#spin the bottle realisations

[resident-gay-bitch]

Oblivious

Summary: Eddie is very in love with Steve, and he doesn’t really try to hide it. well, he does… sorta. But it’s easy because Steve is very oblivious to it all. the truth only comes out after a very confronting game of spin the bottle. - 20.4 k words

Warnings: 16+, angst, discussions of sex, mild sexual themes, kissing, alcohol, cigarettes, weed if you squint, homophobic slurs, self harm though not explicit. (this is long so let me know if i forgot something)

Authors Notes:  this started as a little head cannon / imagine thing, and then I got carried away, as per fucking usual and now it’s a fic and I love it a lot. don’t worry, there’s fluff in there too. (y’all, i forgot where i got this pic from so if you know the creator, drop it in the comments so i can tag them? thankies)

Steve was quite frankly the most oblivious man on the planet. You could blame that on the several concussions he has had over the years if you were feeling empathetic, but… he was pretty dang oblivious before the head injuries too. You could probably blame that on his parents. He was oblivious to his best friend (Tommy Hagan) having feelings for him for like… five years, though, you can absolutely blame that on the constant string of homophobic slurs leaving Tommys lips. He was oblivious to the fact that Robin was a lesbian untill she had told him, though, she did hide it well so that wasn’t a very big deal. And he was most certainly oblivious to Eddie’s constant pining. It was quite frankly obvious, actually, but he was still fucking oblivious.

Eddie would always flirt with Steve… always. And every time he got a little too close, or complimented Steve, or winked at him or whispered a teasing little nothing at him, Steve would always go pink in the cheeks, or giggle, or get a little giddy, or grin from ear to fucking ear. He liked the attention. He didn’t get that kind of attention, he didn’t even get that with Tommy, though, he did a little bit. Tommy was real sweet when they were in private and they liked to sleep real close when they had sleepovers. And so Steve took Eddie’s flirting with a smile, he welcomed it, he often would prompt it, give Eddie some ammunition. Like, he would ask if his hair looked good, or if his outfit worked, or if Eddie thought some random girl would like a particular feature, and Eddie would alway hit him with something sweet in return. He never flirted back though, yeah, he’d compliment Ed some times, but only in the way he would compliment Rob. he would never in a million years tell Eddie that his lips looked just as kissable, no, the thought of that made his stomach churn. So yeah, he didn’t really understand that Eddie was flirting with him, more so just… being nice, being a good best friend just like Tommy was, though, he was like the better version of Tommy. Because, he would never call Robin a dike or a faggot, and he would say such pretty things to Stevie, and he would keep him close in public as well, and he was generally just a better dude. But holy fuck was Steve oblivious. Yes, he knew gay people existed, yes he understood all that crap from Robin, but he didn’t know Eddie was gay, and the thought that he himself could be gay was something that never occured in his mind. Never, not once. He just never processed that Eddie’s sweet compliments could count as flirting, because they were two guys, and that wasn’t something Steve was conditioned to understand. Plus, a little flirtatious comment here and there from your mate was normal, wasn’t it? Tommy would tell Steve he was nice lookin sometimes, or that his hair was fuckin perfect… nothing out of the ordinary. He was the most oblivious man on earth. 

The more Eddie continued to flirt with Steve and watched the adorable smile on his lips or the way his eyes lit up when Ed would reference one of Steve’s interests, or the perfect pink blush in his cheeks that would rise after a sweet compliment, the harder Eddie fell. And he fell so fucking hard, so hard that it hurt to keep the flirtatious act up because, yeah, the comments were never reciprocated, not verbally anyway… and the looks and the smiles, well… Eddie thought that was just wishful thinking. Yeah, a couple times Steve would tell Eddie that ‘your hair looks perfect today too’, or ‘you have really nice eyes, you know’, or ‘you have big hands, playing guitar with big hands is really attractive, you know, something I wish I had’, and Eddie would cling to those comments for dear fucking life. He would take what he could get. But yeah, they never compared to the, ‘Steve, your hair looks so soft, perfect for pullin’, or ‘your waist looks real cute in those pants, big boy’, or ‘oh yeah, I think your latest twink would die the moment she kisses those pretty lips of yours, Stevie’, Steves compliments were never like that, not once, not ever, never, ever. And yeah, Eddie thought about stopping on the off chance that they made Steve uncomfortable, but he could tell he liked them. Steve liked the attention Eddie gave him, and Eddie gave him a fucking lot of attention. Yes, Robin and Dustin gave him attention, but it was playful banter, and simple friendships, and conversations about girls… but Eddie… oh, Eddie just made him smile. It was like, whenever Steve walked into the room Eddie would just drop everything and focus solely on Steve. He would get up in his personal space, and smile at him, and wink at him, call him pretty, call him sweet, call him Stevie, and Sweetheart, and Big Boy, and the occasional Princess if he was feeling particularly cheeky, and it made Steve so giddy. Eddie was really his best friend, maybe even more than Robin… but it was different to Robin… probably because she was a girl… right? But yes, the flirting, whilst it was fun in the moment, it hung down on Eddie’s heart, and it hung it down low. He’d spent countless, countless fucking nights crying over steve. He’s spent countless days daydreaming over him too. He’s written songs about him, created characters and turned them into NPC’s in campaigns based off of Steve, and has filled sketchbooks and napkins and text books and desks with doodles of the boy he’s so fucking infaturated with the thought of. He’s burned through hundreds of cigarettes with the stress of it, cut into the supply of weed he was meant to be selling to random townies, but ended up smoking himself because he just couldn’t shake the soft outline of Steve from his mind. And fuck it hurts. It hurts so fucking much. 

Eddie and Robin had come out to each other right after the events of the upside down. There was no time for those sorts of conversations in the alternate dimension, and they were both clinging to their respective crushes any moment they could get. So after, when Robin was sitting on Eddie’s bedside, mindlessly playing with the drip cord coming from Eddie’s arm, and it was just them, she flat out just asked him, “You’re into dudes, right? That’s what you meant by ‘hunt the freak’?” To which Eddie just laughed and nodded his head, and she confirmed she was into girls and then the spent the rest of the afternoon just confiding in each other, obsessing over their crushes and comparing their ‘I knew I was gay when’ stories. But she became his safety net, he clung to her, and so did she. They spent many nights crying together about how much it hurt to be gay and relentlessly pine over a heterosexual person. And they never told another soul about the truth behind their friendship, no, that was their secret. Infact, they had spent so many nights crying over it together, so much time spent together, Steve and Nancy thought they were in a secret relationship or something. And so did Dustin, infact, he thought Eddie and Robin were more likely than Steve and Robin at this point because they were always so close and touchy, always laying on one another or hugging, and they were always whispering to each other, or doing their weird silent form of communication with their eyes that annoyed everyone else in the room. But eventually, after about ten and a half months of that shit, Robin just broke and fessed up to Nancy because she couldn’t take it anymore, and Nancy had dropped a subtle hint that she was really, really attracted to Jennifer Grey in that new Dirty Dancing film, and they ended up getting together. And yeah, Eddie was ecstatic for her when he found out, but god it hurt his heart so much, so so much. Because now, it was even more unlikely for Steve to turn around and say he had a thing for Eddie too, because the odds just didn’t align themselves like that. The universe wasn’t that nice. Things like that didn’t happen to people like him. Never. 

But it was possible. Just, no one knew it, and wouldn’t for a while longer. Because, Steve was in fact bisexual, he didn’t know or understnad his feelings, they just never clicked. He’d be soo conditioned to like girls, to be this ‘ladies man’ and has seen how gay men get treated in small town Indiana, hell, he threw hald of those fucking punches with Tommy by his side. He wasn’t the shit box he used to be, but still, the thought never occurred to him. If he sometimes thought about the tingling sensation he got when Eddie brushes up against him, or the way his stomach would drop when Eddie would flirt or tell him he looked pretty, or when his eyes would drop down to those perfectly soft looking lips that Eddie would always talk with, or when he would lay in bed and think about what it would be like to sleep beside Ed, that was all his business. And as far as he’s concerned, it’s just normal to think of your best friend in that wat, hell, he thought that way about Tommy, the only reason he didn’t think about Robin or Dustin in that way were because she was a lesbian and he was a kid… yeah, that’s why. 

And so Eddie spends months pining over his best friend. So many fucking months and it hurts. It hurts his heart so much. He’d spend hours and hours crying and hating himself for it, for everything. He wished he was a girl, he wished he didn’t have the fucking burden of homosexuality, he wished he wished he wished and cried and screamed into his fucking pillow till he cried the last tear in his body and fell asleep from pure exhaustion. Robin would console him, he’d call her up, or sometimes she’d just pop over unannounced when she got that gut feeling that he might not be doing so great. He’d sulk around the trailer with stained cheeks, clutching at his chest because it ached, whilst looking for some Tylenol or a beer or something to make it go away. He’d spend afternoons with his hair tied back and his head in the toilet because he’d make himself sick with heartache. He’d go days without eating or drinking, or even playing guitar. Sometimes it got so bad his eyes would hollow out and you’d be able to see his ribs start to show. After about a year, Wayne insisted on taking Eddie to the hospital because he thought something was seriously wrong with his boy, maybe it was cancer… or aids… or something. And Eddie just broke down into his uncles arm when he was trying to drag him out the front door and told him everything, and from that day on, Wayne held a secret hatrid for Steve because how dare he not love Eddie, how fucking dare he. But it didn’t help, it was just one more person that knew about his heart wrenching feelings for Steve. So painful, so sickening because he loved Steve so, so fucking much. And he always would. And Steve could never love him back. Never. 

Sometimes, he just wished he still had a mother, because mothers were supposed to be able to help no matter what. He tried talking to Ms. Henderson a couple times, to get that motherly touch, and she was sweet, but god he could never hit her with such a humiliating thing. They just didn’t have that connection. Ms. Wheeler, no, never, Nancy and Mike complained about her too much. And Joyce, Joyce seemed perfect for it, honestly. She seemed like she would actually care, and help him, but he never got the opportunity. So he was stuck with Robin, and he loved Robin, but she could only give the advice of a struggling eighteen year old lesbinan in small town Indiana, she didn’t have that mothers touch, that motherly love he so desperately craved. So he cried his feelings out to an old photo of his mother and wrote them down in song, playing them in the safe confinements of his room, and sometimes to Robin, a couple times to Wayne, and once to Max and Nancy (yes, they knew. He found it hard to keep from Nancy, and he trusted her now. And Max, well, Max was like his little sister, and she lived real close and spent a lot of time with Rob and Nance anyway). 

And then it would get to seventeen months post upside down conundrum. Seventeen months of being in love with Steve. And seventeen months alone. Yeah, he had a little thing for Steve before that, actually. He sorta hated him, but he couldn’t help but stare the entirety of their senior year together… he was just such a pretty boy. And then Steve had to go and get a job at Family Video and work every Thursday night? The night that Eddie always went in to swap over his rental. And god, he just loved to watch the way Steve would smile and shake his head at something Robin said from his van before going in. or listen to Steve’s mellow voice as he recommended some terrible movie Eddie certainly would never watch but would rent anyway, because Steve recommended it. And, yeah, it was stupid, but it was ignoreable. Nothing too deep, but then Eddie was wanted for murder and Steve was actually… nice… no, sweet even? And they bonded, and fuck, Steve had gotten even hotter since highschool, all broad and man and hairy and Jesus H. Christ, Eddie was sure if the democrats didn’t kill him down there, Steve in his battle vest, biting the head off that bat would. And that’s right when he knew he was in love with him. Right then and there. And that thought excited him, and then it very quickly didn’t. And now it had been seventeen months of being secretly in love with his very straight best friend, and honestly, he wished the upside down would open him back up momentarily and swallow him whole because at least that touture would be physically painful. But now it was Halloween, Eddie’s most favourite time of year. He had planned to match his costume with Nancy, Robin and Steve, going as this cartoon Dustin really liked. The ‘Scooby Gang’ it was called, it was all Dustins idea, but they liked it. Steve was going as Fred, Nancy went as Velma, Robin went as Shaggy, and Eddie went as Daphne as a bit of a gag. They were so excited with all the planning. But then Steve went and pulled at Eddie’s heartstrings by asking to invite some girl along to their party. And then Eddie hit rock bottom, he felt stupid for it, really, but fuck it hurt his heart too much. And he hadn’t left his bed in days. No one had been able to get through to him, and Robin had dropped in one evening with the key Wayne had given her, and let him cry to her once more. But tonight was Halloween, and Eddie was MIA, and the party was getting worried. And so, when Robin told them he was just having a hard time at the moment, they decided to bring Halloween night to him. So, after Wayne left for work, they snuck into the trailer and very quietly set up some decorations and prepared a couple of Eddie’s Halloween favs (Rocky Horrors Halloween appro, right?), and splayed out some snacks and sodas and beers and all sat down in their stupid costumes. Robin got up to go retrieve Eddie, and Steve grabbed her by the arm, insisting he go instead since theyre best friends and all, but Robin put a stop to that. She knew Eddie would never forgive her for letting Steve see him like that, see him hurting like that. So, she told him Eddie already knew she was coming and pushed down to his bedroom, closing the door behind her and sitting on the side of Eddie’s bed as she shook his shoulder gently, whispering to him. 

“Eddie…” she shook him again, “Dingus Number Two… Munson… Freak… Eddieeee.”

He groaned and rolled over to look at her, rubbing his eyes, “Whaddaya wan’t, Birdie?” 

She’d sigh and smile, “Max and Nancy are here, we wanna have a movie night… we’re watching Rocky Horror.” 

He’d lift his eyebrows, “Wheeler is willing to watch ‘the atrocity’ that is Rocky?” 

Robin grinned, “She’d do anything I tell her,” she poked his shoulder, “and I know you really need a good night with some friends.” 

He sighed, “Alright, gimme a minute to put some clothes on?” 

“Obviously,” She scoffed, “your watching a movie with two gay women and a minor, no underwear please.” 

He’d laugh and roll onto his back as she slipped out of the room and signalled for Nancy to load up one of Eddie’s favourite mixtapes he had made, on low volume so as to not raise suspicion. He’d crawl out of bed and grab a pair of grey sweats off the ground that he had disguareded last night that just happened to be Steves that he left there last week, and then walked over to his cupboard and pulled out that yellow sweater of Steves as well that he had nabbed a few weeks ago. He’d grab the claw clip he had stolen from Nancy and tied his hair back loosely, something he would only do around the girls, and walked out in his mismatched socks, still yawning and pulling the jumper properly on as he was emerging towards the kitchen. And when Steve caught sight of Eddie’s midriff, of his happy trail, of what was left of the tattoo on his waist, of their matching scars, his mind short circuiting was his own business, no one else’s. And then when he had noticed that Eddie was dressed in his clothes, it was even worse… okay, maybe it was his dicks business too since it seemed to like it so much. And then as Eddie finally pried open his eyes all the way he saw them all sitting there with happy smiles in their silly costumes and Steve… of fuck, Steve. He crossed his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt to hide the jumper, sending a mean glare at Robin for lying whilst growing pink in the cheeks, before forcing a big smile and greeting them all… subtly pulling the claw clip from his hair and pocketing it but not before Steve noticed. 

The night was pretty chill overall. They sat around and talked for a while, sharing snacks and ordering a pizza in to eat whilst watching Rocky Horror. The kids always had a way of lightening Eddie’s mood, but he’d never admit such a thing to them, no way. The movie was well past finished now, the television switched off, another mixtape of Eddie’s playing and they all sat around just talking, joking and laughing.

Dustin spoke up with a rather odd suggestion, “How about a game of spin the bottle?” 

Steve deadpanned him, “Don’t you have a girlfriend, Henderson? Or are you finally admitting that shes fake?” 

“And were all adults, you guys are like ten.” Robin added. 

“Well, were not gonna play normal spin the bottle… not really.” Dustin shook his head, “How about, if it lands on two single people of the same age group, they kiss. If it lands on someone who’s in a relationship or someone of a different age group, you have to tell them a secret?”

Nancy & Robin, Jonathan & Argyle, and Will & Mike all shared awkward glancess. None of them were out, not really, only to a few select people so they just hoped that the bottle didn’t land on anyone they had to kiss. And Eddie prayed that it wouldn’t land on Steve, he didn’t think he would be able to deal with that. Not after seventeen months of loving him all on his lonesome. 

And so, a little reluctantly, the game began. Dustin spun first, since it was his idea, and he landed on Max, so he shared a quick secret with her and she gave him a very strange look. Then, after brushing that off, she spun the bottle and it landed on Lucas who she happily gave a little kiss. He spun, and it landed on Will, he knew all about Will and Mike (Though, Mike did not know that Lucas knew). Mike tensed, panic flooding him and he was a little unsure as to why his boyfriend wasn’t freaking out either, but when Lucas crawled over to share a secret, he remembered that Max and Lucas were in fact dating. Will was gonna tease him for that one later. Will took the bottle next, giving it a good spin until it landed on Jonothat, and so he leant over and whispered in his brothers ear, “I know about you and Argyle.” 

Jonathan went red, and looked over to his boyfriend and smiled sweetly at his brother with a nod before he spun the bottle too. His spin landed on Nancy… and it was awkward. They both shuffled towards one another, and neither of them liked the situation one bit, neither did their significant others, and neither did Eddie, who knew about both relationships, “Just kiss on the cheek,” Eddie suggested whilst fiddling with his rings, he was anxious, “you guys have weird history, a kiss on the cheek is fine.” 

And they both gave him a very grateful smile before pecking each other on the cheek and crawling back beside their partners, back to safety. And Nancy took the bottle and the spin landed on Robin. They giggled excitedly and gave eachother a sweet little peck, and then Robin spun it and it landed on Mike. She crawled over to him, and whispered into his ear with a knowing smile, “I like girls.” 

And Mike took a deep breath and looked at her wide eyed with a sweet smile, the room suddenly feeling that little bit safer. And she nodded and crawled back to her spot. Mike spun the bottle and it landed on Will. He began to panic, yeah he felt safe kissing Will, but not around anyone, not anyone at all. The only person to know about him possibly being into dudes was Eddie, when he came rambling to him one night in a panic attack after breaking up with El, and they never talked about it again. And so when he nervously leant in, Will just as frightened, though, a little less so, and they gave eachother a little peck, Mikes heart was drumming in his chest. But it didn’t seem to bother anyone at all. No one cared that two boys just kissed. Not a single soul, so they let themselves relax a little. WIll spun then, and it landed on El, so he shared a quick secret with her since theyre siblings… and then El landed on Argyle so she did the same. And her secret had him nodding and smiling and praising her, ‘way to go, man’, which had everyone entirely confused. 

And then Argyle spun the bottle and it landed on Jonathan. They kissed a little too passionately, but everyone laughed… the people that didn’t know just assumed it was a joke and thought maybe they were a little high (which they were), and the people that did just found it funny. And then Johnnothan spun, and it landed on Robin. They both lent in for an awkward peck that was very fast and they barely touched and Robin almost grimaced from it. And after shaking that off, Robin spun the bottle and it landed on Eddie. He gave her a big grin, laying the theatrics on thick as per usual. He crawled over with such eagerness and knelt in front of her and smirked, which had people giggling because Eddie and Robin were definitely dating… right? He cupped her cheeks, subtly pressing his thumbs over her lips to create a barricade between him as he pulled her in for an aggressive ‘kiss’, their lips never touching. He held her there for a moment, both struggling not to laugh and he pulled back with a smack of his dry lips, and he laughed, “Damn, Birdie, wish I knew you were such a good kisser, would have been doing that for monthsss.” 

That comment had Robin, Nancy, Max, Will, Jonathan and Argule fucking howling. Steve - and the rest of the gang, but mostly Steve - utterly confused as to what was so hilarious it had them crying. After pulling themselves together, Eddie reached for the bottle with a smile, the last remnants of laughter clinging to him as he wiped at a tear, anxiety gone for the moment, and he spun. Him and Robin shared a weird look, their strange form of conversation, as the bottle spun and found themselves laughing some more about something no one else understood, but they didn’t care. And then there were some oohs, and ahhs. Eddie whipped his head over to Dustin and Mike who were pumping their eyebrows at him weirdly, and he turned to look down at the bottle. His heart dropped and his smile faltered, his eyes followed the bottle up to Steve, and he just stared for a moment. He could feel Robin’s gaze burning into him from the side, her heart ached for him. He clenched his jaw, fists forming in his lap and he wanted to cry. His first spin of the night and of course it lands on Steve. Fuck you universe.

“Well, you gonna give me a kiss or not?” Steve asked, and he began to feel a little strange… Eddie seemed so eager to play before, did Steve repulse him or something?

Eddie shook his head and swallowed, slowly crawling his way over to Steve. He really didn’t want to kiss him, he couldn’t deal with that. He’s thought about kissing Steve every singe day for almost two years and now he had to do it for a stupid game of spin the bottle? A stiupid, meaningless game? No, no way. He looked over to Robin, a cry for help, but she didn’t know how to help him either. They could’t pull the gay card, they couldn’t pull the ‘Eddie just doesn’t want to kiss anyone card, and they most certainly couldn’t just be honest about the whole situation. So Eddie had to suck it up and just kiss him. At least it meant he got to get a hint of Steve, right? A quick little taste? No matter how painful, Eddie had been dreaming of it. Eddie knelt in front of Steve now, and smiled at him shakily, he was so hesitant. 

“Come on,” Steve grinned, poking Eddie’s shoulder, “you’re always saying I got kissable lips, Ed’s, saying I’m gonna kill the girls with them. Don’t you wanna try for yourself?” 

And holy fuck that made everything worse. The one fucking time Steve flirted with him, it was in a meaningless game of spin the bottle where nothing mattered… but that’s not true because everything mattered. Eddie half heartedly laughs, and the room goes tense. Obviously something is off. Steve starts to grow worried, nerves flying and looks at Eddie whilst biting his lip, “You okay?”

Eddie shakes his head, “Ah, yeah… just, never kissed a boy before.” not entirely true, he’s just never kissed anyone he’s had feelings for, letalone someone hes been this fucking in love with. That was a good enough excuse though. 

“Oh, well… same.” Steve smiled with a shrug, “So, lay it on me, Munson. I expect the same treatment as Buckley over there.” 

Well, there is no way in fuck he was getting that. Eddie forced a laugh and smiled, leaning forward slightly. His hands both found purchase on Steve’s lower thighs, to give himself some stability, and he dug his fingers in deep. His body rattled with anxiety, and he swallowed, taking a shaky breath as he closed his eyes and pulled himself in closer, his grip tightening on Steve’s thighs. Steve furrowed his brow, he didn’t really understand why Eddie was so nervous, he was sure there were gonna be bruises on his thighs now. He watched as Eddie closed his eyes and leaned closer, catching a glimpse of a very worried Robin over his shoulder. She looked almost just as pained as Eddie did, just as… hurt. Steve looked back at Eddie and suddenly, he felt just as nervous. Not only were those same nerves coming into play that arose every time Eddie came close, but they were worse because Eddie was actually about to kiss him, and he was worried about it. Suddenly, Steve wasn’t so sure kissing Eddie was a good idea… but he wanted to. So, so bad. And then Eddie’s lips were on his, and it was just for a second. But in that second, Steve had managed to push himself harder against Eddie in hopes of keeping him there for a little while longer because kissing Eddie was… good. But kissing Steve was frightening. So, so frightening. And it hurts. Because his lips were just as soft as Eddie had dreamed and it was all for a fucking game. It tugged at Eddie’s heartstrings… no, a fucking hammer came face first with his heart and shattered it right there. Because that was all he was ever gonna get from Steve, and it was everything and nothing all at once. He wanted to throw up. He opened his eyes to find Steves twinkling back at him, his soft smile, the delicate crease around his eyes, and holy fuck Eddie couldn’t handle this anymore. He didn’t care what this next move would do, what it would give away, he didn’t care about anything or anyone. And so, as a small tear dripped from his eye, he rushed off to his room and slammed the door behind him, flinging himself under the covers and crying into Steve’s jumper. 

Steve sat there for a moment, he was frozen. His brain struggled to catch up with the whole situation but he was sort of smiling. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and his fingers brushed over his lips, pulling at them gently, at the place where Eddie used to be as he stared at the absent space Eddie had just filled. Eddie had just kissed him, wearing his sweats and his jumper, and he just kissed him. And he was terrified to kiss him. He was so scared he was digging his fingers deep into Steve’s thighs as his body trembled. He thought for a moment. He thought that maybe guys don’t just flirt with each other so much… maybe that was just…. He looked over at Robin who was marching her way towards Eddie’s room. 

“Robin,” Steve called out, and she turned to look at him, “is he-”

She shook her head sternly and sighed before pushing into Eddie’s room. Now everyone was confused. Nancy grabbed Steve by the hand, pulling him to his feet and dragging him out the front door. Max followed suit, grabbing the pack of Eddies smokes and a lighter off the coffee table on the way, and shut the door behind them. 

“Well… that was weird.” Dustin commented when the little group was left in silence. 

‘“Did…” Lucas started, “anyone else think that was sorta… gay?” 

There were a few awkward nods shared before El spoke up, “What is… gay?” 

Will turned cherry red at that, and Jonothan swooped in with an answer, “Ah, it’s where two boys like eachother… or two girls.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how you and Mike used to like each other, and would want to kiss…” Dustin added, “It’s like that but with two girls or two guys instead.”

“Is this… not normal?” She quirked an eyebrow. 

“Ah, no, not really.” Will shrugged, “A lot of people don’t like gay people… they get beat up for it… for being different.” 

“Oh,” El nodded and furrowed her eyebrows, “but you and Mike do the gay all the time.” 

Both Mike and Will tensed as all eyes fell on them, Dustin practically screamed, “What?”

“Way to go dudes.” Argyle was nodding with a smile, reaching for a high five which they awkwardly gave. 

“Ah…” Will chuckled nervously and looked over at Mike who was bordering a panic attack, “No-”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us! Friends don’t lie, guys.” Dustin shouted again. 

“I knew.” Lucas shrugged. 

“What?” Mike whipped his head to Will, “You told him?”

“He was the first person I ever came out to, and he wouldn’t stop bugging me about my things for you so I just told him, I’m sorry!” 

“Wait, you told Lucas before you told me?” Jonathan asked, a little disappointed. 

“Sorry-”

“And why are you dating Mike, of all people-”

“Hey!” Mike shook his head. 

“When did that happen?”

“Right after El and him broke up-”

“That long?” Dustin screached, “Jesus christ, I feel betrayed, seriously guys.” 

“Tell me about it.” Jonathan rolled his eyes, “And I can’t believe your dating Mike… he’s like-”

“Can you stop hating me, please?” Mike added. 

“He will not, ever.” El smiled, “You made me and Will cry. It is Jonathan’s job to hate you, he said.” 

After Robin slipped into Eddie’s room and sat beside him on the bed, he crawled his way into her arms, soaking the shoulder of her shirt with his tears, biting back his urge to scream in agony. She didn’t know how to help him, she didn’t know what to do. She felt guilty, like, she could have stopped them from kissing somehow, some way. Eddie just felt stupid, and utterly embaressed. It was just a stupid kiss, to everyone in that room it was just a stupid kiss and he could have played it off as nothing more and left the crying for later in the night. But no, no, seventeen months is too long to be in love without a single hint of that love being reciprocated. Any ounce if it is gonna make his heart swell and beat out of his chest, and if it wasn’t genuine, well, that was gonna tear him apart. And it did. It did tear him apart and now he thought he’d never be able to look his stupid, pretty best freind in the eye again because not only had he made a fool of himself by being so anxious and running away, he kissed him. He kissed him and now nothing would be the same because from that one second of a kiss, that ghost of a touch, that flicker of a taste, he was addicted and he needed more. He needed it badly and if he were too look Steve in the eyes again, he probably wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. And yes, it was greedy, it was so fucking greedy. But maybe he deserved to be a little greedy, maybe just this once. He’d never been greedy before. His heart wanted to be worse than greedy. 

Outside on the little porch, Max lit the cigarette and shoved it between Steve’s lips for him, knowing he’d need a distresser, just like Eddie usually did. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in thought. Nancy folded her arms over her chest and sighed, “Steve… there’s not any chance your gay, is there?”

Steve’s eyes darted up at her mid smoke, he choked on the bitter taste caught in his throat. He’d never thought about it before, but, he knew for a fact boys didn’t just walk around wanting to kiss other boys, wanting to kiss their best friends like that, “Gay- I… I don’t know? No-”

“I didn’t know I was.” She shrugged, trying to give him some sense of comfort in the whole thing. 

“But you’re- you’re different.”

She deadpanned him, “How?”

“Your a girl.” He furrowed his brow softly, taking a long drag. 

“So what?” Max scoffed, “It’s all the same.” 

“No-”

“It took kissing Robin to actually confirm it for me.” Nancy smiled up at him, “Yeah, I had my suspicions but then she just kissed me and I knew that’s definitely what I wanted… have you ever thought about Eddie like that before?”

“I- I don’t-”

“Nancy’s nice, I’m not.” Max grinned up at him, cocking her head to the side, “Were not dumb, Steve. That was a very homosexual reaction to Eddie kissing you. You tried to kiss him harder, you froze, you gasped, you touched your lips, you took a long time to process it… the whole nine yards.”

“But, I’m not- I like girls.”

“And I like guys,” Nancy suggested, “I also like girls, it’s a thing… It can happen. You can like both.” 

“Both?”

“Have you thought about kissing Eddie like that, Steve? Before?”

Steve shook his head, “No, not- not really.” 

“What do you mean?” Max nudged his side with a hopeful smirk. 

“I- he’s just… he’s my best friend.” 

Nancy gave Max a confused glance before turning back to Steve, “Okay… have you ever thought about, maybe… doing things you do with girls… with Eddie?”

Steve swallowed thickly and Nancy grabbed his hand, “Have you ever-” Steve snapped his hand away, and Nancy took a second before continuing, “Have you ever thought about… sleeping with him, or kissing him, or… cuddling with him… maybe, something like that?”

“I-” Steve scratched the place between his brow with his thumb, cigarette between his fingers still, “I don’t know, Nancy.” 

“Okay, okay, Steve,” She tried to calm him, “It’s okay if you have. We’re both more than okay with it, you’re safe here. It’s safe, okay?”

“O- okay.” He swallowed and nodded slowly, “Okay.” 

Max lightly kicked his shin as he took another drag of his smoke, “I always thought you blushed a little too much around him to be straight. And… remember that time I caught you sporting his Hellfire tee whilst checking yourself out in the mirror?” 

Nancy let out a little laugh as he dropped his head in shame, pinching the bridge of his nose and he leant back against the door, “Fuck,” he looked back up at the girls who wore hopeful looks, “is Eddie…?”

They swallowed and shook their heads, “We don’t know, sorry.” a lie, but they weren’t just gonna out Eddie.

“I thought he had a thing for Robin.” He shrugged in a half mumble to himself. 

“No,” Nancy snorted, “that’s platonic with a capital P.”

“Okay,” he sighed and let his mind wander. He thought back to the kiss they just shared, how it made him feel… a whole string of things really. He tried to deepen it, but Eddie pulled away… why? He thought about how he really needed it to happen again, he could still feel Eddie on his lips. It felt really good, “I think I like Eddie.” 

The girls shared hopeful glances at one another before putting their game faces back on, Nancy took the lead, “You think, or you know?” 

Steve thought for a moment, a long moment. He thought back through the past year and a half, how ever since the upside down he’s had this pull towards the boy. Hes had this need to be close to him constantly, how he craved the smell of him (even though it’s just cheap cologne, cigarettes, a little three in one shampoo, occasionally some weed, laundry detergent on the earlier days of the week… it was just so… Eddie), how he likes it a lot when Eddies close by and how it makes him tingle when they touch. He thought about those night when he wished Eddie was laying beside him, nursing him to sleep in his arms, or those niughs when hed wake up in a cold sweat and wish Eddie were there to hold him and reassure im it was just a dream. He thought about kissing Eddie again. He thought about kissing him harde, and longer, maybe even holding him closer and feeling his body pressed flush against his own. He took another smoke, picturing Eddie for a little longer, his eyes fixed on the gravel in front of his parked car, a small smile curled absentmindedly on his lips. He thought back to Eddie walking out of his room tonight, when Steve gaught a glimpse of his happy trail, and his pale skin and what was left of that sick tattoo he had on his waiiste under his scars… the matching scars they had (even though the thought of romantisizing their trauma was slightly fucked up but, ahhh, anuthing to connect himself to Eddie). He thought about how when he did see that, see Eddie in his clothes, and his midriff, a little blood rushed to his cock. And he thought about Eddie, and how he was inside right now, still dressed in Steves clothes, right after kissing him, and how he needed to excuse himself afterwards because to Eddie… that kiss was more than just a mere kiss of spin the bottle. No. for the first time in his goddnamned fucking life, Steve didn’t feel so oblivious, well… he was second guessing himself of course, no, the idea that Eddie wanted to kiss Steve so much it made his whole body shake was just too good of a thought. So yes, he second guessed himself even though there was no heterrosexual explanation for Eddies behaviour tonight, “Why did he leave, then?”

“What?” Max asked. 

“After he kissed me, why did he leave?” He had to be sure, he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Eddie. No, he could never. He needed to look good in front of Eddie. He needed to look Steve in front of Eddie. 

“I really don’t know, Steve.” Nancy lied. 

Steve nodded, “I know I like Eddie.” 

Max grinned and looked over at Nancy, who was grinning just the same, before turning back to Steve, “You should probably talk to him, Steve.” 

“Yeah-” He fiddled with the smoke between his fingers, still feeling a little dazed and confused with the whole realisation, “Yeah, I probably should.” 

He pushed himself off the door and back inside, down towards Eddie’s room. The girls grabbed each other by the hands from a moment and squeezed, doing a minni celebratory dance because OhMyFuckingGod! SomethingWasFinallyHappening! And they giddily, and hope filled, ran inside, following Steve down the little hallway to Eddie’s room. He didn’t even think to knock before flinging the door open. It was hard to see, since his room was dark, the only light let in was from the doorway now. Steve felt his chest tighten at the sight before him, at Robin stroking Eddie’s hair as he cried into her shoulder. And his cries sounded so broken. Like he’d gone through this one too many times and he was just… empty. And he was. He was so, so lost, and so, so empty. Robin looked up at the doorway, her grip around Eddie tightening as she noticed Steve with her tear filled eyes. Steve swallowed and dropped the doorknob from his hand as Eddie looked up, his sobs quieting. His face was pale, so, so pale - save the red of his cheeks and nose - and his eyes were bloodshot and heavy and his lashes were glued together by his tears, and his cheeks and lips were wet from crying and his nose was a little snotty and his hair was a mess, but Steve still thought he was so pretty. And he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Robin because he would give anything to be the one Eddie confided in when he was hurting, he’d give anything to be the one to stroke his hair and assure him that things would get better, even if they wouldn’t. Eddie tensed and turned away, wiping at his tears, a few sparse sobbs leaving his lips as he did. He really didn’t need Steve to see him like this. It only made him more embarrassed. Nancy pushed past Steve and grabbed Robin by the arm, prying her away from Eddie. Prying his safety net away until it was gone. She was gone and now it was just Eddie and Steve in the dark, dark room, the door shut behind them, and both of them dressed in Steve’s clothes. Steve was the first to speak, and it was quick, unexpected almost, “Are-”

“Sorry,” Eddie sniffled and wiped the last of his tears away, “sorry, I just… I don’t know why I’m crying, it’s stupid.” 

“I’m sorry.” Steve was cautious, he didn’t want to move in case he scared Eddie, he was scared himself. 

“Why are you sorry?” Eddie turned back to face him, though it was still hard to see in the darkness of the room. He brought his knees to his chest, still tucked under his messy blanket, trying his best to hide Steve’s yellow sweater. 

“I-“ Steve shook his head, “I obviously did something wrong, can we talk about that, please?” He sounded sincere and genuine, and sweet and compassionate.

God no, never. You could never do anything wrong.

“No.” Eddie shook his head and sighed, his eyes glancing away from Steve, it was too hard to look at him for too long, it made his heart ache, “I’ve just been… glum, lately.” 

Steve slowly nodded, “Glum?”

Eddie nodded too, but he didn’t say anything. But the brief look he gave Steve, with those big, dark, desperate eyes was enough for Steve to at least half understand. Well, he hoped he did anyway. He hated being oblivious. Especially when it was hurting his Eddie so much.  

“So, it wasn’t because I took your first kiss with a dude?” Steve shuffled in his spot, fingers twitching to only then realise he still had the cigarette in his hand. It had burnt down and the hot end of it was almost at his fingers, the ash discarded to a small pile on Eddie’s carpet, the thick smell of smoke lingered in the air. Though, that wasn’t very different from the usual state of this room. He lifted his hand, looking at the cigarette and then around the room for somewhere to put it out. Eddie grabbed the ashray from beside his bed and held it out for Steve to use, his eyes fixed on the smoke rather than the boy himself. Steve began to walk over as Eddie responded, trying to sound casual. 

“No, course not.” 

Steve stubbed his cigarette out in the tray and exhaled slowly, Eddie placed it back on the bedside, and Steve kept his feet glued to the carpet. He didn’t want to step away, he wanted to get closer, to hold Eddie and to kiss him and to assure him that all this hurt… whatever it may be, would dissipate eventually. But he didn’t do that, he was afraid, and so was Eddie. So he stood there, his hands now resting on his hips, “Then…” he shrugged, his head tipped to the side as he did, and Eddie finally met his eyes, “why are you so tense?”

