#no I did not expect to sit down and try to write one line and have nearly 1k words come pouring out of me

[crybabyddl]

In My Room

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warning: angst, swearing, smut, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT!!!), sexual tension, sexual themes, mentions of weed, death, su!c!de, and SH, all characters are 18+, 18+ content. MDNI.

Author's Note: this is something different to what I normally write. Just feeling very sappy and a bit angsty, so here's what I'm giving you. Maybe you'll like it. Inspired by 'In My Room' by Julia Wolf.

I want your things in my room, I miss you all of the time

Eddie's fingers trace a straight line through the dust that's accumulated on the shade of the lamp on your nightstand. It's not much, but it's enough that he has to wipe his hand on the leg of his jeans. The door to your room has been closed for a month now, so your scent is still lingering from the last time you sprayed your Sand & Sable perfume—the one that Eddie finds himself inhaling in large doses, even spraying the bottle you left at his house on himself before leaving for work.

I stalk myself on the internet just to see what you'll find

He's been googling your name at least once every day, just to see if any more news articles came out. They were hard to read; they didn't do you justice. "loved by friends and family" wasn't enough to describe just how much of your heart you'd given the people in your life. He knew it was unrealistic to expect from a journalist, but "angel on earth" was the only true epitaph for you.

I want your things in my room, I miss you all of the time

Too scared to move anything, he sits on your bed, staring at the pale yellow walls before inhaling deeply, allowing his eyes to close. He imagines you coming up behind him and obstructing his vision with your hands.

You make it look so easy, leaving everything behind

The way your life slowly slipped from his hands as he cradled you. He'd tried to stop the bleeding, but there wasn't much else he could do. The last time you looked in his eyes was permanently branded in his brain, burning and scarring in a way that severely wounded Eddie, but was almost comforting in a sense.

I like when it's dark out, October will cure me

He dared to open your closet, immediately recognizing the skirt you wore on Halloween when the two of you dressed up as Bender and Claire from The Breakfast Club. You looked beautiful that night, at the Hellfire Club's Halloween campaign party.

I'm walking these woods, am I thirty or thirteen?

He thinks back to the first time you met, in the woods behind the school. You wanted to try smoking weed, and your friends asked Eddie to meet you there one afternoon the first week of school. He always wondered why you didn't ask him yourself, but he assumed it was because you didn't want to risk your peers hearing that you wanted to buy drugs from the local Satanist freak.

Not asking for much, man, thought maybe you'd call me.

Eddie couldn't help himself. He would call your landline constantly, once in the morning, and once before bed. He never left a message, not wanting your voicemail box to fill up and prevent him from hearing your voice again.

I slit my own throat, just to see if you'd mourn me, yeah

The scene replayed in his mind, the way Vecna had his hand wrapped so tightly around your throat. Just as your breathing was about to cease, he grabbed you by your hair and turned you to face your friends. With a single sharp claw, Vecna dragged his finger deep across your neck, giving Nancy, Steve, Robin, and Eddie a front row seat to your death—the image of blood cascading down the front of your body never to be forgotten.

Eddie knew it was crazy and stupid, but he did it anyway. He took apart an old razor that had been sitting in his bathroom cupboard for a couple years, gliding the metal against the pale skin on his left wrist. Not too deep, he knew that would upset you... he just wanted to see if, maybe, blood sacrifices worked. What if that was all it took to bring you back? But alas, his efforts failed to return you to him.

I want your things in my room, I miss you all of the time

Your favorite jean jacket was on the back of the chair at your vanity. It had been too cold to wear it that fateful day, opting instead for your olive green army jacket with the fleece lining. In a way, Eddie was glad you weren't wearing it, it would've made things feel too real. One month was enough time to still deny the truth, that you were actually gone.

I stalk myself on the internet just to see what you'll find

He saw the terrible articles written about himself following your death. Accusations that you'd killed yourself because your boyfriend filled your head with blasphemy and wizardry. It was bullshit, but it was more believable than a monster from another dimension claiming the lives of people who were struggling to get by.

I want your things in my room, I miss you all of the time

At least your parents believed him. They knew Eddie loved you too much to let anything happen to you. To their knowledge, you'd died from the earthquake, falling onto a sharp rock that impaled your throat. If this was how it felt to know the truth, he knew it was better for them not to be aware of it, as shitty as it felt to lie to them.

They were kind enough to let him visit whenever he wanted, knowing he'd just skulk to the end of the hallway to the right of the kitchen and quietly observe. They pretended not to hear the choking back of sobs from their perches in the living room, opting instead to start a pot of boiling water in case Eddie wanted a cup of tea before he left.

You make it look so easy, leaving everything behind

He wanted to be angry at you, wanted to scream up at the sky. How could you leave him? How was he supposed to get by without you? You were supposed to be next to him on stage at graduation, slow dancing and sneaking swigs from his flask at the prom you were definitely going to ditch after an hour to get high at Skull Rock. He opened the closet again, imagining what kind of dress you would've worn. He'd assumed everything had stayed the same as you'd left it, but upon further inspection, he noticed a hanger with a plastic covering over it tucked away to the left of the rack. He made a mental note that it belonged between your purple raincoat and your graduation robe that you'd gotten fitted for the week prior to the tragedy.

I want your things in my–

Carefully laying the bagged hanger on the bed, he unzipped the swishy black cover, revealing what was going to be your prom dress. He stared down at his right ring finger. Your dress was navy blue, the exact shade of the stone in the middle of his ring. It made his heart swell, your thoughtfulness present even after you'd left.

You look so cool getting high

It was Eddie's idea, going to the field that turned into a drive-in theater in the summer. He'd rolled a joint, expertly packed and long enough to get the both of you higher than the hills—his version of a rose. He'd gotten so worked up on the drive over to your house. He kept telling himself it wasn't a date, but how could he believe otherwise when you skipped down your porch steps wearing such a sweet outfit? After getting in his van, you immediately started messing with the radio, hoping to find something other than Madonna, to no avail. Eddie noticed your demeanor shift, clearly unhappy with the music.

"Check the glove compartment, I think I've got some tapes in there that might be more your taste."

And you did just that, selecting the I Love Rock 'n Roll tape and putting it in the cassette player.

The drive was short, but felt all too long for the man in the driver's seat, having to settle for stealing quick glances at you as you sang along to Joan Jett with your eyes closed.

You made everything look effortless, at least that's how it felt to Eddie. You were leaning against the rock, peering over his shoulder as he rifled through his backpack in search of his lighter. Your perfume invaded his senses, and it scared him, knowing that the smell of it would instantly bring you to the front of his mind from that day forward.

No handlebars, you wanna fly

Wayne had finally decided to let Eddie take the motorcycle for a spin after an hour of begging. He'd helped repair it all summer, and all he wanted was to go for a ride. But he wanted you with him. He sped down the roads of Hawkins, nearly running over a turtle on his way to your house.

You weren't expecting anyone, so when you heard the doorbell ring, your first instinct was that it was on the television. That is, until it sounded again, this time with a knock on the door to accompany it. You tried to see who it was from the window near the door, but it was too dark and you'd wake up your parents if they saw the glow of the porch lights seeping through their cream-colored voile curtains. So you decided to take the risk, opening the door to find Eddie, helmet in hand, with Wayne's black bike on the side of the street behind him.

"What are you doing?" You whispered with a hiss.

Your parents would tear you a new one if they knew you had become friends with Eddie, but he wasn't anything like the town of Hawkins made him out to be. But they'd absolutely have a cow if they found out you were about to sneak out to ride on his motorcycle. But the smile on your friend's face was too charming to even consider turning him down. He gave you the helmet, much to your protest. He took you for a joyride around the block, passing by the school and flipping off the building. You'd be graduating in a few months, and you were going to do everything in your power to make sure Eddie would be walking in a cap and gown beside you.

The ride was overwhelming in every sense of the word. You were cold, the air whipping against your short-clad legs, only a sweatshirt to protect your arms, but you were also warm, the fire in your spine and cheeks still burning from when Eddie brought your hands around his waist, telling you to hold on tight. You were anxious, playing out the scenario that awaited you if your parents had woken up, picturing the scowls on their faces as you climbed through your bedroom window to already find them waiting for you. On the other hand, you'd never felt more free. If you could do this, what couldn't you do?

You look so cool, I wanna die

Eddie eventually takes you back to your house, but it's the last thing he wants to do. If it were up to him, he'd have you pack a bag and hop back on the motorcycle. He'd ask you where you wanted to go, and he'd ride off in that direction. He'd make sure you had everything you needed to be content. You were the first person to make him feel like himself. He had other friends, sure, but he had a role to play for the underclassmen in Hellfire Club. He didn't have to be anything other than himself for you—the desire to look after you came naturally, and he found it by no means to be a burden.

He gave you a boost so that you could scale the flower trellis below your bedroom. You went to lift the window pane, but it remains in its place. It was locked—you weren't expecting to leave the house tonight. You looked down at Eddie, whispering what the problem was. He instructs you to come down, grabbing you by the hips to guide you to the ground. Being the excellent carjacker and delinquent he was, he knew how to crack open a window before he knew how to even spell the word 'delinquent'. With a shimmy of his multi-tool, the glass of your bedroom window rose like it'd been able to open the whole time. He jumps back down, ready to assist you in returning you to your bedroom safe and sound. He doesn't expect you to wave him in, silently asking him to come up and join you. He wasn't about to say no to you; he'd never dream of it.

Eddie was about to start sweating from places other than his underarms, the physical exertion of climbing up and down multiple times expending more energy than he'd anticipated. You were taking off your sweatshirt that you'd put on to get cozy while watching tv, and your pajama shirt lifted in the process. Eddie wished you were facing the other way. He knew it was wrong, to fantasize about seeing his friend's breasts, but what was he supposed to think about? For him to act like you weren't attractive would be impossible. He'd been fighting off the increasingly frequent thoughts for a few weeks now, hoping they'd subside on their own. However, it seemed like they weren't going anywhere, and he didn't know how much longer he could withstand it. Your shorts were so short—had they gotten shorter since the last time he stared at your ass, five minutes ago? The universe was playing a cruel trick on him, he'd been sure of it. He felt his dick twitch in his jeans at the thought of you hiking them up on purpose, like you were teasing him.

"Could you help me? I think my necklace got caught in my hair."

It felt like fate, the perfect excuse to get closer to you without having to make the move himself. You had in fact gotten your necklace entangled with a knot in your hair, probably from the wind. He stood behind you, assessing how to detangle the piece of jewelry. He tried moving some of your hair out of the way, moving most of it over your left shoulder. He was able to get a clearer view of the problem, but in an attempt to free some of your hair, he might've pulled too hard.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!" Eddie could picture the scowl on your face and how your brows were pinched together in impatience. He refocused on the matter at hand, finally making some progress in the detangling.

He was oblivious to the fact that his breath was hitting your clavicle, causing goosebumps to form on your chest. He continued making steady work with his hands, eventually separating your heart-shaped necklace from the hair at the nape of your neck.

You turned to face him, hand held out to retrieve your jewelry. Eddie complied, placing the dainty chain in your outstretched palm. Before he can stop the thought, he's imagining your freshly painted nails, burgundy, scratching down his back as he thrusts into you just right.

Is it too soon to say what's on my mind?

"So, uh, why'd you want me to come up here?" Eddie asked, suddenly feeling out of place, and slightly paranoid that you could see the filthy things running rampant in his mind.

Without a word, you hung your necklace on the little metal hook on your jewelry holder. Once done, you walked over, standing right in front of him, a smile playing on your lips as your eyes found his. You took one of his hands in yours, interlocking your fingers. It wasn't uncommon for you to hold his hand, but the silence made the air thick with a tension that Eddie only felt when he was fighting off the dirty images being conjured by his traitorous brain.

Next thing he knew, you were leading him to your bed, pulling him to straddle over top of you. He doesn't remember if it was his doing or yours, but somehow, your lips were on each other. He wanted to be a gentleman, give you a chance to stop and change your mind. But when you tug his bottom lip with your teeth, it renders him defenseless. The sigh that slipped out of Eddie was desperate, and he would've been embarrassed if you weren't completely scrambling his senses.

He was hard, painfully so, precum having already created a wet patch on his boxers. He cradled your face in his hands, deepening the hot and heavy embrace. You took a risk, slipping your hands under his shirt, dragging your fingers down his chest, not stopping until you reached below his navel, unknowingly bit your lip when you felt his happy trail peaking just above the waistband of his boxers.

"You're so hot." you breathed, looking up into Eddie's eyes. You had no words to describe them other than beautiful, and you momentarily considered buying eyeliner in that chocolate hue you couldn't get enough of.

He wants to tell you he loves you. It's on the tip of his tongue, though it's preoccupied at the moment, swiping the underside of your top lip. If you kept lifting your hips to meet his like that, he'd end up cumming in his pants. Before he can even open his mouth to warn you, you're tugging down his pants and grabbing his dick through his boxers.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he swallows hard. "I've dreamt of this, you know."

Your giggle is quiet, but it crashes like waves in his ears. You had the advantage, no doubt about it. He would get on his knees and beg if that was what you asked of him. Your lips creep up the side of his neck, leaving ghosts of kisses until they're decorating the shell of his ear.

"So have I."

Fuck it.

Eddie pulled down your shorts, taking a second to admire the cute pair of underwear you'd chosen without expecting to see him. A baby pink thong, a complete contrast to the Led Zeppelin shirt and Hawkins athletics sweatshorts that you'd chosen as pajamas. The thong is discarded somewhere on your bed; it's unimportant right now. A kiss on your lower stomach makes your breath hitch. Eddies hands rubbed along your thighs, his rings only adding to the excitement you felt from his touch.

"You gonna let me taste you?" he asked, wanting to be polite despite knowing the answer.

You nodded.

He lowered himself to meet your pussy, breath fanning over the sensitive area. He could see your arousal starting to drip out of you. The mix of your perfume and your body was intoxicating. He kissed you, licking the skin on your inner thighs before moving closer to where you needed him most. The sounds you made, the gasps, breaths, and whimpers were making Eddie feel drunk. Surely, he was in heaven, and you were the angel making his dreams come true.

His tongue circled your clit, his lips closing around it as he devoured you. He briefly dips the muscle into your hole before replacing it with his middle finger.

"You're so wet, fuck." he groaned, subconsciously grinding his hips into your bed.

"Need you in me, please." the last word becoming a whine as Eddie detached every part of himself from you.

Pulling down his boxers, you grabbed a hold of his cock. You gave it the perfect amount of attention, licking up the shaft before taking all of it. Your hand was gripping his thigh, and it was unclear if you were doing so to stabilize Eddie or yourself.

"Shit, shit! You're too good at that—don't wanna cum yet," Eddie managed to pry you off of him as you frowned. "Don't look at me like that, honey. I'm just giving you what you wanted."

The second part felt slightly patronizing, like you were an impatient brat who needed to be fucked right then and there to feel satisfied. And maybe you were, neither of you was to say. The tip of Eddie's dick prodded your wetness, but he pauses.

"What are you–"

"Condom." was all he said.

"Pill." you countered, reaching out to play with the guitar pick hanging around his neck.

He nudged himself into you, warm, wet, and so inviting. He moaned as he bottomed out, slowly withdrawing. His eyes remained steady on you, wanting to gauge your reaction.

"Fuck, Eddie. I'm good, it's good. Please just keep going."

No further confirmation was needed. He continued his movements, bordering on being torturously slow. But you were making the prettiest noises, and he'd do anything to keep hearing them.

"God, your pussy is so fuckin' tight," Eddie breathed, quickening the rhythm of his hips. "Tryna squeeze me to death?"

You watched as his necklace swayed forward and back, a beat behind his thrusts. It left your brain scrambling for words, only to come up empty.

"So good, fuck. You're so hot, holy fuck."

Eddie didn't even bother trying to suppress the smile that came to his face as a result of your praise. He could hardly believe you found him hot, let alone wanting and enjoying having sex with him.

"You should see yourself. You're the sweetest, sexiest thing I think I've ever seen. I'd do some heinous shit to be able to do this again," he paused to kiss you passionately on the lips, causing his body to shift in a way that had his dick reaching a new angle inside you. He noticed how your lips parted so scandalously, and how your eyebrows knitted, like you were unable to handle the amount of pleasure you were feeling. "Oh, there it is. Needed me there, huh?"

Eddie brought his handup to his mouth, gathering spit before letting it slip past his lips onto the pad of his thumb. He brought it down to your clit, easily finding the swollen bud and rubbing it in deliberate, hypnotizing circles. Your whines only encouraged him, loving how your eyes squeezed shut as you told him you were getting close.

"Fuck," you opened your eyes to see Eddie, staring down at where your bodies connected, focused intently on giving your clit the stimulation it craved. "I'm gonna cum if you keep, doing that."

"Yeah? Do it for me, baby. I want you to feel so good. Want you to soak me like a good girl, c'mon." His coaxings had you unraveling even sooner than you'd anticipated.

"Please, fuck, please! You're close, right?"

Eddie nodded enthusiastically, his hair starting to get slightly damp with sweat. The noises he made were so sweet and honey-drenched. It was so attractive to know you were making him feel that way, and you were still in disbelief that he was doing things to you that made you feel the same after fantasizing about it for so long.

"Fuck," Eddie groaned as he felt you tighten around him even more, climaxing as the sound of your moans mingled with his. "That's it."

He couldn't help but kiss you again, hoping to ease your whimpers as your body became oversensitive to the sensations.

I want your things in my–

Eddie laid on your bed, but not before taking off his boots. He clasped his hands, resting them on his ribcage as he stared at the plain white ceiling. He should've done more. He should've run up to Vecna and started swinging at him. Instead, he stood with everyone else, frozen in horror and disbelief. He knew you wouldn't want him to blame himself, but how could he not? He was your boyfriend, he was supposed to protect you. He made a promise to do just that, and the one time you actually needed him to, he didn't. How was he supposed to carry on, knowing he'd failed you when it mattered the most?

He tried to take his therapist's advice, to not judge his emotions, to show himself compassion when his thoughts turned gloomy. You were watching over him now, weren't you?

With a deep sigh, Eddie couldn't help but imagine you sitting at your vanity, getting ready for one of those semi-formal dances that you'd somehow convinced him to accompany you to, as friends of course. There was only one that you had gone to as a couple, but Eddie didn't need any convincing to attend that one. He still kept his flask inside his jacket pocket, but he genuinely enjoyed himself. It didn't hurt that you were absolutely glowing in the twinkling lights strung around the Hawkins High gymnasium.

Your phantom silhouette dissolved as he started to conjure up memories of the two of you cuddling in bed on those rainy days where you felt like doing absolutely nothing. It was the perfect conditions for a joint, but you were always scared your parents would smell the weed. But you still took the risk, even without much effort to persuade on Eddie's part. You'd banish him to the other side of your room, allowing the rain to soak in between the now exposed window frame before lighting an incense stick. The air held the fragrance, the smoke lingering just above the tops of your bedframe posts, creating a haze similar to the fog hovering above the wet concrete on the sidewalk. The mix of your perfume, the incense, and the herb created a surprisingly harmonious aroma, one that was just as intoxicating as the smoke Eddie inhaled.

He the way you played with his hair, making little braids throughout his waves. He'd asked you to do it for a Corroded Coffin gig, and the crowd was electric that night. He liked to think it was because of your magic touch, the pampering giving him that extra boost of confidence. He longed for your touch, the featherlight caresses that lived under his skin long after your fingers had left. He could almost feel it now, chills creeping up his arms. Your lips were so soft, even when they were chapped from your nervous habit of biting the gentle skin. He wanted to wrap his arms around you, pick you up, and spin you around like he did every time he picked you up from work.

Eddie missed you—beautiful, kindhearted, smart, funny, wonderful you. And all he could do was sit in your room and pretend you were just in the kitchen making tea, a minute away from coming back and joining him in bed.

[library-ghoulette]

With You Always

Pairing: Copia (Frater Imperator) x gn!reader (lightly implied, that forehead kiss can be platonic if you want it to be)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Second person POV, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst

Words: 931

Summary: Papa V Perpetua's ascension and catchy new single raise difficult feelings for Copia. Luckily you're there, and you know all the right things to say to assuage his insecurities.

A/N: I wrote this because I have been both listening to "Satanized" on a loop and feeling the need to comfort my comfort character all day long.

You can also read this and all of my other fics on ao3!

Blasphemy! Heresy! Save me! From the bottom of my heart, I know—

"You're doing it again."

"Hm?" You look up, confused, from the invoices you've been filing. "Doing what again?"

Copia is seated at his desk, staring at his computer, brow furrowed and a sour expression lining his face. He doesn't look up at you when he answers.

"Singing."

"Oh." Your cheeks color with embarrassment. The new song has been stuck in your head since it premiered last night—to much fanfare for the new Papa—but you hadn't realized that at some point you had actually begun singing along under your breath. "Sorry, Pa— Frater. I'll keep it down."

He gives a little hmph in reply, and you return to your filing. The office—it used to be Sister's office, but you're just about used to the larger space being Copia's now, used to the new uniform, used to most of the changes even if your tongue still stumbles on the new title from time to time—fills with the soft sounds of papers shuffing into folders and the clicking of Copia's mouse. It's relaxing… Well, kind of. Just when you think to yourself that his clicking is starting to sound a bit aggressive, you hear him swear at the computer with a level of vitriol that frankly seems a bit much to throw at a humble spreadsheet.

"Everything okay?" you ask timidly.

"Of course everything is okay. Why would it not be okay?" Copia replies, voice tight in that way it gets when things are decidedly less than okay.

"You've just seemed a bit on edge today? Since the premiere?"

He gives you a brief look over his shoulder before quickly looking away. "I'm fine."

"You know, if you want to talk about—"

"I don't."

"Okay." You shrug, slide the file cabinet drawer closed with a satisfying thud, and open the drawer for the next range of letters. Continue transforming chaos to order, one form at a time. You've known Copia long enough and worked with him closely enough not only to clock his tells, but to know that he will break in three, two, one—

As though on cue, he sighs heavily and pushes back from the desk,rolling his chair around to face you.

"It's not even that good, this song, you know? 'Satanized'? 'Urges to burst'? What the fuck is that?"

"It is awfully catchy," you venture.

Copia snorts, incredulous. "Catchy? You know what song is catchy? 'Rats' is catchy. Now that's a lead single. I was nominated for a Grammy with that one, you know."

"I know."

"And 'Call Me Little Sunshine'!" Copia continues, triumphant. "Another Grammy nomination! And I could have won, too, if…"

But he trails off, and in the heavy silence following that if, you hear what is left. If there had been a third album cycle. If he was still Papa. If he'd had just a little more time…

Copia abruptly turns to gaze out the window, jaw set, his eyes glistening. You know that he's not really seeing the early spring day on the other side of the stained glass.

After a moment, he asks, "They seemed happy, didn't they?"

"Who?"

"My— the ghouls. In that video, they seemed happy." He swallows hard. "With him."

This isn't about Grammys, you know, or tours, or albums, or movies, or any amount of success that can be measured in accolades or dollar signs.

You close the space between you, coming to stand at Copia's side, close enough to reach out and thumb away the tear tracing its bitter path down his cheek.

"They're not going to forget you," you say softly. "You know that, right?"

"They already have."

"No, listen to me." You apply gentle pressure, turning his dear, sad, stubborn face up so that he has no choice but to look at you. You repeat, more forcefully this time, "They are not going to forget you. Not the ghouls. Not anybody. I mean, how could they?"

And now it's your turn to blink back the tears prickling your eyes.

"How could anyone forget everything that you've given to this Ministry? Yes, the songs, the tours, the movie. But it's more than that. You've touched millions of hearts, given countless people joy and comfort and a sense of belonging."

"But— but I'm not Papa, anymore."

You shake your head. "It doesn't matter. The entire Ministry, everything we're doing here? It could end tomorrow, and you would still be with all of those people forever. Your songs, your words, memories of nights filled with music and magic, all of that love… Nothing can undo that. Not time or distance or different outfits or some new guy in a shiny mask."

Copia chuckles in spite of himself, the laugh causing more tears to fall. But these he quickly wipes away, and takes your hand in his. "Such a stupid mask."

It's a pretty cool fucking mask, but wisely, you keep this thought to yourself, instead reassuring him, "There are plenty of people who still consider you their Papa."

For the first time all day—honestly, for the first time in longer than that—some of the tension melts out of Copia, his shoulders dropping out of their anxious hunch. He runs his thumb over your knuckles and asks, almost shyly, "And what about you?"

"Me? You even have to ask?" You bend down and press a kiss to his forehead, feeling the worried creases there smooth a little, as though your kiss is a balm to his very soul. "You'll always be my Papa."

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚ what are we?

...nothing. right?.₊˚⊹

convienence. a means to end. that's all this was for both of you right? when katsuki is fed up with the crazed fangirls who just won't leave him alone, he works out a deal with you. it was just coincidence he had a huge crush on you.

☆pair. 2ndyear!katsuki x reader. tags. fake dating!trope, fluff, reader is academically flopping for a bit, pet names, cursing, fighting (verbal), happy ending wc. 6k

ღnote. sorry that this took so long lol! i wrote this in chapter form if you'd like to read it here, but this one shot is the same thing.

post-war brought troubles for a lot of the students in class 1-A. especially bakugo katsuki.

he had to completely relearn how to write with his other hand, had to learn how to fight without injury to it.

and he had to learn to deal with his crazy amount of fangirls.

his fight had been broadcasted, the manner in which he pushed himself to the very brink broadcasted to the world. his victory brought spoils, though not in a way he expected.

he didn't expect to be chased down the hallways every morning, to have a line of girls wanting his autograph as he ate. he didn't expect to be gifted things, things they just assumed he liked, but couldn't be farther from the truth.

luckily, you seemed to like chocolate. he found refuge these days sitting on the roof floor of U-A next to you during lunch, passing you the chocolate gifts he'd been given.

he hated chocolate. but to be honest, he loved seeing you smile.

"thanks 'suki." you said for the nth time, picking the best chocolates out of the box and leaving the gross ones alone.

"yeah." he sighed, glancing at you occasionally as he moved to support the weight of his head with his hands. he found himself speechless around you often. words failing as he leant into the comfort of your presence.

you were about to say something, he thinks. your mouth was open though the blaring of the bell cut you off. "oh, let's go 'suki." you said, holding your hand out to him.

he took it, letting you pull him up and holding onto your hand for just a second too long. you dumped the rest of the chocolates in a trash can and made your collective way down to 1-A. you laughed at how he seemed to try and hide behind you, eyes darting around for the general course girls who seemed to have nothing better to do than follow him around.

they didn't come though. he saw a group of them but when they saw your proximity to him..

they left him alone.

a lightbulb went off in his head, he mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. as he sat in class, eyeing your seat between momo and jirou, he thought about how he'd ask you.

test papers were being passed out, graded ones. "yo man," kirishima started, looking over his paper, "what'd you get?"

katsuki scoffed. "what do you think? another 100, easy as shit."

kaminari groaned beside him, "you're cheating or something! i got an 80."

"that's high for someone like you!"

"hey!"

"aw man, i got a 70. you're so manly bakubro!"

"yeah, guess i am."

katsuki tried to resist the turning of his head, he really did. but he wanted to know what score you got, if you did well. though from the expression on your face and the way momo patted you on the back,

not to mention the red ink used all over your paper. he knew you didn't.

"man this totally sucks!" you exclaimed, your hands clutching the paper of your test. "i studied and everything, i don't even need math, im a hero for crying out loud!"

jirou's teases and momo's comforts faded into the background as he only focused on you, and the nagging feeling for him to help you.

with another ring of the bell and a sigh from mr. aizawa, katsuki left early to try and beat the crowd of girls who seemed to pounce on him.

he didn't though, he found himself at the entrance at U-A, almost to freedom when the crowd pointed at him, "that's him! i can't believe it!"

"dynamite, an autograph please?"

"hey- don't be so casual. it's lord explosion--"

"who cares? i want a photo!"

at that, they chased him. all his progress down the stairs and through the halls was gone as he was led right back down to class 1-A. he stupidly lead himself right back into a corner.

his head darted around, until he noticed a tuft of familiar hair in the classroom. you hadn't left? oh well, he needed your help and quick.

you were sobbing internally, looking over your horrific test score with a sad expression. a 70? you might as well just drop out now.

as the hours of studying you'd done for waste passed over in your mind, a noise caught you off guard.

he had burst in, making your deflated form jump off the desk. "katsuki, don't scare me like that!"

he rushed over to your side, grabbing your hand off where it was hanging limply on the desk. "be my girlfriend for a second."

the words barely even processed in your brain before you were being manhandled off the desk, your mind rushed to catch up. "wait-- wha-"

before you knew it you were led towards the door of obsessed fan girls. his hand was intertwined tightly with yours, a slight flush on his face.

"listen up." he started, making his fans shush eachother. "my girlfriend hasn't been appreciating all your bullshit. and neither have i, so for the love of god stop it already."

he pulled you alongside him, "move." a path opened for the two of you, letting you two through. he walked you to the entrance, no words spoken between the two of you until you stopped infront of the lockers where you'd keep your shoes.

"[name]-- uh." he took a breath, his heart sped up rapidly around you. it sped up at the simple tilt of your head.

"so. if you help me with this shit, i'll tutor you.

or whatever."

a hand was behind his head, his averted eyes now focusing on you as he awaited your answer with baited breath.

you had an expression of thoughtfulness on your face. your finger on your chin as you looked up to the ceiling to think.

'have everyone think youre dating a cute boy and get a tutor?'

the pinkie of your hand shot out, a closed eye smile on your face. "i'm in!"

a soft smile graced his lips, his pinkie intertwining with yours and sealing his fate in more ways than one.

because you really did have him wrapped around your finger. literally and figuratively.

"let's go to my room so we can talk over it!"

you really were going to be the death of him.

it's not like he'd never been to your room, just not in a situation like this.

not when he'd declared himself your boyfriend an hour earlier, not when his hands were sweaty with his nervousness, and not when you'd agreed so hastily to be his.

he wondered if you'd accept if anyone else asked you. if izuku or todoroki had been facing this situation instead of him.

"'suki?" you patted the side of your bed next to you, "sit with me."

he sighed, the thoughts disappearing from his mind at your words. he really was whipped for you.

"yeah, yeah. i'm goin'" he sat beside you, oddly stiffer than normal. he held his own hands as he waited for you to say something.

"okay, so, we should have like-- a plan or something right?"

"a plan? what the fuck for?"

"like so we don't get caught faking this or whatever. if they find out your fans will just come back running, no?"

he shuddered at the thought. "yeah, don't wanna deal with that shit."

"right? so the first part of our plan, is that everyone has to think we're dating. cool?"

katsuki's mind was racing. cool? more like the best thing that would happen to him. he felt as if everyone knew of his crush on you.. except for you.

being to say he was all yours and that you were all his, even if it was a lie..

"yeah, it's cool."

"great, that's really the only thing we had to establish. we hang out a lot anyways so, we'll just have to be affectionate or something to seal the deal."

his heart jumped at the idea of hugging you, wrapping an arm around you, holding hands with you in public. the ghost of a smile came over him.

"right."

"cool. so nothing else matter--"

"we're starting your studying shit tomorrow. the next test is next week, so we don't have time to play around [name]."

"ughh. i wish you forgot about that." your head fell into your hands. "i hate math, what do i even need it for?"

"advanced math, nothing really. but estimates are important in hero work. estimating time, the abilities of your body, the amount of civilians, all that stuff."

"you're such a nerd."

"hah?"

he continued explaining the importance of math to you despite your grievances. his finger was pointed in the air, you swore you could see the need emoji popping over his face.

your eyes closed, the weight of the day, your grade, and the thought of studying alongside a nerd like katsuki tiring you to no avail. you yawned, laying your head on his shoulder.

you could hear the thumping of his heart, the racing of his blood in his veins. it rocked you to sleep, "wake me up later, m' a take a nap." you mumbled against his shoulder, before falling asleep.

his mouth shut, eyes peeled on your body that now clung to his side. his face grew hot, when did it get so hot in your damn room?

he tried his best to stay awake, to let you nap and wake you up in the morning. but as the clock hit eight o clock, the time he was supposed to head back to his dorm.. he found himself stuck in place.

not by an invisible force, not by some obligation. it was only the thought of wanting to be with you, next to you. wanting to let the comfort of your weight next to him drive himself to sleep.

so he did. he fell asleep, letting his head lay on top of yours, holding your body closer to his. shutting his eyes.

the light of the sun woke him up first, you didn't close your blinds yesterday, and the sun shined brightly,

directly into his face. he groaned, his voice deep from sleep as he peeled himself off of you. he was confused from fatigue, wondering why he was still in your room.

he felt an arm around his waist, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to see it was you who was holding him close. he thinks you were using him in place of your huge teddy bear, the one laid neatly in the corner of your bed.

his heart rate quickened once again, wanting to go back to his room, but fighting the urge to stay looking at you.

an absentminded hand moved a couple strands of your hair out your face, pinching your cheek when he got bold.

you don't wake up, he sighed a breath of relief. 'til he felt your body start to stir, you pushed your head more into his chest, your eyes finally starting to open slightly.

