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strangersteddierthings · 1 year ago

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What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Prompt from @devious-kitten

Steve had a mild interest in DnD as a freshmen because of a cousin or something. The interest was killed by Eddie being mean since Steve is a jock. Post vecna Eddie finds dust covered DnD handbook Steve explains and Eddie faces a still hurt Steve as a results of his biases

((Half written fic, half rambling about how it would go down. Apologies for the formatting. Also I added more angst than the prompt called for hehe))

Steve has always loved sports. This is a well-known fact. He's played on some sort of sports team from the time he was old enough for his parents to be able to sign him up.

A lesser-known fact is that Steve loves fantasy. Or, at least, he used to. On the playground in elementary school, Steve could often be found playing knights and dragons, and it was anyone's guess if he would be a knight or a dragon on any particular day.

The summer between middle and high school, Steve spent with his grandparents from his mother's side, on the farm they'd retired on in Michigan. A month long stay that he'd shared with his cousins, Amber, Robert, and Christopher. Amber and Robert are twins, four years younger than Steve, and Christopher was two years older and infinitely cooler than anyone else Steve knew.

Christopher was on the varsity basketball team at his high school when he was just a sophomore, captain of the JV football team, president of the chess club, and in a games club.

Christopher was everything Steve wanted to be now that he was going to be in high school. Minus the chess club because

It was during that summer, Steve got to indulge in playing make believe for another summer with his younger cousins, without the judgement of people (his father and peers) who thought he was too old for such things. He also got to learn about make believe for older kids, because Christopher played a game called Dungeons and Dragons with his game club the last month of school before summer break and spent many evenings going over what had happened with Steve as a captive audience.

"I wish I'd brought the books," Christopher had whispered to him one night from the bed, peaking over to look down at Steve in his sleeping bag on the floor, "we could have played."

Steve wishes he'd brought the books, too.

At the end of July, Christopher, Amber, and Robert's parents show up to pick them up, five days before Steve's scheduled flight to Indianapolis. It's a sad goodbye because one summer a year isn't enough with his cousins but they live in Washington. Steve's always jealous their parents drive all the way to pick them up, but a little proud he gets to brag about how he's flown alone since he was seven. No one else in his class can brag about that.

His mom picks him up in Indianapolis and they go back to school shopping while there.

A week later, Steve receives a package from Christopher. Inside Steve finds Advanced Dungeons and Dragons books, three of them, and even though Christopher said nothing about advanced, he's sure he can manage. On the inside cover of the players handbook, Christopher has written:

Hey Steve, I think you'd rock playing a dwarf paladin. Let's play next summer? Christopher 1981

He spends the last three weeks of summer vacation reading the player handbook cover to cover and making a character. It's slow going, because letters don't stay where they're supposed to be on the page (that's a problem he's had his whole life, so he's not surprised but he is determined), and he's never been good at math, so getting the stats down on paper isn't easy. He can't decide what he wants to play, so he makes two characters; an elf magic-user and, of course, a dwarf paladin.

(He's a little disappointed you can't be a dragon.)

Steve's never been one to dread the first day of school, but he's never actually looked forward to it, either. It's just been another day.

Until today.

Today is his first day as a high schooler. And the only people who go to the first day are Freshman, except the upper classman that have volunteered to man the booths for school activities for the last hour of the day. It's supposed to help the Freshman get the lay of the land without being overwhelming and Steve's excited for it. He needs to see if Hawkins High has a games club like Christopher's school does.

Here Steve is, that last hour of school. He's already been to the basketball booth, promising to sign up as soon as the season started, and the swim booth because he's got a pool at his house and has been swimming for as long as he can remember and knows he enjoys it. He also stops by the football booth even though he's never played, or cared much, for it. (Maybe he's trying to emulate Christopher, sue him.). So, the final thing is to see if Hawkins High offers a chess club and a game club.

Steve is delighted to see that, though there is no games club, there is a Dungeons and Dragons club! That delight wavers because of the kid manning the booth. His hair is curly and falls just below his ears, with big brown eyes. Steve hates to think it, but he'd be cute if he didn't look like he wanted to stab Steve.

"Yeah, no, keep walking," says the boy, pulling the flier with meeting information on it out from under Steve's hand, where he'd been attempting to read it.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed in confusion. "I was reading that."

"And I said no. Jocks don't play Dungeons and Dragons."

"I could," Steve says, offended. He squints at the name tag sticker slapped diagonally across the way too big jean vest this guy's wearing. E-d-d-i-e. Eddie.

"Have you ever played?"

"Well... no, but-"

"No buts. Mitch let a jock join last year and that was a nightmare. He could barely read the rule book. And with how you were squinting down at the flier, and then my name tag, you're not going to be much better."

Jokes on Eddie, Steve's already read the rule book. Even if it was slowly. "I can read just fine."

"Can you math, then? What's eight plus seven?"

"What?"

"Simple addition. Eight plus seven. What is it?"

Steve knows simple addition. This is fine. It doesn't matter than he's been put on the spot, and that math is hard for the same reason as reading. He can do this. His hand twitches with wanting to pull it up and use it to keep track. He's faster at math when he can do that, but this jerk is mean mugging him and he just knows if he moves his hand, this guy will mock him the rest of the school year.

Eight plus seven. Ok. Make it easier, get to ten. It takes adding two to the eight to get ten. Ok. Take that two away from the seven now. That makes... five! Ok. Ten plus five is-

"Dude, it's fifteen," Eddie snaps.

"I knew that!"

Scoff. "Right. How about seventeen plus six."

Steve can feel his face turning red with embarrassment but he's not going to let this jackass be right. Round up. It takes three to get seventeen to twenty, so take three away from the six-

"23. Point proven. Go. Away. Go play your jock games and leave me- us alone."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, or maybe plead, that he can do this, and that, more importantly, he wants to do this, but laughter cuts through the air and for the first time, Steve notices the audience that has gathered. Three people are laughing at him, and his inability to do mental math, and it makes Steve snap his jaw shut and swallow.

"Mental math isn't that hard, Steve," one of them, Brant, says, as he elbows the guy next to him.

"Thank you!" Eddie says, "that's what I'm saying."

"Whatever, man, like I'd want to play make believe at this age anyway," Steve mutters and rushes away.

If, two weeks later, Steve watches Kyle trip who he now knows is Eddie 'The Freak' Munson in the bathroom, and drag him into a stall for a swirly, well, no he didn't. He briefly thinks of saying something to stop Kyle, but shoves the words down and instead turns on heel and leaves that bathroom just as the sound of flushing and Eddie yelling start. The thick bathroom door does a good job of muffling the noise and if Steve feels any guilt about that, he shoves that down, too.

Besides, Kyle's the captain of the basketball team and if Steve wants a chance to be on that team, he can't stay anything. It's a well-known fact that Steve likes sports, after all. He's going to stick to that. Screw Eddie Munson and his Dungeons and Dragons club.

Steve will get to play Dungeons and Dragons with Christopher next summer.

Except, halfway through the school year, Steve and his parents quickly board a plane bound for Washington. Turns out being as perfect as Christopher was is hard. Overwhelming.

They arrive the day before the funeral, and fly out right after it. Steve barely has time to mourn before they're shuffling him back to school that Monday.

Christopher died, and with him, so does Steve's desire to be just like him. He quits the football team. He keeps basketball because he does like it, even without Christopher's influence. He can't bring himself to get rid of the Dungeons and Dragons books, but he can't look at them, either. They end up in the downstairs hall closet, forgotten on the shelf.

So, years later, after rising to the top of the food chain (no one was ever going to embarrass him like Eddie Munson had again) and then falling to the bottom (who cares about high school popularity when interdimensional monsters exist) and of course, the years of fighting against said interdimensional monsters before ending it all in spring of '86, Steve finds himself, unwillingly, agreeing to host Hellfire since the school banned the club following the events of spring break.

Damn Dustin Henderson. Steve usually has the backbone to say no but Dustin had to play up 'getting a chance to finally just be kids' and fuck, how was Steve going to say no to that? Despite how quickly his own desire to be a freshman playing Dungeons and Dragon had been squashed, he can't be the one to ruin this for them.

"Thanks for hosting, man," Eddie says when Steve lets him in. He's an hour early but had asked if that was okay. Apparently the dungeon master has a lot of prep to do? Not that Steve would know.

"Sure," Steve says, dismissively, because while Eddie and he went through hell together, and Steve carried his sorry ass out of the Upside Down, Steve can't quite let his guard down around him.

It's funny. In the Upside Down, Eddie had made a point to tell him he's changed, is a 'good dude' now. So, what's funny is how much Eddie is exactly the same person he was five years ago. He was an ass to Steve five years ago, and as far as Steve is concerned, was also an ass to Lucas for wanting to play basketball just this year.

He swears to God, if he hears one negative thing about Lucas tonight, he's punching Eddie unconscious, no matter what the rest of Hellfire will do or say about it.

Eddie's been in his dining room for maybe five minutes before he finds Steve in the living room. Steve's got a movie playing but he couldn't tell you which one. He's not really watching it.

"Do you got a table cloth for that big table? Jeff's got a set of metal dice and I'd feel like a real ass if we scratched it on accident."

Steve takes a deep breath before answering. He hates that Eddie is considerate like this, has been since spring break if Steve's being honest, but he doesn't want to see Eddie's good qualities. So, he waves in the direction of the closet. "Yeah. There should be some in the hall closet there. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

He twists on the couch to watch Eddie cross the room to the closet door, listens as the door creaks opens, hears the quiet, pleased noise Eddie lets out when his eyes land on the stack of table clothes. Steve continues to watch as Eddie just grabs the whole stack and yanks them off the top shelf.

Which means his watching as the stack of non-fabric objects, which must have been half atop the table clothes, also tumble out of the closet, bouncing off various parts of Eddie. It's a bunch of miscellaneous items. However, Steve realizes with horror, the book that bounces off Eddie's head is his copy of the Monster Manual. Eddie has stepped back in surprise (and possibly pain), so the Dungeon Master Guide and the Players Handbook bounce off his torso and leg before landing on the ground.

