Life goes back to feeling bland and lonely, with nothing to look forward to anymore. She goes about her days, alone, and then sits in her room, alone.

A week later and she is back in Professor Byrne’s class, only this time she seats herself as far away from Michael as she possibly can, trying not to think about how happy she’d felt to present beside him the last time she was in this room.

“So, I hope you all enjoyed your introductory project,” she begins, as she enters the room, setting her briefcase down upon the desk at the front. “It wasn’t just an exercise in presenting what you know about the Fibonacci sequence, it was a test of how well you work in pairs. That being said, the person you worked with will also be the person you are paired with for your upcoming tutorials with me.”

Her heart sinks.

No, no, no.

Chancing a glance over at Michael, she feels herself grow hot as she sees he’s already looking at her, and she quickly turns away. She had hoped to be able to avoid him, but now would have to spend an hour in close confines with him once a week for the remainder of first year.

Her heart races for the rest of the lecture and she finds herself unable to concentrate, hurriedly packing her bag and rushing to leave the room the moment they’re dismissed.

Unfortunately, Michael has beaten her to it and is waiting for her in the corridor. She bows her head, moving to step around him, but he blocks her path.

“I’ll ask for a different tutorial partner,” he says, “you needn’t worry about having to interact with me.”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide with shock. Her throat tightens as she’s met with the sight of his baby blues, boring a hole into her. “Don’t…don’t do that. It would look bad to Professor Byrne. We can both be mature about this.”

Silently she forces away the sadness she feels at him not wanting to be partnered with her. He’s in the wrong, not the other way around, she has to remind herself.

“As long as you’re sure?” He asks, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly feeling as uneasy as she does.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you around,” she tells him, finally stepping past and walking away.

“See you tomorrow,” he calls after her.

What?!

She rifles in her bag, pulling out her freshly printed timetable.

There it is. Tutorial - 9.05 - Prof. Byrne.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She is filled with restless energy until the next morning. Her leg bounces involuntarily as she sits in the armchair next to Michael’s in the small, stuffy room of Professer Byrne’s office, who is seated opposite them.

Her eyes scan the shelves of books, the various notebooks that are fanned across the table, anything to avoid looking at Michael, until the older woman speaks.

“So, I hope you’ve both come with notes prepared to discuss the various ways of describing and displaying data, as discussed yesterday?”

Her face blanches. She’d been too distracted following the tutorial announcement to pay attention, and hadn’t heard her assign this. She has done no reading or note taking.

Michael glances over at her, taking in her worried expression. “Actually,” he interjects, “I think we may have misunderstood the instructions. We worked on this as a pair too, I hope you’ll forgive us just this once?”

The professor sighs, crossing her legs and tapping her pen against her pad. “Fine. Just this once. But I require individual work moving forward, you aren’t earning your degrees as a joint effort.”

“Understood,” Michael nods, rifling through his papers. “Here,” he says, leaning across and handing her a few sheets. “These are your notes.”

Slowly she takes them from him, her eyes scanning the pages, mostly graphs and tables of data, easy enough to understand and explain, without needing context.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, offering him a small smile.

The tutorial goes ahead without any further hiccups. Michael talks passionately and competently about what he’s read and the notes he’s taken, and she manages to talk through the data points he has provided her. If Professor Byrne suspects any unpreparedness, she doesn’t say.

Once it’s over and they step out into the hallway, she hands the papers back to him. “Why did you do that?” She asks quietly.

“You hadn’t prepared anything,” he says with a shrug.

“That was really nice of you.”

“It’s the least I owe you.”

“Thank you.”

He nods. “It won’t happen a second time. Come prepared next week. I want to hear what that brilliant mind of yours can come up with.”

There it is again. Brilliant mind.

She smiles at that, though her heart twists painfully in her chest as she watches him walk away. This is what she had wanted, she has to remind herself, he’d disrespected her.

Another two weeks go by, and though she is lonely it gets easier not having to avoid Michael. She finds their weekly tutorials are something she looks forward to, enraptured by how fervently he speaks about each topic, and preening with pride as he sits clearly impressed as she talks through her own notes and findings.

She misses him, though she is too proud to admit it. He had hurt her, and she’d told him to stay away. It would be humiliating to crawl back to him after that.

It’s Friday night and she’s in desperate need of a snack, so heads out of her room in the direction of the vending machines, running straight into a group of girls from her floor as they’re walking out.

Their giggles die down to silence as they see her, all offering her awkward, but obviously fake smiles.

“Not out tonight?” One of them asks, she’s fairly certain her name is Annabel, from what she’s heard in the corridors.

She shakes her head. “No, not tonight.”

“You could come out with us? We’re off to The Bull.”

She scans the faces of the other girls, all clearly less than enthusiastic about her presence, then shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Oh, darling, I wasn’t asking,” Annabel giggles, grabbing her arm.

Less than thirty minutes later she finds herself squashed around a table in The Bullingdon, next to Annabel. She recognises Felix and Farleigh as part of the group they’ve joined, all passing around Jägerbombs and cigarettes.

She feels out of place and underdressed, in jeans and a long sleeved shirt. The rest of the girls are all dressed up in colourful, sparkly eyeshadow and low cut tops.

Amidst the din of their laughter and seemingly endless chatter, set to a backdrop of ‘SOS’ by Rhianna, she can barely hear herself think. She sips anxiously at her coke, pressing her lips together and shaking her head when Annabel jiggles the 35cl bottle of vodka she’s produced from her bag, asking “want some voddy in that?”

Her focus is pulled away when she spots Michael tucked away in the corner. He’s sitting opposite the guy she saw him with on the first night, whose name she has since learned is Oliver.

Her and Michael lock eyes and he gives her a polite nod before returning his focus back to his own conversation. To be so close and yet so far from him makes her ache.

Try as she might, her gaze keeps wandering back to him, unable to focus on the people around her. She watches with keen interest as he rises from his table, headed towards the gents as Oliver makes his way to the bar.

“Olly! Olly! Over here!” Shouts Felix, and to her surprise, Oliver skulks over, with the body language of someone who’s about to ask them for spare change rather than join their group.

She raises an eyebrow as Felix shuffles over, making space for him to sit down and wonders if Michael will join them too.

Her question is answered when he returns from the toilets, giving Oliver an awkward wave which goes unanswered.

“Shit sorry,” Felix says, “are you here with your mate?”

“Nah, he’s just leaving,” Oliver says nonchalantly, accepting the shot he’s been passed.

From the way Michael bows his head and leaves the pub, she knows that’s the furthest thing from the truth, and shoots Oliver a pointed look.

“‘Scuse me,” she says quietly to Annabel, pushing out of her seat and following after Michael.

The chilly October air is biting against her skin in juxtaposition with the sticky warmth of the pub, as she attempts to follow his lanky gait.

“Michael, wait!” She calls after him, hurrying her steps to catch him up.

He stops, turning to her, a look of defeat on his face. “Go back to your mates.”

“They’re not my mates, and they’re not yours either,” she says softly. “I saw what Oliver did to you, that was out of order.”

“The closest thing I’ve felt to normal since coming here is hanging out with you,” he tells her. “The rest of them are all vapid cunts.”

“Then let’s go back to hanging out again,” she offers, stepping towards him.

“After what I did to you?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I miss my friend,” she says honestly, “come on, we’ll make our own fun, we don’t need those losers.”

He laughs softly, and for the first time in weeks she feels whole again.

There’s an odd sense of coming home as she steps inside of Michael’s room, the welcoming warmth wrapping itself around her like a familiar blanket.

“There’s beer under the desk,” he tells her, closing the door behind him.

She makes her way over towards it, pausing when she sees the papers on top of it.

A First Course in Random Matrix Theory for Physicists, Engineers and Data Scientists is printed in large font on the top page, she lifts it away, seeing that on the second is a simple dedication to her.

Her heart flutters as she draws in a shaky breath. “What’s this?”

“Fuck!” He exclaims, eyes going wide as he steps towards the desk. “I hadn’t expected you to come back here. I’d forgotten I’d left this out. You said in the library a few weeks ago that you’d be keen to read my first paper when I published it. It isn’t finished, but I wanted to dedicate it you, since you made my first week here so–”

She presses her lips to his, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks as she kisses him fiercely. Michael returns the gesture, long arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

“...so wonderful,” he finishes breathlessly, pressing his forehead to hers when they finally part for air.

“I look forward to reading it,” she grins up at him.

“Well, if you wanted, you could–”

“Do you really want me to read your paper right now?” She asks, gripping the front of his t-shirt and pulling him towards the bed.

“On second thoughts…”

He pulls her back in and their mouths meet again, desperate and needy as they topple onto the bed, tugging eagerly at each other’s clothing, quickly undressing each other.

Their pace slows once they are fully bare, and she runs her hands up and down the length of Michael’s sturdy back, enjoying the weight of his lithe body on top of hers.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I was an idiot,” he tells her, holding his weight up on his palms.

“Mmmm. The most stupid genius I know.”

He huffs a laugh. “I think I know just the thing that might cheer you up,” he tells her, moving down her body.

She props herself up on her elbows, watching with keen interest as he moves down her body, placing her legs over his shoulders once he reaches the juncture of her thighs.

He is hesitant at first, studying her closely, but then presses forward. She yelps at the sensation, all of his focus is on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, and it feels electrifyingly intense with the motion in which the tip of his tongue moves against it. It’s too much.

She squirms, pushing him away with a squeal.

“Did you not like that?” He asks, seeming unsure of himself as he sits on his haunches, adjusting his glasses.

“It was a bit too much,” she admits, giggling slightly.

“Oh…sorry,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “I read you’re supposed to shape out the letters of the alphabet when you do that. I’ve always been more of a numbers man, so I went for Pi instead.”

She laughs loudly, reaching for him when he bows his head in embarrassment. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I just want you.”

“Come here,” she says, leaning over to rummage in her purse for a condom. “May I?”

He nods, shuffling closer as she tears open the packet. He hisses through his teeth when she wraps her hand around him. He’s warm and thick, foreskin silky smooth as she gently rubs her hand up and down the length of him, feeling every ridge and vein.

“Is this your first time?” She asks softly, as she rolls the rubber from tip to base.

“Um…yeah…is that a problem?” He asks, reluctantly meeting her eye.

“Not if it isn’t for you,” she tells him earnestly, free hand stroking his cheek. “Do you want me to go on top?”

He shakes his head. “No…no, I want to feel you.”

She smiles in understanding, laying back and coaxing him to move over her, spreading her legs to accommodate him.

He feels heavy against her entrance and she fights to resist the urge to cant her hips forward, wanting to take things at a pace he’s comfortable with.

His jaw slackens as he pushes forward, and she sighs in pleasure at the slow stretch of him bottoming out inside of her. Their breaths are hot against each other's necks as he stills, adjusting to the new sensation.

When he eventually withdraws to slowly push back in again, she moves her hips in time with his, encouraging him, and he quickly finds a rhythm. They are a clash of teeth and tongues as their mouths meet messily, hands exploring each other as the bed creaks beneath the exertion of their movements.

“F–fuck…you feel good..” he mutters, causing her to moan and her toes to curl, as he nudges against her sweet spot.

She could come from this if he keeps it up, and she can feel herself clenching around him as the beginnings of her peak approach. Right as she teeters on the edge, he groans, pulsating and spilling into the sheath that separates them.

“Sorry..” he whispers, looking at her with fogged up lenses.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him, her fingers stroking through the hair at the side of his head, brushing over the temple of his glasses. “It felt good.”

“But you didn’t…you know…”

“Plenty of time for that,” she says, pecking his lips. “Like I said, we’ll make our own fun, won’t we?”

“Get another condom then,” he says, pulling out of her. “I’ve still got some making up to do.”

[stellayuta]

Love on The Grid - Formula 1 AU! Yuta Okkotsu - Pt 2.

Your likes, comments and reblogs really encourage me to write more! So do interact with this post and let me know your thoughts 🧡

PART 1

synopsis: One-night stands were nothing but a necessary painkiller for your inability to cross paths with true love. Your most recent find at a Vegas Club was no different. He was boring, obedient, SLOW! You leave him high and hanging hoping you'd never see him again until you find yourself gawking at a supersized billboard of him on a Vegas highway with the title 'LEGEND RETURNS TO VEGAS'.

genre: some s*xual tension, a lot of fluff, thrill and angst

content: 18+ only. Formula one driver! Yuta x f! reader, use of alcohol, swearing, mentions of sex

word count: 5k

a/n: part 2 came soon because i'm so pumped lolol. Note, In this story, Megumi and Toji aren't related.

WARNING: always use protection!

You sat in your hot, plastic seat with bated breath, like a thousand others, keeping your eyes trained on the asphalt of the track.

Even though it was November, temperatures in Vegas were no good - either that, or the revelation that your hookup from last night is a world-renowned athlete is making you nauseous.

You were in the most uncomfortable position in the entire stands combined, smack in the middle of a fired up Noritoshi and a spiteful Kokichi, who were planning on probably shouting at the top of their lungs for their favorite driver on the grid.

"When's this starting?" You turn to Miwa, a bit nervous.are You nervous to see that man, Yuta, in the middle of his job? What if he doesn't perform well - that would be embarrassing. Oh well, no one here knows about us anyway so it's fine. Except for his number one fan Noritoshi maybe.

"Well, they're almost done with the formation lap, so they should line up at the start line soon. Red Bull's Geto has the pole with a surprise front line seat for Ferrari's Gojo. King Okkotsu is sitting third with Ferrari's second, Itadori Yuji. Then it's Red Bull's Mahito followed by Merc's Toge and - " he goes on and on, speaking jargon and names You don't understand.

"Noritoshi." You stop him in the middle of his enthusiastic speech. "You understand that none of what you said passed through my brain right?"

"Ah well, none of it matters!" He cackles. "When the race begins - you will know who you'll cheer for and who will have you at the edge of your seat. Who gets your heart pumping." He says, fisting his chest. The last bit seemed a bit unintentionally personal but you roll your eyes at him anyway.

The drivers are soon done with their 'formation lap' which Kokichi is nice enough to enlighten you - is a circle they do around the track to prep their tyres for the race and check the tracks and engines. You also see now that Pole is the car sitting first in the starting lineup, as you narrow your eyes at dark, red and blue car zooming its way to ease into the frontmost bracket. That must be the bane of Noritoshi's existence and the Object of Kokichi's desire - Geto Suguru.

Behind him is a flashy red car that earns a deafening roar of cheer as he comes into position. That must Gojo Satoru.

Music Recommendation:

Behind him, and you find yourself looking really keenly. You spot the teal and midnight black hues of a fiery car, followed by another deafening roar and a partial standing ovation. So that's him. 'Mr. Cute Dick, I don't drink, I am not a virgin'. You smirk at thought of such a wallflower being at the center of one of the hottest sports in the world, in a championship with the highest stakes.

"Looks like Y/N is an Okkotsu fan." Noritoshi claims, grinning sarcastically at Kokichi who replies with a grimace. "No, I clearly saw her looking keenly at Geto."

"Ah, shut up the two of you." You snap. "Let me watch!"

The both of them exchange glances at your sudden interest but humor you as the crowd waits with a chilling silence. The five red lights light up, sounding a beep and you can hear your heartbeat in that moment as they turn green without warning and the race is on!

The set of 20 cars pick up speed at a maddening rate and are soon accelerating through the curves and straights of the track, tailing one another. The commentator is particularly zealous, and you find yourself listening to him with a lot of attention. Your eyes never leave the Teal and Dark vehicle with his tiny head popping out the cockpit, protected by his shiny, silver helmet.

For around 30 laps or so, nothing changes, and the people have started chatting amongst themselves. You slump back down into your seat.

There is some action going on at the back of the line-up with a few of the cars overtaking and re-overtaking one another.

"Well, this is boring…" You admit.

"It has its moments." Noritoshi states. "Oh wait, what's that-"

You turn to the track so fast, your vision goes blurry, and You nearly miss the spectacle.

The second red is quickly closing in on Yuta's Teal but Yuta swivels out of the way just in time, apparently surprising his tail-end as the driver, Itadori, loses control and touches the back of the first red car, Gojo's. Both of them start spinning dramatically and are vaulted out of the race at one of the turns.

"Collision! In the Top Five! Both Ferraris are out!" The commentator is roaring out now, with several people standing to get a better view.

You yourself are concerned for the Ferraris that seemed to have lost some parts of the car, leaving behind a trail of debris. But soon enough, both drivers emerge from their respective cars, with the taller one giving the crowd a thumbs up. He removes his helmet and a layer of clothing to reveal striking snow-white hair and dazzling smile. This sport is too fucking dangerous.

"The collision will be under investigation for sure to see if Ferrari's Number 3, Itadori is at fault! For now, the safety car is out."

You train your gaze on Yuta again. He seems to have taken a different route from the track now, heading towards a group of people, clad in suits and uniforms similar to the colors of his car.

"Hey, what's he doing?" You ask Noritoshi. You almost hear Kokichi mumbling "Oh shit." under his breath.

"That's a pit stop. Change of Tyres. Now is a brilliant time for this." Noritoshi says, his lips quivering. Is he really that excited for Yuta.

"The Safety Car has been taken off and with Mercedes' Number 7 quick thinking, Okkotsu takes the lead of the race!" The commentator announces earning a barrage of cheer from the crowd and a giant sigh from Kokichi.

"But not far behind him is Red Bull's Number 4, Geto, fastest car of the crop, who is looking to overtake… He has the DRS on and, and…." You don't need to listen to the commentator anymore because You see it happening and You almost let out some weird feral choke as Yuta barely, barely manages to keep his lead and the vicious, red and blue car accepts defeat, staying behind. You finally breathe out when You see Yuta gaining some speed and maintaining a good distance between him and Geto.

Kokichi pokes your shoulder and gives you a look of immense worry when You realize You are literally gripping your hair at the roots with both hands.

"ah, hah!" You laugh nervously, letting go off your now scrunched up hair. You lean back again as they announce the final lap and with no difficulty, as the checkered flag is waved, Yuta's Mercedes finishes first, with Geto behind him, followed by the other red bull, Mahito.

All of us rise to give the winners a standing ovation as confetti is blasted into the air and fireworks decorate the already shimmering Vegas skyline. You watch in wonder at the colors in the sky as Yuta pumps his fists up, getting out of his car and running over to his team.

"Good win, bro." Kokichi smiles at Noritoshi, who You now notice is on the verge of tears.

You see Yuta remove his helmet, but You can only make out his dark hair from this distance. You don't stop yourself from pouting at the disappointment. Why do You feel like You deserve being close to him right now. Maybe your good-luck suck off today guaranteed his win.

You see him disappear into the pavilion and ask Noritoshi if we can take a closer look at them.

"Close is not close enough to get their autographs but I can get you close enough to see their faces." Noritoshi claims and You give him a smile of gratitude.

"Geez Y/N. Did I really convert you in one race? Can't say if I'm prouder of you or myself." He jokes.

We stand for the Japanese national anthem as we cheer for the winning drivers receiving their trophies and drowning each other in champagne. Geto Suguru doesn't seem to be too keen to join into the racket, but Mahito wants to push the whole bottle down Yuta's throat. You smirk at the view. No teetotalling today?

As the crowd disperses out of the stands, we make our way through as well. You are tightly holding on to one of Miwa's and Momo's hands, each.

Noritoshi guides us through a few sections of the crowd and through a few random nooks and alleys of the arena until we reach what seems like a back gate. You see that a sizable yet dealable crowd is already standing there with Cameras and posters and shirts in hand.

"Well, this is a guarded secret, so not many know." Noritoshi winks at us. Today You are glad You became friends with his girlfriend, Momo.

We join the rows of people, but you fight your way to at least the second from start row, earning a lot of swears and some chick even trying to pull your hair.

You gaze at the gate with hope. One last look. Just to curb your excitement. It's just excitement nothing else. I'll be done after this. I'll go back to your city and drown yourself in work. None of this ever happened…. but why do You feel oddly bitter.