"oh? g'morning kat'." you were sleepy, your words slightly slurred and muffled from how you were pressed against him.

"you slept here?" you asked, pulling away from him as you moved to stretch your upper body.

"uh-- yeah." he was once again lost for words at the sight of you, your shirt slightly pulled up from how you'd slept, your hair messy from the lack of a protective style before sleep.

"sorry for waking you up then, 'suki."

"no, i was already up. i just didn't wanna wake you."

"well, you failed." you joked. "anyways, you should get out of here soon, if iida sees you he'll probably flip out and tell mr. aizawa."

"right."

"let's walk to class together!" you clasped his hands in yours. "okay?"

you were going to be the death of him once again. "okay."

you let go and he got up, ruffling his hair slightly and looking back at you who sent him a small smirk and wave. before slowly walking out your door. he did his best to keep his movements quiet and minimal.

he was at the elevator, before uraraka walked out. shit. "bakugo? what are you doing here?"

"uh.. got lost."

her face scrunched in confusion, a knowing smile on her face after a second. "right.. tell [name] good morning for me."

".. tell her yourself." he got into the elevator, already seeing the grin in uraraka's face as he went up a floor to his room.

the same grin everyone greeted him with as he went to sit next to you in the common room, having made you some breakfast. he and you were all ready, you had refreshed your hair from when he was playing with it, simple makeup and your uniform ironed. he admired you while he ate his meal.

"ah, thanks 'suki."

"mhm."

you moved to whisper in his ear, "why's everyone looking at us?"

"fuck if i know."

"so you two lovebirds aren't gonna say anything?" denki said, putting his hands on his hips as he looked you two over.

"'bout what?"

"that you two are totally dating!" mina exclaimed, pointing at you. "and you didn't say anything? wow [name], i thought.. we were closer than that." she mock fully cried.

katsuki was about to say something, you cut him off though. "i thought everyone knew?" with a tilt of your head, a question mark almost visible from the blank expression you wore.

the class only sighed, kirishima shrugged his shoulders. "yeah, we should've guessed. i mean bakugo had a obvious crush on you for the longest."

"yeah, good looks man." sero gave him a thumbs up.

"tch. let's go [name]." he sat up, placing his and your finished dishes in the sink before you followed behind him.

"right! bye guys!"

you grabbed his hand as you walked out the door. nobody was around, there was no need to keep up appearances now.

but that didn't stop him from holding your hand tighter.

and that didn't stop you from clinging even more to his side.

it seemed you two were now together all the time. a clingy couple is what you seemed like to your friends, and more importantly his fans.

at lunch he could now be in the cafeteria again, you were stuck his side as you ate, an arm around you as you shared his food, insisting his cooking was better than the U-A food.

you were caged in by his body, you really did just look like a sappy couple to everyone.

during class, he was caught glancing at you. a lot. he'd roll his eyes and pretend nothing even happened, but everyone knew he was far gone.

during training, as you sparred you noticed he was going harder on you than before. some would think that because you were his crush he wouldn't get so aggressive,

too bad katsuki only wanted to push you harder, get you to show the strength he saw you unleash on those villains in the war. he wanted you to be stronger beside him, if he was number one, he'd want you to be ranked closely to him, because he knew you were strong enough.

that didn't mean it wasn't any more hard to fight him, the man was a maniac.

"you can chill out you know!"

"what? can't take it?!"

"no, slow your fucking roll!" you barely dodged his other attack, just barely moving out the way as he threw an explosion in your direction.

you now had met the conditions to use your quirk, comeback. by generating a max of 8 orbs, they'd absorb energy that you could use back for your offense. the only downside?

melee attacks couldn't be absorbed at all.

a kick to your legs sent you to the ground, you dispersed one of your orbs with the explosion stored inside of it.

"be nice and let me win!!"

"no."

he dodged your attack and pinned you to the ground. he won.

"you're so mean 'suki." you shoved him off you, making him grunt. "a good boyfriend would've let me win!"

a nagging voice in the back of his head was telling him he wasn't yours, you weren't his, and that he was only doing this for his convinience.

"well, i guess i'll be a better one next time."

even that voice couldn't deny that the way he cared for you wasn't anything less than real. that even if this relationship was fake, that he was undoubtedly yours. that the way he held his hand out to you, lifting you as gently as he could fathom.

"wanna go again?" he asked, a boyish smirk on his face.

"you know it!"

your plan of tiring katsuki out with exercise didn't work, so you found yourself in his room at his desk. showered and wiping the dew off your neck with a towel, you sat in front of him with a book splayed open.

he was hammering topic after topic into you.. statistics or something? you weren't really paying attention, you were more interested in the bulge of his muscles out of his tank top.

his words were a blur when you suddenly found yourself reaching a hand out to feel his muscle,

your hand squeezing it.

'firm. hm.' you thought, until he pulled you away, an incredulous look on his face. "this is why your class ranking keeps falling [name]. focus!"

"how can i focus with you in front of me? it's like dancing a donut in front of a cop!" you whined, face planted onto his desk.

"you're.. insane."

"you love me though, don't you?" the words slipped out of your lips without a second thought, your face flushing slightly. "oops, sorry! almost forgot you arent my like-- real boyfriend!"

he swore he heard a bit of disappointment in your voice, felt a bit of reluctance in your movements as you pulled away at him, saw a bit of longing in your eyes.

"uh.. yeah. 's fine. let's just.. take a break." he said, motioning over to lay on his bed and do nothing for a little while.

if you would've told him a couple months ago that he'd be sat, face to face, body next to body, hands awkwardly close to each other as you remained in silence. you'd had a movie on in the background, something stupid he thought. not like he payed attention to it at all.

it was comfortable, being around you. he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't like the fact that everyone now thought you were his and vice versa. not just his fans, not just yours, but your mutual friends. family.

"do you wanna try again?" he asked after a while, voice soft and his hand moving to rub his eyes. it was his bedtime, eight o clock sharp, but he'd break it for you.

"hm? to be honest no." you moved to face him. "you look tired anyways 'suki, you should sleep."

he grumbled, his eyes closing slightly as he slowly swatted your hand away from his face, his grip lingering on your wrist.

"right." he yawned. he didn't know if it was the sleep or impulse, maybe a mixture of both. but he pulled you closer to him. making you crash against his chest with his head in the nook of your neck.

"stay." he uttered, his breath flush against your neck making the hairs stand up.

"katsuki?" you thought you were dreaming. you'd move to pinch yourself if you weren't being pinned down by him.

"please?"

"..okay." your words barely matched your actions. you cuddled more into him, pulling him impossibly closer as you melted into eachother.

a blanket was thrown over the two of you. you fell asleep in his arms, the beating of his heart matching yours as you breathed a sigh of realization.

you were horribly in love with katsuki bakugo. and he was with you.

your 'fake' activities as a couple were coming along a little bit too easily to the two of you.

feeding him a snack in his room as a joke, him finding out he kind of liked being babied, him blackmailing you so you shut up.

all couple things. normal couple activity.

you didn't even have to continue those things behind closed doors, but it just came so naturally. it seemed wrong not to do it.

it seemed wrong for him not to sling a hand over you, not to hold your hand when it was so close to him, not to move the stray strands of hair and tuck it behind your ear.

it seemed wrong for him not to save a spot for you at lunch, not to wake up a bit earlier and slip out of your sleepy grasp to prepare you a meal alongside his.

not to make some breakfast for you, light or heavy, depending on what he'd learned you preferred.

not to walk with you to class, even walking with you to go see your general studies friend in the morning, leaning against the doorway with a smile on his face as he watched you rave on about a show you'd watched recently.

why wouldn't he do it if he could? why shouldn't he watch your favorite shows just to have things to talk to you about?

he found himself fighting to stay focused during your study sessions now too. he found himself noticing things about you, the smaller things.

how you'd flip your hello kitty pencil around while you were speaking. how you'd bite your lips in concentration, your expressions of disbelief when you actually started getting things correct.

he'd have to cover his hand with his face. you were just too cute.

sometimes he'd even get distracted mid sentence. he was explaining simple things over again, just to make sure you knew what it meant.

but it was hard even keeping eye contact with you.

"so, in this problem x would be.. uh.." he went silent, his mouth open but no words escaping.

"x would be what? 7?" you showed your page of work to him, with a nervous smile. "if it's not right tell me already! i know im kinda dumb, it won't hurt my feelings too bad i swear!"

he looked down back at his page. mentally slamming his head onto the table, before recovering. "yeah, no you're right. you got it."

you slammed the work onto his desk, "finally! then we can break now right?"

"yeah, 'guess so."

"let's do something fun. take a walk, my legs hurt from sitting." you pulled him up by his hand, dragging him to his door. "hurry up!"

he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him, you really reminded him of just how young you two were. how he was just a high schooler with a huge crush, how--

"why are you looking at me like that? are you sick?" you placed a hand on his forehead, making him promptly rip it off. a scowl quickly replaced the smile that been on his face moments prior. "no i'm not. let's go."

you walked hand in hand, the sunset the background for your 'date'.

the last few days, he'd been nervous to bring up what was happening between you. he was nervous to ruin the odd relationship you two had, he didn't want to lose you. he thought the things you two had been doing crossed the line between friendship and lovers.

you didn't have to do any of this. though he was sure you knew that already.

"math exam's tomorrow."

"don't remind me! you totally ruined the moment you know."

"you'll pass. i mean, i was your tutor after all. if you fail with me as a teacher? you are a lost cause."

"that's not nice to say." you ripped his hand away from yours, crossing your arms on your chest. "thats really messed up 'suki."

he leant down to face you, the sun goldening you two in its wake as he grew a cocky smirk on his lips. "oh really?"

"yes really."

"n' what're you gonna do about it?" his face was barely an inch away from yours. with a glance to his lips, he moved closer.

he barely pecked you, before he heard a loud, obnoxious idiot speak from behind him.

"[name] and bakugo are totally making out over here!"

denki and kirishima were looking at the two of you, a glare crossed over katsuki's face as he basically dragged you with him back into his dorm. he was about to leave you at your dorm, the hallway empty since curfew was around the corner.

he held your hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckle of yours. he intertwined your fingers, only letting go after a while.

he tilted your head upwards with his two fingers, wordlessly asking for permission. moonlight now struck you two as he moved in.

uninterruptedly, he kissed you. deepening it with a pull of the hand, holding you against him.

he let go after a while, his internal clock signaling it was almost time for curfew.

before he left, he whispered to you. "i don't.. really care what we're labeled. and if this shit is real or not.

i just want to be close to you."

he turned, walking to the elevator. leaving your breathless, with your heart in your throat.

no more words were spoken between you two, not as you screamed into your pillow, and not as he stared up into the ceiling of his room.

you passed that math test. and each assignment that went with it.

the end of the year was now coming quickly, of the school year that is. you and katsuki still kept up your 'act', the activities now stretching to dates after school mixed in with your study sessions.

one's that'd leave the touch of katsuki on you more than the touch of knowledge. but it was working nonetheless.

it was all good between you two, an eternal honeymoon it seemed. after all, by now it had been at least seven months since this began. your class ranking was higher, he no longer had to worry about strolling through the halls, it seemed nothing could get in your way.

well, besides two things.

one: the fact that you two were scared to label in between yourselves yet, too bashful to call him your boyfriend and you his girlfriend in private, yet proud fully admitting it to others.

two, the girl currently straddling him with no regard to you whatsoever. your entire cafeteria table was staring at her, looking at what katsuki would do to move her off.

but when he didn't immediately, didn't immediately curse the girl out and push her off him? you did the job for him.

you yanked the girl by her hair, sending her to the floor with a tray of food falling onto her body. all attention was on you as you stared at katsuki, your mouth agape in anger.

"what the fuck bakugo?" you ignored her, even stepping on her leg slightly as your hands were agitated, your whole body was. you didn't even know why you were jealous. this wasn't real, it never was, he was just playing his role too well.

you should've known katsuki would go too far. he always did.

"babe-- it's not what you think-"

"then what was i looking at? and don't call me that. don't- don't fucking call me anything. we're over."

you knew to him that probably meant something different. you acclaimed the despair in his eyes to the loss of protection, to the loss of ease as he walked in the halls and the lack of paparazzi that'd ask him questions on his love life.

but to him it was so much more.

it was those things, yes. but it was more so the thought of losing you. the thought of the affection over the months being nothing but a memory and not his future. the thought of not having you close to him.

the thoughts of becoming nothing to you, less than a friend.

he didn't know why he didn't move, it was like he physically couldn't. the look in the girl's eyes, the grip she had on him, the weird smile. he recognized her as one of the girls who usually would be in the crowd following him around.

"you don't mean that." his voice sounded more desperate than it had in the whole time he'd met you, more longing slipping through than he intentioned.

but the sun's casting light had moved away from you, casting you in a shadow. "i do mean it. fuck you."

he was going to run after you, to chase you as you slammed your lunch tray into the trash. heading up to the rooftop to he alone.

but a hand, mina's, pulled him back. "i think.. you did enough bakugo."

she went after you instead, promising to bakugo she'd check on you.

fangirls were one thing? but a messy public breakup where you were never really something in the first place? surprisingly worse.

he'd been more snappy lately, his aura making the girls around him keep their distance.

he'd become quieter, closed off. you didn't come to eat lunch with him anymore, obviously. and he didn't go up to the rooftop to join you.

he didn't know how to speak to you, how to explain what happened, how to say that he was sorry.

he ran the scenario in his head a million times, thinking over the girl's quirk that had forced him into place. but it sounded so convenient, like he was lying.

but since your entire relationship was based off of one, he didn't know how to approach the topic in the first place.

a week. a week passed before he could muster up the words to speak to you.

a week of being ignored in the hallways, side glances and being walked off on. a week of not having you by his side, not having you to talk to, to study with,

to kiss.

you were alone on the rooftop, eating silently as you felt a presence behind you. you saw his hair in the shadow and sighed, placing your plate onto the floor next to you. "what?"

"let me talk."

"...fine."

he breathed a sigh, hands balling as he forced the words out. "i know what you saw. and i know it was bad, but listen. that.. girl. she had some quirk on me or something."

he paused, seeing as your movement shifted. he took the fact that you didn't leave as a sign to continue.

"i couldn't move, i would've. you know that. but, it was right for you to be fucking pissed. i'd be too.

and i know, this is my fault in a way. i've been.. a fuckin' loser about this." his hand went up to support his head, his eyes averting from where he felt yours eyeing him.

"i needed to ask you out, officially i mean, a long time ago. it was wrong of me to use you-"

"it wasn't like that and you know it." you moved now to face him, you taking his hands in yours once more.

"what are we? to you i mean."

"right now..

we're nothing, right?"

your eyes widened, his eyes came back to look at yours.

"what?"

the words settled between you, it sent a cold shiver down your spine at the implication.

"wait-- fuck i'm messing this shit up. i mean, we're, not anything right now. we weren't anything."

your heart sank, eyes falling to the floor though your hand still held by him. your bleeding heart was in his grasp too, it was apparent.

"but,

i'd like to be? if you'd have me."

he squeezed your hand tightly. "i, i think i did this all out of order. but, would you go out with me?"

you let out an anxious laugh mixed with emotion. relief? despair? you honestly didn't know. tears burned the corners of your eyes.

"you're-- you're real weird, you know that?"

"is that a no."

"no, it's a yes. i think."

"ya think?"

"you don't get to question me!"

"yeah, whatever." you shared a laugh of relief together. he held you, moving away to bring something out of his pocket.

a small bento box for you.

you gasped at the sight of it, it was so cute. "thank god! i hate this school shit." you sat down, patting the side beside you, prompting him to sit down.

"wow, a heart? don't tell me you like me or something katsuki."

instead of deflecting, of telling you to buzz off, of shoving you lightly, a small smile came over his lips once again. after a beat, he laughed boyishly.

"you caught me."

...

he patted your back as you choked on the heart shaped seaweed.

your first date was cute, a small picnic with the country of musatafu as your backdrop. it was weird, this scene had played out between you two various times. in his room, in public, in private, to everyone else you two had just recovered from a messy breakup. and yet,

your stomachs were filled with butterflies at the affection between you two.

your rank was high, the dates were endless between the two of you now. study dates, just going to cafes, mundane things became more when you were by each others side.

years passed, and your poor dorm was going mostly unused. you'd sleep in his bed most of the time, actually- you'd spent most of your time in his room. he even cleared out a section for you in his closet despite the fact that yours was perfectly fine.

graduation came along, your careers came rushing at the two of you.

you were the top rated woman hero, and he was number one. just like he dreamt, just like he imagined the future would be for the two of you all those years ago.

you were picking out some drinks from the vending machine, a pocky hanging out your mouth as you decided between two flavors.

you finally chose, having two drinks in your hand for you and katsuki when he suddenly dragged you into an alleyway, grunting when he pushed you against the wall.

deja vu? maybe, you felt like you lived through this before, the same mindless stampede of girls rushing past.

"i told you to clip down your hair."

"shut up. don't they even care that we're married now? why do they fucking bother?." he sighed, annoyed as he lightly grabbed the can out your hand, his frustration not matching his actions.

"well, maybe we need something that'd make it even more official." a lightbulb went over the both of your heads. you faced each other, a streetlight letting you see the slight pink tint of his cheeks.

"a ca-"

"a baby."

you laughed, keeling over at the sight of his face that grew impossibly red.

you went home, hand in hand, the photos of the two of you together making rounds in the media again.

but as you laid with his head laid on your lap, your head rested comfortably against the furniture you'd chosen for your home?

you couldn't help but feel like everything worked out perfectly.

and with the new addition of your family laid sleeping on top of katsuki's chest.

tags (can't tag orange :c): @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @amayaaaxx @i-the-fluffo @irenne-stans @hisonlyobsession @dead-fish-soup @pretty-sparkle-bomb @matchat3a @yura-4life @djlance-rock @zuzukusna @hiimsaraandyou @uy242c

[loveanddeepsecrets]

Domestic + Intimate Headcanons Pt. II

An impromptu two parter of me just spitballing (Pt. I for reference). This started out as a cutesy mini headcanon post for Raf’s bday, but quickly grew into hyper specific romantic scenarios and wishful thinking. It’s still probably clear who my mains are 😭 but I did my best to showcase the humility in all LIs

⤠ Disclaimer: I’m quite happy with the intimate headcanons from my initial post and truthfully couldn’t expand too too much without basically repeating myself from last time. So with the exception of Caleb, there’s a bit less spicy bullets this go-round :/

⤠ Tags: 18+, MDNI, *slight spoilers depending on affinity level or personal progress in main story +myths, fluff, mostly gender neutral, but written with an afab + fem!reader in mind

⤠ Word count: 2.1k (mostly proofread)

Xavier

SFW

✧ Eats the raisins you pick out of the trail mix

✧ Always draws stars next to your name when writing you letters/cards

✧ Bookstore dates. At every visit, you pick one of your favourite books to read for each other

✧ After begging him tirelessly to teach you a song, *any song* on the piano, he mischievously chose ‘Heart & Soul’

✧ Saves every voicemail/voice note. He often replays them to stay sane on dangerous solo missions 

✧ On top of that, he made a bunny plushie version of you at one of those 'Build-A-Bear' type shops and used one of your voice notes . He sleeps with it on nights he can't sleep with you

✧ Sprays more cologne on his hoodies knowing you love the scent. He also thinks the extra spritz of fragrance will ward off other men since he knows you borrow his clothes. It’s his silent way of marking what’s his

✧ Loves making you blush. He didn't get enough time to court you in the past timeline on Philos, so he seizes every opportunity to (quite effortlessly) rizz you up to see your flushed expression

NSFW

✧ [canonically makes bolder moves to see how you’d react —secret times lvl 165]

✧ Game head. He gets a bit of an adrenaline rush if you do it while he’s online

✧ Doesn’t give not one shit about how loud you guys are. He probably prefers sex on the couch on the off chance Charlie might be passing through the hallway

✧ Though I still think he’s pretty quiet, he becomes a bit of a whiny mess when you’re edging him

✧ A gripper. Grabs on your ass during cowgirl, your chest during missionary, your hips/thighs during doggy, etc

✧ Sprained his neck from holding your hips down and guiding you when you sat on his face. It left him smirking throughout his recovery. Every painful twitch was a pleasant reminder of a job well done 

✧ Has the fastest pace ot5. He moves at lightning speed when batting wanderers, so he probably moves at a back breaking break neck speed while inside of you 

✧ After rewatching the 'No Restraint' card on YouTube… *sweats* he’s got magic fingers. I’ll put it like this and move on: firm, tiny circles 🫠

Caleb

SFW

✧ 10+ hours long face time calls

✧ Would actually be pretty decent at the claw machine if he wasn't such a massive cheater

✧ Utility man. He's your personal chauffer, home chef, alarm clock, umbrella, trainer, handyman, and so on. He strives to be the perfect emergency contact

✧ Has definitely seen those videos of couples trying to recreate yoga poses and had you try with him (would probably cheat using his evol)

✧ Bounces his leg if you scratch that one spot on his head when you play with his hair

✧ You always end up sitting on his lap when cuddling watching tv or reading peacefully together 

✧ Holds pinkies more often than holding hands

✧ Super athletic and adventurous dates i.e. zip lining, skydiving, paragliding, kayaking, hiking, etc. He’s patient, encouraging, and talks you through the scariest parts of the activity and rewards you with several kisses in between telling you how brave you were

NSFW

✧ Hands down has the roughest sex regularly ot5

✧ Mile high club

✧ Orgasm denial + overstimulation 

✧ LOUD, TALKATIVE, and MESSY 

✧ Sloppy eater

✧ He expects a sloppy eater in return. Is probably the type to grab your head and start guiding you when he’s close 

✧ Ik I said Xavier was bossy, but this man? His gravity evol? His colonel position? CONTROL FREAK

✧ Likely has the biggest “Sir” kink

✧ While I do think he aligns slightly more with booktok Sylus, I can’t see where degradation would fit with their dynamic. You’re the very thing he wants to shield and protect. Why would he degrade what he cherishes?

✧ On the softer side, he’s the type to melt into your touch. There’s true devotion in his eyes (and heart) when you’re making love

✧ On the days where he’s not rough, the sex is more sensual and almost tantric 

✧ Will always find a way to be physically closer to you during the act. Whether it’s putting his forehead on yours, burying his face in your neck, hugging your waist, or simply holding hands 

✧ You both probably cried (happy tears) after your first time. Being intimate felt like a confirmation from the universe that you knew each other more than words could express. There was no trial and error, you just knew 

Sylus

SFW

✧ Hot air balloon rides

✧ Monogram matching robes

✧ Secret fan of game shows. He thinks they’re hilarious— or in his words “highly amusing”

✧ Bought you a birdhouse + birdfeeder for your apartment after he noticed you birdwatching on the last date 

✧ Purposely chooses horror films on movie nights on the chance you’ll hold onto him and hide your face in his chest. He’ll laugh and make some remark about being hurt that you’d use him as a shield, but will hold you tighter and soothe you later in the night when you’re too scared to sleep

✧ Random slow dances. In the kitchen on the nights you make dinner together; in his study while music emits from his record player; in the bathroom, sleepily swaying side to side while lazily brushing your teeth 

✧ Whenever you're holding hands, he often aimlessly draws random shapes on your ring finger

✧ I think all the LADS men have a default position they fall into when getting close or snuggling up. For Sylus, it’s resting his chin on your shoulder. It’s the perfect place to capture your scent plus, he can hear and feel your heartbeat. Of course he’ll playful bite or nuzzle into your neck, but he rests his head there because it’s most familiar and comforting to him and his old dragon form

NSFW

✧ Road head 

✧ Mile high club

✧ Eye contact 

✧ Has a secluded sex dungeon even Luke & Kieran don’t know about

✧ Due to the nature of his job, I don’t think he’d engage in explicit sexting. Too many people on his case and has probably dealt with his fair share of hackers. If one of your messages/photos/videos leaked anywhere, it would be the end of the N109 zone and the world as we know it 

✧ That being said, if he wants to make home movies, it’s done with a vintage film camera to ensure the utmost privacy

✧ More of a grunter and groaner than a moaner. The few times he does moan, is when he’s buried between your legs

✧ I actually think he’d be into role play. He likes how you always keep him quick on his feet in your relationship, and will often humour and indulging in the change of pace. He’d like this even more in the bedroom

✧ Chuckles to himself and humours you whenever you suggest 69ing bc he knows you’ll inevitably just lay there with his dick idle in your hands, while you whimper on top of him

✧ Stamina coach. His methods for overstimulation are twofold. While he loves the state of you withering and coming completely undone, he also does this to help you expand your limitations and enjoy each other for as long as he can go. I already said he’s a pleasure dom, but he’s a pleasure dom with a purpose

Zayne

SFW

✧ Botanical garden tours

✧ Couples ice skating during the holiday season 

✧ Uses his surgical skills to patch up injured plushies [x] 

✧ He may or may not have added an extra rest day or two in your doctor’s note to Jenna so he can spend more time with you. He’ll deny it and insist you need the additional rest, and who better to take care of you other than your doctor?

✧ There’s something about the way he holds your hand that’s sickeningly sweet. Gentle, slightly cool to the touch that warms up quickly, with loving caresses

✧ Surprised you to a dessert degustation for your anniversary. Each dish is a highlight of the standout desserts you tried over the year

✧ Occasional late night strolls along the river. He passively recalls scenes from the western dramas you watch and (successfully) tries skipping rocks

✧ Enjoys exploring artistic outlets with you. Often suggests different workshops to try i.e. stained glass studios, culinary classes, candle making, terrarium building, etc

✧ A bit needy nowadays. To experience a love he never knew he could have, makes him hold your hand a little more tightly, hug you a few seconds longer and kiss you twice as many times as he did before

NSFW

✧ Much like Sylus, he’s also big on eye contact (when he’s in control)

✧ Literally the cutest thing ever when you go down on him. He’ll keep his composure, and lustfully tell you what he wants, but gets so flustered and stuttering as the pleasure builds and he gets close

✧ Truthfully, I don’t like to compare Zayne and Caleb all that much, but the love making between you two is also very tantric

✧ If you listen to the way he kisses you, it’s pretty similar to how he eats you. When completely drunk off your juices, it’s like he’s breathing you in. There’s a desperation to his licks and kisses, feening for the taste of your nectar

✧ He’s also the type to spell out his name with his tongue over and over again. Think of it as a spell. He needs to hear you call to him

✧ Incredibly patient. Foreplay isn’t some tit for tat curtesy thing, it’s important to him. He’s less of a tease and more methodical. "Relax into my arms. No, I'm not bullying you. I need you to come for me again. You should always warm up before stretching, and I don't want to hurt you so please, come for me love. Can you do that for me?"

✧ A stickler for clear communication. You must speak in full complete sentences. It’s not enough to say just say “Please.” What exactly are you pleading him to do?

✧ Slight exhibitionist. He’ll never allow you to get caught, but likes the challenge of finding the quickest ways to cover your mouth— using his hand, tie or lips to stifle your moans

Rafayel

SFW

✧ Hates going in hot springs, saunas, or jacuzzies. He’ll say he feels like a boiling crab

✧ Asked to keep your first completed sketchbook that are filled with many one on one art lessons with him

✧ Can’t sleep if some semblance of you isn’t with him. Will literally drag or carry you to the couch so he can take a nap. You don’t have to nap with him, just lay next to him and stroke his hair

✧ Apart from Moments, you’re the only one he’s following on all socials

✧ Always responds with a stream of texts in all caps and several emojis when you send him a selfie 

✧ His biggest artistic aspiration is to find just the right pigments/colours that encapsulates you. Next is finding a colour palette that encapsulates both of you 

✧ Used to think you were mocking him when you took him on aquarium dates

✧ Your pearl engagement ring was made from the tears he cried while drafting his proposal speech [x]

NSFW

✧ Next to Sylus, he’s a comfort king. Making sure you have enough pillows underneath you during missionary; repositioning you when he notices your head leaning off the edge of the bed; several consent check ins; "my hands aren't too cold, right?"; taking over when your legs start to tire out from riding him, etc

✧ Unpopular opinion, I think he’s the most into period sex out of the five. You really think a MERMAN is scared of the red sea???

✧ Speaking of which, he’s extra sensitive to your scent and the way you feel when you’re on your cycle. Though he won’t necessarily initiate anything 

✧ Has you take the week off for Ebb Day. You’ll need the extra down time and he’s more than happy to spend the rest the week caring for you till you're back in good health

✧ On particularly intense— passionate rounds, he starts swearing/speaking in Lumerian

✧ Pretty gentle with you when you go down on him. He’s usually holding your hair back, softly running his fingers through your strands or caressing the back of your neck 

✧ The biggest tease when he’s eating you out and MEAN about it too. Giggling when you mewl. That annoying "mmm?” when you start to get louder. "Speak up, cutie."

✧ Best stroke game. Ik I said this last time, but I’m dying on this hill. Dizzying backshots, frontshots, sideshots— literally whatever position you’re in, his hips are steady, fluid, and unrelenting

ꨄ︎ A/N: Thanks for reading 🤍 these lists were a bit harder to make this time ngl. Quite a few bullets from pt. I are now canon— which I’m happy about ofc, but it made it harder to bounce around new ideas since there’s fewer “what ifs”. It’s probably best to end this series here tbh. But I’m definitely open to different content suggestions to post next!

[x] - denotes credit for headcanon inspo.

⤠ dividers by saradika-graphics & anitalenia

[lis-likes-fics]

Casual

Pairing: bff!Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 12.3k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, protected sex (birth control), virginity loss, friends with benefits, Eddie talks you through it, constant consent, humor during sex, Eddie calls you "mama" but no mommy kink, fondling, slight hair pulling, oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, a million different positions, slight edging?, L-bombs but not romantically, swearing... A/N: So I wrote this as a best friends with benefits thing and not a best friends to lovers, but the line gets blurry sometimes with besties. I really fucking loved this one because they're like...they literally never stop being besties, they're so fucking dumb, I love them. So yeah, this is platonic in the least platonic way possible, and I love that for them. Thank you so much and enjoy! A/N #2: While I was writing the first author's note, my typing kept popping my ears. *cries in adhd like a little bitch*

Eddie finds you in his bedroom doorway moments after hearing the front door close. He half expected Wayne to be coming back home early from work, but that didn’t make sense because he only left an hour ago and he probably would have called ahead.

But, no. You stand there with damp hair from a fresh shower and dressed down in some shirt you stole from his drawer and pajama pants. He raises a brow. He hadn’t been expecting you, but he isn’t surprised in the slightest. He doesn’t even bother to move from his spot, leaning back on his bed with an arm behind his head and a book in his hand.

“Hey, there,” he mumbles.

You stare at him for a while, saying absolutely nothing. You don’t seem particularly pleased. He stares back. Neither of you move.

“I’m upset,” you finally say, still staring, still standing.

If Eddie’s remembering correctly, you’re supposed to be out on a date. So hearing that you’re upset isn’t necessarily pleasing to him. Judging by the time, you should have had a very entertaining night. But apparently not.

He’s the first to move as he lets his book fall down to his lap. “Why?”

You think for a moment and then drop your stuff at his door, walking inside as you use your foot to close the door. There’s a long pause between speaking, as you use it to walk around his room and look at all of his stuff. “It’s sort of embarrassing.” You pick up a random pepper shaker on his desk, swirling it around and then turning on your heel to look at him.

He’s got his head tilted to his shoulder with a look on his face that reads “seriously?”. He sits up, lifting a brow. “I’ve seen and learned a lot about you since we became friends, so I doubt there’s anything you could do or say to embarrass yourself in front of me.”

You roll your eyes, licking your lips as you set the pepper shaker down again. “Okay, well…” you trail out, trying to decide how you want to tell him. “You know how I had that date?”

He puts his book away, crossing his legs and leaning back on his elbows. “The drive in?”

“The drive in.”

“What about it?”

“Well…” you sigh. “Okay, so…” You lick your bottom lip, trying to form the words. You’re never shy in front of him, so there must be something wrong. You chew on your lip, thinking to yourself with a heavy sigh. You plop down onto the bed next to him. “God, so, we got there and the movie was fine and whatever–” you roll your eyes, “–and we watched most of it but at some point, we started, like, kissing, and whatever, right?”

Eddie shrugs, laying back to stare at the ceiling as you continue to recount your night. “Yeah.”

“And it got a little…”

He raises a hand to prompt you, “Hot and heavy?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your lap where you fiddle with your fingers. “So we drove away somewhere more…more private?”

He looks at you, sitting back up enough to fully see your face as he smirks lightly. He gives you this devilish look that makes you want to hit him. “Did you...?”

You nod a little. “Yeah.”

Swallowing thickly, you watch his face shift as he takes in your demeanor. His head slumps to one side, his smirk falling off his face. “Oh…” he mumbles. “How do you feel?”

You stare at him. He can see you mulling over your response as you struggle to find the right words. Despite yourself, you feel a knot tying itself in your throat. You force it down and away, pretending it’s not there and hoping it’ll help. And it does…for now, at least.

“I’m upset.”

He cringes a little, lifting an arm to give you a place to lean into him. “That bad?”