"Fuck," Eddie curses, before he stares down at what just assaulted him. Steve just stares at Eddie, watching as he slowly comes to comprehend what he's seeing. He watches as Eddie bends down and grabs the Player Handbook, the last thing to fall, from a top the pile. "What the-"

Steve stands, suddenly defensive, but doesn't actually say anything or move closer. He just watches as Eddie examines the book, flipping it from front to back in his hand like the title will change if he does that enough times.

Then, Eddie turns to him, bewildered. "Present for one of the kids? Thought they all had their own copies."

"No."

Eddie flips the book open. Reads the words written in there so many years ago. "Who's Christopher? Wait. 1981? You were playing D&D in 1981?"

"None of your business, and no," Steve says, now kicking into action, stomping up to Eddie and snatching the book from his hands.

Eddie hold his hands up in defense before his eyes turn mischievous. The same glint in them now that was there when Eddie'd leaned into this space in the RV and called him big boy. "Are you lying to me, Stevie? You've played before, haven't you?"

It makes Steve's blood boil. "No. I haven't played!"

"Alright. You could now, you know," Eddie says. And it's the way he says it, all nonchalant and like he's trying to be coy about it- it tips something over inside Steve. A bottle that held his humiliation and hurt from all those years ago.

"Oh, now I'm good enough for D&D? Now I can join? Aren't I too much of a jock for you!?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostility-"

"What's eight plus seven, Eddie!?" Steve snaps. His memory might be shit these days, with all the concussions, but the unfortunate part about Steve is that he always seems to remember the bad. And he remembers Freshman First Day like yesterday. "No? How about seventeen plus six? Come on, mental math isn't hard. Or don't you remember? I'm just a stupid jock too slow on the uptake, or no, what was it you said? It'll be a nightmare to play with me, 'cause I might be barely able to read the rules?"

He watches as Eddie's face morphs from confusion, to understanding and horror. "Holy shit, Steve. That was you- you wanted to join Hellfire-"

"Yeah, and you made it pretty fuckin' clear I didn't belong in it."

"I'm sorry man. I shouldn't have- if I'd known you, I never would have-"

"That's the problem, Eddie!" Steve shouts, waving the book in front of him. "You didn't know me. You looked at me and decided for me that I was going to be a jock and nothing else and then humiliated me in front of other people! You didn't even bother to try to know me. I spent three weeks reading this stupid book cover to cover because I knew I was shit at reading and I still wanted to try anyway."

He sees Eddie puffing up in anger. "Well, I wasn't exactly wrong, was I? You were a jock, a bully even!"

"Yeah, because I was a dumb, hurt kid who decided that it was better to hurt than be hurt. As if you weren't exactly the same that day, lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math. Fuck you, Munson!" Steve walks away, not hearing anything Eddie shouts after him as he sprints up the stairs and shuts himself in his room.

Steve knows he was a dick in high school, and it's not Eddie's fault he was a dick. Steve made choices he's not proud of and no one forced those choice on him. But Eddie doesn't get to throw that back in his face. Not when Eddie made him feel humiliated and stupid on the first goddamn day of high school, long before Steve became mean himself.

#pre-steddie #my fic #prompt #sophomore eddie is a jerk #but only because he thinks steves gonna be a jerk first so hes gotta beat him to it #also steves very mean to eddie in his thoughts but its only his thoughts #tw: minor character death #its an oc tho #tw: suicide implied but not stated

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heritageposts · 2 years ago

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you wake up. you're a middle schooler. you meet a boy on IMVU. he's emo, and you like that about him because you're emo too. he sends you an AMV. you click the link. a black screen. "naruto vs. sasuke," written in comic sans, made in windows movie maker. and there... there he is. the anime boy you will spend the rest of your miserable teenage years obsessing over. sasuke. sasuke uchiha. sasuke, the lone wolf of the shinobi world. he's sad. and miserable. and so, so cool! you watch him, not yet knowing the impact he will have on your developing psyche. linkin park is playing. don't stay, forget our memories, forget our possibilities.

you're enthralled. transformed.

a week passes. ep 48, part 2 of 3 is slowly loading on youtube. a bowl of ramen sits on your desk. it's you're favorite thing to eat now. slurp slurp. just like naruto, you think.

years pass. decades pass. you change. become an adult. stop being emo. develop an iron deficiency from your ramen-based diet (you only eat it because it's cheap now). you'll never be a ninja. you'll never be a fighting dreamer, etc. but still. you watch naruto. you rewatch all 720 episodes, including all the fillers. you rewatch it, even though you know the ending sucks (and, if you're being honest with yourself, a lot of the beginning and middle parts, too). but still, you keep watching that garbage. you keep slurping it down, holding out infinite hope, searching for that high you felt as a pre-teen watching naruto for the first time. and then rock lee drops his weight and... woah! that's still fucking awesome actually. yippee!!

#doing posting crimes from the naruto abyss

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torasplanet · 8 months ago

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being bruce wayne's controversially young gf is probably such a handful. with all the paparazzi, and new reporters and don't even get me started on that whole batman thing...you'll never forget the time you discovered the batcave in the middle of the night and neither will bruce. you were just sitting at the computers next to Barbara in your silky rope with a frown on your face just ready to yell at him for not telling you.

but that's not what we're here to talk about. we're here to talk about that little munchkin damian.

see at first, he didn't really like you. you were there before him but he still didn't like you very much in all honesty. the other batkids took a liking to you, some quicker than others (dickie) but they still liked you and told damian that you were cool and everything but damian found it disgusting how his father would date someone as young as you.

you were only in your twenties but considering bruce's age being early forties... he thought it was weird. damian was one of many who thought it was horrible until he didn't. you don't exactly know what made him switch but you weren't complaining well...sometimes you were because of his clinginess but you loved him too! damian was attached at your side the moment he started to like you and it was hard to get him away.

you always defended damian especially when he would go back and forth with bruce, which by the way he hated, but it didn't matter the topic because you'd still back him up. "father, school is a waste of time. training is far more important." "yeah! dami is too smart for that."

but don't get him wrong, he still found the age gap horrifying but it was more toward bruce than you now. as time went on, he stopped caring about it but he acted as though he did. damian is just a hater tbh.

anyways, back to him being the clingiest son ever! during galas, you are never seen without the middle schooler at your side either silent or talking to you about something he is passionate about. bruce thinks its cute and plus it makes the public not hate this relationship more but when damian actually needs to do things at the galas, it's pretty annoying for him...

"todd insisted that i play uno with him and the rest of the former robins and it was quite interesting. especially when todd jumped at grayson for cheating." damian ranted in your ear while standing at your side as you sipped at your wine glass carefully listening to him unaware of your boyfriend approaching.

damian noticed before you did and his silence made you confused "damian, you cannot stand next to her all night." bruce said with a sigh and his son only narrowed his eyes at him "why not? i don't find talking to these other wealthy families any sort of intriguing." damian argued while you only smiled brightly at the fact that he found you interesting!

"that doesn't matter, you still have duties."

"well ummi–[y/n]..." damian stuttered clearing his throat in embarrassment as the conversation seemed to go silent. bruce looked at you and you were close to dropping the wine glass because of how happy you seemed so he swiped it from your palm quickly. "...she doesn't seem to mind at all." the boy continued before looking up at you.

you barely registered him looking at you. you were just too happy about him referring to you as his mom!! even if it was just a slip-up. "oh yeah! i don't mind at all and you can call me whatever you want dami! i don't mind that either." you shrugged while rocking back and forth on your heels and damian seemed to be relieved with that but he quickly cleared his throat again and looked at his father with a careless expression.

"well, we'll be going now. grayson is better company than you anyway." damian said grabbing the glass from bruce's hand and grabbing yours with his other before beginning to walk away. you looked back at bruce and silently screamed to show your excitement. i guess he can let it slide this one time...because he was just as happy.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

#torasplanet.ᐟ #marls-drabbles.ᐟ #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #batmom #damian wayne x reader platonic #platonic #◛⑅·˚bruceee #◛⑅·˚batfam

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ereardon · 10 months ago

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter One

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, alcohol

Chapter summary: Y/N meets Bob's squadron, and encounters someone she thought she'd never see again; the Daggers celebrate Jake's birthday where he and Y/N have their first conversation after the one night stand

Masterlist here

You were late. Bob was going to kill you. Your brother was a stickler when it came to being on time. It came as no surprise to anyone in your family that he had gone into the military.

You rushed through the door, purse strap getting caught on the handle and you tugged it free, chest rising as you spun around, searching for Bob. He stood in the corner of the coffee shop, pristine in a khaki uniform, eyes wide behind his wire glasses.

“Hi Ducky,” he said as you tossed yourself into his arms, breathing in his familiar scent. He felt like home, even though it had been years since you and Bob had lived under the same roof. You had been barely a teen when Bob left for the Naval Academy, and his stints on land were far and few between after. His assignment to Top Gun was the first time he had settled somewhere on a more permanent basis. It’s why you decided to move to San Diego after college. All of your friends had scattered around the country – grad school in New York, policy analysts in Washington, even one friend had taken an internship with an art dealer in Miami. But you had packed up and left Tennessee with one goal. Be closer to your brother.

“Bobby,” you grinned, stepping back to admire him. Every time you saw him it was months apart and so much had changed, but also so little. He was the same Bob who had thrown you over his shoulder to win the family flag football game on Thanksgiving. The same Bob who had carried your book bag for you when you were in elementary school and he was a middle schooler and went a mile out of his way every morning to make sure you got to your homeroom class safe and sound. The Bob who always picked up, day or night, when you called. The Bob who listened to you weep about your college boyfriend who broke your heart. The Bob who took care of you when you were seven and had the flu and your mom was working a double shift at the hospital and couldn’t stay home with you.

“Ducky,” he said, dropping your hands. The familiar nickname on his tongue brought forward a flood of memories: spring weekends flying kites in the nearby park, sitting on the back of a tandem bike with Bob on a trip to Florida to visit your grandparents, the fort the two of you made the one time it snowed two feet in Tennessee in under a day in March. “This is my squad. Guys, meet my sister, Y/N.”