Is it because You realized Yuta and You are worlds apart? You are just an ordinary, honest worker - a commonality. Whereas he a star athlete, loved by the masses and with access to as many options as he wants. But what You have learnt from your past is, people can be as special or common as they want - a person who wants to find options, will always go out in search of options.

And as if to prove your point, You feel an ominous buzz in your hands right as You hear the doors open. You check your phone to see the screen flashing "Megumi Baby." right onto your face. You don't react or move; You simply glare at the screen. You are unable to breath as memories come flooding in.

Promises, nectar-soaked words, caressing your face with the deepest look of love. His bare back shining with sweat as he pounded into a girl from your workplace that YOU had introduced to him as your coworker. Him turning around, expressionless, leaving without giving you an explanation. Him telling you that you were expecting too much of him and You should have never assumed we were a thing since he was just trying new things in life.

All of it comes back to me, not particularly with ease. It washes over you like a tsunami. Completely drowns me. It's not until the incessant shouting of the crowd brings you to your senses that You snap out of your trance.

"Yuta! Yuta!" the people cheer. "Look here, please, just once. Yuta!"

You stare in horror as You spot Yuta's back getting into his matte black car. You are only able to see a small fraction of the back of his head and his white shirt.

You missed your chance.

You look back at the still ringing phone and want to smash it to bits. Fuck you, Megumi. Fuck you.

The first thing You do is cut the call and block his vile number. Then You try to scream out Yuta's name too in a futile attempt to get his attention, but You are not loud enough.

Amazing.

You start laughing to yourself now.

What was the point of this?

You recall yourself looking in the mirror at your apartment, coaching yourself to make this a pleasure trip. You would hookup with the best guy You could find, forget Megumi for good and move on with your life. So, whatare You doing now?

That guy Yuta would probably head to some lavish after party now and have a string of the prettiest girls in the world willing to suck him off. What use is it down?

The realization nearly brings you to tears. You should have never tried. You slowly retract your raised hands and sink back into the crowd, letting them continue their cheers. You turn back and slowly make your way out of the crowd and towards your friends.

"Wow, Y/N. Even Noritoshi and I didn't go that far in. You good?" Kokichi asks.

"Y/N, sweetie, you look like you're about to throw up what's wrong?" Momo asks me, cupping your face while Miwa rubs your arm.

"Megumi called…" You admit and all of them show a violent shift in expression.

"You haven't blocked that asshole yet?" Miwa asks, furious. You shake your head. "I just did."

"Y/N. You better not maintain any contact with him. He's the absolute scum of-"

"Hey, hey there miss." Suddenly our discussion is interrupted by a polite voice. We all turn around to see two men in suits and glasses standing tall and strong, waiting behind us. They look oddly familiar somehow with the waxed-up hair and somber faces. One of them has a scar near his lips and the other has his hair in a messy bun.

"Miss, are you the one who took Mr. Okkotsu out of the Four Seasons Club last night?" One of them, the bun guy, asks in a business-like fashion, pointing at me. Ah, now You remember them. The two lookers from the club last night, hiding Mr. wallflower behind their broad backs.

Scarface gets a call before You could reply though.

"Yes, Mr. Okkotsu. We're on our way. Well, we have a surprise for you." he tells Mr. Okkotsu mischievously. You narrow your eyes at the word "Surprise."

Scarface exchanges a knowing look with Bunhair and both of them cage you in.

"Would you like to see Mr. Okkotsu, again? It's not like we can force you, but he gave us specific instructions to find you and let him know."

"I didn't make him out to be a stalker you know." You say sarcastically, pondering if You should accept their offer. your friends do give you a strange look and You almost want to tell at least Noritoshi what's going on. But before You can take a call, You get a beep from your phone. This time it's a fucking EMAIL from Megumi.

Jesus, this man.

"I'm coming." You say abruptly. "I'll meet up with you guys later." You tell your friends as they give you looks of utter confusion.

"And burn this shitty device please." you say, tossing your phone towards Kokichi. "At least until I get some sort of restraining order against Megumi."

You exchange a look with Noritoshi and he knows in his heart that You will certainly get an autograph for him.

The two men take surround you as they guide you towards the waiting car. A matte black Lambo. They make sure to hide you from prying eyes, which isn't too hard with their gigantic muscular bodies.

You take a deep breath before You open the door and slide in.

Yuta and you share a good 10 seconds of absolute silence. Honestly, he looks like he's about to fracture his jaw from how wide his gaping mouth is getting. The two men climb into the front and openly laugh at his expression.

"Really, Okkotsu?" they say in unison.

"Wh-wh-wha-" He stutters.

"If you're that offended to see me, I can get out." You tease him, knowing he's going to grab your arm and make you stay. That's exactly what he does.

"Sorry, I was just surprised." He regains his composure. "Well, it's good to see you again, after last time…"

Uff, he shouldn't remind you because you wouldn't be able to control your cheeks getting flushed. There is another round of awkward silence before he decides to continue.

"Ah, right. You left your undergarments in the room last night, I thought you'd want them back so I-" before he can say anything else you slap your palm onto his lips, turning an embarrassing shade of tomato red.

"Not here, not right now!" You whisper-yell at him but his bodyguards/managers/goons/whatevers are quick to catch onto the conversation. Scarface who's driving the car gives you a perverted whistle without turning back and Bun-guy merely hums to himself, pretending to not have heard anything.

"T-Toji, that's impolite!" Yuta shouts at the scarface driver, turning red himself.

"It's not an uncommon thing with you. Aren't you creating quite a collection anyway?" The bun-guy butts in, leaving Yuta defenseless.

"Todo!" he yells at him too and slumps back into his seat, hiding his face. You study him. This was the champion race car driver an hour ago - and now he's a blushy, awkward, highly embarassing puddle.

"Collection, so you do this a lot huh?" You poke him.

"Absolutely not!" He sits up again. "Last night, I just…"

Now you're interested. Sounds like he broke a rule for you.

"Last night what?"

"Well, I just-"

"Oh my god, speak up, Okkotsu!" Toji screams from the wheel.

"Nevermind!" Yuta retorts and grabs your hands. "Are you coming to the after-party or not?"

"Well, I don't have a gown or anything…" You reply, looking down at your very non-party like clothing - a pin strip pant suit.

"Honestly…" He looks you dead in the eye. "You look so gorgeous, I don't want others to stare too much but if you want a dress, we can make a stop. I'll cover it, don't worry." He assures me, feeling a bit less awkward now.

For that compliment, he deserves to see a pretty dress on you and probably a flick to the forehead for making your heart race.

Todo seems to have a good eye for stores because the boutique he takes us to has a brilliant selection of clothes from classy to elegant to teasingly hot and even a corner for some sexy stuff.

You take some time to think and pick out a silvery satin cowl neck dress that compliments your cleavage and stops just a few inches shy of your womanhood. You also pair it will sparkly, strappy heels. You'll just have to make sure to walk properly to not expose anything… unless. When you walk out of the fitting room, you find Yuta waiting beside the billing counter, on his phone, matching your colors, in a light grey tux and black shirt-trouser set. He has combed his hair in a side part, looking rather sharp and you can smell his fresh cologne from a distance. He hears the clacking of your heels and looks up, his lips parting slightly at the sight.

For a moment when your eyes meet, everything stills, like the two of you are the only people in this room. The magnetic pull is something you have never experienced before, not even with Megumi, who you once thought was the love of your life. You walk over to him quickly, tucking your hair behind your ear and give him a twirl. "What do you think?"

"Might have to punch anyone who looks at you wrong tonight." He admits, sheepishly.

"W-What?" You mumble, looking away. Megumi could never. All he told you was to dress modestly so the men won't look. Never did he say he'd protect you. Maybe he never had the balls or talent to.

"Okay, you two get back in the car." Toji yawns at us, getting impatient or perhaps slightly weirded out by the clear tension between us.

The drive to one of Las Vegas' most affluent casino clubs was short and silent. You weren't really mentally prepared to see celebrities and big shots, partying away.

"This will be the best night of your life, I promise." Yuta assures you, intertwining his fingers with yours. You let him only because it calms your nerves. There are a few questions you need answers to though.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask and see Yuta's brow furrow.

"Are you uncomfortable or anything? You can't tell me-"

"It's not that... it's just..." you start. "It really doesn't make sense."

"I am not the most spectacular lay in the world." you admit. "I'm sure you have the world's most exquisite looking women dying to get time with you. I just don't see how being with me can benefit you."

You notice yourself putting yourself down and try to stop but your self-esteem is at an all-time low. That was one of the prime reasons you didn't want to meet up again with anyone you hooked up with during this trip. You wanted to leave feeling all parties involved had the best time of their lives and had no complaints.

Maybe lust got the better of Yuta and he'd come to his senses any minute.

"I think I liked the fact that you had no idea who I was..." He says and you raise your brows.

"I'm sorry I was unaware-"

"Nope, it's a good thing... I felt like I could just be the party loser, Yuta, for once... not a papped, scrutinized driver, Yuta. It felt oddly liberating." He admits.

"Plus, I-" He starts but swallows his words. "Do you remember what we talked about on the way to the hotel?"

You were not paying too much attention back then, being bowled over by the need to fuck someone, but... what did you say?

"Kids, we're here. Catch up later." Todo lets you two know, looking back. Before you could get off though, Yuta leans over.

"Are you going to tell me your name now or not?" He says. The shadows must be playing tricks on your eyes because in the dark, illuminated by paparazzi flashes you find your heart drumming inside your chest, unable to break eye contact.

"Y-Y/N. My name's Y/N." You say finally.

Yuta smiles wide at this and grabs one of your hands, opening the door to his flashy car and the light, noise and cheers hit you all at once.

He helps you get out suddenly, facing a sea of stunned yet curious people, you find yourself wanting to cry from embarrassment.

Oh no. no no no no no! What were they going to print about you now? What will you tell the managing director at your company about this PR scandal?

"Relax." Yuta holds your hand firmly. "I'll make sure only the news you want gets out." He reassures you, find your fingers again, locking them into his and you feel slightly better as you guys make our way to the inside, walking the red carpet.

The casino obviously is so maximalist, it hurts your eyes to say the least. There are people dressed in grandeur lining up at food tables, cigar tables and alcohol tables. There are some playing a few rounds of poker or gambling away at the machines. You are unable to focus on any one spot because all of it is so grandiose, you can't help but gawk at everything!

When people spot the two of you though, they quickly make their way over. Yuta is today's champion after all - this party is for him. They have a lot of good things to say to him - words of admiration, congratulations, words of passive aggressive envy but what all of them have in common is the looks of confusion or judgement they throw at you. One side-eye with a raised brow and they excuse themselves. Sure, no sparkly dress can make you look like one of them, but you had no idea 'big'-shots had the smallest sense of morals and social etiquette. Yuta introduces you as a 'good friend' to them and although it stings at first, this is a necessary step. It's what you would want and would cause the least amount of headache for the both of you. You aren't really friends or aren't really dating after all.

'One time Hookup-ers' isn't exactly a PR friendly term.

"Sorry about them. Most of them lack manners." Yuta says nervously but you reassure him that nothing they say can dent your self-image.

"No amount of looks they give me can change the fact that I'm not drowning in daddy's money, but my own." You smirk at him, leaving him impressed.

The two of you go through a few more people until you finally get to retire to a corner table of the giant ball room.

"How do you do this?" you ask, staring up at the magnificent chandelier crowning the hall.

"Well the boys never stay back for these kinds of things, we run off to different parts of the city to get wasted." He replies. "Just not before race night." You look at him with some mischief tingling behind your smile. He takes this chance to lean in closer and bump noses with you.

"And you thought I was inexperienced, didn't you?"

"So that's how you aren't a virgin...hmm, adventurous."

But Yuta shakes his head. "I've dated before. We ended things and I'm just beginning to explore my options now..."

"You must be spoilt for choice." You try to boost his ego, smiling wider as you feel his breath fan your face. Oh, how you could use a kiss right now. A kiss with everyone watching.

"I'm not spoilt for good choices." He says. "Having a choice doesn't always mean they're the best option for you." Damn, that's harsh. You cup his cheek in your hand and gaze into his dark blue eyes.

"And yet you gave me a chance-"

Before you can finish though, you hear a pair of boots slapping the ground while running in your direction.

"Okkotsu Yuta, you were supposed to give me the post-race comments. The media is waiting!" You hear a woman yell out as she approaches the two of you. She is dressed in a simple yet elegant navy-blue ensemble. Her eyes look disappointed, but her beautiful face, with its under-lip mole, maintains its poise. Yuta greets her with a sigh.

"I will, I will." He tells her. "Rika, let me off for today at least."

"No can do, Yuta." she shakes her head, getting her phone out.

"You can give me a few phrases and I'll piece together something coherent." she offers but Yuta doesn't want to hear it.

"Um, kind of in the middle of something?" He reminds her, circling his arm around your back.

The woman, Rika, gives you a pointed look. "You get one of those every other week. This is important business Yuta."

What does she mean those? You slightly free yourself from Yuta's embrace and look at him, confused. He looks as unaware as you are.

"Rika, you-"

"Yuta, you should stop toying with chicks. New one every few days. And when they want to get serious with you, I have to deal with all those calls and messages." Rika rants on and Yuta's eyes are getting wider by the minute.

For a second, you feel an empty pit in your stomach but before it can show on your face, you stand up.

"So that's how it is, huh?" you corner Yuta who looks aghast.

"Why am I even surprised?" you mutter, walking away from them. You remember Megumi's deadpan face as he walked out after you caught him and his mistress together. Yuta will be the same.

You reach for the balcony door to get some fresh air, but you feel your elbow being grabbed. It's Yuta. Huffing and very worried.

"W-wait, Y/N." He pleads.

You choose to keep your face neutral.

"It's fine. it's not like we were dating. Maybe, tell that woman to be mindful about her language though because the next time she addresses me as if I'm some object, I'll punch her." That threat, You are very serious about. This was a bad idea after all. You don't belong in the world of racecars, and parties and high-profile vips. You are happy with your computer and 3 cups of americanos, building prolific, useful software, from your cramped up office.

"Listen, Y/N... She was lying!" He tries to reason, and you take a look at him. You mentally give him thirty seconds to explain himself. He takes the cue and wastes no time.

"She's the one I dated. She has been my manager for a long time, and it has been some time since we split. I thought she had moved on since I saw her with another driver a while back but looks like she's still bitter." He explains frantically. But who he has dated isn't even your concern.

"I don't want to deal with fragments of your past, especially ex-flames, Yuta." you say bluntly. "I'm sorry, I have to leave now. Goodbye. Thanks for the evening."

You free yourself from Yuta's clutches, stifling a sob and heading towards the exit. You may have been seeing things, but you see a fluff of white follow you out from the corner of your eyes. It wasn't Yuta though.

Why did you care? It shouldn't matter.

No amount of love could bring people a universe apart, after all.

To be continued....READ PART 3 HERE!!

a/n: Okay there is practically no smut here but the plot needs some build up. Part 3 gonna be out soon and it's going to have a lot of smut, stay tuned guys!

[shixcherie]

His Favorite Problem | Choi Jongho ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

Day 26 : Sir Kink

↬ [ Synopsis ] : In the middle of the bar’s chaos, Jongho’s protective instincts kick in as he spots you. But instead of showing gratitude, you can’t resist stirring him up a little too much. Now, he’s set on teaching you a lesson, and you’re in for a long night of delicious discipline from your boyfriend.

☆Word Count : 3.08k ☆Genre : Smut, Non-idol Au, Boyfriend Au, porn with little to no plot. ☆Pairing : Boyfreind! Jongho x Bartender! Gf F.Reader

☆☆☆ WARNINGS : mdni!, established relationship, mentions of alchol, bars, customer causes drama, naive but also not so naive reader, she is just an innocent girlie ( :P ), a bit back and forth between her and Jongho, a lil riling up maybe, sir kink, pet names (babygirl, lil bunny), mild praise kink, overprotective bf Jongho, fingering (fem reciveing), mid choking kink, edging, Jongho turns a bit meanie at the end and disciplines you.

NOTE : Yes… I’m going to continue and complete Kinktober, even though we’re past the 31st. I really want to finish this challenge and not leave it incomplete, so I hope you all enjoy the story, ma chéries!

The bar buzzed with its usual nighttime energy, customers filling the cozy, dimly lit space with laughter, clinking glasses, and conversations. You were behind the bar skillfully pouring drinks, chatting with regulars, and catching up with them.

Somewhere in the corner, you knew Jongho was seated with his quiet, watchful presence making sure you were doing fine and no one is causing any trouble for you.

Ever since you’d taken this job, Jongho had made a habit of dropping by on his nights off. Though he covered it up saying it was to spend time with you, but you knew the real reason he was there to make sure you were safe. You’d reassured him countless times that you could handle an odd drunken comment or lingering glances of a few persuasive customers. But Jongho just didn’t trust your naive little self. Calling you naive was just to tease you, though your heart fluttered at the sincere concern that laced his words and actions.

Tonight was no different. He was sitting at his usual spot as he sipped from his glass, his gaze never straying far from you.

You tossed him a playful smile when you noticed him watching you, but he only nodded slightly, his eyes tracing the room as if mentally noting each customer’s behavior. Just then, your heart sank a little when you spotted a familiar face in the crowd. A customer who’d been bothering you for the past few weeks.

The man had been insistent, charming at first by dropping hints about wanting to get your number and asking if you’d like to “grab a drink” sometime after your shift. You’d tried to handle him politely, knowing that dealing with flirtatious customers was just part of the job. But he hadn’t taken the hint and had started showing up regularly, getting bolder each time. Tonight, he looked no different. He was wearing a flashy smile and exuding confidence as he made himself comfortable at the bar.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, leaning over the counter. “Thought I’d find you here. Ready to give me that number yet ?”

You tensed, quickly glancing around and noticing Jongho’s gaze zeroing in on the interaction. Taking a breath, you put on a professional smile. “No, sorry. I’m here to serve drinks, not give out my number.”

“Oh, come on,” he persisted as his voice dropped to what he probably thought was a seductive whisper but sounded like an ugly seal screeching, to you. “No need to be so cold. I’ve been a good customer, haven’t I ? And I always leave a tip.” He laughed, glancing around as if expecting others to join in. To be honest, older men were never you type and this man was definitely in his late 40s and with his screeching voice and pressing attitude easily made into your list of “people to avoid” and probably Jongho’s “To kill” list.

You clenched your teeth, determined to keep things calm. “Look, I’m just not interested, okay ? You can enjoy your drink, but I’m not giving out my number. Please respect that.”

The smile slipped from his face, replaced by an irritated scowl. He slammed his hand on the counter, drawing the attention of a few nearby customers. “Scamming customers now, are you ? You don’t give out your number and you treat me like garbage? I’ve spent good money here. Think your manager will want to know how you treat loyal customers?”

The little drama caught the attention of your manager, who came running over, eyes flicking between you and the accusor. “What’s going on here ?”

“She’s been scamming me!” the old bastard spat, his voice loud enough for others to hear. “I’ve been paying extra, leaving good tips, and this is how I’mbeing treated ? This is disgraceful!”

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment as other customers began to murmur, casting curious glances in your direction. You wanted to defend yourself, but before you could even gather your words, a firm yet calm voice cut through the tension.

“Is there a problem here ?”

Jongho’s presence was that of calm authority as he stepped between you and the man, his gaze cold and direct. The customer blinked at few times before straightening himself, seemingly taken aback by Jongho’s imposing figure. Your boyfriend wasn’t one to lose his temper easily, but when it came to protecting you, there was a fierceness in his eyes that spoke volumes. Fidgeting nervously with your hand, you stood still behind your boyfriend as your gaze zeroed in on the old dude.

The bastard matched Jongho’s height, suddenly losing his brashness. “Who are you ? Just another customer ? This is between me and her—”

“Actually,” Jongho interrupted, his tone steady and deadly calm, “it’s not between you and her. You were harassing her, and now you’re causing a scene in a place of business. I suggest you take your drink and leave.”