You bury your face in his shoulder and pout. “Yeah.” You pull away suddenly. “I mean, I know everyone’s first time sucks ass and whatever, but, like…” You drop your head in your hands, wiping at your face as you find yourself glad for washing your makeup off earlier. “Eddie, I didn’t even…”

He almost seems offended. He doesn’t care about announcing it because you’re alone and also it’s outrageous. “You didn’t cum?”

“No!” you exclaim. “I…faked it.” You’re almost disgusted with yourself for it. It sort of just happened in the moment. He was clumsy in trying to get you there, but it wasn’t working. You just wanted to end it off and move on, so you just…made the sounds and the faces. He seemed pleased enough. “I feel kinda bad. I mean, he was sweet and all, and he, like… He tried, but…”

His question is crude with as little hesitation as humanly possible. Again, he doesn’t care about being awkward or guarded because you’re his best friend, and you’ve talked about worse, and there’s no filter with you. “How big was he?”

“Eddie, what?” Usually you wouldn’t mind his brashness, but you’re still trying to get over the events of a couple hours ago.

“Honest question,” he shrugs. “I just wanna know. Was he like…” he lifts his hand, squinting his eyes and hunching over and pinching his fingers together, “little?”

You shrug. His bluntness is rubbing off on you. You feel a little less awkward and you hunch a little less. “He was fine…just a little too…short? To reach?”

He makes a face, like he’s shocked and disgusted. He looks you up and down almost like it’s your dick. “That’s rough,” he says. “How many times did he cum?”

“Why do you assume he came?” you raise a brow.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Please, guys always cum.”

You roll your own eyes and push yourself off the bed. You’re roaming his room again as you mess with all of his stuff. You open his drawer and ruffle through his unfolded clothes, you pick up empty beer cans and turn up your nose at the smell, you strum the strings of his acoustic. You do all of this instead of looking at him when you answer. “Twice.”

“Oh.” You fake disgust when he looks at you, smirking and bobbing his brows at you. “You must’ve been really fuckin’ nice.” He makes this weird growling sound, and the “ew” that comes out of you is guttural. He snorts happily, and then his humor is gone as he deadpans, “Or he’s a lightweight. Did he cum inside?”

You’re sick of him.

You shake your head. “I made him wrap it.”

“Aren’t you on the pill?”

“Yeah.” He hums.

He watches you lean back against his desk, looking at this weird mask he had just sitting among the chaos. You move it around in your hands and force down the heat in your throat at the recounting going on in your head. Swallowing it down is a hard task that ultimately fails as he watches you begin to choke on the unshed tears.

He sighs, his chest warm with a bitter emotion as he watches your waterline threaten to spill over. “Oh, c’mere.” He stands from the bed, opening his arms wide to pull you into a bone crushing hug. It’s warm and it hurts and it feels so nice. He smells like he always does, green apple shampoo stolen from your house and cheap cologne and cigarettes. It’s a nice smell.

“I guess I like…I don’t know, I expected a little more. It was…really disappointing.” A couple of tears manage to get past you, and it pisses you off but you’re already over it. “I wanted…to get rid of it, and now it’s gone but it doesn’t feel like anything’s changed, but it also feels like everything’s changed, but not in a good way.”

He rubs your back, listening to you as you need him to listen. “I’m sorry,” he mutters when you stop. He sets his chin atop your head after a kiss to your forehead. Part of him wants to square up with the dude you went out with, but he sets that urge to the side in order to comfort you. “That fuckin’ sucks, and you deserve so much more.”

After a moment, you pull away from him, wiping at your face with a huff. “It’s stupid.”

“S’not stupid.”

You don’t argue, you just throw yourself onto his bed, laying flat on your back with your arms and legs spread so wide that you take up nearly all the space left. Eddie watches you lay there with your eyes closed and your breath slowed. He thinks you’re really pretty, especially right now with you wearing his shirt. He almost hates himself for thinking to ask–

“Look, it might be…creepy and weird to ask and—Jesus, if I’m being creepy, I want you to fuckin’ punch me s hard as you can—but, shit, maybe I should shut up.”

His rambling is cut off by you, still lounging on his bed. You haven’t moved, your eyes are still closed. You don’t seem fazed at all by his awkwardness. “What are you about to ask me, Ed?”

He sighs, sitting next to you with his foot shoved underneath him. He sets his hand on your thigh. You still don’t move, used to his touchy-communication. “What happened tonight fuckin’ sucks–”

“You say ‘sucks’ a lot.”

“It’s a nice word.”

You peek at him through one opened eyes. “You’re weird.”

“Nevertheless–” You laugh. He watches your belly tense as you do it, rolling over to sit up and witness his fumbling with opened eyes. “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted…”

You laugh again, and he’s happy he could do that for you, especially after your rough night. You’re happy you could ease his worries, because he was being awkward, and Eddie isn’t usually awkward with you, and you know he likes your stupid jokes.

He takes a breath and starts again. “What happened sucks, and—only if you want to—I would be willing—if you’re comfortable—to…fix it for you.”

You raise a confused brow, less confused and more vaguely unbelieving. “Fix it…for me?” you echo.

He shrugs. “I don’t like when you cry, and I want to make you feel better. I’m not a total expert on sex, but I think I know my way around it pretty well.” He puts his hands together like he’s going to pray and points them toward you. “If you want…I can help.”

You raise a brow and stifle the smirk threatening to grace your lips, ready to tease him in order to push down the flush of heat rushing through you. “You wanna fuck me.”

He raises his hands. “I want to fuck you if you want me to fuck you. To help. But I’d love to fuck you… if you want…me to fuck you.” There’s a pause. “Maybe.”

You look away, scratching your head in thought. “Since when have you wanted to fuck me?”

He smacks a hand down onto your thigh just to do it. “Babe, it’s always been on the table. All you had to do was ask.” Whore.

You roll your eyes for the millionth time. “You’re such a guy.”

He shrugs like he doesn’t care at all. “Like I said, guys always cum.”

You raise a brow at him, shoving his hand off your knee to stand again. You jab an accusatory finger into his chest. “Is that to insinuate that you’ve cum thinking about me?”

“I– Okay, I did not– Listen here, you little shit.”

You laugh out loud, still pointing at him to make fun. “I’m kidding!” He fake laughs, and you return the favor by tilting your head and questioning him further. “But have you?”

To avoid it being awkward, he just shrugs nonchalantly and answers the question. “A couple times.” It works, even though you flush at the answer.

“What? That is so weird!”

“That is not weird.” He hopes you ignore the way his cheeks turn pink, powering through it with more brashness and more jokes. “It is completely normal to think of your best friend when you’re cranking one out.”

You shake your head definitely. “No, it’s not.”

He challenges you. “Have you ever cum thinking about me?”

Without turning your head, you glance away from him. “I don’t think that makes it normal.”

“So you have, is what I’m hearing.” You turn to him quickly, raising a finger as you try to speak over his ad libbing. He thinks he’s really funny, and it’s gonna make you scream.

“Listen–”

“Listening.”

You huff, glancing away and then looking back at him. Well, not really him, but the ends of his hair over his shoulders. “Maybe once or twice…” you shrug, “Maybe even thrice, but that’s not–”

“You little freak!” He points his finger at you, his whole face wide with amusement.

“Hey– Be nice to me. Or I’ll cry. You don’t like it when I cry.” You pout to give him a preview. You’re sure you could summon more tears if you really need to…

“You’re evil,” he shakes his head, looking up at you with a huge grin.

You bob your brows. “Yes, I am.”

He surprises you. In the next moment, his arms are wrapped around your midsection, and your feet lift off the ground. He takes you in his hold and turns you until you’re being slammed into the bed. You laugh as you bounce, squirming around to push him off of you as he pins you under his weight. Both of you are giddy with the amusement, laughing at each other and playing along with the other’s fun.

When you open your eyes and the laughter dies down, you realize that he’s actually pinning you to the bed. It sobers you up almost immediately, and you realize that he’s really close. He could kiss you right now if he really wanted to. You notice the exact moment he realizes it, too.

You gulp and take a breath for courage. Your voice is small—awkward—but it’s okay because he’s your best friend. “You can…” you mumble. “You can help, if you want to help.”

His eyes glance at your lips, and then he raises both his brows as he looks back at you. “You want me to?”

You nod, trying not to hold your breath to avoid dulling the charged air between you. “Yes, I want you to.”

He tilts his head and the tips of his hair tickles your cheek. “Is it because I have you pinned?”

“It helps.”

Eddie backs off of you, sitting back on his bed to allow you to sit back up. You do, crossing your legs underneath you. He thinks for a moment, watching you as he does. There’s a long pause where the both of you contemplate something, unsure if the other has the same thing in mind.

“Before we do anything,” he breaks the silence carefully and articulately, and you can see the moment that all his seriosity has set in, “I need explicit permission. And you gotta let me know how you’re feeling. I don’t wanna do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

You listen intently, nodding along as he lays down the rules. “Okay,” you say.

He tilts his head toward you, looking up at you through his bangs. His brown eyes are so pretty. You’ve always thought so. They’re so warm and loving, just like him. It’s the reason you became his friend in the first place: because he’s warm and loving. “S0?” he prompts, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You take in a deep breath and smile, lifting a hand and slowly setting it on his own. “I want you to have sex with me, Eddie.”

He visibly shudders, and you think he’s a sucker. Technically, he is, but whatever. “Jesus,” he mutters, running his free hand through his hair. Then he smacks yours away, and your chuckle turns into a snort. He always knows how to make you comfortable. “Okay.”

You turn your body to face him, clearing your throat. “So… How do we…?”

“Okay, so…” He makes a “shoo” motion with his hands, so you get confused and raise a brow. You slowly and hesitantly lean back onto your elbows, staring at him with all the silent questions you can muster. He rolls his eyes. “No, get up. Sit over there, whore.”

You roll your eyes at him in return, moving to sit at the head of his bed with your legs crossed in front of you. Playfully, he rolls his eyes yet again and shakes his head at you like he’s disappointed. Eddie turns to lounge across the foot of the bed, propping himself up on his elbow. “First, I want you to walk me through everything he did.”

“Okay,” you mumble, thinking back to what happened in that car. “Well, he kissed me. We made out for a bit, and then he pulled me into his lap.” You only glance at him as you speak, but he’s so nice about it that you don’t feel so weird talking to him about being poorly fucked. “And he took off my shirt. He was, like, moving my hips and stuff.”

“Okay.” He listens so closely. His full attention is on you and only you, and it feels nice.

“Then he, uh, he played with my nipples. You motion vaguely to your chest.

“Did he use his mouth?” he questions gently.

“Mhm.”

He shakes his head then. He’s still gentle but his tone leaves no room for argument. “You gotta say yes or no, sweetheart, or I’m not touchin’ you.”

That’s fair enough. “Yes.”

“And it felt good?”

“Yes.” It almost sounds like a question, but he understands what you mean.

“Okay,” he gestures toward you. “What else did he do?”

You think for a moment. It’s already becoming a little fuzzy as your mind becomes distracted by the thought of Eddie, your sweet, idiot Eddie, doing these things to you and making it feel good.

This is the same boy you’ve seen fall out of his van because he tripped on the step and totally ate shit hitting the ground. This is the same boy you’ve seen stuffing his face with marshmallows because he was dared to by Mike and Dustin, and he was trying to prove that he could do more than they originally dared for him.

This is also the same boy you’ve seen absolutely shred his guitar with some fingering skills you’ve been envious of. And the same boy who’s seen you cry a million times and wiped away all the tears with plenty of jokes and compliments and threats of violence as were humanly possible. If there’s anyone who can make you feel good, it’s him.

You shake the thoughts away in order to get them straight. “He laid me down on the seat,” you remember, “and took off his pants and stuff.” You don’t really need the “and stuff” but it does make it a little easier…for some reason.

He furrows his brow in question, tilting his head like he’s grossed out all of a sudden. “Okay?”

“And then he…” you stare at his Dio poster across the room, “put it inside.”

He lifts his lip in disgust. He’s done that a lot tonight in response to this guy. “That’s it?” he asks with more distaste than you thought possible.

“What do you mean?” you furrow your own brow this time.

“Baby,” he says effortlessly, like he’s said it a million times before (because he has), “there wasn’t even foreplay.” He sits up, “No wonder you didn’t get off, girls need foreplay. Guys don’t need shit. We just think about tits, and we’re hard.” He shrugs, “I’m thinking about tits right now. Hard as a rock.”

The face you make transcends the rolling of the eyes or the upturn of a lip as you scoff. “Eddie–”

“You gotta be built up,” he continues, brushing past his comment like he never said it to begin with. You consider his words, taking them as the truth because he knows way more about sex than you would. He’s no prodigy, maybe, but you’re barely out of your virginity, so he’s got more advantage than you. “Did you blow him?”

You glance up, a bitter tone in your words as you mutter the first part, “Between positions… yeah.”

You don’t think “disgust” fits anymore. He’s just annoyed and entirely displeased. “You blew him, and he didn’t blow you?”

“I thought the term was ‘eat me out’.”

He shrugs a shoulder absently. “Symmetry.”

You airquote your response. “Okay, ‘symmetry’.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes,” you reply finally, still tasting traces of your toothpaste in your mouth. “I blew him, but he didn’t blow me.”

Eddie makes a guttural sound to try to properly express the amount of offense he takes to this. “You know what, fuck this guy.” He leans forward, placing both his hands on your knees and holding them there as he stares at you with those big, brown eyes of his. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I got you now.”

It’s easy to take humor from that to avoid dealing with the arousal it sends through you. “You’re real confident.”

He’s not pulling back on anything, he has no reason to. He somehow becomes more intense as he effortlessly response, “Because I’m gonna fuckin’ eat you out like my life depends on it.”

“I–” There’s no way you can respond to that. “Oh. Uhm.” Your mind is immediately a jumbled mess of fantasies and incoherent words and more fantasies. There’s a heat between your thighs and an anticipation in your belly that makes it difficult to think.

“Relax,” he catches your sudden daze. He pats your thigh like it’s just something that he does and not a preface to him pulling them apart and having a feast. “You’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

He gets up, stretching his arms high over his head to pop his back. You can’t help the way your eyes fall to the slip of his belly, spying a tattoo hidden away there underneath his shirt. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” He eyes you. “You don’t need any infections.”

You turn your lip up because you think he’s disgusting. “That’s gross, Eddie.”

He points at you. “But considerate.”

You get up specifically to push him away from you. “Go shower, you dirty whore.”

He winks at you. “Yes, mama.” You don’t know how to respond to that. “Get comfy, I’ll be out in a bit.”

You swallow thickly, trying not to dissolve into some pathetic puddle because he called you “Mama”. You’ve never been into that before, and all of a sudden, you can’t get the sound of it out of your head. He’s already long gone, leaving you alone in his room as you sit on his bed to wait for him.

You’re a total goner, you’re sure.

~

You’re going through more of his stuff by the time he comes out of the shower. You glance over your shoulder at him after the door closes, and you’re almost surprised by what you find.

It’s not like you haven’t seen Eddie shirtless before. The sight isn’t unusual to you, but given the context and the way his sweatpants hang low on his waist, giving the perfect view of his gentle V-line, his soft tummy. It’s a mouthwatering sight, and it’s taking everything to look away.

His hair is still dripping. The dampness is giving his curls a gentle shine in the lamp light in the room. He rubs his towel haphazardly through his hair as he speaks. “I know I’m gonna take them off anyway, but–”

He stops short when he finally looks up to see you. You’re rummaging through his drawers like the little thief that you are, your hand stopped somewhere in the second drawer in favor of watching him. But that’s not what makes him pause. It’s the fact that you’re in one of his shirts, one that goes down past the curve of your ass and stops short before even reaching your mid-thigh. Your legs are bare—you’ve discarded all your other clothes somewhere in the room and left yourself in some underwear and his shirt.

He always knew you were sexy. As your closest friend, it’s his duty to know how sexy you are, but this is another level and he doesn’t understand why.

Instead of pointing out the fact that his sweatpants are growing a sudden bulge, he gestures to the shirt. “Are you gonna steal that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He scratches the back of his neck, tossing his towel onto a chair stuffed in the corner of his room. It’s stacked high with clean laundry that he never got around to. He pays no mind to it when the towel and a couple of clothes fall to the floor immediately after.

Eddie takes a breath before he looks back at you. “C’mere,” he mumbles, raising a finger to make a come hither motion. You listen to him, walking over to stand in his space. Your hands rest at his sides because you always rest your hands at his sides, and, naturally, he holds you back.

“Remember,” he begins in a quiet voice (or as quiet as Eddie can be), “you gotta use your words. I gotta know if I’m hurting you, or I’m doing too much or too little.” His thumbs stroke your elbows. “You know your body better than anyone, but I’m gonna do my best to know it even more than that.”

You chuckle playfully. “Okay.”

“And you definitely, definitely have to let me know when I’m doing something right.”

“So you’ll keep doing it?” you guess.

He shakes his head and says in a flat voice, “No, to stroke my ego.”

You roll your eyes, and your humor is interrupted by his hand lifting to touch your cheek. You lean into it because his hands are warm. “You still wanna do this?” He’s completely serious, and a little nervous now as he looks at you.

You nod, raising one hand to wrap around the back of his neck. “I trust you, Eddie.”

He nods, mostly to himself. “Good. That’s good.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “That’s great,” he raises his brows. Then he sighs, glancing away from your intense gaze. “Let’s hope I don’t fall in love with you or something, or you’ll be getting your back blown out every night and twice on Sundays. Jesus H. Christ.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head at his ridiculousness, almost forgetting that he’s probably completely serious and you are about to fuck as you play into your banter. “You’re so–”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. You’re cut off by Eddie’s lips engulfing your own, warm and soft and really nice against your own. You let out a long breath, pulling him closer by the back of his neck as he takes a step forward into your space.

To be completely honest, you’ve kissed Eddie before. You’ve kissed him on a dare, you kissed him to trick people into thinking you’re dating. Hell—he was your first kiss because you and some friends were screwing around and then you happened to be picked to be locked in a closet for seven minutes because you were at a stupid party playing stupid games.

So the sensation isn’t completely new, but the making out part is. Eddie is a really good kisser.

When he pulls away, you aren’t really expecting it. He seems pleased by your daze as he bobs his brows. “So what?”

Instead of answering him, as you’ve forgotten what you were going to say, you kissed him again. It’s really nice, kissing someone. It’s nice to be this close, to breathe each other’s air, to taste each other’s lips. His tongue grazes your top lip, and you lean into it, because you trust him and it’s nice.

Eddie keeps you pulled close against his body as he starts stepping forward, keeping you from tripping as he does. The back of your knees hits the bed, and you hold on too tightly as you feel yourself falling backwards. You laugh when you fall back onto the bed with his weight on top of you. He laughs with you, “You’re okay, mama.”

He silences you with his mouth again, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his. He likes it just as much as you. Between that and his little pet name, your mind is swimming and your heart is racing. When he pulls away, it’s only to press his lips to the skin of your neck, suckling and nipping gently at the flesh as he does. You close your eyes, your fingers happily tangled in his hair as you keep him close.

“Mama,” you mutter under your breath, seeing just how much you like it as he nips at your neck. “I like that.”

You can feel him smiling against your skin. “Yeah? Want me to keep using it?”

You nod, “Yeah.” A hum echoes in your chest as he wraps his hands around your sides, lifting you a bit just to put you farther up the bed. He crawls on top of you, one of his knees settled between your legs as his hand caresses your side.

Your breath becomes thin when his hand smooths underneath his shirt, feeling the softness of your skin with a quiet breath. His palm stops at your belly as he slips the very tips of his fingers to rest underneath your breasts, feeling just how warm you are.

“Good?” he mutters, taking your earlobe so gently between his teeth and letting it go.

You nod, your eyes heavy like they’re glued down with sap. “Mhmm,” you breathe.

“Yes or no, mama?” he reminds you, gently kissing your lips.

“Yes.”

He smiles, rewarding you with another kiss as he whispers against your lips. “Good girl.”

You don’t have time to think about that right now. It’s too nice, too fuzzy. It sends a warm flush straight to the pit of your stomach and makes your breath hitch. Eddie knows and adds it to the list of things you like for tonight.

The slightest whimper slips from your lips when you feel his warm fingers reach up to brush your breast, gently groping you as he plays with your peaking nipples. He hikes your shirt all the way up until your bare chest is revealed to him, and he takes them in with an appreciative breath before leaning down to take one between his lips.

It’s much different than the guy before him. Eddie’s deliberate, licking and sucking and so, so gently nipping the bud. It sends a strange sensation through you, lighting every nerve ending and making it impossible to think straight as you keep your fingers tangled in his hair. You keep him close. It feels too good to do anything else.

You speak between breaths, your heavy eyelids and sticky lips working against your attempts to speak. “You’ve seriously cum to the thought of me?” you wonder, whimpering when his other hand comes up to pinch your other nipple between the pads of his fingers.

“Yeah,” he mutters, sucking harshly and making you gasp.

“Why?” you ask, making an attempt at playfulness between the haze of his ministrations. “Am I that irresistible?”

With only seriousness, Eddie looks up at you, letting his fingers take over in teasing you. “Yeah.”

Your grin falters, almost not expecting his answer—or at least the amount of honesty in it. “Wait, really? You’re not just buttering me up?”

He makes a face, a confused one that flatters you more than anything else. “No? You’re fucking sexy as shit.” He tilts his head, “You think I’m lying when I tell you that?” Eddie’s hand smooths down your side, gripping your hip as he goes.

You shake your head, bringing your knee up and sighing gently when his hand slides over the round of your ass. “You don’t have any weird feelings for me, do you?”

He pinches you, and you squirm away from him giddily. “Mama, I’m in love with you, but not like that.” He gently makes your side. “Now stop talking to me. It’s hard to kiss you if I’m talking.”

You chuckle. “Yes, si-”

Your words are interrupted by a tiny moan when his fingers graze the mound of your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. Your back arches just slightly, the ticklish feeling making quick work of scouring your body.

“Does that feel good?” he wonders quietly.

You nod and bite down hard on your lip. The anticipation of it is eating you up. “Yes.”

“Good,” he lilts, continuing to brush his middle finger up and down the length of your panties until he’s pulling them to the side just enough to see you. Eddie licks his lips, leaning in to kiss your belly. You’re weak against him, trying not to cant your hips up into him and deter his work.

His finger caresses your folds through the bit of slick that had begun to gather there. “You feel the difference?” he asks between kisses.

“Yes.” Your voice is a squeak, and he seems quite proud of himself for making it that way.

“I’m gonna take these off, okay?” he says. “Then I’m going to put my mouth on you. You’ll let me know if I’m doing too much, right?”

You nod. “Yes, Eddie.”

He smiles, “Thanks, mama.” He feels the way you react to that, the slightest flutter of your folds. He sits up just to allow him the access to slip your underwear down your legs. The little, flimsy material comes right off. He drops it to the ground and comes to kneel in front of the bed. You hold your breath when his hands close around your waist, pulling you down to the edge to bring you that much closer to his face.

Instinctively, you close your thighs. It’s hard to will them to open and stay that way with the way his warm breath fans over your skin, his hands touch your body, his eyes stay glued to your own, constantly asking for consent.

You think he’s going to say something smart, smirk at you and chuckle at your shyness. But he does. Instead, he just gives you a calming look and asks, “You still okay, mama? You wanna stop?”

You let out a gentle breath, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay.” You chew on your bottom lip. “Just not used to this.”

“That’s okay,” he reassures. His kindness is honestly making your arousal worse. You feel like you’re going to start shaking if he pulls away from you. “Can I open your legs?”

You nod. “Please.”

He nods back, kissing your knee and smoothing his hands down your thighs, one on each side. The hand on the inside of your thigh dips so slowly between yours, seating deep between them until he’s slowly pulling them apart. The sound your thighs make when he opens them is lewd, it’s the quiet schlick sound that comes from the arousal that seeped out of you. You start to feel embarrassed, but then he sighs like he’s so relieved to see it.

“Tell me why you’re so fucking pretty,” he shakes his head. Your thighs are itching to close as you watch him lean in, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh, just to kiss you. You bite your lip, nervous and so ready.

But then he stands. “Give me a second,” he says, walking away from you as his hands slide off your thighs. You sit up higher on your elbows, watching in confusion and slight annoyance as he leaves you on the bed.

“Eddie,” you call while he walks to his dresser.

“Hang on,” he smiles. “Jesus.” He does that thing where his tongue sticks out over his bottom lip as he sorts through the junk on his desk. “Not leavin’. Just lookin’ for something,” he mutters.

You fall back on the bed, willing your heart to calm. He makes a sound of success, turning back on his heel to get back to you. You look at him and watch as he cards his fingers through his hair. He pulls it back into a ponytail, wrapping a hair tie around it to make a messy bun.

You flush at the sight because not even a moment later, he’s on his knees again right between yours. “You can’t be serious,” you say.

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he replies, looking at you excitedly. His hands land on your thighs again, keeping them spread apart as he pulls you again to the very edge of the bed. “I’d say hold on tight, but there’s nothing to hold onto so… Enjoy!”

He dives between your thighs, and the heat of his mouth latches onto your pussy. Your mouth slips open and a deep moan rumbles out of you. Your thighs close around his head as you feel his tongue licking at you, lapping at your folds as he delves between them.

“Eddie,” you call, one of your hands reaching down to touch the top of his head, trying to find some purchase at his hair. His tongue swirls around your clit, and you’re a total goner when his lips close around it and suck. You mewl at the unfamiliar feeling, enjoying every bit of it with an immense amount of pleasure.

You’d expected him to go slow, hesitant little licks against your folds as he worries about overwhelming you. But this is not that. It’s hot and heavy with deep strokes of his tongue and the tiniest nips of his teeth. There’s no way to keep yourself calm. Your hips are tilting up into his mouth, meaning he has to hold you down with his arms wrapped around your thighs.

Eddie seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. He moans into you, heavy breaths fanning over your skin as he eats you out “like his life depends on it”. Your open-mouthed moans encourage him, especially when you say his name in this high-pitched gasp and slam your eyes shut. Your ankles hook behind him, pulling him in closer.

Eddie’s making the most obscene sounds—sounds worse than what you’re making. He slurps and laps at you like a dog drinking water. You’d call him a whore again if you could think of humor at the moment, but the only thing you want to tell him is to keep going and never stop.

When he pulls his mouth off of you, you whine. He smiles, knowing he’s doing a good job as he shushes you gently. “It’s okay, I’m not stopping,” he says. In the next moment, you feel his hand cup your pussy. “I’m gonna put my fingers inside of you. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Please, Eddie.”

His fingers tease your entrance, though you don’t think he means to. He looks at you as he prods a finger at the seam of your cunt, slowly pushing it in until they part around him. A short “ah” sound is what he hears as he presses his finger inside of you, moving slowly until he’s got it all the way in. “Good?” he checks, the slightest thrusts moving in and out of you as he does.

Your nods are becoming insistent. “Yes, Eddie.”

“You want more, mama?”

“Yes, please.” He loves how polite you are. You’re usually so mean—though, he loves that about you, too. It just means you love him.

He sets a steady rhythm, one that’s still slow as he focuses in on your face, the way it shifts and squints at every little push of his thick finger. It feels really nice, the way he takes his time with you, making sure you feel everything he gives you.

“M’gonna add another. You ready?”

“Yeah.” He rewards you with a second finger, pushing it inside along the first and stretching you out for him some more. He thrusts them in and out, a slow and steady motion slowly building as he massages those inner parts of you. He curls them, and they press against a spongy point inside of you that has you rolling your eyes. “That feels good, Eddie. Don’t stop.”

He smiles at your initiative, giving you what you want with as much enthusiasm as you give in wanting it. He leans in, his tongue darting out to lick at your pussy. You’re wetting his fingers so nicely, making it so easy to slip them in and out of you.

His lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks on it while you whine, while his fingers curl inside of you with every intent of coaxing an orgasm out of you. Little ramblings fall from your tongue as you grind against his. He's greedy in the way he licks around his fingers, over your clit, tasting your arousal as it seeps out of you.

A knot is tightening in your belly. Your hips reach for him with each little nuance of his skilled fingers as you seek out the release he's promising you.

His name comes out as a moan on your tongue. If either of you hadn't been so preoccupied, he would have made fun of you for it. Instead, you're spread out on his bed with his fingers inside of you, a moment away from cumming on his mouth.

Your hips try to lift up into him as you get closer and closer. He holds you down with one arm, his lips and tongue and prodding fingers working in tandem to taste you.

Your ankles hook behind his head as your back arches off the bed. “Eddie,” you whisper. He feels the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his tongue becoming more insistent in the way it flicks and laps at your clit.

He makes these sounds of encouragement, humming and mhm-ing into you as he goes. Your release is like a burst in your belly, it starts there and swarms into your legs, your chest, the base of your being. Eddie’s tongue keeps licking and lapping at you as your back arches off the bed and your legs tighten around his head. You moan his name as white noise erupts in your ears, the distant murmuring of his words muffled as you try to cope with the pleasure that has begun to set every nerve ending on a wild fritz.

Eddie seems more enthused than anything else by your orgasm. Both his arms wrap around your thighs and hold you down. He actually stands, bending at the way to get closer as he longs to taste all the slick and arousal that leaks out of you. As he sucks on your clit and hums at the way that you taste, you grip his hair and pull him in closer.

But there’s a point where you think you might die if he touches you any more. There’s a gasp in your chest that rips its way out as you push him away from your fluttering pussy as kindly as possible. He leans in again, just for a moment, before he registers your body pulling away from him, notices the way your thighs unclench and your fingers loosen from his hair and your moans and gasps of his name turn into weak whimpers and grunts.

“Fuck,” you huff as you lay back on his bed. You turn onto your belly, crawling up his bed and collapsing into his pillows that spell like him. He watches, licking his lips and wiping his face with a smile.

“I was right,” you mumble, feeling your body coming down like you're floating back to the ground.

“About what?” You feel the bed dip next to you where Eddie sits down. Then you feel him lay back, his head laid out on your thighs.

“You're a whore.”

He rolls his eyes, smacking your leg with the back of his hand. “You liked it.”

“Doesn't mean you're not a whore,” you say. “Just means you're a good one.”

He sits up, moving over you so he's caging you in. His hair has come mostly undone by now, and it's more of a mess due to your insistence on how wonderful he is. His guitar pick hangs down in your face. Your eyes cross and uncross trying to watch it dangle.

“Well, if I'm a whore,” he bends down, his soft lips pressing into your neck as your lashes flutter, “then I'm gonna charge you. It's three dollars a minute.”

You chuckle. “Well, guess what?” He hums. “I'm poor, so no.”

He breathes in through his teeth, shaking his head. “Then I guess you'll have to work it off.”

You try not to be too timid as you press your fingertips to his chest, guiding him back so he's sitting up. You move onto your knees, pulling your arms around his shoulders and relishing his hands on your waist.

“That shouldn't be too hard,” you mutter. You are timid when you lean into him, testing the air between you to make sure it's okay that you kiss him.

When you still haven't made any contact, he nudges your nose with his. “C’mon,” he goads, his lips sticky when he speaks with all the familiar affection between you.

Your lip quirks a bit at his humor. You kiss him, biting his top lip just to confuse him. He laughs and you consider your goal achieved. You run a hand down the center of his bare chest, pausing at the base of his belly to tease the light happy trail disappearing into his sweatpants.

You slip your hand just underneath the waistband of his pants, tickling his skin as your fingers brush the base of his length hiding poorly behind the fabric. He flinches slightly from your touch, chuckling lightly as his hand comes to cup your elbow.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask suddenly, slightly startled by his reaction.

He shakes his head. “No, mama. You just surprised me.”

“Okay,” you murmur, your timid fingers slowly attempting to try again. But he just shakes his head.

“This isn’t for me. This is for you,” he says, pulling back enough to see you.

“Yeah, but,” you lick your bottom lip, “I wanna make sure you’re enjoying yourself, too.”

He licks his own lips as if to remind you that they were just wrapped around your sensitive cunt. “Trust me, I am thoroughly enjoying myself, mama.”

Your finger hooks around the waistband of his sweatpants, a slight pout arising from your face. “Can you take ‘em off, at least?”

His hands are already pulling them down his legs as he teases you. “So needy.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” Your response falls short. As soon as the last word leaves your mouth, his cock springs from its loose confines and reveals itself.

You flush at the sight of him. You’re not a cock-hungry whore or anything—but if you were one, you think his dick would be a perfect subject for it. It’s not like he has this perfect cock that was hand-crafted by the gods or anything. But you think it’s safe to say that calling Eddie a freak is a valid name.

He’s long, freakishly so. He’s got a nice girth to him, you think, but you don’t know if he’s going all the way in—but, of course, you could be exaggerating. You’ve seen two cocks in your entire life, and Eddie’s is one of them and, admittedly, the better of the two. He will definitely reach.

“What the fuck, Eddie?” you look up at him.

“What?” His face falls slightly, his eyes widening just a bit as he wonders if your comment was good or bad. “What’s wrong?”

“How the hell do you fit that thing in your pants?” You shake your head. “Like, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He just shrugs, but he’s a little relieved that you’re just being his asshole and not just some asshole. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

“How is it supposed to fit inside of me? What is that, like a foot long?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m flattered—really, I am—but it, most definitely, is not a foot.” He looks down at the erection between his legs. The tip is flushed, and it kind of looks like it hurts. “Seven and a half.”