You tore your gaze from Bob, looking over at the table he was gesturing to, a smile plastered on your face. A beautiful brunette with pearly white teeth and a tight bun was on the far left. That was Phoenix. You had received a handful of letters from Bob talking about her. Next to Phoenix was a handsome, bulky man with a mustache in a plain blue t-shirt. Wow, he was gorgeous.

Your eyes shifted over one more, breath halting in your throat as your gaze slowly crept up. First you spotted the dog tags. Eerily familiar, but then again, a lot of military guys wore dog tags, right?

Then the chin. Ridiculously cut jaw, slight bifurcated butt chin that you had found weirdly adorable two nights before. Plump, pink lips, puckered up in a grin. You felt your heart sink. There was only one thing left. You raised your eyes to his. Clear, seafoam green. An ocean in two small orbs. He smiled as you screamed internally.

Bob’s voice drew you out of your coma. “That’s Bradley.” The mustache man waved a hand. “And Jake Seresin. Hangman.”

Jake. Your stomach did a somersault.

Last time you had seen him, you had been teetering on the edge of drunk, standing outside of the bar with one hand on the railing, the salty ocean wind licking at the sweat on your collarbone, flicking the ends of your hair up against your chin.

The next moment, his tongue was on your throat, in your mouth, fingers in your hair, pressing your body against the railing of the deck as you whimpered into his lips.

You had crept out of bed before he woke up. Just a gorgeous, tan, muscular back sticking out beneath crisp white sheets as you tugged on your short dress and called an Uber. You had expected to never see him again.

And here he was, smirking at you as your brother’s gaze narrowed.

You had fucked up. Correction. You had fucked Jake Seresin. And that was a major fuck up.

***

Bob had never been the type to have a huge friend group, or any close friends really. So the first time he called from Top Gun, giddy with excitement, you had been elated for him. Your brother deserved a tightly knit friend group.

Before you had moved to San Diego, Bob had filled you in on the group’s antics. Their flights, their wild nights out, the dynamics. But he had centered mostly on Phoenix and Rooster.

Jake had conveniently been left out of the majority of the conversation.

“Well?” Bob asked as the two of you headed back to his house in your rental car. “What do you think of the group?”

“They’re nice,” you said.

“That’s it? Nice?”

You sighed. “I’m really happy for you, Bobby. You have a good group of friends. I know that’s what you always wanted.”

Bob leaned back against the seat. You were the one person that Bob confided in. He was an open book and you could read him with one glance. Looking over, you spotted his furrowed brow, the tense way he was squeezing his knuckles together.

“Are you OK?” you asked, turning your eyes back toward the road, slowing down to take a right turn.

“Tell me you didn’t move here for me.”

“Then I’d be lying.”

“Y/N,” Bob said. His voice had taken on Big Brother™ mode. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t you want me around?” you whispered.

“Of course I do,” Bob replied. “I just don’t want you to waste your life following me.”

“Living in California a waste?” you asked. “No way.”

“What’s the plan, Duck?”

“Not everyone was born potty trained and with a plan, Bobby.”

“You’re twenty-three,” he countered. “It’s time to be an adult and figure out what you’re doing with your life.”

“You sound like mom.”

“And we both know she’s never wrong.”

You sighed. “Just because you got your life together at seven doesn’t mean I have to.”

“Duck—”

You cut him off. “Bobby, please. It’s been a week. Give me a little time and I promise, I'll figure out what I’m doing. Just be my brother, OK, instead of acting like my dad.”

That silenced him. Bob had taken your father’s disappearance harder than you had. He put on a brave face. He stepped up. He became the man of the house. But that meant that he had taken it upon himself to be your brother and your dad. So even at twenty three he still saw you as a child.

The two of you drove the rest of the way back to Bob’s house in silence. Inside, you were just about to close the door to your guest bedroom when Bob’s voice floated down the hall.

“By the way,” he said, “I told the squad we’d go out for drinks with them tonight. It’s Jake’s birthday.”

You grimaced. “Sounds good.”

“Leave at nine?”

“Sure.” You closed the door, plopping down on the bed face first. You had moved to San Diego to figure your life out. And of course the first thing you had done was have a one night stand with one of Bob’s teammates. If he had been anyone else in the world you would have been able to avoid him.

What do you get someone for their birthday when you hoped you’d never see them again?

***

“Floyd!”

You turned at the same time as Bob. Bradley grinned. “Oh this is going to get confusing.”

“Here.” Natasha pointed to the bar stool next to her. “Have a seat. Boys will get you a drink. Bradshaw?”

Bradley tipped his head. “On it, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes as you settled into the seat, crossing your legs beneath the short skirt. “So, Y/N. Bob’s told me all about his little sister. But he left out that you were coming to live here.”

“I’m not much of a planner.”

Phoenix laughed. “The anti-Bob. I like you already.”

“He’s told me a lot about you,” you replied. “And Bradley.”

“And nothing about Jake I’m guessing?” You nodded and Phoenix took a sip of her beer. “Trust me when I say, you don’t want to even go there.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Phoenix craned her neck around, making sure the two of you were out of earshot before nodding. “Just steer clear of him. That’s my suggestion. Hangman is fun for a night. But things get messy quick. And he and Bob have a little bit of a history.”

You frowned. “What kind of history?”

Just as Phoenix opened her mouth to respond, Bradley pressed a beer into your open hand. “Ducky.”

You grimaced. “Bobby, you didn’t!”

He shrugged. “Sorry.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m so going to eat your last Pop-Tart tomorrow just to get you back for that.”

“Fill us in, will you?” Phoenix asked.

“When she was four, Y/N became obsessed with those little yellow rubber ducks that you put in your bath.” You groaned as your brother recounted the full story. How you had thrown a fit when your mother had tried to take you out of the bath and the only thing to calm you had been to fill your bed with the rubber ducks. And how the next morning that continued, one rubber duck gripped firmly in your chubby hand as you ate breakfast, went to the park, tagged along to the grocery store, went to daycare. This continued for weeks.

You didn’t want to admit to the team that you still had a rubber duck stuffed inside your suitcase back at Bob’s house. It was a safety net of sorts.

“Sorry, Duck,” Bob said, squeezing your shoulders and placing a small peck on the top of your head.

You looked up at him. His cheeks were flushed, he had a massive grin on his face. He was happy. All you had wanted in as long as you could remember was for Bob to be happy. He took your happiness more seriously than his own. It was time you returned the favor.

“Am I interrupting?” All eyes turned to Jake. He had on a tight black t-shirt and a pair of jeans with cowboy boots peeking out the bottom. He shot a grin your way and you did your best to avoid his eye contact.

“Happy birthday, Hangman.” There was a chill in Bob’s voice, or perhaps you were reading into it because of what Phoenix had said earlier.

Jake nodded. “Thanks, man. Anyone up for a game of darts?”

Bob dropped his hand from your shoulder, following Phoenix and Jake back toward the darts board on one end of the bar. You sat back in your seat, tipping the beer down your throat, watching as they played. There was an easy banter with all of them.

You finished your beer, the darts game still ongoing. Quietly, you slipped around the edge of the room, out the door that led to the back deck.

It was quiet outside, just the sound of the waves crashing against the hard sand and the soft hum of the music as it seeped through under the door and from behind the old windows. You laid your fingertips on the wooden railing, tipping your head back toward the moon that was slung low in the sky, feeling the cool breeze dry the sweat that had started to form on the base of your neck.

“Mind if I join?”

You turned. Jake stepped out onto the deck, a beer in one hand. He approached the railing, putting the green bottle down and smirking over at you. This time you were far less drunk. You shrugged. “It’s your birthday. Who am I to say what you can or can’t do?”

He frowned. “Don’t be like that.”

“Just because you’ve seen me naked doesn’t mean you know me.”

He looked bristled. “Y/N. I had no idea you were Bob’s sister when we met the other night. If I had known, I—”

“Wouldn’t have fucked me?”

He grimaced. “You’re the one that left without saying anything.”

You folded your arms over your chest. “It’s not like you were falling over yourself to drive me home. It was better that way and we both know it.” You allowed yourself to look up. God, he was stunning. Green, wide eyes. Tanned skin, the way his forearm flexed as he gripped the railing. You could remember the way his touch felt as he dragged his fingertips over your skin. You tried to shake the memory from your mind. “Just do me one favor.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t tell Bob,” you whispered. “Let’s just forget the other night ever happened.”

Jake’s gaze lingered. “If that’s what you want.”

You pushed up off of the railing. “It’ll be better, trust me.” You headed for the door, turning around at the last moment. Jake was still leaning against the railing, watching the waves in the dark. “Jake?”

He turned, green eyes wide. There was something almost sad about him, you thought. It was a fleeting glimpse, but you saw it.

“Happy birthday.”

He smiled. You turned, peering through the glass on the wood door. Bob had his head thrown back in a laugh as Bradley pounded against the piano keys and Phoenix danced. You smiled. Your brother was happy.

You weren’t going to ruin his perfectly crafted life by saying you had slept with one of his friends. It would be easier for everyone if you and Jake Seresin pretended you had never met before.

How would they ever catch you in your lie?

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away

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satocidal · 1 year ago

Text

—RING RING!!

Say hello to our Operator Number One, and A Fan-Favourite:

── .˳⁺⁎˚ This caller seems to be into Humiliation and Generalised Behaviour of a Male Thot

── .˳⁺⁎˚ Geto Suguru — Starring in ⌞Valedicktorian⌝

Synopsis: your favourite academic rival, he wants to respect you, he really does—but he just prefers seeing you cry more.

— Word count: 5.4k

— A/n: I know I know, we all love a cocky lil shit that my man is <3 and tagging @romiyaro @blkkizzat @driaswrld becauseeee I can <3333 (+this was supposed to be way longer but haha)+i know it's supposed to be more smut and kinky than story line but :( I apparently cannot do that

— Warnings: Smut!!MDNI!!AFAB! Fem Reader x Suguru; teasing on both parts; dubious methods of going along a lot of things; Suguru is almost like a soft Dom; hints at spitting; Suguru eats reader out through her panties; reader almost gives Suguru a strip tease or smn like that; Suguru is a cocky bitch; emphasis on academic validation somewhat; smut begins late; reader is a virgin; Oral (fem receiving)

~November Beginning~

[8:03 a.m.]