Eddie hugged himself tighter, his thighs pressed flush against his torso and he rested his chin on his knees, looking into the empty space of his cluttered room ahead, rather than beside him at Steve. He couldn’t lie to his face, he just couldn’t bear it. He wasn’t lying, per say, but he definitely wasn’t being honest and that was just as hard, “Uhm… I don’t know.” 

Steve didn’t like the thought of making Eddie so tense, so nervous, so… uncomfortable. So, he opted to ease the conversation a little, an attempt to lighten the mood and ease his way into the reality of it. The reality of his feelings and hopefully Eddie’s shared ones, “You were grabbin me so hard I think you left some bruises behind.” 

Eddie looked up at him again, his eyes were wide and his cheeks were red. He looked terrified, embarrassed… pretty. Always so pretty. Eddie bit his lip and shook his head slightly, he wanted to cry again, “I’m sorry.” 

He had really expected Ed to make some filthy joke or flirtatious comment, as per usual, but no. no he just… apologised. He realised that the gravity of this situation was really weighing Eddie down because humour was Eddie’s go to deflecting mechanism in vulnerable times, he hated being vulnerable. He was always using humour, but now he… he just couldn’t bring himself too? Because it was too… painful?… too real?, “It’s okay…” he shrugged, he wanted to make Eddie laugh, to make him smile or even blush, so, he tried to make a joke instead, “I like havin’ bruises on my things anyway.” he winked at him. 

He swore he saw Eddie’s nose flare and his eye twitch, though he thought that could have been the dark playing tricks with his mind, his sight had really faltered after all those concussions. But he was right, Eddie’s nose did flare and his eye did twitch because why the fuck was the one time Steve making some flirtatious comment now? The one time Eddie didn’t want to joke or flirt, Steve did? That burned his chest. It felt like someone had gone and shoved a flaming hot iron spike down his thought and through his insides, burning his flesh inside out, torturing him, killing him so, so slowly. He swallowed thickly, he held his body taught to prevent from shaking so visibly, “Right.” 

Steve stiffened, he really did not want that reaction. He thought it may ease Eddie into a more lighthearted setting, making talking about their feelings less intimidating. But no, clearly Eddie was hurting too much for that, and Steve hated that he was the one hurting Eddie like that. He had always made it his priority, ever since that poor cheerleader died on that humid March night, to protect Eddie, to shield him, to make sure he was okay. To make sure he was safe. And right now, Steve was making Eddie feel the opposite of safe, “Sorry.”

Eddie glanced at Steve, just for a moment before fixing his chin safely on his knees again, his hair falling around his face, creating a little cave to hide in. He began to grow irritated, his emotions were flooding him and he wanted to break down again. He needed Robin, or Nancy, or Max, or Wayne, or literally anyone in the world, because his heart was constricting in his chest and making him weak. Making him fragile and vain. Rendering him nothing more than the Freak who cried after kissing a boy in a game of spin the bottle, “Why are you apologising?” his tone was harsh, and sharp, he was deflecting, he didn’t have the energy for compassion now. 

Steve took a small step back, he didn’t want to irritate him anymore, “I don’t-”

“Look, it’s real sweet of you to apologise, even though you don’t even know what happened. But i’m clearly not in the mood for dirty jokes or you right now, so please, can you-”

“I thought I was your best friend?” Steve’s words were barely a whisper, they were dripping with hurt, but Eddie heard them. He heard them, and it just hurt his heart so much more. Because he was Eddie’s best friend and he hated pushing him away, he hated that his mood now was hurting Steve even slightly and he hated himself so much for neglecting Steve for the past week. But the fact that Steve was his best friend, was the reason he had been neglecting him, why he was coming across so harsh now. Because Eddie had him so, so close, all the time, and yet, he was so fucking far. And god it fucking cut him deeper than any knife, or any fucking flesh eating demobat ever could. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he took a deep breath, composing himself just enough to say these next words, 

“You are-”

“Then why don’t you want me around?” Steve’s tone was sharper now, and he took that little step forward which made Eddie flinch. Steve immediately recoiled his actions.

Because I’m fucking in love with you, Goddnammnit. 

“Because!” Eddie threw an arm out in hopes that a reasonable explanation would fly right into his hand, he hesitated for a moment, letting his mind wander when nothing came, “because… Steve.” He took a deep breath, his tone softened again, he refused to look at him, “You’re the reason I’m in this ‘mood’, of course I don’t want you around.” 

“So…” Steve relaxed his shoulders, taking in a shaky breath as he tipped his head to get a better look at Eddie, shying away, “it was because of our kiss then?” he swallowed. He had kissed Eddie… and Eddie was upset about it… mad about it, even? 

Eddie looked up at him, and he really didn’t mean to say that, or imply that because now he had given too much away. He felt his chest tighten some more and he brought a hand to clutch at his heart in hopes of leaviating some of the ache there. His doe eyes were wide on Steve as they just searched his face, praying that Steve would speak instead. But he didn’t, he just looked at Eddie, searching his eyes for an answer, and so Eddie let out a hefty sigh, “Fine, you got me.” 

Steve nodded, his feet glued in place as he wobbled a little, arms folding across his chest as he took a deep breath. Once again, Stevies blatant obliviousness was coming into play because he thought that he had absolutely grossed Eddie out with that kiss, because that was the most reasonable explanation, right? Obviously he would be repulsed because Eddie’t not gay… and even if he was, why would he ever want to kiss Steve? Sure, girls wanted to kiss him all the time, he was a good looking guy, he knew that, but that’s all they wanted. They wanted physical, any time he tried to get to the meaningful with him they’d just turn away and try to blow him instead. And so, why would Eddie want to kiss him at all? Because being gay in Hawkins didn’t really leave room for meaningless gay sexual encounters, it was too risky, especially with your best friend. So yes, obviously Eddie was so shaken up and disgusted with kissing Steve that he had to leave the room, because that just made the most sense… didn’t it? He was so, so sorry, “What about it?” he just needed to know because he was clining to that slight slither of hope that it could have been because Eddie really did want to kiss him, and was just scared of his feelings. He prayed it was that one so much, “Because I’m a guy? Or because it was with me?”

Eddie hung his head down low, his forehead now resting against the tops of his knees, his fringe awkwardly pressed between. His breath fell heavy, his eye began to water and he wanted to scream and shove Steve out of the room and cry… and god he wanted to kiss Steve even more. He felt so full of shame as he mumbled, “Both.” 

Steve nodded, he stumbled on his words a little, a spike of fear travelling up his spine, “You’re not… your not homo- homophobic… are you?”

Eddie squinted his eyes, peering up at the boy with a sense of uncertainty and confusion, “No… of course not…” he forgot how oblivious Steve could be some times, too many hits to the head, that made Eddie’s heart drop a little lower, “Of course now, you know I know about Rob and Nance.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Steve nodded, scratching his chin as he searched for the words, “It’s just that… they have never explicitly said they were dating… or really even kissed in front of the both of us, so… i thought maybe you might-”

“Sometimes your obliviousness baffles me, Steven.” Eddie sighed and hid his head back on his knees, “Look, Steve,” Steve didn’t like how Eddie’s profound use of nicknames were not being used in this entire conversation, “I’m kind of having a moment here… clearly, so I would just appreciate it if you left me to my lonesome. Maybe you could get Rob on the way back out so I can cry to her some more because you’re really cramping my style right now.” 

There was the humour Steve was so desperately searching for before, only now it felt… yucky. Like a sour taste in both of their mouths. A sour taste that Steve felt the need to sweeten. He took a little step closer, his voice dripped with compassion and had such a soft, tender tone to it. It’s the voice he’d use after consoling one of the kids or Robin after a panic attack, “You still want to cry?” 

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, his head slightly raised now and he gritted his teeth, “God, Steve!” 

He took a shaky breath, his heart pulling at his chest as it tightened, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, right beside Eddie. He sat by Eddie’s feet, his knee resting on the mattress at Eddie’s side, the other hanging off the edge as he faced him. And he placed a tender hand on Eddie’s forearm with a gentle smile. Their eyes fixed on one other, Eddie’s heart practically leapt out of his chest. They let themselves get lost in eachothers eyes for just a moment, just the slightest moment but goodness, it was such a beautiful moment. Steve tilted his head a little, his hair lightly bouncing with the movement in the way that always made Eddie feel giddy and love sick. And a small tear worked its way from Eddie’s eye, which he was quick to wipe away with a hefty ounce of shame. Steve took another deep breath, this one a little less shaky then the last, “You can cry to me if you want.” 

Eddie sat still, almost frozen in place as he watched Steve extend his arms out with a small shrug, inviting Eddie in. and god, maybe it was fucking selfish but who fucking cared at this point, Eddie would take what he could fucking get. He just wanted to find that warm safety in Steve’s arms, to hold him close, to listen to his heartbeat and smell him. And so, with a little hesitation, Eddie folded. He really couldn’t hold back any longer. The emotions fell heavy, like a dark cloud hung over his head, waiting to bucket down with freezing rain and hail, for the thunder to crash and beat in his chest and for the lightning to strike. And so, he lowered his knees, letting himself sit on top of them now as he shuffled towards Steve like a measly little five year old who had scraped their knee after falling off their bike, and let Steve pull him tight into his arms. Eddie hugged himself tight, his hands gripping at the soft, yellow jumper that no longer smelt like Steve, as the boy he loved so much splayed one hand flat across his back and the other on his shoulder as he cradled Eddie close. His nose brushed up against the top of Eddie’s head, and he let himself breathe in Eddie’s scent as he kept him safe there. Steve let himself wonder in that moment, how he had never let himself wonder like that before. Maybe it was his father, maybe it was Tommy, maybe it was Hawkins as a whole that had stopped him from having those same thoughts about boys that he had about girls. But god, right now, he knew that those thoughts about Eddie felt more right than anything. More safe, more sure. His heart ached in his chest because he knew he was undeserving. This was just God’s way of punishing him for hurting Eddie before, wasn’t it? Some fucked up sadistic way of punishment for hurting Eddie, for hurting Nancy, for hurting everyone in his past. Punishing him by making him find such deep love or adoration for these people in his life, and know that he would never, ever be good enough for them. And it stung. But that wouldn’t change anything, ever. No, he will protect Nancy, till the day he dies, even though she definitely did not need his protection. He would protect Robin till the day he died, even though he hasn’t let her down yet, not really. And he would most definitely protect Eddie till the day he died and longer, because Eddie needed someone to protect him, to love him, and to care for him from the sidelines and watch him grow. And god forbid, Steve would let anyone else take that role. No, that was his role. And whilst a life without being able to kiss Eddie sounded like absolute tourture now, he would accept it, because as long as Eddie was happy, and safe, and smiling… Well that’s all Steve ever wanted for the boy. Steve tightened his grip around Eddie, his cheek pressed against the top of his dark mass of tangles and he stroked the ends of them so softly and listened as Eddie cried. He felt his shirt dampen on his chest, he felt Eddie’s hot breath there, he felt Eddie’s body shake and jolt in his grip, and he just held him tighter, whispering calming affirmations in an attempt to settle him. His heart ached for Eddie, he just wished he could stop the hurt somehow. Eddie had so much pain in his heart it ached his entire body. He felt frail and breakable and like he couldn’t move or his limb would simply snap off. His heart weighed so heavy in his chest his body had to slump forward to be able to support it. There was a loud thump in his head and a ringing in his ears that blocked out the heart wrenching sounds of his cries. His cries for Steve, the boy he loved, the boy who was holding him close and stroking his hair and telling him it would be okay. Steve felt his own tears falling now, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. And Eddie tensed, his jaw clenched, his fists tightened and his heart felt like it was being sliced in half with an axe. Steve felt this shift in Eddie, and so he took a steady breath and decided to speak, “Do you want to talk about it, Eddie?” 

Of course he didn’t. God no, of course he didn’t it would hurt him so, so much. But, if not now, then when? How long would he have to suffer like this if he didn’t just… be honest. At least, if Steve was repulsed by the reality of Eddie’s feelings he would walk away, and then Eddie wouldn’t have to look at his stupid, pretty face every other day or listen to the soft sound of his voice and continually have his heart ripped out. And plus, he knew if he didn’t give an answer now, Steve would keep pestering him until he gave an honest one, “I didn’t want to kiss you, Steve.” was all he could muster up the courage and energy to say. 

That was like a hammer to his heart, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and sniffled until his tears stopped, “No?” 

Eddie shook his head, still tucked safely into Steve’s chest, no, looking at him would make everything a whole lot harder, “It wasn’t my first kiss with a dude, you know? I kissed em before in stupid games of spin the bottle and stuff… I’ve just never kissed someone that… counted… someone that meant something to me.” 

Steve tensted, and Eddie felt it, he freaked out a little. Steve took a deep breath and continued to speak, “Like… your best friend? Or do you mean…”

Eddie took a deep breath too now, “I’ve kissed Gareth before… he’s my best friend. That didn’t bother me one bit, it was just… it was just a stipid kiss with him.” 

Steve bit his lip and stroked Eddie’s hair again, trying to soothe him as he felt Eddie’s cries start to deepen again, “Are you… do-” he sighed heavily,��just fucking say it Steve, “Are you gay, Eddie?”

Eddie began to cry harder and he buried himself deeper into Steve’s chest, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, don’t hate me, please.” 

That made Steve’s heart twist in his chest, hate you? Hate you? Fuck, Eddie i could never hate you. He licked his lips and forced his nerves down, “And did you not want to kiss me because your gay… or because,” he played with the ends of Eddie’s hair as he spoke, “you like me?” 

Eddie sat back up now, pulling away from Steve to get a proper look at him. Steve’s arms fell to his sides, resting limp on his thighs and suddenly he felt so empty, so cold. He wanted Eddie back. And Eddie looked at him with those glassy, chocolate doe eyes, his face pale with a flush of red on his cheeks all wet with tears, his lips plump from his sobs and the bottom one red from his constant need to bite it, a little snot in his nose. He looked utterly broken, his hair was frayed around his face and his expression was so… desperate, wrecked, and needy. Steve forced back his need to grab Eddie by his warm cheeks and kiss his tears away. Eddie didn’t speak for a moment, he was trying to fix his breathing and find his words, his mind was blurry. All he could think about was Steve. Stevie, as he liked to call him. Princess. Sweetheart. He thought how now, if he was honest, he would probably never be able to call him those things again. He chewed at his lip and diverted his gaze, “Would you hate me if I said it was?”

“God, Eddie!” And now Steve was the irritated one, and it made Eddie flinch back again, his knees pressed back to his chest to try and hide, and Steve sighed and shook his head and let another tear fall, “Why do you keep thinking I’m gonna hate you? I could never fucking hate you.” 

Eddie slowly looked up at Steve who was just staring at him, eyes wide, trying to send the fucking message across. And Eddie felt his heart sink. He slowly nodded and let his eyes flicker around the room, they landed on his guitar for a moment, and he sniffled, and let the words fall, “I’m in love with you.” he flicked his eyes back over to Steve. 

He tensted, nay, he froze. His breath hitched and he made some weird sound he didn’t mean too in shock. Eddie, quite frankly, looked terrified. He was terrified. In this moment he felt more terrified then he did with any battle in the upside down, even facing death. Right now, he would rather be back on the cold, damp ground of the upside down with countless demon bats from hell sinking their razor sharp teeth into his warm flesh, screaming in pain and for his life as they ate them alive. Because that was less painful than what he had going on with Steve. Steve rubbed his hand over his mouth, taking a moment to process Eddie’s words, Eddie’s tone, his expression. He took a long, shaky breath and fought back a smile, “You’re… in love with… me?” 

Eddie’s lip trembled and he bit down on it to stop it, it just hurt so much because now he knew, and now, all of this… this seventeen months of falling hopelessly in love would change… and it would all have been for nothing, “Yes. And i have been since you bit the head off of that fucking deamon bat.” they both snickered. 

“Really?” Steve’s face softened, and he smiled and Eddie thought he had a sense of hopefulness about him. But that was just wishful thinking… right?

Eddie blushed a little, but the room was too dark to notice, plus… his cheeks were already bright red. He rested his chin on his knees, eyes refusing to leave Steve. No, he wanted to study him, to figure out what was going on in that oblivious head of his, “Yes.” He nodded slightly, honestly, I’m surprised Max was the only one to figure it out, “And so, kissing you tonight wasn’t just a stipid kiss in a game of spin the bottle. It was like, years of built up feelings smushed into one stupid kiss that wasn’t reciprocated and was meaningless and it just… broke me all over again.” 

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, he thought for a moment, “Again?” he’d done this to Eddie before?”

Eddie sighed and shook his head, refusing to give an honest answer. But Steve was persistent, and so, he pressed, “No, what…” Steve tipped his head, eyes soft, “have I hurt you before?” 

Eddie softened his eyes, his lids falling half shut as he huffed a long sigh, he forced a smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes, “Only every day.” he shrugged a little and forced a laugh, Steves heart ached, “It sucks enough knowing your gay… it sucks more knowing your gay for your incrediably hetero best friend… who often talks about his several sexual encounters.” 

Steve pressed a hand to his mouth in shock, “Oh my- fuck… I am so sorry.” and it was genuine. 

Eddie shrugged, forcing his smile some more, “You get used to it… it helps when you got a Birdie to cry too. Plus, she was in the same boat for about ten months… but it got harder when she got what she needed.” 

“Needed-” Steve looked at Eddie with such sympathy, watching the way Eddie hid himself back behind his knees and his hair. Steve chewed at his thumb nail and just looked for a moment, processing it… it was so hard to process, everything was just so… knew to him, “Wait, do Nance and Max know about this?”

Eddie nodded, “Yeah.”

“Assholes,” He muttered to himself, “they told me they had no idea.” 

Eddie lifted his head properly and furrowed his eyebrows, “What, when?”

Steve shrugged, anxiously bobbing his knee whilst Eddie fiddled with his ring, “They just pulled me out side and asked if I was…” he looked at Eddie, his movement stilling, “gay. And then I asked if you were too, they said they didn’t know-”

Eddie’s eyes widened, it was probably wishful hearing but, “Too?”

Steve swallowed, he hadn’t realised he said that. But, he couldn’t stop the bubble in his stomach and the little giddy smile that forced its way to his lips, and so he let it. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled so warmly, Eddie thought he was about to burst, “Yeah, too… though…” he swallowed again and shuffled half an inch closer, leaning forward a little to whisper, “I didn’t know until you kissed me about ten minuets ago.” 

Eddie didn’t show a slither of expression on his face, it was just blank, but inside… oh, inside he was screaming, “So, you like guys too?” 

“Yes.” Steve’s smile began to falter, he was a little unsure of himself now… why the fuck wasn’t Eddie happy… or sad… or anything for that matter. 

Eddie nodded once, remaining expressionless, and he spoke in monotone, “And you…”

“I think…” Steve cleared his thoughts and straightened his back, he struggled to meet Eddie’s dark eyes, “I think I’m into you too… I don’t know if it’s love, I mean I love you definelly as my friend, but romantically, I’m not sure. I realise that these… weird feelings… these desires I’ve had that I’m only reealising are things that gay men feel, have been around since you had me pinned up against that wall in the old boat house… remember, and you were- you had the bottle… I- this is embarrassing but I got a boner… I really don’t know why I didn’t realise I’m gay- or… half gay, till now. But, that’s- that’s me. And so yeah, I guess I’ve been into you for a while but… I don’t exactly, really… understand everything yet.” 

Eddie bit his lip harshly, he closed his eyes and let out a long puff of air. Anger. Steve was terrified. Eddie gritted his teeth, “So, your telling me that I have waisted a year and a half of fucking tears on you?” his eyes shot open, and they were dark. 

Steve’s lips parted slightly, that definitely was the last thing he expected Eddie to say. It made his heart jump, “I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

“Why the fuck did no one suggest a game of spin the bottle in the fucking upside down?” He shook his head, the anger still prominent in his tone… but he was… joking? Steve quirked an eyebrow, a little unsure if he should laugh or not, and so Eddie continued to speak, “I would have saved so much fucking energy. And to think, you would have much nicer bruises on your thighs by now.”

Steve let himself laugh now, it was a short burst of a laugh and he was quick to slap a hand over his lips. But then Eddie was laughing too, and so they laughed together, eyes growing wet with both hurt and happiness and they just looked at eachother, smiles big on their lips. Eddie rested his cheek on his knees, smiled so soft and eyes bright and alive. A sudden feeling of contentment washed over them, and it was peaceful. The ache in Eddie’s body began to dissipate and for the first time in seventeen months, he didn’t ache for Steve. He started to cry again, heavily. Steve shuffled closer and placed his hands on either side of Eddie’s head, holding him so soft, stroking his hair every so often as he pressed a few sparse kisses to the top of Eddie’s head. Steve’s whisper was delicate, “I’m sorry, Eddie.” 

He wiped his tears on the sleeve of Steve’s yellow jumper, sniffling a little before looking up, “It’s okay.”

Steve shook his head, “It’s not. It’s not okay, I had no idea I was hurting you so much.” 

Eddie smiled, and it met his eyes this time, his wet, pretty eyes, “But you didn’t know, because I didn’t let you see.” He gently grabbed Steve’s hand from his face and held them tight, “You didn’t know, and so it’s okay.” 

“But,” Steve still felt horrible, “still, I-”

“Stevie.” Eddie pressed, and Steve couldn’t help but smile at the name. The name he loved so dearly. The name that only Eddie called him. Eddie rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Steve’s hand, and it was strange that he was the one comforting now, when he was still the one with tears falling from his eyes, “I didn’t want you to know. And it wasn’t you that hurt me. It was because of you, I was hurting myself. You didn’t mean to sweep me off my feet and get me falling head over heels or anything, that’s just your Steve charm-” both of them laughed a little, “but I hurt myself for continually flirting with you, even though I knew you would never flirt back- you just… you just always got so pink in the cheeks and I couldn’t help myself, I love your smile. And- it’s my fault for spending so much time with you, I could have just… not… you know, let myself have some room to get over you but I couldn’t help myself. I really couldn’t, you just make me happy… even when you go on about having sex with girls in the back of your car and how great they are and how you just wished one of them was meaningful… and how you wanted to settle down with someone and fall in love. It’s my fault for letting those conversations happen, my fault for indulging them time after time because I just loved to learn about what you wanted in life. And then I’d go home and picture myself in your silly scenarios instead… picture myself in your dreams until I inevitably cry myself to sleep. It’s embarrassing, really, but… it’s not your fault at all because there have been countless times where I could have just pulled the plug before I fell too deep but I didn’t. Because I love you, and loving you is everything to me.” 

Steve’s heart sunk in his chest because… oh god he needed to cry. Oh god he was already crying. He’d spent seventeen months trying and trying with all these pointless girls when he had Eddie there, ready and waiting all that fucking time and… he’s never had someone… feel for him like that before. He’s never had someone… love him so openly before. And it hurt so much because he finally, after twenty years of living, had someone to give him the love he so desperately needed. The love that not even his own mother could give him. And so yes, he was crying like a fucking lunatic but so was Eddie and it was safe. It was safe because they could both cry like lunatics together. Eddie pulled Steve’s hands close to his chest, shuffling in a little closer. He cupped his calloused hands on Steve’s warm, wet cheeks and swiped his thumbs along the high of his cheek bones, the tips brushing along his bottom lashes. They were close now, so, so close, Eddie could feel Steve’s warm breath on his face and it was so inviting. Eddie smiled so softly, his voice barely a whisper, “What’s got you crying now Steve?” 

He sobbed some more, a heavy sob that came from the depths of his chest and he grabbed Eddie’s wrists, his thumbs brushing over the pale skin as he looked deep into those chocolate eyes, “You really do love me?”

Eddie nodded, his forehead pressed against Steves and their noses brushed togher, “More than I’ve ever loved anything, actually… and it’s… terrifying.” 

Steve’s grip on Eddie’s wrists tightened and his eyes blinked shut for a moment, “I promise I’m gonna love you like that soon.” 

Eddie laughed, a slight sniffle following, “You shouldn’t promise something so valuable, Stevie. Might end up breaking my heart.” 

Steve moved one of his hands to cup the back of Eddie’s neck, his fingers lacing though his hair as he whispered, “I never want to break your heart… again.” 

Eddie smiled softly, his eyes closing for a moment too, “And I never want to break yours, and I honestly don’t think I ever could.” he took a shaky breath, “I know this is all new to you, and I don’t want to scare you, or overwhelm you or anything like that, Steve, but to me… you are… everything. I mean, I have so much love for you I have literally got an entire notebook dedicated to songs about you-”

Steve laughed, “You wrote songs about me?”

“So many.” Eddie smiled, “You just… you make my life better without even meaning too. And yes, I have spent the better part of those seventeen months crying my heart out for you… I mean, I was making myself sick with grief so bad Wayne thought I had AIDS or Cancer or… something like that… that’s why he hates you, by the way. He hates you because you are supposedly not a homosexual.”

“Wait, really?” Steve pulled his face back a little, chewing at his lip, “That’s why? I have been trying to suck up so hard.” 

Eddie smiled, “He’ll come around.” Eddie swiped his thumbs over Steves cheeks again, “I don’t expect you to ever love me back, that… that would be asking for more than I could ever deserve-” Steve tried to speak, but Eddie didn’t let him interrupt, “I just want you to be happy, and I want to be the one to provide that happiness, if that’s what you want. But, if you need more time to… understand all this… your feelings… any of it, that’s okay. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s okay too. I just hope you want to keep me around, and don’t feel bad. Okay? If you’re gonna reject me now, just do it because at least then I know for sure and I can try my best to move on and maybe you could help me-”

“I’m not gonna reject you, Eddie.” Steve slid a little closer, as close as he could get, both of them straightening up a little, “I wouldn’t- i wouldn’t come in here and confess to you that you were like… my awakening into homosexuality and then reject you. That would be… incredibly stupid.” 

“But if you need more time-”

“You’re sweet.” Steve smiled, and his heart drummed in his chest so fast, “You know, ever since the upside down you are the person I think about the most. You make me so happy, and the days and weeks you disappear like that make me… I don’t know, I cry a lot because I miss you and I think I’ve done something wrong… which I now realise that it was definitely because I’ve done something wrong.. And holy fuck, wait…”

“Steve-”

“No, Eddie.” Steve shook his head, pulling Eddie’s hands away from his face to hold them, “Did you really make yourself sick over me?”

“Can we please not talk about this?” Eddie diverted his gaze. 

Steve grabbed him by the chin, gently of course, and guided his face back to look at him, “Thanksgiving last year, you came over for the dinner I hosted, and you had dark rings under your eyes… you looked like shit… and you, you barely ate, and you got really drunk and you were vomiting so much I was about to call the ambule-”

“Please, Steve.” Eddie swallowed. 

“Because?”

“Because you invited that girl to the thanksgiving that we were gonna host together.” his tone was meek and he felt so small.

Steves felt sick, “I’m so sorry-”

“Please,” Eddie begged, “I don’t want to talk about it now.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll-”

Eddie sighed, “I know it’s not okay, but Steve I really love you and I’m already an insecure guy so… so things just affected me… a whole lot more than they should have.” Eddie shook his head, he felt his heart twisting in his chest again, that ache coming back, “As I said, it’s bad enough being gay in Hawkins, it’s worse loving a guy who- I thought- only liked women.” 

Steve nodded slowly and placed his hands firm on Eddie’s shoulders, “You never have to feel that again,” he cupped the sides of Eddie’s neck and dipped his head to get a better look at him, “I’m gonna get on my knees and beg for Wayne’s forgiveness, and your never gonna hear about a girl like that ever again.” 

Eddie forced a smile, “Wayne will probably give you a boot to the ass if you did that… he likes honeycomb chocolate a lot.” 

Steve smiled sweetly and nodded, “Okay, lucky I can steal my dad’s credit card and buy him a year’s supply of it… don’t tell him I used dad’s money though.”��

Eddie looked up with a genuine smile now and swept some hair back from his face, “Promise your secrets safe with me… both of them, for that matter. I’m not gonna tell a soul, Stevie, not even Rob. that’s your choice, okay?” 

Steve nodded, “I’m sorry if I forced your choice away just then.” 

Eddie shook his head and played with Steve’s hand, “I needed to tell you eventually, plus, I basically outed myself by storming off like that. Hopefully the kids are all cool with it.” 

“They totally admire you, they will be.” Steve assured him, both of their eyes focused on the way Eddie was fiddling with Steve’s fingers. The action, the feeling, sent shivers up Steve’s spine. It wasn’t the first time Eddie had done something like this, he was a rather touchy person, physical touch was a vital element to his happiness. That’s why those weeks got so bad, he’d shut himself off from the world and fall deeper and deeper into the hole he dug because no one was there, he was just alone, not even Wayne was there to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder half the time because he was working so much. But this time, this time it felt different. Because not only was his best friend fiddling with his fingers, it was his best friend who he was falling hard for, and who was head over fucking heals in love with him. 

“Hopefully.” Eddie smiled.

“So much for your bad boy mantra…” Steve shrugged, catching Eddie’s confused eye now, “Bad boys in bands, branded as town freaks aren’t supposed to get love sick.” 

Eddie smiled wide, and he almost laughed, his eyes twinkled with it even in the dark room, “Well, I never conform to stereotypical roles, Sweetheart.” 

Steve grinned, his cheeks heating with pink, “Is that what I am? Your sweetheart?” 

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, “What do you mean?” he scoffed, “You’ve always been my sweetheart.” he continued to fiddle with Steve’s hand. 

“Yeah, but…” Steve shrugged, “I don’t know… don’t worry.” he shook his head, shying away.

Eddie’s shoulders dropped as he thought for a moment, the fiddling coming to a stop. He took a short breath before looking up at Steve again, “Did you mean… Do you wanna be my boyfriend?”

Steve blushed even more, if that was even possible. His stomach bubbled with excitement, he most certainly did. He wanted nothing more, “I mean… yeah.” He swallowed, “Do you not?”

Eddie shook his head with a little laugh, and oh my god he wanted to cry again. He really did. His heart was slowly glueing itself back together. He wanted to scream. He felt like a twelve year old girl, “God, of course I do, Princess.” He only used that name to tease, and so it made Steve smile, “Just, are you sure? Because I can wait. If you need some time to process this whole, half gay thing, i can wait. I have waited this long, what’s a few more months?” His smile softened, his tone deepend, a new sense of sincerity, “I’d wait forever for you.” 

Steve felt utterly giddy, helpless, lovesick almost… much like a twelve year old girl, “You really don’t have to. I want you now, more than anything.” 

“I’d give you anything you wanted, Stevie.” Eddie shook his head, eyes fixed on Steves, voice low. 

He nodded softly with a warm smile, “So,” he whispered, “ask me to be your boyfriend and kiss me again, for real… because I’m sick of making the first move-”

And Eddie grinned so wide, his heart grew about ten sizes, it felt too big for his chest and fuck, he could hear it beating… or maybe that was steves… maybe if was both of them, “Be my boyfriend, please for the love of fucking Ozzy be my boyfriend, Steve.” 

“Hmm…” Steve pretended to think for a moment, “I don’t know… what do I get in return?”

Eddie rolled his eyes with a smirk, he could kill this fucking dude, “For fucks sake, Stevie… I was lying when I said I could wait.” 

Steve laughed and nodded his head, “Yes, I will be your boyfriend, but only if you show me those songs you wrote-”

“Yes, yes, anything for you, sweetheart.” Eddie mumbled whilst grabbing Steve by the collar of his stupid polo and pulling him against his lips, this time… this time Eddie didn’t pull away. Steve grunted with the sudden eagerness, but he most certainly wasn’t complaining because he was really kissing Eddie. He placed his hands on Eddies soft cheeks that were a little sticky from dried tears, and held him there. Eddie nearly melted, he tried to fight back those few tears he had left in him, but he really couldn’t. He could feel them broaching his waterline and just prayed Steve wouldn’t notice. He laced his fingers into Eddie’s hair and deepened their kiss, opening his mouth slightly as he tugged at Eddie’s matted locks, pulling his head back slightly for better access. And the action made Eddie want to fall apart. And fuck, yeah, all those countless girls Steve had been with really brought the jealousy out in Eddie, but right now he was so, so thankful for every single one of them because holy fuck was Steve a good kisser. And Eddie grew nervous, because he’s only ever made out with one person before, and it was a girl, just to try it out and it was a horrible experience. So Eddie was clueless and he was making out with a guy with enough experience for the entire graduating class of ‘86 and that made Eddie shake. But god it was so good. It was everything. It was better than anything he had ever dreamed of because it was real… and it was good. Steve was the first to slip some tongue, naturally, Eddie was quite frankly clueless, but he just followed Steve’s lead… he usually pictured himself as the top in their relationship, based off of their usual dynamic. But maybe Steve being in control wouldn’t be such a bad thing, it most certainly was not right now. And then those few tears slipped down his face and into their mouths and the salty taste was spread over their tongues and then Steve was trying to pull back, but Eddie just held him closer, chasing the kiss. 

“Are you…” Steve mumbled into their kiss, still trying to pull away, “crying?” 

Eddie stopped and sighed, finally giving in. He dropped his head for a second before looking up at Steve with wet eyes. His grip on Steve’s shirt loosened, and he smoothed his collar back out and wiped at the few tears at his cheeks with a shrug, “Yeah, sorry.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, “Did I do something… wrong? Am- did… is that not how you’re supposed to kiss guys?”

Eddie laughed, “No, yeah it is… it was… really good. Like, so good.” he sniffled, flicking the last tear away, “I just love you a lot and, I guess I got overwhelmed because I have been thinking about doing that every day, you know. And it was just… so, so good.”

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Munson.” He smirked. 

“What?” Eddie felt himself blushing. 

“You’re sweet talking to me, all these ‘I love yous’ and all that, you’re just… I didn’t think you’d be the type of guy to just be vulnerable and admit all that.” 

“Oh,” Eddie swallowed and shook his head, “yeah, no… I’m, I’m usually not, really. But, I guess… I’ve just thought about telling you a lot, and you make me feel so safe and so… I guess I just feel like I can. I’m sorry, I can stop if it’s bothering you.” 

“Please don’t stop.” Steve sounded desperate, quiet. Eddie looked up at him wide eyed, and Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. If Eddie could be vulnerable like that, then so could he… Eddie’s not gonna hurt him, he’s not gonna call ‘bullshit’, he’s not gonna run. It’s Eddie. And Eddie loves him more than anything in the world, “I- I mean, you can stop telling me you love me, if you want… stop saying those words because I don’t know when I’ll be able to say them back,” gimme about two days to think about my entire life, then I’ll realise I’m extremely in love with you too, “so, if that’s gonna hurt you, stop. But, please, you can… you can keep sweet talkin me. I’m- oh fuck… I’m usually the one doing the talk like that… you know, saying nice things and all… I usually just get a ‘thank you’. I don’t know, I just don’t have many people in my life telling me that they appreciate me and stuff, you know. So, it’s nice… to be sweet-talked. That’s why I liked your flirting so much, it-”

“Makes you feel wanted?” Eddie suggested, his head tilted slightly to the side as he held Steve’s hands in his own, his voice was softer than silk, “I get that. Not many people tell me they want me either, Stevie, so… maybe we just gotta keep telling each other a little more?”

“I think… I think that would be good.” He nodded slowly. 

“Okay good…” Eddie smiled, a new thought hit him in the face, “Steve I have to tell you something.” 

“Okay.”

“I’m-” He cleared his throat, “I’m like… a super mega virgin.” 

Steve’s eyes shot up, “Wh-” he choked on his own saliva, “Ye- okay… really? You’re twenty two.” 

Eddie rubbed his eyes and sighed, he felt utterly embarrassed, “Yeah, well… not many people are lining up to sleep with the Freak, Stevie… and I haven’t exactly made myself very available since Vecna, so…”

“Okay…” Steve nodded, “Sorry, that just… took me by surprise. Did you want-”

“Not yet, no…” Eddie shook his head, “Shit- I probably should have thought about this a little more… uh, jesus. I just, I’ve only ever made out with two people before. The first one was Sandra Burns when I was fifteen because I just wanted to double make sure I was really gay, and that was really bad and lasted about ten seconds. And then the second one was you… so… and that was really good, but only because you know what your doing and stuff and I just wanted to tell you that I have no fucking clue, okay?” 

Steve blushed a little, “I was your first make out with a dude?” 

“Yeah.” He sighed. 

“Well, that’s sick.” Steve grinned, “At least we’re sorta in the same boat then, right? I mean, yeah, I’m definitely not a virgin, but I’ve never been with a guy before. So, technically I sorta am… for us anyway.” 

“Yeah, but you-”

“Okay, Eddie… kissing works for anyone, it’s all the same… I think-”

“Correct.” Eddie confirmed. 

“Yes,” Steve nodded with a deep breath, he felt a little awkward now too, “But that’s all that’s the same… other than maybe… butt squeezing, i don’t know-”

Eddie tried to force back a laugh, “You wanna squeeze my butt, Steve?” 

He rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed, he looked up and over at Eddie who was grinning, “Just, you know, it’s different. And quite frankly a little terrifying so I might need some time before we get… nake-”

“Oh my- yes- no… me too, Steve.” Eddie sighed, “I- I definitely need more time. I’ve never even been in a relationship before, I just- I wanted to tell you that I would probably be awkward and to apologise if I was a bad kisser.” 

Steve laughed, throwing his head back into the mattress some more, “Oh god.” he smiled and tipped his head back to his boyfriend, “Your not a bad kisser, by the way. Better than most of the girls I’ve been with.” 

“Really?” Eddie shuffled a little closer, an eager grin on his lips. 

“Cmere.” Steve reached his hand out, and Eddie crawled over to him. Steve guided Eddie to place a hand on either side of his head, Eddie’s hair hung down over their faces as he held himself there beside/slightly atop Steve and he swallowed, this was all very new, Steve gently stroked Eddie’s forearm, looking up into his eyes, “You okay?”