“What the fuck?” you whisper under your breath. You reach down, brushing your fingers over the tip. He gasps through his teeth, and you watch the way it kicks up in response. “Sorry,” you tell him, ignoring the amusement in your chest. It reminds you of a spring, the comedic kind that goes “boing!”.

“S’okay,” he murmurs. He lifts a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb over the rise of it as he asks gently and genuinely, “You still wanna go?”

You nod, “Yeah. That monster isn’t gonna scare me away.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not that big.”

You shrug. “You know, I heard Harrington’s like that big, nine inches.” You make a circle with your hand, moving it up and down like you’re jerking it off. “You think it’s true?” You bob your brows up and down.

He shakes his head, running a hand down his face as he snickers at you. “I doubt it. He could be one or the other, but both seem a little excessive. Have you seen how tight his pants are?”

“Yeah… you might be right.”

“We gonna talk about dicks, or are we gonna fuck?”

You sigh, shrugging like it’s nothing as you look back at him. “I guess, we’ll fuck.”

He smiles, pulling you closer to him. “Well, then, c’mon, mama.”

You actually giggle, surprising him as you bring a leg to wrap around his waist, pulling the other up to follow suit. He kisses you, his hands supporting your thighs as his dick nuzzles between the both of you, kept warm and wet by the way your folds sit against him as it pushes into his lower belly.

Eddie reaches between your bodies, taking his weeping cock in his hand and stroking himself a couple times with little wavers of breath. You watch some precum spill from his tip, sliding down the bottom.

“You want me to use a condom?” he asks.

You swallow thickly, thinking quickly before shaking your head. “Pill.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

You’re touched by his consideration but you don’t really want to put into words how much you actually want to feel him inside of you. You shake your head again, kissing him quickly to soften the slight awkwardness in your chest. “I don’t want you to use a condom, Eddie.” You almost whisper it, but he understands.

“Okay, mama,” he whispers back. He kisses you, lifting you up from his lap just enough to tuck the head of his cock at your soaked folds. “You ready?” You nod. “Don’t hold your breath. Breathing makes it feel better.” You nod again.

“Ready.”

You try not to hold his breath as he slowly lowers you down onto his lap, splitting you on his cock as you take him inch by inch. At one point, you’re sure he can’t go any further as you feel him seated somewhere deep inside you. And he’s right, it feels really nice.

Your breath is so light and airy when you sigh against his lips, holding him tight as you bury your face in his shoulder. “Fuck,” you huff, hearing his own breaths pass heavily in your ear.

“Fuck,” he echoes. “Jesus, you’re squeezin’ me, mama.”

You don’t know how you feel about the way this makes you feel, the way it makes you act. Your voice gets sort of whiny, breathy, this little thing in his ear that makes his cock twitch slightly inside of you. “Can’t help it,” you sigh. “So fuckin’ deep.”

He nods, his hands steady and firm at your backside and your arms tight around his neck. “I won’t move until you tell me to.”

You just nod, knowing he’s not going to move until you give him an explicit “yes”. It’s a lot to adjust to. He sits really deep inside of you, and he’s pressing against a spot that makes you delirious with just the pressure the head of his cock puts on it. But when you can’t take the suspense anymore and you’re too excited to see how it would feel, you nod again.

“I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go slow.”

You nod.

Holding your waist, Eddie begins to thrust his hips up into you. He does as he says and moves slowly, guiding your body in his lap so you grind down on him. A whine falls from your lips at the feeling, and you almost immediately seek out that pleasure with the eager roll of your hips into him.

“Not too fast, not too fast,” he hisses, lightly patting your hip.

You nod into his shoulder, feeling his hands roaming. His arm wraps around your waist, his other arm comes up to hook over your shoulder. He keeps thrusting, moving so slowly and filling you so deep. Following his commands, you roll your hips slowly into him, meeting each of his own movements in a building rhythm.

There's an ebb and flow in the way that you move together. Tiny whimpers fall from your lips, and his heavy breaths join them.

Somewhere along the way, it's not enough. Your insistent hips grind into him in search of more. He feels it in the way you breathe, the way you move, the way you hold him just a little tighter.

“Eddie,” you huff. “C’mon, I need more. Please.”

The way you say it is a little more whiny, a little needier than you intended. It feeds his ego, and he can't help but to lose some of his reassuring kindness. He starts making fun of you because he likes making fun of you, and he thinks that you'll probably eat that shit up.

“More?” His grip on you tightens just a bit. His thrusts become a little jerky, searching the same intensity you are. “You need more, mama?”

“Eddie,” you groan.

He pulls your face from his shoulder in order to look at you better. “You sound so whiny, baby. Like a little bitch.”

You roll your eyes because he's Eddie, and he calls you a little bitch anyway. Grinding in his lap, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. A strangled grunt comes out, and you smirk devilishly. “So do you.”

“Har, har,” he says.

“If this is all you can do, just tell me. It's okay if you're a one-pump-chump.”

You like vexing him. He likes when you vex him. But he also likes proving you wrong because he may be doing you a favor, but he can't let you go about thinking he can't fuck.

“Fuck you,” he scoffs. Then he's pushing you onto your back and wrapping your legs back around his waist, slipping out in the process. He towers over you like some wolf, bushy hair accommodating as his necklace swoops down to brush your skin.

“If you want me to stop, tell me to stop,” he says. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He guides himself back into you, embedding himself within you until you're full. One of his hands grips your hip while the other takes a hold of the headboard. It's this metal thing that squeaks whenever you move. So when he's thrusting into you with a vigor that has grown in the past couple of moments, it's accompanied by the constant whine of the metal. It's sort of funny.

His hips roll into you, waves of pleasure coming with each one. His hand cradles your neck, and you lean into him as he latches onto the sensitive skin of your throat, teeth scraping and tongue licking up the taste of your skin.

One of your legs comes up to wrap around his waist, and you moan as you pull him in deeper. His pace builds into this steady, needy kind of rhythm. The harder he thrusts, the more you clench, and the harder it is for him to stifle his grunts.

But you like the sounds he makes. Sometimes they're these deep groans that rumble in his chest like thunder. Sometimes they're these weak moans that you're pretty sure is him trying not to whimper. And you like the moans so much that you card your fingers through his hair and tug on a chunk of it as his head pulls back. His muscles flex, and his lips part. You watch his eyes flutter, this shocked whimper comes out of him.

“You did that on purpose,” his word and your moan mix together with the thrust of his hips.

“Ah…haha,” you gasp, nodding a little. “Yes, I—Oh, yes, I did.”

“What, are you a top or something?” he wonders, raising a brow.

You shrug, your mind a little blurry with the feeling of his cock shoved inside of you. “Dunno.”

He's interested enough to find out.

Once again, you're being moved around. You whimper when he pulls out of you just to sit you up again. Eddie moves to the head of the bed and pulls you back into his lap. “Let's find out.”

You take him in your hand, lining him up with your waiting lips. As you slowly sink back down onto him, your eyes flutter shut as you feel the way he fills you. And it only gets better from there as you slowly take him farther inside until he’s buried so deep that you can feel him pressing somewhere inside of you that you can’t quite pinpoint.

You’re fully seated on him now, eyes squeezed shut as you adjust to the feeling. Your hands come to rest on his chest, the fingers of your right hand brushing over the demon head on his pec. When you roll your hips and feel the way it presses inside of you, you’re immediately done for.

Your rhythm isn’t steady for a while. You move purely out of an urge to quell this need in the pit of your stomach. As you fuck yourself on his cock, Eddie’s hands hold your waist tightly just to have something to hold onto. You move quickly and without remorse, your head thrown back in pleasure as your hips lift up just to smack down on his lap once again.

For a while, you just grind on him, focusing on that deep spot that shoots electricity through your thighs. This pitiful sound flutters out of you, like a shudder running down your spine as your hands move to cup the back of his neck in your palms. His name falls from your lips with a plea, it’s a weak sound that would bring him to his knees if he wasn’t already on his back.

“Fuck, mama,” he huffs. “Keep going, just like that.”

His hands caress your skin, roaming your body underneath his shirt still draped over you. He hikes it up farther and farther until he feels your warm breasts. “Can I take this off?” he asks. You just nod, muttering an “mhm” as you keep bouncing with closed eyes. He pulls the shirt over your head, revealing your bouncing breasts to him as he takes a hold of them with greedy hands. He palms them, kneading them like he would dough. You just keep moaning as he builds you up.

You don’t mean to, but in an attempt to respond, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a repetitive “yes, yes, yes” that echoes in the room alongside his own loud, open-mouthed breaths. “Shit, baby. Doin’ so good f’me.”

That makes you whimper, moving almost ruthlessly just to satisfy the rising need in your belly. “Fuck, I need cum, baby,” you whisper, repeating that again and again with each little roll. Eddie wastes no time in bringing his large hand to rest at the juncture of your thigh and your hip, his thumb swirling insistent circles into your clit. You gasp at the feeling, which is way more electric than you thought it’d be.

It becomes a little difficult to think. Visions of Eddie and his hands and your bodies, and the sounds of your slick and skin, and the smell of sex and body wash and cigarettes cloud your mind. You’re on the verge of tipping over the edge, you can feel your fingertips tingling with the wild sensations of your pleasure, so, so close to you now–

Eddie pulls you up from his lap, unsheathing your cunt from him. Your moans and your breaths are interrupted, and this weak cry tumbles from your tongue. He grunts, laying his head back and making this “hmph” sound.

You blindly reach for his cock, trying to guide him back inside of you before he’s lightly smacking your hand away. “Wait, mama, wait.”

“Eddie,” you whine, thoroughly unhappy with the way the growing waves in your belly had begun to retreat. “Please.” You could honestly cry. It had felt so good—you had felt so good, and he’d taken it all away in a matter of a second.

“What the fuck, dumbass?” you huff, looking at him with eyes unfocused with frustration and face flushed with lust.

“You’re so mean,” he says, almost as put off by the failed release as you.

“I was so close.”

“I know.” He sits up a little more, moving you off his lap. Your arousal is coating both of you, your thighs are sticky with it, his lap and his cock is glistening in the dim golden light. “That’s called edging.”

“I know what the fuck edging is. Why are we doing it?”

He laughs at your frustration, and you want to hit him. “Relax, we’re not done yet.”

“Well, hurry up,” you whine, already trying to throw your leg back over his legs. He just swats you away again.

“Turn around.” You would argue, but you’re too horny. So, instead, you turn around so your back is facing him. His hand spreads out along your back, and you nearly squeal when he pushes you down so your face is pushing into his covers. He pulls you up so your ass is in the air, grabbing one of your cheeks and squeezing.

“You still good?” He’s checking up, trying to be nice even though he was just the cruelest he could’ve been.

“Yes, please.” He likes you like this, honestly. It’s fun to see you so needy. It’s just something he can hold over your head.

He lightly smacks your ass, not enough to hurt but enough for your hips to jerk at the unexpected sensation. Immediately, he smoothes the skin with the palm of his hand and hums. He nudges your legs apart, spreading you open for him just enough as he pumps his cock in his hand.

“Just testing out some positions,” he says simply before he’s guiding himself back inside of you. It’s a welcome feeling, one you’re beginning to become accustomed to. Once he’s fully inside, he bottoms out with a heavy sigh. “It’s good to see which ones you like.”

“I like when I’m being fu–”

You’re cut off when his hips thrust into you, an almost cruel snap that makes this filthy smacking sound. You moan, literally feeling yourself melting into the bed as one of his hands comes to fist the sheets by your head. The other holds your waist tight, keeping you steady as he begins to fuck into you.

You really like this position. Being on top of him was so, so nice, but being underneath him is a feeling that makes your brain numb. You wrap your hand around his wrist as your other curls in the bedsheets, mewling feebly with every snap of his hips.

It’s dizzying, having him take you like this. There’s a light sheen of sweat coating your skin, encouraged by the warm air straying in through the slightly opened window. His breath is heavy, and you can hear him grunting every time his hips meet your ass. “Do you like this one?” he huffs, moving his hand to wrap lightly around your neck. He pulls you up from the covers so you can speak, your bodies bumping back and forth in the dance you’ve created.

You’re being kept steady only by your hand on the bed, gripping the sheets tightly. “Yes, Eddie,” you moan. You like saying his name, especially when you feel so good. It’s like a wave through your skin. It falls off your tongue with ease. “That feels good.”

He’s happy you’re happy. He keeps it up, losing his breath the longer he goes as your loud ones mix together in the heavy air of his bedroom.

You’re so glad Wayne isn’t home because there’s no way you would’ve been able to keep quiet. You respect that man too much to put him through this. The loud squealing of the bed certainly doesn’t help.

You turn your head to his arm, pressing your nose to his wrist to smell him. He smells like he always does, cigarettes and cheap cologne, like leather and maybe a bit of metal. But under that, you can still smell it. Green apple.

You kiss his wrist, and something snaps in him. For the hundredth time, Eddie pulls out of you and moves you back onto your back. Once again, you’re looking up at him as he locks you in. There’s a wild look in his eyes that makes you breathless, and when he’s pushing into you again, you moan.

“Right there,” you mutter incoherently when he fucks into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer as you keep your legs spread wide. “Yes, fuck, right there.”

Eddie focuses on that spot, punching the head of his cock into it over and over again and watching the way your eyes roll, your head falling back into the sheets and your hands tightening around his arms. He loves the way your lips part, your soft lips split open by the feeling of him. He bends down and kisses the exposed expanse of your throat, sucking on the skin and nibbling hickeys into your skin.

When he pulls away from your neck with a light smack, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down so your bodies are pressed flat together, skin to skin. He ruts into you, pressing his forehead against yours as you both breathe the other’s air. It’s all heat and lust and something else, something hot and heavy.

“I needa cum, Eddie,” you mumble, “For real this time.” You manage to get it out with a minimal amount of stuttering. You’re surprised you were even able to put the sass in it that you managed. He’s made such a mess of you.

His thumb finds your clit once more, and he’s circling the bud with a fervent kind of eagerness. “Keep breathing for me, mama. Breathe in deep.” You do as he says, so much so that you get a little dizzy as the air comes and goes. You buck your hips up into his thumb, your whimper getting higher and higher with each swirl.

You feel a knot curling in your belly, followed by a startling heat. “Eddie,” it comes out almost as a question. You’re addicted to the way his name feels in your mouth. You repeat it over and over, squirming and breathing and tightening your hold on him. He keeps fucking into you, focusing on that spot that makes you see stars as he just thrusts faster until his hips are moving in short, hard spurts.

When the dam breaks, it's with a slack-jawed gasp and a tight embrace. Your whole body tenses, like a coil tightening. It gets hot and hotter and hottest until a band snaps and you're trembling. You moan his name like a cry for help, holding his face between your hands and marveling at the softness of his skin. A brilliant shudder makes its way through your body, the quivering of your limbs making it impossible not to whimper and whine at each little shake.

Eddie helps you through all of it, keeping his in and out pace until it becomes unsteady with the fluttering of your pussy around his cock. Your mouth latch onto one another, more heat and lust and longing to fill the space between you as you recover with a dizzying head and buzzing veins. Loud and sloppy smacks accompany the ones coming from your hips, still meeting with the last sparks of your orgasm and the drive for his own.

His steady thrusts are unsteady now, just tiny little pumps of his cock inside of you as his breaths build into gasps just as small. You’re already coming down from your high, and your whines are sounding a little different now as you tilt your head to the side and hold onto his arm, the punch of his cock bordering on an overstimulated feeling after trying to recover from the large crash of your orgasm.

“Eddie,” you whimper, one hand still splayed across his cheek.

He pulls out of you suddenly, peeling his hand off of you to grab his cock. He tugs harshly at it, bucking his hips into his hand until he’s spilling out over your belly in warm spurts, these shuddered moans coming with it. “Oh, fuck, mama,” he whimpers in that sticky tone, burying his face in the crook of your neck as the last ropes of cum coat your skin.

There are a few moments where there’s complete silence—save for the sound of a car here and there, or a dog barking in the distance, or some people laughing even farther away, or your heavy breaths huffing between you two. Your fingertips caress the skin of his cheeks, drawing patterns into his face as he simply enjoys it with closed eyes and settling breaths.

When Eddie sits up, he takes your hand to pull you up with him. You both sit on his bed, looking down at your bodies now sticky with his cum, though his isn’t the only fluid sticking to your skin. Your thighs make a wet sound whenever you move.

You run a hand down your face, sighing heavily. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, popping your toes. Eddie watches you stretch your arms over your head, enjoying the way your tits look when you do.

“So I did good?”

You look back at him to see the way he watches you, his brows bouncing with a sly grin on his face. You roll your eyes, not looking at him as you chuckle. “Yes, Eddie, you did good.”

He smiles wide.

Eddie stands from the bed, and you watch the way he sort of limps from his room. You can’t help your grin at the sight. At least that means you did good, too.

Eddie returns with a wet cloth in his hands, which he uses to clean you up first, wiping away all of your slick and his cum and even some of the saliva from your neck left behind by his sloppy kisses. He takes care in the way he does it, paying such close attention to you to ensure you’re just as clean and comfortable as he wants you to be.

When he’s done with you, he wraps his hand gently around your throat and pulls you in for another kiss. You lean into it. His kiss is like air in your lungs, and you sigh gently. Then he disappears again and comes back clean (and still deliciously naked—you enjoy the sight of his chain link tattoo curling around his upper thigh). He rustles through his drawers, pulling out another shirt, this one clean and not somewhere on the floor.

“You’re staying over, right?” he asks, as casual as ever as if he hadn’t just cum all over your stomach.

And, just as casually, you nod and turn onto your stomach to stretch again. “Mhm.” He tosses the shirt at you. It lands on your head, and you don’t move to put it on just yet. He picks up his sweatpants from the floor and puts them back on.

Eddie nudges you to the side so he can pull the covers back, and that’s when you sit up to put on his shirt. You stand, padding across his tiny room to turn off the lamp on his dresser, shrouding the room in relative darkness. When you climb back into the bed, you latch yourself onto his back and hold him to your chest. He’s really warm, and it feels nice to be this close.

Sometimes you wonder if you and Eddie are supposed to date. There’s nothing casual about your friendship, and there never really has been (especially not now). But you think that having Eddie as your best friend, perhaps just under unconventional circumstances, is the best thing there is. If you ever decide to get together, that’ll be a moment for a time in the (relative) distance.

For now, you just rest your ear against his back and listen to his heartbeat. “Eddie,” you mumble, bringing your leg up to rest over his body like he isn’t bigger than you.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

There’s a huff that you think is him chuckling. He pulls a hand up and pats yours a couple light times. “Anytime, mama.” There’s some silence. “I love you.”

You smile. You love your best friend Eddie.

“I love you, too. G’night.” He hums back at you.

Stranger Things taglist: @activebliss @queermaxwooo @life-on-needs @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @emmalee-01 @sw34ter-w34ther @gublur @allofmaris @redwineandnicotine @the-cryptid @katsukis1wife @chaoticcancer @papichulo120627 @emistrash @jjmaybankswifes-blog @thegr8estpuff @lover-of-books-and-tea @xxhanililoxx @quickslvxrr Eddie the Banished taglist: @eddiiiieeee @hb8301 @queermaxwooo @lovemegood @munsaniac @digital-charlie @eiriancrow @littleblondesoprano @alexxavicry @samz31 @sparkletash @fandomgirl17 @marjoriea13 @akiratoro420 @mewchiili @mischieftom Tag yourself here...

[plutotheplum]

Take a Chance with Me

zayne x fem!reader

summary: zayne gets called into work, so you bring him dinner.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, established relationship, smut, fluff, handjob, oral sex, p in v, office sex

wc: 4.4k

a/n: based on one of zayne's text messages! he's so domestic boyfriend core. this is basically just some soft, fluffy smut before i write a dawnbreaker angst fic :3

also on ao3!

Akso Hospital is quieter at night than it is in the day.

You’d been expecting the bustle of nurses and doctors when Zayne had texted you saying he’d been called in on short notice, preparing yourself for some sort of emergency. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that was the case, most likely a pressing surgery that had come up for Zayne.

Sometimes, you wished he’d take more days off. It was a little selfish to want to be wrapped up in Zayne’s arms all the time, but you couldn’t help yourself, the comfort and warmth his body provided was like no other. It was what you had been doing earlier that night, cozied up next to him on the couch, with a fluffy blanket pulled up over you both as he’d spoken to you about one of his past surgeries.

Zayne’s voice had a certain lull to it, the low murmur of his voice making your eyes droop until you’d curled up into his chest, face pressed into his neck and fallen asleep before the takeout you had ordered even arrived. 

Jenna’s missions had kept you on your toes for the entire week, your body exhausted and dazed under the constant stress of fighting Wanderers. Zayne gave you the solace of being able to unwind, although your boyfriend was as stern as ever, he was everything you needed. 

That was until you’d woken up and realized he was gone. Zayne had made sure you were tucked in, a pillow placed under your head comfortably, and your hair brushed away from your face. You’d been disappointed, but the moment you were awake, you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried.

It’s why you’re here now, the takeout bag clutched in hand with a couple of paper plates and forks stuffed inside, as you wait patiently for the elevator to drop you off at Zayne’s floor of the hospital.

And of course, I can’t wait to see the person delivering it.

Zayne’s text flashes through your mind, and your grip on the bag of takeout tightens. It wasn’t fair how a simple line of text could make your heart race and your mind swirl with emotion, a sense of yearning taking root within you. 

You spy Yvonne sitting at the front desk and you give her a small wave before approaching her.

“Hi,” Yvonne greets, smiling up at you, “here to see Doctor Zayne?”

You nod in response, holding up the bag of takeout. “He got called in before we could have dinner, so I figured I’d just bring it to him.”

“That’s nice,” Yvonne says, her fingers tapping against the keyboard, “Doctor Zayne finished up his surgery about an hour ago. He’s probably resting in his office.”

“Thank you, Yvonne,” you chirp, giving her smile and another wave before making your way towards Zayne’s office.

It’s tucked away into the corner, his name engraved on the plaque that sits adhered to the surface of the door. The door’s unlocked, but you’re not surprised, he probably left it open for you. Turning the handle, you poke your head in to find Zayne’s head resting on his outstretched arm against his desk.

His eyes are closed, so you step in quietly, trying not to rustle the bag of takeout too much and let the door lock behind you with a quiet click. Zayne remains motionless and you tiptoe towards him, setting the bag down beside his desk. He looks peaceful like this, his lashes kissing his cheeks, face relaxed as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

You’re not quite sure what you did to deserve someone like him. Zayne is sickeningly gentle and even more sickeningly patient with you. He treats you like you’re precious because to him, you are. You’re more precious to him than any award he could be given, more precious to him than the highest praise he could receive from any senior doctor in Linkon and beyond. You’re the only thing that truly matters to him.

Zayne’s devotion runs deep. It soothes your frayed nerves, and has lodged itself inside of you deep within your viscera. Sometimes, you think about clawing out the protocore-embedded heart in your chest and handing it to him. Zayne would take care of it, you’re sure, as he does now. 

He stirs for a moment and you still, slowing your breathing so as to not wake him. Your hand reaches out, brushing his hair out of his eyes, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek. Zayne’s nightmares had gotten less frequent recently and you were thankful for it. He needed the rest. You lean in a little closer, unable to help yourself, letting your lips brush across his cheek in a fleeting kiss.

The hand on your wrist startles you for a moment before you realize Zayne is awake, his head lifting lazily and his eyes blinking open blearily.

“You came,” he murmurs, voice laced with sleep.

“I said I would,” you say softly, cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb over it. Zayne leans into your touch, letting out a heavy sigh as though some impossible burden were lifted off of his shoulders. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and let him nuzzle into your palm, his lips kissing the inside of your wrist.

Breaking through the relaxed atmosphere, your stomach growls and you flush, cheeks heating up. Zayne lets out a low laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you onto his lap.

“You should’ve eaten,” Zayne says, brushing his hand over your hair.

“I wanted to eat with you,” you mumble, pouting petulantly.

He hums, reaching for the bag of takeout, taking out the plates and forks along with the food. It’s impossible to stop yourself from nosing into his cheek, lips pressing soft kisses along his jaw and across the expanse of his cheek.

“I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few hours since I last saw you,” he muses, tilting his head up to meet your eyes.

“So? I still missed you,” you reply, arms tightening around his neck.

A smile tugs at his lips, a knowing look in his eyes. He presses the fork of food up to your lips and you open your mouth obediently, letting him feed you. Zayne rubs his hand up and down your back from time to time, his lips pressing against your cheek with every bite he feeds you.

You curl into him when he finishes feeding you, letting your face find its way back home into the crook of his neck, carved out just for you. Zayne tightens his arm around your waist, thumb stroking over the curve of your hip every now and then as he eats.

“I love you,” Zayne says quietly, the fork settling against the plastic takeout container.

“I love you too,” you say, trying to press yourself closer into the heat of his body.

It frustrates you, not being able to be as close to him as you want. The sense of it not being enough, despite being flush against him, gnaws at you. Zayne knows this of course, can see the little downward pull of your lips whenever you get like this and try to meld your body against his as though you’re trying to burrow through his clothes and into him. He’d let you, if it was possible, keep you safe behind the curve of his ribs and close to his heart.

He slides his hand into your hair, cupping the back of your head to tilt it upwards. You smile up at him fondly, eyes fluttering shut when he brushes the tip of his nose against yours.

“I love you,” Zayne repeats, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I love you t-”

Your voice is muffled when he slots his lips over yours, drawing you into a slow kiss. It’s sweet, the way he presses his lips to yours in a tentative question as though asking for permission even though he knows you’ll give it to him. Your head tilts, your hand sliding into the softness of his hair, nails scraping against his scalp gently. Zayne shivers and leans into you further, his hand squeezing at your waist.

Longing unfurls in your gut, the slow, syrupy sweetness of his kiss sinking through your flesh and encasing your soul in a warm embrace. You’re shifting on his lap, moving your body so that you straddle him, knees bracketing his hips. Zayne chases after you when you break away, not letting you leave him for long, guiding you into another kiss.

His hands have begun to drift, smoothing up over the skin of your thighs, squeezing at the flesh before sliding under to grab at your ass. You smile against his lips, fingers splaying across his throat before dragging down to hook into the knot of his tie. You tug downwards, loosening his tie from around his neck. 

“We can’t,” he whispers, glancing towards the door.

“I locked it,” you murmur, kissing him softly, “please, Zayne?” Your fingers go further, beginning to unbutton his shirt all the way. “I need you.”

Zayne stares up at you and sees the neediness in your expression, the haze that comes over your face whenever you ask him for his cock. He finds that he can never deny you.

“Okay,” Zayne says quietly, squeezing your arm, “okay, sweetheart.”

You palm him through his trousers, feel him beginning to grow in the confines of his pants. Zayne tries to bite back the noises you elicit from him, but it’s impossible when you look at him like that, your eyes all starry and cheeks flushed. 

“You’re always taking care of me,” you whisper, palming his bulge a little more firmly, “let me take care of you now, Zayne.”

Zayne lets out a shaky breath and you smile, pecking his lips gently. Pulling his belt buckle free, you undo the button to his trousers, dragging the zip down to see his boxers. There’s a dark spot on the fabric and the sight has you licking your lips, grasping his half-hard cock through his boxers.

He lets out a strangled groan, his head falling back against his chair, hips bucking up to chase more of your touch.

“You’re teasing me,” Zayne grits out, his knuckles white with how tightly he’s gripping the armrests of his chair.

“‘m making you feel good,” you correct. 

Your hand pulls his boxers down, and his cock slaps against his abdomen, thick and tip flushed prettily. Zayne’s fully hardened now, the tips of his ears reddening as you wrap your hand around his cock.

“Fuck-” he pants, running his hand through his hair, “d-don’t stop.”

“Not going to,” you whisper, hand tightening around his cock.

Zayne groans again, his thighs falling open a little more. Your other hand cups his heavy balls, massaging them gently, lips finding his again as his pre-cum wets your hand. He kisses you desperately, hips bucking up into your hand. Zayne pushes at the straps of your dress impatiently, pulling it down along with your bra to find your breasts.

“So pretty,” Zayne murmurs, hand splaying across your back to make you arch into him.

He mouths across your collarbone, all the way to your sternum before drifting down to try and stuff the entirety of your breast into his mouth. A breathless laugh leaves you, thumb swiping over the sensitive tip of his cock. Zayne’s thighs jump, his grip on you tightening, tongue alternating between flicking over your nipple and swiping over the whole of your areola.

Spit drips from his mouth, a thin strand connecting his glistening lips to your hardened nipple. You catch it with your thumb, feeding it to him, letting him suck your thumb into his mouth. He moans around it and you whine, cunt clenching at the feeling of his warm mouth over your skin. It has you feeling debauched, your own mouth opening to let a glob of spit drip down and onto his cock. Zayne’s cock twitches and he presses himself against you, his face tucking into the crook of your neck as he pants.

“Sweetheart,” he grunts, his cock fucking into your hand, “you feel so good.”

You mewl in agreement, hand slipping into his hair again. Zayne lets out a low whine, his eyes fluttering shut as he curls his own hand around yours, tightening your grip. You move your hand faster, swipe your thumb over his fat, leaking tip more frequently and tug at his hair to tilt his head and kiss him.

“You’re throbbing,” you whisper, lips brushing over his with every word.

“You tend to have that effect on me,” he replies hoarsely.

His cock throbs almost on cue, another glob of pre-cum spilling down the side of his length. You squeeze your hand tighter, dragging it upwards to see more pre-cum spilling out of him the tighter you squeeze. Zayne sounds utterly gone, mouthing at your chest to distract himself, lips wrapping around your other breast this time. 

He stares up at you, amber-green eyes shining in the light as his mouth stays enveloped around the fat of your breast. You bite your lip, giving him a dazed smile and lowering your head to nudge your nose against his. Zayne forgets about your breast, tilts his head up to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me, Zayne,” you whisper sweetly, kissing the tip of his nose, “wanna see you cum.”

Zayne moans unabashedly, his heart fluttering at your words. His hips buck up one last time before he cums, squeezing at your sides roughly as his forehead falls against your shoulder. Hot, thick cum smears across your hands and you hum happily, giving his cock one last teasing pump. Zayne shudders at the sensation, grunting softly as he catches your wrist to stop you from playing with his sensitive cock.

“You made a mess, Doctor Zayne.”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. You stay perched on his lap, watching as his cock softens. Zayne takes your hand before you can lick his cum off of your palm, his handkerchief swiping over your sullied palm and fingers, cleaning your skin.

Zayne kisses you again, squishes your cheeks to make your lips pucker out for a moment and smiles at the sight. You frown when he moves you off of him only to realize that he’s standing up as well, pushing your shoulders gently to make you sit down on his chair.

He sinks to his knees and you bite your lip, body taut with anticipation. Zayne pulls your socks off, his thumbs pressing into the arch of your right foot. You sigh at the sensation, eyes slipping shut.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, placing a reverent kiss to your ankle.

Your heart lurches, lips trembling as he caresses your calf. Zayne kisses up the length of your leg, up your shin and past your knee, his fingers squeezing at your flesh. He drags his lips across your inner thigh, landing soft kisses to your skin. His scarred hands graze over your panties, knuckles pressing against your swollen clit for a moment before he kisses your panty-clad pussy. 

Zayne repeats the same sequence of actions for your other leg as though he were worshiping you. A part of you wants to cry at his display of affection. There’s a lump in your throat with how nicely he’s treating you, but you swallow it down, losing yourself in the fond gaze he gives you.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper, fingers running through his hair.

“I’m not,” he replies, kissing your pussy again, “I just love you.”

You swallow harshly and Zayne smiles, his fingers pulling down your panties. He thumbs apart your folds and lets out a shuddering breath when he realizes how wet you are. 

“All for me,” he murmurs, watching the clench of your pussy around nothing, “you’re all mine.”

You whine in agreement, back arching as he licks over your cunt. Zayne kisses your clit and buries his face into your pussy, licking and sucking without abandon. You can barely stay on the chair with how much you’re squirming and writhing under his mouth. Zayne winds his arms around your thighs and holds you in place, his mouth making lewd noises as he makes out with your pussy until your cries grow louder.

You hope his office is soundproof, but when Zayne sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth, you lose any sense of where you are, letting out pitchy, shuddering gasps as your feet press up onto your toes, digging into his back. 

“Zayne!” you cry, tugging at his hair roughly. He groans into your pussy, enjoying the sting of pain across his scalp. He buries his face deeper, kissing and licking until your pussy is puffy and slick is pouring out of you uncontrollably. “N-nghhh- no, Zayne. You- you have to fuck me!”

“Okay,” he rasps, pulling back when you tug at his hair, “up, my love, get up.” He taps your thighs and you stand up on shaky legs, pulling him closer by his tie to kiss him.

Zayne kisses you as you paw at his broad shoulders, pushing his shirt off to grasp at his muscled arms and back. He squeezes your waist, kneads the fat at your hips before he’s spinning you and bending you over his desk.

Your dress is flipped up, a squeak escaping your lips when he brings his hand down, slapping your ass. A giggle makes its way out of you and you rise up on the tips of your toes, wiggling your hips and ass for him playfully.