Your eyes scanned the board fast, alone you stood towards the first corner—aware all too well you’d never even fall below

the first row.

Rank Marks Allotted

Y/n L/n [Valedictorian] 97/100

Suguru Geto [Salutatorian] 91/100

You didn’t bother lowering your eyes any further—a huge grin remained etched on your smile as you rocked back and forth about your Position, waiting for him to drop by.

Eyes flitted simply through the screen of your phone—mindless swipes, mindless likes passed on Instagram as you patiently, a whole wait of 7 minutes, you counted—how so very careless.

You beamed as his silhouette came into view, and his best friend’s right beside—lanky, they both stood, you never cared enough.

“You’re late,” you murmured as he shoved past you—an audible grown let out even though he just knew with the way you stood, that he was beat again.

But this time the difference stood of a worthy 6 points—just 6, how easily that he could’ve had you.

Satoru simply cackled beside him—indulging you with the very complicated handshake he and you had designed in the first year of your college.

“You're both stupid,” he, satoru, grinned, “I barely passed and that's so sick,” you simply chuckled at his words—joy emerging more so at Suguru’s annoyance.

“You’ve got the scholarship from your football team Toru’, unfortunately for us—6 marks make a huge difference,”

“6 marks don't matter,” Suguru grumbled, a frown lay upon his lips — “we’re not kids-”

“-except you will cry like a kid when you go back to your dorm because 6 points was what stopped ya from Rank 1,”

A smirk you bore—he wanted to drill it out of you so bad.

“The only crying that goes off in my dorm are the girls I bring about,” he smirk was his this time, your face twisted in disgust.

“And had you spent that time actually studying maybe you'd have gotten somewhere—and is that a confession that you’re that bad a fuck?”

He was tall, but the certain way he towered over most was amusing–not you though, never you.

Equals, in most senses of the word.

“But then,” you continued, and grinned wide—“don't suppose two minutes could've saved you from anything.”

A brow he raised, “you've been learning insults from middle schoolers—and what would your virgin ass even know?”

Jaw clenched you stared, Suguru Geto had realized your insecurity quick back in the first year—exploiting to all ends possible.

“Maybe you should try learning from them, gonna help you with grades and STDs,” a thin smile you wore, a thin smile he did too.

“At the end of the day, we both get the same grade, same gpa and probably the same job offers,” he paused—staring at your face—you took your chance, “And yet you’ll always remember that I was the one that beat you to the first place.”

A wink you passed, a clenched jaw he stilled.

—.—.—

[1:10 p.m.]

The semester was finally over—Satoru’s parties galore.

A tradition almost, celebration of his, scoring marks enough to pass—an ‘ode’ he deemed it, to you and Suguru for tutoring him together.

More so just an attempt to to spew you both together, failing just as always.

“You’re gonna show up tonight doll?” Satoru asked—eyes staring at your face from beneath—head placed in your lap, feet in Suguru’s lap as you both read books that couldn’t have been more neglected when the tension between the two fell so high. .

A hummed you passed, “Will you let me say no?”

A snort Satoru let out, answer all too obvious.

You sighed, “Tonight, sure but I have some projects to catch up and-”

“-perfect,” Satoru interrupted, all to your annoyance, “hm?”

“Suguru has some remaining too, right?”

Interested piqued slow and with a topic that deepened his natural frown, he—Suguru stared at you.

“I’m in mood for help from her,”

Eyes narrowed, you scowled, “yes well I’m not offering any either ways,”

“Not like you could,”

“Says the- ah!”

A sharp yelp you couldn’t help when Satoru pinched your side in midst of your banter—Something in Suguru found the noise adorable—he hated this little something, “excuse you?”

“You wouldn’t shut up otherwise, right?” A bashful smile he held, and so it happened you just couldn’t hold him guilty, an eye roll and you paused.

“Whatever, I’ll show up tonight but don’t hold me up for the rest of the week ok?”

“As you wish, doll,” a sharp edge Satoru held to his words, invoking a sense of alert in both you and Suguru—neither daring to consult the other.

[7:55 p.m.]

“And who exactly are we wearing this piece for huh?” Shoko’s eyes fell on you hard—“Who’s got you that hooked?”

A roll of your eyes, “Just wanted to feel cute is all,” you muttered under your breath—and that was mostly true.

It’s wasn’t such that you’d found someone, nor were you dressing to impress, but then, it was out of spite in some sense.

His words rang in your head- in wasn’t an insult really, being a virgin was fine, it was ok, but you hated even the littlest ‘advantage,’ that he could hold on you.

And so you trudged it on, the little black skirt that Satoru gifted you, so small you’d initially kept it only as a joke—and oh how the turn tables.

The top wouldn’t stand any better at all, almost sheer it lay—a floral print to keep what little of your modesty you wanted to show.

Pathetic and desperate, you called yourself, for turning about so easily—pathetically desperate however, you wanted Suguru to be.

[8:15 p.m.]

A step into his mansion, a wolf whistle greeted you.

“Shut up Satoru,” you mumbled, a shy smile playing on your lips—almost guilty, “I know it’s not for me, so who’re you dressed to impress?”

A heat caught up slow on your face at Satoru’s words.

Your eyes landed on Suguru who came sauntering just beside him—jaw clenched at just the sight of him, the perfect way his jean jacket clung to him, “And why couldn’t I dress up for you?”

Satoru’s smirk only grew, all too aware of the hostility and the sexual tension that Suguru and you’d fostered—his biggest mystery lying in the way that it was third year of your college degree and you still hadn’t fucked the lights of each other.

A wink, charismatic, most would say, “because you know I prefer you without anything on princess,”

Had you not known Satoru you’d have probably been disgusted, but wonderous what two years of being together did to a person and their adaptations—and you wondered just why you hadn’t adapted to his black haired best friend.

A soft punch on his arm, you shook your head with a smile, “Really though, you look gorgeous—right Suguru?”

Your eyes moved slow, hesitant almost to meet his, “Yeah sure,” he shrugged casually, and just a little your heart hurt too.

Pathetic.

“You don’t look half bad,” you spoke still, adamant to be the bigger person—adamant to have something going.

He eyed you for a second, then another—a scoff, “what’s up with that top? Fix it please- you look like a slut,”

Silence, the music blaring almost stunned out.

Your face burned, heart all the more—a baffled “what?” Escaped your lips—and possibly Satoru’s, you weren’t sure

You weren’t sure if anything there on..

A roll of his eyes caught you off guard further, heart beat racing despite you when he leaned a little towards you, “if you’re going to try dressing like a prostitute, carry it with confidence—do you have any idea how many guys have been staring? Your boobs are practically falling from in there,”

You hated it, hated his words, his demeanor, his proximity—the way you almost found it endearing that he looked away when you tried your best to fix it, the way he almost ‘shielded’ you from anyone looking at you weird.

You hated it all.

“I don’t need you to ‘watch out’ for me,” you spat—Satoru lay forgotten in the moment, maybe he’d slipped moments ago—had he been there at all?

“Not looking out for you doll, just sayin it doesn’t suit ya,” you wanted to thank the dimmed down lighting, your tears were at the brink of falling, you wanted to punch him.

“What would you know what suits me and what doesn’t,” shaky a voice, drowned by the loud music—a smirk Suguru adorned, “think your rival would pay enough attention on you to know what suits you and what doesn’t,” his grinned only ever widened as he stepped back to stand beside you, “but sure, you do look fuckable,”

Jaw clenched, your eyes stared at each other, “whatever,” a shrug you passed, retired.

“Wait,” and wait you did, persistently at his words, “I’m assuming you don’t know most people here, given you’re the pretty nerd-”

“-do you have anything of material to say or should I go?”

The annoyance lay naked, so did the hurt in your voice.

Suguru was perceptive, perfect in the way his eyes trailed down your body, “I’m just saying, tag along with me—don’t want no accidents happening to my nerd,”

“You’re a nerd too,” a scoff, yours, “that’s what you caught from the whole statement?” A chuckle, his.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, a mindless nod as you let him hold your hand, unsure of it entirely but never more certain that it was the right thing.

His nerd.

[8:45 p.m.]

“You drink?” A shake of your head and a sigh, his, “Really are a goody two shoes huh?”

A scoff you passed at his words, “Nothing goody two shoes about it, just that I don’t like the taste and-”

A snort interrupted you, “Pardon, the taste? Alright then, let me order my doll a strawberry milkshake,”

Your scrunched face only ever helped his face concort with laughter further, “I’m not your doll, or nerd or nothing. Don’t call me yours.” yours Words all too defiant, he smirked.

“Eh?” A pause, heavy, “Don't remember hearing objection for when you’re with Satoru,”

You bit the inside of your cheek-how exactly could he make everything so tough?

“Satoru’s a friend,”

“I'm not?”

You grinned, the lighting lay dim—his smile a blur, as was yours — “You're nothing more than competition,”

A grin, his too, “Ouch—after we spend so much time?”

“What, you enjoy it? You're masochistic too huh?”

“If you're the one who's gonna be torturing me doll,” a wink he offered, you bit the inside of your cheek, as insufferable as always.

However before a retort would fall, before your grin would broaden, before his smirks would lighten—“Here’s your milk shake ma’am!”

An internal groan and a condescending little, “be a good girl and finish it all up for me doll,”

A groan- which bartender even agreed to make milkshakes? At parties? At night?

Your eyes scanned the tag he kept attached, Toji F.

[11:44 p.m.]

“Suguru,” your words were frenzied, grip tightening on his arm—eyes moving over the surrounding crowd, “I don’t wanna play,”

Drunk.

The usual it was, late the party started and ended up almost at the next morning, you could hear Satoru Hollering down in the background, eyes narrowed down onto the group of your peers that sat in a circle.

Truth and Dare, the tradition.