Eddie nodded slowly, “Yeah, just… nervous.”

Steve smiled, “You can kiss me when you’re ready.” he was just as nervous as Eddie. 

Eddie nodded slowly and lent down, their lips brushed together lightly, their eyes fluttered shut, and then Eddie was kissing him… again. And it was just as fucking perfect, if not more. They could definitely get used to this. 

“I’ve always thought,” Steve muttered between kisses, his hands snaking up to lace around Eddie’s neck in an attempt to pull him closer, “you were so pretty.” 

Eddie laughed, “Pretty…” he pulled back to look Steve in the eyes, their lips plump and wet, “me?”

Steve nodded, “Very.” 

“Nah,” Eddie shook his head, “you though? Well, you’re the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen. Your prettiness makes up for your jockness.” 

Steve laughed, “My jockness?”

“Yeah, your jockness.” Eddie grinned, sitting back up beside Steve, keeping a hand on his chest, “Though… that could come in handy.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve quirked his eyebrow, he liked flirting back with Eddie. 

“Oh yeah…” Eddie grinned, overjoyed that Steve was actually flirting back for once and fuck, it was gonna be the death of him, he squeezed Steves biceps, “You got all this muscle, good for throwing boyfriends around.” 

Steve giggled, he actually giggled and it was stiupid but Eddie found it adorable. Eddie smiled at him softly, and Steve grabbed his hand whilst pushing himself up onto his elbows, “You know, I really hope Wayne forgives me.”

“He will, Stevie… he doesn’t hate you that much. He just… he’s protective.” Eddie shrugged, “Plus, if you use up your dad’s money to buy him chocolates, he will love you forever.” 

Steve laughed, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, his hands fiddling with Steve’s fingers again, “he just wants me to be happy, have a good life. End up better than my dad. So… he will forgive you in an instant.”

“That’s good then.” Steve smiled softly, his eyes watching Eddies hands, he wasn’t wearing his rings, only one of them today. He liked Eddie’s rings an awful lot, “Can’t say the same about my family. If they ever find out I’m seeing a metal head freak, they will quite literally have a heart attack. The moment they find out you’re a dude, yeah, nope, I’m getting disowned.” 

Eddie frowned, that made his heart ache all over again, “I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head, “Don’t worry about it, they’re shit parents anyway. Plus, they’re never home these days.” 

“Still, it’s fucked up.” He looked up at Steve with puppy dog eyes. And those eyes have won Steve over more times than he would like to admit. 

“Hmm, but, it means we’re gonna have an empty house a lot.” He forced a smile, “You get to be my secret boyfriend.” 

Eddie forced a smile too, “I’ll be your secret boyfriend, Steve.” He grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing delicate little kisses along Steve’s knuckles which made him chuckle sweetly, “You can keep me all to yourself.” 

“Yeah?” Steve grinned, he slipped his hand away from Eddies and wrapped it around the back of his neck instead, pulling him down to his lips, “You’re all mine?”

“All yours.” Eddie let out in a breathy whisper, his eyes locked on Steve’s lips that were so, so close. He tried to push forward, to kiss him, but Steve held him back.

“Eager.” Holy fuck was Steve a tease, it made Eddie whimper, “Thank you for being honest with me tonight. I know it’s hard.” 

Eddie smiled softly, “Thank you for not freaking out about it.” 

Steve laughed softly and pulled Eddie in for another kiss, “If I ran off screaming and crying I’d lose my cheap weed deals.” He grinned, “Thought maybe dating you meant I’d get it cheaper.” 

“Wow,” Eddie nodded, “wowwwwww.” he clutched a hand over his heart and dramatically fell backwards on the bed, arms and legs wailing around as he spasmed, tongue hanging loose, “Oh, you wound me. Used by a jock! Uh, I’ve hit rock bottom, there’s no turning back now! Only… dealthhhhhh…. Ughhhhh.” and he closed his eyes and played dead. 

Steve laughed and sat up, crawling over his boyfriend, mindlessly placing his hands on either side of his head, his knees on either side of Eddie’s waist, “You are a major dork.” Steve grinned and leant down to kiss his cheek. 

“Yeah, a major dork who you-” he opened his eyes and looked up at Steve, who was directly on top of him, and he froze, a shiver travelled down his spine… he really liked being under Steve like this. He placed his hands on Steve’s hips, genty guiding him down until Steve was straddling his waist. They both took a minute, their nerves flying, “Is this okay with you?”

Steve nodded, “Yeah, you?” 

Eddie nodded too, “Yeah, like… really okay.” They both laughed a little. Eddie rested his hands on the high of Steve’s thighs and leant up a little, pressing a tender kiss to Steve’s lips, “Really… really okay.” 

“I’m kind of getting the impression that you might sorta like it when I sit on top of you.” Steve quipped, and Eddie laid back, shying behind his eyes. 

“You suck.” 

Steve cleared his thoughts and took a nervous breath, “Well, not yet.” 

Eddie poked out from behind his eyes, Steve’s comment rushing straight down to his cock and he prayed to every god in the universe that Steve wouldn’t feel it, “Bold.” 

Steve shrugged, “You know… I just remembered there’s a whole party of people out there.” 

“Oh shit.” Eddie looked back at his door, which was definitely shut, “Uhm, I don’t know how to explain that temper tantrum.” 

Steve sighed, “We will figure it out.” 

Eddie smiled, “My lips are sealed, okay?”

“Yes they are.” Steve grinned and leant down to press another kiss to Eddie’s perfect fucking lips. 

They took a moment to gather themselves before fixing their clothes and hair a little and headed back out. Only when they opened the door did they see how incredibly red they were in the face, and how smiley they were. They forced those smiles away quickly. 

“Okay, what the fuck?” Dustin was the first to speak. 

“Yes, I agree.” Eleven nodded, “What the fuck?”

“Sorry guys.” Eddie sighed, standing in the living room sheepishly, he could feel Robin staring deep into his and Steve’s souls, “I just… I needed a moment.”

“Why?” Mike asked, he was leant against the coffee table, playing with a chocolate wrapper and not properly paying attention. 

“I, ah-” Eddie swallowed. 

El spoke up from her place besides Max on the couch, “Did you and Steve do the gay?”

“Wh-” Eddie’s eyes widened and the whole room gasped. Robin spat her water everywhere, taking a minute to cough up what she choked on. Steve turned even redder, Eddie shook his head, “No!” hepressed, “No, no, not gay… we didn’t gay. We didn’t do the gay.” 

“Sounds convincing to me.” Dustin deadpanned. 

“That kiss was very…” Lucas searched for his words. 

“Gay.” Mike suggested, still not really paying attention, and Will kicked him in the shin, “Owh, what?”

“No, just-” Eddie forced a laugh, “We didn’t- Steve isn’t- I-”

“Come on,” Dustin rolled his eyes, “we played spin the bottle, it landed on Steve, you were a trembling mess, you kissed him for half a second and then you ran away crying and have been missing for about an hour.” 

“Dustin.” Nancy pressed, giving him some side eye. 

“What?” Dustin waved his hands out, “There’s no other explanation, is there?” 

Eddie looked back at Steve who was clenching his jaw, trying his best to stay calm. Mike sighed, “No one cares apparently, so, you know, it’s fine.” 

“What?” Eddie shook his head, fingers pressed into his eyes. 

“Oh yeah,” Jonathan said, “El full on outed Mike and Will.” 

“I said I am sorry.” El pleaded. 

“Mike and Will?” Eddie’s eyes widened. 

“Yeah,” Will sighed, “me and Mike,” 

Eddie strode over to them at the coffee table and put his hand out for Mike to high five, “Way to go Wheeler, I told you it was cool man.” 

“Wait-” Will furrowed his brow, “Eddie knew about you?”

“I just-” Mike shrugged, “I called him when I broke up with El because I didn’t know who else to talk to.” 

Eddie scruffed his hair and smiled. He looked around the room, all eyes were on him and Steve, and Steve was awfully quiet. Eddie could tell he was panicking. Robin was standing beside him, trying to gauge the situation. Nancy and Max hadn’t told her what Steve had told them, no, that was for Steve to share himself, and they were trying their best to hide their expressions because they had a pretty damn good idea of what had happened. Eddie was on the spot with nowhere to go. Honesty was his only choice. Well, he’s already been blatantly honest once tonight, what’s once more right? He fought down his anxiety and fiddled with his ring, his breath now heavy. He chewed at his lip, searching for some words. He looked up at Steve, and just let them fall, “I’m in love with Steve.”

Silence. Nothing but silence. All eyes were on him, a few flicked over to Steve. Eddie kept his eyes on his boyfriend who was on the brink of tearing up, ignoring everyone else. He just needed to let the words flow, it would be okay because he would have Robin and now Steve there to pick up the pieces if needed, “Yeah, I’m… gay. Always have been, always will be. I- I’ve had a thing for Steve since our senior year, but… I hated him then as well, he was just.. Heh… really hot. But then Dustin-” he gritted his teeth and glared down at his brother, “wouldn’t shut up about how fantastically great King Steve was and then it just, I started falling harder. And then, fuck, we got caught up in an alternate dimension together and I knew I fell in love with him there and have been ever since. And so yeah, when I had to kiss Steve tonight it really freaked me out and it made me feel sick. And so I told him, just then I told him everything and…” He swallowed and looked at Steve with a soft smile, “And Steve said it was okay… that it wasn’t a big deal and that he didn’t mind. He was utterly flattered, of course, it’s probably gone straight to his head.” Eddie winked at him. 

“So, are you not doing the gay?” El pressed.

“Yeah, are you doing the gay?” Robin spoke up, hands clutched eagerly infrnt of her lips, “Please tell me your doing the gay.”

Eddie smiled wide, “No.” he shook his head, and Steve took a deep breath of releif, “No, were… were not. Steve likes girls, and that’s okay. We’re gonna work past it, and he’s gonna help me find a really nice dude. So no, me and Steve are not doing the gay, but… that’s…. That’s why I reacted so badly tonight.” He placed his hands on his hips, “I’m sorry for ruining your night, everyone. Really-”

“You didn’t.” Dustin smiled, “We just watched a movie and got some brilliant new material to bully you with, so thank you, MrILoveSteveHarrington.” 

Eddie groaned and slumped down on the couch, hiding his face behind his hands. Mike looked over at him and decided to comment, “I can’t believe you’re still wearing his jumper.” 

“And my pants.” Steve grinned, his mood much better now. 

“Dude, no way.” Dustin laughed, “That’s ba-” Eddie threw a pillow hard at his face, cutting him off mid sentence. 

The night continued on and Robin and Nancy managed to pull Eddie into his room and change him into his Daphne get up that was entirely too small. At this point, Steve had told Robin the whole truth about the situation, and she tackled Eddie to the floor in a ‘proud mama’ hug. Eddie walked back out with his little purple dress that was very, very short… so short you could see his boxers sticking out, and the pair of boots that Robin had painted purple for him, and the little green ascot. And he got made fun of so hard, and when the kids insisted on going trick or treating, Eddie refused to leave the trailer. Steve hung back with him. They both slumped on the couch, and Steve found Eddie’s hand, lacing them together. He looked over at his boyfriend with a warm smile, “Thank you for not telling anyone.” 

“What’d I say, Stevie? It’s your choice.” He squeezed his hand. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t get to choose.”

Eddie smiled softly and shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me. I would gladly get berated and beten for being gay, rather than out you when you wernt ready. You’ve been through enough, I think.” 

“So have you.” He lifted his hand and swept some hair back from Eddie’s face. 

Eddie shrugged and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder, “Yeah, but I’ve gotten used to it. Plus, no one had a problem with it anyway, so why are we dwelling on it?” 

“I suppose.” Steve sighed, his thumb rubbed the back of Eddie’s hand, his eyes wandered over Eddie who was falling asleep on his shoulder. Both of them just content, “I’m loving the getup.” 

“Shut up, sweetheart.” Eddie mumbled. Steve laughed, resting his head against Eddie’s, both of them growing tired and warm in the comfortable space, “Stay over tonight? Please?” Eddie pleaded, his voice small, “Not for sex or anything, I just like… this.” 

Steve smiled and turned to press a soft kiss on his head, both of their stomachs bubbled, “Yes please.” He smiled to himself, “I can woo Wayne over by making breakfast in the morning, huh?”

Eddie laughed softly, “Yeah, whole lotta bacon should do it.” 

“And eggs extra runny for you?” Steve asked. 

Eddie’s heart stung, but in a good way for once, “Aww, you remembered.” He teased, but it was genuine. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve grinned to himself. 

It sounded stupid, but it really meant a lot to Eddie. After several concussions and hits to the head, Steve’s memory isn’t what it used to be, he tended to forget a lot. And so, remembering something as simple as how Eddie liked his eggs in the morning, was something that really hit home. It pulled at his heart and made him feel whole. Eddie smiled, eyes still shut and he was half asleep now, “I would kiss you right now, but m’too tired. Promise I’ll give you lots when I wake up… if you want.”

“You better.” Steve grinned and squeezed Eddie’s hand tighter, “I’ll be waiting.” 

They stayed like that for a while, they would have stayed there all night. But then Dustin came bursting through the door in a ruckus, grumbling about how Nancy ‘told me to get a jacket, you get a jacket’, and Steve tensed. He still had Eddie’s hand clutched tightly in his own, and Eddie’s head on his shoulder, snuggled deep into his neck, and at some point Eddie had thrown one of his legs over Steves, which he adored. And so he couldn’t move, and he just prayed Dustin wouldn’t notice, but of course, “Ahh, Steve?” 

He swallowed, “Henderson.” 

Dustin sighed deeply and deadpanned him, “I swear to god, if you lead Eddie on and play with his feelings I’m going to punch you in the face. Why are you letting him lay on you like that, that’s so stupid. I thought you were better than this. As Eddie’s chosen brother, I am required, by law, to get Nancy to shoot you with one of her guns if you break his heart. And she will do it! Don’t doubt that. So, please, explain to me why you are letting Eddie sleep on top of you like that because I think you’re being incredibly inconsiderate right now.” 

“He just…” Steve stuttered, “he just rolled onto me.” 

“Ah huh.” Dustin nodded, shaking his head. He took a few steps over to Steve and slapped him in the face. Steve made an audible ‘ow’ and kicked Dustin in the shin, “That’s what you get, Dingus! And why are you holding his hand?” he practically squealed that last part. 

“Just- agh-” Steve grabbed Dustin by the collar, pulling him in, “I swear to god, Henderson you are going to be the death of me. This does not leave your ears, okay? You cannot tell a soul what I am about to tell you, not one person because I will smack you back.”

“Tell me what?” Dustin tried to pull away from Steve’s grip. 

Steve looked over to the door and lowered his voice, “I’m-” he swallowed and looked back at Eddie, then back at Dustin, “He’s my boyfriend, okay? He told me he loved me and then made me his boyfriend.” 

Dustin’s eyes widened and Steve let him go. He took a couple of steps back and looked at the pair. Steve scratched his forehead and settled back beside Eddie, sweeping a low hanging hair back from his face so sweetly. And Dustin nodded, “What happened to all the girls?” 

Steve shrugged, “Eddie’s better.” 

Dustin giggled, “He does kinda look like a girl, especially in that dress-”

“I can hear you, Henderson.” Eddie mumbled into Steve’s neck, eyes closed still. 

“Oh shit.” Dustin snapped back. Steve tensed a little. 

“Mhm,” Eddie still didn’t move, “you tell anyone about Steve I’ll tell your mother you get Suzie to change your grades on your report.” 

“My lips are sealed.” Dustin zipped his lips with a smile and bounced back towards the door, making a bunch of kissy faces at Steve as he left. Steve shook his head mockingly at him, and waited until the front door was closed to speak. He turned to Eddie, a soft hand on his shoulder, the other still in his hand, and he whispered, 

“Ed’s, wake up. I don’t wanna deal with another Dustin.” 

“M’sorry.” Eddie pulled himself off of Steve, slouching back into the couch and tugged at the hem of his skirt, “Fuck me this dress is uncomfortable.” 

“Gladly.” Steve smirked, and Eddie took a moment to process what he said. But when he did, he was blushing. 

“Sorry about Dustin.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve shrugged, “The kid’s nosey anyway, he would have figured it out pretty fast.” 

Eddie snickered, “Tell me about it.” 

“Why don’t you get out of that dress and get in bed, I’ll send the kids home.” 

“Woah, sweetheart,” Eddie grinned, “I thought you wanted to keep the nakedness to a minimum.” 

“You’re a dork.” Steve shook his head, standing up and heading towards the door, “I’m dating a dork. My two best friends and my boyfriend are dorks, what have I become?”

“Steve Harrington,” Eddie held up his hands, miming a news headline, “Once a chick magnet, now a dork magnet.” 

He pressed a hand over his heart, “You wound me.” Eddie laughed, and Steve reached for the doorknob, “Now go to bed. I’ll come in once people leave, okay?”

“Oh, I like it when you boss me around, Stevie.” Eddie smiled and winked at his boyfriend, eventually bringing himself to his feet. He pointed over at the side board, “Keys there if you need it, kay?”

“Got it.” Steve smiled and slipped out the door. 

By the time he’d sent everyone on their way, and headed back to Eddie’s bedroom, a new sense of fear washed over him. He was nervous. He’d never slept beside Eddie before… well, a little when Ed was still in hospital, but not really. He hoped tonight he wouldn’t wake up screaming. He didn’t want to make a bad first impression. He walked into the dark room to find Eddie lying on his side, the covers kicked to the end of his bed, he was hugging a pillow and positioned right in the middle. And was dressed only in his boxers. Steve swallowed thickly and began to slowly undress himself. They both didn’t like to show their scars often. Infact, Steve was the only person to have ever seen all of Eddie’s. He thought that was because Steve was scared too, but maybe Eddie just wanted to show Steve. But even then, they hardly showed them off. So the nerves were high. Once he was just left in his jocks and socks, he nervously crept over to the bed. He was tentative and careful, and tried his best not to wake the sleeping beast. There was music playing softly in the background, Tears For Fears. Steve rolled his eyes. He climbed onto the bed, grabbing the covers as he did, he ran cold at night. He laid himself down beside Eddie, his chest pressed to Eddie’s back, to covers sat just above their hips, and Steve wrapped his arm over Eddie, pulling him in close. The big spoon, Steve’s role, always. That seemed to wake Eddie up, sort of. He mumbled something inaudible and rolled over to face Steve. He placed his hand on Steve’s chest, his head on his shoulder, “I like you without a shirt.” he mumbled. 

Steve snickered, “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” Eddie nodded, “There’s a key there. On my bedside, s’for you.”

Steve looked over to see a key sitting right by the ashtray, a little piece of paper set to stand with a little S and a heart scribbled onto it, “Why?” 

“Just in case you get disowned.” Eddie mumbled, eyes still heavy with sleep, “You can come straight here, we’ll look after you Stevie. Us Munsons like taking in strays.” 

Steve bit his lip, his heart swelled, “Really?”

“Yeah, or you can just use it whenever you want.” Eddie pressed a little kiss on Steve’s chest, “I like having you around.” 

He didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. He just felt contempt. They both felt safe, and warm, and comfortable. Steve felt himself begin to cry. So many nights spent sleeping alone, left to the dark with his thoughts in that big empty house and no one to love. And then in one stupid night, after one stupid party game, he was no longer a lone and he had someone to love. And more importantly, he had someone to love him, really love him. He just wished this happened seventeen months earlier. He sniffled, his tears rolling down to the crevice of his neck. Eddie poked his head up, and when he did, Steve was quick to rid himself of tears. Eddie smiled softly and pressed a tender kiss on his cheek, and then one on his forehead, and then one on his nose, and one on his soft pink lips. He gave Steve a look that said ‘I love you’, and shoved at his shoulder until Steve was rolling onto his side. Eddie wrapped an arm over his boyfriend, his chest now pressed flush against Steve’s back as he pulled him in as close as he could. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and left a couple of kisses there as well. He dagged delicate, calloused fingertips across Steve’s chest, and down to his abdomen, grazing them over the scars left there. The scars they both had. Eddie smiled to himself and mumbled, “Some couples have matching bracelets, or matching rings, but I think we win with matching scars.” 

Steve chuckled, he brought his hand down to Eddie’s, dragging his fingers over the back of Eddie’s hand, “We definitely win.” 

There was a beat of silence, and Steve thought Eddie had fallen asleep again, but then he spoke, and it was barely a whisper but it sent a shiver down Steve’s spine, “You’re so beautiful.” 

“What?” Steve couldn’t help but smile, his stomach bloomed with butterflies. 

“I said, you’re so beautiful.” Eddie kissed Steve’s shoulder, “You have a beautiful face, and a beautiful body, but most of all you have a beautiful soul. The most beautiful person I have ever met, inside and out, Stevie. I love you so much.” 

Steve swallowed, he wasn’t really sure how to deal with such pure emotion. Fiddled with Eddie’s fingers as they grazed his skin, “I’ve never been the little spoon before.” 

Eddie smiled and squeezed him tight, “Well get used to it, you need to be hugged more, sweetheart.” 

“Only if it’s by you.” Steve whispered, his eyes falling shut. 

“Promise I’ll give you all the hugs and kisses I can muster up.” Eddie chuckled low, another kiss placed on Steve’s bare shoulder, his skin warm and soft under Eddie’s lips, against his stomach and under his arm. Eddie, quite frankly, couldn’t fucking get enough, “I know this is mean, but I hope you get disowned so you can come live with me instead.” 

The butterflies in Steve’s stomach were now bursting like fireworks. He squinted his eyes shut harder and let his smile take over, “Step one, win Wayne over. Step two, introduce you to my parents.” 

“I’ll put on my most terrifying clothing and draw on some face tattoos.” Eddie mumbled. 

“Perfect.” Steve smiled, “They’re gonna hate you.” 

“Well, as long as you love me I’ll be right.” And he really didn’t mean to say it like that, it just slipped off his tongue. It’s late and he’s tired - half asleep, actually - and Steve just made his thoughts all foggy. Especially Steve, shirtless, in his bed, in his arms. And so yeah, he said something sort of awkward given their situation, and he didn’t really notice what he had done until Steve eventually responded. And he took a long time to respond, his brain short circuiting for a moment, his thoughts racing until he landed on one. 

“Well,” He sighed, lacing his fingers over Eddies and bringing their hands up so he could kiss along his knuckles, just as Eddie had done to him, he pressed their hands back against his chest, forcing their hug to tighten, “it’s a good thing I do.” 

[jupitadori]

Imagine being the new girl on campus, you’ve just moved into your dorm and haven’t met anyone yet.

Suguru and Satoru introduce themselves as your neighbours from across the hall. They invite you over for a few drinks to get to know you and suggest playing spin the bottle.

You’ve had a few drinks so you let your guard down. It lands on you first and Satoru asks who do you think is the better kisser. You tell him that you don’t know because you haven’t kissed either of them yet.

They decide they should fix that and both take take turns making out with you, Satoru is passionate and slowly slides his hand up your skirt, feeling your lacy thong. Suguru is forceful, biting your lip and grabbing your ass.

They demand to know who is the better kisser, but you can’t decide. The alcohol is taking effect and you feel giddy. Even though you can’t decide, you do know that you don’t want it to stop.

They tease you for being needy.

“I barely kissed you and I could still feel how wet you were” says Satoru.

“I wonder how wet she is since we’ve been taking turns with her” Suguru smirks.

“Why don’t we find out?” Satoru adds, a wicked gleam in his eye.

You’re speechless, your thighs clench together instinctively but then part when you realise how much you do want them to find out.

“I have an idea” says Suguru “how about we see who can make her cum the most?”

A smirk dances on Satoru’s lips “even better, first one to make her squirt wins”

Next thing you know you’re on the bed, your wet lacy panties are in Suguru’s hand as they take turns eating your pussy. You moan and writhe on the bed as their warm tongues slide up and down your dripping folds.

They laugh as you moan louder and louder with each turn they take. To shut you up, they alternate shoving their thick cocks into your mouth as the other ravishes your wet cunt.

With your lack of experience and their expert touch, it doesn’t take long for you to make a mess when you feel one of them slide their cock into your tight little cunt.

You don’t know whose it is and you don’t care. You moan like the slut you are as they spend the rest of the night ruining your hole.

You walk back to your dorm, breathless and soaked, realising you need to knock on their door tomorrow and beg for your panties back.

[bettymylove]

best game

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader x theodore nott

content: 18+ mdni, p in v, oral(male receiving), shotgunning, making out. based on this ask

a/n: I'm still learning how to write poly!relationships, hope you like it<33

Maybe it was the fire whisky or maybe it was the thrilling game of truth and dare you had going on, but if the one factor you were sure was what resulted in what happened it was the pretty boys you call your bestfriends.

It had started as an innocent game, just between you, Mattheo, and Theo. All three of you were childhood best friends and that was it, you definitely weren't attracted to them at all.

The bottle spun around, slowing down until the tip of it was clearly facing you, indicating that it was your turn to choose between paths that were both dangerous.

But you had just drunk a lot of fire whisky, and it was a thrilling game plus their faces were really pretty and so the daredevil inside you awoke and you chose dare.

A mischievous smirk formed on both their faces and you knew nothing good was going to happen after that.

"Makeout with mattheo, for at least five minutes" Theo had spoken and even if it weren't for the game you would have still done it, who wouldn't?

You crept forward, lifting your body so you were on your knees, you carefully placed yourself on his lap and his breath hitched.

"Nervous?" you questioned him your hand tracing down his cheek to his collar pulling him even closer.

Both of your lips were brushing, but it was you that deepened it, your tongue delved into his mouth and his hand was gripping your waist tightly.

You could feel him under you, probing you and you as an instinct began to grind on him. He groaned in your mouth and you broke off for a second before delving in again.

You two broke off and you slowly returned back to your seat, a slight blush on your cheeks. Theo had widened eyes and was visibly hard.

His fingers holding the cigarette, quickly met his lips taking a long drag, none of you made a move to spin the bottle.

It was a long moment of silence which Theo broke by asking you to come to him. You sat beside him, your hands in your lap desperate to be closer to him.

His hands met your thigh lifting it so that you were almost on his lap, he tilted your chin up and it was at that moment you realised what he was going to do.

His eyebrows raised as if asking you if you're sure, and you answered with a simple nod. Being childhood bestfriends had allowed you to communicate without saying a single word.

His lips inched closer and you opened your mouth and he did the same, the smoke past his lips going into yours while you wished you could kiss him, both of them.

A hand slithered on your waist, and you knew by the roughness of his touch that it was Mattheo. He jerked your body back, his hand traveling to your neck gripping on it, forcing you to look back and meet his eyes.

"You want us don't you darling?," he whispered in your ear while his grip became hard, "If Theo puts his hands in your panties, he'll find you wet, won't he?"

His lips had started, leaving kisses down your throat, and you had started grinding on Theo's thigh. "I want you," you had choked out "please just-"

You were cut off by Theo's lips on yours, his tongue being welcomed in your mouth, your hand pulled Mattheo's head closer to your neck so he could continue.

All of a sudden, you were picked up by Mattheo and then just the next moment you were thrown on the bed, Theo joining you.

Both of them had lifted their shirts off their head and were in the process of doing the same to you, each inch which was revealed was kissed by both of your boys.

Finally your top was off and Theo's hand instantly went to your boobs, grabbing them, squeezing them and finally licking them.

Mattheo had started working on your bottoms, making fast work to remove them, his hands delving inside your panties, teasing your folds his fingers getting drenched in the process.

"You're so wet, we're gonna slip right past you" and you smiled at the thought of being full of their cocks.

Theo had undone his pants and your hand reached his boxers, palming him until he was a moaning mess. You took his cock out and it sprung out and you were more than ready to take him in your mouth.

Mattheo was too fully naked, he was palming his cock just in front of your cunt ready to feel you around him, "Are you sure?" he asked before he did so.

You replied affirmatively, and his tip was inside of you, and you were already moaning, he entered fully inside you and you moaned asking him to move.

Theo's cock came into sight and you held it in your hand, slowly taking him in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks.

Both boys began a rhythm you were definetly happy with, Theo came inside your mouth and you too were on the verge of doing so until the feeling of Mattheo left you and you whined.

"Calm down, baby Theo's coming" he had started fisting his cock aiming for your lower belly, and soon the feeling of being full returned.

All three of you were moaning, Mattheo was playing with your nipples and just then, you came along with Theo.

Mattheo also finished on your belly and laid down with a sigh, both of them pulled on their boxers and helped you clean up.

You laid on mattheo's chest while Theo was laying his head on your lower back, all three of you fully content to be here.

"That was the best game I have ever played" you said while tucking yourself into Mattheo while both of them chuckled at your statement

[hwaflms]

round & round! ★ [ l.dh ]

{💭} hyuck : i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you, but now everyone’s kissing you except me :/

[☆] pairing. haechan x reader, slight jaemin x reader ft. 00’ line, chaewon of lesserafim and sieun of stayc

[☆] genre. smut + fluff | stoner!nct, pwp bc it’s me

[☆] wc. 6.1k

[☆] warnings. explicit content (mdni), weed/marijuana use, lots of making out, slight choking, dirty talk, fingering, sexual stuff in a semi-public place, use of the word ‘slut’, very slight degradation, not very proofread, pretty tame tbh

[☆] notes. my first time writing again in like??? two years???? istg i didn’t mean to abandon this acc 😞 pls be nice i haven’t written in a while and this is not my most favourite work but i’m warming up for more stuff in da future i just wanted to post a lil self-indulgent smth abt hyuck bc bf☝️ idk how active i’ll be because of uni and other things but i missed u guys!!! any feedback is appreciated enjoy :p

even through the clouds of smoke engulfing the little living room of jeno and jaemin’s shared flat, your hooded eyes still met.

today was an important day amongst your friend group; it was chaewon’s first time smoking up with everyone. your friends weren’t really the type to pressure anyone into doing anything they weren’t sure about, but considering the astounding majority who enjoyed smoking some variation of weed, group sessions were a frequent occurrence. you either joined in or didn’t, chaewon being the latter until she decided of her own accord that she was going to try it with the people she trusted.

you sesh with jeno most often, seeing as he was the one who introduced you to weed and taught you everything you know about it. after weeks of listening to you complain about sleepless nights, jeno suggested you try smoking a joint before you go to bed, especially since it was starting to affect your attendance. (“i can’t keep attending these zoology classes without you, y/n. every time something stupid happens, i laugh and make a joke out loud because i forget you aren’t there, and now i’m pretty sure people think i’m either insane or just really fucking lonely”.)

now, smoking up has been a pretty regular occurrence, especially since jeno introduced you to a bunch of his friends and vice versa, all of you making up one big, happy group of stoners. chaewon and sieun were your friends who got along with everyone else just fine, and though they didn’t hang out with the others as much as you did, they were still welcome whenever.

presently, you are leaning back against the couch, all the way on the end, because jaemin is sprawled out alongside you, opting to rest his legs on your lap. haechan makes a joke that you don’t understand, but you laugh anyway along with everyone else, except renjun who covers up his laugh with cough.

“you can never let me have it, huh?”, hyuck scoffs, narrowing his eyes at renjun who’s mouth forms a thin line. “i know for a fact you find me funny.”

you hear that he makes a remark back at haechan but what he says doesn’t register in your head, everything sounding far away. remembering the special occasion, you turn to face chaewon and sieun, who are giggling away on the floor about something between the two of them. you don’t know what they said but you smile anyway. she clearly seemed like she was having a good trip, and so was everyone else.

swallowing nothing, you realise how dry your throat feels, and with that realisation came this undeniable desire for some form of liquid. “jen,”, you tilt your head back and call out to the boy who was already rolling another joint on the table behind you. “did you end up buying more coke?”

“check the fridge”, he mumbles without looking at you, tongue poking his cheek out of concentration as he focuses on what he was doing. with a groan, you heave jaemin’s legs off your lap, muttering a couple ‘sorry’s when he starts to complain about the change in position.

you all but float to the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge and spotting the fresh cans of coke placed neatly in the overcrowded appliance. the first gulp feels like heaven against your parched throat, taking a few more while standing there.

“you gonna share or no?”, a voice startles you, turning to find haechan’s figure looming right behind you with a dopey smile on his face.

“god, we need to get you a bell or something. i never hear you coming”, you roll your eyes before grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. you’re disappointed to see that there was no ice in their freezer, but you pour the drink into the glass anyway.

“why are you pouring it into a glass?”, haechan furrows his eyebrows, looking pointedly between the glass and the literal can in your hand. “now we have to wash two glasses when we could’ve just drank it from the can.”

he’s right, of course, but you’re not gonna tell him that. instead, you pretend that you were planning on adding some lemon juice to the drink because you saw it on instagram. while you figure he doesn’t believe you, he humours you anyway and tries your little concoction, which ends up being pretty damn good.

out of all of jeno’s friends, haechan definitely stood out to you. you didn’t really understand why, you were just drawn to him, even way back before you met him, when jeno used to tell you about his friends. “loud and annoying” were the words he used to describe him, but the smile that appeared on his face anyway let you know that he was someone special to jeno. this was not to say his other friends weren’t special, you got along incredibly well with all of them, meshing right in with their group.

as of right on cue, jaemin’s voice loudly sounds out from the living room, “are you guys fucking in there or what?”.

sighing, you pick up your glass and begin to walk out of the kitchen, but not before purposely knocking haechan’s shoulder when you walk past him, hearing him snort before following you out as you exit the room. perhaps if you had lingered in the kitchen for a couple seconds longer, you would’ve heard haechan muttering something along the lines of “i wish” under his breath.

“jeez, took you long enough, can i have some of that?”, renjun drawls, lifting himself off the armchair with a smile, to which you roll your eyes but pass him your glass anyway. you sit down on the floor opposite the couch and he looks as if he is about to compliment your drink-making skills before haechan cuts him off.

“dude, chaewon and sieun look like they’re about to fall asleep, let’s do something”, he half yawns out, opting to stroll over to your spot on the floor and sinking down next to you.

“not…sleepy…”, chaewon murmurs, but her voice is muffled because her cheek is pressed against sieun’s shoulder, both of them sprawled out on the floor like it was a comfortable bed.

“sure you aren’t…”, jeno chides with a smile, getting up from the table to walk over to where all of you were situated. he twirls his newly rolled joint between his fingers, finally holding it out in his palm as if it were some magical gadget, and if you were being fully honest, you were sold. “round 2? or 3, I can’t really remember…”

some words of agreement were muttered across the room, chaewon and sieun even groggily getting up from what looked like a very comfortable napping spot. another rotation began, and you made sure to blow out your smoke directly into an unsuspecting haechan’s face when it was your turn.

“let’s play a game or something”, jaemin suggests, taking a long puff and passing it to jeno who sat beside him, and soon the room was hazy once again, the smell of weed infiltrating your nostrils.

“like what?”, chaewon coughs weakly in between her hit and renjun pats her back before he hands her your coke that you hadn’t received back after you gave it to him. so long for that.

“monopoly?”, jeno offers with a shrug and haechan lets out an obnoxious snore as a reply, making you laugh but you cover it up with a cough when you meet jeno’s playfully narrowed eyes. “okay then, big guy, what’s your incredible idea?”

haechan appears to actually think about it for a moment, looking around the room for some sort of inspiration maybe, until his eyes land on you.

“okay jaemin, get that empty wine bottle from last week, we’re playing spin the bottle”, he is grinning from ear to ear, wiggling his eyebrows even though all his suggestion receives is a bunch of groans and sighs.

your eyebrows are raised however, and you try not to let your reaction show too much on your face. spin the bottle? you hadn’t played that since you were maybe fourteen, but that was the least of your concerns at the moment. haechan wanted to play spin the bottle? who was he hoping to kiss? or was it just a whimsical little suggestion that was more of a joke?

it didn’t fully seem like he meant it as a joke, judging by his expression as he awaited some actual responses from the group. “what are we, fourteen?”, renjun might as well have read your mind, but he soon joins you and haechan on the floor, the others following suit. jaemin presents the empty bottle and places it in the middle of the little circle you have formed, everyone seeming slightly more keen as the joint runs out.

maybe it was the thc talking, but it didn’t really seem like a bad idea to you anymore. you were all single, attractive and close enough that it wouldn’t make things weird, and most importantly, you wouldn’t mind getting more familiar with haechan’s lips.

you shocked your own self with the sudden lewd thoughts in your head about the male sitting next to you, squirming in your position slightly. he turns his head towards you like he could hear your thoughts (“shut up, y/n, he can’t hear your thoughts…right?”) and you swear his eyes soften a bit. “are you sure you wanna play?”, he asks softly, mistaking your tenseness for discomfort, but you shake your head a little too quickly for your liking.