The man scoffed, returning to his earlier arrogant self. “She’s been treating customers poorly. I’m just letting management know how unprofessional she’s been.”

Jongho didn’t even blink. “And I’m letting you know you need to leave. Now.” his tone went an octave up as he emphasised on the Now.

A silence settled over the bar, and the old bastard’s bravado crumbled. He muttered something under his breath and backed away, Jongho’s gaze was locked in on him until he disappeared into the crowd. His eyes followed him until he was sure the man was gone. Turning to you, his expression softened for a moment before returning to that stern familiar look of seriously-concern or concerningly serious. Agh whatever the fuck it is.

“Are you okay ?” he asked quietly, but there was an edge beneath the gentle cornered question.

You nodded, still processing everything. “Yeah… Thank you. I just—I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

His gaze softened, but only a bit. “You wouldn’t have had to if you’d listened to me. How many times have I told you to call me over if someone makes you uncomfortable ?”

Your face flushed as you glanced down, embarrassed and a little defensive. “I thought I could handle it.”

Jongho shook his head, letting out a low, frustrated sigh while his hand gently carassed your hair. “You think I’m overprotective, don’t you ?”

You managed a small, guilty smile while you peaked up to met his eyes. “Maybe just a little.”

He chuckled, though the stern look in his eyes remained. “I’m taking you home. You’re done for tonight.”

“But my shift isn’t—”

“I’ll talk to your manager,” he said, already turning towards them. “They won’t mind. And we’ll discuss this when we get home.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the authority in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You knew that “discuss” wasn’t just a casual term. He was determined to make a point, and you had a feeling it would involve some strong and firm words and maybe even a “lesson” to strengthen his words.

As you gathered your things and prepared to leave, you felt a strange mix of anticipation, excitement and nervousness. Jongho’s protectiveness might drive you a little crazy at times, but there was no denying that it also made you feel cherished.

And tonight, it seemed, he was intending on showing you just how much he cared.

The whole car ride was filled with back-and-forth arguments—him insisting you should leave this job so you wouldn’t have to deal with difficult clients and could stay safe, and you countering with “I can take care of myself” and that you didn’t always need to be looked after, which clearly dismissed him. Slowly, you could feel the air thickening as, intentionally or not, you countered every single point he tried to make about the job.

“I won’t always be around to fix your problems,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“And I don’t need you to. I can handle them myself,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“It’s not a safe place for you,” he insisted, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

“I’m perfectly capable of staying safe,” you shot back.

He let out a sigh. “Just quit that stupid job already.”

You met his gaze, stubborn as ever. “Nooooo!”

He rolled his eyes. “Stubborn as ever.”

You shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

Jongho’s car stopped abbruptly outside your house, and he turned to you, his eyes sharp and unwavering. His clenched jaw made it clear he was not having it and was gonna combust any minute.

You tried giving him a reassuring smile as you turned towards him. “Jongho, quit worrying,” you teased gently. “I know I am your favorite problem to take care of but I am fully capable of handling myself.”

He met you in the eye as the corner of his lip went to a smirk, “A ‘favorite problem,’ huh ? You sure are babygirl.” His hands gently carassed you exposed thigh, rubbing the smooth skin as the mini dress you were wearing slid up a bit while you were busy arguing with him.

This is how it begins You thought as you gulped while you heart raced at the thought of whats about to come your way.

“Jongh-” You were soon cut off as his grip tightened around you thighs, a red tint creeping up your skin as a tiny yelp left your lips.

His voice was low, edged with warning .“You were calling me what again babygirl ?”

“S-Sir…Jongho sir. Sorry” You replied in a sudden polite tone, which was not yours a few minutes ago.

As you stammered your response, Jongho’s grip on your thigh tightened just a little more, his eyes glinting with something unreadable yet intense. Without another word, he shifted, one strong arm looping around your waist and tugging you toward him. The motion was quick, leaving you with barely a moment to react before you were guided into his lap, legs draping across him.

Your hands instinctively found his shoulders for balance as you tried to steady your breathing. His fingers pressed firmly against your lower back, pulling you even closer, and you could feel the warmth of his breath brushing your cheek.

Before you could process the straddling position you were in, his lips captured you with anger and hungry desire which you reciprocated with equal lust. You hands messily tangled with his hair while his large hands captured your ass, grounding you on his now hard length which very evidently poked against your thighs. His tongue licked you bottom lips, occassionally biting and earning a soft moan out of you. You lower half was busy grinding against his clothed hard legth while tugged his roots, urging him to keep going.

Ohh…if this is way he plan on teaching you a lesson, you would happily push his buttons, You thought as Jongho deepened the kiss, his tongue explored the deliciousness of your mouth while his his hips rolled beneath you, providing just the right amount you friction to satisfy the ache of your clothed dripping core.

The steamy kiss continued for a few more minutes as he guided you hips with more need, quickening your pace while drinking up all the pretty moans that left your lips. As you rubbed your core against him, you could feel the yourself just over the edge. You movement became needy as you broke the kiss and held him close while an intense release was ready to wash over you. Jongho smirked as he held you close while his hands mercilessly rocked your hips over his length.

“Jongho…ughhh…I am soo close” You whimpered as you nestled you head in the crook of his neck, you hot breath tingling his skin while he gently carassed your hair, “A little bit more baby” His voice soothed the release that was about the wash over you like a tidal wave when all of it abruptly stopped.

You were shocked and whimpered, deprived of an almost at the egde release when he meets your eyes, his hands off your hips, not grinding anymore as well, a devilish smirk danced on his lips.

“Jongho what the fu-” You whimpered as you hastily tried to pull his hands back to your hips. Only this time it did not work as he grabs your hands behind you while pulling you towards him, his hot breath fanned against your ears as he murmurs, “Told you honey, this is my lesson. I teach it how I want, Understood ?” He asked, a breathy low chuckle reached you. The reality hit you as recovered from the deprived release as you slightly nodded, meeting him in the eye.

“Words honey. Use your words” He demanded, tightening his grip around you hands, definite to leave finger marks.

“Yess Sir” you squeaked out.

“That’s like my little bunny” He replied, smiling but still having that authoritative look on his face which tells you he wasn’t done with you here. “Turn around for me, babygirl. Will you ?”

You obeyed, not wanting to be deprived of another release, especially as your body was now greedily craving one. You settled back on his lap, straddling him while your back rested against his chest. He worked on the zipper, and the dress smoothly slipped off your shoulders.

“You love it when I’m like this with you.” His mouth latched onto the skin of your neck as he covered it with kisses and bites, his large hands finding your breasts. He cupped them, kneading gently, while continuing his assault on your neck. His fingers pinched your nipples a little too hard, earning a yelp.

“Yes, Sir,” you managed, though words were getting harder to form as he grew more handsy, making you bite your bottom lip. Jolts of electricity coursed through your body as he alternated between pinching your nipples, circling them with his fingers, and then pinching again, a little harder. Your body trembled from the delicious pleasure his fingers alone could give, filling the car with soft, pretty moans.

Thankfully, no one was on the empty streets to witness the fun inside the BMW parked discreetly across the road. His tinted windows concealed you both from the world outside, while inside, your world was falling apart in his embrace.

Satisfied with playing with your breasts, his fingers slid down toward your aching core, leaving goosebumps wherever he touched. This wasn’t your first time, but it always felt like one—especially on nights like these when you riled him up a little too much. His fingers pinched your sensitive clit, sending a shudder through your body, before he rubbed at your wet opening. His other hand found your neck, fingers carefully wrapping around your throat as he whispered, “Looks like the lesson got a lot more intense, huh, babe?”

“Ahhh…Sir, I need… I need you right now. Please.” You begged, the release you were deprived of now paining you, and your aching core was proof. He kept the pace, gently rubbing your folds while his grip around your throat tightened, making your breath hitch. His finger slowly entered you, leaving you breathless all over again.

His thick fingers were a lot for your tiny opening, stretching you just enough to make you gasp, and a loud moan escaped your lips as he moved them deeper inside,while tears pricked in you eyes for how intense the whole experience was getting. His mouth was close to your ear, murmuring Look at you, falling apart so easily. Didn’t think you could be this desperate for me.” His voice was a mixture of mockery and heat, making you shiver as he continued, his grip on your throat holding you in place, exactly where he wanted, the pressure making each breath feel headier. Each movement of his fingers seemed to pull you further into an intense, heated haze that left you trembling.

Then, like icing on the cake, he added another thick finger, filling you completely as he increased his pace, each thrust measured and deliberate, each one pulling you closer to a tipping point while tears rolled off your cheeks at the intensity of the moment.Each of thrust precise and deliberate, leaving you even more breathless and whimpery with each passing second. “Next time, remember what happens when you test my patience.” His fingers moved in and out of you, building an overwhelming rhythm that left you breathless, the air thick with the sound of your soft, broken moans.

Your body couldn’t keep up with the overwhelming rhythm he’d set, a mess of broken moans filling the air as you struggled to hold back.Your teary eyes squeezed shut as your face turned toward him, nestling into the crook of his neck, your breaths growing deeper, more ragged. His grip held you steady as his pace intensified, pushing you closer and closer. The tension built to an exquisite peak, until your body finally gave in, trembling and unraveling completely around his fingers as you came undone in his embrace.

As the last tremors subsided, you felt his hold on you soften, his once-commanding grip now shifting into something more gentle, more comforting. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close against his chest as your breathing slowed, both of you basking in the calm that settled in the aftermath. His fingers gently traced along your back, a small but tender gesture that reminded you, after all this dominating play, that he was, after all, your sweet and hella protective boyfriend.

With a soft laugh, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “So,” he murmured, a teasing glint in his eyes, “think you’ve learned your lesson?” His tone was lighthearted, affectionate— a contrast to his earlier intensity.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth as you looked up at him. “Maybe,” you replied playfully, resting your head on his shoulder. “But I might need a few more reminders.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he let out a contented sigh. “Good thing,” he whispered, his voice full of warmth. “I’m not going anywhere, when I have so many problems to solve here.”

“Me being your favorite one” you chuckled and cringed at what you just said, while he laughed softly and held you. No one was moving or attempting to get inside the house.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[heartfullofleeches]

OH MY GOD YESS—

Just imagine college!reader tiredly trying to get through their day while literally everyone on campus flirts with them — the janitor, the lunch lady, their teacher colleagues AND the students.

(I imagine professor reader is a little on the nicer side, but they are in fact tired of everyone)

That smile. That damned smile.

Obtaining a job as such a prestigious school, you only wanted to make a good impression on your peers and future students. To build a stable work environment and ensure pleasant memories to look back on. A firm handshake for your colleagues, a promise of a shoulder to lean on for your students - all wrapped together with a faint, but sincere smile.

What a fool you were.

"Hey, Teach? You mind if I stay with you this period to go over today's lesson? I had some trouble."

You drum your pen against your desk, swallowing the sigh that rises in your chest. "Toby, you know you don't have to lie to get my attention, dont you?"

You flash a quizzical look, lips edged on that smile everyone had come to love over the audacity of the situation. The student looks away with a sheepish grin. Straight A, honor roll student with a full ride through college on top of what their parents had already saved. To many, it was a mystery why their scores suddenly plummeted after switching schools. There were a few possibilities for the sudden decline. The building stress, peer pressure, or the relatively unknown fact of them using the time to discuss their grades to bump shoulders with their favorite teacher.

You pull out your schedule book, their eyes darken seeing all the names already penned down. "I have an opening on Friday at 4. Its a bit later in the day, but if it works for you-"

"Yes!"

Why did you even ask?

A knock on the doorframe catches your ear. The teacher snaps their fingers at Toby, pointing over their shoulder.

"You. Leave. Lunch began seven minutes ago."

Toby clicks their tongue, but obediently leaves the room; shooting a glare at the authoritative figure as their paths cross. With them out of the way, your colleague saunters up to your desk. You move the stack of papers out of the way before they take a seat.

"Afternoon, Y/n." They begin, rolling your name off their tongue like thick honey. "Hope you don't mind me using your first name. I like to imagine we're... close enough for that at the very least."

"It doesn't bother me."

Satisfied with your answer, their hand smooths across the desk to your outstretched arm. "I'm glad to hear that. I was just heading out for lunch and was wondering if you'd like to join me. We can pick something up from a restaurant, but my place is right around the corner if you'd like something homemade and you wouldn't mind the leftovers."

"I'm fairly certain the last time I joined you, you tried to keep me in your bathroom under the guise that the lock was broken. Besides, if I don't get lunch from the cafeteria, Ms. Thompson may leave her station to find me and I don't think any of us want that."

The sourness in your colleague's mood is almost enough to make you cringe, but you offer them a compromise to keep the peace.

"I'll let you join me to the cafeteria, and drive me home - on the condition I send your license plate to a friend."

"Deal."

You set aside the papers and place your belongings in your drawer as you prepare to leave, making sure everything goes underneath the false bottom you installed in case the janitor breaks the lock again when they come to clean. The second you exit the room, your colleague's hands are wrapped tightly around your arm. You ignore the yearning glares as you head off to the cafeteria.

[felixsgirl]

jealous chan

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

genre: smut

word count: 3,583

tags: best friends to lovers, femxbangchan

warnings: very jealous chan, language, slight daddy kink, degradation, praise, oral fixation, edging, brat!reader, soft dom chan, unprotected sex, car sex (kinda?), fingering, finger sucking, punishment, teasing, hickies, words used like slut, whore, baby, my sweet girl, my pretty girl, sweetheart.

summary: reader keeps playing hard to get and chan has his last straw when they go out to a bar one friday night.

author note: first work lets get it

you and chan are sitting at the bar, two on the rocks whiskeys in hand when the guy who’d been ogling you for minutes now began to come over to you. you kept making tiny gestures at him, a smirk or two, a wink now and then. you have absolutely zero interest in this man, but you love the feeling of seeing chan physically angered and protective over you. you also love being so difficult to the point where you haven’t even let him take you home yet. even though its been what, 6 dates now since you’ve both confessed your feelings for each other? its the rush of accomplishment that you feel when you know you’ve done a good job of making him frustrated. you love it.

chan hadn’t noticed you fake flirting with him, but as soon as he realized the guy was stumbling over to you two, he immediately knew what for.

“the fuck is he coming over here for.” he grumbles under his breath, “does he not know how to read the goddamn room?” chan’s ring adorned hand grips your thigh tighter, out of anger already and the guy hadn’t even gotten all the way over here yet. “mm i don’t know chris, lets see what he wants shall we?” you smirk angling yourself a bit away from him, and towards the god awful man now standing in front of you.

“hey, saw you staring at me when i was standing over there. your boyfriend mind if i take you home? just want to rip that dress right off you babydoll.” the guy slurs on his wants. you aren’t phased, you don’t reply to him either. you look at chan, with an expectant look, brows slightly raised.

“yeah chan do you mind?” you play along with it. he knows what you’re doing, and boy is he pissed. “yes i fucking mind, you better get the fuck away from her before you have no hands to rip anyones dress off.” he spits at the guy, grabbing your wrist and dragging you off the chair towards the front entrance. “lets go”

“but chris.” you whine, “you’re ruining all the fun.” he stops to turn around and look at you. “this is fun to you? just wait till i get your ass home y/n.” he continues walking, your arm in hand until he reaches his car. opening your door and practically throwing you in there, you knew he was raging. you could feel his anger through his skin. you smiled at that thought, loving treatment like this.

“something funny?” he says angrily, starting to get into the drivers seat and start the car. you don’t reply, just simply shaking your head nonchalantly. you immediately feel his rough hands grab your hair, pulling your head up to look at him. “i asked you something, sweetheart.” you almost let out the most pathetic whimper, but you bite your lip just in time. swallowing it back down.

“nothings funny chris.” you answer. he scoffs in return letting you go and putting his hands back on the wheel. he starts to head home. there are about a million thoughts going on in your mind. you remember what he said earlier. “wait till i get your ass home” you get distracted by these impending thoughts when chans hand lands on your thigh again. his thumb caressing the skin.

“so you think its funny to flirt with other guys when i’m right fucking next to you huh?” he questions as your eyes widen immediately. he did notice you flirting with the guy at the bar? you swore he was facing the other way. you thought he was mad earlier? imagine how mad he is now. you pretend not to hear his question. attempting to appear normal as possible, glancing out the window while fidgeting with your fingers.

“i know you hear me, y/n. answer the question.” his grip on your thigh gets a little tighter. you shake your head at him, looking away from him as he stops at a red light. he tuts shaking his head. your answer wasn’t enough for him.

“look at me when i’m speaking to you.” he speaks a little rougher than before. you finally look up at him, shaking your head again. his brows raise, and you know exactly what for. “no, i didn’t think it was funny.” you finally get words out without sounding pathetic as ever. he hums in reply, clearly unimpressed. he knows you like getting a rise out of him, and you know he knows.

his hand on your thigh inches up slowly and slowly on the drive home. fingers achingly close to your clothed core. he brushes his fingers against your covered clit. eliciting a strained whimper from you as you resist the urge to grind your hips against his hand.

“what’s your problem hm? just can’t seem to be patient can you y/n?” he questions, pretending not to be fully aware of what he was doing to you. he moves his fingers closer to your clit, feeling how soaked you were through your panties. your eyebrows began to furrow as your head tips back.

“you’re fucking soaked. does being a whore turn you on?” you let out a moan in reply as he shakes his head at you.

“can’t even speak you’re so fucked out already, pathetic. i can feel you throbbing through your panties.” he scoffs, your hips raise up against his fingers. attempting to get more friction that you so desperately craved. his fingers stay the same pace. slightly rubbing against the fabric of your pink panties. you grab his hand at an attempt to get him to move faster, but he jerks it away before you get the chance.

“oh now you want to try and control what you get? you couldn’t even speak seconds ago.” his hand rests on your thigh again, making you more impatient. “channie. p-please.” you whine. looking up at him with your puppy dog eyes that work on him every time. he can’t resist the needy look in your eyes as he sighs.

“off.” he demands. you immediately reach the waistband of your panties and pull them off. letting them sit at your ankles. “now, you gonna be a good girl and take what daddy gives you hm?” he questions, and you nod eagerly. desperate enough to take literally anything.

“if you make yourself cum on my fingers by the time we get home, ill make your punishment a little more bearable. if you don’t, then i guess you’ll learn your lesson by the morning. won’t you, baby?” you nod, wearily but he grabs your chin harshly.

“speak up.” he says. the demanding tone of his voice makes your thighs squeeze together. you stutter out a “yes daddy.” trying to prevent the moan threatening to leave your quivering lips.

his fingers meet your dripping slit without the cloth of your panties in the way. you gasp at how much more sensitive you were despite what you thought. he moves his hand up so his thumb is hovering over your flushed clit. he ever so slightly brushes over it back and forth making you groan out in frustration.

“please touch me, channie. need you.” you whimper. mindlessly lifting your hips against his hand but he moves it before you can get anything from it. “i never said anything about me helping you did i?” he questions, resting his hand on your lower stomach. you shake your head in response, jutting out your lower lip in a pout. a useless attempt to get him to soften up. you knew he wouldn’t, but it was worth a shot.

“go on then, make yourself cum for me pretty.”

you take that as permission to grab his hand. guiding his fingers to your clit, all the way down to your dripping hole and back up again.

“so fucking wet. jesus baby.” he grunts. beginning to to slowly rub his fingers against your clit and you moan out his name. grinding your hips up against his hand.

you continue your movements against his skilled fingers. hips beginning to stutter due to the pleasure. you don’t even notice his fingers moving down until he pushes his middle and ring finger into your entrance. you cry out, gasping as you grab his arm holding onto it for dear life. he begins to slowly move his fingers back and forth. easing them into your tight, quivering hole.

“look so pretty like this baby. all needy for me.” chan coos, feeling you clench at his words. he moves his fingers at a faster pace. causing you to grip his arm harder. your hips began to rut faster against his fingers inside you.