Everyone you laid eyes upon, drunk, you were sure Suguru himself stood slightly tipsy, saved for your sake entirely, “Cmon,” his words a drag, “It’s just truth and dare, what’s the worst that can happen?”

And you knew well, that was exactly how all the bad teenage movies began.

“Everything, please, let me go if you wanna continue, that’s alright-”

“-no, can’t let you go,” you smiled slightly at the little pout on his face, adorable he surely was when drunk.

“Yes you can, I can walk back from here you know-”

Sudden, all too sudden he pushed you slight, pinned to the wall.

Words interrupted by his weight shifting onto you, your eyes widened at the closeness- “Won’t let you go alone, too many creeps,” a sincere nod was all you could pass, mouth dry and heart racing—he smirked.

“You like this?”

A shake of your head—another pout from him.

“You lie too much,” he murmured against your form, a hand placed softly on your waist—never moving an inch—“you would do well with a round of truth and dare actually,”

You giggled at his words, heart racing fast still as his hot breath fanned over you, “What if I just choose dare?”

Closer, somehow, he only seemed to move closer.

“You’re too chicken to do that,”

“But what if?”

“Do you?”

“Maybe”

“Ok,” he paused—stepping back, “here’s child’s play for you,” the smile he held now was concerning in ways—you didn’t mind it, “I dare you that if I manage to score better than you in the next semester, you have yo do everything I say for a good one day,”

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out at that.

“You have a thing for losing huh?”

A scoff, an eye roll—why was everything from him gorgeous?

“It’s a dare babe, take it or leave it,”

“Sure thing Suguru,”

“Atta girl,”

—.—.—

The tension was held high, the second semester was to end soon—you weren't all so tensed for that, however something did bother you.

Suguru Geto, for the first time that your eyes had seen, was studying.

Day in and day out, the library was where most people would find you—not Suguru Geto, certified fucker of the batch.

“Pass me the book when you’re done please,” your eyes narrowed at the tone, so damn sweet , “please,” uttered so carefully, you wanted to punch him for no reason.

“Of course,” you smiled back politely, wanting to be anything but so.

your eyes flickered over to Satoru—grinning as he texted the girl he met at the party.

“Why don’t you teach Satoru a lil something too though? He could use your help,” it was a constant, you and your little comments, hell bent on distracting Suguru, hell bent on getting more study time than him—hell bent on winning that particular bet.

He’d been drunk, you were hoping he’d have forgotten—hopes always lay crushed, for in the certain way he grinned when he looked at you, it meant something, surely a promise of winning from him.

Suguru Hummed as he always did—hostility between the two of you hadn’t ebbed exactly but it was bearable—he made it bearable, simply readjustments.

Ever since the party, you weren’t sure if you liked the change or no.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the lies Satoru fed you about him wanting you — or the half truths Your heart screamed, of Suguru wanting to screw you.

However, not being rivals never equated to being friends—obvious in the way not even his begging had softened your heart to lend him your notes.

“Why don’t you? Seem pretty done with the outline of it,”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pertaining a gaze on you softly, he grinned, “Too busy to let a friend fail?”

A defiant ‘yes’ you muttered, eyes stuck on Suguru- adding a little, “we’re not friends,” but pausing as the long fingers moved, long fingers reaching out to give you a note—“what’s that?”

He grinned as he shrugged, but before you could open the little piece of paper, folded all so carefully, “ah ah ah,” he chuckled, “open it outside,”

And you did—walking away with a huf—decided that the library was no longer just your spot, not a glance shared with Satoru, focused all so much at the objective of hogging as much study material as you could for the exam.

A sharp inhale though, annoyance seeping in as you viewed the message on the white piece of paper, decorated with all so many hearts, “Good luck losing, doll-face.”

—.—.—

~Night before the Exam~

“You’re sick for this, you know,” Satoru’s words rang in his head, he scoffed, maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t.

How could it even matter?

The flashlight remained tucked between his arms, working, quick, eyes scanning over the question paper as he stood in the Dean’s Office.

Being a good student, trusted student of course had it perks—the security cameras just somehow malfunctioning could be no coincidence either.

And then again, he wouldn’t cheat a lot, just enough, just to beat you — just enough.

And so the next day, while your confident farce broke just a little to see him ask for more sheets than you, to see him write longer—to see him almost do the exam better than you, something told you that the bet wasn’t made in vain, Suguru Geto was a man of plans.

—.—.—

~1st December~

You were sure you’d left before him, before anyone—as always.

And yet, just the way your stomach twisted when you saw his figure standing by the notice board—his grinning face—that was all it took for you to realize that something wasn’t right.

“The fuck are you grinning for?” The nervousness was obvious—Suguru loved it.

“Mind the language love,” he mused—stepping aside, letting your eyes find their own horror.

Rank Marks Allotted

Suguru Geto [Valedictorian] 95/100

Y/n L/n [Salutatorian] 94/100

And oh how he loved the way your face fell, how he loved the green in your eyes and the red tint of your of your burning ears.

“The test was hard though so you know-” the glint of victory all so evident, “-shut up,” you huffed.

“Shut the fuck up—it’s just-”

“-just one mark? Yeah, no.” He snickered behind you, “and ah? Aren’t you the one supposed to be doing what I say? No more teetering me about, doll,” a wink, a shiver up your spine.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Whatever, what do you want? Laundry done or what? Breakfast-”

Suguru’s head tilted to the side, adorably, as if a puppy’s, “you think that’s bad? Oh jeez y/n,” he grinned, “somebody’s in for a surprise?”

And before the realizations of what something worse had to be, before a retort could befall your lips, Suguru Geto had spoken once more—voice defiant, “To my dorm, now.”

The wind around you was cold, yes but chilly was the sensation you felt down your spine.

The room was organised, books on the right shelf, mangas on the left—his family photo on the right corner of the desk and a poster of his favorite baseball team right in front.

Nothing you would ever find your room as—scrawled up notes lay shoved in every corner—silly gifts from friends and a pile of unwashed coffee cups.

The contrast was thorough.

Your eyes bore into his, his into your figure-“what do you- why are we here?”

Suguru glared for a second, “what did you think would happen when you lost?”

Not this.

Or, well.

You’d assumed Suguru would use his chance to embarrass you, thoughts were quick though, infested you sat through seconds and hours, days even—thoughts of Suguru Geto and your “humiliation”.

It wasn’t that you wanted to lose, but you wouldn’t have minded—and so a blind eye was all you had to offer when Satoru dropped the keys to the dean’s office—a deaf ear turned when you heard him bragging of the plan to his girls, a stifled laugh when Suguru smacked his head for talking too much.

But now that the situation lay bared, maybe, just maybe it wasn’t the best situation to be in.

Maybe, the nervousness finally crept into the skin—maybe, you realised, maybe you shouldn’t have.

Fortunately or not though, Suguru was perceptive as he was caring—somewhat, “Don’t be nervous, I’m not gonna- you know,” he grinned, thoughts pertaining to your imagination—you didn’t like where and why it lead to everything it did.

Suguru hummed as he walked about, you stood all so awkward in the middle of his room—a hand patted the space next to him on his bed, “come on up here doll,”

You didn’t want to, but oh how the feet moved before they could stop.

“I don’t want to,” he smiled, soft, “well, you do realize what I want, right?”

A gulp, “I’ve never-”

“-I know,” he paused, “I’m not gonna force you into it, only if you wanna-”

You did want to, hell if there was anyone you wanted to trust, it would forever be Suguru Geto somehow.

“What if I say no?”

“Then feel free to just lounge about, I’d love talking to you,”

Heart pace quickened, you licked your lips—“I thought you- you’d make me…”

“Not a monster doll, not gonna do nothing you don’t want,” and just then you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face too, fuck, you really were into him huh?

A bite of your lips, a giggle his—“I think…I think you’ve won fair and square,”

Another small giggle, and boy was everything he did adorable—“you know I cheated-” you bobbed your head, and oh how he was down bad for you too.

“C’mere,”

15 minutes in, you’d already taken off your rings—the rules of the game Suguru wanted you to play were simple.

“You’re too smart for your own good,” he’d chuckled, “but, s’not gonna help today,” a book lay in his hands— “I ask the questions and you answer, for every wrong answer you strip, take off one piece of clothing,”

A grin you passed, “of course,” you’d snickered—sitting across him.

“What is my favorite color?” A brow you raised, confused still as to why Suguru even bothered opening the book which read, “NEUROROBOTICS” when all he bothered asking were stupid questions with stupider answers.

“It’s…white? Or uh, blue?” Shots in the dark, all wrong—what pained you though were his answers—“nu uh,” he grinned, “take something off again, and better not tease me again,” you giggled.

The last two questions were just trivial as this, about him, and you’d answered them right too—except he just didn’t accept them at all.

You cursed internally, for skipping wearing socks because as of now you you were debating for the crucial options, the jeans or the top.

Suguru grinned, “my favorite color’s that though, you know when you blush,” you groaned at his words—chuckling along with him because frankly, when had you ever ‘blushed’ for him at all.

Your eyes moved fast, the top it was.

His eyes were sharp, stuck onto your form, pulled right over your head—Suguru was loving his day.

“White huh?” he grinned, your face burned at the way he stared at your Lacy white bra, “it is my favorite color after all,”

“Ask the next question” you snapped—hand reaching for a pillow to help yourself.

Suguru’s smile was soft, “ok, how about…how long have you wanted to fuck me?”

It physically made you uncomfortable to how hot the tip of your ears had gotten.

“No point lying, since we're both here to fuck anyways,”

You pursed your lips, it was true but then—“since the beginning of this year,”

Suguru chuckled at that, clicking his tongue—“the pants now?” your face dropped, it was risky—it would be a first, and with the way Suguru sat fully dressed, humiliating.

“I'm not lying-”

“Liar,”

“I'm not-”

“I'll make ya take off two pieces if you keep this up,”

Two- pants and either of your bra perhaps, or panties, neither seemed better than the other.

A retired ‘ok,’ you choked out, scoffing at how he smirked when your fingers moved in to pull the pants down, slow—“what's the correct answer?”

“The day you first saw me,”

You despised the way he was correct.