“no, no, let’s play, it’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”, you feign indifference and after everyone else agrees, the bottle is spun for the first time by haechan.

much to renjun’s dismay, it lands on him, and it’s almost comical the way he looks at the bottle pointing at him before slowly looking up at haechan. “renjunnie, let me kiss you”, haechan whines in a high pitched tone while drawing out the “you”, puckering his lips expectantly. the next three minutes consist of renjun listing every single person he would rather kiss than haechan, and you’d have half the mind to volunteer yourself if you weren’t clutching at your sides laughing at the whole exchange, slapping at both jeno and sieun who tried and failed to dodge your waving hands.

renjun finally relents when chaewon suggests he lets him kiss his cheek instead, but haechan is no quitter so he makes sure that he plants the loudest, most wet kiss on his face before sighing in victory when he sits back down. renjun is not the most happy with this, and he tells jaemin to take his turn instead while he rushes off to the bathroom to wash his face. hyuck looks indignant, calling out behind renjun, asking if he wants another one.

taking the turn instead of renjun, jaemin spins the bottle harshly, and it spins and spins and spins for what seemed like an eternity. your eyes are so focused on the way the bottle looks as it spins that you don’t even notice that it has stopped, until jeno nudges you with his shoulder. it’s neck is pointed directly at you, and you finally look up from your trance at jaemin, who wears an undeniable smirk on his face.

while you didn’t exactly see him that way, there was absolutely no denying that jaemin was a very attractive man, and he was no different presently, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up as he propped himself up with his arms, looking at you expectantly.

you don’t want to look at haechan right now, because you can see out of the corner of your eye that his face is looking straight forward, not at you or jaemin, just forward. you wonder what is going through his head, but your thoughts are cut short when jaemin scoots closer to you in the circle.

“are you okay with this?”

and when you think about, you are. “yeah, i mean it’s just a game”, you reply, not wanting to ruin the fun or raise any suspicions, to which jaemin agrees and inclines his head towards you.

he kisses you, more fully than you were expecting, but you had no complaints really as you kissed him back, titling your head in the opposite direction to slip your lips over his. you wonder if your lips were as dry as they felt, and in the back of your mind it registers that your friends are watching you kiss your other friend because they hoot and giggle, but you can’t really bring yourself to care.

jaemin’s lips taste sweet and he smells sweet, his touch soft as he brings a hand up to your cheek, gently holding it while he continues kissing you. it probably wasn’t as long as it felt, but jaemin finally pulls away, the remnants of his sweet chapstick lingering on your lips. you are aware of how hot your face feels when you pull away and return to your spot, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“dude, what chapstick do you use?”, you ask after clearing your throat, and jaemin rummages in his pant pocket for a moment before whipping out a cute pink tube, holding it out in front of him. “strawberry dream, baby”, he winks, reapplying it on his lips. “never go anywhere without it.”

renjun returns after god knows how long, stating that he had to re-do his skin care routine because haechan had completely thrown off his skin’s ph balance, and is saddened to hear that he missed witnessing you and jaemin.

the game continues in a steadfast manner for the next couple of rounds thanks to haechan insisting we play one more round, though it doesn’t exactly go in the manner you were hoping for. the group is practically in tears after watching jeno and jaemin share an awkward kiss, chaewon arguing that they can’t claim “no homo” because it was the most homo thing she’d seen in a while, and that was saying a lot because she was, in fact, gay.

you have now kissed sieun, jaemin once again and an especially endearing renjun, who’s cheeks and tips of his ears are painted a bright red after you plant a full peck on his waiting lips. haechan grumbles something about renjun not having kissed anyone besides his mom to explain his reaction, but jeno is quick to cut renjun off before another argument ensues.

“i don’t know about you guys, but i think that’s enough exchanging of saliva for one day”, he all but sighs, lying down on the floor dramatically. while you do agree, you’re disheartened, because not once has the bottle landed on you when spun by haechan, or the other way around. it feels like the universe is fucking with you, because really how many times can you spin a bottle between a group of seven people and not have it land on the one person you want to kiss even once.

haechan looks like he wants to say something, but appears to decide against it in the end, stretching and standing up. it is then mutually agreed by everyone that it was time to watch a movie.

“super bad?”, jaemin proposes, and even though most people had already watched the movie, no one argues against it and jeno starts setting up the movie on their big screen tv.

settling into the couch, you glance over at haechan and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tad bit disappointed. this whole spin the bottle thing makes you wonder about all the other times where you could have had an opportunity to make a move on the brown-haired boy.

you’d gone on long drives together, gone partying, even drank with just each other a couple of times. the closest the two of you had ever come to crossing that line was while you where dancing at a party and his arms were looped around your waist from behind, slowly swaying to the beat. you’d danced with him tons of times before that but you recall thinking the air was a little different than normal, more heated, but you also recall mistaking renjun for your professor, so you didn’t trust yourself. the moment came and went, and neither of you ever had the balls to address it, and now it had been way too long since to bring it up.

“this seat taken?”, haechan snaps you out of your bitter thoughts, jerking his head towards the spot on the couch next to you. you clear your throat and shake your head, scooting over slightly so he could sink down next to you. “what’s up, y/n, you look a little…not present. you still high?”

it’s funny because your mind certainly wasn’t present, it was in the gutter, but you choose to blame the weed. “yeah, i’m still high”, you answered truthfully, and so was he, his red, hooded eyes a dead giveaway.

“okay, perfect, i wanted to show you this stupid tiktok i saw”, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaning closer to you to show you some video of a cat, or maybe a dog, you weren’t paying attention. he laughs at whatever the animal did, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he does so, and you observe him instead of watching. when he doesn’t hear you laugh, he peeks over at you but you’re quick to turn your head back to his phone, letting out a very late giggle at the video.

if he did catch you, he doesn’t mention it, continuing to scroll and show you more videos. jeno finally gets the movie set up and turns off the lights, taking up the final seat left on the couch. the movie begins, and everyone falls into a comfortable silence bar hyuck, who makes the occasional comment that earns him a snort from you each time.

at some point during the movie, haechan stretches his arms out behind him, placing his arm on the head of the couch directly behind you. glancing at him quickly, you can’t tell whether the action was purposeful or not, because if it was, he was doing a very good job of looking nonchalant. you try your best to ignore it, but his hand is resting directly above your shoulder, inches away from touching you- but it never does.

you had never noticed what nice hands haechan had before. long and slender, nails clipped short and clean, his middle, ring and index finger adorned with various silver rings. you note that he wears three rings on his left hand, but none on his right. his right hand sits on top of one of his thighs, two of his fingers drumming against it following some rhythm going on in his head. his fingers are long, and the only thing you can think about is just how nice they would feel inside–

no, no, no, stop it, since when are you this horny?

you realise stressing out about how horny you are all of a sudden is just going to lead to a bad trip and you don’t want that, and you want to clear your head. even though you’re feeling a different kind of thirsty, you figure a distraction for a couple minutes would be helpful, so you excuse yourself to go get some water, jumping up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen. unbeknownst to you, haechan’s watchful eyes follow your figure as you exit the room.

finally away and in the kitchen, you fill up a glass and lean over the sink, closing your eyes to collect yourself. you can finish the movie without driving yourself crazy over haechan, right? tonight is no different than any other hangout and you don’t want to weird haechan out with your unnecessary staring and poorly concealed thirsting. you just need to stop thinking about his stupid hands, his stupid thighs, his stupid hair and his stupid kissable lips. “kissable? lock in, y/n, lock in…”

“who are you talking to?”

you wince but don’t turn around, eyes screwed shut tightly. you’ve been gone for a couple minutes and you don’t know when he left the room, but you put down the glass and turn to face him.

“what’s got you so jumpy?”, he questions, leaning against the counter. his arms are folded and his gaze is piercing, face tilted slightly to the left as he observes you. this is the second time he’s startled you in the kitchen today and also happens to be the very reason you’ve been so jumpy.

“nothing, i just…god, you need to starting announcing your entry into a room, dude…”

he furrows his eyebrows but lets out a chuckle anyway, slowly sauntering over to where you stood. eyes never leaving yours, he now stands directly in front of you, caging you in between the sink and his body. the closer proximity and dim lighting isn’t helping your case in the slightest, feeling all hot and bothered as if there was a sudden change in temperature. “what’s happening? you’re usually never like this, we’ve smoked up together so many times. are you having a bad trip?”

you understand why he might think that, what with your jerky movements, dazed staring and just overall disconnected demeanour. while you were wound up a little tighter than usual, you weren’t having a bad trip, your mind was just very slightly preoccupied. “no, hyuck, i’m fine, i just…needed some water”, it’s a half-lie you tell, choosing to not tell him the full truth for the sake of your own pride.

“you just seem…off”, he seems to pick his words carefully, eyes roaming over the expanse of your face. “no, i just…”, you trail off to try and find the words to explain this situation away, but he’s just looking at you so intensely. it’s so silent in the room and the air feels all too still, and you swear you’re trying to speak coherently but haechan switches his weight to his other leg, wetting his lips with his tongue while he awaits an answer and you just freeze. “i…”

“‘i’ what? see? you’re doing it again”, he starts, running a hand through his hair, and the muted light that leaks in through the window illuminates only one half of his face, but you can see him so clearly that even the way his pretty eyelashes brush against his cheek when he blinks doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you’re subconsciously chewing on your bottom lip, feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. “you have this look in your eye. like you wanna…”

“…what?”

everything is still and unmoving, until your eyes zero in on haechan’s hand as he raises it, slowly bringing it to graze his fingers over your cheek. his touch leaves a burning hot trail on your skin and using his thumb, he releases your bottom lip from under your teeth, hand lingering cautiously for a fleeting moment before he drops it.

“like what, haechan?”, you repeat yourself, urging him to just say whatever it is he has to say, getting tired of this back and forth. you could sell a kidney just to see what was going on in his mind right now, because he looks torn between speaking his mind and just staying silent.

“like you want to kiss me.”

a few beats of complete and utter silence pass, not even hearing the dull sound of the television in the living room anymore over the thudding of your heart in your ears. haechan takes a small and tentative step towards your frozen figure, gripping the counter you’re using to lean against with his right hand, effectively trapping you in your place. now you really are a deer caught in headlights, because he’s spoken what you’ve been thinking about for the past couple hours into existence and he is absolutely correct.

“am i wrong, pretty?”

judging by your sharp intake of breath and open-mouthed expression, you’d have to be a fool to think otherwise. he looks as if he’s waiting for you to answer him regardless, giving you a chance to get out of this, but your voice is no longer functioning, and it takes all the strength in your body to shake your head ‘no’.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, tongue peeking out to lick his lips again. “i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you”, his voice is strained as he admits this, quiet and careful like he’s holding back while his eyes are trained on yours like he’s daring you to break eye contact. you don’t. “but then everyone else was kissing you but me.”

normally you would giggle at his little frown, but all you can muster up is a whisper of his name, finally breaking his all-consuming eye contact in favour of looking at his lips again. you don’t know who moves first, but the next thing you know is your lips are pressed together in a fierce kiss, your hands tangled in his soft, brown locks while he grip your waist and pull you into him.

he kisses you like a man starved and you do the same with equal fervour, not even being able to process that your little daydream is coming true. his hand comes up to caress your cheek, soon moving down your neck after stroking your face softly, using it to tilt your head for you. the position of his hand is very purposeful because his thumb presses into your throat ever so slightly, but his grip is still tight enough that you couldn’t break the kiss (not that you wanted to, anyway). the other hand snakes around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing his hips into yours.

you’re positively drunk off the feeling of haechan’s lips molding over yours and you think you might just ascend when he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. body on fire, you mewl against his lips, swirling your own tongue around his while he slowly but surely bucks his hips into yours.

no wards are spoken while your hands thread through his hair, pulling on it and letting out a sound of surprise into his mouth when his hand trails down to your ass and grips it harshly. he finally releases you from the searing kiss, but he doesn’t let you catch your breath, instead spinning you around in his hold so that his front presses tightly into your back, hands slipping around your waist from behind. this feels like a déjà vu kind of moment because you are reminded of the time when you both were dancing in this exact position, except this time you were getting exactly what you wanted.

“you know how bad i wanted this?”, his voice echoes your thoughts and breaks the silence, hands running up and down your front in a teasing manner. lifting your shirt up slightly, he trails his fingers over the exposed skin of your torso and the action makes you squirm in his hold a little, and much to your surprise, he groans lewdly against your ear. “fuck, i’ve been thinking of this for so long. kissing you, having my hands all over you…”

you get the sense he’s talking more to himself than you, but you revel in it nonetheless. his hand grips your jaw and squishes your cheeks together so your lips form a pout, forcing it to the side where he plants one, two, three kisses to your puckered mouth. his other hand slips further up your shirt where he brazenly cups your boob through your bra, fondling one of them while his tongue peeks out to flick at your bottom lip.

you’re putty in his arms, all gasps and squirms and whispered ‘haechan’s. “what, baby?”, he mumbles into your cheek, the hand gripping your jaw letting go in order to slink down to your hip where it lingers for a moment. “what do you want?”

your lack of answer doesn’t bode well with him, earning you a tight squeeze to your hip as a kind of warning. “need you to touch me”, you whisper out defeatedly, and you feel haechan laugh mockingly against your face.

“yeah? need me to touch you?”, he mimics your voice while tutting, letting his hand slip further down to where you needed him the most, but not letting you have it just yet. “think you can be a good girl and keep quiet for me? we don’t need everyone outside hearing what a little slut you’re being in here.”

everyone outside. the fact that you were just a room away from all your friends who were sat watching a fun little movie together had completely slipped your mind, but if you were being honest, you couldn’t find it in you to give a shit. everything about your current disposition was so dirty. one hand under your shirt, the other about two seconds away from fingering you right in the middle of your friends’ kitchen, while said friends were sat outside, unaware of the goings-on under their own roof.

though you didn’t think actually getting caught in this position would be the most pleasant experience, the idea of it dampened your panties and caused you to whine out loud, tilting your head back against haechan’s shoulder. you receive an immediate hand clamped over your mouth in return, haechan tutting in your ear condescendingly. “looks like the little slut can’t follow a simple request.”

even though he reprimands you, his hands begin fumbling with the button of your jeans anyway, undoing it and pulling the zipper down. one hand comes up to wrap around your front and rests on your shoulder, holding you in place, and the other he sticks down your pants and cups your heat but makes no effort to move, chuckling when you try to move yourself against it. his crotch ruts against the swell of your ass and for you, any friction is better than no friction at the moment. with one hand gipping the arm around your shoulder, you slip the other behind you to palm at his hard cock over his pants, making him let out a sound of approval.

“please, hyuck”, you shake your face free of his hand and turn to look him in the eye, and he grips your throat and presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

he seems to accept your plea, finally moving his hand against you and you breathe a sigh of relief, lost in the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles on your clit over your wet underwear. he’s quick to slip his hand inside your panties, cold fingers pressed directly on to your bare pussy, spreading your wetness all over you. when he ultimately slips a finger into your tight, waiting core, you moan but it’s cut short when he slaps his hand over your mouth again. “keep. quiet.”

if someone were to walk in, the two of you would be a sight to see. you writhing in his tight hold while his hand is stuffed in your pants, two fingers pistoning in and out of you at a fast pace as his forehead is pressed against the side of your face, releasing short breaths. you look positively fucked out, and you’re both in a state of complete bliss as you grind against each other in a timely rhythm.

“my pretty girl. if i had known you wanted this too, i would’ve just grabbed you and kissed you like i wanted, in front of everyone.”

his voice is honey-like and sultry, and his fingers are nothing short of heavenly. they pump in and out of you, and he still manages to use his thumb to toy with your clit in this position, leaving you breathless and on the edge. “can’t believe jaemin and renjun got to kiss you before me.”

you’re so wet that your cunt makes downright sinful noises as he fingers you and you’re hoping that it isn’t really as loud as it seems. “you’re so wet, angel. so this is what had you all jumpy today”, he laughs like he’s stating the obvious, and you’d have half the mind to feel shy if his ministrations didn’t feel so fucking good right now.

you’re aware that you’re close and so is he because you’re clenching around his fingers, so he quickens his pace both inside you and against your clit. “you gonna cum for me, baby? right here, in the middle of kitchen, while everyone’s outside?”, he purrs against your face and you grip the part of his arm that isn’t shoved in your pants, digging your nails into his skin in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. his words make you feel dirty in the best way, not even knowing you could feel this turned on.

he peppers kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking here and there, and through the pale moonlight bleeding into the room from the window, the red blemishes that begin to bloom on your skin are visible to hyuck, and he seems pleased with his artwork. “that’s it, sweetheart, let go for me.”

your moans are muffled against his palm when you finally come, the orgasm ripping through you so strongly that you go limp in his hands, legs almost buckling at the sensation. with the added boost of the weed you smoked earlier, your orgasm is immense, feeling it pulse through your body until it’s too much, whining and wriggling in haechan’s firm hold. he holds you still and helps you ride out your high, whispering utterances of “that’s right, baby” and “my good girl” into your ear while you throw your head back and try to regulate your breathing.

in a moment, his hand slips out of your pants, turning you back around so you’re now facing him, grinning down at you from ear to ear as if you both hadn’t just defiled jaemin and jeno’s kitchen. “you feeling okay?”, he mumbles, tucking your hair behind your ear with the hand that wasn’t soaked, pressing a number of kisses all over your face as you nod and giggled, trying to evade his attack. he lets you go just to wash his hands, and it’s when he dries his wet hands on the material of his pants that you notice his raging boner, immediately feeling bad.

“wait hyuck, let me–“

as if he’s reading your mind once again, he shakes his head and takes both of your hands into his, wrapping them around his own waist while pulling you into him. “we can save that for another time, pretty”, he insists, his expression turning shy when he realises the implications behind his words. “that is, i-if you want another time, of course–“

it’s your turn to cut him off this time, but you do so by leaning up and connecting your lips again, bring a hand up to stroke his cheek. “of course i want another time, hyuck. i want this. i want you.”

your assurances do good to bring a smile to his pretty face, taking ahold of the hand on his cheek and pressing his lips to your skin gently, lovingly. “so, so, perfect.”

taking note of the prolonged amount of time the two of you had been gone, you skulk back into the living, but this time, hand in hand.

the scene you’re greeted with is a surprising one, because you find every single one of your friends to be sound asleep, much to your amusement and hyuck’s dismay. “so you’re telling me i could’ve been hearing you moan the whole time and none of these idiots would have even known?”, he is appalled, a hand coming up to rub at his face out of frustration. “i did all that for nothing?”

“i wouldn’t say for nothing”, you reveal, biting your lip and smiling up at the boy shyly. “i might have woken them up.”

“oh yeah, well now you’re going to”, and with that, he’s dragging you back to the kitchen while you giggle, nearly tripping over your own feet before he all but scoops you up in his arms, muttering to himself about having left something in the kitchen that needed urgent fetching.

[cute-sucker]

your crush on rafe was helpless.

you knew you shouldn't indulge in it, as you flashed across the country club, wearing your cute outfits, and laughing with your girls. so what if you were a little of bimbo, giggling at anything said, and soft eyes wavering wherever they shouldn't?

you had been in plenty of relationships, beaming at anyone who treated you well, or perhaps not so well. rafe cameron was someone who you had always wanted to kiss. just a small peck on the mouth, or a soft embrace in his hands. somehow he was someone who wouldn't even touch you.

you had made it your mission after last year when you had tried to dance with him, only for him to promptly decline your offer, his eyes wandering someplace else, as you pouted. your friends had told you to give it up. what use was it?

after all rafe was filthy, with his dark blue eyes, and cruel worlds. all you had heard was bad things. but you were a soft princess, eyes docking at anyone, and painfully shy as well so who really cared about a harmless crush? it wasn't like anything was going to happen. you wanted for him though, harmless touches on his shoulder hoping that he'd look at you.

and suddenly it happened.

"coulda you move?" he squinted down at you, and you bit your lip beaming up at him. you had been eying him all night, pulling down your pretty pink dress hoping that he'd take a liking. instead, his eyes looked hazy, as he swung the bottle over his mouth.

then he gave you a pointed look, "what's a pretty girl like you doing all alone?"

it was so overused. it was so icky the way he looked down at you. it was so stupid, yet you found yourself flushing, playing with the strands of your bracelet, "i don't know. i felt a bit lonely."

at this he smirked looking down at you, almost as if his eyes had reajusted and he'd realised who he was looking at. you were like a shy little bunny, wearing pink platforms, glossy pink lips pursed and an attitude he'd like to fix. yet rafe's smile deepened, and he licked his lips to look back at you.

you battered your eyelashes you practiced in the mirror. his eyes seem to linger on your lips for a second more. the music continued to boom, yet you felt this distant hum go through your body. if he touched you, you would melt.

"lonely, huh?" he drawled, his voice low and rough around the edges. "you shouldn't be. not a girl like you."

you had thought about this so many nights. you'd wished, hoped that he would finally pay attention to you. you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and could barely stop your hands from shaking as he leaned closer.

his breath was cool on your neck, he smelt like peppermint, something that made your head spin, "how about i keep you company?

that was it. you felt all of your confidence go down the drain, instead, all you could feel was the way that your heart beat faster and faster. as if he was about to catch you, and you swallowed hard. you pouted as you toyed with your tiffany bracelet.

'i'd like that," you murmured, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding in your chest.

there was something about your soft tone that seemed to change something about you. rafe's smirk turned into something softer, almost predatory. he reached out, his fingers grazing your arm lightly, sending shivers down your spine. "good," he said. "because i've been watching you too, you know. always so cute and innocent. makes me wonder what you're really like."

at this, you felt your heart skip a beat. there was no way, but you let the delusions fill your head, charged with promise you seemed to jump up. earnestly you tilted your head, and placed your hand on his bicep.

"i guess you'll have to find out," you breathed out, voice much steadier than you had ever felt.

rafe's eyes seemed to darken with interest before he leaned in his arm travelling to the small part of your back, "yea? you'd like that?" now his arms captured your waist, as you let out a soft sigh.

"welcome to my world, baby.'"

˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚

wanna meet bunny!reader sister? pogue!bunny!reader drabble: smile for the camera

[w4ndal0ver]

The Art of Submission (1)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: As a growing author, you're grappling with a frustrating writer's block while trying to craft your next lesbian erotic novel. With a lack of personal experience holding you back, inspiration seems just out of reach. But when a captivating neighbour steps in, offering unexpected support and a tantalizing invitation to explore the depths of desire, you find yourself on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and fiction, leading to a discovery that you definitely weren't expecting.

content warnings: lead up, talk of submission and sadomasochism, flirty touches and conversation.

note: This is the first chapter of a new story that I'm writing, any ideas or inspiration would be appreciated so if you have any ideas feel free to drop them in my requests, other than that buckle in! (I will try to get the next part out as soon as possible)

The Art of Submission - Chapter One 

The soft glow of your laptop illuminated the cluttered desk, your cursor blinking impatiently on an empty document. You stare aimlessly at the screen, your fingers hovering above the keys waiting desperately for inspiration to strike. It had been hours since you sat down, hoping to squeeze out something, but your mind felt trapped and foggy, yet every time you wrote a sentence, you only sank deeper into it. The end result had started to feel completely out of reach.

Your last book had done okay. It wasn’t groundbreaking or a bestseller, but it was just enough to remind you that you could do this. You could write and publish your writing and make some level of a name for yourself in the world of lesbian erotica. Not that it was hard considering the low level media attention that your field rarely gained. The reviews had been mostly kind and the sales had trickled in steadily enough that you were managing to stay afloat, but nowhere near the level of success that you first imagined when you wrote your first novel. 

Your apartment is a mess, the evidence of your creative block scattered pointlessly across the room. Empty coffee mugs crowded your desk, some still holding the cold remnants of yesterday's caffeine-fueled desperation. You’d also not left the apartment in days, time becoming a blur of restless nights and sluggish mornings, avoiding stepping outside. You found it was easier to stay here, trapped within the confines of your own thoughts, hoping something would come to you. 

You lean back in your chair, groaning in frustration. You thought about getting up and attacking the massive pile of laundry that had sat abandoned in the corner for days, but you quickly pushed that aside, realising that there was no point until you at least got another page written. The cursor was blinking furiously at you and you felt yourself going slightly insane. You wanted to smash your head into the keyboard, but instead you imagined yourself doing it which brought a small smile to your lips. 

It was at this moment that a sharp knock sounded at the door, you spin in your chair, frowning as you try to glance over at the entrance to the apartment. You wracked your brain trying to remember if you’d ordered something, but you couldn’t work it out and you knew you definitely wasn’t expecting company. You push yourself out of the chair with a deflated sigh, stretching your legs out as you go towards the door. The knock came again, firmer this time. Whoever it was, they weren’t planning on leaving. 

Shuffling to the door, you don’t bother to smooth the wisps of your hair or fix the crumples in your shift, you just swung it open. 

“Hey, I hope I’m not intruding, but I thought you could use a break.”

You blink in shock, momentarily stunned. Wanda stood in your doorway, her familiar yet distant neighbour from across the hall. You knew her as the woman who you occasionally exchange small talk with in the corridor, but there she was holding a bottle of wine like she’d been planning this all along. Her reddish-brown hair flowed over her shoulders, perfectly catching the dimming light of the room, the colours of her striped blouse almost too cheerful for the cluttered mess that she would soon walk into. 

“I can basically hear your sighs from across the wall. Writer's block?” Wanda smiled, her green eyes warm but with a hint of darkness behind them, as if she knew something that you didn’t. She stepped further inside, her presence filling the small apartment yet you didn’t move to stop her, you didn’t feel the need to. 

“Yeah no of course, come on in.” You say, brows furrowed in confusion. You hadn’t told anyone that you were trying to write again, come to think of it, you hadn’t even told her that you were a writer in the first place. Suddenly, your cheeks flushed pink in the realisation that she knew who you were. 

Wanda set the bottle down on the counter, next to a half empty cup. The sound of it landing felt louder than it should, cutting through the quiet tension that was arising around the pair of them. 

“You’ve been in here too long, I thought wine might be a good excuse to step away from the screen for a bit.” Wanda spoke with a caring tone beneath her soft voice, yet you found it unsettling in how she acted so naturally, offering up solutions to problems that you hadn’t even told her about. 

Wanda always seemed to have a way of appearing when you least expected it, offering little moments of relief, like that time she helped carry groceries up the stairs. She was friendly, sure, but there was an edge to her friendliness. A knowing look, like she was always a step ahead of you, just waiting for the right moment to weave her way into your life. You didn’t know why, but you weren’t exactly complaining about it. 

“You know, I’ve read some of your stuff.” There it was, you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes dart to Wanda’s face, as if you were searching for any hint of a joke but instead you’re met with a calm, confident smile. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You’d always presumed that your audience was horny teenage girls, but Wanda was a mind-blowingly gorgeous woman, the exact opposite of who she was expecting. Besides that, your books lived in a cosy corner of the erotic fiction world, usually flying under the radar, definitely not the type of thing a neighbour casually brings up over wine. 

“You have?” You ask, trying to sound casual but your voice comes out a little more strained than intended. You walk around the kitchen counter where Wanda had perched herself, your hands almost shaking from the unexpected social encounter. You reach into the cupboard, finding two wine glasses and placing them down between the two of you. 

“Mhm.” Wanda leans against the counter, an almost playful spark in her eye, “You’re good. The way you write about submission, it’s real, raw. It’s incredible.” 

You feel your cheeks warm up, unsure on how to respond. This was the first piece of praise you’d received from inside your own kitchen. You felt your pulse quicken, the fact that Wanda had read those words, the intimate fantasies that you’d put into your stories was making this situation way more intimate than deemed necessary. 

You literally were stuck in a state of speechlessness, but Wanda was acting like she expected this. She lets you stand with your back against the counter opposite her, fiddling with the ends of your hair while she pulls up a stool. “Corkscrew?” 

“Oh yeah, of course.” As you turned you wanted to slap yourself, why were no words coming out, you are absolutely embarrassing yourself, yet the redhead was still gleaming at you as if you were adding something to the interaction. You rummage through your drawers to find what you needed before handing it over to her. 

“You know, when I first picked up one of your books I wasn’t sure what to expect.” She chuckled, tilting her head thoughtfully as she worked on opening up the bottle. “But then, well, I couldn’t put it down. Dangerous stuff.”

This time you manage a small laugh, still processing the idea of Wanda - the beautiful and put-together woman from across the hall - curled up reading the things you’d written. “I guess it’s not what most people expect from their neighbours.” Once again you’d tried so hard to sound casual that your voice was wavering in response. 

“Well maybe we just don’t know our neighbours as well as we think we do.” With that, she pulled the cork from the bottle and filled up the two glasses, leaning in a little closer as a smile grew into a smirk. 

You glance down at her as you reach for the glass, “I never really imagined someone like you reading my books you know.” You say sheepishly, taking a sip of the wine hoping to mask the nerves that were creeping up your spine. 

Wanda raises an eyebrow, her smirk more prominent now. “Someone like me?”

You shrug, avoiding her gaze as you fiddle with the stem of your glass. “You know, my audience is usually different. Younger maybe.”

She chuckles softly at your response, “Are you saying I’m too old for erotic fiction?” Her tone is teasing, yet there's a glint in her eye that makes your palms sweat. Her comment about submission still lingers in the air, your cheeks continually growing warmer. 

“No! No, I just-” You stammer, flustered by how casually she was controlling this conversation, “I didn’t think you’d be into, you know, that kind of thing.” Your voice is desperately pathetic and all you can do is smile shyly, trying to lighten the tension that was twisting in your chest. 

Wanda takes a slow slip from her glass, her eyes never once leaving yours. “Don’t assume you know what I’m into,” she comments, voice soft but full of unspoken meaning. There's that look again, the one that says she knows more than she lets on. “But seriously, I thought your writing was refreshing. You don’t hold back and that's what makes it compelling.”

You feel the blush rise again, her praise catching you off guard. “Thanks, I guess.” You mumble, feeling a little more exposed than you’d like. 

She waves a hand in the air, brushing off the awkwardness as she crosses her leg over the other. “I could tell you were stuck though,” She adds, swiftly changing the topic with a casual flick of her wrist. “So I figured I’d rescue you from yourself for a bit.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, “Rescue me?”

She nods, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve been hearing you pace around for days, It’s not hard to guess you’ve got yourself into a block.” 

You can’t help but laugh, the conversation switching to something that was making you more comfortable to talk about. “Yeah, something like that. I’ve been staring at that god stupid screen for hours.” 

Wanda shakes her head, mock disapproval on her face. “That’s no way to get inspired, sometimes you just need to step away.” She gestures to the wine and the dim, cosy lighting of the room. “This is your moment to relax.” 

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight on your chest lighten ever so slightly. “I guess I have been driving myself crazy.” This would usually be an overstep in a first proper conversation, but the curious look behind Wanda’s eyes made you feel like she was making you say all of this, like she was dragging the vulnerability out of you. 

Wanda smiles at your openness, a knowing, almost secretive smile as she lifts her glass to her lips again. “There's a reason they say inspiration strikes when you least expect it, maybe you just need to stop expecting it.”

The laughs were more relaxed now, “Oh, is that how it works?” You tease playfully, finally getting to a point where your nerves have stilled out. You could feel the tension in your body loosen just a little, but Wanda’s gaze still never faded.

She grins at your response, swirling the wine around in her glass. “Well sometimes it helps to just let go.” Her eyes sparkling as she watches you. “So what’s this book about anyway? What's got your pretty little head in a spin?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to respond. There's no easy way to explain what you’re writing without dipping into something personal and intimate. But the way Wanda is watching you so intently, waiting, you decide to just go for it. You’re thinking maybe talking about it will help you sort out what’s been blocking you. 

You clear your throat, and look down at the glass in your hands. It’s, uh well, it's another one in the same genre as the others.”

Wanda cocks her head at you, leaning in again. “Mhm, go on.” She pulls out the stool next to her, tapping on the top of it. You smile in the safeness of her space, walking round the counter and sitting down next to her. 

“It’s about sadomasochism actually. I’m trying to explore that dynamic, the balance between pleasure and pain, trust and submission.” You feel your face flush, realising that there's no backing out now. This is supported by Wanda’s lips curling into an all too well knowing smile. 

“So you’re digging into the darker side of submission? That’s bold.”

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah it’s more about the psychological aspect of it - how it feels to surrender completely to someone else but it's hard to get it to feel real rather than just something for someone to get off on.”

There's a brief pause, both of you deep in thought, but you can feel Wanda’s gaze like a weight on your skin. Her eyes darken, just for a moment, as she processes your words. “Sounds intense.” She murmurs, her voice dropping a little lower. 

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to break the tension that you’d created. “Yeah well it’s not exactly an easy thing to write about. I want to portray it with respect.” 

The redhead has now turned in her chair to face you completely head on, her head tilted as she rolls her lips together. “Maybe that’s because you’re overthinking it.” She pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “Or maybe because you haven’t experienced it enough yourself.” 

Your breath catches in your throat at her suggestion and you can’t hold her stare anymore, quickly glancing away with a small cough. “I- Well I’ve written about it plenty.”

She chuckles gently at your answer, her tone life but her words heavy with meaning. “It’s not quite the same thing though is it?” Wanda’s fingers gently brush against yours as she reaches for the wine bottle to refill her glass. The touch is light, fleeting, but she doesn’t pull her hand away immediately. Instead her fingers linger just long enough to make you wonder if it was an accident or something more deliberate. 

You attempt to laugh it off, but your voice falters slightly. “I guess not.”

She meets your eyes again, her gaze almost daring, “You know, sometimes the best way to get through the writer's block is to immerse yourself in the subject matter.”

You swallow hard, praying that she didn’t hear the gulp that erupted in the back of your throat. The air between you had grown thicker than before. “Yeah I’ve heard that before.”

She smiles, leaning just a little closer, her arm brushing against yours as she picks up her glass. “So what’s tripping you up? The emotional stuff, or you know the physical details.”

The way she’s looking at you, so calm yet so confident. It’s like she’s pulling the words out of you without you even realising it. “Both. It’s hard to get the balance right, making the dynamic feel believable.”

Wanda nods thoughtfully, biting the tip of her finger as she indulges herself into your problem. “Have you thought about how you’re building the dynamic between them?” She shifts closer and in the process her knee scrapes past yours under the lip of the counter top. You’re hyper aware of every small movement now and it's impossible to be an accident. “Like what does submission look like to you? What does it feel like in the story?”

You blink, caught off guard by the directness of her question. “God, I don’t know, It's like surrender, like when you trust someone enough to give them complete control.” You pick up your glass again, taking a massive chug in order to keep your hands steady. “It’s like you know they won’t hurt you, even when you’re in your most vulnerable state.”

She nods understandingly, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. “Okay so what does that look like physically, how are you going to write that?”

Your pulse is going crazy now, you’re convinced that Wanda can hear your heartbeat quicken from just her words. “It’s about touch,” You say, your voice almost wobbling, “The way they respond to each other. The way a person can take control with just a look or a gesture.”

As you speak, Wanda’s lips turn up into a smirk, her gaze still unwavering. She’s so close to you now that the warmth of her body is radiating off of your skin. Her hand rests slightly above your knee, the touch intimate, sending a shockwave up the back of your spine. “Show me.” 

Your breath hitches, heart racing as her fingers begin to trace a small circle against your leg. The motion is almost absentminded, yet it feels nothing but deliberate. She maintains her eye contact, her expression open but charged with a spark of something playful and dangerously enticing. 

You freeze, caught in a whirlwind of sensations as the room feels smaller now, the air thick with unspoken tension. You know exactly what she’s suggesting without her having to say it.

You open your mouth to respond, but immediately close it, earning a small chuckle from the redhead. “If you can describe it so well, you shouldn’t be stuck here right.” The dangerousness in her tone makes the words evaporate and you become acutely aware of the heat radiating from her body, the way her thumb brushes softly against your skin, drawing you in deeper. 

Wanda pulls back just slightly, but her hand lingers where it is, a gentle weight that feels both reassuring and electric. Her eyes lock back with yours, searching, waiting for your answer. “It’s okay.” She whispers, her voice soft yet commanding, as if she's completely in control in this delicate moment, “I’m just trying to help you get… unstuck.”

You can’t look away from her, caught in her captivating gaze. Her confidence is wrapping itself around you, urging you to step closer to the edge of your own desires. The space between you is charged, the possibilities suddenly hanging thick in the air as you contemplate what she could do next.

“Have you thought about drawing from your own experiences?” Wanda questions, still attempting to find a solution to a problem you couldn’t tell whether she was actively helping or not. “You know, sometimes personal stories can ignite that spark of inspiration.”

You swallow hard, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. “I wish I could.” You admit, your pulse is still racing from her touch that she has now released, yet her body still remains just as close. “I’ve never really had anything that intimate.”

A playful glint flickered within the green of her eyes, her gaze sharpening. “Really? Nothing? Not even a fleeting moment that made your heart race?” She tilts her head slightly, studying your face as if searching for unspoken truths buried inside of you. 

You shake your head, feeling the embarrassment paint itself across your face. “Not like that, I mean I’ve had relationships, but nothing that’s ever made me feel like I was completely out of control, everythings always felt so safe.”

“Safe can be good, but isn’t there something thrilling about stepping outside of your comfort zone?” Her face leans closer to you once more, the feeling of her leg permanently resting against yours now. 

You nod, the thought resonating with you, but you’re still hesitant. “I just don’t know how to write something so raw and believable if I haven’t experienced it myself.”

Her expression softens, shifting her weight slightly. Her gaze drops to your lips for the briefest moment before locking back onto your eyes. “Kiss me,” She whispers, the command both shocking and exhilarating. 

Your heart races, a jolt of electricity coursing through you at her words. You can’t look away, caught in the depths of her stare. The space between you feels impossibly small, filled with a tension that pulses with possibility. “Just one kiss,” She adds, her voice a sultry invitation. “It might just unlock everything you’ve been trying to write.”

With her eyes gleaming into yours, the world around you fades into the background leaning only the two of you in this moment. You’re drawn to her, every instinct telling you to surrender to the rush of desire coursing through your veins. You lean in, heart racing as you connect your lips together. The kiss is soft at first, a small tentative exploration, but it quickly deepens, igniting something almost primal within you. Wanda’s hand slides from your knee to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she wants to consume every part of you. You pull back, the softness of her lips still lingering against yours. You’re panting slightly, taking in the depths of what you just happened. 