“you think he would’ve fucked you this good? made you this wet?” he questions, well aware of your fucked out state. well aware that you couldn’t get a single word out. let alone a response to his question. “n-no onl-” a moan interrupts your sentence as he abuses your dripping hole. you throw your head against the black leather seat behind you, moaning his name once more.

“hm baby? i didn’t quite catch that.” he gives you the most shit eating grin. waiting for you to respond, as his fingers are knuckles deep inside you. “no channie, only you.” he smiles in response, not giving you a warning before he starts slamming his fingers inside of you with his thumb beginning to rub on your clit. the pleasure shoots through you like a rocket. your back slightly arches up and off the passenger seat as he hits the spot deep inside of your aching cunt.

“that your spot sweet girl?” he asks. although he knows your body like the back of his hand. you moan in reply, feeling your thighs start to shake around his hand.

“channie- please.” you moan out, feeling the knot in your stomach twist more and more as he continues finger fucking you.

“what is it pretty? gonna cum for me like a good girl?” his words make you go fucking insane. you could’ve came from his words alone to be completely honest. the rasp of his voice spurring you on. you nod eagerly, whimpering his name.

“need you to make a mess for me baby mkay? cum all over the seat like a good slut.” you nod again unable to come up with a logical response. your brain was sluggish, feeling your high even closer now. just a few more thrusts and-

he stops.

he fucking stops.

you look over at him with a confused look on your face, and there he is. smiling like a goddamn idiot.

“why’d you-”

“aw baby did you not notice? we’re home already.”

oh.

you are home.

how long have you been sitting here in your driveway? you were way too fucked out to notice.

“chris.”

“y/n.”

“why did you wait so long to stop then? i was so close-”

“do you think i care? seriously. you flirt with a guy all night, in front of my face mind you, and you think i care about how close you were?” he grits, taking his keys out the ignition and starting to get out the car.

you follow not long after, whining about how you’re sorry, you didn’t mean it, it was just a joke, blah blah blah. but he didn’t care. he was pissed. pissed at the fact that you thought it was funny, pissed at the guy for saying such disgusting things to you and for thinking such disgusting things. especially about you. his girl. his. he wasn’t gonna let you off easy, at all.

you both finally enter your house, your whining never ending. you shut the door behind you, continuing to apologize to him before he finally turns around and wrapping his hand around your neck. slamming your back against the door.

“will you shut the fuck up already?” he growls. you immediately attempt to hold back the whimper trying to escape your throat. god, he was so hot when he was mad.

“don’t have anything to say anymore do you? i’ll give you something to whine about. you just wait.” he takes his hand off your throat. backing away from you completely and starts to walk to the kitchen. you follow him, mindlessly. not wanting to make him more upset.

“i want you in your bedroom. don’t take any of your clothes off yet. just your shoes, and sit on the bed for me will you?” you nod turning around to go upstairs into your room. you were so nervous, an excited nervous. but nervous nonetheless. he’s never gotten so angry before. yet again you’ve never gone as far as flirt with a guy in front of him. that was clearly his last straw with your teasing.

you slip your shoes off, putting them in the corner of your room, venturing back to your bed and you sit. you sit for what feels like hours but really five minutes until chan comes inside, shutting the door behind him.

“look so pretty in that dress, baby.” he says, walking over to you, standing in between your legs as he hovers over you. he raises his hand, coming up to brush your hair behind your ear. the once soft gesture becomes one of his anger when he roughly grabs your hair into a messy, makeshift ponytail.

“you know what else you look pretty in hm? my passenger seat, legs spread, looking so fucking delicious. all needy and soaked for me. only me. isn’t that right sweetheart?” you whimper in reply and nod meekly. his hands leave your hair and venture to your neck, wrapping around it and bringing you up to kiss him. his tongue immediately meets yours, swirling together as a muffled moan leaves your mouth. he pulls away, attacking your neck with his soft, plump lips. making as many marks as he can, he wants everyone who even makes a glance at you, to know you’re his, and his only.

“you wish it was him who would’ve taken you home?” he rasps, lips leaving chaste kisses behind your ear, down to your neck, collarbones.

you whimper and shake your head. “n-no channie, only want you.” you gasp out once his hands lift your dress to your hips. his hands squeeze them, pulling you closer to his propped up leg in between your thighs. he presses you against his thigh, your eyes roll back, hands immediately trying to find something to hold onto. you grasp his hair, moaning out his name.

“mm yeah? you don’t get this wet for anyone else baby? this needy?” he purrs, as his grip gets tighter on your hips. beginning to grind your clit against his toned thigh. you throw your head back, a choked back moan releasing from your mouth.

“i wish he would’ve tried to touch you. touch whats mine. you’re too pretty like this sweetheart. all pretty just for daddy.” you nod and moan in agreement, bucking your hips up against his thigh as your slick begins to glisten where your clit meets his skin.

your orgasm begins to climb back up its high that was earlier ruined in the car. your moaning getting breathier, hips starting to stutter.

“gonna cum aren’t you?” chan grunts, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing. your head falls back, mouth letting out uncontrollable moans.

“beg for it like i know you can baby. be a good girl and i’ll let you cum as many times as you want mkay?” you attempt to let out a please, but a moan of chans name gets in the way, causing him to tsk at you.

“thats not going to cut it, sweetheart. you’re gonna have to speak up if this is something you want.” his grip leaves your throat, gripping your hips again and brushing his thumb against your red, throbbing clit. making your hips jerk up against him.

“daddy please-.” another moan interrupts you as he rubs against you harder. “p-please let me cum. need it. need you.” you plead, looking up at him, eyes beginning to water from your pent up release.

“cum for me sweet girl.” the knot in your stomach finally drops as soon as those words leave chans mouth. your body jerks against him, mouth open in a silent scream as your slick drips onto his thigh.

“so beautiful like this, baby.” he whispers against your hair, kissing your forehead softly. you whimper in reply, burying your head in his chest.

he lets you rest for a few before laying you on the bed. gently slipping your dress off while nipping on your neck. you let out a few mewls, still a bit tired from your earlier orgasm. his gentle touch sends shivers down your body, despite his words being so rough, and dirty. his touch wasn’t, which was one of your favorite things about him.

he smoothly slips his shirt off, your hand’s immediately go to his firm chest, all the way down to his sculpted abs, feeling him. your hand travels down to the waistband of his pants, slightly tugging on it.

“you need something baby?” chan asks from above you. you nod slightly, tugging a little harder as your lip gets caught in between your teeth. you could see him bulging through the tight pants he had on, and my god was it the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen.

“need your cock, channie.” you whine, and he groans in return. you rarely talk like this because you’re usually too shy to. but when you do its his favorite thing, hearing the filthy words leave your mouth. makes his dick twitch like crazy.

“yeah? baby needs my cock huh? my thigh and fingers weren’t enough for you, were they?” he knew they weren’t. nothing could compare to his thick cock stretching you out like nothing else could. making your walls flutter around him as you cum.

he takes his hands off you to finally pull his pants off, his boxers follow in suit. as soon as you get even a glimpse of his rock hard cock your mouth begins to water, drenched hole clenching around nothing. he leans down to kiss you softly, pulling away and looking into your eyes making sure it was okay if he continued. you nodded and that was all it took for him to begin tracing your entrance with his throbbing tip.

he pushes more if his length inside you, getting only half of it inside you before he stops abruptly. you whine and immediately start trying to grind your hips up against his cock. his hands grip them harshly before you get the chance. “d-don’t do that. if you do that i’m gonna cum.” he grunts out, and you nod in understanding, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck pulling him closer.

a good 20 seconds pass before he begins thrusting inside of you once again. once he finally bottoms out you gasp out in reply, back arching against him.

“s-so big, channie.” you whimper as he starts to pick up his pace. his hips stutter at your words, he gains his composure back burying his head in your neck. leaving little kisses down to your collarbone.

“you feel so damn good princess, so tight for me.” he whispers below your ear. you clench around him at his words, making him moan out your name. he tries his best to hold himself over, he never cums before you do, your needs before his own always.

your little jerks against him, the way you gasp out everytime his hips meet yours. makes him go fucking insane. the way no one can make you feel like this. only him.

his thrusts get a little deeper, a little harder, the one particular thrust has you raising your hips up against his own. has your back arching like a beautiful crescent moon against him and he knows exactly why. he found your g spot. as he does everytime.

“is that it baby? right there hm?” he questions. you can’t even make a logical response back. just mumbles of his name, moaning out against him as he fucks you stupid.

“cmon sweetheart, i know you’re close. give me another one.” his rough hand meets your clit, rubbing it harshly with his thumb. he reaches his head down to your hardened nipples, wrapping his lips around it as you moan out his name very loudly might i add.

the white hot pleasure finally begins to seep through you, reaching throughout every inch of your body as your pussy clamps firmly around his pulsing cock inside of you.

his thrusts begin to get sloppier soon after you cum around him. he spurs your orgasm on as he continues his abusive pace inside of you. before you know it hes grunting your name as his thick white seed bursts out of his cock inside of your slick walls.

“you’re so fucking good to me baby, you know that?” he sighs, breathing still heavy from his and your earlier orgasm.

“mm am i?” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

you both fall asleep soon after, exhausted, happy and in the comfort of your bed wrapped under the blanket with him. you wouldn’t ask for anything less or anything more. this was all you needed, in chan’s arms at the end of a very long, very tiring day.

[gyjo-enthusiast]

special case. ch.2

retired!nanami x younger!sorcerer!reader

summary: during field training, each student is assigned one semi-grade 1 or higher ranked sorcerer. after the last student is left without a mentor, her professor pairs her up with his old, retired grumpy friend.

reader is in their 20s (attending college), afab!reader, fem pronouns

tags: fluff, eventual smut, colleagues with benefits (is that a thing?), age gap (reader in early 20s, nanami in mid 30s), virgin reader

previous chapter: special case. ch.1 | next chapter: special case. ch.3

jujutsu kaisen masterlist | masterlist

chapter summary: during the first day of field training, you successfully defeat a high-grade curse alone. after lunch though, there seems to be a problematic fight when you should be watching your mentor fight a cursed spirit.

proofread: yes

word count: 1 269 (4m 45s)

song rec:

jumping through the unusually dark alley, you hunted the cursed spirit your mentor had mentioned earlier. it was fat and sleazy, but its legs were skinny and it ran as if its life depended on it. and it did.

reaching under your coat, you quickly whipped out your cursed weapon and followed the blob of sorrow and hatred. it was a long, although fairly light, double-edged sword with a fancy hand-decorated handle.

nanami was quite surprised at that, being a cursed tool user himself. he thought all the young guns had to be top notch and have their own special techniques, not to mention domain expansions, to get into jujutsu college. even then, he'll wait for a bit more before judging, just to see how well you're going to do.

of course, you did not want to disappoint - you could not - after all the trouble he's going through just for the sake of teaching you. leaping forward, you swiftly cut off two of the monster's six legs and started chipping away at its skin.

'not bad,' you thought to yourself, small smile making its way to your face as you tried to keep up.

"not bad," a voice suddenly said behind you, making you almost stumble, "keep it up, l/n."

oh, you were not letting this curse get away from you, the slightest of blushes appearing, both from the praise and the excessive physical activity.

speeding up to quickly finish the job, your sword - purposefully named severance - slickly severed the cursed spirit's head, along with some of his gross dark shoulder hair. some of its remains got splattered on your shoes, but that could wait.

hastily returning to nanami, you asked: "how did i do, sir?" to which you got an approving nod and an expression which you could only assume was one of consideration.

you looked around, just to make sure nothing was creeping out there, and then you finally started cleaning up your shoes.

"l/n," you heard after a bit, "you're quite skilled i take it."

you smiled awkwardly, "you can call me y/n. and i wouldn't consider myself 'skilled' exactly," your mentor nodded. "everybody has their ups and downs when it comes to fighting. maybe i've just been lucky to survive!" you laugh it off as a horrible joke, hoping he'd smile at the very least.

"yes.. me too." he looks at you with guilt in the eyes as he continues, "although i do think you have the potential if you keep this up." he sends a soft smile your way.

"thank you, sir."

"just stay strong and focus, all in your own time," nanami focuses up and starts walking.

"of course," you follow up behind him, "where are we going to now?"

"well, it's already 11:32. it will take a bit to find a good place but for now, let's eat somewhere before we continue," he turns his head to talk to you and then immediately looks ahead once again.

to be honest, you didn't even believe he ever took any breaks on the job, let alone ate lunch. nevertheless, you couldn't wait to treat yourself after that satisfactory exorcism.

you spent a while looking for an adequate place to eat, ultimately deciding to take a seat in a simple yet homely bakery. both of you bought their signature bread, silently enjoying the view of the street.

with no words needing to be spoken, you observed how nanami acted with nobody but you around. he was stoic, but once every few minutes his expression softened.

after lunch, when nanami checked his watch, you both set out to find another curse. this time though, you'll be the one watching - and learning - from none other than your mentor.

'this curse is way stronger.. what's going on?' you thought, being careful to watch nanami's flank as well as keeping an eye out for him. it's not that he would need it necessarily, but better be safe than sorry.

your mentor bashed at the curse with his weapon, except it was hard to get a decent hit in while also guarding. at this point you felt useless, only watching from afar. wanting, no - needing, to help nanami, you took a step forward, suddenly remembering the words he spoke before you approached the curse.

"i won't need help, don't worry. if i do, i'll call for you. just defend the fight from weaker curses," his voice rang in your ears as you froze in place.

not wanting to disappoint, you stood still and helped the only way you could - that was to be ready to strike down any curse that approached.

and in a trice, you heard a roar behind you.

"y/n! above!" nanami shouted your way before turning back to the problem at hand.

you turned your gaze to the sky and sure enough, there was a cursed spirit. it was dropping down so quick you barely had any time to react and dodge.

just before it thwacked onto the ground, it pulled out its tiny wings, slowing itself. when it was sure it wouln't hurt itself, the bizarre flying cursed spirit fell to the ground, briefly not being able to move.

you were gobsmacked, not fully processing what had just happened.

"snap out of it, i got a lot going on here! i can't defeat both of them y/n," nanami breathed out, his energy surely running low from not fighting for such a long time.

and snap you sure did, just maybe not out of it.

"are you insane?! you just almost killed all of us, including yourself!" you shouted, discarding your cloak. unsheating severance, you let your canines shine in the afternoon sunlight, grinning out of your mind.

your mentor, as any person would, thought this remark was aimed at him, so he briskly sent you a look. that was until he saw the animalistic expression you wore, that changed everything.

slashing your sword in the curse's singular eye, you noticed it was being sinked in, almost like into quicksand. you laughed and revealed another weapon hidden on you, that being foulblade. as the name suggests, it was a blade the opponents didn't expect, so they might call it a foul. you pulled it out only if severance was not available at the moment.

with the newly sharpened shorter sword you started cutting across the monster's body, mainly face, leaving behind ugly scars that were soon to be removed completely, as you stabbed it in the heart and exorcised it. you felt cursed energy overflowing within you at that moment, having to calm yourself down.

when you came to your senses, cleaning your blades, a few minutes later, nanami approached you from behind.

"are you okay, y/n?" he rested a hand on your shoulder. startled, since you didn't even sense him coming, you just nodded. he sighed, "i dealt with the curse, we're done here for the day, okay?" he reassured you.

"okay.. sorry about," you paused, now fully remembering what happened, "sorry about that." you finally finished your sentence, guilt filling up your eyes, hands shaking as you stood up from where you were sitting.

"don't apologise, nothing happened. you saved me after all is said and done," your mentor removed his hand, went in front of you and tilted his head back at you. "let's go."

"where? i thought we were done," you muttered quietly, still being shaken up by the whole situation.

"to my house," he casually declared, continuing with his statement, "or do you want to climb up the hill up to college dorms every day?"

a/n: if you made it this far, i’d like to thank everyone who is enjoying this so far, i never thought my work would actually reach someone. so thank you so much for reading, stay safe and have a great rest of your day!

[mischiefmaker615]

Hii, i absolutely love your work!!

I was wondering if for your song one shots if you're still doing them, if I could maybe request Jackie and Wilson by Hozier. I can just imagine a very sweet Loki being absolutely infatuated with reader and wanting to start thinking about having kids and it's all just very fluffy and sweet. I understand that you probably get loads of asks and if you're too busy don't worry about it.

Love your work!! xx

Summary/Inspiration: Jackie And Wilson by Hozier

Rating: PG13

Note: never to busy love :D always taking requests as long as my brain says it's possible LOL more Musical Mischief one shots here

Kitchen Care

It has been quite a long time since Loki’s had a skip in his step, a smile on his face and his usual ‘don’t bother me’ mood gone. Most fear has left those of the palace- still upholding their respectful places as they bowed and continued his bidding upon his request, but even they could tell that Loki was down right happier. Ever since..

She arrived.

She was a royal, sent from another realm very much like Asgard where she could live as an ambassador to be the bridge between each culture when messages needed to be sent. To everyone’s surprise, she was young, as young as the royal princes actually and by how peaceful the nine realms have been, she was very rarely called to work upon matters; leaving her much free time within Asgard’s palace. Furthering everyone’s surprise, she and the prince of mischief took a liking to each other instantly and have grown with a secret intended courtship throughout the years.

She was what distracted Loki from his royal duties, the one being that could calm him down and the very person he looked forward to see every waking day. They almost acted like children, his mischief being inspired by her laughter and swayed farther away from its usual chaos- to everyone’s relief. A simple prank was much preferred that utter chaos to everyone’s schedules.

Loki’s fingers would tap at his writing desk, almost edging off his seat as his instructor took his blood time wrapping things up before he would seek out Y/N. most of the time their secret meetings would be in the library, where they would share and compare while they shared the same seat, Loki very much preferring her to take his lap than requiring him to scoot over.

Upon finding her in the gardens, he would sneak up behind her and give her ass a playful smack before he would run ahead with her yelping behind him. it would then follow by her running after him, scoldings turning into laughter as he would run to Asgard’s mazes in which he would hide before surprising her once more with his arms around her waist.

Although they weren’t openly romantic per say in front of others, thinking they were doing a well good job keeping their courtship a secret, everyone could tell they were in love. How his stares would always linger whenever there was a court meeting or she would merely pass by. She was always at his arm whenever festivities would occur- almost every night where, of course, she was the only one he would dance with.

With Thor around, It was the only time he would get defensive, jealous, back to his old self as his mood would harden and he would insert himself between them protectively before he would have to lead her away.

The center of his happiness. Today, he stayed quiet as he crept into the palace kitchen and a grin tugged at his lips to find her there.

Although she was shooed and advised against it, Y/N would always sneak and help the servants out whenever she could. Many, even the maids would tell her there was no need but she would insist and take great pleasure in conversing and lessening the load upon them throughout the day. Today it would seem she was helping out with baking, her dress and cheeks lightly covered in flour while her hands worked at kneading the dough.

Loki’s eyes softened as he watched her, completely mesmerized as he leaned himself against the doorframe undetected before the mischievous glint shined in his eyes. It was to good of a chance to pass up. With a light flick of magic in his eyes, he transformed his appearance into a young maiden, looking like the female version of himself but with a servant’s dress and a bit of wrinkles to the fabric.

Trotting in, he smiled happily as he began washing his hands just behind her before he joined her side, taking the dough from her delicate hands, into his dainty ones.

‘’a royal such as yourself shouldn’t stoop low as to do our duties, allow me my lady,’’ Loki said, his voice feminine as he continued to roll the dough in his hands while she looked at him with a raise of the brow.

‘’do not think of yourself low my friend, everything that you all do it quite important to the palace and appreciate should be better shown from us.’’ Y/N shook her head and added more flour to the wooden board before Loki began rolling it out.

‘’and we are quite grateful in the opportunity to serve you, but you should let us take over,’’ Loki nodded over his shoulder to the other servants busy working behind them. ‘’there is more than enough hands to speed things up-‘’

‘’more hands make fast work, I would hope that would lead you all to your enjoyment pauses within your day faster’’ she smiled and started moving some of the seasonings a bit closer, holding some of the bottles up to try to identify them better before she separated some on the counters.