Pushed down your legs and thrown aside your pants lay—your eyes and Suguru’s, trailed up all the way to your calves.

“Matching set? You wanted this to happen hm?”

And you despised the experience and knowledge he had—his gaze remained stuck on the white Lacy panties you'd decided to wear.

For him.

How scandalous.

“Continue the game,” Suguru grinned—”how long have I wanted to fuck you?”

Your mouth ran dry—oh?

“The beginning of the semester?” you guessed, truthfully, heartbeat fastening when he smirked—”you have no idea how long I've wanted you here, like this,”

He stood close now, very close, his hand itself moving to unclasp your bra—warm breath fanning your face, “how long?” you whispered.

“Forever. Since I saw you,”

A giggle you let out—“you- no way, you simp,”

A giggle, his—“and there, you ruined the moment,”

A giggle, together.

“Let me see?” Suguru murmured, pulling away softly, slowly the pillow off of your form—finally, the bra pulled away too—his hands held your breasts softly.

You were sure though, the nervousness all too evident in your face, “easy, I'll take care of you,”

You passed a nod in response— biting your lips as the way his hands squeezed you, held you—his thumb rolling onto your nipples—half hardened they stood already in the chilly air of his room.

“You're damn gorgeous,” he whispered- lips pressed against yours, fingers massaging your boobs carefully, “fuck I- you've never?”

A swift shake of your head, “mm’ gonna corrupt you tonight ok?”

And just like that, pushed down to your back you lay, “spread your legs doll,”

And you did, pace fastening as he leaned into the spot between your legs, hand lingering on your inner thigh—“are you turned on?” the smirk on his face was telling, of course you were, “got turned on thinking what I would do to you? Aren't you just the cutest?”

You were inexperienced, sure, but you weren't going to let him tease you all so much-“hurry it up I- hah!”

Or maybe you would, you didn't know.

A soft gasp interrupted your words quick, two fingers pressed directly onto your pussy, prodding about, dancing slight as he tramped about your opening.

“You must've touched yourself?” the question itself felt sickening, you shouldn't have to tell him—“yes,” you mumble slowly, “ever thought about me?”

Another ‘yes’ indiscriminately fell off your lips.

Right at your position you saw him smile, dumbfounded when he whispered a ‘me too,’

Suguru’s other hand—fingers ran close circles on your thigh, “I won't go all the way tonight, you're scared and that's fine—” you gulped, reassurance flitting through you, “wanna make you feel good though,” and exactly as his sentence ended, he propped your legs all the way to his shoulders, despite all that he was doing, an almost innocent —“comfy?” he dropped in the name of formality.

“Relax,” he cooed, soft and gentle as he slowly leaned in, “you're in good hands ok?” your breath hitched still as the first lick came about, wetness spreading all the more than it already was—you were sure you’d never found yourself all so wet.

“Suguru- I- c-can't we do this without the-”

Without the panties—you were already wrecked for him.

A Cheshire smirk spread on his features from down below, “no, we'll go step by step, that's how the studious ones go, right?” you held back a moan when his fingers found your clit—rubbing slow circles, panties getting drenched in your own slick.

“Was that a moan doll?” his words suddenly caught up—a sharp slap landed on your pussy, eliciting a small cry, ”I wanna hear everything from you doll, every whimper, every cry and moan—everything,” you could only nod, and gasp slight as he dived in to press a kiss against your clothed folds.

“I'm so glad you're wearing white sweets,” a devilish grin his and an embarrassed squeak yours as he pinched your folds through your panties—drenched in result of his spit and licks and your own slick, completely see through.

And all throughout, Suguru was relentless in the way he spread apart your folds easily, peeking at the hints of your exposed cunt.

Fingers hooked to repeatedly rub your clit, so slow, never the right pressure or pace—snickering at how your mouth hung ajar, eyes drooping with pleasure.

Low pants and shy breaths only encouraged the raved haired boy still, sparing fingers and diving right in with his lips attached to your pussy lips and panties—tongue pushing against so obscenely against your hidden hole.

A sheepish grin he held, “Suguru,” you let out a broken sob, “please,”

The whine had him feeling back, looking up at you—eyes never Fuller, almost as if drunk in your juices, “hm?”

“Want more—pl-please,” it was almost a drag, your words.

Sobbing almost, at the way he chuckled—“nu uh, this is still technically your punishment, you know that right?”

But even so, Suguru knew he wouldn't deny you pleasure, just…maybe, just tease you a lot—drive you over the edge with his words before his tongue would do it, but he would get to it, surely.

And deep down he knew it too, he couldn't have had anything in him to deny you it either, not when you squirmed for him so adorably.

Just as before, Suguru attached his tongue to your see through panties, swirling around your folds and nub—until he playfully nimbled on it—basking in your gasp and sudden clutch of your fingers on his hair.

Suguru wrapping his lips over your clit once again, feverishly suckling on the swollen flesh— tempted to just move your panties to the side and eat you out like a starved man who hadn’t eaten in weeks.

But then, even with, close to none, experience that you had —you were sure that is what carnal desire would be presented as.

The idea was enticing, to just have it all flipped to the side—but he wasn’t one to give up so easily—and then he did want to see you suffer and cry all for him. Even if he’s currently losing his mind to actually get a taste of your pussy.

“S-Suguru—please, s’close!” his tongue danced about your folds, warping and swiveling the mushy flesh until your legs started to shake—as did you.

Your back arched, loud moans leaving your mouth—almost pornographic they sounded, as your hand was still gripping Suguru’s locks tightly.

Fat tears rolled down your cheeks with your jaw slightly hanging open but no words were escaping your lips, your body spasmed, your grip on suguru’s hair loosened as you held onto the sheets underneath you instead—before you came really hard, drenching your panties even more with your cum.

Suguru was kneading the soft flesh of your thighs as he looked up to you, licking his lips, practically tasting your cum on his tongue already. You swallowed thickly, meeting his intense gaze on you and before you could mutter or say anything— Suguru had beat you to it.

“Not done yet doll,” he grinned—fingers hooking in the waist band of your panties—“next question decides if you become the good little student that you are, and I teach you how to please me—or you get punished more when I get it actually gt to play with your pussy,”

A broken giggle escaped you, “oh well, what is it?”

Suguru couldn't help but giggle at you too, so damn cute that he found you, “how many times are you cum for me?”

All of this work is entirely original and my own, please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

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steddietogo · 2 years ago

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Steddie grammys au part 2

Part 1

------

Steve is texting Eddie Munson via the private message function on instagram. Because that's just the kinda shit that happens to him now. One day he's at the Grammys doing his job and the next, the lead guitarist/lyricist of a famous rock band is following his instagram account (Dustin and Robin had lost their collective minds) which is full of dorky pictures of him with a group of high schoolers, his cat and Robin. And that one picture of Robin and him at pride, posing with a lesbian and pansexual pride flag respectively.

His follower count has also gone up by couple extra thousands and there are a couple DMs from people he's never heard of, saying some unsavoury things about him. It's all very intense and dramatic. Needless to say, his account is private now.

The thing is, Steve has been flirted with during interviews before, he's a good looking guy and he knows it. It's just never happened with an international rockstar before—then immediately went viral for the entire world to see.

Didn't peg you as a cat person Stevie

Then there is the other thing. Eddie Munson flirting with him in his DMs. Which kinda sorta makes him forget how to be a person. Steve Harrington is nothing if not a people person, always knows the right thing to say. But with Eddie he barely just manages, no sign of the alleged lover boy he had been in his high school years. Eighteen year old Steve would cry if he could see the bland ass conversation he's having about his cat of all things.

I'm not

He just barged into my house one day and refused to leave

Eddie is hot, and rich and famous. Did he mention hot, because he is. Painfully so. Steve will never forget his all black ensemble at the Grammys where he had been standing a foot away from Steve in his bejewelled suit jacket with nothing underneath it.

Point is, Eddie is intimidating. He seems so far away with his rockstar status and the hoards of fans worshipping him like he's their god. What could Eddie Munson possibly want from Steve Harrington?

Would you like to get dinner sometime?

Eddie's latest text is staring up at him like its going to jump out of his phone and attack him. Its too late to ditch and run, Eddie knows Steve has seen it so he needs to come up with a response. Soon. So Steve does the only reasonable thing and barges into Robin's room at ass o'clock in the morning.

"Say yes Dingus!" Robin says, after kicking him in the shin for waking her up.

"But—" she silences him with another well placed kick.

"Listen, no one who just wants to bang you asks you about the shitty retail job you had in high school, Steven. Even if he only wants to sleep with you, you're gonna get a fun night out of it and like bragging rights or something," He supposes she’s right. Eddie did seem very interested in Steve’s personal life. He really did hope it is a date though. If only he has the balls to actually ask him.

"I'd be so jealous of you right now if I liked men, so get out of your head and go have some fun. Now get the fuck out and let me sleep,"

------

Eddie picks an upscale rooftop bar with private seating and a breathtaking view. He's there sitting at the booth half an hour before their scheduled meet up time out of nerves.

Eddie sometimes hates that his public image takes precedence when people meet him. The truth is that he is a little bit of a loner. Never got the point of physical intimacy without a connection no matter how much people tend to think he's the type of person to have a different person warming his bed each night.

It makes dating so hard when the perception of Eddie the rockstar doesn't line up with who Eddie the person really is. Eddie rarely even takes the first step anymore. It took the combined ragging of his entire band for him to even gather the courage to message Steve.

"Hey," a voice greets him from behind.

Steve is here. And Steve is an enigma. An ex high school jock who used to babysit a bunch of middle schoolers. He's so full of delicious contradictions and dry humor and it's impossible not to like him the more he learns about him.

But there’s still the question of what Steve expects of him that Eddie dreads a little. Above all, Eddie just wants Steve to like Eddie the person so badly.

------

“A fire extinguisher,” Eddie’s eyebrows are somewhere up in his bangs.

“Yep,”

“Against an armed robber,”

“I swear I had grey hairs at seventeen because of those kids,” Steve knows how sappy and fond his voice sounds when he talks about the kids. It’s never been something he could help.