Wanda’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, her finger touching her lip and you can’t help but smile widely at her. “See.” She murmurs, her tone low and teasing. “Just a taste of what it feels like to let go.”

[3minsover]

Steddie who keep missing each other. Who aren't in love at the same time. It's neither of their faults; they're just not quite in touch, in tune with each other.

Sure, Eddie had a stupid huge embarrassing crush on Steve throughout junior year, senior year and senior year 2.0. Sure, it was made so much worse when in Steve's first and only senior year, Eddie found himself sat in math class diagonally behind the fallen king. He'd watch the way his hair moved when he ran his hands through it in frustration. He'd see the shift of muscle under his shirt when he bent down to pick up a dropped pencil. And every time Steve would smile, flutter his lashes and pinch his eyebrows, say; "I'm sorry sir, I just don't know", Eddie would find himself shifting in his seat, nipping at the skin on the side of his finger, knee bouncing under the desk. They didn't really talk beyond 'hey's in the corridor, beyond 'did you do the homework?'s - to which Eddie would without fail stutter out an 'Uh- so, no. I meant to- Just, uh. No.' and Steve would without fail flash a soft smile, bump his shoulder into Eddie's and whisper 'Me neither.'

It got easier, after Steve graduated. Eddie still saw him around, still recognised his car in the lot when he was giving Robin Buckley from band a ride to school. But it wasn't so immediate, wasn't so raw. And after a while, the butterflies would fade. He'd be able to meet Steve's eye across the Family Video counter without feeling his mouth go dusty and his heart leap into his throat.

Steve hadn't realised his feelings for Eddie were anything more than friendly, until he graduated high school. Without the daily glances across the classroom, the moments he'd always take to make conversation, it felt emptier. It gave him time to think about the way his chest would tighten at Eddie's shy smile whenever they talked. Steve hadn't realised he might be allowed to feel something softer than 'dudely bro-ship'.

That is, until it fades so the only time Steve sees him is when he drops Robin off at school, or when he comes in to family video to rent Halloween again. Steve's heart prickles at the sight of him, but after a while, Eddie's visits drop off.

Steve tries to keep himself busy, grateful for some time without inter-dimensional battles or Russian agents trying to kill him. Thoughts of Eddie drift to the back of his mind, for almost six months. And then in the spring of '86, Steve finds himself thrown against the splintered wall of a nondescript boathouse on the outskirts of town. And it's Eddie Munson from Math that has a shaking, jagged bottle held up to his throat. It absolutely doesn't awaken things in him that he never knew he could want, absolutely not.

But regardless, he's staring half-terrified into the dark, watery brown eyes of Eddie Munson from Math, and all he wants is to reach out and smooth a palm over his cheek. He wants to curl his hand around those trembling fingers and tell him it's all gonna be okay. Of course, it isn't. Steve doesn't get much of a chance to talk to Eddie over the next week, what with some vampire soul-sucker guy terrorizing the town, and Max getting possessed and the whole thing going entirely to shit. But he finds himself drawn inexplicably into Eddie's space, splits off with Eddie and has the girls pair up and then Eddie calls him 'big boy'. And his entire world stops spinning for a moment. For just a second, it's just the two of them, and Eddie's face is so close to his, his smile so wild and beautiful.

The whole world stops, before it rockets back into thrilling, terrifying motion.

In the fear and the panic of the final Vecna showdown, Steve has to thrust his feelings back down deep. He can't let shit like a crush get in the way when the lives of the people he loves most are at stake.

It all happens so fast, and before he knows it, Max is in a coma, Eddie's been torn up to within an inch of his life, there's no certainty that Vecna's even gone, and he doesn't know what to do.

For days, Steve sits by Eddie's bedside when he can - when he's not with Max - only sleeps when he does. He silently begs for Eddie to be alright, feels guilty for every thought he has that isn't about Max. He begins to resent how desperately he pines for the moments when Eddie's awake, and after a week, once it's clear that Eddie's going to recover, Steve doesn't visit him anymore.

With all the feelings that are getting jumbled amongst the multitude of all the other horrible nasty fragile things that are writhing around inside, Steve forces himself to shove any thoughts of Eddie down, to get over him. And before he realises, it's been weeks. He's still worried for Eddie, of course he is. The guy almost died in Henderson's arms. But now the world's not actively ending, now he has a moment to breathe, he wonders whether the sparking, shimmering thing that had his mouth going dusty and his heart leaping into his throat was the same thing that had him saying all that shit to Nancy in the upside down.

He can't trust that it's not just a trauma response.

After Eddie recovers, slowly and with more help than he'd ever admit he needed, he sees Steve again. But he's distant. Friendly, but impersonal. An acquaintance. Things are as they were before. It hurts, but he knows all too well that any of the flirtation, the playful teasing and longing looks can only be chalked up to the fear of the end of the world.

It's a couple months before Steve tells Eddie he's going to college out of state. He's leaving in a week. And everything that had been laying dormant for so long comes bubbling up to the surface.

"Shit, I wish you'd given me a little more notice, Harrington," Eddie says, trying desperately to keep the heartbreak out of his voice.

"I'm sorry man, I just. It all happened pretty fast and like if I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen, yknow?" Steve shrugs awkwardly, runs a hand through his hair.

If I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen.

"It's gonna be a damn sight harder to like you this much when you're that far away," Eddie's mouth says before his mind can catch up.

"I like you too, man, but hey, I'll be home for Christmas. You can catch me up on everything I miss, huh?" Steve bumps Eddie's shoulder, just as he used to when they were leaning against the lockers back at school.

"No, Steve. I- You're, I mean. I like you. In a- Like I have, I totally have feelings for you, dude," Eddie forces out, watching his sneaker as he kicks at the ground.

"Eddie..." Steve says softly, and it just breaks Eddie's heart even more. Because that's a let-him-down-gently 'Eddie'.

"No, no it's- Don't sweat it man, just sorta had to tell you before you- Anyway. Have fun at college. I'll- I'll be here when you come home."

"Eddie, wait. I'm sorry. I just..." Steve begins, looks so pained, reaches to take hold of Eddie's shoulder. He avoids it, ducks out the way. And then Eddie leaves, before Steve can try to do something awful like making him feel better or tell him it's okay.

Eddie doesn't see Steve again before he goes to college. Hears from Henderson over the next few months how he's getting on, all the babes he's dating, the assignments he's trying to actually do before the deadline, and Eddie forces himself to smile, crack a joke, whatever.

Slowly, he extricates himself from conversations about Steve. Doesn't want to hear it, but can't tell anyone why. So he finds excuses; he has to take a leak, just remembered he promised Wayne he'd pick up groceries, got band practice, whatever he can come up with. He doesn't even hear Steve's name, tries desperately not to think about him (and fails), until December.

Until the evening of December 24th, when there's knock at the trailer door. With Wayne already asleep, Eddie drags himself from the couch to pull the front door open.

Eddie's met with a coat-wrapped, scarf-muffled, bobble-hatted Steve Harrington standing on his doorstep. He’s rocking back and forth on his toes, arms crossed tight around his chest, hands tucked under his arms. His cheeks are pink, the tip of his nose pinker still, nibbled by the cold. He’s just as beautiful as the last time Eddie saw him, and it jerks his heart into frantic motion against his ribs.

He’d thought he was over Steve, that seeing him again would be just like what it is; welcoming home an old friend. Except all Eddie wants to do is take hold of Steve’s frostbitten cheeks, pull his face towards him and kiss him like it’ll erase all the months of pining that had gone before.

Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he just balks, says "Steve? What are you-?"

"I had to see you. I’m sorry if this is like inappropriate or if you don’t wanna see me- Dustin said you seemed like, mad at me or something. And honestly I can’t blame you, really. I shouldn’t have- it’s not that I didn’t, that I wasn’t. What I’m trying to say, Eddie, is that I know it’s too late. I know I missed my shot. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you for the last four months."

"Steve-"

"I know I have no right to do this to you. But it was killing me, man. Because I think I might have- I think I might be-"

"Me too," Eddie interrupts. His mind’s whirring and tumbling, trying to gather up the pieces of Steve’s fragmented confession. Steve’s jaw hangs open just a little, paused halfway through a word. "I thought it’d gone away. Thought I’d gotten over Steve Harrington," Eddie continues with a sardonic little shimmy of his hands, "but uh, seems you’re a little harder to shake than I thought."

"D'you, d'you want to shake me? Off, I mean," Steve asks, dipping his chin and looking up through thick lashes, a shy, self-conscious suggestion of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"No. no I don’t."

"Oh thank god. 'Cause I don’t know if I’d survive that," Steve exhales, his small smile spreading into a grin. He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet again, and Eddie finds himself pulled into Steve’s orbit. It doesn’t matter that he’s just in his socks and the doorstep is damp with cold. Eddie crosses the threshold and curls his fingers gently around the lapels of Steve’s coat. Eddie’s struggling to breathe, little puffs bursting forth from his lips and clashing in the air, mixing with Steve’s own.

"Can I-?" Eddie asks, doesn’t dare say the word aloud in case Steve’s not on the same page; gives himself an out if Steve’s not where Eddie’s at. Where he’s always been at, really. It just wasn’t quite at the right time.

"Yes. Please," Steve breathes, sweet frosty breath swirling gray-white around in the thin, chilly air between their faces. Slowly, giving Steve plenty of time to back away, change his mind, Eddie draws Steve towards him, tips his chin until their noses brush. the very peaks of their lips touch, and Steve’s breath hitches at the contact. It’s the prettiest sound Eddie’s ever heard. Eddie sips in a breath, hardly daring to move, and lets Steve nudge their mouths together.

Finally.

Their lips press softly together, and Eddie feels Steve’s hands come to grip at the sides of his sweater, bunching it at his waist. He pulls Eddie towards him, moans softly, just the tiniest hint of voice slipping out and into Eddie’s mouth. A new prettiest sound.

Suddenly aware of their very public, very chilly location, Eddie stumbles backwards, pulls Steve inside with him. Steve follows enthusiastically, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel, lips never leaving Eddie’s for even a moment. They’re entirely wrapped up in each other, even as Eddie frantically unwraps Steve’s cold-proof clothing, lost completely in the feeling of their bodies pressing together.

They took their time, to get here. But now that they are, here is where they’ll stay. It won’t be easy, being apart for long stretches while Steve’s away at college, but now they’ll have a little something of each other’s to keep hold of until they’re together again.

They’ll have the promises they made each other that night, the words whispered against skin, the kisses pressed and breath shared. They’ll have the silent, precious exchange of one heart for another. And that will see them through.

[taegularities]

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance. 

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the  lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair. 

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But… 

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause. 

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex. 

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too. 

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right. 

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (13)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: the elections distracted me! This should have been up ages ago 💙 Anyhow, look at our boy pout up there. Darling never stood a chance.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Darling gets closer to making her choice.

The holiday is already shaping up to be your most memorable one yet, and it’s only halfway done. 

Between all the commotion in the press about Ewan’s film, the lively spin-the-bottle game last night, and your… boys being more brazen in their affections, it doesn’t matter that you’re still half-limping and that one gorgeous blonde girl is testing the limits of your patience—Mallorca is one for the books.

Half of your vacation crew decided to head out into town for the afternoon, allowing you to see more of the local scene. Bethany, Phia, Luke, and Elliott have ventured off to see some shops moments prior, promising to rejoin the group with loads of goodies. So you walk the cobblestone streets with Tom and Freddie on either side, the lads promising to catch you should your ankle ‘betray you and make you faceplant on the street’. 

Because, as Freddie put it, they “can’t have the show’s rising star with a blow to her money-maker,” pertaining to your lovely face. 

You were able to finally remove your fracture boot that morning, after a long-distance call to your doctor, but you still have to slightly drag your left leg as you walk.

“Mate, if you could hurry up a little, maybe we can see more of the town,” Tom remarks with a cheeky smirk. He’s had an arm looped around yours the whole time, ever on the lookout. 

“Sure, let me just use my incredible powers of self-healing. Maybe we can check one of these souvenir shops if they’ve got a bionic leg on sale,” you deadpan, fighting hard to stifle a laugh. 

The fledgling weeks of spring bring a steady warmth to Mallorca. The sunlight is bright yet tempered as it casts its glow over the cobblestone streets, illuminating the quaint storefronts and cafes that line that town square. It’s a picture-perfect afternoon, so long as you don’t turn back to Ewan and Louise who are trailing a bit behind. 

But your curiosity wins over, and you see Ewan smiling politely as Louise gestures animatedly, completely absorbed in her tale. You immediately realise your mistake, a pang of something—guilt, longing, confusion… and jealousy, because who are you fooling—tightening in your chest. You quickly turn back to Tom and Freddie, who are too busy scheming to notice your reaction.

“So, do we let Ewan suffer, or do we intervene?” Tom asks, tilting his head toward the pair.

You can only shrug. “I think he’s handling it. It’s probably better to give them some space.” The truth is, you know Ewan well enough to sense when he’s at his wit’s end, and even though he looks like he’s about to throw in the towel, you don’t want to complicate things further. 

Who are you to deny Louise some quality time with your good buddy Ewan Mitchell? He is a stand-up guy, after all, and all of you are friends here. It’s a casual day out, nothing but a good time. 

And… you do need some time to let his confession sink in. He has given the power to you, and the only thing left to do would be to choose him.

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

So the choice should be easy, but why isn’t it?

Freddie smirks. “Space, you say? You mean you’re hoping he’ll finally snap and make a break for it?”

“Maybe,” you admit with a small smile. “Can you blame him?”

The three of you linger by a cafe, chatting to your heart’s delight. You catch sight of Ewan glancing your way, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. Hey, he mouths, staring you down until Louise nudges him, and he has to shift his focus back to her. 

“Honestly, though,” Tom continues, “what’s the deal with him and Louise? He looks like he’s drowning over there.”

“Maybe she’s finally wearing him down,” you say, half-joking, but you’re aware of how often Ewan gives too much of himself sometimes, especially to someone like Louise. The boy’s just too sweet and polite to say no. 

“I give him five minutes before he either leaves or starts shouting for you,” Freddie chimes in, his eyes dancing behind his sunglasses. “It’s a safe bet.”

Before you can respond, Ewan’s voice rises above the clamour of the street. “Actually, that’s not what I meant—”

“I can’t believe you thought that!” Louise interrupts, playfully punching Ewan’s arm, her tone a mix of disbelief and enthusiasm. “But that’s what makes you so unique! You always see things differently.”

What’s unique is the expression Ewan sports as a reaction, akin to a deer about to be hit by a Jeep.

“Unique?” Ewan repeats, a note of incredulity in his voice. He shakes his head, his mouth falling open, like he’s trying to find the words. Louise leans in closer, mentioning something about how cute he looks when confused. 

Well, she’s not wrong there. You have to hand it to her—she’s persistent.

“Why are we just standing around?” Tom suddenly says. “Let’s get some drinks. We need to fuel up for the gossip you owe us.”

“I’m in,” you say a bit too quickly, desperate for a distraction. You motion toward a quaint nearby bar with a bustling atmosphere. It seems like the perfect refuge, far from the intensity of the current situation. The bartender greets you with a grin, and Tom takes charge, ordering a round of brightly-coloured cocktails that seem to match the vibe of the holiday. 

Tom gives you a sly look over his glass. “So here we are, eh?”

“Here we are,” you nod, sensing something coming round the corner. 

“My god, this cocktail is amazing!” Freddie gasps dramatically, oblivious to the look you and Tom are sharing. “I must know what’s in this… Is that gin and… and what?”

“I myself would rather know,” Tom begins, leaning forward, “about the truth behind all the drama. The are-they-or-aren’t-they of it all. My missus has also been bugging me about it. All she talks about is you and your Ewan.” 

Freddie’s grin is huge as he raises his glass. “Bloody hell, cheers to that then! I know there’s something brewing, but no one ever tells me the details. What is this, a fight to the death? May the best Targaryen win? Lucky girl you are.”

Tom snorts. “Or may the right man win. Which, to be honest, is not Matt in this scenario.”

Freddie’s jaw drops in mock horror, clutching his chest. You may take the lad out of classical theatre for a while, but you can’t take classical theatre out of the lad. “Excuse me? Matt is a national treasure, he’s mature and reliable, and he throws a fabulous party. Might I mention how highly he speaks of you?”

Tom shoots him a scornful look. “Reliable. How riveting. Look, I love the guy, but Ewan’s practically half of her soul—”

You groan. “Can we not turn this into a debate? I’m actually trying to keep things simple now.”

“Simple,” Tom repeats, one blonde eyebrow arching. “Darling, nothing about this is simple, especially not since Ewan isn’t bound to that ridiculous PR setup anymore. Are you going to pretend that it doesn't change things?”

Freddie waves a finger. “It doesn’t have to change things. Matt’s good for her. I mean, they’re actually happy, and you need someone solid, love. Someone who isn’t going to fling you around emotionally, from the very little that I’ve heard.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Of course, you’d think that. You get all your goss from Liv and she basically adores Matt.”

Freddie clutches his glass defensively. “Well I know for a fact that Matt is fun! And steady! You don’t need fireworks all the time to make something work.”

“But fireworks are the whole point, you know?” Tom insists. “You can’t reduce a relationship to sensible compatibility and call it love.”

“Love can be practical too,” Freddie says, looking at you. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just…breathe? To not have to worry about how he’s going to handle things every other minute?”

You wince, half-convinced by Freddie’s logic, but then Tom’s voice cuts in, softer, more serious.

“Sure, she could breathe,” Tom says, “but let’s not forget who actually takes her breath away.”

It hits you, the truth you’ve been dancing around with both of them.

Freddie gives you a sidelong look. “Alright, love, confession time. Say Ewan was still bound to that PR relationship, do you really think you could have handled not being with him? Watching him essentially be with someone else?”

You swallow, glancing down at your drink. “It would have hurt, but I would have had to handle it.”

Tom keeps the interrogation going. “And now? What would you do if he does end up with someone else? Louise seems to have her claws in him.”

You let out a huff, your next words decisive. “Look, if she can take him that easily, then he’s all hers.” Because that would mean all those heartfelt phrases about being so in love with you aren’t true. 

That’s the reasonable part of you. The other, less savoury part wouldn’t hesitate to get your own claws in Louise if she swoops in to take your man, petty catfight style.

“But see! See here,” Freddie exclaims in glee, “We’re talking about Ewan and she’s already stressed. She needs a break from the drama, Tom, and Matt is like… an oasis.”

Tom rolls his eyes but doesn’t let it go. “Sure, an oasis that leaves her wishing she were somewhere else half the time.” He sighs, his voice softening. “Look, Matt’s lovely, but he’s not the one. He’s not the one who can turn your whole world upside down, and I know you two. I’ve seen you together, I’ve seen you apart, and trust me, you’re so much better together. Hell, it’s better for all of us too! I simply cannot deal with Ewan moping around again.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you consider his words. It’s almost dizzying, trying to compare the two men, as though they represent opposite sides of you, each offering something you desperately need. They’re both right, in different ways. With Matt, there’s a sense of stability that you haven’t felt before. He’s steady, he’s sweet, and he genuinely adores you despite all of the tangled strings that have bound you to Ewan. 

But with Ewan… you want him, love him, with an intensity that is almost all-consuming. It’s the kind they write songs about, the kind that drives hearts crazy. 

Freddie drops the dramatics, his voice sincere when he speaks again. “Darling, Tom’s got a point, but just… be honest with yourself. What do you really want? Because whatever you decide, it’s your heart on the line. And you know, we’re here for you, no matter who you choose.” And then, as if with the flick of a switch, he turns his flair back on. “God, you could choose me, just so you don’t have to deal with this dilemma of yours anymore!”

You let out a breathy laugh, all the tension you’re feeling dissipating. “I just might!”

Tom mirrors your laughter. “Now that’s a dangerous idea. But hey, life’s short, right? You don’t have to have it all figured out right this second.”

Freddie grins, raising a toast. “To being a beautiful mess.”

You clink your glass with theirs, watching in amusement as they both begin bickering again over who’s really the better choice. As the debate drifts over to which drink to order next, a quiet but unmistakable presence makes its way to your table. Ewan stands behind you, his hands resting on the back of your chair. 

“I’ve been looking for you guys,” he greets calmly. 

Freddie doesn’t hesitate to take a playful jab. “Ah, Ewan! All by your lonesome now? Where’s your lady?”

Ewan perches on the last empty chair on your table, catching your eyes. “My lady’s right here,” he smirks, and he says the words with such ease that your cheeks heat. Everyone would benefit from taking lessons in the Ewan Mitchell School of Charm. “Fancy a walk, darling?”

You quickly glance at Tom and Freddie, whose raised brows practically tell you that they’re going to be chattering about this as soon as you’re out of earshot. “Try not to miss me too much, boys,” you wink at them, letting Ewan help you out of your seat and whisk you away. He offers his arm to you for support, and the two of you fall into stride, allowing the buzz of Mallorca’s streets to fill the quiet between you.

“So,” he starts, “I sure hope Tom and Freddie didn’t give you any trouble.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you smile, your tone lowering as you decide to tease him a little. “We would have invited you over, but you seemed to have plenty of… entertainment yourself.” You playfully wag your eyebrows at him, and he makes a show of groaning and turning away.

“Don’t remind me, my darling,” he groans. “I was so close to faking an illness and making my escape.”

You chuckle at his apparent distress. “Poor Ewan. It must be so hard being adored by a beautiful girl, isn’t it? Wait, where is she again? Did you scare her off?”

“Phia came to my rescue. They went walking by the bay or something, I don’t know. And about being adored, it only matters to me if it’s by you.”

You’re about to lean into a joke and call his bluff, when he adds, “Well, you… and my mum.”

“I thought so,” you giggle, his eyes holding yours with a familiar sweetness. But then his gaze is snagged by something behind you. 

“Is it just me, or does that cat look suspiciously like Sansa?” Ewan points to the front display of a rustic souvenir shop, and you immediately see a plush black cat with curious amber eyes.

You gasp softly, your hand tightening around his bicep. “I did leave Sansa back with my neighbour in London, right?”

“Are you sure? She’s right there, darling,” he plays along, grinning. “I think I’d recognise my daughter when I see her.”

“Your daughter, huh? The most you have right now is visitation rights.”

“Wait here, baby,” he presses a kiss to your temple, leaving you leaning against the wall across the shop. He disappears inside, emerging just moments later, the little cat plushie already in his hands. His expression is tender as he passes it to you. “Here. Figured you could use a bit of home.”

You take the little black cat, heart swelling at the sweetness of his gesture. “Thank you, Ewan. She’s perfect.”

He’s all smiles, his dimples deepening as he nods in response. 

You hug plush Sansa to your chest. “Now I wish they also had whippet plushies, so I can give you a piece of home too…” 

Ewan’s gaze softens, and he shifts slightly, his gaze dropping as he gathers his thoughts. “Darling, I hope you won’t think I’m just trying to score brownie points here or something, given the current situation, but honestly…” He hesitates, but makes up his mind as his eyes meet yours. “If I wanted to feel at home, all I really need is… to be with you.”

Your breath catches, and your mind is too focused on what you’ve just heard that your hold loosens around plush Sansa, causing it to nearly stumble out of your hands. 

“Ewan,” you say softly, your voice laced with an affection you can’t quite dampen. “You don’t play fair, you know that?”

He chuckles, a little self-conscious, his hand reaching for yours. “You know me, darling, and you know how I feel about you.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the touch is light, almost reverent.

“So, no Sansa needed, huh?” you tease gently, trying to keep things light even as the weight of his words lingers. 

His smile returns, a little shy, a little playful. “You got that right. But maybe we don’t have to tell Sansa about this.”

You’re about to offer a witty rejoinder, when a cheerful shout slices through the air. “Ewan!” It’s Louise, her voice loud and undeniably eager, and you find yourself dropping Ewan’s hand. 

And either you’re not in her line of sight, or she just didn’t bother calling out to you too. What a delightful girl.

“Oh,” Louise finally acknowledges you. “That’s a nice… toy you’ve got there.”

“It’s a plushie actually,” you mutter dryly, wiggling plush Sansa in the air.

Ewan snorts at your deadpan expression, and much to Louise’s obvious annoyance, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you snugly against him. “I got it for her. It’s almost an exact replica of her cat, isn’t it, darling?”

Your eyes widen at his purposeful cheekiness. The lad has finally had enough of another girl trying to get a bite out of him. “Well, yeah…” you stumble on your words, “It does look like her.”

Louise pouts. “What a nice, friendly gesture.”

Ewan chuckles to himself, not letting her mood dampen his spirits. “I think it’s rather romantic.”

“Hold on,” Louise responds, appraising you with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you dating Matty?”

“Uhhh—”

“There you kids are!” Phia materialises out of thin air, an angel in disguise.

Oh, you could just kiss the very ground she walks on.

Everyone makes their way to the pool area the next afternoon, the group scattered all around the lush backyard of the villa.

Matt lingers outside your door, waiting for you to finish changing. He leans casually against the railing, his gaze drifting downstairs to Fabien and Elliott, who are hauling crates of beer toward the poolside. He whistles and shouts out a playful, “Save me some, lads!”

“Waiting on your woman, Romeo?” Elliott sings up at him.

Matt waves them away, spinning around to face your door. As he waits, his mind drifts back to a conversation he had with Liv the evening before. She’d seen right through him, spotting the quiet insecurities he tried to keep buried and urging him to go all in with you, to show you what he couldn’t quite put into words. And so, he decided he would; he’d pour everything into showing you just how much he cared.

He has the advantage in that he hasn’t hurt you the way Ewan has in the past, and he has absolutely no intention of doing so, not when being with you feels like the easiest, most natural thing in the world. 

To him, you are like the human equivalent of a shot of espresso, a musical laugh, a jolt of positive inspiration. He’s always felt this, but one night, many nights ago, this effect that you have on him became amplified.

And suddenly, you are all he sees.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way, especially not after you finally open the door. You don a forest green bikini that leaves little to the imagination, with a sheer white wrap tied loosely around your waist. 

Matt lets out a low whistle, walking up to you with a slow, playful swagger. You roll your eyes at him when he unapologetically draws his gaze over your bare skin, but he can’t help it.

You look so ravishing that he wants to push you back inside the room. As stunning as your bikini is, it would look even better off.

To hell with the pool.

“What do you think?” 

He has roused from whatever grey temperament he was stuck in, now that he’s had his espresso. “I'm a goner. Absolutely done for.”

“Flatterer.” You shake your head at him, taking in his broad, bare torso. “Well, you don’t look so bad yourself.” 

He smirks, his large hands kneading your waist. “I'm the luckiest man on the planet, and this is you after an accident, you say? My love, you're a vision in green.”

“You like the colour?”

“Mmm, if I didn't like you in it, I'd cause a fuss about how you're playing for the other team, my Alyna.” He swoops down and kisses the crook of your neck, the spot he is aware would tickle, eliciting a soft giggle out of you.

“I could never,” you say, swatting his arm. “They were just out of black bikinis at the shop.”

“Black... green... we both know you look the best without either of them on. I mean, we did establish that six times in one night, remem—”

“Matt!” you squeal, eyes wide and scandalised. He feels smug, because he made sure you would never forget that night. “You're such a dog. Come on, let's join the others. I can’t wait to finally dip my toes in the pool.”

He is one step ahead of you the whole time, paying special attention to your bad ankle. He knows he’s being too careful when you eye him strangely, but he doesn’t care. “I got you,” he says.

“I can walk, you know,” you huff. “I’d have been down here ten seconds ago if it wasn’t for you going all Mr. Protector.”

As you reach the final landing, Phia’s voice rings out, “Hands off my woman!”

“She’s got a point.” You tilt your head at Matt, lips pulling at the corners.

“Have I? I was just kidding,” she shakes her head, before mumbling under her breath. “I'm not Ewan.”

Matt huffs out in response, trying not to let it get to him. Phia takes your other arm, deaf to your protests. It’s silly, because they’re both aware that you can probably fend for yourself, but not if they have anything to say about it. 

Fabien, Elliott, and Harry are manning the grill out on the patio. Some of the ladies are cozying on their sun chairs. Ewan, Luke, and Freddie are smoking on a bench under a canopy. And Thom Yorke serenades the whole scene, the speakers emitting ambient music.

Matt’s always loved a good European excursion, but this one might be his favourite yet. Thanks to the girl who lets him fuss over her despite her feigned annoyance.

Your fingers dig tighter into his arm as the two of you lower into the pool. He relishes the moment and allows the ebb of the water to push him closer to his girl.

“Hold on to me.”

You roll your eyes, but wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway. “I'm fine, Matthew. My ankle’s almost healed back to normal.”

“Almost is the keyword there, my love. We can't take any chances. So... hold on to me, beautiful.” The late morning sun is a blanket comfort as you float on together, your laughter ringing out as he flaps an arm on the water and splashes your face. 

From the sidelines, Freddie lets out a loud, teasing whistle. Matt responds with a triumphant fist pump, turning to give him a cheeky grin. 

That might have been a mistake because his eyes landed on Ewan, seated comfortably to Freddie’s left, a cigarette burning low between his lips. His eyes are obscured by dark sunglasses, but he’s clearly surveying the scene unfolding in the pool with an air of nonchalance that doesn’t sit well with Matt. 

He would have expected Ewan to jump in the pool as well and make a show of laying a claim on you as he had before. But no. The younger lad just sits, and watches, the makings of a smirk pulling at his lips when Matt makes eye contact.

Since when has he been this self-assured? Perhaps you’re to credit for this renewed sense of confidence? 

Are you slipping away from him, and back into Ewan’s arms? 

Too many questions, and not even the pleasant haze of Spain can shake the anxiety out of him. 

But then, Liv strolls over, positioning herself in front of Ewan, blocking Matt’s view. She bums a cigarette from one of the guys, and as she turns, she gives Matt a subtle nod—a reminder of her advice from last night. Just show her, she’d said. Show her you’re all in.

Thank the heavens for Olivia.

Turning back to you, Matt softens, brushing a lock of hair from your face. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, feeling his doubts fade as you meet his gaze, eyes bright with laughter.

“Enjoying yourself there?” you ask sweetly.

“What’s not to enjoy?” he replies, his hand tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you glare like that before.”

“I was not glaring.”

“You so were, Matthew.”

“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. Before you can react, he dips underwater, reemerging just inches from your thigh, where he plants a quick, teasing kiss that makes you yelp.

“Wha—Oh! Matt! Get up here!”

He surfaces, grinning, his arms winding around you again as he pulls you close. Your laughter mingles, echoing across the pool as the rest of the group cheers and jeers good-naturedly.

Just as Matt’s about to pull you in for another kiss, a loud shout breaks through the calm. 

“Cannonball!” Tom’s voice echoes from the villa, and before either of you can turn around, he comes barreling out, sprinting at full speed. With a triumphant yell, he launches himself off the edge, arms and legs splayed out like a human starfish.

The massive splash sends water arcing high, soaking you, Matt, and everyone within a ten-foot radius.

“Always one to ruin the moment, Tom,” Matt jokes.

“Had to make sure you two didn’t get too cosy,” Tom shoots back, swimming closer and clapping Matt on the shoulder. 

It’s all in good fun, sure, but then Matt catches Tom shoot a quick wink at Ewan, a flash of understanding passing between them.

So that’s how it’s going to be? Game on. 

It’s the penultimate day of the Mallorca trip and the group has rented boats to paddle out along the stunning coastline. Only 2 people are allowed per vessel and some pairs have already formed—Phia and Phoebe, Louise thankfully pulled away from Ewan by Bethany, Harry and Freddie…

And then there’s Ewan who strides over to you determinedly. Matt is a half-step behind, his expression expectant, but Ewan is quicker. “I’m with you today, darling,” he says, his tone leaving little room for question. His hand finds yours, warm and grounding.

Matt’s eyes flicker with disappointment but he’s never been one to kick up a fuss. He gives you a faint resigned shrug, then turns to Liv. “Guess that means you and I are a team then.”

Liv rolls her eyes playfully, pushing her sunglasses up and swatting his arm. “Don’t sound so thrilled. But I promise I won’t make you row the entire time.”

Matt’s smile softens as he looks at her, his earlier disappointment slipping into something more relaxed. “Fine, but I’m claiming the right to judge your rowing skills.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent rower,” Liv insists, taking her spot at the front of the boat and casting a teasing glance at him. “You, on the other hand…we’ll see.”

As you and Ewan push off into the water, he throws a glance back at the others, and a spark of mischief lights his eyes. “Think they’ll survive?”

You laugh, settling across Ewan on the boat. “I think it’ll be a surprise if Tom’s boat doesn’t capsize.”

Soon enough, everyone’s boats are spaced out on the clear, serene waters, and there’s nothing but the occasional splash of oars, the birds squawking high above, and the warm glow of the horizon. Ewan rows steadily, having doggedly refused your offer to help, and every now and then, his eyes flick to you, a soft smile never leaving his lips. His gaze lingers, like he’s committing your image to memory.

As you watch the world, he watches his world.

“Feels like another reality out here, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice barely above a murmur.

You nod, watching the sunlight dance across the water. “It really does.” You pause, glancing over your shoulder to see Liv and Matt, already in animated conversation. “It’s nice to just… forget everything for a while.”

He smiles, tilting his head. “Anything specific you wanna forget?”

You smile back. “Everything, really. The pressures, the expectations… wondering what everyone thinks or wants.”

From a few metres away, Matt’s voice carries over the water, cutting through the quiet intimacy of the moment. “I’m just saying, Liv, you don’t have to prove anything. You can let me row.”

Liv laughs, her voice filled with playful defiance. “Matt, I am fully capable of handling this. Maybe it’s you who should be taking notes.”

“Oh, I’d hate to step on your expert skills,” Matt teases back, before throwing a glance your way, his gaze lingering a bit too long before he turns back to Liv, who seems blissfully unaware of his momentary distraction.

Ewan notices it too, and his grip on the oar tightens ever so slightly. But he says nothing, keeping his focus on you as he rows further along the shore.

He steers the boat around a small bend, his voice low. “They’re good together, don’t you think?”

You turn, following his gaze. It’s a simple, easy dynamic between them, one you know you’ve seen before, and for a moment, a pang of something unnameable twists in your chest.

“Yeah,” you murmur, a touch distracted.

Ewan catches your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “You seem… surprised. Or maybe… jealous?”

You laugh it off, shaking your head. “Not at all. It’s just—”

But before you can finish, a sudden splash interrupts you. Harry’s boat has tipped over, both he and Freddie flailing in the water, their laughter filling the air as they try to right themselves.

Bethany, a few feet away, doubles over, her laughter carrying over the waves. “Oh my god, Freddie, I told you to sit still!”

Harry, sputtering as he surfaces, grins. “Guess I got too excited.”

“So I was wrong,” you turn to Ewan, smirking. “It’s not Tom who capsized.”

Ewan just laughs, then adds slyly, “Here I was wishing it would have been Matt.”

After the boats return to shore, you’re all tired and exhilarated, the sun higher in the sky as you make your way up the beach. But the peace is short-lived. Fans, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, begin to gather along the shore, their voices excited, cameras ready as they shout greetings and ask for photos. The relaxed energy shifts as each of you is drawn into the swirl of attention, questions flying as you try to keep up.

A fan steps in close, slightly shaking in her nerves. “You… and Ewan?” she asks, the question open-ended but its meaning clear.

You chuckle awkwardly, caught off guard, opting to just wrap an arm around her shoulders as she takes a selfie with you. 

But the fan is relentless, her attention shifting to Matt, who’s standing off to the side with Liv, his gaze directed toward you even as he signs another fan’s poster. “What about him?” she says, grinning.

Ewan’s arm slips around your waist protectively, pulling you closer. “She’s with me today,” he says confidently, not minding the possibility of this fan taking to the internet after this encounter, with proof of her ship actually being together.

Ewan doesn’t care; he has no reason to hide how much he wants you. Not anymore. If his fans want a crumb, as he often reads online about him, then he’s going to give them a whole feast. 

With you as the main course in the Ewan banquet.

As the day comes to a close, you find yourself resting all alone in your room, stealing the group introvert mantle right under Ewan’s nose. Everything that has happened during this vacation plays in your mind like a montage, and somehow, it all feels like it’s building up to a grand finale.

But before you can lose yourself completely in your thoughts, there’s a soft knock at your door.

You groan to yourself as you walk over, but your protest dies as you find Ewan standing there, holding something behind his back.

“Hey, you,” he greets you with a smirk that’s more mischievous than usual. “Got a minute?”

Your heart skips a beat — it’s always been that way with him, that instant flutter, even now after everything. “Sure. What’s up?” 

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, his grin widening at your raised brow. He steps into your room, pulling whatever he’s hiding behind his back.

When he finally reveals it, you blink, eyes widening. “You... bought these?” You can’t help but laugh.

Two brightly coloured superhero masks — one Spider-Man, the other Spider-Gwen.

“Yep, I saw a costume shop that had Carnaval masks… and these too, apparently,” Ewan says, looking pleased with himself. “I thought it would be fun. We’re getting away from the villa tonight. I figured we could use these. You know, masks for our incognito date night.”

It had taken one quick scroll on the internet for your group to discover that the paparazzi trailed everyone around town today, and Elliott even annoyingly revealed that he might have seen one or two of them lingering outside the villa’s premises. 

Vultures.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Wait, you’re serious? We’re wearing these to our… date? Wait, why are we going on a date?”

He shrugs with a playful glint in his eye. “Why not?”

You hesitate for a second. It’s such a ridiculous idea, but in the best possible way. He’s always had a way of pulling you out of your own head, making you feel like there’s no right or wrong way to just live in the moment. 