‘’I would just hate to see a princess like you to get herself dirty..’’ Loki tsked and began flattening some of the dough on the board.

‘’I could always wash up- though I am not a princess-‘’ she shook her head.

‘’you are not betrothed?’’ Loki raised a brow, glancing at her as he worked.

‘’what has your way of thinking such things?’’ she questioned, her movements slowing as she turned her back on her to retrieve a tray from the shelves beside the counter.

‘’pardon my lady.. it’s just you spent quite a large amount of time with the younger prince of Asgard.. one could only assume such things and it’s clear on how he feels towards you..’’ Loki said with a bit of shyness as he spoke, the humor in his heart a bit difficult not to show as he kept his eyes down.

‘’how he feelings?’’ Y/N pressed, coming slowly back to set a tray beside him before going through the drawers for varies shapes of dough cutters- decorative ones she’s managed to fetch from Midgard during their holiday seasons.

‘’he stares quite a lot, he rushes through things so he could keep up with your whereabouts..’’ he then lowered his voice, putting on secretive and gossip look as he grinned. ‘’I even heard he looks forward to possible heirs that might arise-‘’

Y/N cheeks reddened as she quickly turned, going to the counter across from Loki to pick up another bowl of fresh dough that needed to be rolled as well. ‘’no we’ve never- I mean.. you shouldn’t listen to idle gossip from those unless it’s coming from the individual themselves.. we are in love and will do things in a proper manner we see fit..’’

‘’ah, so you are a traditionalist?’’ Loki couldn’t help but grin and upon hearing no response, raised a brow of her whereabouts- fearing he might have teased a bit to much. As soon as he turned around to face her, a dollop of fresh, moist dough hit him square in the face, splattering on most of his features as he stumbled back and a flash of light made him drop his disguise by his distracted mind set.

‘’I was wondering how long you were going to keep that up Loki but was surprised you bothered bringing up such topics even you blush when I try’’ Y/N laughed and watched him wipe his face with an open calm, a sly look on his features as he stared her down.

‘’I enjoy putting you to the test darling, you detected me faster than most times. I was quite tempted to see if you were open to interacting with the opposite sex while I was at it’’ he winked and ducked when another glob of dough was thrown towards his head, missing him.

‘’why bother if you could shift into either anyway?’’ she laughed, embarrassment in her voice as she looked up from scooping up more, only to have a glob land at her chest, squeaking as it fell into her cleavage and Loki smirked as he gave his finger a small taste from the remnants of his throw.

‘’oh dear, allow me to retrieve it for you darling,’’ he smirked as he prowled forward, causing her to practically squeal and move herself to the other side of the table.

By now the rest of the servants have hidden their grins, quickly disappearing momentarily from the room as soon as they discovered the royal prince had entered and figured it best they weren’t in his way. Loki quickly made a move, chasing her around the table as they laughed and ducked as more dough was thrown, some missing and some landing and soon had both their faces and chest covered in flour and dough. Finally Loki gave up the chase and merely teleported himself in front of her, causing her to run into open arms before he engulfed her, squishing the dough more into herself as she pressed against his chest with a giggle.

When they both recovered from laugher, Loki’s smile hesitated and he leaned back a little so he could look into her eyes. ‘’so you were thinking about it at least?..’’

Y/N raised a brow at his question, resting her hands against his chest as she felt his arms rest around her waist. ‘’about what my prince?’’

A smiled gently at his title, knowing she was only teasing since he’s given her permission to call him by name years ago, but diminished when he clarified with a clear of his throat. ‘’you know.. baring children? Some day..’’

Her cheeks reddened with shyness at the topic, seeing how he was serious and nodded her head a little as she pressed her forward to his chest, hiding her eyes. ‘’I have- some day of course.. although we are still within our courtship where we are yet to come out publicly.. I wouldn’t wish to bring heirs unless it was with you.. I love you Loki..’’ she whispered, bringing her eyes back up to him with a loving smile where his heart fluttered.

Those words.. those sweet words he loved to hear as if it were the first time hearing them every time she said it.. it tightened his hold on her, bringing her close so he could brush his lips against hers. Her fingers gently tangled in his hair, feeling his head tilt to lean into her touch as he pressed more into her mouth. Knowing this moment will only make things.. strain a bit more, he made himself pull back and catch his breath as he smiled.

‘’shall we get cleaned up darling? It would save water usage if we both go together..’’ he winked and she laughed.

‘’as if the water usage problem would be yours.’’ She paused and glanced around ‘’we should clean up the mess first for them-‘’

Loki chuckled at her concern for the servant’s work, having a softened heart himself ever since she practically taught him to care and he rose a hand. ‘’you’ve always worn your heart of your sleeve darling.. allow me,’’ and with a flick of his wrist, the room was clean and back to normal.

‘’I appreciate it my prince, especially since apparently we’ll be one servant short now’’ she teased and he laughed.

‘’at least we won’t be short a princess..’’

Tag List: @foxherder  @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz

[silversweetpea]

Peer Review

pairing: Spencer reid x reader (gn)

word count: 1895

warning: This is probably really sappy but other than that i don’t think so?

summary: The genius and the student and the very obvious thing between them they both weren’t seeing.

author’s note: this is wildly self indulgent because I'm struggling with staying motivated with school and really just wanted to image a cute coffee date with Spencer. I have an idea for a second part so keep an eye out for me continuing to be wildly indulgent the next time I get sad about making my reference page lmao

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀

You weren’t hiding your college course from your coworkers. If Hotch or Morgan or even Garcia had asked you would tell them flat out that you had classes you were studying for. It wasn’t a big deal and if anyone in the world was going to understand what it was like to be addicted to working on something, it would be them.

If you were to hide it though, you would want the man approaching your table to be the last to know. 

“Hey Doc, what’s up?” Reid smiled again, a little dopey and a little bashful, the same one that you got every time you called him by the nickname. Seeing him in this moment was almost worth having been at the table since you had slipped out of the office yesterday afternoon. 

“Just, uh, you mentioned this coffee shop on the past few three cases straight. I figured I might as well try it while I had a chance.” It was your turn to smile, world suddenly a little brighter at his comment. You’d be the first to call anyone else in your circumstance hypocritical or indecisive to be so giddy over someone proving that they’ve been listening to you while trying so hard to hide something from them. Lucky for you, you weren’t anyone else and Spencer, as attentive as he was, had yet to comment on your sudden love of textbooks or attachment to your laptop.

“Good right? Have a seat, tell me what you got.” He was quick to slip into the spot across from you, long legs brushing yours under the table. You’ve never been more thankful for the close quarters as you are in that moment. Your laptop gets drawn towards you, but not quite closed. There was no telling if it would turn back on if you gave it a chance to rest.

“I have no clue. I didn’t know what most of the drinks had in them and by the time i got to the front of the line there were people behind me. Whatever it is cost six bucks.” His voice is tired and part of you longs to cup his face in your hand, to run your finger along the bags forming under his eyes. You’re not sure how tired he must be to not rehearse his order like usual but you’re not sure you could handle finding out either. It helps explain the dramatic drink - nearly half of which you’re sure is whip cream - in front of him at least. 

“Well, give it a try.” Spencer looks skeptical of the rather frilly drink in his hand but when you nod towards it, you get to see him lift it to his lips. More importantly you get to see the slight mustache that forms on his upper lip.

Your brain wonders what he would taste like if you kissed him. 

The more rational part of your brain simply leans over and uses a spare napkin to wipe the offending sweetness off his face.

It doesn’t occur to you that Reid has issues with people in his space until you’ve already settled back into your chair, napkin at your side and a dumbstruck look on his face. You’ve never seen brown eyes so blown wide or his hands so still where they still held his drink.

“Sorry about that. It’s worth it though right?” Spencer barely blinks as you give a stilted laugh and sip at your own drink - despite the fact that its now well past its peak at hours old. 

“Yeah,” The tired edge is gone, replaced with something breathy. Whatever it is though, Spencer gets a hold of himself with a short clearing of his throat and a look to the laptop you had nearly, blessedly, forgotten about. “What are you working on?”

“Oh just, stuff,” Raised eyebrows, teasing smile. If your job didn’t kill you, if this homework didn’t kill you, it would be him. Even as you cringe you can feel the knock of his knees against yours again. “You know, organizing my email, going through old files, that sort of thing.”

Hands you would recognize by shadow alone close the distance, small as it is, painfully slow. It’s a polite way to argue, an unspoken question you answer with a resigned sigh and a sip of your drink once more as you watch those beautiful features light up with surprise.

“This is an essay.” The words aren’t accusatory like you had thought they would be, they’re not even joking, just confused. It makes looking up at him a bit easier though it does nothing to stop the way that your heart skips at the eye contact.

“In theory.” Your weak response makes him smile again, mouth faltering with no noise as you slid the laptop back towards yourself. 

“Why are you writing an essay?” It’s innocent but your eyes are already skimming through the paper again, spotting all the mistakes that Spencer’s just seen and feeling your stomach plumet at the extent of them all. The bravery that had been surging through you at his presence suddenly slipped away. 

“You have to promise you won’t laugh.” His hair falls into his eyes just a bit when he nods, face serious in a way that you’ve never seen outside of the field. Though you suppose that you’ve only ever had a good reason to invite him out alone once or twice and if he was nervous with the group he’d probably keep that to himself if possible. Your eyes drift back to your cup at your side and the finger you have running around the rim of the cup to avoid looking at him. “I’ve been doing an online class recently. Figured it was about time to start updating what I know so I don’t get rusty.”

The silence between you feels unjustly vulnerable. 

“That’s...wow.” Soft as a feather. Would that be what it felt like to feel his breath on your skin too? Not looking up means that you can’t tell what he’s trying to say with just two words and it only takes a second to compose yourself. 

“I know it’s nothing compared to your wall of degrees bu-” Your gaze only snaps to Spencer when a warm hand covers your own.

“No that’s not it. I just can’t believe you found time to go back to school with all the cases we handle. Do you ever sleep?” Silence again, as if the rest of the cafe is holding its breath too while you search for some sign of insincerity. There isn’t though, not with Spencer. 

“There’s a reason I like this coffee shop.” The noise comes back all at once when you catch the smallest bit of a laugh. You don’t mind this one though, it almost sounds relieved coming from him. “Though I like it less when I’m cut off for the day.”

“How long have you been here?” Warmth floods your veins, embarrassment catching you by surprise. The strange looks of baristas who ring you out several times a visit was one thing. Watching Spencer’s brow furrow, or his hair shift as he leaned ever so slightly towards you, was another. 

The cold air feels like a brick being dropped on your hand when you pull back into yourself. Your eyes glue themselves to the laptop screen and the blinking cursor that seemed to mock you there. 

“Long enough to rewrite this essay four times and still hate it. I meant to write it in the hotel rooms but the case wrapped early and then there was paper work and-” You hadn’t even noticed the hand snaking back in your direction until the laptop you’d been focused on was pulled from your grip.

“Let me take a look,” Spencer says as if you’re not floundering like a fish out of water. The nerves have just enough time to build in your throat, suffocating you, before you realize that you’re just as anxious about the ease in which the genius offers his help. Its the same way that he saves you a seat on the jet or offers to grab you something from the breakroom. Its the same as when you share those quiet in-between moments where you learn about his life in exchange for bits of your own and marvel at how perfect they seem to fit together despite your concerns.

“If it’s bad you can say so. I know that I’m not the best at the whole essay thing. Tests I can study for but open ended ‘explain this concept I barely touched upon in class’ moments aren’t my strong suit.” He says nothing, but you can see a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It’s hard to tell what that means for your paper but for your heart is means another skipped beat. The words keep coming in an attempt to ignore that though. “You know maybe I should just go. It’s not fair to make you review that on your day off-”

“(Y/n), calm down,” The anxiety simmers and then evaporates completely when he looks up at you again. the smile makes his eyes shine and Spencer voice is light with a laugh that doesn’t seem quite able to break free. You’re sure in that moment that time stops, that you’ve spent an eternity just allowing yourself to get lost in familiarity. Your line of work doesn’t leave much room for domestic day dreams, nights spent at the dinner table or lazy Sunday afternoons but for a minute you can see it all ahead of you and reflected back in Spencer’s gaze. “Your essay is fine. I’m just going to leave some notes for you to review later and then you can have it back.”

“Why not just tell me now?” The words are still breathless, but when he looks back to the screen, the sound of typing filling the space between you two, your lungs seem more accepting of the air you gulp down. For the first time in your life you understand how it must feel to be a smoker, addicted to the same thing robbing you of your ability to breathe.

“Because I’m walking you home. You look like you haven’t slept since you left the office.” Easy, confident, said in the same tone of voice that he’d use to tell you the sky is blue and although you want to argue, want to insist that you stay put until the essay if finished and submitted you don’t have it in you to deny him that truth. 

“Okay, just let me grab something to drink that isn’t hours old.” 

“Here,” Spencer hands off his drink in one hand and swipes your laptop bag with the other, throwing the strap over his shoulder. “It seems like something you’d like.”

When he stands, you’re pretty sure you catch a glimpse of red in his cheeks, but you’re so busy thinking about the fact that you’re sipping from the same cup that you can’t trust your own eyes. Nor can you fathom how he knew that this was your favorite drink if slightly sweeter from the caffeine free flavoring used. 

All you know is that when Spencer almost trips over himself to hold the door open on the way out, you’re thinking again of what it’d be like to kiss him. 

[bizaar]

Endless Summer ✧

Part 1: Our Lips Are Sealed

Cruel Summer Masterlist

- Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), virgin!reader, mentions of drug usage, swearing, bullying, self-deprecation, masturbation (f)

word count: 10k

a/n: so I may or may not have been writing a few chapters of a semi-raunchy little prequel to Cruel Summer, this is the same babysitter!reader at the beginning of her relationship w/ Eddie - reader is hopelessly obsessed in a totally uncool, sweaty palms sort of way and Carol Perkins is the meanest girl in school.

Carol Perkins has been talking endlessly about … something, for the better part of the ten minutes it’s been since you sat down with your lunch tray.    

You aren’t exactly sure what about, because you’re not listening. You’re just sitting there watching her lips flap.    

You might have felt bad about that even as recently as last week, but somehow you can’t seem to muster the feeling today.

Maybe it's because you didn't get any sleep last night and your brain feels like its made of television static.

Maybe it has to do with the recent events that have more or less completely soured your opinion of your so-called best friend.

Maybe it’s just that her conversations these days are not exactly the stuff of edge-of-your-seat intrigue.

You're not listening to what she's saying, but a decent part of you is fairly certain in the knowledge that whatever she is saying is bound to have something to do with her stupid boyfriend.    

Tommy Hagan has been Carol’s singular topic of regular conversation for going on two years now, and you have been bored to tears for just as long. 

Tommy said this, Tommy did that, oh my god Tommy is so funny, Tommy Tommy Tommy.   

Tommy is fine, you guess, if you like snot-nosed bullies who never matured past age twelve.

If you like a guy whose idea of trying to divert attention away from the fact that he’s more into Steve Harrington than he is his own girlfriend is by stirring up drama, and feigning some kind of bullshit interest in you.

If you like a guy who calls you Princess like it's a slur and gives you a hard shove in the back like it's a sign of affection.    

Yeah… Tommy is so not your type.  

Then again, you never would have thought he was Carol’s type, considering her interests have always swayed more Han Solo than anything else — (see: The Empire Strikes Back poster she secretly has taped to the inside of her closet door) — but you know she would go to her grave denying it if you dared to remind her of it.

She'd probably try to take you with her if you did, so you don't, especially not today when you've left more than half your faculties at home in bed.

All you can manage right now is keeping your mouth shut and moving watery canned green beans around your lunch tray with a plastic spork.

Meanwhile, Carol talks and talks and endlessly talks.

You’re on probation with Carol after last week’s debacle in the quad, anyway, so you are not invited to chime in, even if you were listening.

You’re supposed to just sit there and listen to whatever it is she has to say and nod along dutifully without interrupting.

That’s your whole job here, nothing more, nothing less.

That's fine, you don't currently have the brain capacity for anything else.

Still, a bigger part of you than you are willing to acknowledge has started desperately wishing that Tina Burton or Nicole would show up and implore her to shut the fuck up.

Once upon a time, you might have done so yourself, but you haven’t been brave enough to speak so directly to Carol since the eighth grade.     

One too many times getting your head bitten off has conditioned you to wire your jaw shut and tune it out, for self-preservation's sake, which is exactly why you’d just stood there and took every bit of vitriol Carol had to give you that morning last week, like the good dog you are.   

Apparently, someone said something about hearing Tommy talking big in homeroom about some other thing that happened over the weekend at a party you didn’t attend.

Logic would tell you that Carol knows you weren't at this party because she gave you such a heinous amount of shit over it when you told her you weren't going, but logic almost never comes into account when it comes to things like this.

Carol doesn't care about the facts, she only cares about the rumor.  

It was suggested that you’d tried to cop a feel or something. Worse than that was how it was suggested that Tommy was into it, and she went nuclear.    

Not at him, of course.

Never mind that Tommy was the one spreading the rumor in homeroom, all that mattered to Carol was who he was trying so desperately to incriminate.   

Literally anyone else, and it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. If somebody had said that it was Vicki Carmichael or Tammy Thompson or Tina, Carol wouldn’t give a shit.

She’d throw her weight around, make a show of girlie dominance, there would be a very public spat, and that would be that.

But no, it had to be you.   

Why oh why did it have to be you? You imagine she’s asking herself the same question, and you’re not sure if your ears are ever going to stop ringing after the way she’d shouted at you, in front of God and Tommy and practically everyone in school.     

He just stood there watching it happen with that smug little smirk you hate so much plastered across his stupid face.

Everyone just stood there, even you stood there, staring helplessly at your sneakers, waiting for it to end. You were an island unto your own shame... until you noticed a pair of dingy Reeboks appear beside your own.     

“Good God!” A voice as familiar as childhood rang out, loud enough to slice through the air and silence Carol mid-stream.

Like so many meerkats, the whole school shifted and turned toward the intrusion, and like a knight in leather and patchy denim, there stood Eddie Munson.

At first, you couldn't believe it was him, or that this was even really happening.

He was just standing there, like it was the most natural thing in the world to butt in like this. Like this wasn’t the first time something like this had ever happened in the history of cool kids and losers interacting at Hawkins High.

Exactly where you fall on that spectrum was yet to be determined, but what was perfectly understood was that Eddie Munson had come riding in to rescue you from the dynamic duo that is Tommy and Carol.

They were speechless — Eddie was not.  

“What on God’s green Earth is making that awful racket?” He said loudly – theatrically – and then he turned his blinding attention to you, “Sounds like someone’s skinning a cat out here,”

Then, he gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow, like you were old friends and it was some kind of an inside joke, as if you were supposed to have any idea what that meant.  

You stared back at him, wide-eyed and still too stunned to speak, and he winked at you.

You have no idea what you said following that, if you even said anything at all. You're pretty sure you blacked out.

You don’t even remember what Carol said. You know there was some kind of vicious back and forth that occurred between them before a staff member eventually arrived to break up the huddle and cart Eddie off, and you know that Carol was pissed that you didn’t defend her.

Most of all, you know you’re still paying for that imagined slight with a concentrated cold shoulder from most everyone you know a full week later, but you can hardly make yourself care about being so summarily iced out like that.    

Because Eddie Munson stood up for you.

You still can’t wrap your head around that. Nobody’s ever stood up for you like that before, nobody over the age of twelve, anyway.

But Eddie did, and you haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. You haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

You really can’t afford to be thinking about him right now, not while you're so sleep deprived and not while Carol is sitting right there. If she could read your mind she'd claw your eyes out.

Thankfully, she hasn't noticed the way your attention has begun to stray. She’s too busy talking, and it's starting to give you a headache.   