The night’s been going a lot better that Steve had expected. Eddie is funny, and dramatic and it’s hard not to feel giddy from the attention he utterly devotes to Steve. They have a nice dinner, and exchange stores over drinks and it’s feels like a real date. Steve can practically hear Robin in his head telling him to stop being such a dingus and overthinking everything.

They go quite for a second, Eddie suspiciously focused on his drink when Steve feels his boot nudge against his shoe. Steve nudges back and soon instigates a game of footsie neither of them acknowledge above the table. It ends with Eddie’s foot trapped between Steve’s ankles and a faint rise of colour in his cheeks as he takes a comically large gulp from his drink. It’s just adorable.

"Can I kiss you?" The words are out of Steve’s mouth before he even realises it. Before he could beat himself up about it, Eddie turns a slightly worrying shade of crimson but he's nodding and thats all Steve needs before he is leaning over the table.

It's nice, it's really fucking sweet and not at all how he had expected Eddie to kiss, but Steve is quickly learning that nothing about Eddie is what it seems like. The kiss is all soft presses of their lips, wet, languid slides of tongue at the seams of his mouth. Steve feels a little dizzy when he pulls away and drops back into his seat, happy grins mirrored in both their faces.

———

Its a couple months after that when Eddie starts trending again. He posts a picture taken by Gareth, post show as he lays on top of Steve on the couch. Steve has his arms around him, lips pressed to his gross, sweaty hair.

Caption says: Happy birthday to my sweetheart <3

———

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #stranger things fanfiction #steddie grammys edition #mine #it’s currently 3.30 am #I’ll tag everyone who asked tomorrow #imma sleep now #enjoy

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queenie-ofthe-void · 3 months ago

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The Babysitter Chronicles - Henderson