Zayne groans at the sight and slaps your ass again. His fingers spread apart your asscheeks, his eyes feasting on the sight of your glistening, puffy pussy again. You cry out when you feel him shove his face back into your pussy, licking over you messily and without abandon until you reach back and push at his head weakly.

You let your hips sway back and Zayne grasps his cock, pressing it against your greedy cunt. He curses as your pussy sucks him in, his hand balling up the fabric of your dress into one hand, keeping you spread as he watches you take his cock, inch after inch.

You let out a strangled gasp, the air being punched out of your lungs as he fills you up. Zayne is big and thick, his cock splitting you open, forcing your pussy to take him, carving the shape of his length inside of you. Your nails dig into his desk and neither of you seem to care as a few patient files slip off of the edge of the desk, the paper fluttering to the ground.

“Always so tight,” he hisses out, his hand curling over your hip, “such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

Your head falls against the wood of his desk, teeth sinking into your knuckles as you try to muffle your noises. Zayne notices and lets out a tsk, his arm reaching for yours and bringing it behind your back.

“None of that,” Zayne chastises, “I want to hear you, my love.”

He does hear you when he presses your lower back down, his hips thrusting forward. You cry out, moaning and mewling as his cock sinks into you repeatedly. Zayne drapes himself over your back, kissing up your spine and landing a soft kiss to your shoulder, hips humping into your ass. The squelch of your cunt should be embarrassing, but it happens whenever Zayne fucks you now, you get so horribly wet whenever you see his cock and he touches you.

You turn your head back to kiss him and Zayne groans into your mouth, licking into your mouth before he’s moving back to fuck you properly. Your knees would buckle if you weren’t bent over the desk. His name plate inches closer to the edge of the desk with every thrust Zayne delivers to your pussy.

Zayne pants and grunts; you look back to find his face flushed, his eyes closed and brows drawn together tightly. He looks handsome, face twisted with pleasure and want; unadulterated passion.

“Zayne- o-oh yes-” you whimper when he pins you down, his hands grasping your hips roughly.

He ups his pace, the desk rattling, his belongings hitting the floor. Each snap of his hips leaves you reeling and you’re sure you’re seeing stars in the darkness of your closed eyes. 

“Good girl,” he groans, unable to stop himself from landing another slap to your ass, “my good girl- fuck- I love you so, so much, sweetheart.”

You’re practically sobbing, walls clenching around his cock so tightly that he’s cupping your jaw and drawing you up so that your back is flush against his chest. Zayne bends his knees and fucks up into you. Your nails scrape against his arm, head falling against his shoulder as his hand slips down to rub your clit.

“Take it,” Zayne whispers, nipping your earlobe, “take it, baby.”

His calloused fingers on your clit too much and your body is seizing up, the coil of pleasure inside of you snapping until you moan loudly, his hand slapping over your mouth when the beginnings of a squeal make its way out of you with how oversensitive you are. 

Your body shudders as you cum, and you try to push his hand away from his clit but he sinks his teeth into your shoulder in warning, rubbing tight circles until he cums, his low grunts filling your ear as his hips slow into a stuttering mess. Zayne bends you over the desk again, shuffles forward until his hips are flush against your ass, balls pressed against your clit, his cock stuffed inside your pussy snugly.

“I love you,” you whine, feeling his hot cum fill you up.

“I- I shit-” Zayne gasps, thrusting his hips forward a few more times as he feels your walls clenching around him tightly, milking every drop of thick cum from him, “Hah- I l-love you too,” he stammers, slumping over you.

You mewl under his weight, his softening cock slipping out of you. Zayne’s cum mixed with your arousal drips down your thighs, smearing against your skin. He lifts himself up after a few moments of panting, using his desk for support. You turn around, rising up on shaky legs and even shakier toes to cup his cheeks and kiss him.

Zayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. He deepens the kiss, lowers his head for you so that you can sink down flat onto your feet again. Your tongue tangles with his, hands stroking over his hair soothingly as you give yourself to him, body and soul.

You can feel his smile against your lips, the drag of his lips across your cheek and the side of your head to press several kisses to your forehead.

“I hope your office is soundproof, Doctor Zayne,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and letting your chin rest on his chest.

“I hope so too,” Zayne says, flushing lightly.

You laugh, kissing the underside of his jaw. You help him pull his shirt on again, buttoning up the front of it and tighten his tie again. Zayne wipes the insides of your thighs with a few tissues, discarding them in the bin beside his desk, helping pull up your panties over your hips.

He fixes the straps of your dress, fingers brushing over your shoulders gently and the place where his teeth had sunk into you.

“Take the day off tomorrow,” you say to him as you help gather the patient files that had fallen off of his desk.

“You know I can’t,” he sighs, shaking his head.

You pout, widening your eyes and batting your eyelashes up at him in an attempt to give him the most pleading look you can muster.

“Please?” you say, sidling up to him again, “you’re overworked, Zayne. Take the day off, hm? We can relax together.”

Zayne stares down at you, his lips pursing for a moment. It never takes much convincing. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he feels compelled to listen.

“You’re a terrible influence, sweetheart.”

You smile up at him giddily, wrapping your arms around his neck. “‘m just taking care of my lovely, handsome, perfect boyfriend.”

“Fattening up my ego, huh?” Zayne asks, dipping his head to steal a kiss from you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your voice softens slightly. “I- I do mean those things, Zayne.”

Zayne falters at the hint of vulnerability in your voice. He can see that you’re shy about it with the way your eyes dart away from his, you always have been whenever confessing your more heart-felt feelings. 

“If you insist,” he says quietly, trapping your chin between his fingers to bring your eyes to meet his again. “But I think you’re the perfect one.”

You flush at his compliment, swatting his chest. He laughs, grabbing your fist to press a firm kiss to your knuckles. Zayne’s laugh fades when he stares at your hand, his brows furrowing for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your own brows furrowing as you stare at your bare hand. There’s nothing on it, nothing of concern anyways.

“Ah,” Zayne clears his throat, giving you a smile, “it’s nothing.”

It’s strange. He can’t help but think your left hand looks oddly bereft in the light. 

Zayne thinks a ring would fix the problem. 

He dips his head, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips as he takes your hand, leading you out of his office, letting Yvonne know that he wouldn’t be available tomorrow.

Zayne drives you home, despite your insistence that you could drive instead, his head shaking sternly as he’d ushered you into the passenger’s side. You’re curled up in bed with him, blankets pulled up over both you, the heat cocooning you in. 

“Despite your Evol, you’re so warm,” you mumble drowsily, face pressed into his chest.

“That may be because of the blankets,” Zayne says, amused.

You scoff, but you don’t have it in you to come up with some witty remark, instead letting him play with your hair.

“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow,” you slur, body relaxing further when he scratches your scalp gently.

“I want to spend the morning in bed with you,” he whispers, watching as your eyelids slip shut.

It’s only half the truth. Zayne does want to spend the morning in bed with you, but he also wants something… more.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

You’re asleep when he whispers the words, his lips brushing your forehead.

It doesn’t matter. 

You’ll hear them properly when he gets down on one knee.

[kxsagi]

“𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧”

a/n: okay so… i have dante brainrot

(fanart found here)

you don’t know when it started – well, technically, you do. it was a saturday morning, the kind where the sky is grey and the coffee machine starts sputtering at the worst possible moment. you’d just slapped on your apron and were trying to wrestle a ketchup bottle back to life when he walked in. 

all tall, dark, and devastating. like he was in the wrong movie. like he was supposed to be fighting demons in hell or racing luxury cars across italian rooftops, not standing in your small local diner, blinking up at the specials board like he was decoding a program. 

“uh…hi,” you said, a little breathless. “just one?”

he smiled, and the air shifted like a song started playing just for you. 

“yeah,” he nodded, and then… then he really looked at you. “unless you’re off in twenty minutes. then two.” 

you’d laughed. it was polite. professional. you’d been hit on before. you were gorgeous, after all (and humble). but this guy, he looked like he meant it. like he’d follow you out of there and help you change a flat tire and write poetry about it. 

“booth or bar?” you asked, already leading the way. 

he took a booth. he took every booth after that. because that was the first time dante walked into the diner. and somehow, it was never the last. 

“let me guess,” you say now, pen hovering over your notepad. you were standing in the same spot, just three months later. “you’re going to order the other side of the menu today.” 

dante grins, the kind that could make your knees weak if you weren’t too busy leaning on the table like a girl in a romcom who still has three tables left to take care of. 

“how’d you know?” 

“because you circled the first half last week like you were doing SAT prep.” 

“that obvious, huh?” 

enzo, who is already sitting across from dante with the dead eyes of a man who has been dragged here nearly every wednesday and saturday for the last month, doesn’t even look up from the menu. “you’re pathetic.” 

“i’m learning about local culture,” dante retorts smoothly. “and it’s not pathetic if i’m in love.” 

enzo groans so loud it startles the old man in the corner booth. “again with the love.” 

you raise an eyebrow, flipping your pen between your fingers. “oh?” 

“don’t indulge him,” enzo mutters. 

but you do. because it’s funny. because it’s dante. because he’s got this way of talking like everything he says is a compliment in disguise. especially when it is. 

“so…what’s the order today, romeo?” 

dante’s eyes flicker down to the menu like it’s the first time he’s seeing it and not like he’s been aggressively trying every variation of breakfast sausage on god’s green earth just to talk to you. 

“i’ll take… the pancakes.” 

“the banana ones?” 

“surprise me.” 

enzo makes a strangled noise. “he’s trying to make that sound sexy. do you hear that? i’m not hallucinating.” 

you stifle a snort and turn away with a little smile. “you want bacon with that?” 

“only if you eat one with me.” 

enzo slams his head onto the table. 

but despite the old man’s warnings, you can’t help it – dante’s charming. 

not just flirty. charming. he says thank you like he means it. he helps old people with their coats at the door. he offers to fix the paper towel dispenser in the bathroom with his bare hands like he was born to. he even pulled a stray cat out from under your car last week and tried to name it after you (“look at her, she's got your attitude”). 

it would be easier if he was annoying. or weird. or just some guy with a terrible pickup line and an ego problem. but instead he’s funny. he’s sweet. and yeah, he’s tall. 

you just hadn’t expected his height to be his opening line today. 

“so,” he said casually, elbow on the table like he belonged in a cologne ad. “did i mention i’m six foot three?” 

you blinked. “… is that your order?” 

enzo dropped his head into his hands. “kill me.” 

“i just thought you should know,” dante went on, sipping his coffee like it was wine and he was at a gala. “for science.” 

“science?” 

“yeah. for… height-based compatibility purposes.” 

“wow,” you said dryly, scribbling on your notepad. “and here i was, trying to decide if you were a blueberry or a chocolate chip pancake kinda guy.” 

“i’m flexible,” dante said, all smooth as enzo was actively searching for exits at this point. “but i lean sweet.” 

the weeks go by. dante keeps showing up. he’s tried everything from the chili cheese fries to the tuna melt (“a bold move,” you told him, he looked proud). he tips generously (even though you can tell he has no extra pennies for himself). flirts even more generously. sometimes he brings enzo. sometimes he comes alone. and when he does, he sits at the bar and spins the little napkin dispenser like he’s trying to impress it. 

“you ever think about getting a job here?” you joke one afternoon while pouring him another soda. “you’re basically an unpaid intern at this point.” 

“only if i get to wear the same uniform,” he says, eyes dragging up your apron with a smirk. 

you roll your eyes. but you’re smiling. you always are when he’s around. 

enzo walks in late that day, takes one look at dante smiling like an idiot and you laughing like you’ve known him for years, and sighs the sigh of a man who has already drafted his best man speech out of spite. 

“don’t even,” dante warns before enzo can sit. “we’re having a moment.” 

“you’re having a delusion,” enzo corrects. “this is a restaurant, not a dating sim.” 

you just shake your head, grabbing their plates. “pancakes and existential dread, coming up.” 

enzo salutes you. dante grins proudly. 

and you? 

you’re starting to like the regulars. especially the tall one. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[b0nten]

HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

[megalony]

That's Enough

This is a new Buddie x reader imagine based on an old request. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write this for you anon.

I hope you will all like it, feedback keeps me motivated.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: When a person on a call begins to get aggressive and violent towards (Y/n), Buck and Eddie step in to protect their partner.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A discontented groan left Eddie's lips when the sound of his alarm rung out through the air, jostling him from his dream.

It was early. He felt like he had gone to bed five minutes ago, but if his alarm was waking him up then he guessed he had slept longer than usual. Most of Eddie's recent shifts had been early, usually starting at five or six in the morning.

Today's shift was lined up to begin at nine which would feel like turning up in the afternoon compared to normal.

With a grunt, he twisted to the right and flopped onto his back, reaching his arm out to try and turn off his alarm. He had to get up, get Chris up and ready and drop him off at school on his way to work.

His brows furrowed when he groggily opened his eyes and looked towards the other side of the bed. (Y/n) was awake; more specifically, she was sitting up in bed. He didn't expect her to be wide awake the moment his alarm went off to remind them to get up for their shift.

His tired eyes glanced beside (Y/n) before a light went off in his mind and he remembered. Evan was already at work. He had agreed to a double shift. Evan went to do the night shift and he would be on shift until three in the afternoon. That meant while (Y/n) and Eddie were on shift, Evan would be able to head off and pick Chris up from school and be with him for the afternoon.

He reached his hand out and began to glide his hand up and down (Y/n)'s thigh while he tried to wake himself up. It took Eddie a moment to clear his head enough to sit up and properly start to wake up and when he did, he looked over to his left. His eyes raked her up and down, taking in the way she was sat to see what she was up to.

She was sat up in bed with the covers strewn across the middle of the bed. One hand was pressing down into the mattress, presumably to help keep her balance and her other hand was pressed against her temple while her head was tilted forward.

"You okay, amor?"

He let go of her thigh to stretch his arms up above his head, straining to click his neck into place before he twisted to the side. His knees gently nudged hers and his hand came up to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb swiping across her jaw until she opened her eyes.

"What's up?" He murmured softly, leaning over to peck her cheek when (Y/n) leaned her cheek into his palm. She nuzzled into his touch, trying her best not to lean on Eddie too much in case she let all of her weight fall onto him and have him hold her weight up for her.

"I feel sick."

For a while now, she hadn't been able to sleep. All she could do was fidget and squirm and groan. She felt sick. She felt like she was starting to burn up, but it just seemed to be her imagination. She hadn't thrown up, she wasn't sweating and she wasn't about to collapse, she just felt the need to be sick. Morning sickness was still her friend, even now.

She twisted to the side so she could lean her cheek on Eddie's shoulder when his hand dropped from her face so he could loop his arm around her waist. His hand splayed out on her hip and he kissed the top of her head while his other hand moved round to brush across her stomach.

"They're still asleep." (Y/n) muttered softly, and she managed a smile as she tilted her head back to look up at Eddie.

She knew what he was doing. Now they were twenty-one weeks along, (Y/n) was starting to feel the baby move and kick and the boys were enamoured. She knew Eddie was trying to see if the baby would kick but they were too settled to entertain him. But she liked the way Eddie continued to drag his fingertips along her stomach like he was either waiting for the baby to disagree or like he was soothing them to keep them asleep and content.

"Do you want me to get you a drink?"

"I'll grab one, we're both getting up anyway." (Y/n) found the will to pull away from Eddie's embrace, but not before he tilted her head in his direction to steal a kiss.

It wasn't like she could go back to sleep when they were both on shift and there was no way (Y/n) was calling in sick. She was on restricted duties down at the station and it made her work days very dull when she couldn't help out as much as she liked. She wasn't going to stay home when she could go to work and wait around for meager tasks to do to keep busy.

When Eddie climbed up off the bed and held his hands out towards (Y/n), she smiled softly and let him pull her up to her feet. His hands moved down to hold her hips and he attached his lips to the top of her head, waiting patiently for (Y/n) to move first so he knew she was alright.

Eddie's eyes kept glancing back towards (Y/n) while he rummaged around for some plain clothes. His work gear was washed and waiting in his locker at the station so he simply needed some casual clothes to wear until he could get changed.

He found a few things but his focus was solely on (Y/n), watching to see if she was sluggish or tired or wobbling as she slowly got dressed. They both knew Eddie would have a shower before work whereas that never woke (Y/n) up, how showers and baths made her want to go to sleep instead.

"You good?" Eddie murmured against the back of her head once she was dressed in a pair of maternity leggings and one of Evan's gym shirts.

"Hm."

She could feel Eddie's arm securing around her waist as he followed her out their bedroom and down the hall. Once they reached Chris's room, Eddie knocked on the door and nudged it open, muttering a groggy "Time to get up bud." in the process.

He knew Chris had heard him because of the grunt he heard and he knew in five minutes Chris would drag himself out of bed and get dressed.

(Y/n) could feel her stomach twisting as they aimed for the kitchen and her head fell back on Eddie's shoulder when they got there. She still felt sick and her head was starting to ache, but that was most likely because she needed a drink.

"Go sit down amor. I'll get a shower and find you some painkillers."

If she wasn't feeling great then Eddie would rather her sit down and take it easy for a while before they debated whether she was well enough to go to work or not.

His hands moved to her shoulders and he kissed the back of her head while he followed her into the living room to make sure she sat down and that she was alright in there.

His lips pursed as he watched (Y/n) flop down on the sofa and curl into the cushion. She brought her knees up until they were pressing into her bump and one arm flopped over the cushion while her other hand started to rub circles around her stomach.

"Won't be long," He mused against her temple before he kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose and finally her lips when she tilted her head up, chasing after his lips.

When Eddie finished his shower and got dressed, he wasn't too sure whether it was a good thing or not that (Y/n) had moved from the living room. His head angled to one side and he turned and backtracked to head into the kitchen instead to see if she was in there.

"Will you try some painkillers?" Eddie glanced towards (Y/n) who was stood near the sink with her back to him, but he knew she was sorting out Chris's pack lunch.

When (Y/n)'s morning sickness had been rather bad last month, the midwife had prescribed some anti-sickness medication that could be dissolved in water as (Y/n) kept throwing her tablets up. But their struggle now was that (Y/n) wasn't throwing up as much as before, she was feeling sick instead. She felt the urge to be sick and she couldn't stomach much food or even water, but the doctor said she was 'much better' simply because she hadn't been sick.

They didn't have anymore of the anti-emmetics so Evan had stocked up on some dissolvable paracetamol to see if (Y/n) could drink those to settle her stomach. But she couldn't keep them down most days.

Eddie found the new pack and opened it up, finding a glass from the cupboard too. But when he turned around, he grinned in confusion and tilted his head to one side when he looked at (Y/n).

She turned around to face him, pressing her hips back into the sink behind her while her eyes cast down and a sheepish, timid smile pulled at her lips.

"And what is that?" The teasing tone to Eddie's voice made (Y/n) keep her eyes cast down to her stomach but she couldn't help but look up when he was stood in front of her with one hand on her hip and the other on her neck.

"Breakfast?"

"Really?" Eddie cast his eyes between (Y/n) and the ice lolly in her hand with a gleam in his eyes. "You know that's not gonna give you much substance, right?"

He could see that it was a berry ice lolly and it looked like one of the homemade ones Evan and Chris were always making. That wasn't going to fill (Y/n) up or make her feel full, nor was it going to give her any energy considering they had a full shift ahead of them and they were always busy in their job.

"Evan's idea for fluids, and it doesn't make me feel sick."

Evan had been extremely worried when (Y/n) hadn't been eating very much and when he noticed she couldn't keep drinks down or take big gulps of water, it panicked him even more. But he suggested an ice lolly might work. It took longer to get the fluids into (Y/n)'s system, the cold was refreshing and it was better than her drinking and then throwing up juice. This got more fluids into her system at a slow but steady pace.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek into Eddie's hand and pressed the lolly to her lips that began to tingle from the cold.

She knew it wasn't the best choice, but (Y/n) still felt queasy and she knew her body. She knew anything she tried to eat would either come back up or she would gag and cough before she could take a bite. At least this wasn't making her feel queasy and she might be able to keep some fluids down this way.

"Hm, I'll be having words with him then when we get to work." Eddie muttered softly against her temple as his hand wormed around to cradle the back of her neck to hold her close.

He would admit that this was creative and it was clearly an Evan idea and if it worked he would thank their boyfriend for thinking of something like this to keep (Y/n) from being sick or off work. But they needed to come up with something to help her eat as well as drink.

"At least you're having something, I guess."

***

(Y/n) ran her hand across her temple, warding away the headache that was dull at the back of her mind. She tried to push it to one side and ignore it so she could focus on the task at hand.

She forced a smile onto her face as the truck pulled up at the scene. It had been a few days since (Y/n) had been allowed out on scene, the last few calls had been too hectic for (Y/n) to attend. She and Bobby were in agreement that if she couldn't do anything on scene then she didn't want to stand around like a statue, unable to help.

She had remained at the station cleaning and tidying and answering calls and seeing the few people who popped in with questions or small emergencies she could deal with.

But to finally be back in the fire truck and out on a scene was joyous and (Y/n) was relieved to be back with the team and feel somewhat included again.

Her hand rested on Evan's shoulder as she climbed down from the truck, following behind him as they all took in the scene they were at.

She kept her hand on his shoulder and pressed up into Evan's side while she glanced around.

There had been a pile up in the middle of a junction. Someone ran a red light and caused a major pile up. (Y/n) was rather surprised she had been allowed out on this call, but then again, the roads had all been blocked off and there was no risk of fire or people yielding weapons.

There were enough emergency responders here to do the heavy lifting and let (Y/n) take a step back and be useful as a medic or to guide people away from the scene and tend to non-life threatening injuries.

"Okay, Buck and Chimney grab the jaws and saws, we might have to cut free the person in the red Honda. The rest of you spread out and check on anyone who needs medical attention."

(Y/n) timidly pointed to herself, waiting for Bobby to grin and nod at her before she dared move. She needed that green light so she knew she could go and help people too and that Bobby didn't have anything else in mind for her to be getting on with.

She pushed up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to Evan's cheek before she turned and followed after Hen to grab a medic bag.

With a medic bag in hand, (Y/n) took a deep breath and headed towards the scene. There were at least five cars piled up and two on the outskirts, at least a few of them wouldn't need to be taken to hospital but they would all needed to be assessed in case of a concussion or minor injuries.

Seeing as no one was at the yellow car yet, (Y/n) set her sights on that one and wandered towards it. She needed to help but she wasn't able to use the jaws if anyone was trapped in their cars. (Y/n) couldn't use any of the heavy equipment or do anything strenuous. Once someone was on the gurney (Y/n) wasn't supposed to push it by herself as it was technically a two person job.

There were so many rules and so many little things (Y/n) couldn't do now she was pregnant which she hadn't paid any mind to before. Even the boys were rather surprised at how restricted their girlfriend was now she was on light duties.

Before she got to the car, the driver's door flung open. (Y/n) slowed down her pace, watching the driver as he stumbled out of his car and slammed the door shut with such force that it caused the whole car to jerk and rumble.

The way he wobbled and had to lean on the car for support told (Y/n) that he might indeed have a bad concussion so she picked up her pace and aimed towards him.

He seemed like a golden patient, he got out of the car on his own and he immediately wobbled towards the pavement and sat down on the curb. Exactly what (Y/n) would have told him to do.

"Sir, I'm a medic, can I take a look at you?" When he didn't give her a response, (Y/n) stepped closer until she was in front of him.

He looked drowsy. The way he lolled his head back to look up at her and squinted through bleary eyes made her sure he had received a bad concussion. He seemed to glare at her but he didn't say anything so again, (Y/n) moved on initiative and set the bag on her shoulder down to the floor.

She slowly lowered down until she was knelt on the edge of the pavement beside him and opened the bag so she could find a pen light.

"What's your name?" (Y/n) braced her hands on her knees and smiled softly while she waited for him to come back to his senses and when he muttered his name, she nodded. "Okay John, can you look straight ahead for me please?"

He squinted once again and seemed to snarl while he looked over (Y/n)'s shoulder, allowing her to flicker the light across his pupils which were constricted, and he was still squinting badly.

"Do you feel drowsy or sick?" (Y/n) reached down and pressed her fingers over his wrist to feel his pulse but she shuddered when he craned his head to look at her.

"Get off." The way he spat at her made her shudder and lean back and she had no choice but to let go of his wrist when he flung his arm in her direction.

Maybe he wasn't concussed. (Y/n) could be mistaken, but she knew what beer smelt like and there was a tang to his breath that suggested he'd been drinking. It was early afternoon, a bit early in (Y/n)'s book to be having a drink and especially wrong to be drinking and then getting behind the wheel.

"John have you been drinking today?" (Y/n) switched the pen light for a stethoscope and this time she held it out for him to see before she tried to listen to his heartbeat. She still had to assess him whether he was drunk or not, he could still have internal injuries or a concussion or uneven heartbeat.

Her words clearly aggravated him because he sneered, looking her up and down with a crinkled nose before he muttered "Fuck off." at her.

Leaning towards him didn't seem like a smart move to make but (Y/n) had a duty of care and he didn't object when she pressed the stethoscope against his chest to listen to his heart. If anything he seemed confused which made her certain that he was drunk. She would have to inform the police after they were finished blocking off the roads so they could take his name and follow him down to the hospital- if indeed he needed a hospital visit.

"Can I take your blood pressure?"

"No, I'm leaving."

"Sir, your car is in the middle of a pile up-"

(Y/n) shook her head with a sigh and quickly bundled the stethoscope back into the medic bag when John heaved up to his feet. Where did he think he was going to go? He would have to walk wherever he was trying to get to and he couldn't walk away from the scene. The police had blocked off the roads, they were hovering around for safety, they would stop him and try to take his statement.

He wasn't going anywhere except the hospital or the police station. Those were his only options.

"John you can't just leave the scene and I think you've had a drink. You need to be assessed and the police will need to speak to you." (Y/n) finished speaking before she pressed her hand down into the pavement to push herself up to her feet.

She left the medic bag where it was, it was close to the scene and she could fetch it after she had gotten this man either to an officer or safely sat down somewhere else.

"John-"

All she did was rest her hand on his arm. She didn't grip, didn't pull or grab or yank him back towards her. It was a simple touch to his arm but John spun on his heels as if her touch burned him.

"You need to get the Hell off me." He managed not to slur his words but the way he had to fight for his sense of balance definitely confirmed to (Y/n) that he was drunk. She had dealt with both her partners when they were drunk, and although both of them were loveable drunks, they still displayed the same signs as this man right here.

(Y/n) shuddered when he curled his fingers around her wrist and gripped so tight that his short nails started to puncture into her skin.

She didn't have chance to ask him to let go before he pushed her arm back towards her, still gripping tightly, and started to walk towards her instead of in the other direction. (Y/n) stumbled backwards, finding her footing before she fell and she tried in vain to yank her wrist out of his hold.

"Please let go." She was being nice. She could twist his wrist and force him to let go, she could push him or raise her voice or jam her elbow into his abdomen. But (Y/n) asked kindly because she was still on the job and she couldn't slap him like she would have done if this were any other public situation and he was simply a stranger brushing off her help.

When he released his grip on her, (Y/n) nodded and flexed her hands to stop them from trembling and to try and rid the pins and needles from her fingertips.

She felt like turning and leaving. She could always find another person who was more in need and more receptive of her help. But (Y/n) caught sight of a gash on his upper arm that was now trickling blood down his bicep towards his elbow. That needed tending to. He might need stitches.

"You're bleeding. Will you let me assess you please?" Her hand indicated to his arm and he tilted his head down, surprise written across his face at the sight of blood. Clearly he was too shocked and drunk to have felt any pain or noticed he had an injury.

Seeing as they were back near his car, (Y/n) leant over the medic bag on the floor and found a pair of gloves and some cotton swabs. She doused the swabs in antiseptic solution and turned back towards John.

(Y/n) motioned her hand in front of him so he could see what she was doing before she tried to cleanse the wound and see how deep it was. It looked like he would need stitches.

Once most of the blood was cleaned and (Y/n) could get a good look at the wound, she tried to prod the skin and check the wound better. But clearly John was feeling more pain than before as his arm twitched in her light grasp. She tried to carefully elevate his elbow up to restrict the blood flow and help her see the wound which was rather deep now she could see the ripped flesh better.

His elbow barely rose high before he wrenched his arm back towards his chest with a gruff noise that turned into a snarl when (Y/n) sighed.

He either wanted help or he didn't but he couldn't be this indecisive as it was getting tedious now.

"You'll need stitches, I can pack and bandage the wound for now until you can get to a hospital." No sooner had the words left (Y/n)'s lips than John growled his annoyance and ripped his arm from her hold.

He coiled his wounded arm near his chest and without a second thought, he swung his right arm towards her. (Y/n) gasped and leaned back so far that her lower spine clicked and her stomach twinged, the weight of the baby almost setting her off balance. She stepped back, scuffing her heel against the pavement as she dropped the bandage roll in her hand to the floor and her other hand moved to her lower back.

If she had been any slower in reacting, he would have swung his fist at her face. No one had tried to hit her before. People had shouted at her, fought her when they needed to be restrained to the gurney. Someone had pushed her once before Evan pinned him to the wall and told him to learn some manners for the responders trying to help him. But no one had swung at her before.

Her chest heaved as she tried to control her breathing and she stepped back onto the curb while her hand slowly moved round from her back to her lower stomach.

"Don't do that. I can't help you if you lash out at me." Her mind was already made up. She wasn't helping him any further. If he wanted that wound bandaged someone else could do it. All (Y/n) was going to do was find a police officer to inform them that he was a drunk driver.

"I don't want your fucking help."

Good, because he wasn't going to get it.

That was fine with (Y/n). She would pack the medic bag and find someone else who actually wanted and needed her help. She had done all she could for this man anyway, she couldn't do anything else if he wouldn't cooperate or accept her help.

Before (Y/n) had chance to reach down for the medic bag, her chest tightened and her head snapped to the right when she felt his hand curl around her wrist again. Her eyes narrowed and a streak of panic shot through to her heart which added a few extra beats and caused her chest to shudder.

Why try and cause confrontation when (Y/n) was trying to leave? He said he didn't want her help, grabbing her wasn't going to change anything and it contradicted his earlier words telling her to leave him alone.

"Get off." (Y/n) tried to steel her voice and yank her arm out of his grasp but it didn't work. He tightened his grip until his fingers were positively bruising her skin and the glaze overcoming his eyes showed he wasn't in the right frame of mind. He was more drunk than she first thought.

She took a step back, almost tripping over the curb when he tried to yank her towards him at the same time. Her feet stumbled down from the pavement onto the road along with him and shivers coursed through her blood when she sneered down at her with those vicious eyes and snarling lips.

"Or what?"

(Y/n) was taken by surprise when his free hand suddenly reached out and gripped her chin. His fingers pressed bruisingly into her jaw and his thumb punctured into her cheek almost cutting the inside of her cheek against her teeth. His grip was tight and pinching and he yanked her head up in his direction, causing (Y/n) to gasp.

Her wild eyes darted around as much as she could when John was holding her head in place. She tried to see who was around, to catch someone's eye and see if any of her team were close enough to notice that something was indeed wrong over here. She couldn't quite see any of the team, but she couldn't look properly with her head angled in John's direction and her eyes were beginning to water.

She wasn't sure whether to fight for the freedom of her wrist first or to get him to let go of her face. Deciding to free her jaw, (Y/n) curled her hand around his wrist and tried to roughly shove him away but he kept hold of her jaw. She could feel his nails scratching into her face and her body shuddered when he leaned his weight into her and pushed her into the car beside them.

Her hips ached as she clattered against the bonnet and one foot left the floor and swayed in the air as she tried to find her balance before she fell. The last thing she needed was to fall or be held in the air by John's grip on her chin and wrist.

A dull ache throbbed in her lower back and her eyes snapped closed as a whimper parted her lips at the pain tingling through her nerves.

She could feel him leaning into her and his pointed elbow jammed against her side as he hovered over her like he was going to collapse on top of her to pin her to the car. God, she prayed he wouldn't.

Without thinking twice, (Y/n) let go of John's wrist in favour of reeling her hand up to slap him. She knew she wasn't supposed to. (Y/n) was on shift, she was an emergency responder and she was taught and told how to get out of bad situations. They weren't allowed to fight back if someone tried to attack them.

There were ways to defend themselves, but everyone knew those methods only gained them more injuries. How could they get away if they couldn't fight back? How could (Y/n) get away from John if he wouldn't let her go and he was about to pin her down to the car?

The slap worked in shocking John and his hand let go of her jaw, causing her head to jolt to the left and a throbbing pain worked up through her jaw towards her ears.

The shock wore off quickly and became replaced with a look of anger that circulated through John's raging, drunken eyes. Just as (Y/n) pressed her hand to his shoulder and tried to push him off her, his hand rammed into her shoulder and slammed her back against the bonnet.

"Stop- ow-" A broken sound escaped her lips and her eyes snapped closed when shockwaves rattled through her back.

Evan wasn't sure what made him look, but something caught his attention and dragged his eyes away from the car door that he had just wrenched loose. He swung the door open so Chimney could lean in and assess the driver and he just happened to turn his head to the left.