Deep down, somewhere in your subconscious, you know you ought to try and smooth things over, because for as nasty as she can be (all the time, every day) she’s still your best friend. Even though she regularly puts you on probation like this for imagined slights.

Even though your friendship has conditions and stipulations that only seem to apply to you.

Even though you have nothing in common anymore except for the fact that you’ve been best friends since you were eight years old.    

So, perhaps the better phrasing is you know you ought to try a little harder because you used to be best friends.    

Nostalgia is the ancient, flaking paste keeping the walls of your friendship standing, but the paper there has long since begun to peel to reveal the rot beneath.     

Carol is still going on about who said what and who is dating who and all the latest gossip, talking at you more than talking to you. Talking just to fill the air because there's nothing Carol hates more than an awkward silence, and any silence with you is awkward.

You’re doing your best to at least try to pretend to look interested – really, you are – but with your lack of sleep and your headache, and everything else happening in the room, there’s not much you can do to stop the way your gaze has begun to wander…    

Because Eddie Munson has entered your periphery, Eddie Munson is standing on his lunch table – Eddie Munson stood up for you.     

Good God, indeed.    

You couldn't have listened to what Carol was saying in that moment if you tried, not with Eddie standing there, larger than life and violently demanding your undivided attention.

Well, okay... not yours specifically, rather the attention of anyone who just so happens to be bored enough to tune in to his frenetic display … which is to say, you.   

You’re happy enough to let him have your attention, and you tell yourself it's because whatever he’s up to is bound to be vastly more enticing than anything Carol has to say.

No other reason, absolutely not.

You’re not sure you’d be able to resist giving it to him even if you didn’t feel that way, because if you were being honest, you would admit that you’ve been painfully aware of him from the moment you’d stepped into the lunchroom.    

Not because you’re minorly obsessed with him or anything as uncool as that. Certainly not because you’re harboring a bizarre gargantuan little crush on him, or that when you tune everything else out and let your brain switch tracks, it’s him your mind shifts to.   

No, nothing so embarrassing as that.     

He’s a rebel with entirely too much cause, standing tall on the flattop, talking big and proselytizing to his minions about something with all the fire and charisma of a bible belt preacher. You’re hopelessly lost on the context of his sermon, but you’re nothing if not convinced and entirely prepared to convert to the church of Eddie Munson.

Quietly, and so, so carefully, so as not to alert the predators lurking in your circle. Stranded in the lion's den as you are, you're stuck having to worship your false idol from afar, and you're almost content to keep doing so.

Still, your cautious reverence does nothing to ease the shock of chills that wracks your body as Eddie raises his voice.

You can feel it vibrating in the pit of your stomach and you know you must be gawping stupidly at him as the passion of whatever it is that’s got him going today takes him to the edge of euphoria.

It’s absolutely captivating to watch, and almost enough to break Carol’s concentration... almost.

This is not exactly new behavior for Eddie, so most people have learned to tune him out.     

Normally you would count yourself in among that group — you know, like a liar — if for nothing more than that good ol' self preservation.

Then again, you aren't normally dead on your feet after spending a night tossing and turning, restlessly caught in the throes of a decidedly raunchy REM cycle, the subject of which just so happens to be standing on a table across the room. 

He's the reason you didn't get any sleep last night, and despite your bone tiredness, you're suddenly wide awake.

So what if you had a sex dream about Eddie last night? So what if your skin is buzzing where you can still feel his hands pulling at you, the gentle fanning of his breath on the nape of your neck where it had felt so real...

“Sweet Girl,” he’d whispered on heady exhale in your dreams, voice thick and shot full of holes in the way you can only imagine he might sound in the throes of ecstasy.

Just the thought of it sends a bolt of heat lancing through your core and forces you to shift in your seat and, tragically, avert your gaze. 

It's just a little bit too much show for you with tell out of the question, and Eddie, or at least the version of him in your dreams, is driving you nuts.     

You are an island to your own fantasies, feeling your heart throbbing between your legs and trying to be as subtle as humanly possible about the way you’re pinching your thighs together for the faintest glimmer of relief.

You stop that right this instant you dirty slut. A snarling voice in your head warns you, and you immediately obey as cooler heads prevail.

The absolute last thing you need is to go to pieces at the lunch table in front of all your peers. In front of Eddie.

Carol would never let you live it down.

Someone shouts something at him from across the room, and you have to fight not to look for his response.

You're just a little too hot under the collar right now to watch Eddie give someone the finger, especially while you're sitting there wishing he would give it to you instead.

Jesus Christ you are so pathetic.

You force yourself to look at Carol and watch her lips move. You don't hear a word she says, but you're grateful for the distraction and the sudden pang of longing in your heart, if only for entirely selfish reasons.

You hate having to suffer in silence like this.

Once upon a time, you might have been free to share the specificities of your dream in bowed heads and hushed tones, but you are entirely certain that were you to try that now, to lean across the table and whisper conspiratorially:

“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who I had the filthiest dream about last night,” you’d be instantly crucified, socially speaking.    

Carol doesn’t care about the yearnings of your most secret self. Not anymore. Now she only cares about Tommy and who did what at Tina’s party and how embarrassing it was, and quietly sidling up to Steve Harrington.    

She doesn’t care about you, and your secrets are absolutely not safe with her, no matter what the pathetic lingering sense of nostalgia keeps telling you.

You would cut ties if you had a little more self-respect, but high school is hard enough with bad friends, you know for certain it would be next to impossible with no friends.

The concept of starting fresh and trying to make new ones halfway through your sophomore year is a Sisyphean Hurdle you have no idea how to even begin to tackle. So you grin and bear it, and swallow any biblical yearnings you happen to harbor for the town pariah for later.

Besides, if you told her, all she would do is ask you what it is you think you know about anything raunchy before dutifully reminding you that you’re a virgin.   

Actually, the technical term would be “still a virgin” and would be followed up with the demand to know “when you’re going to do something about it” — like somehow the untouched state of your being is so embarrassing.   

You suppose in the eternal tide pool of the high school diaspora, it’s just one more patently uncool thing about you hampering her.

Carol Perkins and her loser best friend who doesn’t put out, has never had a boyfriend, never even been kissed.    

You would remind her that it’s hard to put out when nobody knows you exist.

Who are you but her excessively boring shadow? You don't put out because half the time nobody even notices you're there. But that would feel too much like whining and would only become an agonizing exercise in her rattling off a list of names you’d so much rather eat glass than accompany anywhere socially.     

But you tell yourself it's not all bad, because if you're invisible, then at least you don't have to worry about how poor a job you're doing masking the way you're staring at Eddie.

You can't be embarrassed if nobody perceives you right? You're not so sure.

You don’t really know when your stupid little crush began.

He's always been there if you really think about it, a fixture in the background of the swirling miasma that is your social circle, suddenly much larger than it has ever been since High School has became your habitat.    

Hawkins is a small town, and Eddie’s lived here his whole life, same as you. He’s a year older, but that wouldn’t be enough distance to remove someone from your orbit under normal circumstances, let alone someone like him in a town like this.    

Some part of you has always been mildly obsessed with him from a purely academic standpoint — forbidden knowledge is perhaps the most tantalizing thing to a young mind, and the likes of Eddie Munson has always been completely off-limits to the likes of you.   

Eddie's father was always something closer to a Universal Movie Monster than a real person in your mind.

More like Dracula or the Wolfman than a human man with a substance abuse problem.

When you were growing up, the most you knew about it was that Al Munson was the local boogeyman, and was to be feared by school children and good Americans alike.

Eddie didn't even feature in that conversation until much later, not until the notorious Munson patriarch finally went to prison and everyone could breathe a weighted sigh of relief.

With the streets safe again, life went on, and the good people of Hawkins very quickly realized their mistake.

People start to get nervous when there are no local pariahs to blame all their problems on. Hawkins is cursed, after all, but with Al gone, that narrative quickly began to crumble.

Luckily, they had a Munson to spare, and as soon as he was old enough, everyone was happy to force the son into the void the father left in the cultural zeitgeist. 

Eddie became bad news over night, "just like his father", your parents still used to say and you were are strictly forbidden from socializing with him.

You remember a time when it wasn’t like that.

You remember when your parents spoke about Eddie with a heavy dose of sympathy, because back then it wasn't his fault his father was a monster.    

When you were little, it was “that poor kid,” but as you got older and he started getting into more and more trouble, it became “stay away from that boy – he’s no good,”

Still, there’s nothing so tempting as forbidden fruit – you’ve known that since you were old enough to recognize there was a difference between boys and girls. 

And he is nothing if not strictly forbidden to you.

Even now, sitting in the lunchroom so publicly yearning, you can still hear your father’s lecturing voice warning you that if you so much as spoke to Eddie Munson you’d get instantly hooked on drugs, knocked up, and end up living out of a cardboard box by the time you were twenty.    

Which is stupid, of course, because you’ve gone to school with Eddie since first grade and you’d seen him talk to plenty of people over the course of that time, none of whom had gone on to suffer such a dismal fate.              

Anyway, it's not like he's banging down the door for your attention. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t even know you exist.   

There wasn’t much danger in becoming corrupted by someone like Eddie Munson before Carol got popular and dragged you along with her, and that hasn’t changed just because you won a golden ticket to the cool kid’s table… by proxy — you're more of an unwanted plus-one than anything else.    

Not Charlie Bucket so much as Grandpa Joe.   

But of course, you’ve never personally subscribed to the generalization that Eddie is evil or something.    

He isn’t the boogeyman or Dracula or any of those things that go bump in the night, no matter how badly your raunchy little dreams wish he'd come bumping through your night.   

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie isn’t even all that mean or scary, and maybe that’s just because he’d treated you so sweetly last autumn at Tina Burton’s Not-Quite-Halloween party….    

Except you’re not supposed to be thinking about that, remember? Because last week's dressing down in the quad wasn't actually the first time Eddie came to your rescue.

That memory is not safe within Carol’s proximity, but it is the ambrosia that has been singularly sustaining you for the better part of a year now – a year next week on Halloween, but who’s counting?

It is a shining jewel that you keep tucked safely in the spot behind your lungs, and you just can’t help but pull the curtain back to take a peek at it.   

It was your first high school party.    

You’d never partaken in anything before that night, never even been offered, but suddenly and unceremoniously finding yourself shoved up against Eddie in a game of puff-puff-pass, you let yourself be pressured into playing.   

He must have realized you were nervous — maybe your fingers were trembling when he passed you the blunt, but suddenly, and for perhaps the first time in your life, he was speaking directly to you.    

“Have you ever done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly, a heavy dose of concern shadowing the wry quirk of his brow.   

It was startling, to realize the curse of your invisibility had so unceremoniously been lifted, leaving you suddenly exposed to the one person you were never meant to speak to.

You had to resist the urge to whip your head around and ask, “Who me?”

Yes, you.    

Eddie Munson was looking at you and asking you if you knew what you were doing.    

Like something out of one of those anti-drug campaigns, you suddenly felt the unbearable pressure to perform in a situation you’d been preparing for your whole life: if Eddie Munson offers you drugs at a party, just say no kids.    

Only you could not help but notice how genuinely concerned he looked, how soft and approachable and incredibly fucking normal.

Not nearly as scary or dangerous as McGruff the Crime Dog had led you to believe. In fact, he was entirely too enticing, and you were suddenly desperate to make a good impression.   

You opened your mouth in the fanatical hope of saying something cool and casual — yeah, of course. You’ve done all kinds of shit — and were naturally horrified to hear the truth squeak out.    

“No.”    

Eddie’s brows crept toward one another forming a deep crease of concern between them, and in a bright burst of suddenly onset clairvoyance, you could read his mind - yeah, that’s what I thought, he seemed to say.   

You watched as he stole a quick glance over his shoulder, before leaning in, invading your space almost conspiratorially as the moist pink tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke.

Your heart was beating so aggressively in your chest that you were convinced he must have been able to hear it.    

“You don’t have to breathe it in if you don’t want to.” He said, “Just puff it and pass — you’ll be fine.”    

You still remember the way his lips brushed the shell of your ear when he whispered to you, how the fanning of his breath made you shiver with the tantalizing suggestion of nicotine and spearmint secrets.    

But it was the last little bit that really did you in.    

Not the overwhelming pressure of your peers insisting that just one hit won’t kill you, but the kind assurance from the person who provided the contraband that you didn’t have to partake if you didn’t want to.

It was the suggestion of having a choice in your fate that ultimately lured you out of your field and into the underworld — sickly sweet pomegranate promises, dripping from his tongue to yours.   

You’ll be fine.

Just like your father and McGruff the Crime Dog and all those insufferable after-school specials had promised, Eddie Munson turned his gaze upon you, and you were instantly hooked.    

He passed you the blunt, and you tried not to get too caught up on the way his fingers brushed yours when you took it.

You curled your lips inward as you brought it to your mouth, and you puff puff puffed, doing your best to hold your throat closed against any swirling wisps of smoke that might slip through and poison you.

You hoped it would give the subtle impression that you knew what you were doing in order to escape the humiliation of inexperience before you handed the joint off to the next person.

It still burned in a funny sort of way, but nothing really happened.

You didn’t slip down the rabbit hole, you didn’t burst into flames, and perhaps most importantly no one seemed to notice the wool being pulled over their eyes as you dared to steal another cautious glance at Eddie.    

His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a satisfied smile, and you bloomed under the approval of someone whose attention you never realized you so desperately craved.

You couldn’t believe you’d pulled it off, and you were so pleased to have evidently made Eddie proud that is physically hurt to watch him turn away from you and take the shining warmth of his attention away, leaving you shrouded in darkness.

Tragically, invisible again, just like that.    

If only you could have been so lucky.

Trust Carol to catch you faking when you — a virgin in so many aspects — continued to remain clear eyed and level headed after three rounds of puffing and passing.    

“You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy!” She shrieked, causing everyone in the circle to laugh at your blatant inexperience.   

Everyone but Eddie, you would have noticed had you been able to look, but shame-faced as you were, you kept your gaze fixed firmly to the floor.

When your next turn came around, you inhaled deeply and felt your lungs ignite.

You coughed, of course, and choked on the musky smoke as it filled your lungs and seared them medium rare.

It only took a handful of minutes before you quickly faded into oblivion, backed by the soundtrack of everyone laughing at you again.    

The rest of that night remains a mystery to you to this day.    

You don’t remember what happened after the game or how much longer the party lasted or even how you got home, but there are some things that stand out clear as day.

Somewhere, hidden back in the furthest reaches of your subconscious, you swear you can still feel the press of his body as Eddie held you caged in the crook of his arm, with your head resting on his collarbone and tucked neatly beneath his chin.

You don’t know how, but you swear you know what his lips feel like, brushing the highest point of your cheekbone, and the long line of his nose pressed flat against your temple with his breath gently fanning the side of your face.

You’re sure you can feel the deep rumble of his voice filling you with warmth, a low timber in his chest calling you Sweet Girl as he smoothes your hair back.  

You don’t know how you know all that, only that you do.

You feel it with every fiber of your being in a way that is so goddamn real it can’t just be an effect of your stupid little crush and unchecked libido. 

How else could your dreams be so inexorably vivid?

In a moment of weakness, Eddie promised you everything was going to be okay, and you believe him to this day.        

That night at Tina’s party, academic fascination bloomed into something new, fueled entirely by teenage hormones and the need to be seen.    

Like a door that, once opened, cannot be shut again, you are always thinking about Eddie, one way or another.

Attention is the high you crave like nothing else, and you desperately want Eddie’s attention, his undivided, unfiltered, unwavering attention, fixed solely on you.

Selfishly, you want him to be as obsessed with you as you are with him, and it makes you feel like at any moment you’re going to implode in on yourself like a dying star.    

Your parents would be appalled.   

Carol would be appalled.

But Carol hasn’t noticed, because she’s still talking, and you’re still not listening, because Eddie is still going. And going. And going.   

Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Eddie is suddenly so much closer than he was a moment before.

At some point, when you weren’t looking, while you were too busy thinking about him to notice the direction his tirade had taken him, he picked his was across the lunch tables and crossed the room.

Your stomach does a cartoon flip-flop, and you hold a wheezy breath in your lungs when he vaults down from the end of his table, furthest from his seat and closest to yours.

Suddenly he's right fucking there, and you forget how to breathe.

Your eyes meet briefly as he straightens up, and you immediately avert your gaze — self preservation, remember? — feeling your face flush hot enough that you’re half surprised it doesn’t melt right off of your skull as you shift your focus back over to Carol.    

Carol... what's Carol talking about again? Oh, that's right. Tommy Hagan. Tommy Tommy Tommy.

Tommy is so goddamn boring, but in this instant, with Eddie Munson lurking within enough proximity to feel the pull of his orbit, Tommy is the most interesting person in the world.

You desperately want to know everything about Tommy and Tina and who said what about you and how embarrassing it was.   

Because you’ve changed your mind. You don't want Eddie's attention. Eddie’s attention is blinding, like looking into the sun.

It makes you feel exposed, like he’s a spotlight shining straight through to your innermost self — your secret self.

The one that thinks about him in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes you and deft fingers creep their way down your body, edging toward the wanting apex of your spread thighs and slipping past creamy slick barriers to pull soft, lilting breaths and his name — his blessed, cursed name — from your parted lips until you’re going hot and cold clamping your jaw shut to stop the sordid cries of your orgasm from escaping your lips…   

Jesus Christ –    

No, actually, you’re much more comfortable remaining a wallflower and letting someone else get wrapped up in that undivided, unwavering, fixed-solely-on-you attention.

Better to stand aside and make room for somebody built to withstand that kind of heat from someone like Eddie. Someone edgy and cool, who gives the middle finger to the world and dresses the part — not some midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of.    

Yeah... but he’s from that town that no one has ever heard of, too, you think watching Carol’s lips move and hearing nothing but your own heartbeat.

You gaze wanders without your permission, and before you know it, you're looking at him again – your insides seize and cramp, because this time, he’s looking too.    

Your heart spasms in your chest and scrambles up into your throat, punching an airy breath out of you and flattening your lungs.   

Fuck.    

There’s that blinding light, that feeling of indecent exposure — it’s not the sun, it's a solar eclipse burning your retinas out of your skull, and somehow you can’t bring yourself to look away.    

You’re painfully aware of how you’re staring again, though this time it is because he has your eyes and he absolutely refuses to let go.    

Somehow it doesn’t feel even the slightest bit aggressive, more like an understanding – he sees you.   

He sees you.   

You’re blushing, you know you’ve got to be bright crimson — beet red even — you can feel it.

You're sweating.

Sweet Girl — hands pulling, lips brushing, wandering fingers, gasping, gasping —Sweet Girl Sweet Girl Sweet—  

“Hello? Ground control to Major Tom.”    

Carol snaps her perfectly manicured fingers in your face, breaking the spell and bringing the quiet din of the lunchroom rushing back in on you.    

It feels like getting swamped at the beach, swept off of your feet by the tide, and rolled in the undercurrent. You crack your head on the reef and your brains come tumbling out as you're washed away into oblivion.

You have to remind yourself to breathe.   

“Are you even listening to me?” She snipes, scrunching her nose in aggravation and flattening her bubble gum pink lips into a thin, ugly line.     

You blink stupidly at her as she comes back into focus, but you don’t answer, because you very clearly hadn't and your mind is not working well enough to drudge up an excuse.    

It feels foolish to try and lie about it because Carol loves to remind you that she always knows when you’re lying, and yet the truth is entirely too dangerous.

Your secrets are not safe with her, and your biggest secret is still standing right there.

You can see him in your peripheral vision, poking and prodding you and just begging to be noticed.     

And you can't stop yourself from looking. Of course you can't, who can resist the sun?

When you do, Eddie rewards you with a brief, goofy smile. All crooked lips twisted up to one side, the faintest suggestion of teeth poking out.

It's a startling contrast to the vitriolic injustice of whatever it was that had previously gripped him in such a chokehold, and it’s contagious, that smile.

You can suddenly feel the corners of your mouth twitching in response, threatening to expose you and just daring you to try to resist.    