Or maybe he could propose anything—anything at all—and you’d be beside yourself if you refused. It’s how you and him ended up having copious amounts of…. casual lovemaking, months after breaking up.

“Okay,” you finally say, “but only if you promise not to laugh when I look completely ridiculous in it.”

“Never,” he says with mock solemnity, holding out the Spider-Gwen mask for you. “You’ll look amazing. Trust me.”

As you slink past the gates, the masks make you feel more than a little silly, but also oddly liberated. It’s like you’re in on another secret with him, something just for the two of you.

You look at him, smiling as you adjust the mask. “This is insane,” you say, your voice muffled behind the fabric.

Ewan smiles back, clearly pleased with himself. “I know. And it’s perfect.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just you practicing for an audition for yet another Spiderman reboot?”

He only playfully shoots air webs at you, his adorable pew-pew noises audible under his mask.

You chuckle softly, your heart warming at the sight of him. “So, what now? You’re just going to walk me through the streets like this?”

“Of course. You ready to go on the best secret date of your life?”

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Lead the way, Spiderman.”

The walk isn’t long, just enough to enjoy the quiet of the night and the unexpected adventure of it all. When you finally arrive at the restaurant, you stop dead in your tracks, blinking up at the building in front of you. It’s perched on the edge of a cliff, offering a breathtaking view of the bay below. The warm glow of the restaurant spills out onto the street, and you’re immediately struck by how beautiful its facade is.

You look at Ewan, your surprise written all over your face. “This... this place looks amazing. How did you find it?”

“I have my ways,” he says, grinning. “Come on.”

He leads you up the stairs, and you both remove your masks as you enter, giggling to each other. You’re met with a homey, rustic atmosphere. There’s a dim light from lamps perched on the posts, the soft murmur of conversations, and the smell of fresh food in the air. It’s everything you didn’t realise you needed tonight—calm, peaceful, and more than a little romantic.

“I booked a private table for us,” Ewan says softly, glancing around for the waiter. 

The two of you are escorted to a table on the balcony, overlooking the bay. The moon reflects on the water, casting a silver glimmer over the scene. For a moment, you just sit there, both of you silent, taking it all in.

“Ewan, this is incredible,” you say, your voice quiet but full of admiration. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Ewan smiles, reaching across the table to take your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. And I promise this isn’t some ploy to get you to speed up your decision-making. I just… I just wanted you to have a night where you could forget about everything else.”

He leans back slightly, his eyes studying you with that gentle familiarity, like he’s waiting for you to say something more, but he doesn’t rush you.

You glance down at the simple sundress you’ve been wearing all day. You didn’t have time to change when Ewan mentioned the surprise evening out — there was no real thought given to a perfect outfit. And yet, as you sit here now, across from him in the warm candlelight, you don’t feel the usual self-consciousness you might’ve once felt. 

You feel more beautiful than you ever have before, because he sees you as the most beautiful person in the room. In any room.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you say, looking at him. “How you make everything feel so…” You trail off, unable to find anything adequate. 

His lips curl into a knowing, half-smile. “I feel the same about you.”

And you might not know it yet, but this night is when you choose him. 

Under the unprecedented rainfall, later on, you will realise that you never truly had to choose.

It’s always been Ewan, all along. 

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Some notes in the margins...

I have no notes. The red mirage is still at play as I type this. Please distract me in the comments 🥲

The next chapter wraps up this trip :) We also might have a bit of Liv's POV...

Then it's back to LA or London, depending on who darling opts to go with 💛

[seijorhi]

Oleander

Oikawa Tooru x female reader x Iwaizumi Hajime w.c 8.6k tw: yandere, mentions of child abuse and neglect, references to underage kissing, murder, horror themes, pseudo-cest (foster siblings), blanket dub/non-con vibes for a good portion of this

The patisserie smells of sugar, vanilla and freshly baked croissants. In a word; delicious. 

For several minutes now, your brother’s been standing bent at the waist, studying the display case stacked full of cakes and desserts with an intense kind of focus. Considering. Deliberating. Inadvertently placing himself, and by extension you, as an obstacle for other people trying to do the same. 

“Alright, the crepe cake or the fancy looking chocolate one, the…” Heisuke squints at the display case, trying to decipher the label, “gateaux? Or should we go for the red one with the strawberry mousse thing?”

Bingo. You hold back a smile. 

“Go the strawberry one.” Nobody loves strawberries like your mom loves strawberries. 

“Ok, great. We’ll grab that, a bottle of nice wine, hit the florist and I think that should do it.” He nods to himself, satisfied. “She’ll be over the moon.”

He’s not wrong. The woman you’ve called a mother for the past ten years would fall over herself for something as simple as a birthday card, regardless of the fact that your dad insists on going all out every year. 

“She’s already over the moon; you’re home for the week.” The admission’s soft, hesitant – poking a little too close to an open wound for you to feel entirely comfortable voicing it. Hei gives you an odd look, but it mellows into something more genuine when he realises you’re not taking a stab at him. 

Baby steps. 

Finally, Heisuke steps up to the counter to order. Within minutes the cake’s boxed up, with little ice-packs slipped in to keep it cool, and paid for, and the two of you head out, you holding the door open for Hei to carefully maneuver his way out without jostling the precious, expensive cargo. 

“You’re good at this stuff, y’know,” he says as the two of you fall into step together. 

“At… picking cakes?”

He snorts, “No. I meant the whole… I don’t know. You’re good at remembering stuff, the cakes mom likes, dad’s weird habits. You probably already know what flowers we’re going to pick for her, don’t you?”

This time you don’t bother hiding your smile – peonies, pink ones. 

You go to tell him as much when a loud voice calls out your name. On instinct, you both spin to the source, and when you meet those piercing, olive green eyes, bearing down at you from the other side of the street, your heart leaps into your throat.

A ghost.

You can’t breathe. For a moment you can’t even think. Your hand stretches out, blindly seeking Heisuke, an anchor, anything–

Before your fingers can brush his sleeve, a hard, lean body collides with yours, sweeping you up into a crushing hug. Not Iwaizumi, though. 

Oikawa, taller, broader than the last time you saw him, smelling of citrus, summer and salt lets out a breathy noise, halfway between amazement and disbelief. 

“There you are,” he beams, setting you back on unsteady legs. 

Found you, the glint in his eyes seems to say. 

Rather than let you go, step back and give you some much needed space to breathe, his palm instead slides to rest on your hip, taking your chin between the index finger and thumb of his other hand in order to look at you properly, dark eyes poring over you for signs of anything amiss – bruises, tear-tracks, red eyes, swollen, split lips. 

Your mouth goes dry. 

On one side, there’s your brother, bewildered, arm half outstretched as if he can’t make his mind up whether he should be intervening or not. Iwa’s already jogging across the street, snarling at a driver who lays on his horn. 

The weight of Oikawa’s appraisal is as familiar to you as it is oppressive, and while his touch is delicate, featherlight, it burns to the marrow. Suddenly you’re fourteen again, trying to duck past him before he can notice the state of you.  

‘It’s nothing, Tooru, don’t worry about it!’ 

And just like back then, there’s a knot in your chest that doesn’t loosen until satisfaction melts the too sharp edge to his grin – right as Iwa joins you two. Three, you suppose, because while Heisuke remains in stunned silence, eyes darting between you and Oikawa, he’s still party to this, still a witness, and the thought makes you want to curl up into a ball and disappear forever. 

(You shove down the fleeting rush of warmth at the relief you find there, the voice in your head that coos that he still cares enough to check. You don’t want him to care.)

“Holy fuck,” Iwa laughs, and Oikawa’s shoved aside, both of you ignoring the indignant grumbling as your rigid body’s pulled into his chest, his hand finding its way to the back of your head. He breathes in slow. Deep.

He still smells the same, earthy and masculine, the faintest tinge of his last cigarette still clinging to his jacket. Back then, he used to steal them from your foster father. You imagine that now, he probably has the money to go off and buy his own. 

“I’m sorry, who are you? What– can you let her go, please?” 

If it wasn’t them, the sheer absurdity of the moment might’ve made you giggle. Heisuke’s ears are bright red, a flush that extends down his neck. He doesn’t look angry per se, uncomfortable, absolutely, but from the pinched expression on his face, it’s clear he’s fighting the urge to bite out something far less polite. 

None of this, least of all the way they’re tugging you between them like a rag-doll, feels very polite to begin with.

As it is, Heisuke’s interruption has the intended effect. The fingers wound in your hair twitch, the cage of his arms drawing you closer. You almost expect the baring of teeth, a possessive snarl, yet it’s a small, almost imperceptible thing. He retreats – reluctantly – turning to glance at your brother, Oikawa by his side.

Judging from the stony, almost bored expression he levels at Hei, he’s not impressed.

“Friend of yours, imouto?” Oikawa’s purr skitters down your spine like ice. Unlike Iwa, there’s nothing less than friendly curiosity on the surface. He’s even smiling. 

Tongue darting out to wet your lips, you find your voice. 

“Hei, this is Iwaizumi and Oikawa,” you say, gesturing at each respectively. “We were in the same foster home for a while.” Sparing the two of them half a glance, you continue, “We’re actually right in the middle of something, if you’ll excuse us.”

The explicit dismissal’s bolder than you feel, but you’re proud that your voice doesn’t waver. You can’t say the same for your hand when you reach for Heisuke’s spare one, uttering the words that’ll only damn you further, “C’mon, nii-san. Mom and dad are waiting.”

Heisuke doesn’t blink. His hand slips into yours, the two of you sidestepping the pair and walking off towards the car without a backwards glance. 

Neither one of you speaks until you’re buckled into the passenger seat, Heisuke adjusting the rear-view mirror, the cake safely stashed away in the back. Until you’re pulling out onto the main road and there’s distance between you and them.

If only the gnawing, unsettling feeling in your stomach would go with it.

“Sorry,” you mumble, blankly staring out the window at the passing scenery. At the clouds hanging overhead, dark and threatening. Funny, that. Fitting. The skies were clear when you left home this morning. “About the nii-san thing, and grabbing your hand,” you clarify, because whether it was rude or not, you’ll be damned before you apologise for brushing them off. 

That’s not your relationship with Hei. It’s never been that. 

He eyes you for a beat. “You know, I never understood why mom wanted to adopt so bad. Dad too, but mom was always the one pushing for it. We were happy, the three of us. I wasn’t a screw up, their marriage was solid. I couldn’t understand the need to bring someone else in. Our family was fine, perfect the way it was.”

His thumb taps against the steering wheel, his shoulders loose and relaxed. You can’t quite pin the mood he’s in, where he’s going with this. 

“Oh,” you say, mostly because it feels like he’s waiting for you to acknowledge it. 

None of what he’s saying is news to you. None of it’s anything you haven’t wondered yourself a thousand times over. It’s just that Heisuke… you’ve never talked about this. Your adoption, your relationship with him, none of it. This sort of honesty is brand new territory for you both. 

You’re not so sure you’re loving the development. 

“When they committed to it, I thought they’d bring home a baby, a kid, not some weird, skittish fourteen year old who wanted nothing to do with me.” 

Ah.

Your cheeks heat, and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here. If Heisuke notices how you shift in your seat, the small tightening of your expression, he plows on regardless.

“You wouldn’t look at me, would barely talk to me. Hell, you acted like I had the plague most of the time. You didn’t hate me, I don’t think, you just… didn’t want to be anywhere near me, and it bugged the hell out of me. I couldn’t figure it out; who wouldn’t want an older brother to look out for them?” His next words hit you like a sledgehammer, cracking at something vital in your chest. It hurts before he opens his mouth.

“It was them, wasn’t it? The reason you steered clear ‘til I moved out of home.”

“Heis–”

He cuts you off with a look. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he demands. 

“Can we just– it doesn’t matter, alright? Can we move on?”

From the unhappy set of his jaw – the first true sign of discontent he’s expressed since getting in the car with you – it’s obvious there’s more he wants to say. You can’t blame him for that, curiosity’s only human. 

But you’re still too raw. It’s too soon.

You’ve spent too long burying those secrets deep to rip yourself apart to bring them to light. 

“Please, Hei. Let’s focus on mom’s birthday.” You force a smile, tiny and wrong, “The florist is next, yeah?” 

You get a grunt of acknowledgement and not much more than that, your brother’s attention pulling back to the drive. The silence that settles in the car should bring some relief. It’s what you wanted, and yet, amongst the churning feeling in your guts, the prickling at the back of your neck that hasn’t left you since you first spotted Iwa across the road, there’s a sense of discomfort that has nothing to do with crossing paths with your past life. 

Like a slap in the face, it hits you that you’re floundering for something to say, something – anything – to bridge the sudden, stark divide between you. Something that won’t sound hollow and meaningless. 

This thing you have with Heisuke. It took years, and maybe it’s skin deep and miles from what it should be, but the thought of losing it leaves you feeling oddly panicked.

It’ll… hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, because it’s about all you can give him right now, a tried and true method of soothing egos and hurt. 

Heisuke doesn’t say anything for the remainder of the drive, and you resign yourself to the very real possibility that in the course of a single conversation, you’ve managed to fracture this fragile thing between you two. 

Until you go for the door, and a hand on your wrist stops you. “Hey. I’m glad they did.”

—

When you startle awake a little after midnight, it’s because he’s yelling again. 

Mr. Furukawa had been in fine form at dinner, already three beers deep. You can only begin to imagine what’s set him off now, hours after lights out. His wife, probably. Although it’s equally possible he’s caught the oldest sneaking back in from seeing his girlfriend, or the twins trying to break into the pantry for a midnight snack. Or he tripped and stubbed his toe, or thought someone stole the rest of his beer when in reality he’d already swallowed it down. 

The reasons don’t really matter when he’s been drinking like that, in the same way that the initial target of his ire doesn’t matter. Once his voice reaches that slurred, furious pitch, anyone’s fair game.

There’s a pair of headphones in the top drawer, you have every intention of yanking them out and putting on one of your sleep playlists, drowning out the noise of your foster father’s drunken raging until he wears himself out or you fall back to sleep when you hear the thumping of his feet on the staircase.

“Where’s that fucking bitch?”

Eyes wide in the darkness, clutching at the comforter, your pulse jumps.

Again, it’s possible he’s talking about Mrs. Furukawa, or one of your foster sisters – the older one hunched over in the bed opposite yours, watching you shrewdly.

“Well go on then,” she sneers. “Run to your big brothers.”

You don’t bother to respond, any hesitation you might’ve had over leaving her to fend for herself shrivelling up under the mocking bitterness she’s sending your way. Fine, whatever. You don’t care what she thinks, scrambling from the warmth of your bed and hurrying for the door.

He’s halfway up the staircase when you reach their room. You’d knock – it’s the polite thing to do – except you definitely don’t want to be out in plain view when your foster father hits the landing. 

“Hajime?” you whisper into the darkness, slipping inside and shutting the door behind you, “Tooru?”

“Shit, c’mere.” At Hajime’s voice, the calloused, rough hands that guide you onto his mattress, the vice around your chest loosens. He won’t come in here, not after Hajime socked him in the face after catching sight of the raised, discoloured flesh of your cheek from your last run in. You’ve gotten better at using make-up to conceal the marks since then, but there’s also been less of a need for it.

“Can I stay for a bit?” you ask. Until he calms down and passes out. Until the sun rises and you can sneak back into your room. Until you feel safe again. It’s kind of a pointless question, considering how many times you’ve done this before and how many times they’ve let you. You ask it anyway.

The scoff that sounds moments before the mattress dips on your other side is answer enough. “You should probably just move in at this point. We’ll kick Iwa out, he can go sleep in bitch-face’s room.”

Although you know you shouldn’t, a not-so-nice grin tugs at your lips, nestling into Tooru’s side under the arm he offers, “She’d drive him homicidal in a week.”

“Doesn’t she already?” Hajime mutters. “And fuck off, if anyone’s moving out it’s you.” 

“You’d miss me too much.”

Absentmindedly, he rubs at your arm like it’s second nature. “In your dreams, Shitty-kawa.”

You can still hear Mr. Furukawa stomping around outside, snarling and snapping at no-one and nothing. Your pulse skitters, an inbuilt panic response. But the lights are off, you’re not being too noisy, and he’s wary of the other two.

He won’t come in here. 

“Relax, we’ve got you,” Tooru breathes, his nose nudging at your temple. “Where were you this afternoon?” His voice is so soft, a soothing rumble that it takes you a second to register what he’s said. 

“This afternoon?”

“Mm. You didn’t come home when you were supposed to. We were worried.”

He’s pouting, you can tell. Which– he can’t be genuinely bothered by it, it was only a few hours, and the Furukawas don’t care where you are or what you do so long as you’re back before curfew. You were. 

A distraction then?

“I went out with some friends. We hung out at the arcade for a bit,” your expression brightens, thinking of the lights and the laughter, your feet blurring as you hit the sensors on Dance Dance Revolution… poorly. “It was actually pretty fun!”

Tooru hums again, “Which friends?” at the same time that Hajime says, “You didn’t tell us you were going out.”

“I didn’t realise I had to check in.” And because the slightly bitter and very defensive edge to your tone catches even you by surprise, you sigh, softening. “I’m allowed to have friends, aren’t I? A social life?”

You’ve been in this home for a few months now, and this is the first time any of your classmates have invited you anywhere. 

This time it’s Tooru who sighs. He coaxes your face upwards with a hand on your cheek, peering through the dim light at you, “I’m not saying this to be cruel or hurt you, but… I need you to be more careful, okay?”

You frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His thumb glides across your cheek bone, hesitating on whatever it is he wants to say– at least until Hajime huffs and mutters, “Just tell her, dude. You’re the one that brought it up.”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re a foster kid,” he reminds you, as if this is vital information that’s somehow slipped your mind. “That’s all they see when they look at us, all they’ll ever see. No money, no family, nothing worth wasting their time on. We’re charity cases at best, at worst…” he trails off, the sentence dangling in the air. 

He thinks it’s a trick, you realise. He thinks they’re setting you up in an elaborate joke where you’re the punchline. 

Bright blue eyes and a crooked grin flash in your head. Cheeks dusted pink and the warmth of his hand in yours. 

“That’s not true,” you defend, though the words sound weak even to your ears. 

Now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, the gentle, pitying expression on his face twists at your insides like a knife. You hardly notice Hajime scooching closer, shifting the blankets so they cover you both, too busy staring at your foster brother with wide eyes and parted lips, a thick lump of emotion lodging itself in your throat. Tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back.

You won’t cry in front of them over this. You refuse.

“No? You’ve been here for months now. If they wanted to be your friend, truly, genuinely wanted that, why haven’t they made an effort before now? I’m not trying to be a dick,” he murmurs when your breathing hitches, “The kids in this town, they’re assholes. I just can’t bear the thought of someone hurting you.”

Hajime nods. “We only wanna protect you, imouto.”

But you don’t need to be protected. Omori isn’t like that. His friends aren’t either. 

—

When the last bell rings for the day, you walk down to the gates to find Hajime there, leaning against the brickwork with a pilfered cigarette dangling between his fingers. 

That in and of itself isn’t a surprise. Lately they’ve taken up the habit of ditching their last period to make the half mile trek to your school in order to walk back home with you. Most days, you don’t mind. Today, however–

“I sent you a message at lunch, you didn’t need to come all the way down here, I’m going to a friend’s place to study. Sorry, I thought you would’ve seen it before you left.”

He drops the cherry red remnants of his cigarette to the ground and grinds the butt under his heel, eyeing you slowly from head to toe. “Which friend?”

“When did you become so nosey?” you laugh, a touch uneasily. “It’s only for an hour or so, I’ll be back before dinner, promise. I’m all yours after that.” The last part’s meant to lighten the mood a little, yet something flashes in his eyes, a twitch in his jaw, and you get the sense that he doesn’t find it all that funny. 

“Which friend? That slimy piece of shit you were hanging out with last weekend?”

Omori? How does he–

You frown, “We went to the movies, Hajime, it’s not illegal. And he’s not slimy or a little shit, he’s my friend.” A friend who sets butterflies loose in your stomach and makes you weak at the knees, but Hajime doesn’t need to know that. 

“Oh, I’m sure he wants to be your friend,” he mutters darkly. 

Your cheeks burn hotly, “Why are you being like this? He’s a nice guy. Besides, it’s not him. I’m going to Masako’s to work on a group presentation we’ve got due in a few days. I didn’t think you’d make such a big deal out of it!”

“Your mistake,” he says, as if you’re the one being unreasonable here, and before you can spit out a retort, his hand is curled around your bicep, tugging you down the road. “C’mon, we’re going home. Tell your little friend you can work on your project tomorrow at lunch.” 

“Ha-Hajime!” His too tight grip on you doesn’t relent, his stride doesn’t falter. Nervously, you dart a glance around, half hoping that someone will intercede, all the while praying that no one’s actually noticed him dragging you off like a misbehaving toddler.

As always, you’re not that lucky. The sight of your classmates pointing your way, giggling behind their hands sends a hot pulse of shame flooding through you. 

“You know you’re not my actual brother, I don’t need your permission!” 

That does stop him, turning back around to throw a scowl at you, “No? Because I don’t see anyone else lining up to stop you from spreading your legs for the first asshole who comes sniffing around. Jesus Christ, weren’t you listening the other day?”

“I’m fourteen!” you shriek, ripping your arm away from him. “Stop being gross and leave me alone, I already told you I’m going to Masako’s. We have a project. For school!”

In an instant, he closes the gap between you. Hajime isn’t as tall as Tooru, but at two years older, he still towers over you, all broad shouldered and intense, and while he’s always cut an intimidating figure, it strikes you that this is the first time you’ve ever looked at him and felt afraid.

A split second later, and he exhales with a mumbled curse, the tension deflating from his body like a pin’s been pulled. In a quieter voice, hooking an arm over your neck to press a fleeting kiss to your hair, he says, “Sometimes it feels like I’m losing my damn mind trying to keep us all safe and sane and fucking together.”

It’s not exactly an apology. Still…you shift on your feet, nibbling at your bottom lip. “I’m sorry for snapping,” you mumble – an olive branch, even if you’re not feeling particularly charitable right now. The problem is, you do understand where he’s coming from. In two years, they’ll both age out, free to go and do whatever the hell they want. There’s a not insignificant part of you that’s terrified that when that time comes, they’re not gonna hang around another two years waiting for you. 

You’re not sure you can hold them to that promise. 

And that’s if nothing happens before then. Foster kids in group homes get shuffled all the time, there’s no guarantee all three of you will still be with the Furukawas come their 18th birthdays. 

Of course he’s over-protective. Of course he’s being a little nuts about it. 

Hajime nods, pats you on the head and gives you a rare smile, “Good. Now get your ass moving, we gotta get home.”

“Wait, but I thought–” you’d apologised, he’d admitted he was overreacting… sort of. Isn’t that enough?

“Social worker’s coming by this afternoon. Furukawa wants us to play happy families ‘til they’re gone. Your friend’s gonna have to wait.”

And that’s that. 

Dejection washes over you, trudging back home with Hajime – trying not to be childish and petty and hold it against him.

The social worker never shows, but there’s a message waiting on your phone when you finally manage to pry yourself away from Hajime and Tooru.

Your brother’s a dick. Raincheck? ;)

Butterflies erupt. 

—

You’ve been biting your lip again.

The raw, chapped evidence stares back at you in the mirror. 

A few days ago, they were a little swollen, rough and reddened. The sight of it sent a giddy sort of thrill through you, a physical – if not sore – reminder of your afternoon spent kissing a cute boy with very pretty blue eyes. 

Now, the state of your lips is the least of your worries. You’ll bite your lips, gnaw on your fingernails right down to the quick, pace and think and pace and think, fingers tap, tap tapping at your side.

“You look tired.” 

The arms that loop around your shoulders, dragging you back into a loose hug don’t bring the sense of comfort they usually do. Things have been weird between you. Off.

Ever since Tooru caught sight of your face that day, saw the messages on your phone. 

‘I never took you for a liar, imouto.’

The resultant argument left you choking on sobs, heart-broken and beaten down in a way that you haven’t felt since you found out your parents died. 

It’s a strange, alienating thing to be cut so viciously by the only people who give a damn about you.

At first, you had Omori there to help pick up the pieces. He wasn’t allowed over, of course, and even if he were, you doubt it’d do anything but throw a whole gallon of kerosene on the fire. Still, being able to message and vent to him felt like a lifeline. 

And then he simply… stopped replying. Your last message sitting there for two days on read.

You tried not to feel hurt. Maybe this whole thing was too intense, too quick. My god, you weren’t even dating officially, he was just, you were–

It was fine. Not everyone’s tied to their phone, and he doesn’t owe you anything. Maybe something came up, maybe his phone died.

But then, come Monday, he wasn’t in school.

On Tuesday morning, sitting in first period maths, a grim-faced man in a dull suit informs your class that Omori’s been missing since Saturday morning. You’re passed a business card with the detective’s name and phone number printed in crisp, black font and encouraged to contact him if there’s anything you can think of that might help them.

Uneasy looks are shared. No one says a word.

Which brings you to today, to the hug Tooru’s drawn you into and his voice murmuring at your ear. 

“Aren’t you still mad at me?”

His laugh rumbles at your back, “Maybe I miss you too much.”

You should tell him to shove it. Whether you’re in the right or the wrong, it’s not fair of him to play hot and cold with you like this. Being at odds with your brothers is painful enough on its own, dealing with that on top of everything with Omori – it’s too much. You’ll drown under the weight of it.

And so you turn, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying yourself against him. “I don’t wanna fight anymore. I’m sorry.”

While he doesn’t say anything back, he does squeeze you that little bit tighter. You’re content with that, soaking up the affection and comfort you’ve sorely been without. It’s an apology, yes. It’s also forgiveness. 

“Where’s Hajime?” you ask after a little while. They aren’t inseparable by any means, but you don’t think you’ve seen him this afternoon at all. 

Rather than answering you, the brunet pulls back enough to meet your gaze, a twinkle in his eyes, “We’re going out tonight.”

The words bring you up short. “But–”

“Furukawa won’t know a thing. It’ll be fun, pinky promise.” He holds out said pinky, the grin on his face infectious enough that you offer a tiny one of your own, locking your finger around his.

He winks. 

—

“Sweetheart, shall we open the wine?”

She hasn’t stopped beaming all afternoon, delighted at the flowers and the gifts, your dad humming away in the kitchen, cooking enough to feed a small army.  

Heisuke’s already plucking a bottle from the fridge, glasses set out on the counter. He lifts a questioning brow in your direction and you nod with as much of a smile as you can muster. Nothing sounds more appealing to you right now than a drink.

Several of them, actually. You’ll start with one.

“Thanks,” you murmur when he passes it to you. 

Quietly enough that your parents won’t hear, he asks, “You good?”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, lying through your teeth. His knuckles knock against yours, and when you glance up, there’s a wordless promise that the two of you aren’t done with this. 

He’s been watching you ever since you got home. Not in the predatory, possessive way they used to, just… you very reluctantly gave him crumbs – not even that much – yet he’s staring at you like you’re a piece of a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. He’s looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you don’t know how to deal with it. 

It makes you nervous.

“Did something happen between you two?” The quiet voice at your side startles you – perhaps you’re more on edge than you’d like to admit, because your whole body flinches, the wine in your glass sloshing up over the rim, just barely avoiding your dress and the edge of the couch. 

You hadn’t even noticed your mom had sat down.

Cursing under your breath, you jump up before she can, snatching some paper towels from the kitchen, paying no mind the slight, disapproving tilt to your father’s mein (the one which, to his credit, he does try to hide) to mop up the mess on the floor.

“Sorry,” you throw out, both for the spill and for swearing, because that too is something neither of your parents are fond of, but your mom’s quick to wave it away.

“Nonsense. You’re fine, sweet girl. Come, sit!” She pats the seat you’ve vacated. “Relax.”

Your dad’s in the kitchen, laughing with Hei. Your mom’s still happy – it’s slowly leaching from her eyes the longer she looks at you, the more she sees. Relax. 

Today’s supposed to be a happy day.

Relax. 

You can’t.

They know some of your past. Bits and pieces. 

In ten years, you’ve never uttered a single word about them. Not to anyone. 

The more you shove it down, the more it fights back, bubbling away inside of you like the tempest of a storm. You can feel yourself cracking, unshed tears burning at your eyes. 

You can’t.

“… Mom–”

A knock cuts through the rising tide of emotion battering through you, and all four of you start. 

Your dad moves first, drying his hands and striding on over to answer it. On his way, he glances to where you and your mom are sitting – instinctively. Unthinkingly. He glances her way a thousand times a day – to check in, to see what she’s doing, to catch those little expressions she makes, only this time he isn’t met with the picture of a happy wife and daughter. You see it when it hits him, the tension, your wrought expression, the hand your mom’s slipped you in the seconds since, holding you tight and keeping you tethered.

You see it when he does a double take, sharp surprise quickly overtaken by alarm. 

Another knock at the door. Louder. 

His head snaps back towards the door, glaring at it like it’s personally wronged him. “One sec,” he mutters to no one in particular, and your mom squeezes your hand as he yanks it open with a touch more force than necessary.

“Yes?”

The air punches out of your lungs.

From where you’re sitting, the door cracked ajar, your dad’s frame blocking the gap, you can’t see who’s there. Not until he peeks over your dad’s shoulder, his charming grin widening into something shark-like and predatory when he spots you, delighted. 

An elevator careening out of control, your stomach plummets.

Ignoring your dad – your family as a whole – entirely, Oikawa addresses you. “You dropped this this morning. Clumsy girl.” 

Iwa passes him something, your wallet, you realise when he holds it out to you, waving it like a dog treat. 

Your wallet with your ID, this address, tucked away inside. 

The wallet you absolutely, in no way dropped. 

Primarily on instinct, shaking like a newborn foal, you start to rise, to stumble forward and take it from him, only it’s Heisuke who moves first. Angrier than you think you’ve ever seen him, he plants himself between you, one arm outstretched as if to keep you back, his withering gaze fixed on the duo.

“Thank you for returning it,” he bites out. “You can leave now.”

For your parents, already on edge, suspicious by their familiarity and your reaction to it, it’s enough to set their hackles up. Gone is any semblance of politeness when your father snatches your wallet from Oikawa’s fingers, “Go.”

Up until now, Oikawa’s paid them all the attention one would a gnat, an annoyance maybe, but one hardly worth acknowledging. That changes as his head tilts, dark eyes appraising your father. 

“What’s the rush?” he asks, reaching behind him. You can’t see it, what with your dad and now Heisuke standing between you, but there’s movement, your dad lets out a sudden, choked off gurgle, lurching back inside. 

Your eyes widen, a bone chilling horror taking hold of you as you spy the sleek black handle of a knife sticking out his gut, a slow stain of red seeping out around it. 

“We’ve still got so much catching up to do.”

—

You’ve never been this far into the woods before.

Stars glitter overhead, condensation from your breath puffing out with every exhale. It’s cold out. The path you’re walking isn’t one of the trails they lay for hikers and tourists, and you’ve been walking for a while. 

Still, Tooru’s hand is warm entwined with yours, and there’s that wicked thrill in your belly that comes from breaking the rules, doing secret, exciting things in the dead of night.

“Is Hajime waiting for us?” you ask, when you can hold the question back no longer.

“Always Hajime with you, isn’t it,” he teases. “Y’know, a guy could develop a complex with all this favouritism being thrown around.”

You’re pulled closer into his side even as he says it, and you go happily. You’ve got your brothers back – tonight you’re only thinking good thoughts. 

Tonight he promised you fun.

A giddy bounce in your step, you follow where your big brother leads until you spot a glow in the trees ahead, smell the smoke on the mid-autumn breeze.

Tooru grins in the dark, “Have you ever been to a bonfire?”

You shake your head. 

It takes another few minutes before you can see the fire in all its grandeur, Hajime standing off to the side, warming his hands against the flames. They dance through the clearing, bright and high and hot, hot enough that you briefly consider shedding the jacket Tooru swaddled you up in before you left.

A bonfire? 

They built this for you?

You look incredulously to Tooru, “This is where he’s been all day?”

“More or less.”

“Do you like it, pretty girl?” Hajime calls out when you’re closer. Your hand slips from Tooru’s as you leap forward, allowing him to catch you in his arms and tug you against him, and like earlier with Tooru, it eases some of the hurt weighing you down. He’s here, he’s not angry anymore, you can fight and argue like siblings but they aren’t going anywhere. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, smoothing down your hair. “It’s pretty cool,” you tell him with a decisive nod, making him chuckle. 

“Maybe we should add more accelerant,” Tooru says, eyeing the flames with a considering look. “I don’t know if it’s hot enough.”

Hajime scoffs, “We don’t need any more accelerant.”

“But–”

“It’s fine, dumbass. Leave it.”

Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Tooru takes the space on your other side. In the Western movies you’ve seen, these bonfire things usually have more of a party-like vibe. There’s music and dancing. Drinking. This is something wholly different.

You don’t mind the quiet, though, sitting between your brothers on the fallen log they dragged over. Listening to the crackle of the fire. Watching red embers spark and fly off into the night. 

You’ve missed this. Them. 

In the hypnosis of the fire, the heat that covers you like a blanket – burning strongly enough, despite what Tooru thinks, that down to a tee-shirt, leaning into Hajime’s side, Tooru playing with your fingers, you feel you could so easily drift off to sleep, sated and content.

“You love us, don’t you?” Tooru says it so quietly, so off-handedly, that for a moment you don’t hear the stinging accusation beneath the words. 

When it does, whatever fleeting contentment you’d managed to wrap yourself up in is ripped away, leaving you cold and exposed. 

A slap in the face might’ve stung less.

You gape at him. At the both of them. “How can you ask me that?”

Tooru shrugs, casual and cruel, “I dunno. You lied to us. Multiple times.”

“Snuck around behind our backs,” Hajime adds.

“Kept things from us. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the new lock on your phone, imouto. Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“I– I’ve already apologised.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but with every word that pours out of you, the faster your heart beats and the more distress leaks into your tone. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I went behind your backs, I’m sorry I kissed him! I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t know how to fix this!” 

Hot tears spring to your eyes, stinging as you ferociously blink them back. 

If you start crying now, they’ll probably just mock you. That, or they’ll claim that you’re trying to manipulate them into feeling bad with crocodile tears and hiccuping sniffles. 

In a tiny voice, you say, “I didn’t do any of it to hurt you. Please,” you beg helplessly. “You can’t keep holding it over my head and punishing me for it.”

“You think we’re punishing you?” Tooru asks, still in that cold, flat tone that makes you want to sob.

Aren’t they? Sure feels like it.

Hajime lets out a heavy exhale, shaking his head and staring up at the night sky. “You still don’t fucking get it.” 

Hands slip under your armpits and without warning you find yourself hoisted onto Tooru’s lap. It’s whiplash, especially when he curls around you, those lithe arms caging you in, and presses a kiss to your burning cheek. “Iwa, brute that he is, is right. You’re not listening to us. This isn’t punishment. You can pretend to hate us, cry, yell, fight. You can try to shut us out if that’s what you feel you need, but this,” his chin juts out at the bonfire crackling merrily a few feet away, “this is love.” He shivers as he says it, voice like honey. “We did it for you, and I’d do so much more.”

Your head’s still spinning, reeling from being yanked from one extreme to another. Hot and cold. Spiteful to affectionate. You stare at the fire, but you don’t understand. 

“Yeah, like you didn’t enjoy the hell out of it,” Hajime snorts, which makes even less sense.

“…You mean the– the bonfire?”

Tooru laughs. His nose skims along the shell of your ear, earning him a shiver of your own. “Hm, almost.”

So you peer at the fire like it’s supposed to give you the answers you need. There’s nothing. It’s a fire, there’s nothing special about…

Oh.

You learn forward – as much as the cage of his embrace will allow, at any rate – squinting a little. Nestled beneath the stacked logs and kindling, there’s an oddly shaped lump, black and gnarled, with ridges and a scooped out hollow that kinda looks like–

Your blood runs cold. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” he croons. “You’ve been so sad all week, wondering where your friend up and disappeared to. Aren’t you glad to see him again?”

“No.” Whisper soft, the noise lost to the crackling of the fire. You shake your head, “This– you’re being cruel. Stop it, it’s not funny.” 

But the tears you’ve so valiantly held back are falling, your breath coming in short, panicky gasps. The skull in the fire doesn’t look fake, and if this is a prank, it’s gone beyond too far.

Your head grows light and all too heavy at the same time, “That isn’t– you didn’t– you… you– you wouldn’t–”

“No?” the voice at your ear questions, low and dangerous. “You think I wouldn’t stab the little fuck after you kissed him?”

“Stop it,” you tearfully beg, squeezing your eyes shut. The skull’s still there, burned into the back of your eyelids. 

No, no, no. Omori isn’t dead. 

Omori isn’t dead.

Your heart slams against your ribs, a violent chorus to the swell of sick dread and fear you’re desperately trying to tamp down. Omori isn’t dead!

“STOP IT!” 

They wouldn’t kill him. 

The crunch of footsteps sounds, and you don’t need your vision to know that Hajime’s now crouching in front of you. When rough fingers seize your jaw, holding you in place, and he leans in close, almost nose to nose, they fly open regardless. 

“You ever try that shit again, and next time we’ll drag you by the fucking hair and do it in front of you,” he promises, calm despite the fury that rages in his eyes. 

Caged between them, Hajime appraises you, taking in your hysteria, the tears dripping down your face, your bottom lip quivering – as though he’s committing the sight to memory. His eyes dart to Tooru’s for a brief second, the latter squeezing your side, before he speaks. “If you’d listened to us in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. Don’t make us into monsters, sweetheart.”