Someone had (Y/n) pinned against a car.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides when the wrench was dropped on the road and he stormed away from the car before Chimney could ask where he was going or what he was doing. All he could see was red. A dark mask clouded Evan's expression and his lips curled into a deep frown as he thundered towards his partner and whoever this idiot was who clearly thought he had the right to touch and hurt her like that.

"Hey! Hey that's enough!" The words roared past Evan's lips and the moment he got close, his hand grabbed the man by the shoulder, close enough that he almost lifted him up by the scruff of his neck.

His other hand pressed into the stranger's chest and he shoved him back until he was tripping over his feet and he stumbled over the curb. Evan watched him land on his backside and scuff his hands against the pavement to try and stop from smashing his head into the concrete.

There was nothing Evan wanted more than to lean down and smash his fist into this idiot's face for what he had just done. He wanted to pummel him into the pavement and plaster him to the floor for this. But he couldn't. He was on duty, he would get reprimanded for it.

He twisted his head to look over his right shoulder and he quickly reached his arm out behind him and clutched onto (Y/n)'s hip when she slid against the car. He deadlocked his arm against her side and held steady when both (Y/n)'s hands clutched at his bicep, clinging to him to stop herself from falling to the floor as she couldn't quite find her footing.

(Y/n) tried her best to stop herself from shaking as she pushed up from the bonnet so she was sitting up rather than lying across the car like she was the one who was drunk. Her body curled forward until she was pressing into Evan's back and her hands clutched at his arm tighter as she pressed her face into his bicep, pressing her nose against his sleeve to inhale his scent in a vain attempt to calm herself down.

Her head felt like it was spinning on the waltzers and her sense of balance was wobbling from left to right as she tried to shuffle off the bonnet and stand on her feet again. She couldn't help but lean into Evan once she was on her feet, she felt like her knees were going to give out beneath her.

"Are you okay?" Evan twisted to the side so he could look at (Y/n) properly rather than having her stood behind him.

His free hand cupped the side of her face and he gently tilted her head back so he could look her up and down. She looked shaken and he could see tears welling up in her eyes, but at least she didn't look hurt.

(Y/n) wasn't so sure she could trust her voice so she nodded, keeping her eyes focused on Evan's lips so she didn't have to look into his eyes and have him know that she was lying. She didn't feel great. Her jaw was tingling, her lower back was aching and her heartbeat was fluctuating causing the baby to jolt and squirm to life in her stomach.

She cringed and moved her hands to hold onto Evan's hips when he spin round to look down at John who was now sitting up, trying to wobble to his feet.

He barely got up before Evan took a menacing step closer to him, his hands balled up into fists at his sides and his lips curled into a nasty snarl.

"What the Hell were you doing?" It wasn't normal to hear Evan's voice go so low and gritty and a deep rumble rattled through his chest and made (Y/n) shiver.

(Y/n) kept her hands on Evan's hips and meshed her cheek against the centre of his back, staying behind him so she didn't have to look over at John. She could hear his shoes scraping the floor as he struggled to get up and find his balance and she heard him grumbling something incoherent. But it was the feeling of Evan's muscles tensing and his shoulders rising that made her uneasy.

She knew the rest of the team were looking over now and she cringed when she realised Eddie was aiming towards them. He had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, blue gloves snapped onto his hands and his brows were furrowed in confusion.

"She- she wouldn't stop pestering," John drawled and waved his hand in Evan's direction to try and signal to (Y/n) who was hidden behind him.

"She's a medic and she was trying to help you. That doesn't give you the right to pin her to a fucking car."

If there was one thing Evan didn't like about this job it was how rude some people could be. They didn't seem to grasp the concept that they were helpers, they were first responders and all they did was try to help. No one should shout at them or push them or get aggressive and this man certainly shouldn't have scared and tried to grab (Y/n) like that simply because she was doing her best to help him.

"Woah, what'd he do?" Eddie held his hand out in Evan's direction as a look of anger began to seep onto his features.

He had caught the last few words of Evan's sentence but Eddie prayed he had heard that wrong. He prayed he didn't get that right and that someone hadn't tried to hurt her.

But when Eddie leaned back and looked over at (Y/n), she wouldn't meet his eyes. He watched the way she shrugged her head down and leaned further into Evan while she curled one arm over her stomach and looked down towards the floor.

"He had (Y/n) pinned down on the car."

Reaching out, Eddie gently curled his hand around (Y/n)'s elbow and slowly tugged until she got the hint and trudged towards him.

She was taken by surprise when Eddie's hands cupped her face and he tilted her head back so they were looking at one another. His brows were furrowed in concentration and she could see his tongue poking between his teeth as he looked her up and down to try and see if she had any marks or bruises or anything to imply that she had been hurt.

"Just back ache." (Y/n) murmured to the silent question that was burning in his eyes, asking whether or not she had any injuries they should know about.

Eddie nodded but he snapped his head to the side when he watched the stranger take a wobbling step back and turn as if he thought he could just leave. Where did he think he was going? He had practically assaulted (Y/n), not to mention he had been involved in a major car accident. He wasn't going anywhere until the police had been here to talk to him.

When Eddie let go of her and grabbed the man by his shoulder, (Y/n) shivered and began to drag her hands up and down her hips out of anxious habit.

She heard Evan mutter "You're not going anywhere," while Eddie leaned into John's line of sight and clicked his finger in his face to gain his attention.

"You pinned her to the car, why?" Eddie gave the stranger a rough shove in the shoulder to get him to focus but he kept blinking and wincing like his eyes weren't coming into focus. "Hey, you just tried to assault a medic and you think you're just gonna walk away from that? Can you not see she's pregnant?"

Evan let go of the guy's shoulder when he felt (Y/n)'s hand curl around his arm and he turned to look over at her, his expression softening just a little. And he leaned down when she motioned for him to come closer so she could murmur in his ear "He's drunk."

Those words caused Evan's expression to falter and he squeezed her arm as his head shook and his lips curled through a sigh. He twisted so he was facing (Y/n) and he attached his lips to her temple, taking a second to kiss her skin before he weaved around her.

He rested a heavy hand on Eddie's shoulder and hovered his lips over his ear. "I'm gonna get an officer over here, he's drunk." Evan felt the way Eddie tensed up and he could practically see the anger boiling through him.

He was drunk and he had been driving. He was drunk and he had almost hurt (Y/n) and undoubtedly worried her for no apparent reason.

With a heavy hand on the man's shoulder, Eddie shoved until John stumbled and once again found himself sitting on the curb with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He tried to plant his feet down and push up off the pavement but he stopped when Eddie once again pushed him and pointed a menacing finger at him.

"Sit down." He spat before he turned away once he knew John wasn't about to get up and try to abscond. Not that he could get far in that state anyway.

(Y/n) tried to smile when Eddie's hands fell to her shoulders and he nudged her to take a few steps back so they weren't too close to John anymore.

She couldn't help the relieved sigh that left her lips when Eddie looped both arms casually around her shoulders and reeled her in close so he could kiss her hairline. He breathed in her scent and tried not to let his breaths run away without him. He didn't dare think what might have gone on if Evan hadn't of spotted the scene or if neither of them had been on shift today when this happened.

(Y/n) didn't have to look to know that it was Evan who was now stood behind her with his hands on her hips and his nose buried in the back of her hair. And she managed a smile when she felt his hands slither round from her hips to cradle her stomach.

"Promise you're okay?" Evan whispered into her hair while his cast his eyes across to the drunken stranger who was sat on the curb with two police officers crouching in front of him. He wasn't their problem anymore.

"I'm okay."

[dilfismz]

Hi! Can you write jealous professor dom!cho sangwoo x student sub!reader. Can you make sangwoo become real mad and some spanking too? Thank you so so much 🥹🥹

Mine

Summary: Turns out Professor Cho doesn’t like it when stupid young boys touch what’s his.

A/N: there are a few flashback scenes in order to build a backstory so don’t be confused!

Warnings: age gap, inappropriate teacher/student relationship, spanking, some degradation?, p in v, no prep (Sangwoo is desperate), dom/sub dynamics, and hair pulling.

In all honesty, you and Professor Cho had become close by complete accident. If you could even call it close…more so acquainted. You could recall every detail of your night spent together as if it had just occurred. Every single time you step foot into his lecture hall you can’t help but reminisce.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

The bar was quiet that night, many students in their dorms studying for finals. Luckily for you, yours had concluded in one long, godforsaken day. It was tough but the reward was getting to celebrate the end of the semester early.

Sliding into a seat with your friend you spot him. He was seated a few spots down, leaning casually against the bar. He looked out of place in his crisp, tailored shirt and sharp jawline—older than most of the patrons and far more composed. His presence seemed to draw attention without trying, though he didn’t seem interested in anyone else around him.

You weren’t sure why you caught his eye, but you did. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he spoke, his deep voice cutting through the noise.

“Not a regular here, are you?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Does it show?”

“Just a little,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “You seem…young for this crowd.”

The comment made your cheeks flush slightly, but you held his gaze. “Maybe. But you don’t exactly blend in yourself.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and moved to sit closer. “Fair enough. I’m Sangwoo.”

You gave your name, and from there, the conversation flowed with surprising ease. You told him about your studies, your aspirations, and the stress that had driven you here tonight. He listened intently, asking thoughtful questions that felt more probing than casual small talk.

“I have to say,” he murmured at one point, leaning in just slightly, “I don’t usually find myself talking like this with someone… your age.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. “Maybe age doesn’t matter as much as you think.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze flicking to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Maybe.”

The air between you shifted, heavy and undeniable. When he suggested leaving, you didn’t hesitate.

The night blurred into stolen kisses in the cab, whispered words, and the heat of his hands on your skin. You fell into his bed with reckless abandon, the difference in your years forgotten in the haze of passion.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, forcing your eyes open. The unfamiliar room was quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing beside you.

You turned your head to see Sangwoo lying on his back, his arm resting over his eyes. The sharp lines of his face were softened by the light, but there was a tension in his expression that hadn’t been there the night before.

“Good morning,” you said quietly, unsure of what else to say.

He let out a soft sigh, finally lowering his arm to look at you. His eyes were darker now, clouded with something that felt like regret.

“This… probably shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice low.

The words stung, even though you’d expected them. “Why not?”

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “You’re young. Too young to be tangled up with someone like me.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a firmness to it that made your stomach twist.

You sat up too, pulling the sheet around you. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

“That was a mistake,” he said, glancing at you briefly before looking away. “I should’ve known better.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the warmth of the night before replaced with a cold, sinking feeling. You wanted to say something, to argue that you were old enough to make your own decisions, but the look on his face stopped you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, standing and reaching for his shirt. “You’re… incredible. But this can’t happen again.”

As he moved about the room, dressing and avoiding your gaze, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever been more than a fleeting distraction to him.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

Another thing you always thought of when you’d step into Professor Cho’s room is the moment you’d realized just how disastrous your night together actually was.

The first day of the new semester carried the usual energy—a mix of fresh starts and quiet dread. Students milled into the lecture hall, some chatting excitedly, others scrolling through their phones or sipping lukewarm coffee. You were somewhere in the middle, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped into the massive room.

You hadn’t given much thought to your schedule beyond the requirements you needed to fill. This class—some upper-level finance course you had reluctantly signed up for—was just another stepping stone toward your degree. You were more concerned with surviving the workload than anything else.

That was, until you looked up.

Your heart nearly stopped.

There, standing at the podium, flipping through a stack of papers with an air of quiet authority, was him.

Cho Sangwoo.

Your throat went dry.

For a second, you thought you had to be mistaken. But there was no mistaking him—not the sharp jawline, not the dark, intelligent eyes that had lingered on you once in the glow of a streetlamp, not the hands you could still feel on your skin if you let your mind wander too far.

You froze mid-step, the chatter of the other students fading into white noise. The last time you’d seen him, he had been pulling his shirt over his head in a dimly lit bedroom, his words clipped, his expression guarded.

“This can’t happen again.”

And yet, here you were.

And here he was.

As if sensing your gaze, Sangwoo glanced up from his notes.

The reaction was instant.

His confident posture faltered, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges of his papers. His brows lifted just barely before his eyes widened in unmistakable shock. You saw the exact moment recognition hit him, watched the composed, professional mask he undoubtedly wore every day crack—just for a second.

A blush rose to his face.

It was slight, barely there, but enough for you to notice. Enough for you to know that despite his careful words that morning, despite whatever lines he had drawn in his mind between you, the sight of you standing in his lecture hall had caught him completely off guard.

The confident, articulate professor—who had surely done this a thousand times, who commanded rooms full of students without hesitation—had lost his composure.

Your stomach twisted.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like you were back in that dimly lit bar, your bodies too close, your words laced with the kind of reckless flirtation that had led to this. The memory burned through you so suddenly that you were sure it showed on your face.

But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, you watched him shove it back down.

Sangwoo cleared his throat sharply, turning his attention back to his papers. The color in his face faded as he schooled his expression into something unreadable, his professional demeanor snapping back into place like a steel trap.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And now, you had to sit through an entire semester pretending it had never happened.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to move, slipping into a seat near the middle of the lecture hall. Around you, students continued their chatter, completely unaware of the silent war raging inside your head—or his.

Sangwoo took a breath, straightened his tie, and finally spoke. His voice was steady, controlled.

“Good morning. Welcome to Financial Strategies.”

If you hadn’t seen the way his hands curled slightly against the podium, you might have believed he was completely unaffected.

But you had seen it.

And you weren’t sure either of you would be able to ignore it.

That day, after class ended you sat frozen in your seat, your fingers gripping the edge of your desk as if that could steady the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

Sangwoo hadn’t looked at you once throughout the entire lecture.

Not directly, at least.

Instead, his eyes had skimmed over you like you were just another student, his voice measured, his posture rigid. But there were moments—fleeting, barely-there moments—where his fingers tensed slightly on the podium, where his breath hitched in the smallest, most imperceptible way before he forced himself forward.

And now, as you remained seated while the rest of the students shuffled out, he still wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Stay after,” he had said near the end of class, his voice neutral, yet somehow sharp.

You knew this conversation was coming. There was no avoiding it.

Sangwoo stood by his desk now, organizing papers that didn’t need organizing, straightening his laptop screen only to close it again. It was almost frustrating—watching him fidget with anything but you.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, as if bracing himself.

“If you wish to remain in this class,” he started, his voice clipped, “you will forget about what happened between us.”

You swallowed, gripping your bag strap tightly, but said nothing.

He continued, his expression carefully blank, though you could see the tension in his jaw. “It was… inappropriate. A mistake.” His fingers curled around the edge of his desk, the only sign that his control wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. “And it cannot affect your education.”

Your throat felt tight.

He was speaking to you as though that night had been some careless accident, as though it hadn’t been charged with something real. And yet, even as he spoke, his voice was too deliberate, too forced, like he was convincing himself as much as he was convincing you.

But you didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched slightly against the desk.

Your gaze dropped to his hands—the same slender hands that had once roamed your body, tracing paths of fire along your skin.

You could still feel them if you thought about it long enough. The way they had tangled in your hair, how his fingertips had brushed over your bare waist with aching slowness, how they had tightened possessively around your wrist just before he kissed you—

“Are you listening?”

Your head snapped up.

Sangwoo was watching you now, his brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

You nodded, trying to ignore the heat rising in your face.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before crossing his arms. “Good,” he muttered. “Because I can’t have distractions in my classroom. Whatever… that was, it’s over. Understood?”

His words were cruelly impersonal, but his body language betrayed him. The stiffness of his shoulders, the way he seemed almost restless standing still, as if part of him wanted to move, to do something else.

You wondered if he was remembering it, too.

The weight of him pressing you into the mattress. The way he had looked at you, his usual self-control slipping with every kiss, every touch.

You sat up a little straighter, ignoring the pang in your chest. “Understood,” you said quietly, though the words felt like a lie.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

His fingers tapped once against the desk. Then again.

Then, as if snapping himself out of something, he turned away, collecting his things with more force than necessary. “You’re dismissed,” he said, not looking at you.

You hesitated.

But there was nothing left to say.

So you grabbed your bag and walked toward the door, feeling his eyes on your back even though he had told himself not to look.

————-

Now here you are today and you have done exactly what Sangwoo asked.

For months, you kept your distance, pretending as though nothing had ever happened between you. No lingering glances, no hesitation when he called on you in class, no trace of the night you had spent tangled in his sheets. You became cold, detached—indifferent.

And it was driving him insane.

At first, he convinced himself that this was what he wanted. That this was the right thing.

But then Jisoo happened.

A boy your age. Bright-eyed, eager, always quick with a joke that made you laugh—actually laugh. You had never laughed like that in his class before. Not when you were with him.

Sangwoo ignored it at first.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Soft whispers shared between the two of you, your heads leaning close as if nothing else in the room existed. His blood simmered every time Jisoo touched your arm, every time he caught you smiling at him—every time he saw you looking at Jisoo the way you used to look at him.

But today was the worst of it.

Today, Jisoo had whispered something in your ear, and your face had gone warm—cheeks flushed, lips parting just slightly in surprise before you giggled.

Sangwoo gripped his pen so hard it nearly snapped.

The moment class ended, his voice cut through the murmurs of students packing up their things.

“Stay after.”

Jisoo glanced at you, curious. You barely reacted, nodding as you finished gathering your notes.

The last student filtered out.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Sangwoo remained standing at the front of the classroom, bracing his hands against the desk, his head tilted downward. You could see the tension in him—the way his fingers curled, the way his breaths left him in slow, controlled exhales.

You knew this was coming.

You waited.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Tell me,” his voice was low, measured. “Do you plan to seduce him the way you seduced me?”

Your heart stuttered.

The accusation hung heavy between you, thickening the air, making it harder to breathe.

“What?”

Sangwoo lifted his gaze, and for the first time in months, his carefully constructed mask had cracked.

No indifference. No feigned professionalism. Only raw frustration—barely-restrained jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

He took a step forward, slow and deliberate.

“You heard me,” he murmured, his voice dark. “Is that your plan? To make him desperate for you? To make him think, even for a second, that he can satisfy you the way I did?”

Heat pooled in your stomach, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “That’s not—”

He scoffed. “Not what?” Another step forward. “Not true? You don’t think I see the way he looks at you? The way you let him lean into you, whisper in your ear?”

His jaw clenched.

“Do you think he can touch you like I did?” His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. “Think he can even attempt to please you?”

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, knuckles whitening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you forced out.

His lips quirked up—not in amusement, but something far crueler.

“Liar.”

Your stomach flipped.

You hated how easily he unraveled you.

Sangwoo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t care,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I told myself I wouldn’t.”

You swallowed hard.

“But then I see you with him,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I see you laughing, smiling, and I—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply as if disgusted by the confession sitting on his tongue.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“You’ve been punishing me,” he murmured. “All these months, Ive been trying to forget, trying to pretend it never happened—but it did. And here you are pulling this shit right in front of me.”

His fingers twitched.

“And it still matters to you…”, you intended to ask but it came out more like a statement.

Sangwoo inhaled sharply, and before you could react, his hand shot out—grasping your wrist.

Your breath caught.

His fingers, long and slender, wrapped around your skin. Not tight. Not pulling. Just holding.

A mistake.

A reckless, dangerous mistake.

But neither of you moved to stop it.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured, his voice lower, almost pained. “I broke the rules for you once.”

Your throat went dry.

His fingers slid down, tracing your palm before hesitantly releasing you.

Then, barely above a whisper—so quiet you almost missed it—he admitted:

“I think I’d break them again.”

Your stomach clenched.

Sangwoo exhaled slowly, looking at you as if he were already regretting saying it out loud. But it was there now. It couldn’t be unsaid.

For the first time in months, he wasn’t telling you to forget.

He wasn’t telling you to leave.

Instead, his voice was quiet. Measured. Unsteady.

“Stay, it’s your turn to be punished.”

You take a tentative step in his direction, testing the waters. Sangwoo blinks slowly, looking you up and down, “You stay there”, he commands while walking to the lecture hall door. He locks it with a flick of his wrist and returns.

He sits on his chair behind the large desk he often spends hours sitting at. He spreads his thighs, patting them expectantly.

You take this as a sign to straddle him but he immediately grunts in dissatisfaction. “No, bend over my knees, face down ass up”.

You flush at the command, all self respect fleeing your body as you comply without a second thought.

Tch tch

He clicks his tongue mockingly, all while lifting your skirt up to expose your plump ass, barely covered by a tiny thong.

“Now did you wear this for me or him”, Sangwoo asks, a scowl etched onto his features.

“You Sangwoo, always for you-”, before you could finish your sentence a loud smack echoes throughout the lecture room. Before you can even register the pain another red hot slap lands on your bottom, leaving you breathless.

“It’s sir”, he commands, a shit eating grin already overtaking his features.

“Y-yes sir”, you respond.

“Good fucking slut, finally you do something right. Maybe I should’ve done this right away, then we never would have had that silly little problem huh?”

You simply nod, his words going in one ear and out the other. Sangwoo pulls your hair harshly, forcing your head back to look at him.

“Speak when you’re spoken to”, he commands, his other hand landing another firm slap to your stinging ass.

“Yes sir-“, you moan as he kneeds the sensitive flesh, “-wish you would’ve done this sooner.”

He nods in approval, forcing you off of his legs and pushing you against his desk.

You can hear him unbuckle his belt and all but shake with anticipation. You’ve waited oh so long to feel him again.

Suddenly his swollen tip is prodding at your entrance, your thong pulled to the side. Sangwoo lets out a heavy sigh and declares, “I’ve waited way too damn long to do this again…now tell me have you been whoring around campus or is the last time your pussy got stretched with me?”

“Y-you sir, haven’t done anything since that night”, you splutter out, backing up into him, hoping he’ll just push in already.

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear”, he says right before completely bottoming out in one harsh thrust.

Sangwoo doesn’t start out gentle, he keeps thrusting into you slowly but oh so roughly. You swear you can feel him reaching spots even he didn’t hit last time.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as his hands grip your hips with a bruising force. He scoffs at your desperate mewls, “I won’t last long sweetheart so you’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful, ya?”

“Yes sir”

Sangwoo can feel his glasses slipping down his nose as his pace quickens. The entire room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and its filthy.

“Please don’t stop sir I’m close”, you beg as you feel that all too familiar feeling within you.

He doesn’t stop. His hands gripping you even tighter as he grits his teeth, cock twitching as your gummy walls suck him in.

“Fuck, it’s like this pussy was made for me, can’t believe I stayed away for so long”, he gasps out.

That’s all the praise you needed to reach your peak. Your walls spasm around Sangwoo and he continues his assault on your insides, coming to an abrupt stop as you feel his warm seed fill you up.

The both of you are a panting mess and he runs his hands through his own hair, pushing him glasses back up his nose.

When Sangwoo finally pulls out he sighs and looks at your pathetic form in front of him.

“Clean yourself up and we’ll have a serious conversation about how this arrangement is gonna work.”

[uzurakis]

hello!

Can we have JJK guys reaction to his friend/buddy being in love with his girlfriend? (can sukuna and other any other characters you like).

THEIR FRIEND ALSO . . . LIKES YOU?!

featuring: ryomen sukuna. gojo satoru. itadori yuuji. fushiguro megumi.

n. hey sweetheart, i’m not used to writing sukuna, but i tried to write him as him as much as i can! i hope it suits him. thankies for the req x—x

GOJO SATORU. when gojo found out that his friend also liked you, his reaction was, unsurprisingly, far from what most people would expect. instead of anger or jealousy, he simply shrugged it off, his trademark smile playing on his lips.

“did you hear what i just said?” you asked, looking at him with wide eyes, he wasn’t fazed. “your friend likes me.”

gojo laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “oh, i heard you,” he replied, leaning back against the couch with an amused glint behind those glasses. “but why should i be worried? i know you’ll choose me at the end of the day.”

you blinked, taken aback by his confidence. “you’re not even a little bit concerned?”

“not at all,” gojo said, grinning. “i mean, can you blame them? you’re everything. but they don’t stand a chance against me, darling.”

“besides, it’s not like i don’t trust you. i know you love me.”

his words were playful, but because you know him well, he was serious. it was just the way he expressed it. “you’re right,” you admitted, tracing figures on his hands. “i do love you.”

“see? nothing to worry about. let him have their crush. it doesn’t change anything between us. if anything, it’s flattering. just proves i have excellent taste.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA. being in a relationship with sukuna meant navigating his unpredictable moods and overwhelming presence, but you had never seen him this angry before. the air seemed to crackle with his frustration as he paced back and forth, his eyes blazing with a fury that sent chills down your spine.

“babe,” you began, trying to calm him down. “what’s wrong?”

he stopped pacing and looked at you, his expression dark. “fucking jerk, it’s that so-called ‘friend’ of mine,” words spat out immediately. “i found out he likes you.”

your heart skipped a beat. you had noticed the way his friend had been acting lately, but you hadn’t thought much of it. now, seeing sukuna’s reaction, you realized just how serious this was.

“ryo,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “i chose you from the start, right?”

he growled, his hands clenching into fists. “i don’t care about that. he should have known better. he should have known that you’re mine.”

sukuna lined up his hand on your chin, causing your eyes to meet. “if he comes near you, he’ll face my wrath,” he whispered, his tone still laced with menace. “no one threatens what’s mine.”

“especially my woman.”

ITADORI YUUJI. you told him about his friend’s feelings while you both were sitting inside your cozy room. itadori’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then he leaned back in his chair, processing the information.

“wow,” he said softly, scratching the back of his head, those pink locks becoming messier. “i didn’t see that coming.”

bitting your lower lip, you’re worried about how he might take the news. “you’re not mad, aren’t you?”

but your boyfriend shook his head, full of understanding. “no, i’m not mad, baby. feelings are complicated, y’know? it’s not like he can control how he feels.”

you sighed in relief, appreciating his maturity. “okay... i was just worried about how you’d react.”

“baby, i trust you, and i trust our relationship. besides, i’m kind of curious now. like, since when did he start liking you? how did i miss that?”

feeling the tension ease out of the situation, you chuckled at him. his obliviousness always gets in the way. “don’t know the exact moment, but i guess it’s been a while.”

“hmm,” the guy leaned forward, resting his chin on his free hand. “did he ever try to tell you or make a move?”

you shook your head. “no, i guess he didn’t. i think he knew about us and didn’t want to cause any trouble.” after your statement, a thoughtful expression was written on his face. “that must have been tough for him. i mean, having feelings for someone who’s already in a relationship.”

“it probably was,” you agreed. “but i’m glad you’re handling this so well.”

“hey, anyone would be lucky to have you. i just got there first.”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. he took a deep breath, deciding to be honest. after fushiguro found out that his friend liked you, it hit him harder than he wanted to admit. the knowledge gnawed at him, and although he tried to brush it off, doubts began to creep in, making him question his own worth and your relationship. “i found out that one of my friends likes you.”

“really? who?” you blinked in surprise, not expecting that. he named the friend, and you frowned, thinking back on any interactions you might have had. “i had no idea…”

fushiguro nodded, but his eyes avoiding yours. “i didn’t either. it just… fuck, it bothers me.”

“i guess it makes me question things. like, am i good enough for you? do you have feelings for him too? those sorta things..”

your hands immediately caressed his by instinct, seeing him like this made your heart ache. “baby, you’re enough for me. i don’t have any feelings for them. i’m with you until the end.”

the man looked down for a long while, his grip on your hand tightening. “but what if i’m not enough? what if there’s something lacking in our relationship that makes you look elsewhere?”

“there’s nothing lacking, megumi. i’m happy with you. and i love you just the way you are.” you shook your head, cupping his face with your free hand.

after that he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. “i don’t want to that jealous boyfriend but i can’t help it. the thought of losing you to someone else…”

“you’re not going to lose me,” you interrupted softly. “i’m here with you, and that’s not going to change. fushiguro then opened his eyes, searching for reassurance in yours, before closing them again. a little, relieved smile tugged on the edges of his lips. “i love you. i’m sorry for doubting us.”

@uzurakis

[devildomcuties]

Obey Me: Climb into Bed [Dateables]

🕷 pairing: diavolo, barbatos, simeon, and solomon x gn!reader

🕷 wc: 961

🕷 summary: Unable to sleep, you sneak out of the House of Lamentation

🕷 warnings: making out, pet names (my love, sweetheart, babe, little one, implied smut, oral sex

🕷 a/n: I don't know what to call this line and I'm not fond of calling them side characters, so from here on out they will be dateables and the brothers will be demon brothers :)

Diavolo 

“Barbatos wouldn’t approve of your late-night shenanigans,” Dia says as he rolls over to see you at his bedroom door. 

“How did you know it was me?” You ask as you shut the door and head towards his bed. Diavolo sits up, moving the covers to welcome you into his bed. 

He’s shirtless, and in the glow of the lamp on the bedside table, you can make out every delicious ridge of his torso. 

“You expect me not to recognize the footsteps of the love of my life?” Dia asks as you strip your pajamas and climb in beside him.

You smile, melting into his side as his arm drapes over your waist. You lock eyes with him, bashful as he looks at you for a few moments in silence. 

Diavolo leans in, capturing your lips with his own. His large hand cups your cheek, and the other moves down to your lower back. Your leg ends up between his thick thighs, moaning as you rock up and down on his thigh. 

“Barbatos is going to kill me tomorrow,” Diavolo whispers in between saccharine kisses. 

“Why’s that?” You respond as his lips kiss their way down your jaw toward your neck. You grip his broad shoulders, cursing when he rolls on top of you between your legs and you feel his hard cock against your thigh. 

“Because we won’t be getting any sleep tonight, my love,” Diavolo grins as he kisses your lips again, moaning your name softly. 

Barbatos

“You really shouldn’t be in my bedroom this late,” Barbatos’ voice startled you as you shut his bedroom door. 

Across the room, he stands in nothing but a towel as his hair drips slowly onto his shoulders. You follow a drop of water running down his chest until it disappears into his teal bath towel. You gulp, pulsating as you blink, forgetting what he’s said. 

“Sweetheart?” Barbatos takes a few steps toward you while you try not to drool over his perfect physique. He smirks when he catches your gaze, your cheeks flaming hot.

“Yes?” You blink as he cups your face, his thumb tracing your lips. He doesn’t say a word as he kisses you, leading you to his bed where you fall with a gasp. 

Barbatos is on top of you, kissing your neck and helping you out of your pajamas before he drops his towel. His hair is still damp between your fingers when you tug it, pinning his face to your neck as he licks the column of your throat before his teeth sink in. 

“Barb!” You gasp, arching into him as his hands settle onto your hips. Your legs wrap around him as you pant, moaning when he moves lower. 

“I suppose the Young Master shall have a late start to his morning tomorrow,” Barbatos chuckles. “For I will be busy attending to your every need tonight.”

Simeon

“Baby?” Simeon looks up from his journal when he hears his bedroom door open. 

“Hey,” you wave shyly. 

“You shouldn’t be out so late,” Simeon scolds gently as you approach him. He closes his journal and sets his pen on his desk. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I sent you a message on the D.D.D. but you didn’t respond,” you explain. 

Simeon blushes as he reaches for the device. He was still learning how to use it and knew better than to ignore it when it pinged but inspiration had struck and he’d been writing since after dinner with Luke and Solomon. 

You take Simeon’s hand, leading him to the bed. Simeon takes his shirt off, tossing it onto the desk chair as you lift the covers and slide beneath them. He joins you a second later, pulling you to him. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he leans in to kiss you. 

“Did you miss me, little one?” Simeon teases as he kisses your jaw, cheek, and earlobe. “Couldn’t sleep without me next to you?”

“I wanted you to come to me,” you answer him, your hands running over the broad expanse of his back. “Wanted to feel you, kiss you, devour you.”

Simeon groans, moaning your name as he pulls you on top of him. His hands grip handfuls of your ass, kissing you deeply as you grind down on him. 

“Well, you’re here now and I aim to please,” he whispers before he kisses you again, his fingers unbuttoning your top easily as you grind on him once more. 

Solomon

“You know, I could have just popped into your bedroom instead?” Solomon smirks as you appear in his bedroom beside his bed. 

You jump, not expecting him to be behind you. 

“I tried sneaking out first but Lucifer caught me,” you sigh as you climb into bed with him. “I had to barter with Satan to get a spell book.”

��Resourceful,” Solomon laughs as he pulls you to him. “Next time just call and I’ll be right over. You know Lucifer won’t be able to keep me from you.”

“But isn’t it more fun to sneak around?” You grin as you kiss Solomon. He moans as you push him onto his back, your legs straddling his hips. His hands find their place on your ass.

“You do love the thrill of danger,” Solomon whispers as you kiss your way down his shirtless body. When you reach his sweatpants, you run your hand over his erection, licking your lips before tugging his sweatpants down with his boxers. 

Solomon curses, eyes shut as you wrap your lips around him. His heart rate spikes, pleasure coursing through him as you take him into your mouth. 

His fingers thread in your hair, moans escaping his pretty lips until he’s nothing but a puddle of lust underneath you.

©devildomcuties - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms.

[jasmines-library]

Okay that one with baby batsib learning about Batman was so cute but what about the opposite? Imagine they decided that they hate Batman 💀 love your writing 🥰

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: LOVE THIS. sorry it took me an age.