It makes your insides go tight and squirmy, and you have to clench your teeth to keep anything remotely similar to a straight face.    

The change in your demeanor is unfortunately not lost on Carol.      

She narrows her eyes at you, and you are powerless to stop your own from darting back and forth.

Carol - Eddie - Carol - Eddie - Carol... Eddie always wins.

You feel your heart seize and begin to palpitate as she begins to twist to see what could possibly be so important to hold your rapt attention, and you have to grip the edges of your seat to stop yourself from reaching out across the table.

You could scream stop! and make a scene, but that would only make you look even crazier than you are sure you already do.

There's nothing you can do to stop the collision, and all you can do is brace yourself for the sky to come crashing down on your head.

Unstoppable force? Meet immovable object.

Round two. Fight.        

Carol physically recoils when she sees Eddie. Dramatically so - like he'd been waiting there to douse her in a bucket of ice water.

It takes her a moment to recover, but when she does, she has nothing but spitting, poisonous vitriol for him, much to your unbearable dismay.    

“Take a picture, Freak, it’ll last longer.” She snaps.    

Something indiscernible crosses Eddie’s features as his gaze flicks over to her from you, then back again.

You watch his brows marry in the middle as he pulls a face that is tinged ever so slightly with something that looks a little too much like hurt than you're comfortable with.

The flash of vulnerability makes your stomach go tight, and you’re suddenly possessed with a violent and desperate need to make him understand that you are not with her, despite how stridently untrue that is.

You are Carol's friend, after all, even if lately you've started to feel like little more than an out-of-trend accessory.     

With her, is all that you are.      

The hurt look is gone before it has time to settle, and Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust.   

For a long moment, they stand staring poisonous daggers at each other and daring the other to be the first to die.

She hates him and he hates her right back — cool kids and losers. Circle of life.

All you can do is desperately hope beyond hope that you’re not lumped into that circle by association. Golden ticket by proxy.   

“Seriously, what the fuck are you looking at?” Carol snaps, and strangely, Eddie's features relax.   

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his shoulders, “Just wondering how Bulimia Barbie got out of her box.”    

Your insides clench and had she been facing you, you’re certain you would have seen Carol turn white as a sheet.   

Eddie turns to make the stilted victory lap back to his seat at the head of his table, electing to take the floor this time rather than the tabletop.

You watch him go, because at this point, you're Pavloved — if Eddie is moving, you're watching — and when he gets to his seat, he gives you one last parting glance.

This time, you muster your courage and hold his gaze, pulling a face that you hope looks at least halfway as apologetic as it feels. 

That went exactly the way it was meant to, according to the strict social hierarchy of Hawkins High, and you feel terrible about it.

Not nearly as bad as you ought to feel for Carol, however.     

There are a lot of ways to get under her skin — she’s never been exactly easygoing, but even you think bringing up the eating disorder she’s been less-than-privately struggling with since the eighth grade is a low blow.

She’d been devastated when word of it got out, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Tommy who’d let that information slip, because they'd only just started dating when that rumor was making the rounds.

Tommy's mean, Carol's mean too, but despite the words still hanging in the air between you, you don't believe that Eddie is mean, not truly.

Carol makes a harsh sound of indignation in the back of her throat.    

“Asshole!” She shouts unevenly, then, “—can you believe that guy?”   

You don't answer, you're still too busy trying very hard to muster those latent psychic abilities you're still waiting on to tell Eddie you're sorry.

Carol hisses your name and you snap to attention.

"— what the hell are you looking at?"   

“Nothing.” You say quickly, doing your best to curl in on yourself so she can't reach across the table to bite your head off.  

Only Carol has not believed a word that has come out of your mouth since the summer between eighth and ninth grade. She twists in her seat again just in time to see Eddie looking away, much to your patent dismay,

“…Oh, gross!” she scoffs, whipping back around to face you, “What, are you swapping eyes with the Freak?”    

The adrenaline of being caught bursts in your midsection like a firework and sends lightning rocketing down to the tips of your fingers.

"No," You lie.

"Liar," she says.

You turn your attention back to moving the bits of your lunch tray back and forth, but you have completely lost your appetite, especially as she admonishes you with a disappointed utterance of your name.

Your cheeks burn with shame.    

“I was just being friendly.” You stress, pressing the plastic tines of your spork into the bottom of the tray until they bend and snap off.   

“With Eddie Munson? Ugh — gag me!”      

The unchecked disdain in her tone doesn’t sit right with you, because it’s not like she’s ever even said two words to Eddie that weren’t hurled as insults, and you can’t help yourself clicking your tongue.    

“...he’s not that bad,” you say, immediately regretting the statement as the mean nickname comes roaring back to slap you upside the head.

Bulemia Barbie snorts out an undainty sound of disgust, you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from apologizing.   

“He’s a freak.” She snarls — so you keep saying, you think — “He worships the Devil or whatever — everybody knows that.”    

Horrifically, there is nothing you can do to stifle the bitter snort of laughter that comes bubbling up out of you.

It is a harsh, sardonic snot of a sound that escapes before you can reign it in.      

A brief flash of hatred colors her features, and you can’t help but feel that the curtain has been pulled back and you’re suddenly looking at her true self.    

"Everybody knows that." She repeats, slowly, forcefully, giving you a hard, cold look as if daring you to disagree.

Evidently, you dare, which is a shock to you.   

“How do you know?” you say, narrowing your eyes and wrinkling your nose in a quiet defiance. 

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, because she doesn't know. That's just what everybody says, but as far as you're concerned, no one has any actual proof that Eddie Munson worships the Devil.

Your stance gives you the upper hand in this verbal joust, and your reluctance to concede is like throwing gas on a fire.    

Suddenly, Carol is all but shouting at you as her eyes go bright and her skin flushes a blotchy crimson.      

“Oh please, like you know any better, Little Miss Babysitter!”   

She hurls it at you like a slur and you flinch as the violent intention strikes you.   

You don’t know precisely when Carol became so mean, only that it happened sometime between the transition from seventh to eighth grade, right around the time she’d gotten her first training bra and started to notice how boys were noticing her — right around the time Tommy showed up.

Since that day, everything between the two of you has been a competition that she is determined to win, despite how clearly uninterested you are in participating.

You don't want to fight, and yet you feel the strangest sense of righteous indignation rising in you because she doesn’t know Eddie. She's never even tried to get to know him, and here she is condemning him right alongside everyone else just because it’s what’s currently on trend.

You want to ask her how that’s fair, how she would feel if the shoe were on the other foot, and suddenly she became bad news overnight.

You don't, because you don't want to get your head bitten off as much as you don't want to parrot the condescending tone of your mother asking you if you’d jump off of a cliff the same as everyone.

Mostly though, you don't ask because she's right.

You don’t know Eddie any better than she does, not with all your wishing and hoping and fantasizing, and certainly not after the way he’d looked at you at Tina’s party – Sweet Girl…  

“Yeah okay, whatever,” You mumble, because there’s no point in arguing with Carol when she gets like this.   

Your submission doesn’t apparently sit any better with Carol than your challenge did. Her face twists into a displeased scowl as she snatches up the can of coke that is the entirety of her lunch and begins to raise it to her bubblegum pink lips before thinking better of it and setting it back down with a harsh sigh.    

You don’t know what’s got her so flustered, or what you did to embarrass her so badly. All you did was smile at Eddie, it’s not like you invited him to come and sit at the table with you.    

“Why do you care anyway?” She demands then, clearly not done fighting.        

“I don’t,” You say flatly, sitting up a little straighter.    

“Then how come you’re defending him?”    

You cross your arms.    

“I’m not.”    

“You are though.” She insists, like she’s caught the scent of something she can weild against you, and is trying her best to sniff it out. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face like you’re about to get all self-righteous about something. What’s the deal? Do you like him or something?”   

Your heart seizes and suddenly you can feel color bleeding into your cheeks as your armor creaks under the stress of her accusation.

How could she possibly know that?   

Because she’s your best friend, she knows everything about you…   

“No…” you say, though even you are not convinced by the quavering tone of your voice.   

Carol stares at you, briefly uncomprehending before it dawns on her, and suddenly her eyes are blazing with malicious delight.   

Shit.   

“Oh, nasty!” She shouts, then gasps, mouth falling open in scandal, “You do! You totally do!”   

“I don’t – I mean, I don’t even know him.” You stammer, kicking yourself for how your resolve has begun to waver.     

“Doesn’t mean you’re not into him! Oh, that’s so gross!” Carol sneers, she is loving this all too much, “Oh, my God, look at you – you’re blushing!”   

Your hands fly up reflexively to bracket your face, and you hate yourself for the heat you can feel billowing off you, betraying you.

Carol squeals with malevolent glee and you know you must be sweating again for the way she is looking at you, eyes bright, teeth bared, wet, and shining in a hungry grin like a predator getting ready to make a meal out of you.   

“O-okay, that’s enough.” You say unevenly, trying and failing to be firm as you are suddenly unable to keep your voice from shaking as you speak.   

She doesn’t hear you – that or she just plain ignores you because she is getting too much of a rise out of your misery.    

“What are you, like, in love with him?”    

“Carol – stop.”   

“You are! Holy shit, you totally are!” She cackles, “You want to marry him and have a hundred of his freak babies!”    

She is practically screaming and you are this close to panicking about it, glancing anxiously across the room to the table where Eddie is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, talking and laughing with his friends about something.

You have to force yourself to believe that they aren’t laughing at you because there’s no way they could possibly be clued into your conversation with Carol … who has started play-acting that she is you, moaning loud and wantonly as you are fucked by what you can only imagine is supposed to be Eddie.

It's shockingly apropos in the worst possible way, almost as if somehow she’d found the time to steal away and read the mad scribblings you’d left smeared across the pages of your diary that morning.   

“Oh, God–!” She moans, hands flying up to tangle in her hair and igniting a burst of cold anxiety in the pit of your stomach like a Roman candle, “Oh, Eddie! Don’t stop! Right there – Yes! YES! YES!”     

You could die. You could literally die.    

People have started to look over at you, stare at you, and all of that would almost be fine if it weren’t for the fact that you are currently imploding like that dying star.   

You can’t be certain if its a result of your friend’s whorish display or just the screaming sensation of someone staring at him (because if you weren't watching him like a hawk before, you certainly are now) but Eddie’s attention snaps back over to your table in an instantly, to you, and you nearly pass out.   

You’re on your feet with a loud squeak of chair legs on linoleum – much louder than anything Carol had just kicked up. If people weren’t staring before, they’re certainly staring now, watching you frantically attempt to gather your things and make a break for it before your brain can catch up with you.   

Carol has started to come down by now, and she's leaning back casually in her chair, watching you panic.

"Seriously?" She snickers, like she didn't just publicly humiliate you, again, "You're leaving?"   

“I gotta go,” you say quickly.    

“Oh, come on, I was just kidding.” Carol sighs, “Don't be so sensitive. Where are you going?”    

You can hardly hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. Your heart is hammering so violently against your ribcage that you can barely catch your breath to try and stammer out an excuse.   

“I just remembered,” You begin, your voice hitches and threatens to break, “I have this… thing I have to do for class. Totally forgot. I gotta go work on it.”   

You shove the last of your belongings haphazardly into your backpack and slide your lunch tray into the nearest trashcan – the entire tray hits the bottom of the bin with a loud thump that has the lunch lady shouting indignantly at you from the other side of the room.   

You don’t linger to rectify your mistake or apologize or do anything of the sort, because your frantic attempts to escape the lunchroom have drawn only more attention.   

One cursory glance reveals to you that, devastatingly, Eddie’s entire lunch table has turned to watch you go.

You nearly go stumbling to the ground as you trip over your feet in your frantic attempt to get as far from there as you possibly can, as fast as you can.

“Liar!” Carol shouts after you, “Where are you really going?”   

“I’ll see you later!”    

You twist at the waist and wave when she calls your name again, and, because you're Pavloved, you can’t help look to see Eddie leaning back dangerously in his chair, craning his neck to watch you go in a way that makes your heart seize against your ribs.

His eyes go wide when he sees you looking, and he lurches forward to right himself again, briefly losing his balance and just about toppling out of the chair as he does.  

He saw everything, which means he probably heard everything which means you should probably just go find a corner to curl up and die in.

Like, right now.      

You turn and pick up your pace and blow through the double doors before anyone can get the bright idea to follow you.   

You move through the halls without really knowing where you intend to go, but before you realize it, you’re in the gymnasium, stalking across the empty floor to tuck yourself back beneath the bleachers.   

It’s not the most covert hiding spot, and you're almost surprised to find it empty considering how many people tend toward coming down here to hide and make out.

The braver, hornier couples around campus have even been known to engage in the odd session of heavy petting or dry humping back here where they can get their rocks off more or less removed from prying eyes.

More, being the keyword there. It feels like someone is being busted for that kind of under the bleachers indecency every other week.

You’ve got no such plans to follow suit, despite the ruined state of your panties, as you scramble to slip out of sight with a gentle squeak of Chucks on clear coat.  

Your heart is pounding as you pull your knees up to your chest, face absolutely burning over the way Carol’s stupid play acting has left you slick and throbbing with the memory of your stupid, stupid dream.

You bite the inside of your cheek until it hurts and violently will yourself to get a grip, because what are you going to do about it? Nothing, you're gonna wallow in shame and that will be that.   

You pull your bag into your lap and begin rifling through its haphazard contents, desperately searching for some kind of a distraction – something to take your mind off of the lingering sensation of full lips and calloused fingertips and hot fanning breath – Jesus motherfucking Christ! Get a hold of yourself.    

You need your book. You need to lose yourself in thick text, hard science fiction, and worlds and histories and glossaries of outlandish names… only your book is not here. 

Your well-loved, annotated copy of Dune, whose cover is hanging on by a thread with how many times it has been bent backward as you pour over the familiar text. Whose pages are creased and dog-eared and littered with notes and doodles and all the little lines and themes you never want to forget.   

It’s not here. Even after you dig and dig and dig, even after you dump your bag on the gymnasium floor and spread all your things out in a neat fan in front of you.

Your book is still missing.   

You hardly get the time to stress about it much further than the singular thought before the school bell rings with a shrill, metallic clanging cry. It startles your brain back into an approximation of working action and sends you scrambling to shove all your things back into your bag.   

You’re almost relieved.

Without your book, you’d just been sitting there biding your time until Carol eventually sniffed you out and you would have to brace yourself for round two, but your schedules are thankfully far removed from one another.

She’s got Mrs. O’Donnell for fifth period, whose classroom lies mercifully on the other side of the school from your fifth-period chemistry class, and the ringing of the end of lunch bell is a Godsend, solidifying your escape and requisite safety from another bout of humiliation.   

Your lab partner is a freshman, Gareth Emerson, who just so happens to be a newer addition to Eddie’s roving gang of minions.

Somehow, that is much less terrifying than you’d half expected it to be when you first noticed him in the lunchroom, sitting tucked neatly into the chair at Eddie’s side and hanging on his every word.   

It had just been nice to know that you’re not the only one so affected by his gravitational pull  

Still, you’d often wondered how Gareth was lucky enough to win such a coveted spot so early on in his tenure, considering Eddie Munson tends to be a particularly terrifying entity to the newest additions to the Hawkins High student body.

As you’d gotten to know him, you stopped wondering about that.   

Gareth’s a sweetheart. He’s nice, funny, and reminds you a lot of your neighbor, Dustin, if he were a little older and just a little bit cooler, that is.

It’s no wonder he’s so quickly found himself at a place of honor at Eddie’s side, how could anyone resist him?  

You wish you could hang out with Gareth instead of Carol.

You wish you could sit comfortably at lunch and talk about the things that actually held your interest. That you could make afterschool and weekend plans without a hint of dread, and be safe in the knowledge that a trip to the movies or to the arcade was simply that. No ulterior motives or hidden agendas, no fear of being humiliated or abused for the amusement of the people who were supposed to be your friends.

You wish you could be real friends with Gareth, but Gareth hangs out with Eddie, and the thought of joining them at their lunch table is enough to send your heart into palpitations, so you just have to settle with the friendship you have, limited to the confines of the classroom.  

“Hey,” Gareth says, frowning quizzically at you as you unpack your things and hop up onto the metal stool beside him, “What happened to you at lunch? You looked like you were about to pop.”  

Your insides clench with shame and for a very brief moment, you're afraid you're about to empty them all over the tabletop.  

“You saw that, huh?” You mumble, swallowing hard.

“Everybody saw that.” He scoffs, pulling a face.   

Everybody. The word clangs around your ribs and you have to blink back the image of Eddie leaning so far back in his chair, watching you run from the lunchroom.

Literally run. Like some kind of scared little kid fleeing the monster that lives under their bed.   

Great.  

“What does she think you did this time? Sell her firstborn child for concert tickets or something?”  

You sigh, slumping forward to prop your head up on your elbow and level Gareth with an unimpressed look.  

“Nothing – I don’t want to talk about it.”  

He takes the hint and offers you his hands in a show of surrender before turning back to the blackboard, where Mr. Kapz has stepped up and begun scribbling formulas with a hard squeak of chalk.   

You watch without really seeing, trying to keep your mind from drifting too far with all your classmates sitting around you.

There is a cold lump in the pit of your stomach as a hundred different things whisk around your mind, all fighting tooth and nail for the limited real estate left in your brain with so much of Eddie stuffed up in there.

It’s always like that though, and it leaves you feeling particularly pathetic, thinking about yourself, sitting beneath the bleachers on your own, like the loser you are, hiding from your friends, wishing things were different, wishing you could be the person they wanted you to be, wishing you could be free of them.  

You suck greedily on a sharp intake of air and shake your head to dislodge that line of thinking before it can take root and pivot to a much more pressing matter, for the sake of your own self-preservation.         

“Hey, weird question,” You start, tilting your head down toward your shoulder and speaking in a loud whisper, “But have you seen my book?”   

Gareth’s brows are pulled tight over his eyes when you glance at him, and you are quick to elaborate,   

“Dune." You clarify, "It’s all beat up and annotated…?”    

“Yeah, no— I mean, sure I’ve seen it—” 

"Recently?" You posit, hoping he understands that you've lost it and not just trying to small talk about the sorry state of a mass-market paperback.

"Yeah."

You hardly let him finish.

“Really? That’s great! Where?” 

“...Eddie’s got it.”   

It hits you like a fist to the gut, punching your lungs flat and forcing the air out. Your heart thumps a heavy beat like it always does when someone mentions Eddie and you feel your tongue go fat in your mouth.     

“Ed-Eddie Munson?” You splutter, voice an embarrassing octave higher than normal, and barely manage to get the sound out over the way your throat is closing up.    

You can feel your cheeks heating just from the sordid act of speaking his name aloud.    

If Gareth takes any sort of hint from your bizarre reaction, he doesn’t let on.  

“Yeah.” He says again.   

You blink back at him, waiting for him to elaborate and feeling your chest go tight when he doesn’t.  

“…Why does he have my book?”   

“He said you left it in the parking lot after you dumped your stuff last week—”    

Oh, for the love of God…  

In the wake of everything else that happened that day, you’d almost completely forgotten about that… 

You’d been running late for school, having spectacularly slept through your alarm and been so rudely awakened by the thunderous hammering of two little fists, doing their best to bang down your bedroom door – Dustin, shouting at you to get your ass up out of bed.  

You’d forgotten you were supposed to be carpooling that morning, and you're sure you must have broken some kind of a land speed record with how you burnt rubber to get the both of you to school on time.

Gas pedal to the floor, music cranked up to eleven, you made the distance in five minutes flat.   

After, you’d been too caught up in your sudden prospective future as a Formula One driver to notice how you were headed for disaster. Jogging across the parking lot and trying to stuff your Walkman into your backpack, you weren't prepared for the wall of denim, patches, and studs to come stumbling haphazardly out of the open door of a semi-shitty beat-up panel van and directly into your path.   