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 1.8k || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

~~~

This has been the worst week of Steve’s life.

Not only does Nancy think he’s bullshit, he found out she never actually loved him, she cheated on him, and she partially blames him for Barb’s death.

He was almost eaten alive by alternate dimension monster demodogs, almost died at the hands of Billy fucking Hargrove, almost died in the backseat of Billy’s car, and then almost died again in the tunnels.

He’s pretty sure he has a serious concussion and a broken nose. The stitches on his forehead are starting to itch. He’s had a migraine every day since, and there’s ringing in his ears.

Steve honestly thought he could put all of this Upside-Down shit behind him. Pack it away in a tiny box and move on. Yet he was dragged into it once again, forced to protect kids he barely knows from both monsters and humans.

He deserves to get paid for this shit, to be honest.

He’s got no friends to sit with at lunch, no girlfriend to love him, and no parents at home to take care of him.

After spending the week at home alone, wallowing and recovering, he found himself thinking of the kids. It was the first time he felt anything other than misery and physical pain. But they were big, complicated emotions that he’s still untangling. He’s been able to pick out fear and anxiety, annoyance, exasperation, and– surprisingly– fondness. When he thinks of the kids, he’s hit with a surge of fierce protectiveness and devotion.

He’s got nothing to show for his life and no one to spend it with. Those kids, though, needed him in a way he’s never felt before. It was life or death, and they trusted him to keep them safe. Now that it’s over, even If he isn’t necessarily wanted, maybe he could at least continue being useful.

Which is how he finds himself pulling up to the same curb as he did a week ago. At least this time he’s not here about the Upside-Down; although, knowing Dustin, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Steve!” Dustin’s running out the front door and down the driveway in just a t-shirt and sweatpants despite the chilly November morning. He plows into his chest at full speed and almost sends them both toppling over. “Steve, holy shit you’re here! Oh shit your face.”

“Hey man, language ok?” Jesus, the mouth on this kid. “Relax twerp, ease up on the hug, you're killing my ribs.”

Dustin immediately drops his arms and backs away, looking cowed. Steve’s going to have to work on his approach, apparently the kid’s sensitive. Or maybe Steve’s still a bit of a bully, another part of himself that needs to be fixed.

“It’s ok, Dustin, don’t worry about it. Just a little sore still.”

He perks back up again, bouncing up and down on his heels. The little gremlin’s toothless smile is so damn cute Steve wants to give him a noogie.

“Ok then,” Dustin replies, “so why are you here?”

“Uhhh, actually I’m here to talk to your mom.” Feeling suddenly awkward, Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair. He hisses as it pulls on his stitches.

“My mom?” he asks, incredulously. “Why? What’s going on?”

Steve supposes he should’ve thought of this. It makes more sense to talk with Dustin before actually asking his mom for permission, but he hadn’t practiced this part. Now here he is, facing down an over-dramatic middle schooler and he’s actually nervous about it.

“Yeah, I kind of noticed you’re an only child, and you don’t really have a dad around.”

Dustin’s face falls, morphing into a scowl. Shit, Steve’s barely said one word and he’s already messing this up.

“Not all of us have rich parents who buy us whatever they want,” the kid huffs, crossing his arms and kicking non-existent rocks.

“No wait, ok look I’m sorry Dustin, that’s not what I meant. I’m not really great at talking about stuff like this. The important stuff anyways. Let me try again. Please?”

The kid’s still scowling, but his body relaxes a bit and he nods.

“Ok I’ll start over,” Steve continues. “Even though we were dealing with all of the Upside-Down shit and it was literally the worst week of my entire life, I enjoyed having you around. I’d sleep better at night if I knew you twerps are safe and I know you don’t really have anyone around other than your mom and the other gremlins–”

“The Party.”

Steve stares at him, mouth hanging open as he’s cut off mid-sentence. He’s in the middle of pouring his heart out to this mouthy ten year old and he’s got the audacity to interrupt him.

“The what now?”

“The Party, Steve.” The little shit’s tone is overflowing with condescension. “The group. We’re called the Party. You know, like in DnD?”

“What the hell is a dandy?”

“You, kind of,” Dustin mutters under his breath. Steve doesn’t really know what that means and coming from this kid he probably doesn’t want to. “D and D stands for Dungeons and Dragons, Steve. It’s a role playing game.”

“Whoa, alright I think you’re a little too young to be playing role playing games.”

“I’ve literally been playing for three years.”

“You’ve been roleplaying since you were seven?”

“I’m thirteen Steve!” He’s pretty sure Dustin’s screeching can be heard from the other side of town. “What are we even talking about right now? Why are you here, at my home, looking for my mom?”

“I want to be your goddamned babysitter!” Steve screams back. He takes a deep breath– in and out. This kid’s going to be the death of him, he just knows it.

He looks down to find Dustin’s eyes wide and mouth formed in a perfect oval. The kid’s shocked, either from what Steve said or that he literally shouted it in his face. Now it’s Steve’s turn to kick rocks. He shuffles back and forth, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them from tugging his hair again.

“You guys almost died, man,” Steve says softly, avoiding eye contact. It makes this part easier. “You almost died, and if I hadn’t been there, I have no idea what would’ve happened. Maybe you all would’ve been fine, I don’t know. But it was my job to keep you safe, and you don’t have anyone else around except your mom and the grem– I mean the Party– to look out for you. I had to quit basketball thanks to Billy, and Nancy broke up with me. My parents are literally never home, so I’ve got a lot of free time on my hands. Figure I could use some of that time keeping you out of trouble.”

Dustin’s face hasn’t changed, still devoid of any emotion other than shock. God damnit, Steve really messed this up. He looks around and rubs the back of his neck. His skin’s prickling with nerves as he starts to sweat and he takes a step backwards towards the safety of his car.

This was a stupid idea. Why would any of these kids want anything to do with him? He’s nothing like them: smart, nerdy, can save the world without taking a beating. Steve thought he could be useful, worthwhile to someone– to Dustin. He should know better by now.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just going to go,” Steve says. But as he turns to leave, Dustin slams into him once more. Steve’s breath whooshes from his lungs and a lightning strike of pain travels up his back. He thinks he’s shaking from the pain, except his crewneck is starting to feel damp against the kid’s face and he can see Dustin’s shoulders practically vibrating. “Hey, Dustin. Hey it’s ok, are you alright? What’s wrong man, talk to me.”

Dustin doesn’t look up, just keeps his face buried in Steve’s sweatshirt and grips him tighter. It hurts and it aches and it pulls at all of his injuries. He still lets Dustin hold on for as long as he needs to.

There’s a slight movement out of the corner of his good eye, and he glances up towards the house to see a small, curvy woman smiling at them through the window. Not wanting to dislodge Dustin, he slightly lifts his hand to wave. He’s surprised when she honest to God clutches her heart and wipes what he assumes is a tear from her eye.

Steve’s already worried he screwed this whole thing up. He definitely didn’t think it would happen in front of a goddamned audience.

The kid’s still holding on, but the shaking has subsided and he’s breathing easier. Steve smashes his hat to ruffle his hair, and Dustin backs off with a shriek. His face is covered in red blotches matching his bloodshot eyes. Steve looks down at his sweatshirt to find a tears-snot-spit wet patch stained into his chest.

“Dude, gross,” Steve huffs. At least he’s wearing an undershirt. Dustin just chuckles.

“Like friends?” Dustin asks, still wiping at his face. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, hanging out. Whenever you’re not busy, I mean.”

It’s Steve’s turn to feel a burn behind his eyes. Relief fills him with warmth as his growing anxiety is washed away. Dustin wants him around. He wants to spend time with him and Steve never really thought he’d get this far. All he had was a half-baked idea to serve himself up for the one thing he knows he’s good for. And he was wanted.

He reaches out and pulls the kid back in for a hug, holding him tight despite the pain. Dustin starts trying to push off, so Steve flips him around under his armpit in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles roughly into the top of Dustin’s hat as he starts to screech again. He huffs, straightening out his hat, still sporting that iconic toothless smile.

“Now,” Steve says, “all I have to do is ask your mom.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Dustin replies, turning around to lead Steve towards the house. He sees the curtains pulled roughly shut and the silhouette of the woman heading toward the front door. “She already knows all about you. I told her what happened. Well, the government version.”

“You told your mom about me?” Steve asks in awe.

“Duh, why wouldn’t I? Sure, you got your ass handed to you, but it was totally awesome!”

“Right,” Steve scoffs. He’ll let that one slide for now. “You’re sure she won’t mind?”

“Mom’s going to love you. She’s been asking about you all week.”

If she’s anything like her son, then hopefully Steve’s got nothing to worry about. And maybe if he can watch one kid, he can talk to the rest of their parents– look after the whole Party of gremlins. He can host after school hangouts and movie nights, sleepovers in the living room and pool parties in the summer. There’s the beginnings a plan forming in his head, which parents and kids he needs to talk to next.

When he’s met with Mrs. Henderson’s warm smile, he thinks maybe the rest of this year will be alright.

#steve harrington and the party #steve harrington fic #steve and dustin #steve harrington #dustin henderson #steve and the party #good babysitter steve harrington #babysitter steve harrington #the babysitter chronicles #stranger things fic #post season 2 #queeniewritesstories

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gaylordscooter · 8 months ago

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Direct Hit Through the Soul

Despite living together for months now, Killer and Dust still had their fights. Ironically enough, they were arguably the closest in the group.

These fights weren't exactly sparring matches between friends where they'd show off their bullet patterns. It was more like blowing off steam. Having high LV had consequences, after all.

They didn't exactly want to kill anyone, but the urge was there. Gaining EXP was addictive and they were essentially experiencing withdrawal. Fortunately for Horror, their urges were directed at each other and not him.

Killer and Dust were evenly matched in terms of power—they made Horror seem as weak as a Whimsun. Regardless, Horror would typically supervise their fights and call it off when they get too close to actually dusting the other.

This time, however, Horror was not here to supervise.

The forest was a mess. Without having to worry without collateral damage the two let loose.

Trees were uprooted, rocks were broken, plenty of scorch marks from blasters plastered the dirt.

This time, Dust started the fight and he intended to finish it.

He slammed Killer into a tree using blue magic. His soul pulsed wildly like it wanted to run away but Killer was giggling like a gossiping middle schooler.

Dust closed in on him, ready to deal the final blow.

Killer used the last of his energy to swing his knife at his neck, but Dust caught his wrist and wrenched the knife out of his hand.

He inspected the knife as if to taunt him.

Killer immediately knew he was planning to use his own knife against him yet that dumb smile stayed plastered on his face.

Dust adjusted his grip on the knife, getting ready. His eyelights were right on his soul.

The knife pierced through his soul and into his sternum.

Killer didn't make a sound. He didn't even flinch. He reacted as if it didn't hurt at all.

Dust checked his HP. He only had a tenth of his HP left. There was a rush of excitement that came from bringing him so close to death.

And then Killer laughed. It was like he heard the funniest joke of his life.

Dust released his hold on his soul, causing him to fall on the ground as he continued.

“i can't believe that didn't kill me!” he finally exclaimed. “a direct hit through the soul! do you know how much care you need to have for that to not kill?!”

Dust looked down at him, deadpan, debating on whether or not to speak. Surely it was obvious enough to Killer that their fights weren't actually to the death.

Then again, Horror would always have to step in after Killer got a nasty hit on him. Had it been Killer that won today, would he still be standing?

The knife was still lodged in his chest.

“did all those make out sessions make you soft?? i’m flattered, really, but if our positions were switched you’d be your namesake right now.” He stood up, looking at the knife still impaling him, probably wondering how the hell to get it out without dusting.

Or not, because his hand moved straight to the handle with obvious intent to yank it out as if it were a mere splinter.

Dust grabbed his wrist with a very audible sigh.

“you're right, that would kill me,” Killer replied, bringing his hand away from the handle. For once in his life, he actually guessed correctly what Dust was thinking. “guess i’ll have that there forever, i’ll have to name it. what about uhh, mildred?”

Dust blankly stared at him.

“yeah, that’s a dumb name. maybe something fierce, like debbie.”

Dust rolled his eyelights and brought his hand close to his soul.

Now was the time Killer decided to flinch. “woah, hey, whatcha doing?”

Dust paused and spelled “heal” with his other hand.

“you can use healing magic?” Killer asked in disbelief. He lost his ability to use healing magic long ago, and even back then he was horrible at it. He couldn't even heal Papyrus after he scratched his knee from a fall. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't proficient at magic in general. There was a reason why he resorted to using primarily knives.

Dust answered by demonstrating.

Killer watched in intrigue as he felt his HP rise. It didn't look like Dust was doing anything but holding his hand near his soul. He wondered how it worked.

And then the usual target-shape of his soul shifted into the shape of a normal monster soul.

Killer's breath hitched and Dust’s eye sockets widened.

Killer shoved him away. He wasn't fully healed yet but he was at half at least. He yanked the knife out with a hiss. He could feel the pain. It wasn't the numb pins-and-needles feeling he’d usually have instead.

“what the hell did you do?” he asked. It was like the floodgates to his emotions were smashed open. “what the fuck did you do?!” he repeated, brandishing the knife coated in his own marrow.

“i was just healing you,” Dust muttered.

“my soul’s an entirely different shape!” he barked.

“it's the shape of a normal monster soul now.”

“well, it ain’t normal for me!”

“why are you freaking out?”

Killer backed away from Dust as he tried to put a hand on his shoulder. It felt like the world was spinning and it was disorienting.

Why was he freaking out? Because he could now. He was able to and that threw him off. He was so used to pretending and faking it he forgot what it actually felt like to have emotions.

It was almost like he was Sans again, but he knew he was still only an echo of him. What was more apparent is that he had no control over his emotions.

He felt guilt. He felt confused. He even felt love towards Dust. But fear overwhelmed him the most.

And then his soul reverted to his usual shape and the world stilled.

Dust was looking at him weird as if he had any right to.

“never do that again,” Killer said. He took off to the castle without another word.

Dust suspected he was going straight to his room. He probably wasn't going to leave it for the rest of the day either. He was sure that wasn't the first time Killer’s soul changed shape. There was that night they decided they could hang out without any drugs. His soul was all sorts of shapes that night, but notably it was that same upside down heart shape by the end of the night. He wasn't sure why it was such a big deal to him now. Maybe he never noticed before.

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU COULDN’T FINISH HIM OFF.

He was pretty sure if he killed him Nightmare would kill him too.

THAT WASN’T THE ONLY REASON YOU COULDN’T KILL HIM.

God forbid he cares about someone.

THAT “SOMEONE” IS A DIRTY BROTHER KILLER.

He didn't give a shit about that at this point no matter how much the stupid voice in his head would try to say otherwise.

HE’S PERFECT FOR YOU. BECAUSE HE’S UTTERLY HORRIBLE.

He agreed with the second part. He is horrible.

HE’S GOING TO HURT YOU. HE ALREADY HAS.

Killer entered the kitchen, stumbling around. At first Horror thought he was drunk or something and then he noticed how low his HP was.

“didja get hit by a truck?” he asked. Usually he’d be concerned for his safety, but this was Killer. It was a common occurrence for something like this to happen.

“yeah,” he deadpanned. He rummaged through the pantry and took out a bag of chips. He opened the bag by popping it. Somehow that ended up working out for him.

Horror grimaced at the loud noise. “you gotta stop opening chip bags that way.”

Killer shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, crunching loudly in reply.

Horror groaned, shaking his head disapprovingly. “where's dust at? don't tell me you killed him.”

“he won the fight, actually,” he said with his mouth full. “drove my knife right through my soul.”

Horror's sockets went blank in shock. “he did?” He looked at him as if he’d crumble into a pile of dust at any moment.

“yeah,” he chuckled, “isn’t that pathetic? he couldn't kill me with a hit to the soul.”

“how high’s your defense?” It was a dumb question, but he asked anyway.

“doesn't matter. that would’ve killed me no matter what, unless he didn't intend to, and here i am standing here.”

If there was a single part of Dust that wanted him dead he wouldn't be standing, much less alive. Killer didn't know why that was so shocking to him, that he survived that. Sure, they've been living together for awhile and got all buddy-buddy, but to Killer it was all an act—turned out he was the only one acting.

Any malice would’ve killed him. So how did he survive?

The answer was obvious yet he still couldn’t believe it.

“so, where's he now?”

Killer shrugged, pouring more of the chips into his mouth. “i left him in the forest,” he said, voice muffled.

Horror’s eye darted to the windows as if he'd be able to see Dust from here. “what's the deal with you two anyway?”

“huh?”

“you two fight nearly to the death and yet you hang out almost every night.” He vividly remembered that time he was woken up by the sound of a blaster. Nightmare was pretty mad about that.

“it's something to do.” He shrugged again.

“so you're just using him for entertainment?”

Killer scoffed, “you say that like i haven't told you two repeatedly that i don't feel anything.” Finished with the chips, he crumpled up the bag and tossed it to the trash bin, missing.

“which you're obviously lying about,” he challenged. “besides, you don't have to exploit him like that.”

“psh, you're acting like he's not a powerful monster that almost killed me a second ago,” he said nonchalantly.

Horror glared at him, standing straight instead of slouching to gain an edge on him. “let's say you don’t feel anything, then. you toy with dust, acting like you have a little crush on him. and it annoyed him at first, but ever since that night we played truth or dare something changed—he started to like you.”

“no he didn't,” Killer hissed.

“but you, who ‘can’t feel anything’, never liked him in the first place. you lead him on, purposefully.”

“it's not—we’re not, there are no feelings between us. it's just hedonism, an inside joke, even. you wouldn't get it.”

The door to the kitchen opened.

Killer perked up at the sight of Dust. “tell him, dust. i didn't lead you on, there aren't any feelings between us.”

Dust ignored him and walked straight to the hallway. He slammed the door when he left.

“that was very convincing,” Horror said sarcastically.

“shut up!” Killer snipped. “he just didn’t feel like talking.”

Horror gave him a stern look. “you being dense on purpose?”

Killer ground his teeth and grumbled incoherently.

“i’m taking that as a yes.”

“‘m going to my room,” he mumbled and took off.

“you aren’t gonna apologize to him?” Horror asked.

Killer scoffed, “apologize about what? telling the truth? he’ll get over it.”

He did not get over it.

#utmv fic #killer x dust #kist #they're going through their divorce arc

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