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧ READ PT1 ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BRUCE:

The look on your face when Bruce picked you up from school that day was not the look he expected. Your arms were folded, and your eyebrows were knitted together in a tight scowl as you stood at his feet.

Ruffling your hair in an attempt to wipe the pout off of your face, Bruce knelt down to your height and spoke to you gently. "What's that look for, Sweetheart?" He asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement lingering in his tone.

You didn't answer. Instead you just huffed, turning away from him. Bruce just tilted his head, rather amused by your mood. "Come on, kid. It can't have been that bad. What did you learn about today?"

With one drawn out movement, you turned back to face him, a stony expression chiseled onto your face. "Batman."

"Oh?" Bruce raised an eyebrow. He was wondering when you would come across Batman. The family had agreed that you were far too young to know the secret yet, so had avoided telling you.

"I don't like him." You declared, sticking your chin up.

Bruce frowned a little. "And why not?"

"He stops people."

"He's trying to help the city, kid."

You huffed once again. "I don't like him."

Bruce couldn't help the slight grin on his face. He found it rather comical that you hated Batman so much. You were going to have one hell of a dilemma when they reveal their identities to you.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

DICK:

Your little hand was stretched above your head as you clung onto Dick's hand. He had decided to take you to the park to enjoy the most of the summer weather before Gotham shortly returned to its usual doom-and-gloom rain. Your feet shuffled on the pavement beside your brother as he walked you towards the ice cream parlour just across the road. Your eyes practically lit up as you saw the abundance of bright colours and flavours all lined up in neat rows.

"Alright kiddo. Whatcha having?" Dick lifted you up and placed you on his hip so that you could see properly over the small line of people. "They've got strawberry, chocolate, vanilla.....oh look." He pointed to one of the drawings on the specials menu. "You can get a batman sundae."

Your face twisted with disgust. "Yuck. Batman."

"You don't like Batman?" Dick raised an eyebrow, adjusting you on his hip.

"No."

"Where'd you learn about Batman?"

"At school." You replied, trying to look over the people at the counter, clearly more interested in the ice cream than in the conversation with your brother.

Dick shook his head with amusement. "Why don't you like him?"

"He's boring."

Your answer took Dick a little off guard. "Boring?" He frowned.

"Yes. Boring. We spent all day learning about him and it was very boring."

"I see" Dick chuckled, making note to tell Bruce about this later. "So i take it no Batman sundae then? Because Batman is boring?"

"Yep." you said proudly.

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JASON:

Jason was in his bedroom reading comics on his bed when you wandered in.

"Jay-Jay?" You called out for him, turning the corner and stopping when you saw him on his bed. you looked at him, eyes wide with curiosity. "What are you doing?"

"I'm reading, Little Wayne." He answered.

"Reading what?" You asked, wandering to the bed and standing on your toes to peer over. He lifted you up to sit beside him.

"Comics." he showed you. "See."

you pointed to the figure on the page. "Who's that."

"That's Batman."

"Who's Batman?"

"He saves the city. He keeps Gotham safe." Jason explained, giving you a rundown on Batman. His gadgets, his cars.

"Thats booorringgggg." You drew out, looking at the illustrations on the page.

"Boring?"

"yes." You huff. "I don't like him. He does boring things."

"If that's what you say, kid."

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TIM:

Tim was in the kitchen with you. He had you sat in a chair as he made you a snack. The news was playing in the background, with Batman and his sidekicks' faces flashing across the screen. You paid little interest to it as you ate you breakfast, but as time went on, you began to grow fed up of seeing him and his fast car driving through the streets.

"Timmy. can you turn it over?"

Tim reached for the remote and flicked to another channel, but it was also playing the same footage.

"Tim." You whined. "Turn it over. I don't like Batman."

Tim turned around to face you. "No?"

"No." You said, taking another bite of your breakfast. "He destroys the city."

"He doesn't do it on purpose, kid. He destroys it to get the bad guys."

"But sometimes he doesn't even catch the bad guys. And he has sidekicks to help him."

"He can't stop all the crime on his own, kid."

You paused for a moment, outspoken, but pout and take another big bite, speaking with half of your mouth full. "Well i don't like him anyway."

Tim changed the channel to something else. He found your slander of the vigilantes amusing, considering you would more than likely become one in the future. he just hoped that he would be there to see your face when you found out the truth.

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DAMIAN:

You were watching Damian play video games in the living room one evening. He was supposed to be babysitting. out of the window, the bat-signal flashed into view.

You tugged on his sleeve, pointing it out to him. "Dami. Look. Batsignal."

"Where'd you learn that, kid?" he asked, pausing his game.

"At school."

Damian took in the look on your face. "You don't seem that excited. Most kids are excited about batman."

"I'm not." You folded your arms. "I hate batman."

Damian chuckled in interest. "Well, you're not like most kids then, are you. why do you hate him?"

"He doesn't change the city."

"Hm?"

"There are still bad guys."

"There are." Damian hummed. "But he's trying his best."

"And he hasn't got the monster under my bed yet."

Damian couldn't help the snort of laughter that slipped past his lips. "Oh well, thats not very good of him, is it?"

"No its not." you scowled.

"I'll have to have a chat with him then, get him to sort it out for you. will that make you like him more?"

"maybe."

Damian smiled softly. "I'll see what i can do."

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish @killxz @rosecentury @lara20aral

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[azullumi]

WHERE WE LIE ON THE EDGE OF SUMMER !!

premise— you didn’t think that being neighbors and childhood friends with scaramouche would come with many things. for one, you have a sassy loser pathetically in love with you. content tags & warning — pairing: scaramouche (w/ gender-neutral reader) | modern!au, childhood friends, puppy love, scaramouche can’t skip stones, secret pining (for scaramouche), scaramouche words of reassurance and act of service advocate, fluff, word vomit, unspoken confessions | wc: 4.8k ; one-shot

notes from a jellyfish — (repost) first fic for the eat your heart out event!! nearly lost my mind writing this, but enjoy!!

SCARAMOUCHE is a liar. 

No truths spill from his mouth, that much is certain. 

He could never understand how poets write the beauty of a single sway of grass in the wind nor see how artists condense a single moment into a small stroke of a brush and find it breathtaking when it will all be bound to rot, but he tells others that he does anyway because he is a liar.

His words would bloom withered in his mouth, a shameful garden of ache, and the petals would never feel the lingering warmth in his lips.

But he never liked the heat, the suffocating warmth, always preferring the winter cold. But it was summer when he first met you and he remembers your laughter as you threw pebbles across the water, your smile gently shaped by the warm sun.

i. standing in between here and there

“Are you okay?”

There was only a grimace of annoyance on his face when you turned to briefly look at him. 

It was summer once more and Scaramouche dreaded summer more than anyone could, much more so now that he’s spending this hot day with a stranger—a child of his aunt’s friend, who is also their neighbor. The combination of sitting under all this heat and being forced to get along with someone he doesn't know is deadly. He can't even remember what their name was. Perhaps they had uttered it once only for it to be lost among the pebbled path or to be drowned in the river.

He raises his eyebrow at you, “Is it not obvious enough?”

“What’s with this sassy lost child? Jeez.” You mumble more words underneath your breath, something along the lines of him being grumpy. The summer breeze brushes across your skin as you stare at the river, contemplating. Perhaps you were debating if this stone will reach farther than the frog who jumped across just now, or maybe you’re just thinking of the boy—who your mother had asked you to get along with—sitting silently on the grass behind you since earlier.

You throw one stone over the water. It bounces once and twice, the surface responding with small ripples, sliding across before eventually sinking. You do this many times and he watches you every single time, eyes seemingly unable to look away. But curiosity is a hungry monster that consumed him, so he speaks to rid of the itch that claws at his throat:

“What are you doing?”

“Stone skipping,” you paused, witnessing the stone jump only once before reuniting with its old friends at the bottom of the river, “wanna try?” You blink at him, waiting for his answer. There was silence then came a grumble. He stood up from his seat with an expression that makes it seem like you forced him to do so.

You handed the boy a pebble, but he had to stare at it for a few seconds before he took it from your hand. You waited with an expectant gaze, your mind somehow anticipating that he’ll do better than you—Scaramouche looks like he’s good at everything that he does.

Oh, but how your expectations came crumbling down the way your breakfast cookie fell into your glass of milk.

“Go on, throw it.” You had told him and you didn’t know that he was that much of an obedient child because he really did throw it. Just not aimed at the water. He threw it like how one would pass a ball to a friend; his stone didn’t even graze nor come near the surface of the water.

But Scaramouche had the same perseverance of a rock against the wind. He picked up a pebble and threw it once more; this time, it is now aimed at the water but it only went straight ahead, sinking slowly to the bottom.

You don’t think you’re in the right time to say anything, so you just stood still and watched the struggle of a young boy who had a small stone in his hand, with the occasional rustling of leaves as the breeze passes and with the sound of a splash prodding at the silence that envelops you like a familiar companion. You wanted to go and teach him how he’s supposed to do it, that there is a certain angle that he has to reach and he’s not supposed to throw it just as it is, but your mind seems to tell you not to so you didn’t. It’s all quite a spectacular watch, after all, it was as if you were watching your favorite show at 7 PM after waiting hours for it to go on air.

No matter how many times Scaramouche tries to throw and make the pebble bounce across the river, it always just sinks the first time it comes into contact with the surface. He’s silent, but the frustration is evident in the scrunch of his eyebrows and the increasing aggression in his movements.

“Oh, wow, you’re terrible at this.” You were the first to break the silence—your words seem to have stabbed his unyielding spirit as he groaned and just went back to where he was sitting. An act of surrender after struggling for so long.

”You don’t want to try again?”

“Why should I?” The pebble will only sink anyway. What’s the point of doing something when you know you’ll fail in the end?

“Come on, just try it once more.” But you were a stubborn one and Scaramouche doesn’t have much of a choice, not when you’re already right in front of him, taking his hands into yours and pulling for him to stand up. You drag him back to where he was earlier, still holding one of his hands even as you pick up a pebble right at your feet.

“Here, do it like this.” Your hand is warm against his, gentle, in contrast to the crumpled look on his face. You guide him, saying words that he can’t process that much as he’s way too focused trying to fan the flames that danced across his cheeks.

He throws, in the same angle and form that you have guided him into before you had stepped back to watch, holding hope that he’ll succeed this time in the same hand you held him. The stone doesn’t immediately celebrate with his other failed attempts at the bottom as it bounces against the surface. 

You cheered, the sound of laughter slipping out of your lips as it seemed to tickle the insides of your mouth the more you held it in. There’s a certain feeling of warmth that washed over him when the melody rings inside his head. The roughness of the feeling, sharp in its unfamiliar edges, is akin to a huge wave that crashed into his form, but the comfort of it as it submerges him reminds him of the afternoon light shining on the floors of his home.

“It only bounced once.” He says, trying to downplay it all to get rid of the feeling that consumes him.

“But it did. That’s what matters, doesn’t it?” The feeling only seemed to grow stronger as if it’s feeding on your every word, being fuelled by your gaze, by your smile, by the sound of your voice. He tries to drown it all by thinking of other thoughts, diving into a different topic instead, and all the while, copying you as you resume your stone-skipping activities.

“Do you not get bored doing this?”

You hum, contemplating for a few seconds before you answer: “I think everything is a little more fun when you do it during summer,” you beam at him, then return your gaze back to the river before you throw, “Like this, especially when you’re doing it with someone.”

To be honest, he doesn’t even understand what you’re saying. This childlike mindset—although, for one, you and him are just a pair of children, playing beside the river, feeling the heat prickling against your skin. The bugs only grow louder in each second that passes as the afternoon slowly comes to the pass, replaced with the onset of the evening. The sky is painted with various colors mixed together but all in harmony, oranges and reds mixed with something golden, tainted with purples.

And yet, he would always ask himself, what is even nice about summer?

“I don’t know why but maybe I’m just saying that because I like summer,” you say as if you had read his mind, as if you had noticed the lingering question on his face that asks you why. “Do you like summer?”

It takes him a moment to answer, letting the orchestra of the wind against leaves, of the stone splashing against water, of the cicada’s song last longer than his silence. He could have said no, he could have disagreed with you and argued with your answer. He could have said that he despised summer for its heat and bugs. But he didn’t and that was the problem.

“I… like summer.” There are razors in his tongue as he speaks, the utterance of the sentence making him bleed internally as he bites on his words. Perhaps the hesitation in his tone betrays his words or perhaps it was the twitch of his lips paired with the contort of his forehead that made it appear as untruthful as it actually was.

Even so, you were convinced. You gleam at him, eyes bright with excitement: “Really? You don’t seem to be one to like summer.”

“I do, why would you say that?”

You shrug, “You just seem like a winter person to me.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. In fact, that was the whole truth and the actual lie was him saying that he likes summer. He still doesn’t understand himself for saying such words—maybe it’s the heat getting into his head or maybe it's the sound of your laughter that plays over and over inside his mind.

It feels like having a crush—He slaps himself mentally at the notion.

“We should always spend summer together then.” You’ll say, watching a pebble bounce across until it reaches the other side. A feat you have only achieved twice—the second time being this moment. You silently rejoiced for your success, clenching your hand into a fist.

He responds, “So we could just watch stones bounce on water the whole time?” and this made you chuckle before you refute: “Unless you want to, but there are tons of other things to do during summer.”

This went on and on: you, just listing out whatever activities you could do and saying whatever, and him, who listens to every word you say and would give you short responses. It is not until dusk had ended and the evening came, and now, you’re standing by the doorway, saying your goodbyes to the boy who’s terrible at stone-skipping.

“You don’t even know my name, do you?”

“I do.”

You laugh, “Liar.”

ii. take a step closer, won’t you?

Summer came to visit like an old friend you had known for years.

It’s a fleeting companion, a familiar stranger bound to disappear, gone as the wind carries your scent. The sun kisses your skin very delicately, the grass will hold your being as if you were its own child, and you will miss its embrace the moment it slips out of your hands quietly. But there’s a strange comfort welling up in your heart knowing that you will feel it once more in time and you won’t have to spend a lifetime missing it—or him.

“What are you being so slow for?” The dark-haired man stops from his track and turns to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed into a frown. “The sun will set before we even reach the river.” It’s the mayor of complaintown, throwing his usual complaints at you. You could only roll your eyes before you run to him, catching up to his pace before the two of you resume walking.

Scaramouche, somehow, kept his promise. Although it’s not exactly a promise because the two of you didn’t make any, he did keep his word of spending every summer with you. And right now, you’re in the middle of walking through the forest near your home—an adventure, you may say, despite the fact that you have taken this path multiple times already and you’re just returning to the place where the two of you usually spend your moments under the summer sun.

The gentle murmurs of the rushing water reach your ears, eventually getting louder as the two of you draw close to your destination. Not sooner than later, a familiar scene comes into view: the small river—a stream, to be exact—in all its glory displayed before you, a path of water stretching from here to there across your line of vision, carrying memories of when the two of you played around it.

There’s a small smile embedded on your lips. It’s the thought that it's only the two of you that knows of this place that makes you warm—it’s like a secret place for you and him.

You come close to the body of water, crouching down, staring at your rather unclear image by the water, and making out the contours and edges of your face. You try to reach out to your reflection, disturbing the surface with the tip of your fingertips, and you watch as it ripples underneath your hand. Although you’re way too focused on whatever you are doing that you forgot the existence of the boy who came here with you.

“Are you just planning on staring at the water all day long?” Scaramouche says as he crouches down beside you. He speaks as if he didn’t spend his time staring at you, admiring the way the sun holds you in its embrace, while thinking that he could just look at you for hours without getting bored.

You hum, “I really don’t know what else to do now,” you draw something on the water, the surface coming in creases.

“I thought you said there are a lot of things to do in the summer.”

“Yeah, but we already did nearly all of them.” You grumble, turning to look at him with a troubled expression. Indigo orbs meet yours in a gentle gaze; Scaramouche’s gaze, tender and soft, doesn’t often match the harsh bite of his words. It leaves you wondering, confused, if this is just his way of showing that he cares or if there’s something more. But you don’t like thinking about it—fools base their thoughts on foolish assumptions, and you are no fool.

If only you know what festers underneath his skin. Looking at you like this, honey light against your skin, he thinks you’re beautiful—the word isn’t even enough to capture the essence of your being. The world seemingly held its breath for this moment as everything came to a still except for the wind that brushes against your face. He is foolishly and utterly starstruck by the existence of you, as if you were meant to be in this place, to experience this small, fleeting moments with him, to be bathed under sunlight, to breath in the air of your surrounding, the feel the coldness of water against your feet—to live.

There's you and his mere image being reflected by your eyes, and he tries to see into the waters of your gaze for something that is akin to the just adoration he holds for you, hoping that you hold him under the same light too. He may speak of words that hold no meaning, no truth, but his feelings for you are intense and unwavering that it consumes him. Won’t you pull him a little closer?

You break the stillness, your surroundings seemingly coming back to life with the sound of your voice: “What are you thinking now?”

“Just how stupid you look.” The boy answers. Liar.

You acted as if you were offended by his statement, letting out a gasp and even placing your hand over your chest to show that you were quote on quote, hurt. He only rolls his eyes at your performance.

You jest, “Why are you so grumpy? Do you just hate being with me?”

“Stop assuming things, I didn’t say anything like that.” His attention is now to the river, watching as the stream flows and as the rocks remain unmoving.

You grab this moment to take advantage of his vulnerability and inattention. Snickering, you scoop a handful of water before splashing it to him, drenching him in the process. At the sight, laughter bubbles from your throat—he reminded you of a wet chick.

“So we're playing this game?”

“You started it.” You grin, splashing him once more but this time, he was able to shield himself from your attack.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Cold!” You exclaim as he repays you the favor.

It became a battle between you two. You’ll splash him with a handful and he’ll only retaliate after like two or three of your attacks, and even so, he’ll only fight back with only so little. Nevertheless, water drips from your head, down to your face and he, too, is left there on the side of the river with you, completely drenched and with his clothes sticking to his skin. His gaze is on you and yours are on him, and the two of you break into laughter—you think you’ll remember the sound of yours and his tangled together forever.

For a moment, it felt like the two of you were children once more.

“Ah, now we’re both wet.”

Scaramouche flicks your forehead, earning a groan from you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, duh.” You sneeze as soon as you finish your sentence. Scaramouche doesn’t fail to notice you tremble, hugging your knees close to your chest as if to quell the growing chill. 

He abruptly stands up, and you watch him as heads over to where his bag is. He’s been carrying that since earlier and you’ve been curious as to what it contains—you didn’t get the chance to ask him earlier but now, your question is going to be answered. 

You follow after, standing and peering behind him to see the contents. Your eyes are able to make out a water bottle and some snacks—were those your favorite?—among the pile of things. Albeit you didn’t get to see anymore of it as he turned around and placed something on top of your head, obscuring your vision.

You realized it was a towel when he started to gently rub your hair and the side of your face with it, drying you with the soft fabric.

“I didn’t know you had that much prepared.” You comment, letting him seemingly take care of you. Sometimes, it feels like you’re indebted to him with how much he looks after and cares for you. It feels unfair; you take so much from him and he never takes anything from you. He never lets himself indulge, settling on here and there, but never by you. You wish he would come close, he wishes you’ll hold him closer.

“I think we’re going to get sick after this.” You ask with worry lacing your tone; the water was cold and none of you brought any spare clothes, save for the towel he had prepared. And while he’s the one who got drenched the most, he’s here, focusing on you instead. 

(You’ll always find yourself being bathed underneath all of his attention, whether you notice his gaze or not.)

“You’re the only one getting sick between the both of us.” He answers, draping the towel all over your shoulders before he goes and takes out a smaller towel to dry himself. There’s a small pout on your face when you hear his words—you can’t say anything in retort.

“Are we going home now?”

“If you want to, that is.”

The sun is already setting and darkness is slowly creeping into the day as time passes. Your surroundings are dyed with a warm golden, fading into blue. The animals that dwell in the night are revealing themselves as the ones who thrive during the day are returning to rest. Eventually, you also have to go home too. Exhaustion has seeped into you, settling into your weary bones.

“Can you carry me?”

“What? Can’t you walk on your own?”

“Oh, please, almighty Scaramouche. My legs are hurting and I’m tired.” Your hands are clasped together as you speak, batting your eyelashes at him.

Scaramouche could have complained a little more, dismissed your request, and walked back on his own, but he didn’t. And it’s not like he did not want to, but he just could not. How could he ever deny you? You were all that he could ask for, you were only asking him for one thing. Rejecting you at this moment was just like turning away from you—even though he knows that you’re most likely bluffing and are capable of your own. 

(But, oh, he’s simply nothing without you. After all, you make up half of his soul even if he’s not even a fragment of yours.)

“You’re so troublesome.” You’re his favorite problem anyway.

Dusk is settling in the corners of the forest, and in the midst of the trees and along with the harmony of cicadas, is you and Scaramouche. The dark-haired man carries you on his back while you keep him occupied with your chatter of whatever that comes to your mind.

And just as he notices every small thing about you, you can’t ignore the dark hue his skin is painted in:

“Your ears are red.”

He takes a few seconds, mumbling, “It’s too hot.”

(Maybe it’s summer that is warm, or maybe it’s you.)

The next day, however, Scaramouche got sick and you had to nurse him back to his health—out of worry and guilt. Although you held that fact over your head, treating it as some sort of trophy.

iii. aren’t we already close enough?

Something knocks at Scaramouche’s window.

That’s how most horror movies start, but this is no horror movie, and it doesn’t take much for him to know that it was just his neighbor trying to grab his attention.

Another knock came. He heads towards the noise, pushing the curtains aside, and immediately seeing you across in your own room, standing by your open window. Upon seeing the man, you enthusiastically wave at him.

You mouthed, even doing some hand gestures to throw your message across to him: “Do you wanna watch the stars with me?”

It seems like he didn’t understand what you were trying to say as he only stares at you with a confused expression. You sighed and gestured for him to wait, disappearing from his line of sight for a moment before returning with a pen and paper in your hand; you scribble something on it and he watches you with a curious gaze.

With your words written by ink, a few of it crossed out, it reads: Let’s go stargazing.

He mouths, “Right now?” In which you responded with a nod and a smile. Then you return to your pad in hand, turning to new page before writing:

There’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Let’s watch it together.

Scaramouche puts down his reply on his paper that he has gotten as you were writing.

Where? 

The forest has a small clearing, it’s perfect for stargazing.

Right, and why are we talking like this?

It’s more fun this way and I don’t want to wake people up.

So, do you wanna go???

Okay. Yeah.

YAY !!! I’ll meet you outside.

But just as you were about to leave, he threw his pen at your window, an attempt to grab your attention although he did end up startling you.

It’s cold.

Wear something warm.

You beam at his display of his concern and give him an ‘Okay’ sign.

A few minutes flies by and you come out, jacket in hand. A certain man, with hair as dark as midnight, greets you. He’s clad in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, layered with a jacket on top—he was dressed comfily, as if he were planning on sleeping prior to this.

“Were you planning on going to sleep?”

“I was, until you called.”

“You could have just turned me down. I don’t mind watching the meteor shower alone.” You feel guilt rising in your chest, looking down at the ground you were rooted on. Thoughts whirl like a hurricane, creating a vortex of doubt that wreaks havoc inside your head. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, feeling all of these all at once over a simple and small thing. You were the one to insist, always the first one to come barging into his door.

But somewhere between your thoughts and his own, between loving you and adoring you, he knows you in ways that no one could. You’re the only one he ever knows.

“You’re not bothering me,” Scaramouche ruffles your head, messing up your hair. He speaks in the same note of his touch, soft and gentle, and it feels foreign and familiar at the same time; you want this, you could get used to this—the small thought that remains inside your mind echoes as he dispels all of your worries with just a few of his words. “Besides, I also wanted to watch the meteor shower.” With you.

“Really?”

“Where’s the stubborn and strong person who’ll drag me out of my room every summer that I know?” He flicks your forehead, making you wince and rub the spot to ease the pain. He adds, a small smile etching into the curves of his lips, “You were the one to say that everything is better when you do it with someone.”

“Well—”

“There’s no need to worry over such useless things,” He heaves out a sigh, “If I hated you, you would have known.”

He doesn’t know what took over him to have his hand seek out your face, caressing your face so tenderly like a lover would. The dance of his fingers left a trail of warmth across your skin, blooming and spreading like fire, and maybe it was your fault or maybe it was his that your face leans closer to his touch as if desiring for more of his softness. He doesn’t fail to notice the look on your face, the fire that festers within you spreading to him.

Scaramouche is mesmerized by the miracle that is you. 

He clears his throat, looking away, afraid that he’s going to be consumed by your light the more he keeps his gaze on you:

“Let’s go before we end up missing it.” His tone falters into something sweet, and his hand, too, falls into something kind—his fingers slipping into your own. You could only nod your head in response, afraid that your words would break in your tongue before you could even speak.

It doesn’t take long to reach the spot you were talking about. But it did feel like time moved slowly with the silence as neither of you let go of each other’s hand; you battled with your reasoning, thinking that it will help you walk better in the dark and not trip over anything even when you’re already familiar with the path. Or maybe it was just too cold, you don’t know; it’s not like you want to let go either.

(And in the same cadence of your thoughts, his soul whispers to you: “I don’t think I want to stop holding your hand.”)

Tonight, the stars are a witness to the wake of something foolishly beautiful. As the streaks of light fill the sky like a stroke of a painter’s brush on an empty canvas, lush grass forms into nothing as it sinks beneath your being, intertwined with his as he clutches your hand tight—the sky holds the stars as the earth bears your weight all the same. When the warm breeze leaves and when life all becomes nothing in the absence of indigo merging into golden, can you stand with him a little closer underneath the fading warm?

“Kuni.” What does his name taste like in your mouth?

“Hm?”

Scaramouche isn’t stupid, but you make him feel stupid, and he loves you stupid, like a loser stumbling over the stars in your eyes. He understands why poets write the mundane and how artists portray a fleeting moment bound to rot by time. It doesn’t take much but he spent a long time seeking comfort in the warmth to know the answer—he knew what it was when he wished you were with him to enjoy the sun.

You reside in the deeper parts of his soul, tangled in the loose threads of his being. Scaramouche prays—even when he doesn’t necessarily believe, but what is a god’s gaze for your love?—to whoever is listening that you’ll stay there forever. Can a human ever stop their heart from wanting? 

“Don’t you want to go home now?” You had asked him; the meteor shower has finished and the clouds are already hiding the vast blanket of stars above you. There’s not much left in this night, just silence and a pair of people who had nothing and everything at the same time, lying on the grass as if they’re the only ones who matter in the world. He has always existed right there beside you and he has belonged to you in ways that you may never know.

“I’m still not sleepy yet.” But his mouth gapes into a yawn and you laugh.

“Liar.”

Call him whatever you want, he just wants to stay with you a little longer.

Scaramouche may be a liar.

But he likes you, that much is certain.

taglist: @felibrary, @yunicide, @bittersweetmiko

© AZULLUMI 2024. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[hgfictionwriter]

Revelations: Part Seven

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: The distance between you and Jessie wears on you. There are layers to grief and loss. It's hard to keep moving forward, especially amidst flashes of your old life and what could've been.

Warnings: Angst. Language.

A/N: It’s a long one! Rest of the series is here.

Removing yourself from your relationship - and friendship - with Jessie, brought you some reprieve. However, it had its costs.

You didn't miss the tension, the longing, the anxiety and angst that had become the hallmarks of your dynamic with her the past few months, however that didn't mean that suddenly you were okay and things were better.

You didn't need your therapist to tell you you were depressed. But, as they - and your friends and family - said, you at least had a chance to move on now that there was space between you and her.

That said, despite the few weeks that passed, you couldn't deny that you still missed her tremendously. Nearly everything still sparked thoughts and feelings of her. It was unrelenting and oh so frustrating. Even without her presence in your life, she still held such estate. Try as you might, there was no real escape.

Christ, you even thought of Zoie sometimes.

And there was no one to blame but you.

The fact that you hadn't heard from Jessie during this time period made it that much more shameful and pathetic. No ‘How are you?’s. No ‘How is your day?’. No ‘What are you up to this weekend?’.

You’d laid down a line and she followed it. Even though it’s what you needed, the pain was incessant - this dull ache that flared with sharp peaks throughout various parts of the day and night.

You wondered if it was hurting her too or if she’d managed to forget about you. Even the mere thought of the latter nearly sent you to the brink of distress.

You got your answer when you received a package from her in the mail.

You'd not been expecting anything, so when you retrieved a box from the parcel unit in your building, you'd frowned in confusion though something in the recess of your mind twinged in recognition of her handwriting before the rest of your consciousness caught up and saw her name as the sender.

Your heartbeat began to thud loudly in your chest and you'd rushed back up to your apartment with the parcel clutched tightly in your hands. In the elevator, you'd turned it over and studied it, feeling weight and contents shift about inside of it as you did so.

Sitting down at your coffee table, you stared at the package a moment longer before picking at the tape of the neatly folded and wrapped kraft paper and gingerly took it apart.

You opened the box and a deep green envelope lay atop of a series of items below. The envelope again bore her writing, this time with your name written neatly in the center. Without thinking you snatched up the card and opened it.

Happy birthday, Y/N. I hope you have an amazing day and a great year ahead. You deserve the best.

Always,

Jessie

A small breath escaped you as you finished reading and you only belated realized all of the tension that was sitting in your shoulders and the way your hands felt numb.

You reread the card, wanting to experience that warm tingle in your chest once more.

“Always.” You hung onto that word as if it were a lifeline. One silly word soothed you so significantly that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

Your thumb grazed absently over her handwritten name before you closed your eyes in a wince and shut the card with a curt shake of your head. You exhaled tersely, annoyance with yourself and your sentimentality beginning to build. You set the card aside and took another breath before peering into the box.

Slowly, you picked up and took in each item in the box. You took your time; relishing in each discovery.

The box was full of thoughtful, personal gifts. Some handmade, some store bought, but each meant something and you know she'd thought about each item carefully.

Jessie had always been an exceptional gift giver and always generous, especially when it came to you. It seems this remained true despite everything.

A flash of tightness formed in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't help but feel like you didn't deserve this. That after everything, you didn't deserve her care and attention - even like this.

That twinge of uncertainty and guilt was easily overshadowed by the warmth - and renewed yearning - you felt for her.

You picked up your phone and opened your conversation with her, ignoring the dull pain that formed as you had to scroll down your messages to get to her name now that you spoke so infrequently.

"I just got your package. Thank you SO much for the gifts. You are far too generous, Jess. Thank you. They're all great. The spa gift certificate is perfect timing lol."

You wanted to ask her how she was. How she was doing. Something inside you told you not to complicate things.

You stared expectantly at your phone, practically - stupidly - counting the seconds as you waited for a response.

Eventually your screen timed out and you came to your senses, embarrassed with yourself. Of course she wasn't going to respond s-

Your screen lit up with a message from her.

"You're very welcome! I'm glad it made it. And I'm glad you like the gifts. Happy birthday, Y/N. I hope you have a great one.”

A smile unknowingly crossed your lips as you read her message. You took a deep breath as you saw her typing another one.

"I hope you're doing well."

You expelled the breath in quiet disappointment.

You'd half expected her - hoped even, despite knowing you'd need to shut it down - to strike up conversation again. When she didn't, it made your chest tighten with loss anew.

You couldn't be upset. She was respecting the boundaries that you set. It was what you wanted. What you asked for. But that didn't mean it didn't sting like hell.

“Thanks Jess. I appreciate this a lot. Truly. I hope you, Zoie and Sara are doing well.”

It felt petty to specifically leave Sara out of it.

Jessie replied quickly.

“Zoie and I are doing well. Thank you - it means a lot.”

You wanted to inquire but knew you couldn’t. Shouldn’t.

“I’m really glad to hear that, Jess.”

You hoped you didn’t sound passive aggressive. You really meant it. You exhaled through your nose in a huff as you typed further.

“Thank you again. It made my day. Take care.”

“You too, Y/N. Happy birthday.”

And just like that, it was over again.

You wanted more, but knew it wasn’t fair or right. This interaction had reached its natural conclusion and you had to let it go.

When your phone lit up later with a text from Elysse, your pulsed quickened once more. All contact with the Flemings had ceased and it left a hole in your heart. They'd become like true family to you and to not have them in your life anymore added to the pain of this entire situation.

“Happy birthday!!! I hope you’ve had a day full of rest and relaxation (or maybe a lot of fun!). Miss you lots. You’ll always be a sister-in-law to me 😉"

You sighed a mixture of appreciation and grief. You stared at her message for several moments. You wanted to call her. Ask her how she’d been. What was new.

You wanted to hear about Jessie, too.

Instead…

“Thanks Elysse. I appreciate it a lot. I hope you and the whole family are doing great. Miss you all, too.”

—————

You looked at the date and time in the corner of your screen. While you should’ve been thinking about work, instead you were calculating how many hours until kickoff.

You didn’t have to be in Jessie’s life to know of the upcoming tournament.

And you may have been guilty of checking the national team’s social accounts the past couple of days to see if she’d arrived and been in training.

You hadn’t actively been looking originally. But this was a soccer town - you heard about all the big tournaments and you also knew timing from years passed.