Your fault is what you hear. 

There’s a loud pop from the fire, and you lose it entirely. 

You explode. Elbows flying, kicking, clawing. A wild, terrified, desperate thing, and it takes them by surprise – enough to catch Tooru in the gut, loosening his grip. Enough to knock Hajime back onto his ass. A gap, however small, for you to scramble to your knees, violently kicking back when a hand snatches at your ankle, and flee through the woods in the dark, away from the furious shouts, the raging footsteps chasing after you. 

You run and your lungs burn, heaving for every breath. 

The light of the bonfire disappears behind you, plunging the forest into an inky black, and the shouts and yells turn into calls of your name, then coaxing pleas, almost sounding worried. Eventually, those grow distant too, and fade away altogether. 

You keep running, uncertain of where you’re going. No, blind to it entirely. All that matters is keeping out of their reach. You’ll run to the ends of the earth if you have to. 

And so you push until your legs scream for a reprieve, until you taste iron on your tongue and when your body can keep the pace no longer, you stumble through the underbrush, tripping over roots and branches instead, pausing every once in a while to lean against a tree and catch your breath. 

As your adrenaline fades and the sweat dampening your clothes cools, the cold night air bites like needles at your skin, you start to shiver, rubbing at your exposed arms in an effort to generate a little warmth. Bitterly, you remember that the jacket that you’d brought, the one Tooru had all but forced on you before you’d left, is back at the bonfire, slung over a nearby log. Useless to you now. 

But the shivers that wrack your body aren’t solely from the dropping temperature.

Every snapping branch, hoot of an owl, rustle of leaves sends a fresh wave of terror spiking through you. You think of Tooru’s cruel smirk and Hajime’s bruising grip, of Omori’s skull staring back at you from the fire, flesh melted to the bone, black and twisted, and a ragged, distraught sob brings you to your knees.

Hopelessly lost, cold, frightened and alone, you curl into the dirt and cry. 

—

Hikers find you at dawn. 

Emergency services are called – an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital to be poked and prodded, police to question why a fourteen year old girl was wandering the woods alone at night.

They treat you for dehydration and mild hypothermia, a few small cuts and scrapes, and when a soft spoken nurse pulls the curtain around your bed and gently asks if you’d like them to perform a rape kit, you blanch and shake your head. Eventually, they allow the detective into the room. In his late forties, bespectacled, a smattering of grey dusted throughout his close cropped black hair, he pulls up a chair beside the bed and patiently asks how you’re feeling.

If you were a better person, you’d tell him everything. The Furukawas’ abuse, your foster brothers’ increasingly overprotective behaviour, sneaking behind their back to see Omori and the fight that followed that nearly ripped you apart. 

The bonfire.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Omori deserves that much. His parents should know what happened to their son.

Your jacket lying forgotten by his bones. 

“Please don’t take me back there,” you mumble, tears shining in your eyes. 

Back to the woods, or the Furukawas. Back to the boys you’d loved who’d murdered for you.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter that that’s all they can get out of you. A traumatised teenager found miles from home without a single soul raising the alarm would be one thing. When that traumatised teenager’s a girl supposedly under the care of government approved guardians, it raises red flags not even they can ignore.

By lunch, they’ve arranged for you to be placed back in an all-girl orphanage until a more suitable, long term solution can be found.

—

Some nights you dream that you’re back there, in their bedroom at the Furukawas’. It’s dark and cozy, there’s an arm slung over your waist and you find yourself drifting off to the steady beat of the heart behind you, soft snores by your ear.

They’re nice dreams. You feel safe, loved. 

Tucked away in your subconscious, nothing exists but the sanctuary of them, and when you inevitably feel that tug of awareness coaxing you awake, you sink your fingers in and cling to it for dear life. 

Just another minute. Another few seconds. Please.

Right now, you’d give anything to wake up and have this be nothing more than a nightmare you can banish. 

But there’s no escaping this one. Your dad’s on the living room floor by the couch, hunkered over, pale and sweaty, pressing what was once a clean dish towel to the wound in his stomach. The coffee table’s been pushed to the side, Heisuke and your mom sat on the chairs Oikawa dragged into its place, ankles zip-tied to the legs, wrists bound, duct tape slapped across both of their mouths. Between the knife Oikawa idly toys with, still wet with blood, the handgun held loosely in Iwa’s palm and your dad slowly bleeding out on the floor, they’ve been compliant. 

Much like you have, although you’re neither bound nor gagged, sitting in the armchair Iwa ushered you to, arms looped around your knees with the man himself perched against the backrest.

The only one of you making any kind of noise at all is your dad, his voice a slurring mumble, words near intelligible. He’s begging, you can tell that much. Pleading through gritted teeth for them to let you go, not to hurt you, your mom, Hei. 

You desperately wanna tell him to save his breath, but you can’t even look at him – at any of them – without wanting to throw up.

“Do you still love us, imouto?”

Your eyes track Oikawa as he leans over the two chairs, the edge of his knife carelessly poised above Heisuke’s shoulder. From your periphery you see him flinch and stiffen, the sharp uptick of his breath smothered by duct tape, but you don’t dare shift your attention from the brunet smiling genially back at you.

Your heart squeezes, clenched by an invisible fist. Buried deep beneath the guilt and the paralysing dread, a slightly hysterical part of you almost wants to laugh. 

“Do you think I could ever stop?” 

Surprise flashes in his eyes and his grin widens. “You ran,” he accuses.

“You ran again this morning,” Iwa adds, sounding far less amused.

“I was scared.”

“Of us?” Iwa slides off the back of the couch, straightening up. In an instant, his hand’s wrapped around your throat, the broad pad of his thumb forcing your jaw upwards. “You think we’d ever fucking hurt you?” he growls, looking genuinely angry. 

Distantly you register the sound of Heisuke’s muffled indignation, another gasping wheeze from your dad, but all that fades to the background as Iwa’s mouth crashes against yours.

He doesn’t kiss you sweetly. It’s invasive, rough. His hand flexes around your throat, forcing a gasp to drive his tongue between your lips, and you can feel every ounce of possession, of pent up need and frustration as he drags it on despite the awkward angle. 

When he does break away, eyes darkened and simmering, he holds your gaze, ignoring the pointed throat clearing from the other side of the room. “Never,” he swears, waiting for you to nod before finally relaxing his grip. “Good girl.” To Oikawa, watching you both with a barely constrained hunger, he says, “Enough screwing around. Do it and let’s go.”

Oikawa huffs, rolling his eyes, “Fine. Should’ve known you’d get all impatient after you had a taste.”

“Like you’re not?”

There’s not enough air in the room, your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest, your pulse hammering through your veins. Oikawa stares at you, head tilted, the corner of his lip slowly curling up as you start to tremble, shaking your head, tears beading at your lashes, “I guess we could hurry it along.”

“No, please–” 

“Shh, sweet girl. It’s okay.” You try to stand up, but Iwa takes a hold of your shoulder and forces you back down. “Me and Iwa, we were gonna give you a choice. Let you pick. If you could kill one of them, we’d let the other two go.”

A strangled sob rips its way free, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. We’re not gonna make you do that,” he comforts, side-stepping your now thrashing brother to make his way over towards you. “Cause the thing is, they kept you from us. Lied to you. Manipulated you. Whether they meant to or not, they hurt you. I don’t think they deserve that kind of mercy, do you?”

“No, no, no, please! Please don’t, please don’t hurt them–”

Abandoning his knife, he drops to a crouch in front of you, “We’re gonna make it right, and then we’ll go home, okay? We’ll take care of it.”

“Please, Tooru! I’ll do anything!”

There’s a kiss pressed to the crown of your head, the cushion behind your back being tugged free. “You don’t need to do anything,” Iwa says, the cold cocking of his gun echoing like a death knell.

 “We love you. This one’s on us.”

[polarisjisung]

MOTORBIKES & MELATONIN

synopsis: sleep doesn't find you in the comfort of your own home or under the covers tucked safely into your bed— sleep finds you in the warmth of park jisung's arms

wc: 1.1k

pairings: jisung × fem!reader, established relationship

genre: fluff

warnings: insomnia + mentions of using sleeping pills/supplement use of the word drug (literally once), speeding (follow the speed limit 🙏)

notes: emosung brainrot is in full swing (though there's not a lot of emosung mentioned) mostly self indulgent so probably not my best work since I was all up in my head but 🤷‍♀️

you're laying on your bed, aimlessly bouncing the soft tennis ball in your hand against the empty space of the wall just above your headboard. sleep never came easy to you and tonight is no different.

you'd tried it all, counting sheep, drinking warm milk, even meditation but nothing ever worked. instead you spent nights tossing and turning restlessly despite being tucked into the warm covers of your bed, chasing sleep.

just as you reach for the purple bottle that lays next to your bed, ready to pour half the jar of supplements into your hand and gulp them down with a glass of water, you hear it.

your perfect form of melatonin and serotonin mixed in one— your drug, your purpose.

the rumble is distinct. it comes with the soft vibration beneath your feet and the deep reverberation in your ears. the roaring of the v twin engine has you shooting up into a seated position as realisation washes over you

there's a dim red glow cast across your room by the break lights as you grab the loose fit leather jacket that rests over the back of your study chair. the woody oriental cologne still lingers through its material as you place it over your shoulders and run out of the front door.

there he is, helmet gripped loosely in his left hand, his right arm open and ready to welcome you into his embrace.

jisung's black hair flows in the wind, his forehead on show— paired with the soft smile he flashes you, you can't help but think he looks perfect.

"didn't even give me a chance to sneak into your room" he sulks taking you in between his arms, giving you a quick spin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead

"can't blame a girl for wanting to see her boyfriend" you sigh, taking in his warmth with a smile

"yeah?" he pulls back to get a better view of your face, "miss me that much angel?"

"you know it sung"

his laugh is deep yet gentle, eyes sparkling at the sight of you

"well I'm here now"

jisung takes a quick step around you, his touch feather light as he gathers your open hair into a low ponytail, reaching for the hair tie on his wrist to tie it back

"too tight?" he says, voice full of worry and concern— when you shake your head he smiles, placing his helmet over your head

you wonder how people could ever think jisung was anything but the sweet, kind and warm hearted lover you knew, who wouldn't dare let you move an inch to do something he could do for you, like how he gently takes ahold of you in his arms and places you onto the seat of his bike, eventually taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist

"hold on tight" he whispers in that caring tone of his, that's reserved solely for you, ready to whisk you away for the night and you do just that, gripping his waist securely, but not before lifting his visor and pressing a quick kiss to his temple

jisung drives off, wordlessly but with a smile that speaks volumes

there's a warmth that radiates from jisung's body, the only thing keeping you from freezing as the wind rushes past you, blowing with harsh whistles, tyres screeching against the ground as he takes sharp turns through the streets leading towards the countryside

you'd snuck out before, driven way too far over the speed limit, done countless things that would define your reckless youth and yet nothing had your veins coursing with quite so much adrenaline as this, driving way too far, way too fast, with jisung, the person you loved way too much

like always, you find yourself in jisung's lap, god forbid he let you sit on the grass, wet from the fresh morning dew that rests over it, warm hues of orange and light pinks taking over the sky as you hold one another close, the wind still blowing strong gusts your way, your hair blowing in your face until jisung decides to take it between his fingers and hold it back in his palm

"I like this" you whisper, just loud enough that jisung hears it, his lip rising just enough for his teeth to come on show

"I like you" he responds, watching the warm glow of the sun reaching over the horizon through your eyes

"you do?" you smile, wider than you previously had been, it's a smile that reaches your eyes and jisung's unwavering gaze grows brighter at the realisation

"you're my girl, of course I do"

this time it's his turn to press a quick kiss to your forehead, but jisung's greedy, especially so when it comes to you and he can't help but want more, honey brown eyes resting on your lips

"give me a kiss and I think I'll love you forever" you can't help but giggle at the tickling feeling of jisung's hair against your neck as he pouts up at you

"yeah? didn't know my boyfriend needed kisses to do that" you tease with a roll of your eyes

"didn't know your what?" he asks, and you know exactly what jisung's doing, so you whisper the answer with nothing more than a shy smile straight into his ear

"my boyfriend"

"present" jisungs hand is raised and his voice is confident when he looks at you again, it's like he's begging you to tug at his shirt and crash your lips against his, and who were you to say no to him

"you're so cute" you let out between kisses, the bridge of your nose resting against jisung's, who now wears a look of faux offence

"yeah?" he asks, hoping you'll change your mind, though you don't let up, reaching out to ruffle his black hair "only for you"

somewhere between the late hours of the night and the early hours of dawn, between the quietus of your bedroom and the roar of his engine, between gazing up at the stars and watching the sunrise by the harbour— jisung hears your soft snores replace the quiet whispers of awe you once breathed out.

despite it all, jisung's smile remains all the same, radiant, warm and masked by the matte black helmet resting atop his head

[k-hotchoisan]

Seven minutes in Heaven, but make it San (san x fem!reader)

He knows he fucked up so instead of seven minutes of heaven, you give him seven minutes of hell.

//different au from mingi’s 🌹//

Genre/warnings: smut, pwp, sub! Choi san x dom! Reader, orgasm denial, edging, choking, unprotected sex, blowjobs, handjobs; maybe I need a job, so much cum 🩷

Word count: 2.4K

A/n: holy fuck this was filthy. Some Angel wanted a San version of seven minutes in heaven so here you go, pretty. Enjoy the filth 🩷

San knew he fucked up. The moment his friends peer pressured him into choosing between two girls during truth or dare, he knew he was fucked. He hastily chose one of the girl’s name within the circle, and she blushed. She fucking blushed. Well, in his defence, it was a truth question, and that no one knew about you and San’s relationship, at least not yet, because he told you he was going to announce it during the gathering.

But now in this circle of sins he was in, kinda gave him not much of a choice, and before he realised it, her name just slips out of his mouth, and your mood immediately darkens. You very well knew the kind of friends he has when they play drinking games, and they definitely loved the thrill of burning bridges and matching couples, sometimes a little too much. The once bubbly and innocent persona of you dims when the possessiveness starts seeping in. You smile, of course you do, but it was nothing angelic nor innocent about the smile, it was dripping with pure poison. Your eyes lock onto San and he’s definitely struggling to meet your gaze, his neck and face flushed from the alcohol and his mistake.

San takes the bottle and spins it, the bottle landing on said girl he picked. You lean back, your smile still plastered as you stare daggers into him. She giggles as she chooses dare and of course, they dare her and San make out. San’s eyes widen in fear, as his eyes dart to yours, and your expression stays the same—an eyebrow raise and a pissed smile. It’s like a warning—almost a dare for him fucking try.

The girl only laughs and declines, stating that she has a slight flu, and she opts for a hug instead. Well, not any better but lesser of the two evils at least. She embraces San into a hug and the room erupts into cheers and laughter.

Everyone but you.

You swear to the heavens that you were not a jealous person, just a tad bit possessive. Jealousy and possessiveness were two totally different concepts. And possessiveness mattered in the nature of your relationship.

When the group finally calms down, she spins the bottle, landing right at you. You feign surprise, almost honoured that the bottle chose you next. You don’t hesitate to say “Dare”, with a pretty smile on your face.

“Confident aren’t you?” Mingi teases, nudging your arm. You shrug with a smile, wondering what shit your friends were gonna throw to you.

“Seven minutes in heaven”, Yeosang exclaims. “With a guy of your choice.” You raise your eyebrows. A fucking god given chance.

San feels himself getting more nervous as he starts to wonder if you would pull a random guy in just to get back at him. He knows he done fucked up, but you’d never do that, right?

“Choi San”, you pick, after pretending to take your time think, your gaze never leaving his. San’s heartbeat quickens because he doesn’t expect it. He’s relieved that you chose him but oh god, you sure do look pissed.

Your arm snakes around his as you stare down at the girl, with a look of confusion plastered on her face as you smile and say, “sorry babe, I’m borrowing him for a bit.”

The moment the doors close behind the both of you, San is immediately pushed onto the bed by you. His eyes are wide with fear, and something else—exhilaration. He’s wondering what you’re gonna do to him and that makes his cock harden so fucking quick, and your gaze never leaving his as you strip right in front of him just adding on to the arousal.

He’s splayed onto the bed, slightly panting as he continues to stare at you removing every piece of clothing cleanly before walking over to pull off his cargo pants, his boxers already starting to soak from the precum. You straddle him once his pants are on the floor.

“Baby I-“ and his sentence gets cut short when your fingers grab his jaw to pull him close for an aggressive kiss, one that makes San’s head float and his cock even harder. He’s totally melting under your touch and dominance.

He whines as you pull back, your hand still clenching his jaw. He’s breathless, so blown away by the quick make out session.

“So, you picked her?” You pout, your fingers now trailing down his neck, feeling each beautiful bump of his veins and arteries. Your touch is so light that it makes San feel sensitive as he shivers.

“I don’t! I promise babe, it was nothing serious. You know how my friends are when we drink-fuck. Besides, they don’t know we’re together”, he runs his mouth, and you remove his top before palming his erection, causing him to groan.

“Really now? The hug must have felt great right? Someone else’s tits just pressing onto yours, it probably felt fucking amazing for a slut like you”, you hum tracing down his chiseled body, so tempted to fucking squeeze his tits. Your eyes flutter back to his as he continues to deny that, despite the way you said it only causing him to harden even more.

“N-no. It’s not like t-that”, he barely manages as you press the fabric of his underwear onto his leaking tip, and rub, watching San lose his grip on reality.

“Sannie”, you call out as your hand caresses his cheek with utmost poison, as San looks back at you with a glazed look. “Good boys don’t lie.”

San knows he’s not allowed to touch you, unless you allow him to, and he feels his heart hammering in his ears, dizzy from trying to figure out what you’re trying to get at.

“I’m not lying, I promise babe”, he says, genuinely. You know he would never lie, but he still had to be punished. You reach out to grab San’s phone which was lying on the bed after you pushed him down, and set seven minutes on the timer before throwing his phone haphazardly on the bed, right beside him.

You sigh as your attention goes back to him, letting your fingers trail along his broad chest, stopping at his nipples. You lick both your thumbs before flicking his nipples, and that elicits a cry from San as his hips buck into you.

“Seven minutes isn’t long actually. I think it’s a pretty generous amount of time for you”, you say, rubbing and pulling his nipples, watching San squirm beneath you, the wet stain his underwear only growing bigger.

“Generous amount of time for me?” He repeats through hazed eyes.

“Yeah. A generous amount of time to hold you from cumming”, you reply nonchalantly. “I’m not letting you cum until the timer rings, darling.”

That sends shivers down San’s spine and he whines, both fear and arousal intertwining. He’s oh, so fucked, and he could only reply, “yes.”

A smile spreads across your face as you immediately got to work—pulling off his boxers as his cock springs out, so big and hard. You wet your hand with your spit as you start pumping him, more beautiful moans escape from his lips as his hips begin to automatically fuck your hand. As you continue to drive him up the wall, you lean into his neck, and suck against his soft skin, and that releases even more whimpers as you mark a couple of deep red bites and hickeys around his neck.

“I can’t believe I have to mark you like this to remind you who you belong to”, you sigh again, flicking your wrist up, earning a soft cry from him as more precum seeps out of his cockhead. He murmurs “sorry, baby, I’m sorry”, as you continue to pump his cock, with short intervals of teasing his nipples.

His cock twitches in your palm and that’s your signal to let go, watching San groan as he’s first orgasm get denied, his hands gripping the sheets.

“We’re only getting started”, you remind him as you sink yourself to face his cock. San’s breathing hitches.

It was definitely going to be the longest seven minutes of his life.

Your lips wrapped around his cock as you bob your head, making sure your tongue feels up the under area of his cock—where he’s the most sensitive. You take his whole length in your mouth, feeling him at the back of your throat as you clench on him and a loud broken whimper is heard from him.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he cries out, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes as his cock twitches in pain when you leave him dry and empty for the second round.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” You ask, letting his cock leave your lips with a pop, his precum dripping off from the corner of your lips as you pepper kisses to his pretty little cock. Through his ragged pants, he barely makes out, “I shouldn’t have let her touch me at all. I’ve been bad.”

You don’t reply him, only going back to sucking his soul of his cock as his hips rise to fit himself as much as he could in your mouth. He feels his stomach tighten again, and you see the flex his abdomen does when he’s going to cum, and he’s crying, “fuck fuck fuck, I’m so close, I’m cumming-“

And your lips leave his cock.

“Fuckkkkkk”, San whines, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the sheets.

You ignore his pleas, your eyes glance over to the timer—four minutes left. You look back him with the softest gaze, as you comb your boyfriend’s hair back. “I’m gonna fuck you”, you tell him and it sounds like a threat, and also it goes directly to his cock. He’s so fucked. He knows he can’t last in you for long, let alone for another X amount of minutes left.

San can only watch, wide-eye and hopeless as you shift up to straddle him once more, only rubbing your wet cunt against his very wet cock. He throws his head back against the sheets, his chest heaving as you grind up on him.

Being denied of three orgasms, the fourth one builds up rapidly as he attempts to push his hips up to rut against you, his cock leaking thick, white precum already. “Please. I don’t think I can take it”, he whimpers, this time his tears streak down his face as his cock twitches pathetically against his abdomen, thick fluid dripping down his cockhead, mixing with your juices. And you immediately slow down, another beautiful cry from the male underneath you as his orgasm slips away from him.

You almost feel bad, almost. But seven minutes still wasn’t up. But you do let him touch you this time, and immediately, his hands are all over you, grasping at every inch of skin he brushes against. He claws against your thighs, leaving pretty marks in his wake. You wipe his tears away and press a loving kiss on his lips as you position his cockhead right at your fluttering hole, as you sink in so fucking easily.

“Oh my fucking god, fuck”, San cries out, his cock just twitching in your pussy. A sigh leaves your lips, feeling so full as San’s cock hits all the right spots perfectly. San’s eyes meet yours, as you stroke his hair affectionately.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” You ask, rocking your hips painfully slow. San can’t answer, he’s so fucked out and he wants to cum so fucking badly. Your hands wrap around his neck, as you force him to look at you. He nods desperately, just wanting a release after being denied four whole orgasms.

“Please, let me cum, please, I’m begging you”, he strains, and you feel his thighs trembling from beneath you. Your gaze flicker to the timer, and you smile at him.

“Lucky you, baby. There’s only a minute left.”

San is frantic and borderline crazed right now, trying to hold it off for the final minute, and his soul almost leaves his body as you fucking begin bouncing on his cock, the sounds of your moans mixed with the squelching from his cock fucking into your cunt sending him off the edge.

“Thirty seconds, baby”, you remind him as you feel the knot in your stomach from how fucking filled San’s cock is in you. Fuck, you were so gonna cum too at this rate. You don’t tell him about the final ten, because you simply speed up, leaning forward to bounce on his dick better, the sounds of skin slapping now louder than ever.

“Babe, fuck, I’m gonna cum, can I cum, please?” San stares at you pleadingly, eyes wet with desperation. You don’t answer him, only grabbing his jaw in your hands as you fuck him even harder. “When the alarm rings”, is all you reply. “Be a good boy.”

And the alarm goes off, so does Choi San. His eyes are barely open as his lips are parted in absolute bliss as a long, drawn out whine of pleasure and relief washes over him as his cock shoots ropes and ropes of thick, white cum right into your tight hole. At that moment your orgasm hits you, seeing your boyfriend so fucked out and pretty like that, as you lean back and squirt all over him, tapping and rubbing your pussy, making sure it gets all over his pretty fucking face as San continues to cum into your pussy. The overstimulation of your cunt clenching on his cock only milks out even more cum, a thick load just oozing right out of your cunt as his cock is softening in you.

He pulls out and winces, the sensitivity tingling through this body. He sits up, and you take a good look at him, and oh fucking boy, he looks so fucking good, covered in sweat, panting, his hair combed back, his nipples looking swollen, hickies littered all over his neck, cum and squirt just all over him. “Fuck, you look so fucking hot like that”, is the first thing that leaves San’s mouth, causing you to break into laughter as you lean in for another greedy kiss which he never denies you.

You reach out for tissue on the nightstand, to at least clean the cum running down your thighs, which San, for his life could not keep his eyes off. San cleans himself up as you pull up your panties and wear your clothes back on. You turn to San, who is about to put his top back on, and stop him. San is confused for a moment as he stays put, feeling your fingers tips trace over the love bites on his neck.

No not enough. You squeeze his tits, a small gasp leaving his lips which turns into a moan when you suck near his nipple—another gorgeous hickey blooms. Two more bloom on his chest and you were done. Your hands graze his nipples, causing him to whimper. “I think this is a good way to let them know of our relationship”, you hum, admiring your artwork. “We can leave like this.”

Pink creeps up to his neck and cheeks. You stare at him and a pout appears. “What, you want to let her know you want her?” San shakes his head quickly. “N-no! I only belong to you”, he says through flushed cheeks.

“That’s my good boy”, you smile as you stroke his hair as San completely melts around you. You take his hand gently and kiss it before opening the door.

Everyone turns their attention to the both of you, and boy, did their jaws hang open.

“Bro, what the fuck did you guys do in there?” Mingi asks, staring at the disheveled state the both of you were in, and his eyes land on San’s body, which is so prettily decorated.

“Yeah, we wanted to announce that we’ve been dating for awhile now, but seems like he got a little carried away with spin the bottle”, you respond, drawing circles in San’s palm.

All of their eyes follow the both of you as you and San return to your seats. Your eyes meet the girl’s and you giggle.

“Sorry it took awhile, I brought him back.”

The girl who he hugged isn’t fazed, she only laughs in response, saying, “oh my god, fuck off. Jesus Christ the both of you.” You only laugh back as your eyes meet San’s and his gaze reflects something so affectionate and delicate.

Yeah, that was probably one of the best seven minutes of his life.

[smoothlikealikeasnake]

Strawberry Princess - Chapter Four “Matted Tails and Soft Lips”

Pairing - Ot7 BTS x Reader

Genre - Hybrid!Au , Hybrid BTS x Hybrid Reader, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slow burn? , alternative reality , strangers to lovers , strangers to friends, friends to lovers

Warnings - so much fluff, teasing, suggestive, so much tension, slightly sexual, anxious thoughts, lmk if there’s anything else!

Summary - When a certain hybrid starts to appear whenever Jungkook is at the gym, an immediate pull is felt between the two and their eventual friendship soon is spread to the rest of his pack.

Previous Next Overview

Since the first meeting, things had gone back to the normal schedule of Jungkook and Y/n’s daily meeting at the gym with some additional outside meet-ups where different members of Jk’s pack had attended too. Y/n had met up with every single member of his pack atleast twice since and everyone had grown more comfortable. They had all since experienced Y/n’s more playful side, far from her shy and meek side. Like when Jimin thought it’d be funny to jokingly dangle a rattling toy infront of her back and forth and instead of going for the toy, he found himself being the target, ending up with Y/n very happily ontop of him before taking the toy and walking off as if it was nothing, leaving him in a state of shock on the living room floor. Or when Jin asked for her opinion on some strawberry cream he’d made to go with dessert and instead of just placing it in her mouth, he purposely smudged it on her nose so she took her spoon and wiped a large chunk onto his own cheek before spinning on her heel and running off giggling, finding Hoseok who wiped off her nose and hid her telling Jin she wasn’t in the room despite the sweet strawberries all around. It had all gone well but they had yet to all meet up at the same time.

That’s why Namjoon took it upon himself to organise for all of them to go out for dinner at the packs favohrite restaurant where they could also have a few drinks if they fancied it. That’s how Jungkook added the entire pack and Y/n to a groupchat where they invited her to dinner the following Friday. She happily agreed and carried on with her regular days but grew increasingly more worried about where they were going, what she would wear, the impression she had to make, the possibilities of things to consider kept piling and left her spiralling.

That’s how it came to the Tuesday morning, the week of the dinner, Jungkook was at the gym as usual and he had a special present in the car from one very particular fashion designer to give to Y/n. He had already finished his warm up when he spotted Y/n making her way over, water bottle in hand and smile lighting up the room. Jungkook immediately noticed her scent was slightly sweeter than usual and was surprised as the first thing she did when she got over was wrap him in a tight hug, not even able to return it as she trapped him in before greeting him and smiling up again.

“How’s my Y/nie been?” - Jungkook beamed as she let go and handed him the bottle

“You only saw me yesterday Kook and we’ve been texting you know I’ve been good” - her words however contradicted the her plump bottom lip, swollen and red from her biting it mostly likely from anxiety, she started to nibble at it again after she finished talking and Jungkook quickly realised she must be getting overstimulated by something or multiple things so he made a quick decision to change the setting to something new for her to focus on.

“You know I really feel like going to the pool, you want to come?” Jungkook asked as he looked down at the curious kitty who didn’t even know the gym had a pool, it made sense because it was on the lowest floor and not many people knew about it so it was always empty. Before she could answer she watched and felt as Jungkook rested her hand under her chin to tilt it up and used him thumb to pull her plump lip from between her teeth leaving her slightly mouth slightly agape from shock and the flustered feeling that flooded her body. She didn’t trust her words to be coherent so all she did was nod and grab onto Jungkooks inked arm, tight enough to show she wasn’t letting go until they left and he just smiled at her antics, hoping to soothe her.

“Let’s just grab my bag then yeah? Are you okay to come now?” - He looked up across the room to find Y/n’s friend was nowhere in sight, he didn’t dwell long as a sound of approval fell from y/n’s lips and she leant in further so he hurried his movements before guiding them out of the door.

‘Did she just come for me?’ He couldn’t help but wonder.

———————————————————————————

The journey to the indoor pool was short but Y/n didn’t let go of Jungkooks arm once and he had no complaints when he pushed open the glass door and felt the warm air hit him as he took in the beautiful room. The room was dimly lit with LEDs in the wall, brick and stone designs around with beautiful decoration all over, the room was truly a treasure to those who knew about it.

Jungkook led Y/n towards two lounge beds where he placed his bag on one and gently pushed on Y/n’s shoulders to sit her on the other which snapped her out of the trance she had dropped into as she looked around in awe.

“This is beautiful, do you come here a lot?” - Y/n asked, mouth slightly agape as she looked around

“Not as often as I’d like, I forget about it existing a lot to be honest” - Jungkook

“Are you getting in?” - He continued as he looked at her curiously

She grew shy at that, the idea of being in a bikini infront of him making her flush

“I don’t have a bikini with me so I won’t” - she was glad that’s all she really had to say as Jungkook had began pulling off his shirt and revealing his chiselled torso, huge biceps and the full extend of his arm tattoos which she followed down his chest to his waist before they disappeared beneath the band of his shorts, she admired the abs that lead into his defined v-line and faint trail of hair before she couldn’t help but wonder as she looked-

“That’s too bad, next time being one, it’ll be fun” - Jungkooks words had her snapping her eyes to his face, mouth agape for a different reason to before this time, his words definitely weren’t helping her case as she was flustered, incredibly attracted to him and struggling to comprehend everything set out infront of her. Even if he meant his words innocently, she couldn’t stop herself from dwelling on the then, what would he think if he saw her in a bikini? Would he like- she had to stop herself there as he lightly chuckled before walking away and getting into the pool.

He looked straight out of a movie in that moment and Y/n couldn’t tear her eyes away as he got in fully before he turned back towards her

“It’s warm, come sit on the edge” he smiled up happily at her as she obeyed with a smile and took off her long socks and shoes, shyly moving towards the edge and dipping in the bottom half of her legs as she sat down.

Jungkook seemed to enjoy his time as she moved around quickly and got his hair soaked in seconds before going under the water and swimming up to her, jumping up and splashing her making her scold him as she giggled.

“Jungkook don’t do that your getting me all wet” - she giggled holding her hands up in protest turning her head away, his only response was to use her legs as the edge of the pool as he held onto them and shook his hair, water flying all over her making her protest even louder before turning towards him and pushing her hand through the water to splash him as much as possible in her position. He stood shocked for a second before taking his own action

“You really want to play that game kitty?” - he only smirked before splashing her twice as much with ease making her squeak and try to shake it off in her spot as she wiggled before doing it back, this continued as Y/n spun in her seated position around many times and only ended up soaking her entire body, tail droopy and heavy with water and definitely matted but she didn’t notice in that moment, full of laughter and happy with Jungkooks warm hand on her thigh even if he was splashing her.

She thought he’d finally calmed down as he got closer and held onto her legs but felt herself be hoisted into the air and screamed as Jungkook lifted her over his head, over the pool and spun around on the spot as she screamed with laughter and kicked her legs wildly, holding onto him as tightly as possible, so much her claws punctured him slightly but neither of them noticed.

“Jeon Jungkook let me down!” She shouted only to scream as he jokingly put her closer to the pool surface as if he’d put her down in that instead

“Put you down here?” - he laughed as he did it over and over, lifting her up and down and jostling her around above the pool before finally giving in and putting her to safety on the side, where she began.

“I’m going to get you back for that Jeon” - Y/n was still giggling as she threatens but unknowingly started to shiver as she sat in the wet spot. Jungkook noticed and moved to pull himself out next to her and once again momentarily distracted her as the scene seemed to play in slo mo for her. It didn’t help when her eyes followed as the once loose shorts now stuck tightly to the rest of his figure, deliciously built thighs and a surprisingly plump ass and once again her eyes travelled to his front just below that devilish vline that had somehow ended up right infront of her face- her eyes snapped up as a towel was offered infront of her face and a hand to pull her up, she took Jungkooks hand that almost made her fly inti the air and slip if it hadn’t of been for the steadying wrap around her waist once she was set down. He placed the soft towel around her before using his own to dry himself off as best as possible. He quickly realised the two would be soaked in the car still and he had yet to give Y/n her present.

“Put this on Y/nie, I’ll drive you home, there’s a present for you in the car” - Jungkook handed her his shirt from earlier before as he got his own out of his gym bag, he thought she might like the one that smelled stronger of his scent and she definitely did, taking a big sniff of it once it was in her hands before thanking him. He turned around to give her some privacy to change, it wasn’t ideal as her skirt would still be wet but the shirt would cover it and make it more comfortable, she could even take off her skirt and no one would know the shirt would be that big on her. When she signalled that it was fine to turn around it seemed that’s exactly what she did as she drowned in the black shirt he gave her , it only slightly tightened around her chest before flowing out and falling just above her knees, in her hands was a neatly folded top and skirt, still very wet but he took it from her hands and placed it into a seperate bag before putting it away to take back with them.

“Ready?” - Jungkook asked as he picked up his bag and tried to ignore the amazing feeling that flooded him as he admired her in his shirt, it’s all he ever wanted to see her in again, covered in his scent so everyone would know that she was only his- but she wasn’t… yet? And she wouldn’t be only his, he’d be his mates’ too, they’d be each others, it sounded so good he almost felt like the smallest touch of her hand on his was going to set him into a scenting spree as he eyed her neck longingly, pupils dilating.

“Go on Kookie” - Y/n could tell exactly what he needed and she too felt like she needed it as she was sent into a haze from being surrounded by his scent, she tilted her neck to expose her scent gland and let him bend down to muzzle onto the sensitive spot, holding back a gasp from the sensation, Y/n had to squeeze her eyes and mouth shut to resist letting out any other noises besides the purring erupting from her chest and Jungkook moved a hand behind her neck to pull her in closer and nuzzle harder. He desperately wanted too use his mouth to scent her further but resisted and settled for nuzzling the now slightly pink spot.

Jungkook pulled back and caught a glimpse of Y/n’s face, feeling his body heat up at her feeling just as good as he did but he pushed that thought aside to slip his hand into hers and guide them towards the car , placing another towel on the seats for the journey back and settling in before they set on their way back go Y/n’s house.

Their now usual routine fell in place as they got into the car, a minute or two of conversation as they pull out before Y/n fell asleep. Their journey not too long before Jungkook was pulling up to her apartment complex. He woke her up as usual with a press to her slightly swollen scent gland and prepared to get out her gifts while she was waking up.

The two walked up while Y/n was still sleepy, only half awake as they made their way up until they got to her door, that’s when her own senses started to sharpen again, feeling the cool air in the hallway and the uncomfortable feeling all over, her damp, matted tail swiping across her back before she looked at the waiting bunny infront of her and noticed he too was practically soaked. She quickly spun around to fumble with the keys and get them in the door as fast as possible to let them in before turning back around when it was finally open.

“Come in?” - She asked, almost shyly but was reassured when Jungkook beamed at her, boxes in hand and nodding as he stepped forward to accept her invite. They both walked in and Y/n closed the door behind them as Jungkook stood almost stunned, Y/n’s scent so strong it had him lightheaded and revelling in the way it was going to stick to him. He just looked around the interior that entirely suited Y/n, it was a smaller apartment but perfect for Y/n and had a fresh white modern base all around that was decorated with pastels everywhere. It was the kind of cozy that was neat but definitely comfortable in every space, blankets and pillows of all kinds over her sofa, soft rug infront of it and lots of small trinkets in various places.

Y/n loved her apartment, it was cozy and so her but airy and quiet enough in all ways to keep her from being overwhelmed. She waited patiently as Jungkook observed with a smile before leading them over to the couch, letting Jungkook place down the boxes on her table before she realised they couldn’t sit down, they were both still wet somewhere, Y/n was soaking through the shirt Jungkook gave her in all directions, tail, hair, soaked bra and panties underneath. Jungkook was slightly dryer, his hair no longer dripping but clearly wet.

“thank you for driving me home and bringing them in and your shirt” - Y/n fiddled with the bottom of the shirt she wore as she thought about what to do. She opted to bring Jungkook a towel for his hair and realised she should probably change herself. She let him know before grabbing everything she needed, changing into some pajamas because they were comfy and quickly detangling her hair which was surprisingly easy. She came back in with her hair brush and a towel for Jungkook because she wasn’t sure what he’d need. She found him looking closely at all of her little trinkets around the room and he looked handsomely cute as his puff tail twitched and juxtaposed his built figure.