You barely had time to look up, let alone pivot to try and avoid the sudden six-foot obstacle before you, so naturally you collided.

You managed to keep your feet and even catch your Walkman with an incredible feat of feline grace, but it came at the expense of your bookbag, which went tumbling topsy turvy and upchucked its contents all over the pavement at your feet.   

Fantastic.  

They stepped into your path, whoever they were. They crashed into you, but still you stammered out an apology, because how could they have been expected to look out for you when you’re running around under a cloak of invisibility?

Then, you dropped to your knees in an attempt to catch your pens and pencils before they could roll away. You fully expected to be ignored, to watch whoever it was that had just knocked your shit into the dirt skip off to class like you didn’t even exist, but when you looked up, there was Eddie Munson, crouched on the asphalt right alongside you with his head bowed toward yours, stacking your books and muttering his own apology.   

It just about damn near knocked the wind out of you, suddenly finding yourself so close to him again after spending so long quietly yearning for his proximity.

Once you got your lungs working and inflated again, you couldn’t help but breathe deep, trying to get a sense of him and refresh the waning memory you still clung to. He smelled just the way you remembered, like camels and spearmint gum standing out over the notes of whatever cheap cologne he’d obviously dusted himself in and Old Spice.

It made your mouth water, and then go completely dry when he looked up at you, turning that honey-warm gaze on you and bathing you in his spotlight. 

You weren’t invisible anymore, you were blushing, and you’d missed whatever it was he’d said to you – fuck. 

You weren’t listening, you were staring into his eyes, at the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, at the plush spread of his lips, and the pink tip of his tongue darting out to swipe a slick sheen of moisture across them.   

Somewhere, distantly, you could hear your Walkman still playing, Ann Wilson imploring you to get a little more lost in him than is rightly wise…  

Oh, he’s a magic man, Mama…  

And he was waiting for you to answer him.

Fuck. What the fuck did he just say?      

“My fault…" Eddie mumbled thickly, "Didn’t see you there,”

Oh, thank God for that.   

“Oh – God, are you kidding?  It happens all the time.” You scoffed, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave.

It was almost a cool, collected thing to say, but then you just kept talking,

“Like. Way more than you would think,”

And talking.

“It’s actually kind of ridiculous how often people bump into me like that–”

And talking,

“Honestly, at this point, I feel like I should start wearing a bell.”   

Shut up shut up shut up already! You screamed, but before you could well and truly condemn yourself for being such a goddamn awkward weirdo, Eddie’s face twisted up in amusement and he laughed out loud.

A little too loud for something that wasn’t even halfway to being a joke – he was obviously high, the whites of his eyes were tinged an angry swollen pink, hooded and nearly closed as he peered over at you with his face split up in that crooked smile of his, but it was still so wildly endearing you couldn’t help but giggle yourself.  

You can’t believe you’d nearly forgotten that, that wonderful almost perfect moment of brushing fingers and traded looks and semi-meaningful silences.

If you really think about it, it makes perfect sense that he has your book. You haven’t seen your it since that day, haven’t even thought about it. It had been all but washed away under the bell-clanging effect of what happened later that morning between classes, with Carol jumping down your throat and Eddie riding in to pull you out of her line of fire.   

Good God!  He shouts in your memory, and you can’t help but agree with him.    

“Didn’t he give it back to you?” Gareth asks, brows marrying over his eyes.  

You give your lab partner an incredulous look because never mind how this new information is ever so subtly breaking your brain, but why on Earth would you be asking after your copy of Dune if Eddie had already given it back to you?  

Why would you even be talking about this?

The lack of logic there seems to dawn on Gareth just a tad too late to save face.   

“Guess not, never mind,” he hums, twisting back in his seat to face the blackboard.   

You sit, staring at nothing in particular as you try and fail to wrap your head around the concept of Eddie Munson carrying around your book.   

There’s something incredibly personal about an annotated book, and you can’t decide if you ought to be embarrassed about that, hoping that he didn’t stop to take the time to read any of the inane things you’d written there.

Suddenly you’re wracking your brain to try and remember if you’d gone and scribbled anything too incriminating in the margins, whether you’d absently scribbled out a dopey “Mrs. – Munson” alongside all your annotations about doomed heroes.

You imagine it written out in loopy script, replete with doodles of hearts and clouds and all the stupid cupid bullshit that is typically kept strictly within the pages of your diary. 

You’re suddenly burning with hot, whorish shame as you think back to the pages you’d frantically scribbled on in the aftermath of the wet dream you’d woken from that morning. Your fingers were trembling as you fought to get it down on paper before the vivid images and sensations slipped from your grasp and left you with nothing more than faint memories of calloused hands and full lips, burning your skin with the suggestion of phantom touches.    

Yeah, you’re going to have to go back and revisit that when you get home this afternoon, thank God you’re not babysitting tonight.   

You realize after a moment that in staring off into space, trying simultaneously to banish the feeling and relieve it, that you’ve actually been sitting, staring at Gareth, watching him wrestle with something like he’s trying to decide whether or not to let more information slip.   

Truly, you’re not sure how much more truth you can stomach here in fifth period chemistry, sitting perched on your metal stool and trying oh-so-subtly to shift over to the edge and give yourself a little relief from the way that your heart is throbbing in your panties again. 

Your guts seize like you’ve been caught red handed when Gareth twists back around to face you and ducks his head conspiratorially.   

For lack of anything better to do, you mirror his movements and hope beyond hope that, if you’re blushing, he doesn’t notice.     

“Okay, so…” he begins softly, “You didn’t hear it from me, but... he likes you,”   

You do your best not to react as your heart leaps into your throat – you don’t dare to hope to know who he means.    

“Who does?” You ask, playing dumb for the sake of your poor, nervous heart, because what if you’re wrong?  

You’re probably wrong.  

“Eddie does.” 

Then again, maybe not… oh, shit.

Gareth continues. 

“Like… a lot.” 

OH SHIT.  

Oh shit oh fuck oh sHIT be cool be cool be fucking cool!    

It takes every fiber of your limited willpower not to react, because honestly, you could scream. This is what it feels like to have your wildest dreams come true.

Eddie Munson likes you, Gareth said, like a lot, he said. 

Maybe it’s just the wrecked state you’ve been existing in from the moment you snapped into consciousness that morning, but suddenly you’re desperate, giddy, feeling the hard push of the urge to run and go find Eddie.

Find him and seize him by the shoulders and shake him and scream and shout and cheer and... and and and... and do what?

Confess your feelings?

Make some sort of grand declaration then drag him off somewhere to hop on his dick?

That’s what your ovaries are currently imploring you to do. Finally do something about that goddamn virginity of yours so Carol will climb down out of your ass.

But that’s ridiculous, right? And not at all practical, fantasizing about running off and trying to consummate what, as far as you can tell, is only a rumor before it can slip from your grasp.  

Where would you even go?  

Under the bleachers, where the braver, hornier couples go to rub up against each other and get their rocks off. 

No, no that’s stupid… and yet? 

You’ve heard the talk about Eddie, how he’s supposed to be easy or something — some part of you is pretty sure he’d be game to take you out to the back of his van if you went over and asked him nicely... just ask him nicely to lift your skirt and help you out with that pesky little virginal problem of yours, Christ, how embarrassing. 

He’d probably laugh in your face if you did. How do you know for sure that he even really likes you? What makes you think that there’s even the slightest chance that your stupid crush on him could ever be reciprocated?

You’re not a real person, remember? You don’t put out because you don’t exist.   

No, Eddie doesn’t like you, you decide in an instant, how could he? He doesn’t even know you.  

Gareth is wrong, and worse still, he’s teasing you – he has to be. It is, after all, the opening line to the oldest joke in the Hawkins High popular kid book: so, Eddie Munson wants to take you to prom…what do you do?   

It makes your chest hurt, and you have to pull your lips into a tight line to keep them from wobbling.    

Ha-ha, real funny joke, tease the loser virgin for the big stupid crush she has on the local Freak.   

“That’s mean, Gareth.” You say quietly.   

“What is?”   

You shake your head because you almost can’t bear to say it.   

“Teasing like that. That’s not nice...”   

He gives you a horrified look, like you’ve suddenly got bugs crawling out of your ears.   

“What? No, Dude, it’s not like that at all!” Gareth stresses, “I promise I’m being so serious right now. Eddie likes you. He really likes you.”     

It feels risky, but you can’t help yourself. Gareth’s a sweetheart, why would he lie to you?  

“…Really?” You ask, ever so slightly embarrassed at how small and hopeful your voice suddenly sounds and trying so, so hard to play it cool.    

“Yes… and it’s super goddamn annoying — no offense,”   

You shake your head, because in the absence of the ability to form rational thought you rely on deep-seeded pleasantries.   

“Oh, no, of course.” You say, “None taken … I think.”   

You suddenly can’t make your brain work, it just sits there like a fat grey lumpy pile of worms in your skull. Part of you is suddenly so sure that you can smell the smoke wafting up off of it as it overheats in your attempt to jumpstart it again.  

Eddie likes you. This is all really happening.  

It takes you a moment too long to realize that Gareth is still talking, and a moment even longer to clue yourself back in to what he’s saying.

“— he’s been going around in circles trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but he’s chicken shit, so he won’t do it unless he has some bullshit excuse to make it all casual — giving you your book back was supposed to be his excuse, but that was clearly a bust,”

And then, “Also, he basically threatened to kill me if I said anything so just do me a favor and be cool, alright? Pretend I didn’t say anything.”   

“…So why tell me?” you ask, almost startled by the sound of your own voice and how far away it sounds.

You’re having an out-of-body experience, that’s what this has got to be, sitting there, floating, watching yourself have this conversation with Gareth.   

Eddie Munson has your book, Eddie Munson stood up for you, Eddie Munson likes you...  

“Because he freaked when he found out we were lab partners and he’s being a huge creep pressing me for information about you, like he expects me to spy on you or something... Anyway, I figured with how fucking weird he always acts around you that you probably already knew.”   

You shake your head and hope to God the movement doesn’t cause your eyeballs to fall out of your sockets. You can’t remember if you’ve blinked over the course of the last five minutes.   

“I didn’t.” You squeak.    

His eyes go wide and you watch the color drain from his face.   

“Oh. Shit,” He says, “— well, like I said, you didn’t hear it from me.”    

You didn’t hear it from anybody. As far as you’re concerned, this conversation isn’t actually happening. Any moment now you’re going to snap out of whatever fugue state you’ve obviously just slipped into, and you’re going to find that this is all a dream – only your thigh is going raw from where you’ve been subtly pinching yourself. 

Still, you still don’t completely believe Gareth isn’t teasing you – this feels like dangerous ground and suddenly your guts are churning because you don’t know what to do with this information.

You don’t know how to make yourself understand that the one person who has always been wholly off-limits to you could suddenly be within your grasp.   

Possibility makes you ravenous and you have to fight to resist the urge to seize Gareth by the front of his torn flannel shirt and shake him, demanding more more more, that he tell you everything there is to know about Eddie and everything he’s ever said about you among the safety of friends.    

With a sharp pang, you realize that you’re suddenly violently jealous about the confidence he has to freely speak about the objects of his affections – evidently, you.  

The thought has warmth bleeding through your abdomen and filling up your chest cavity. You’re floating again, and you’re suddenly so, wickedly pleased.    

Carol would shit her pants if she found out.    

The rest of class comes and goes without incident, and you don’t hear a word of the lesson. 

You’re far too busy fantasizing about all your wildest dreams coming true, planning your future with Eddie, picturing your wedding and your first home together, growing old together, and all the road trips and holidays and milestones you’ll hit in between.

By the last twenty minutes of the lesson, you’re even toying with naming your children.   

You’re disgusting and pathetic and so far gone for him in such a stupid, irresponsible way. Only there’s one tiny little obstacle standing in the way of all of that.

Gareth says he’s not brave enough to talk to you, not without good reason, which is so painfully endearing, but a real problem because that makes two of you – you can barely even look at Eddie, let alone fathom trying to strike up a conversation. 

So, therein lies the problem. How on Earth are you supposed to marry him and have a hundred of his babies, as Carol had so eloquently put it, if neither of you can manage to buck up the courage to have a normal conversation?   

The bell is ringing before you can decide how to become a human being again, you’re still more cloud than girl when you catch Gareth as he begins packing up.   

“Listen, tell Eddie…” You start, feeling suddenly too shy to have his name in your mouth – it feels heavy on your tongue, forbidden, and you chicken out, “Tell him… that I don’t bite. If he wants to talk to me … then he should just come talk to me, right?”   

Gareth rolls his eyes,   

“I told him that, like, a hundred times… but I’ll tell him again. I’ll say you said so this time.”   

The promise pleases you immensely, only there is one glaring issue with that plan. He was never meant to tell you how Eddie supposedly feels about you. You’re not supposed to know he likes you.  

You bite your lip and feel your brows creep toward one another, forming a deep crease of worry between them.  

“Is that gonna get you in trouble?” You ask.  

Gareth opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut again as the words fail to come, like he too had very conveniently forgotten that the information he’d just passed to you was decidedly not for you.   

He hums thoughtfully, brows furrowed, and face pulled tight into a mask of displeased concentration.  

What to do, what to do.   

Finally, after a moment that feels like eternity, one you spend fidgeting with your fingers twisting them to the point of pain, holding a breath in your lungs almost like you’re afraid if you breathe he’ll take it all back.

Gareth shrugs.   

“...well, I don’t see why he needs to know that I’m the one who told you… people talk.”    

Truer words have never been spoken.   

A hundred years and a short lifetime ago, you and Carol spent an evening trading secrets and the deepest desires of your heart, and you jumped up and down on her springy mattress, screaming along to the Go-Go's and promising one another that, just like the song said, your lips were sealed.

You can’t help but wonder if she ever really meant it, if she would have laughed and recoiled and teased you mercilessly if you trusted her with your secret feelings about Eddie Munson. Only you had made the same decision and elected not to tell her even back then, even when your secrets were still safe with her.   

Can you hear them? They talk about us, telling lies, well, that’s no surprise.   

People talk, Gareth said.   

“They certainly do.”  You hum, shouldering your bag and following him out the door. 

[acapelladitty]

It's been a hot minute since I posted Dano Riddler smut. Please enjoy some overstim and pathetic sub Eddie with a f!reader 👀💦

Also posted to AO3 Commission Info

Tugging the small chain which lay within your grasp, it forces his collared neck to jerk forward an inch as he gives you his full attention.

"You're getting so good at this game, Eddie. Last time you almost made it to two minutes before making a mess."

Seated on his long legs, your knees pinning his lower half into place, the position gave you wonderfully free access to his aching cock as it lays hard against his stomach.

"Do you think you can try to last three minutes for me today?"

It's a mean ask; one which you both know will be almost impossible given how riled up he already is from your earlier teasings but his head nods with enthusiasm as his eyes meet your own.

Palming the chain with open threat, you give him a slight frown.

"Words, Eddie. Remember?"

"Yes, Mistress." He agrees, a bit too quickly.

His words are low and almost pained with how aroused he is and the unashamed need in his tone makes your core clench around nothing as it remains pressing against his legs.

Keeping your left hand wrapped around the metal chain of the leash, the fingers of your right hand dance along his hardened shaft with a teasing softness as you smirk.

"Let's see how you do."

It is pleasant cruelty at its finest, the way you run your hand along his shaft; teasing and pulling at his skin in the many ways you know drive him absolutely wild. With barely two minutes passed, you force him over the edge again as his cock twitches within your grasp and spurts a pathetic release across your fingers.

"I am very disappointed, Eddie.

Shame burns in his face as his arm comes to rest across his nose, blocking his eyes from your gaze.

That won't do.

Bringing your thumb and forefinger to his cockhead, you rub along the skin there with a pressure which is borderline torturous against the ultra sensitive skin. It has the desired effect though, as his arm drops from his face to fist into the sheets while his body jerks under your touch; bucking both into and away from your fingers as they torment him, a pleading whine slipping free of his bitten lips.

"There's my handsome man." You purr, enjoying the mixed look of arousal and desperation which is playing in his watery eyes. "But you know the rules, Eddie, and you didn't last the whole time. So what does that mean?"

"I deserve to be punished." He answers without hesitation.

"Yes. But given just how lovely your little show was, I'll go easy on you."

Snatching up the small rubber cockring which lay on the other side of the bed, you bring it to his lips.

"Get it nice and wet for me."

His tongue is messy, sliding along the material as he also brushes the tips of your fingers in his eagerness to do a good job; pulling away after a moment as a string of saliva connects from the ring to his lips.

Slipping the cockring over the head of his cock, he stiffens in place as he forces his body to remain still to allow you to slide it down his length, all the way to the base as his eyes crinkle at the discomfort. The ring does its job, keeping his cock swollen and hard as you run a finger along it playfully, letting it bob against his stomach as you press at it.

"There. Now, let's see. Three minutes." A look of alarm crosses his features. "Three minutes and I will not be stopping."

Cutting off his spluttering reply before he can vocalise it, your hand wraps around his cock and strokes along him with a rough finality. The velvety weight of him within your grasp, mixed with the keening noises which slip from his lips as his fingers scramble desperately against the bedpost, is intoxicating.

Three minutes.

And you are merciless in your punishment.

After all, a lesson had to be learned.

[justblades]

can u do hsr men who has a side job of recording nsfw audios and they feel forced/faked to do it, until reader catches them on the job and they offer to help so that the job looks less fake😈😈

ANYWYAS ILOVEUR WORKSS AND ITS ALRIGHT IF U CNAT DO IT‼️‼️YOU GET A MWAMWA FROM ME

⋆｡˚ ♰ ・nsfw cc! jing yuan, dan heng & blade x gn! reader

⋆｡˚ ♰ ・a/n : your mind >> you get a smooch from me too

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni.

dan heng is astounded at his seat as you catch the sight of him rubbing his clothed erection, your jaw falling agape the next second. as a smart man he is, he instantly comes up of a way you'd understand best of what's happening in front of you, highlighting the fact that he's halfhearted at his job. naturally, you were perplexed at why the last detail was necessary, but all you knew is such chance shouldn't be wasted.

you seize the opportunity and climb up the male's figure, straddling his lap while your hands are clutching his ebony locks. placing your hole adjacent to his crotch, you rock your hips— grinding with additional pressure, dan heng bites his lips in an attempt to stifle his lewd sounds. you look at him with half lidded eyes, your hand proceeding to trail down to his lips, toying with the plump edges: you muse. "come on, press the record button." dan heng's pretty face twists, breath hitching the more friction is created on his aching dick.

jing yuan massages his temples, eyes shut as he listens to the audio, brows knitting from the impression that it's still not enough, it needs more feelings. he finds himself in a predicament and presses a button for a moment with an intent to cool off his head but the opposite happens; you barge into his room with no forewarnings.

"was that you whimpering?" you query with confusion carved in your facial expression. he looks back at his setup only to realize lately he tapped the bluetooth option, the audio chiming from your room's speakers. treading towards the perturbed male, you propose— "judging from the windows on the screen, it seems like you're unsatisfied with your outcome." you descend, kneeling down in front of the male's sat figure and fiddle with the waistband of his sweats, "perhaps i can be of help." fingers now slowly palming his rock hard cock. "oh definitely."

blade struggles from getting a hard on to keep himself going for a project he needs to work on. he crosses his arms and leans back on his desk chair, letting his back rest on the soft cushions. the male starts to reminisce such lascivious moments that have occurred way back. unfortunately, he fails to sense your presence as he was in deep thought, which then lead to you seeing the folders of his files.

his body jolts once he peels his eyes open to see your figure, wearing such sheer clothing that the fabric sits on your body's nook and crannies. there, he feels his bulge growing— "looks like you're in a tough spot." you comment, eyes heavily anchored at blade's bulge. his jaw clenches, "good thing you have a helpful roomie here." blade's eyes widen as he watches you strip in an instant, rubbing your nipples against the plane of his chest afterwards: "there's no going back, you know that." he answers and pulls you closer to his figure, finally tapping the record option.