A sense of hollowness sat in your chest as you’d indulged in viewing the clips of training - your thumb belatedly tapping to the next story after seeing glimpses of Jessie. It was a small reprieve, you supposed, that Jessie was so adverse to being in media otherwise you’d see her face plastered everywhere.

You always used to support Jessie during national duty, showing up for as much of the tournaments as possible, even if only for one match.

Memories of dinners and hang-outs with the team and staff, significant others and family, all came flooding back.

Memories of stolen moments with Jessie. Sneaking off to an empty room to find time together - to check-in, connect, and well, sometimes more.

You released a shaky breath as you pushed increasingly vivid images aside. Time to refocus.

Anxious thoughts pinged back and forth in your mind as you debated what to do. What to say. When. You tried not to lament on how you never had to worry about these things before.

Finally, you huffed in finality, hurriedly wrote out a message and sent it before you could slip back into self-doubt.

“Good luck today. You and the team are going to kill it out there. I’m rooting for you all.”

You didn’t expect to hear back from her anytime soon. Never mind the current circumstances of your situation, but also because she mostly stayed off her phone immediately leading up to a match.

You kept an eye on the clock and a twinge of anticipation hit you as your phone lit up shortly before warm-ups would’ve began.

“Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate that. [Opponent] is tough, but the team is ready to make them fight for it. Thanks again.”

You made a point of not watching the stream, but you did check the updates frequently. Canada won. You wanted to text her congrats, but it seemed like overkill.

Instead, you committed to texting her when the tournament wrapped or when Canada exited. Hopefully later rather than sooner, for her and the team’s sake.

Still, surprise swept over you when your phone lit up with a text from Jessie later that afternoon - evening where she was.

“The team says ‘Hi’.”

Nostalgia and yearning rushed over you immediately.

There were so many layers - losses - to all of this.

“Say ‘hi’ back, please! You all played great today. Hope you all get lots of rest before the next match. I’m sending you all best wishes and good luck. Take care out there. And tell Janine to go easy on you when you play Uno to kill time.”

You were only vaguely aware of the sad smile you wore as you sent your text.

“Lol I most definitely will. Thanks Y/N. Enjoy the rest of your day. Take care.”

Janine texted you shortly after.

“Miss you, buddy. And don’t worry. I’m taking care of her.”

You nearly choked up upon reading her message. You rest your head in your hand for a moment. There was so much you wanted to say.

You hearted her text and replied.

“Thanks Janine. Means more than you know.”

——————

You frowned as you searched for something on your phone as your feet carried you down the street and distractedly around other pedestrians.

A jolt ran through you when you faintly heard a small voice say your name nearby.

It snapped you out of your trance and your steps stuttered to a stop. You turned around to search out the source.

You narrowed your eyes as you scanned the crowds of people passing and standing around until you spotted a small finger pointing your direction.

The kid had their back to you, arm pointed behind them but as you quickly processed their profile, their hair, your pulse began to grow strong and fast as realization set in. Your breath caught as the child turned back towards you and it well and truly was Zoie.

She tugged on someone’s hand and smiled up at them while pointing back at you anew.

Your gaze followed Zoie’s and you locked eyes with Jessie who stood with a wide-eyed expression and soft frown of surprise.

Your jaw fell, words wanting to come out but failing and you looked about in mild panic. A flurry of thoughts and feelings clashed inside of you until the movement from Zoie giving you a shy wave broke you from your stasis.

A rush of breath escaped you and you smiled at her with a belated, stilted wave. Zoie waved fully now, going up onto her tiptoes briefly before looking back at Jessie excitedly, tugging on her hand furthermore while Jessie stood there seemingly just as shell shocked as you.

Your eyes drew up to Jessie and her posture straightened as her lips came together in a tight smile while she herself offered a feeble wave and looking so uncertain.

Your eyes panned left and right. You slowly registered that they were in a lineup for the ice cream shop. Your senses peaked in realization that there was no sign of Sara.

You weren’t sure what possessed you. Maybe it was Zoie’s reaction, maybe it was old magnetism still at play. All you knew was suddenly your legs walked you over to them, despite your mind struggling to reconcile this situation and catch up. Zoie smiled wider as you approached.

“Hi,” you greeted with another awkward, fleeting wave as you reached them both.

“Hi,” Jessie said in subdued surprise. Her expression remained unchanged until she offered you a flash of a smile. Her eyes were fixed on you, intense and curious for those moments before she was jostled by Zoie wrapping Jessie’s arm in front of her in a hug as she backed into Jessie’s legs and looked up at you with a giggle.

“Hi,” Zoie greeted, both smiley and bashful and bringing you back, things snapping into focus once more.

“I, um,” you closed your eyes briefly and shook you head with a faint laugh. “Um, it’s nice to see you,” you said as you looked between the two of them.

Your brain seemed to finally catch up with everything. You looked down at Zoie with a renewed smile.

“Zoie, it’s so good to see you,” you said warmly. You glanced up at the signage for the shop. “Is your mama treating you to some ice cream?”

Zoie nodded rapidly with a grin crossing her face. She giggled again, pulling Jessie’s arm tighter against her as she looked up at her.

“Yeah. She said I could have ice cream if I stayed for my dance class this morning,” she relayed.

“Oh?” You voiced as you glanced up at Jessie who let out a chuckle as her eyes flit away sheepishly. When she looked at you again she spoke conspiratorially.

“Someone really didn’t like their first class last week and, well, demanded to leave,” she said with a knowing glance down at her daughter. “However, I took her today and said it’s important to stick it out and really try it.” She gave Zoie a light squeeze and looked down to her as she spoke, “You don’t have to like it, but you do need to try.” The girl nodded wordlessly against Jessie’s forearm.

Jessie looked back at you with a faint smirk. “Ice cream for finishing today’s class. Trip to the zoo for finishing the full set of classes.” She winked at Zoie who laughed before glancing at you again. “Mild bribery,” Jessie whispered with a feeble laugh as she averted her gaze once more.

"And how was it?" You asked Zoie. She gave a faint nod and a shrug.

"It was okay," she said.

You could've said 'okay', wished them well and been on your way. Instead, you remained rooted to your spot and engaged further.

“Dance can be a lot of fun,” you told her reassuringly. “What don't you like about it?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Zoie pouted slightly. “Other kids know the steps and I didn’t.”

Your face fell into an empathetic smile for the poor girl. You leaned down slightly.

“I know how that is. I didn’t like dance when I first started. The other girls were older than me and it seemed like I was the only one who didn’t know what to do. But,” you glanced up at Jessie briefly, “my mom made me go back and, you know what, I practiced, and eventually I learned the steps too and I even made some friends. I ended up loving dance. If you give it a chance, maybe you will too.”

Zoie watched you quietly. It was a mannerism so much like Jessie and here they were both silently studying you. Eventually Zoie’s face broke out in a smile.

“Do you still dance?”

You laughed. “Well. No. Not anymore really.” Your mind cruelly recalled the last time you danced. Specifically, dancing with Jessie at one of her post-season team get togethers. Zoie looked expectantly at you and you tried to think of anything encouraging and ended up saying. “But it’s fun when I do.”

You cleared your throat and tried to settle your nerves.

“Anyway, I should-”

“What’s your favourite kind of ice cream?” Zoie inquired innocently, cutting you off and you rose your eyebrows in question.

“Um. My favourite? Oh. Um, I like many, but if I had to pick one,” you brought a finger to your lip as you contemplated, “[y/favourite flavour].”

Zoie looked up at Jessie.

“Can I try that one today?”

Jessie laughed and couldn’t help but give you an amused look before quickly ridding herself of it.

“If you want," she answered Zoie, smiling gently at her. "Or maybe I get it so you can try it, but you still get what you first wanted. Cause I'm not sure you'll love it," she added giving you a cursory, knowing look and you somehow found yourself having to stifle a chuckle.

The line had moved a few times as you talked and you'd absently followed along. When it started to move again, you went to speak up but Zoie beat you to it.

"But I thought you were getting cookies and cream and we were going to share," Zoie asked, looking up at Jessie with big brown eyes.

Jessie snorted a laugh. "And I thought you were getting cotton candy," she said amused.

Zoie looked unnecessarily crestfallen for a second before turning to you with bright eyes and a wide smile.

"If you get [y/favourite flavour] then we can all share," she suggested.

You froze at the sudden invitation and you belatedly realized you didn't exactly mask your shock.

"Y/N is busy," Jessie told Zoie as she leaned down slightly and spoke in a hushed voice, urging the little girl to look up at her. "We interrupted her. She was doing other things." Jessie straightened back up, offering you a brief tight-lipped smile before adding gently, "She was nice enough to stop and say 'hi', but let's let her get on with her day."

Against all logic, you felt a stinging sensation inside your chest at Jessie's dismissal of you. No, of course you shouldn't stay, but it still managed to hurt that she didn't ask you to.

You used to think you were a reasonable person, but the past few months really put that perception into question.

"But we haven't seen her in a long time," Zoie said, her disappointment plain and surprising you.

You were always kind to Zoie - and you prayed that during your times together before she hadn't picked up on any of your angst about the entire situation. Evidently, you'd done a good enough job because by some miracle this little girl seemed to like you. Not only that, liked you enough to care all this time later.

She really was sweet.

"Zo," Jessie said, her tone shifting. She was about to speak when the clash of feelings and energy inside your chest took over instead.

"I can stop for a bit," you interjected. Jessie's eyes snapped up from Zoie to you in sheer surprise. Your heart raced as you tried to discern if she was upset or annoyed, but something told you she wasn't.

While Jessie wore quiet shock on her face, Zoie clapped her hands excitedly, drawing both your attention.

Jessie began to stammer, her eyes flitting from you to Zoie and back again.

"A-are you sure? You really don't have to," she offered, showing her nerves slightly with her voice a bit quiet and breathy.

Doubt washed over you as you held Jessie's gaze and tried to comprehend what was going on beneath the surface.

"Oh, I, um, I definitely can go. I don't want to interrupt you two. I just - I'm the one who interrupted you. I'm sorry," you backtracked, feeling your face begin to heat up now.

"No, I-" Jessie started strongly, even extending a hand partially before retracting it and hiding it behind her while she reset. She offered you another polite smile. "We don't mind. I just," she took a breath, "don't want to impose." She continued to lock eyes with you, adding, "No expectations."

Now you were the one to stammer. You studied Jessie and the line moved again. You glanced down at Zoie who was watching you with anticipation. You fell into line beside them.

"It's a good day for ice cream anyway," you joked feebly.

Zoie began to talk excitedly and your mind whirred with a barrage of thoughts and concerns. Despite the sudden fog you were in, you became acutely aware of Jessie's watchful eyes on you. When you made eye contact with her she readily averted her gaze, determinedly looking elsewhere.

"So, uh, where's Sara?" You tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible, now you the one who purposefully studied all of your surroundings.

"I'm not too sure," Jessie responded and your head snapped back to her with a frown. If the reaction stirred anything in her she masked it well. "This little one's with me this week," Jessie answered, though speaking to Zoie and ruffling her hair.

Holy fuck. So they sorted out custody. You had a million questions and you opened your mouth to inquire when some part of your mind harshly reminded you that it was none of your business. Or your concern.

Soon enough the three of you were back outside of the shop, each with a cup of ice cream of your own. Zoie eyed your cup as you all found a spot to sit together.

"You first," you said as you held it out to her, sparking a beaming smile from her. She immediately grabbed her spoon and shoved it into your ice cream, mixing her colours and flavours with yours.

"Zo," Jessie chided with an exasperated laugh, but you gave a shake of your head in dismissal and mouthed 'It's fine'.

Zoie took a bite and you stifled a laugh at how her face slowly scrunched up, clearly not appreciating your choice.

"You don't have to like it," you told her. She frowned, giving you a ridiculously discerning look.

"I like mine better," she said through a look of mild disapproval as she dug into her own ice cream.

"And that's perfectly okay." You chuckled as she smiled once more as she took a bite of her own. You turned, feeling Jessie's eyes on you. The woman immediately looked down at her cup, taking a great interest in the ice cream before her, digging her spoon into it and just shifting it about in the cup.

Your compulsions controlled you and you found yourself holding out your cup to her. She blinked at you in surprise.

You'd always shared with each other, but, given current circumstances, you could understand her reaction.

Wordlessly, you held it out further and she eventually cracked a faint smile as she took a spoonful and ate it.

Your eyes were drawn back to Zoie who'd now stilled and was watching Jessie intently. Upon seeing how her mom didn't react anything like her to the spoonful, her gaze shifted over to your cup again curiously.

Again, you bit back a smirk and held out your cup to her once more. She looked between you, Jessie and the cup several times before tentatively reaching her spoon in. She spooned it into her cup and mixed it a bit with her own before taking a cautious bite.

You both watched her. You and Jessie locking eyes briefly with one another and shifting nervously upon the eye contact, before Zoie swallowed with a brief nod, eyes still trained on her ice cream and eating more.

"It's okay I guess."

You both laughed, catching one another's eye momentarily.

When everyone was finished, Jessie politely took all the cups and threw them out, leaving you with Zoie.

"Do you want to go to the park?" Zoie asked as she looked up at you, the sun now fully out and in her eyes. She squinted, holding a hand up to block the rays.

"Here," you offered instinctually as you took your sunglasses out of your pocket and handed them to her. Her eyes lit up as she took them and unfolded them to put them on. The larger size threw her off and she struggled a bit to align them properly. "Oh, uh, let me help," you said tentatively as you gingerly reached out - not sure if you were being presumptuous or not - and helped slide them on.

Jessie returned as you finished and Zoie spun around to her.

"Mama, look!" She exclaimed as she showed them off proudly.

"Oh, wow," Jessie laughed, clearly bemused. She glanced over to you with a smirk, but soon reached out for them. "Hon, you're gonna break those," she said and Zoie's hands flew up to hold the arms of the sunglasses in place.

"I like them," she protested.

"They're very nice. You look very stylish," she said patiently with another smirk. "But you have your own. And your hat," she went on as she retrieved said things from the backpack she wore. Zoie pouted as Jessie removed your sunglasses, but she didn't fuss.

Jessie folded them up and reached across the divide between you offering them back.

"Thank you," she said softly. You took them wordlessly, both of you seemingly very cognizant of where your fingers were during the handover to avoid any contact. You put the sunglasses on.

"I like them," Zoie repeated, a faint whine in her tone.

"I know, sweetie," Jessie continued patiently in amusement. "Maybe I'll get a pair for you like that someday."

Zoie perked up and tugged at the hem of Jessie's shorts. "You should take a picture so you remember. And then you can have a new picture of Y/N."

"Uh," Jessie cut in with a nervous look. "Zoie," she chided.

"You look at the same ones all the time," Zoie added innocently, clearly thinking she was helping.

Your eyes snapped over to Jessie and she clawed at the back of her neck anxiously while she stumbled over her words and face grew pink.

Your heart fluttered at the concept - not that you should want it. So she did miss you.

"I don't need a picture, Zoie," she said with a slight edge while she laughed awkwardly and tried to give a dismissive shake of her head.

"Well can she come with us to the park?" Zoie went on. She turned to you. "We can go on the swings together. I can go really high now."

Jessie let out an exasperated breath and shot you a look, muttering, "I'm so sorry."

"Honey," she said a bit more firmly, drawing the girl's focus, "Y/N is busy. She has her own things she needs to do today. That's very nice of you to invite her, but she probably has to go."

"I thought you missed her," Zoie protested in confusion.

"Zoie," Jessie said curtly, a stern frown on her face before softening, eyes nearly pleading. "Enough, please."

The conflicting jumble of emotions was back. You silently observed the two before you - Zoie confused and disappointed and Jessie suddenly looking so vulnerable and exposed.

You turned to Jessie, it plain how much she was struggling to meet your gaze in this moment. You tried to gauge her.

"Don't feel obliged to stay. Seriously," Jessie whispered, as though Zoie couldn't hear. She shifted restlessly and cleared her throat before adding, "But if you want to, you're of course welcome."

It felt like you could hear a high-pitched ringing in your head as you processed what to do. It was obvious what you should do. You had errands to run. Things to do. An ex and her daughter to forget.

"I-I could stay for a bit," you said.

'A bit' turned into 'a while', which somehow turned into the full afternoon.

It felt like you were having an out of body experience. Every time there was an opportunity to leave, someone said or did something that extended your stay.

And hanging out alone with Zoie and Jessie felt different. There were pockets of it before the breakup, but not quite like this. It felt so strange - like some weird time skip or an alternate reality. Where the bulk of the heaviness and drama of the past had mercifully - temporarily - been swept under the rug.

A very unsettling feeling was emerging and you refused to put a label on it because it felt something akin to 'normal'.

There was nothing normal about this.

And as much as you were enjoying living in this bubble you'd created for the day - a joy you'd pay for later, you were sure - you still knew enough to know that it wasn't real. Sara still existed. You had to remind yourself this wasn't your family. You shouldn't be lulled into thinking you weren't a third wheel.

As the sun began to set, so did this fantasy world.

"Guess we better get you to bed soon, hey kiddo?" Jessie said with a heavy sigh of regret as she glanced at the horizon. "It's been a big day."

"I'm not tired," Zoie protested as she now hugged herself against the back of your leg and peeked out from behind you at Jessie with a pout.

"Honey, it's been a very long day," Jessie spoke patiently as she set her hands on her hips and looked at her daughter. It really was so endearing seeing her interact with Zoie. "We still need to get home and you need a bath. You're more tired than you think. I promise."

"I'm having fun though," she pouted further and you felt her little hands clutch your leg tighter.

"Zo, this isn't a debate. You need to go to bed soon. We're eating into storytime," Jessie said.

"Well can Y/N come home with us?"

Jessie reddened and flashed you a look of apprehension.

"No. Sorry sweetie. That's not possible."

"Why not? It's her place too, right? You said she lived there," Zoie whined.

Jessie shot you an apologetic look.

"Not anymore, Zo," she said with thinning patience. "She's got her own place." You looked down as Zoie tucked her head into you with a pouting expression. Your attention was drawn back up at the weary sigh Jessie didn't fully stamp out. "We've talked about this," she emphasized in a measured tone.

"What about a sleepover sometime?" Zoie asked anew. "You know, like I do."

"Zo," Jessie said with growing sternness. She went on, gentle, but firm. "Come on. It's time to go."

You could probably help soothe Zoie by promising to have another day like this. That you'd see her soon. Sure - a sleepover sometime. But you didn't want to make a promise, especially to her, that you wouldn't keep.

Suddenly, Zoie began crying, her hands digging into your leg more as she clutched you. Panic overtook you as you glanced down to see tears already forming at the corner of her eyes and her face growing bright red. You looked back up to Jessie who gave you a panicked, but sheepish look of her own.

She knelt down in front of Zoie and went to gently grasp her arm, but the little girl wailed harder.

Your senses were overwhelmed as Zoie's cries filled your ears and Jessie tried to calm her down while you stood there stiffly.

A bystander. You felt like a bystander all over again, just observing a world of activity around you.

Until, you found yourself placing your hand softly on the back of Zoie's head and delicately extricating yourself from her iron grip to kneel in front of her.

The action immediately drew her attention and she looked at you, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks while she sniffled. You took your hair out of your ponytail, revealing your hair tie to her.

"Zoie, this is my lucky hair tie. It's very special. Whenever I'm upset or sad, it makes me feel better. And guess what? I want you to have it. You don't have to wear it in your hair, you can wear it around your wrist - like this, see?" You gently placed it on her wrist, her eyes watching you intently and her tears slowed. "Like a little hug for your wrist," you smiled.

"And even though I can't have a sleepover with you, you can have this and it's like I'm there in a way," you said. "And your mama is right, it's been a big day, even I'm tired. But you know what, I bet you're going to have such a good sleep and such great dreams tonight. Make sure to tell your mama all about them when you wake up - I always loved telling my mom about my dreams."

Zoie's shoulders bounced as she hiccupped, working through the last of her upset. She nodded at you.

"Sweet girl," you said as you kissed her cheek.

Only when you pulled back did you realize how Jessie was watching you. Your eyes flicked towards her and she averted her gaze automatically before looking back at you with an expression that made you feel like she was looking right into you. You almost couldn't hold her gaze it was so intense and made you feel so vulnerable.

You found reprieve when she seemed to snap out of her thoughts and offered you a subtle smile of appreciation.

"Sorry about that," she said quietly to you as she wrapped her arms around Zoie and picked her up. "She's tired."

"Not to worry," you dismissed as you stood to face them both, Zoie's eyes now heavy as she leaned her head against Jessie's. You smiled as your eyes fell to Zoie gripping your hair tie with her opposite hand.

"I," Jessie paused briefly and released a breathy laugh, "really didn't mean to take up your whole day. I, um." She stopped, again offering you a small smile, "Zoie had a great time. As you can see," she chuckled. "Thanks."

"Yeah, don't mention it," you said as your gaze fell to the ground and you idly began to dig the toe of your shoe into it. The tension that had been lurking beneath the surface all day began to bubble over. "Sorry I took over your whole day."

Jessie frowned at you and gave a disbelieving laugh. "What are you talking about?" She shook her head. "There's nothing to apologize for."

You looked at her and suddenly you felt dormant emotions rising up and threatening to make your eyes sting with tears.

"You guys seem happy," you tried to say very matter-of-fact, but instead your voice was soft. "I'm really glad."

You meant it.

She was quiet for several moments and eventually gave you another close-lipped smile. She spoke in a tone similar to yours. "It was really nice spending the day with you."

"Yeah," you breathed, hating how sad you sounded even though you'd forced a smile and a laugh. You scratched the back of your arm. "Okay, well, I better go. And you should too. You two get home safe."

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from Jessie's. You looked to Zoie who was basically asleep already. "Tell her 'sweet dreams' for me," you said with a soft laugh. Jessie chuckled and turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse of Zoie without fully waking her.

"She is out," she whispered in exaggeration.

You had an overwhelming urge to give Jessie a kiss on the cheek to say 'goodbye'. The moment was so bittersweet.

"Well, I guess you better get her home. Take care."

"Yeah," Jessie accepted as she held you steady in her gaze. "You too."

--------

By the time you got back to your car, your heart was still pounding. Add the ticket you found on your windshield and you couldn't help but feel like you were being punished for being so weak.

You got in and hung your head heavy in your hands.

What were you doing? You just undid weeks of progress. A frustrated sigh escaped you. What the fuck were you thinking.

The tears you'd fought off earlier sprang to life and you blinked through them.

Jessie and Zoie really did seem happy. And you didn't begrudge them that at all.

Custody sorted. Dance classes. School. Soccer. Jessie seemed - settled. Her life was moving on - with or without you - as it should've.

What about you? You turned a sharp, scrutinizing eye on your own life. Indignation and self-reproach surged through your veins.

You'd been coasting. Barely keeping your head above water. So woefully preoccupied with thoughts of Jessie and the life you'd had together.

You saw her today and immediately fell back to her side. Sara was absent so you slotted yourself in as if you belonged.

What the fuck, Y/N.

You blew out a harsh breath and pulled out your phone.

What was that dating app [y/friend] kept telling you to download? Right.

You looked it up, finger hovering over your screen for a second before banishing your hesitation and downloading it.

Jessie wasn't the only girl out there. You've been acting like she was and clearly your efforts to forget her had painfully lacklustre results.

You'd been holding on. Clutching tightly onto the threads of your old life; afraid to look at a new future for yourself.

You had to move on. You were going to make sure of it.

-----

A/N: Don't be too mad at me! lol.

Tag requests: @marvelwomen-simp @valuyhh

[writersdrug]

omg! I read your goth reader x Simon and I’m not sure if you’ve already made a post but I’d love to see how Simon met reader or how he did pull her 😂😂 love it btw

Augh I've wanted to write more for Simon x Goth!Reader

He drops the 3-pack of men's black t-shirts on the counter, digging into his sweatshirt pocket for his wallet. He takes out his card and looks up.

You're sitting with your back to him, hunched over on a small stool with your face stuck in a mirror. He can see your one eye magnified in the reflection as you held your cheek taught, slowly dragging an eyeliner pen across your lid.

He stands there another moment, wondering if you even know he's behind you. He politely clears his throat.

"One sec." You say, concentrating hard on making the line perfect. You have your mouth hanging open, your one eye closed and the other wide as a dinner plate. Simon huffs quietly. You remind him of a zombie, dressed in a typical retail uniform.

You eventually put the eyeliner pen down and stand, grabbing the shirts from the counter. He watches you as you scan the item - only one of your eyes are done, beautifully enhanced with an artistic flourish of eyeliner, mascara, and eye shadow; your other eye is untouched.

"Is that all?" You ask, looking up at him, and he has to stifle a laugh. Thank goodness for his balaclava.

"Yea." He responds, sticking his card into the reader. You bag his shirts and hand them to him - he accepts the bag and puts his card back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Receipt?"

"No thanks."

You nod - he stays there, staring at you with a rather blank expression. You purse your lips and tap the counter, adverting your gaze to anything but him. You were used to getting stares because of your makeup, but this guy in particular wasn't even subtle about it.

"Is that all?" He says, jutting his chin towards you.

You blink, staring back at him. Does he mean my makeup? "Oh- heh, no. Still gotta do my other eye."

He nods. "Looks good."

"Thanks..." You say. You're not sure if he's being honest or sarcastic. But before you have the chance to question it, he turns on his heel and walks out the door, the bell clanging behind him.

You shrug to yourself and sit back down, digging inside your makeup bag for a brow pencil.

You're uncapping your lipstick when someone slaps something on the counter - not aggressively, but it still makes you jump. You turn around to find that same guy from last week, the one with the balaclava and the moody eyes.

You head to the register and look down. There's another pack of black shirts on the counter. You scoff and look up at him. "More? What, are you eating these?" You say as you scan them.

"See you finished your other eye." Simon grumbles, pulling his card from his wallet. "Did it take ya the whole week?"

You glare at him, shoving his shirts into a bag. "It did." You say sarcastically, and he grunts, taking the bag as you hand it to him.

Simon watches as you turn to the side, assuming he was already on his way out the door. You popped the cap off your lipstick and parted your lips in front of the tiny mirror on the counter - he felt something akin to surprise when your lips were smeared in black, rather than the red he was expecting.

You feel a pair of eyes on your back. You turn around - that guy is still there, and you fight back a frown.

"Can I help you with anything else?" You say, trying to stress the weirdness of the situation in your tone.

"I like this." He says, using his free hand to circle his face. "Looks good on you. Unique."

You smile, genuinely pleased with the compliment. Most of the time, if people (other than your friends) weren't ogling at you, they were saying how strange and "ugly" your makeup looked (this was a common comment among the older ladies that came to the store).

"Thanks." You reply. "You want a makeover?"

Simon chuckles quietly. "Nah, not really." And then, as quick as he came, he's gone again - out the door before you can even try to carry a conversation with him.

Simon comes back the next week - this time, for a pack of smokes and some new gloves. Uncharacteristically, he finds himself a little excited to see you again, despite never saying more than fifty words to you in total. He gets to the counter and places his items down - his heart sinks a bit when he isn't greeted by you and your half-finished goth makeup.

An older lady steps forward and scans his items. "Do you have a rewards card with us?"

"No."

Would you like to sigh up for one?"

"No."

She doesn't even look at him as she slides the cigs and glives back to him. "Fifteen twenty-seven."

He slides his card in. He can't help but wonder where you might be; not that he misses you or anything, he's just a curious man. He doesn't like not knowing things, and you're a rather difficult, raven-haired puzzle to decipher.

"S'cuse me, but-" he shifts his weight as he pockets his wallet. "Where's the other girl? Y'know, the one with all the-" he waves his hand in front of his face. "She usually works Thursdays."

The woman looks at him with a tight-lipped, glazed-over expression. "I'm not allowed to share any employee's schedule information, sir." She drones in a monotone, customer service voice.

He blinks for a moment, wracking his brain for a response. "I'm 'er uncle."

"Oh - she quit."

"Really?" Simon says - he's rather upset that you, an artistically-talented cashier he's met twice, is no longer employed at the lackluster retail store. "What happened?"

"Manager told her all that shit had to go." She leans her hip against the counter. "All that ugly face paint - it was freaking the customers out. She threw a hissy fit and stormed out."

He hummed, thiugh he took what she said with a grain of salt. "Right. Thanks." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The woman sighs. "I mean, people paint themselves to look like the devil and expect to be treated like a normal human. Is that crazy, or am I just old?"

Just an old hag. "Dunno." He shrugs.

"Oh-" she holds up a finger, signaling for him to wait as she meanders to the end of the counter. She grabs an envelope and comes back to the cash register, handing it to Simon. "Give this to your niece. She never came back for her last paycheck."

He hesitates, wondering if he should make up some excuse like "Oh I'll tell her to pick it up." But, he said he was her uncle - now he has to deal with the responsibilities of it. He takes the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Nodding towards the lady. "I'll make sure she gets it."

Simon hasn't tracked you down yet. Truthfully, he hasn't realy tried to; he wants to respect your privacy and chose not to look for you on social media - but he does frequent the restaraunt across the street from your old workplace, hoping to catch you if you ever decided to come back for your check. He's getting worried at this point - what if you show up and he doesn't see you, and then you start freaking out about getting your paycheck stolen by some random guy? That would be the highlight of his vacation leave. He isn't sure if Price would bail him out of jail for that one.

He's inside the restaraunt today, sitting in a booth and sipping on a mug of tea. Rain pelts against the windows, providing a background of white noise to his ever-active mind. He scrolls through his email on his phone, but as always, he's focused on work. The briefing doming up within the next week, that sergeant that failed the sniper placement, having to listen to Soap talk about how he spent his leave with his girl... it muddled around in his head, nothing staying in the forefront of his mind, but never dissipating, either.

He hears the door open, just as a peal of lighning crashes through the sky. Someone stomps their boots on the entry mat a ways behind Simon, and he hears the jingle of metal with each step towards the bar.

"I'm here for an interview."

Simon nearly snaps his neck with ho hard he turns his head. There you are - you've got your hair down, definitely not as teased as the last time he had seen you. Your makeup is less goth, although you've outlined your lips with a black liner that fades inwards to a crimson red, and your eyes are still sharp and smokey. You're wearing black jeans and a deep, red top, and an interesting pair of boots, decorated with small chains and studs.

Professional, but still incorporating your style. He can appreciate that.

Someone comes out from the back and walks over to you - you shake his extended hand with a smile, and he leads you to a booth farther away from Simon. He thinks he must look like a creep, staring at you in broad (rainy) daylight, but he can't help himself. He doesn't even know why, but you've got his attention like the moon pulls the waves of the ocean.

He stays there for a while - he can't hear every word you say, but he eats the comments and laughs that do filter through with a hungry mind. You sometimes model for any Goth-forward magazines; you're relieved that the owner of the restaurant doesn't care about toning down your style; you're honest - your roommate hadn't paid rent for a month and a half so you let them go, and now you need a little bit more cash than what a measly retail job can provide.

He can hear it in the man's tone: you're hired. He likes your forwardness and unique charm, and frankly, so does Simon. He's addicted to it. The last time anything had his attention like this was when he found out Gaz could do the splits - the shock factor had him surprised with how easily it truly wis to distract him when he comes across something so unusual. But this time, there was less of a ridiculousness, and more of an admiration.

He hears a lilt in the conversation; he turns to see you standing with an excited smile. Of course you would get the job, just look at you. You shake the owner's hand and grab your bag, a black canvas ine with all sorts of studs and spikes, and start heading towards the front door.

Simon can't let you slip away that easily.

"Movin' on from retail?" He says as you pass his booth.

You turn, looking confused, staring at him for a moment. It takes a few seconds before you recognize him, though your smile still holds some wariness to it. "Hey, weirdo...!" You say, standing next to his table. "You stalking me or something?"

He decides to be honest. "Was tryin'."

You furrow your brow an bit, your hands curling around the strap of your bag. "You were?"

"The clerk from the store gave me your check." He clarifies, pulling the envelope from his pocket. "Figured you weren't comin' 'round anytime to get it, so I tried lookin' for ya."

You wonder how this man was somehow able to get your paycheck, but you were a little less put-off. He seemed nice enough. You dropped your bag on the table and took the envelope, shoving it somewhere in your disorganized pockets. "You waiting on someone?" You ask.

"Was you." He comments, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Now, no one." God, he must look pathetic.

"Nice." You slide into the opposite side of the booth, your boots clacking against the legs of the tables. "Want another round? Some fries?" You look at him with those shadowed, big eyes, and he wants to keep you in this booth with him forever.

He chuckles. "You really don't-"

"Don't tell me what to do." You snap with a smirk. "Just choose. Drink, or fries? Or whatever you want, really. I haven't eaten lunch, and you look like interesting company."

He feels himself melting at your cocky, triumphant smirk as you dig around in your bag for your wallet. What did he do for life to deposit such a pretty thing right in his lap (we'll, a few feet away from it)? "Could go for a burger.

You smile, relaxing into the polyester seat. This big, quiet, lumbering thing has you intrigued, and apparently, the feeling is mutual. "What's your name?"

He smirks. He's not wearing his balaclava, but he doesn't really care about that at the moment. He takes a sip of his whiskey. "Simon. Yours?"