“Here Jungkook, for your hair” - Y/n handed him the towel before turning round to walk to the couch.

“Oh Y/nie your tail, it’s all matted” - The kitty hadn’t even realised her long haired tail was still soaked and matting; it had her panicking, quickly grabbing for it and feeling her ears fall straight back, smile turning into a frown as her scent soured. It always seemed to overwhelm her and make her increasingly uncomfortable and sad when her tail wasn’t dry and soft, she’d dry it before she’d blow dry her hair after every shower. Jungkook immediately noticed her discomfort and picked up the brush on the side before rushing over, Y/n in distress was making him feel strangely protective and he desperately wanted to make it better. There was one thing that came to mind that he knew might overstep boundaries if she wasn’t sure too but it could take a lot of weight off Y/n’s shoulders so he took his chances.

“It’s okay Y/n, would you like me to help? Jiminie-hyung always asks one of us to brush his tail after his showers and even blow dry it.” Jungkook stepped gently as he didn’t want to further distress the girl but when he saw the acceptance in her eyes and the silent nod as she looked up at him he started to think about his next move.

“Do you have any detangler kitty?” - Jungkook didn’t want to pull too much because her tail was even thicker and longer than Jimin and his could easily be painful.

“It’s in my bedroom, I can go get it” - Y/n replied, still trying to brush her fingers through the matted tail.

“That’s okay I can go get it, if you want?” - Jungkook wanted to do everything he could to stop this feeling she had so when she looked up and nodded silently, he followed her scent to where it was strongest and found her bedroom, decorated exactly how he would imagine, pink and white all around, cozy and comfortable, art across the walls and in the midst of his search he found what he came for, detangler. He quickly made his way back before sitting next to her.

“How do you want to sit Y/n?” - Jungkook

“How does Jimin usually sit?” - Jungkook blushed at the thought of having her the same but told her, having no problem with it if she wanted to

“Jiminie lays across my lap, he says it’s the most comfortable way to do it” - To that, Y/n moved and let herself fall across his lap, head on a pillow and the top of her thighs to mid stomach on Jungkooks thighs, she didn’t even think much of it but Jungkook was stunned at the quick movement and frozen for a second with his hands hovering not knowing his next move before Y/n handed him back the brush, signalling him to start.

Still flustered by the position ,as Y/n’s bare thighs and full ass barely covered by her little shorts are right ontop of him, Jungkook gently grabs Y/n’s tail, noticing the way she jumped but not stopping as he sprayed some detangler on the brush she gave him and started from the tip of her long tail, gently brushing out all the knots.

Y/n’s body visibly relaxed as she melted in her position, purring loudly and smiling bashfully with her eyes closed, hands kneading the pillow she rested her head on. It was only when Jungkook would hit a small knot that she’d tense slightly and he’d apologise quietly, he moved across her entire top half of her tail before getting a bit shy and regularly checking on Y/n’s face as he moved a bit further down.

The close you got to the base of a hybrids tail the more sensitive it becomes, sparks will shoot through the hybrids body from any contact on their tail but it is significantly increased as they get closer to the base. When you reach the base it causes the hybrid to become naturally aroused which is why it’s so intimate touching any hybrids tail, that’s what made Jungkook so careful and nervous when brushing Y/n’s.

When he reached the lower half, Y/n’s purring immediately tripled in volume, her face nuzzling into the pillow but she seemed relaxed so Jungkook kept as calm as he could. That was until he nearly reached her tail, a gasp fell from Y/n’s lips at the contact and her hips rose involuntarily before falling back down on his legs, her sweet scent nearly suffocating Jungkook as a wave hit him. It was almost as if Jungkook forgot one very important detail, there was an incredibly strong scent gland near the base of every hybrids tail, it started in different places for different hybrids but he was clearly holding the start of Y/n’s.

Jungkook swiftly let go before apologising and asking if she wanted him to continue, she had her blushing face buried in the pillow and let out a high pitched sound of approval.

Y/n was laying there telling herself to calm down, he’s just being nice don’t think like that. Trying to stop the noises trying to pass through her lips, she only let out loud purrs. His hands were so gentle and looked so different compared to her strawberry blonde tail everytime she looked back, it was ridiculously attractive to her and wasn’t exactly helping that he was touching and unintentionally pulling at one of the most sensitive parts of her body with every pass of the brush. She was so deeply attracted to the sight of him caring for her in that way that her focus was taken away from keeping herself calm.

Jungkook was still gently brushing when he moved with hands lower down, brushing the base and as he gently gripped her tail there to carry on when he stopped dead in his tracks, stunned as loud purrs turned into something a lot more intense. In her fascination, Y/n stopped holding back all the noises from before and the second he grabbed her tail there and brushed the base, her mouth dropped open in a high whine with her eyes scrunched closed, nothing muffling the noise as her face was turned out of the pillow to watch Jungkooks hands. Her body wasn’t sent up in sparks and moved involuntarily, thighs tense and hips lifting up, pushing Jungkooks hand straight onto the base of her tail where it connected to her lower back. Y/n’s eyes shot open at that as a clear moan left her lips, hands gripping the pillow under her head tightly as she couldn’t stop her wide stare at him as it happened.

Jungkook knew better than to move in that moment, he didn’t want her to feel panicked,embarrassed or upset. He pushed aside his own body’s reaction as blood flushed to specific regions at the noises coming from Y/n and grounded himself, giving her a soft smile that she didn’t return over her shoulder, eyes still wide. Jungkook just moved the hand holding the brush to let go, other hand still on her tail as he slowly pressed circles into Y/n’s lower back, hoping to both ground and relax her. It seemed to work as the panic in her eyes slowly eased into that droopy state Jimin would get in whenever the base of his tail was touched.

Her head dropped to the pillow again, eyes softening and the rest of her body relaxing into Jungkook. In return, he kept pressing circles into her lower back, hand kept still on her tail until she could tell him what she wanted to do, he tried to ignore the slight shake of her thighs as they were pressed tightly together ontop of his lap but couldn’t help the slight glance he took. He regretted it as soon as he noticed how soft her thighs looked, the plush of them spreading across the entire expanse of his lap even when they were tightly held together. They looked like perfect pillows, hand rests, headrests and so much more but he quickly looked away before letting his thoughts progress.

“Y/n? Do you want me to keep going, there’s just this little bit here left” - Jungkook spoke gently to her as she looked at him and nodded in agreement, he was surprised at that, sure that she’d want to do it on her own but it seemed his hold on her tail had shielded her from feeling anything negative and he was glad about that. Ensuring he was as gentle as possible, Jungkook rested her tail on his hand and used the brush he previously put down to gently detangle the knots on it. Y/n wasn’t silent besides her purrs though this time, she let out small noises at every move of his hand and pull of a knot, not in disapproval, more from the pleasure she couldn’t pretend not to have. Her scent was bursting off of her in strong waves that had Jungkook have to breathe through his mouth to hold composure before it intensified and even then, breathing through his mouth didn’t help as he could taste her and that was even worse. Even worse because not that he’d have a taste it would never be enough, he snapped his mouth shut breathing minimally as he continued until he was at the part where it connected to her back and thanked his reflexes for moving away fast as Y/n’s hips jumped up again, he would of pulled her tail if not and neither of them want to know what would happen then.

When he finished, he tapped Y/n’s upper thigh twice to wake her out of her state only to have to divert his attention away completely at the sight of her thigh bouncing just from his soft pats. She was too beautiful in every way and he felt like he was starting to lose his ability to deny his attraction and little did he know, so was she, his entire pack knew too. It was time for Jungkook to have a serious chat about next steps with Y/n with his mates.

As Y/n became more conscious she slid herself slowly back, moving her knees up to being herself back up and unknowingly putting her entire body just centimetres from Jungkooks face, she wasn’t bothered as she couldn’t ignore how much better she felt, not just from her tail being nearly dry now and soft, but from being taken care of, it was unfamiliar but she enjoyed it more than she should admit. She knew after that she would be craving his attention and touch a ridiculous amount but pushed that thought aside to focus.

“It’s so soft and nearly dry thank you Kookie it’s perfect, thank you so much” - Y/n happily threw herself into his arms, thanking him with a warm embrace and stunning him at a peck on the cheek before jumping up and focusing on the boxes that were brought in.

“So what are they?” - Y/n asked curiously, leaning in to inspect the fancy boxes

“They- Tae- dinner… clothes?” - Jungkook couldn’t form real sentences as his brain was trying to process everything that happened but Y/n understood and asked to open one to which he quickly agreed. The largest box was white, wrapped with a large bow with a small tag on it

‘For a pretty kitty - V’ Y/n’s heart fluttered at the words but she picked up his designing name, it made her curious, had he bought the surprise, or had he made it?

Y/n carefully pushed off the ribbon and pulled the lid off, curious as she saw white fur. She gently moved to grab at the material, immediately noticing the softness of it, wanting to purr just at that before she pulled it out further and stood up straight to hold it infront of her.

Y/n stood shocked as the soft white fur turned into a oversized, thick faux fur coat, similar to the one Taehyung wore when they met the first time, the white blinding and the fur perfectly soft, it was constructed perfectly, it seemed the perfect length and she wanted to wrap up in it then and there, not to mention how absolutely beautiful it was.

Upon closer inspection she noticed the tag in it, labelled by Taehyung and she found an embroidered message on it too‘ the prettiest kitty ‘ with the ‘V’ above it; she quickly realised he had made this for her, to her size, recently as it was clearly brand new and plush. She spun around with it in her hands and began to excitedly show Jungkook, spinning around him, careful not to crush the coat as she felt it delicately, she spun around like a princess as she laughed and he returned the gesture, secretly getting out his phone to record the moment, knowing Taehyungs chest would fill with pride at the sight of her loving his work.

‘It’s too much Kookie, so beautiful but too much’ - Y/n’s smile turned into a small frown, ears pinning back at her realisation, as she was about to gently place it back in the box, a large figure pressed up against her back and grabbed her wrists, pulling them away from the box to stop her. It all happened too fast from Jungkook pressing up against her to him leaning down to whisper in her ear while his thumbs pressed into the scent glands on her wrists where she felt her, making her gasp.

“I’ll let you in on a secret Y/nie, nothing is too much when it comes to you, we would give you the world, hyungs wouldn’t react as lightly as I am to you rejecting a gift because it’s ‘too much’” - Something had changed in Jungkooks voice as he whispered, body pressing impossibly close and thumbs applying more pressure, she realised it was his Busan satoori , thick on his tongue as his warm breath tickled her ear. She practically melted on the spot as she clocked his words, nothing is too much? Why would they feel like that? All of them… and then the realisation at the rest of his words set in. If this was reacting lightly, while she should deny it, Y/n really wanted to know how the rest of them reacted, it had blood rushing to her cheeks and her breath hitching.

“You understand, don’t you Y/nie?” - She thought he was finished until he said that, a high pitched noise of approval calling from her lips with her head nodding. She felt like she could finally breathe for a second as he started to pull away from her back until he leant in to whisper again

“Good girl, now go open the rest.” - the praise had a gasp leaving Y/n, her knees buckling slightly and butterflies filling her stomach but Jungkook switched up immediately, stepping back with a bit smile, his duality confused her but she had to push that thought aside as he asked her of something.

“Put it on” - Jungkook beamed at her as he said, she silently obeyed and put on the glamourous coat, it fit perfectly for her, oversized in the best way and it made her feel more luxurious than she ever had

“I love it.” - It’s all she could say as Jungkook could tell she felt so much more about it and encouraged her to open the next box, more nervous about if she’d like this one as much

The second box is smaller but just as beautifully packaged, a large bow and ribbon across it which she carefully removed, this one addressed from Jimin

‘Red will definitely be your colour - Jimin’

It had her curiosity growing as she opened the box and saw white mesh over red material and gently pulled it out, her eyes widened at the beautifully constructed dress before her.

It was red, a long fitted dress that loosened slightly at her thigh from a slit, it was both simple and complex, the perfect balance as a Matt crimson material was the base, a nearly transparent white tulle overtop that slightly ruched at the waist, both materials slightly draped at the chest area as it had thin straps to hold it on, when she looked at the back she found the tulle thickened into a large bow that slightly adjusted and underneath was the zip. The layers of the dress were connected but made it seem fuller with so much dimension, the red was prominent but somehow perfectly complimented by the white overlay.

Y/n had never worn a dress similar, it was incredible, she had never even imagined such a thing but she knew it could perfectly suit her, all she worried about was the measurements. Would it fit her? How would they of even known what size she would be? And when she saw the label, the cursive ‘Jimin’ with his own short message underneath ‘the first gift’ somehow she knew he had specifically designed this for her, in that sense he had also tailored this to her size wise but how?

Jungkook answered her unspoken question

“Tae and Jimin have an eye for knowing near exact measurements when it comes to clothes, you should try it on, I know he’d be happy to make any adjustments if it didn’t fit.” - He was more than happy to see her enjoying the gifts and knew the final two would tie it all together but admittedly was desperate to see her in the dress.

“I’ll go try it on now!” - Y/n was almost jumping with excitement, her freshly brushed tail swinging rapidly, smacking Jungkook as she spun on her feet and headed towards her bedroom. While she did Jungkook took the opportunity get his phone out and text him and his mates’ group chat.

‘She’s opened the coat and dress, she loves them’ - JK

‘Has she tried them on? What did she say about them?’ - JM

‘I knew she’d love it’ - TH

‘She has only tried the coat on, she’s so happy and she’s trying the dress on now’ - JK

Both of the designers hearts swelled with pride and joy at her enjoying their work

‘Just listen out, she’ll need help to do the zipper’ - JM

‘Tell us if it fits, tell us how it looks’ - TH

Jungkook quickly agreed and on that cue, hear Y/n’s soft voice calling out to him from her room, he walked up to the door and found her back facing him, long hair falling down her back just below her waist, the dress was on but not zipped up, he could see her arms holding the front up to hide herself but she looked over her shoulder embarrassed

“Could you zip me up please?” - Y/n refused to look into his eyes as she asked but he just smiled and nodded moving forward to touch the dress. When he got close enough her tail was tickling him as it sway, comfortably fitted in the small hole designed for it, before it moved to one side so Jungkook could reach. As he held either side his warm breath danced over her shoulder as he looked down, he held the two sides on her lower back and felt his thumbs graze either side of her lower spine as he held the zipper and slowly pulled it up. He could only move it a little bit before he gently gathered Y/n’s hair and placed it over her shoulder, revealing the rest of her back. His knuckle grazed her spine the entire time he pulled the zipper up and Y/n was a flustered mess when he was finished. He adjusted the bow to cover the zip again and tightened it before telling her it was finished.

She looked down before stepping forward, thanking him and turning around, not having seen it on herself before Jungkooks jaw dropped, she was absolutely breathtaking, the dress fit like a glove, it complimented her skin, her hair, her eyes, her aura, it was perfect on her. Only one word could fall out of Jungkooks mouth in that moment and it just

“Beautiful…” - Y/n’s heart swelled at that, not knowing how it looked but already feeling good about herself. That lead to her smiling and walking to her full length mirror. She really did look beautiful and she felt so good about herself, the dress fit perfectly, her waist fitted and hips accentuated.

The only thing newer to her was the cleavage, she never wore shirts with cleavage and having a quite large breasts meant that in this dress, they were very much out and she wouldn’t normally be comfortable but for some reason, she felt amazing about it. She was only going to be with the boys who in the last few weeks, she had learnt to trust with her life, she wasn’t sure why they got so close so quickly but she was comfortable wearing this around them, she was comfortable around them altogether.

While Y/n was admiring the dress in the mirror, Jungkook had a second to process the princess in front of him, the beauty she held and the way she made brought the design and vision Jimin had to life, he’d be so happy right now and he desperately wanted to take a picture but knew it would be better for them to wait, for them to have a big reveal. His time to process was cut off when his eyes refocused on Y/n, her body was soft, his hands always melted into her whenever he touched her and it drove him crazy but this dress accentuated every bit of her body, from her wide hips and large thighs up her soft tummy and to her large breasts, it showed every small mark on her revealed skin, every freckle and scar from her previous years, the documents of her life before them, she had stained his mind ever since they met.

From the second he lay eyes on her and it all felt too real in that moment, gifting her his mates’ special designs, helping her into her dress, brushing her tail and having her trust him with one of the most sensitive parts of her body and being comfortable enough to allow it all to happen, it felt right. It felt like they were meant to be, she was absolutely perfect in every way, every little mark on her skin was perfect, every time she would make her own marks on him by accident when she wouldn’t retract her claws was perfect, every little moment with her felt unreal. Reality felt like the most beautiful dream when he was with her; he was more than grateful, more than lucky, all he could hope is that she felt the same way but somehow he knew, within he knew that she did feel that way too, maybe it was the glint in her eyes or maybe it was the way she leant into his touch, maybe it was the way she let her hybrid surface whenever they were together or maybe it was the way she trusted him, somehow he knew.

His breathe was caught when she turned around again and he was so infatuated with her that he couldn’t hear what she said until she slightly frowned and said his name, he had to ask her to repeat herself sheepishly.

“Unzip me? Please, I don’t want to ruin it, it’s so perfect” - Y/n was so cute to him, the way her eyes looked over the dress in awe as her hair fell over her face and she used both hands to push it back, even her smallest actions were so cute. He snapped out of his thoughts as he agreed and walked forward, gently holding her bare shoulders as he walked behind her and pushed her hair to the side again, moving under the tulle bow to the zip.

‘She’s the epitome of perfection, of pure joy and beauty, one day I’ll know she’s mine’ - Jungkook knew he fell hard and fast but as his hands grazed her back and goosebumps grew on her arms as she slightly pushed into his hands, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“You know, Jimin and Taehyung take it upon themselves to dress us all for every event, it’s one way they show their love” - He’d hoped she’d understand what he meant by this and when he felt her skin warm up, scent sweeten and tail swing faster, he knew she was blushing and understood.

“You all must look even more handsome than usual at every event then, I feel so pretty, I’ll have to return their love soon hm?” - Y/n spoke her thoughts word for word, almost in a dream in her mind, not even thinking much about how she’d admitted to wanting to reciprocate their love, Jungkooks felt her heart beating as fast as his own, rapidly thumping against her chest, it made him smile so wide. That was until he’d fully unzipped the dress and quickly noticed the fabric start to slouch at her waist, Y/n was so deep in thought that she hadn’t grabbed the fabric to hold against her chest. He worked quickly to grab the two sides from the top where the zipper connects and hold them high on her back so she wouldn’t be exposed, she still hadn’t realised until Jungkook called out her name with a ‘Careful’ it had her snapping back, cheeks flushing, embarrassed but also smiling at how much of a gentleman he was and how he had brought back that first time they spoke, when he’d told her to be careful as she dropped that bottle.

She thanked him quickly and looked over his shoulder up at him, holding her chest to hold the dress up when he let go, she felt the air grow thick as their eyes connected, anything around them muffling as they zoned in on eachother. Y/n captured his doe eyes as she studied his face, appreciating the warmth in his eyes, the hair brushing his forehead, messy from the pool earlier, the piercing on his eyebrow, his soft nose, sharp jawline, the way his soft eyes juxtaposed that dominant appearance he held everywhere else, until her eyes travelled down slightly, to the pink lips, wrapped in a thin silver ring on the same side as his eyebrow piercing, she intended to look away until his scent thickened, the soft linen smell travelling through her body until his mouth slightly parted to let his tongue past through to wet his lips and there she discovered a new detail he had kept well hidden.

When he licked his lips she saw the silver on his tongue, a tongue piercing, she didn’t know why but it had her melting on the spot, his tall figure looming over her, she felt herself slightly pushing herself up onto her tip toes to get closer , hands still holding the dress. Jungkooks own hands let go of the dress to fall onto her soft hips, he felt the perfect hand rests as his fingers immediately melted into her skin. He gripped hard enough to pull her in closer, she would of stumbled if it wasn’t for her grip keeping her exactly where he wanted her. His own gaze fell from her wide eyes to her plump lips, their natural tint drawing his in as they fell open the tiniest bit, they both knew what they wanted when she pushed herself higher and he leant down slightly, hands holding her hips tighter, he watched her eyes softly close and knew this was the moment he had been waiting for, his opportunity of confirmation. He could feel her soft, strawberry breath on his own lips, just an inch apart when he leant down, his hair definitely tickling her.

The moment could have been ruined by the loud vibrations on his phone, definitely texts from his mates asking about the dress but he refused to let it stop this. He made sure she was flush against his front in that moment and let one of his hands move up to cup from the back of her neck to her jaw, tilting her head even further up to connect their lips. It was like fireworks had set off in the both of them, y/n tried to push impossibly closer to his body, finally getting to taste the linen that would stick to her every single day, it tasted so good she nearly fell right there, she had already fallen in one way she wouldn’t let it be physically shown, or so she thought when her knees buckled but she was held exactly where she was by Jungkooks strong hands.

She let him take the lead, not even thinking about how this was her first kiss, she was more than glad to let him take it. She’d never even come close to a romantic or intimate relationship due to her reserved personality but she knew when she grew so comfortable with him and his mates that she wanted them. Jungkook felt her letting him take the lead and wanted to smirk but did exactly what she wanted instead of letting pride consume him. He kept it sweet, lightly dancing his lips over hers to ease her in, it felt so good to have that ripe strawberry taste fill his mouth and to have her soft pillowy lips against his own, perfectly fitting between each others. He pushed his own lips slightly harder against hers, keeping her steady as her body reacted, he didn’t want to make it too much the first time so he slowly pulled away. As he got a few inches from her face he opened his eyes, being softer with the hand on her neck and jaw, her eyes were still closed and lips slightly parted even more pink and plump than before just from the short kiss, he couldn’t help but wonder about how they’d look in the future, when it all happened again.

His thoughts were cut off when she opened her eyes, she felt hot, soft and so many things but one look into his eyes had her relaxing, she knew he didn’t regret it and neither did she. She wanted nothing more in that moment but for it to happen again but she also knew she wouldn’t be able to cope, not with the way she had melted in his hands, his thumb gently rubbed over her neck and hit her scent gland over and over, her eyes faultered slightly again. She could feel his grip loosen slightly on her waist and she fell a small amount to the ground from her tip-toes, he already seemed ridiculously tall but when she was looking up at him like that, his big hands all over her, he seemed like a god.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while princess” - He smiled happily down at her but her eyes slightly widened at the confession and his satoori that had come out again, her own voice felt small but she knew he heard it

“I have too” - the confirmation was all they both needed to feel nothing but pure bliss. It took a minute before they both recovered as they realised Y/n still needed to get out of the dress and Jungkook left the room to give her privacy, immediately texting his mates so fast that he was making every typo possible but they understood, it was a step that had them all stopping in their tracks and smiling, melting even. Nothing else was thought about in that moment, not in Namjoons office, not in the kitchen with Jin, not in Yoongis piercing room where he was planning clients, not in Hoseoks dance studio, and not in Jimin and Tae’s meeting.

When Y/n came back into the living room in her set from before they both smiled bashfully at eachother before Jungkook told her she had one more present to open, her hands were slightly shaking from the previous interaction as she opened the smaller box, finding a pair of pretty white kitten heels with a small tulle bow over the toe box that matched the bow on the back of the dress exactly. They were about just under two inches high, easy for her to walk in and a bright white, one that matched the fur coat, she was already stunned by the other firsts but these brought the entire outfit together it was amazing to her how they’d thought of everything and in the soles she saw the branding of Jimin and Taehyungs company, she traced over it in appreciation with a wide smile on her face.

Fully holding one shoe she saw a small handwritten card underneath, addressed from Jimin and Taehyung

‘We hope you like it kitty, you’ll look beautiful” - the short message had her internally screaming like a child, she wanted to get up and jump with joy at the entire day she felt like she was in heaven, she couldn’t properly express anything so she just looked over her shoulder with a huge smile, not even saying anything and didn’t even notice as he clicked a picture of her, heel and note in hand, sitting so cute as she smiled at him over her shoulder. He immediately sent to the groupchat

‘Our Strawberry Princess’

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Just know it hasn’t been proofread or edited but next chapter will be out very soon!

This chapter was very Jungkook centred but from here on it’ll be mostly Ot7! Please feel free to ask questions, request headcannons or drabbles!

Side note; who else is in love with Come back to me, omg I am listening on repeat it’s just so good!

ཐི♡ཋྀ

[karinasbaby]

ENHA HYUNG LINE — IT’S LIKE SUPERNATURAL ! ⋆

⋆˙⟡♡ — “𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥”

ᥫ᭡ P. fem!reader x hyung line. | W. fluff !! a lot of it! a few brief suggestive moments, riki, petnames, kissing ! mentions of showering together and yeah !! | WC. 3k+ | A,N. i’ve been in my soft girl hours for a really long time now so enjoy :D !!

IN WHICH..?! the hyung line realise exactly when they’re utterly and helplessly in love with you ! ♡

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ | feedback & reblogs r greatly appreciated :D ! enjoy & have a wonderful day / night <3

⋆.˚ 이희승 | VICTORY FOR YOU AND FOR ME.

✴︎ ۟   . | “that’s not how you’re supposed to fight him off!” heeseung jumped at the sudden raise in your voice from besides him when his character died again for the seventh time in the past twenty minutes. his fingers halting to a stop above the buttons atop his controller, “the villain is obviously going to hit you if you approach it from there!” you continued expressing your frustration while scooting closer to him on the couch.

heeseung remained silent as the confusion and stress from not winning this final level was making his head spin, he was wholeheartedly and absolutely done with this game that riki suggested to him with stupid claims of “i finished it in two hours!” and “it’s so easy you’re going to love it hyung!”

he shouldn’t have believed the younger. not when he spent two hours on the first three levels alone.

considering the fact that the previous game riki recommended him had a heart stopping jumpscare squeezed in it at the end (that resulted in him shrieking so loud that he woke you up from your nap which led him to be locked outside of your shared bedroom for the rest of the day), trusting riki should be the last option for heeseung when it comes to game recommendations.

“you’re supposed to use your weapon when he gets closer too, seungie.” you snickered while you began to move his little pixelated character correctly this time, the damage from the villain’s health bar showing immense progress in comparison to when the character was under heeseung’s control. heeseung’s eyes remained switching between your focused face and the screen that showed the merciless slashes of his character against the villain.

the satisfying sounds of you pressing on the buttons accompanied by the grunts of the characters echoed in the silent living room that welcomed the crimson and coral lights of the sunset atop its walls and floor, the same spread of colours reflected against your skin as well which inevitably threw heeseung in a trance.

you’ve always been beautiful in his eyes, yet at this moment you looked ethereal.

the soft glow of the screen changed with each praise after the successful hits on the villain, each colour reflected off of your eyes that appeared shinier than before, and heeseung knew he was done for when you subconsciously poked your tongue into your cheek engrossing yourself in complete concentration and focus on winning the final level for heeseung, unaware of the fact that he couldn’t care less about the game right now.

as if a spell had been casted on him, a witch that forced a bottle of love potion down his throat— heeseung was entirely enchanted. oblivious to the rapid beating of his heart against his chest, fighting with his ribcage to escape from his body that became aligned with countless goosebumps, chills and shivers running down his spine as his mind turned into a shimmering puddle of pure love.

so this was the love that he’s only been able to hear about? to see movies of and read stories about? was the universe finally granting him the privilege of finally falling against the soft clouds of devotion and love that transcended all limits, all tenses and all boundaries?

your squeal of victory brought him back into reality, his unanswered question lingered in the back of his mind while a gentle smile framed his face and softened eyes at the sight of you celebrating your win against the villain after watching heeseung’s multiple losses for the past hour.

“that’s how you win it, baby!” you beamed, turning around to face him with the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen, eyes shining in happiness that he vowed in that moment to always protect till his last breath, and he knew he needed no answer to his question anymore.

as you might have won the game, but heeseung won in life with you.

✧˖°. 박종성 | THE DIVINE ENCOUNTER.

❀ ݁ ˖ | the arcade has always been a space of comfort and safety for you, especially when you were accompanied by your dear lover.

jongseong who suggested an arcade date to you a few days ago after his schedule cleared up a bit now stood besides you under all the colorful and vibrant lights from around the arcade. one hand interlocked with yours while the other held on to the cotton candy he bought for you as your other hand was wrapped around the small cat plushie he won for you.

gift giving were for sure one of jongseong’s love language.

you nuzzled closer into the fur of the plushie when a sudden wave of wind breezed by you gently, sending slight shivers down your body that were noticed by jongseong.

“do you need my sweater, my love?” he asked as if he didn’t already have his jacket draped over your shoulders, his hand then separated from yours to grip onto the hem of his sweatshirt before you quickly stopped him, “there’s no need jongie.” your hand lowered to interlace with his again when he started to protest again.

“but if you fe—” “noona!”both of your heads snapped in search of the sound, the cry of a young boy who sniffled once your eyes lowered to land on his shaking form, tears springing from his eyes and streaming down his face with countless other droplets separating from his jaw onto the ground, one hand holding a bright green coloured balloon while the other rubbed his glossy eyes.

before jongseong could even process the sight of the weeping child, you were already lowered on your knees with your hands carefully reaching towards the distressed boy who seemed to hiccup before jumping between your arms, “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” you whispered to the child who clung onto your arms with complete safety, thankful for following his instincts that led him to you once his parents disappeared from his sight.

“i l-lost-” the boy inhaled shaky breaths, a new rush of tears falling down his flushed face as he tried to speak and utter the words that made his tiny little hands tighten their hold on you, “i lost my p-parents.” he sobbed before burying his face into your neck, his ballon long forgotten from his hold that now gripped onto jongseong’s jacket on your shoulder.

jongseong, who stood a few feet away from you remained frozen at the unexpected turn of events, though he was able to capture the floating balloon before it ascended into the sky, yet his focus was still glued on your calm and comforting demeanour that attempted to pacify the crying boy.

he felt himself falling in love further the more you whispered comforting words to him, if that was even possible with the amount of love he already held in his heart for you. it suddenly felt like none of it was able to fit in his heart anymore.

“hey… hey it’s okay, where did you last see them?” he finally came back to his senses and walked to stand in front of your figure that now carried the boy who snuggled closer to you, his hand moved upwards to tenderly caress the child’s back to reassure him of his safety, “i can’t r-remember” he stuttered further.

your concerned eyes found jongseong’s own anxious ones, the twist and spiral of each emotion in your gaze made his heart leap into his throat, the evident protectiveness and instinctual need to hide the child in your arms made jongseong’s entire perspective change in a few seconds.

your clear love and display of affection for him intensified jongseong’s adoration for you, previous questions and doubts about your relationship that he wanted to prolong till his last breath were all washed away in an instant. especially his concern over whether or not your thoughts and goals in your love life aligned with his.

now his biggest dream and desire to start a family with you didn’t seem impossible in his eyes, it actually seemed perfect for him.

“it’s okay little one, we’ll find your parents in no time.” you reassured, voice lowering to a mere excited whisper to travel to the boy’s ear that seemed to visibly melt in your hold at your words, he nodded at you once he lifted his face from your neck. the sight of his wet face instantly made your eyebrows furrow, you quickly turned towards jongseong who was now staring at the interaction between you two with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on his face.

“what?” you chuckled at his gentle eyes that gazed at you and the kid with fondness, almost appearing like they were yearning for the scene in front of him which made your head spin before you cleared your throat. “nothing..” he quickly shook his head, lowering his head while his smile widened, “could you please pass me a tissue from my bag?” you asked with an adorable pitch in your voice that made jongseong stifle a laugh as he extended his arm to give you the said item.

no words could describe how thankful he was for the random appearance of this kid that allowed him to see a different side of you, one that he wasn’t sure he’ll ever be able to get enough of.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 심재윤 | A SIGHT OF HEAVEN.

⟡₊⋆∘ | “the recipe says to add one cup of cho—” you were cut off by jaeyun’s flour covered finger that swiped the said powder on your cheek with some particles even gracefully falling atop your black shirt that you wore beneath your apron in the middle of the kitchen.

where jaeyun expressed his undying hunger for the cookies he claimed only you were able to make, to which you agreed on baking if he helped you in creating the delicious cookies.

and how you wished you hadn’t asked him to join you. because a few minutes after that first swipe of flour followed by jaeyun bursting into laughter you found yourself on the kitchen floor with him on top of you, both of you covered in atleast one bag worth of flour that tangled its way into your hair strands and your outfits, but atleast you were too busy giggling to pay attention to the mess that will require atleast an hour of cleaning.

in fact, the mess and the abandoned bowl of cookie batter was the last thought in your mind as jaeyun kept you in his hold against the floor, lips attached onto your neck to suck noisily at your sensitive spots just to hear your cheerful giggles at his touches.

“jaeyu— baby please, we need to clean up.” you were barely able to get your words past your lips with his continuous kissing that was now accompanied by his hands tickling your sides seemingly tired from resting on your waist, then after a few more soft kicks and complains from you, jaeyun finally lifted himself off.

allowing you to take in the sight of his questionable appearance, his eyes raked through your flour covered hair and the random spots that were also tainted with faint lines of melted chocolate, the two of you grinned at the other’s ridiculous appearance one final time before jaeyun helped you up from the kitchen floor and pulled (basically dragged you) to the bathroom.

chuckles and sweet whispers of love were exchanged between the bathroom walls as the two of you helped each other in undressing from the dirty clothes, bathing under the yellow shades of the sun that were welcomed from your window, a comfortable atmosphere taking place as you both stepped under the warm water with jaeyun’s hands instantly finding their home around your waist, he pulled you closer to him just enough to connect his lips to yours.

the feeling of you practically melting in his hold at the connection of his pillowy lips with yours made his heart thunder between his ribs, fingers tightening around your skin as he leaned back against the wall in hopes of grounding himself while you dizzingly deepened the kiss that made his head spin.

it was your simple head tilt to the side, the combination of the kiss deepening along with your tongue sneakily teasing his lower lip were enough to make jaeyun’s knees buckle, he was absolutely gone.

your hands then moved to rest against his shoulder blades, fingers gently tapping against his skin that warmed further under your touch than the hot water, and when you pulled away to squeeze in a short breath of air into your lungs his lips continued to chase after yours, eyes closed as he completely immersed himself in the feeling of you against him, drowning himself in your presence entirely.

and once the two of you finally separated after what felt like an eternity, jaeyun’s eyes were only open halfway. the sight of your lips tinted in a pretty cherry shade was enough to make him smile, unaware of the fact that his looked just as swollen as yours, and god jaeyun wasn’t prepared to open his eyes fully to take in the view of you.

he felt countless butterflies dancing happily in his stomach when his eyes connected with yours, your soft smile that graced your face for him only, your eyes that were decorated with wet lashes that held onto tiny droplets of water that appeared like crystals around your irises, pools that were filled to the brim with love so so much love for him only. the longer you looked up at him with so much adoration the more jaeyun felt his heart fluttering in his body.

he knew he was done for when he noticed the wide smile that stretched on his face in the glossy reflection of your eyes, never has he in his entire life felt himself so full with love.

but he couldn’t question himself for feeling like this either, not when the sun casted a golden light on you that made you appear as you were a piece of heaven itself that fell into the soft palms of his hands, not when you appeared like the reincarnation of all angels above, crafted with the utmost amount of love, purity and beauty.

in that moment, jaeyun couldn’t help but thank all heavens and universes that were skies higher than him for allowing his path to tangle with yours. as he’ll never ever dare to even think about unraveling your destinies.

⊹₊ ⋆ 박성훈 | MY BABY GLOWS FOR ME !

⋆⑅˚₊ | sunghoon has always longed for a love that he would allow himself to get fully lost in. to feel like he was walking between radiant flower fields, ones where he felt the petals gently grazing his skin while the clouds looked lower than usual above him, a love that cradled his lonely spirit and allowed him to travel it’s depths freely.

such love lived in his head for a time longer than he’d like. this desire of his seemed impossible to achieve in the beginning, he felt as if his wish was nonexistent, unavailable for him to even pursue.

but he wasn’t unfamiliar with taking risks either, he never feared away from dates and other potential relationships that had no promises of granting him his wishes regarding an eternal love. luckily enough for him, he thankfully never got too attached to anyone previously. it was as if his heart knew that this wasn’t what he was searching for.

so when the time for separation, the declarations of the failure of the relationship arrived, sunghoon didn’t feel too affected.

because if there was one thing that came to par with his incessant need to devote himself for a love for the rest of his life, it had to be his determined search and belief that somewhere in this small world, his other half that will engulf his heart in their arms existed.

and at this current moment, he couldn’t have been more thankful for his decisions. as his persistent search had paid off in the end. his belief and determination finally led him to you, who was sleeping soundly besides him beneath the fluffy blankets that enveloped your body.

he pushed himself closer to you, his bare chest pressing against your back. the events of yesterday came rushing back to his head, the remembrance of the intimate moments that were filled with blooming love and hushed whispers between only the two of you made warmth creep into his body, the adorable redness settling in his ears and cheeks which led him to bury his face into your neck.

his fingers brushed against your bare skin, gentle strokes that he hoped conveyed the affection he carried for you, the tip of his middle finger travelled from your waist to your hip, the movement causing you to stir in your sleep while your deep breathes gradually turned lighter, indicating your awakening to sunghoon who subconsciously held his breath in anticipation.

“hoon?” you whispered, voice still laced with sleep as you turned around to face him, unaware of the way sunghoon’s breath got knocked out from his lungs the second he got to see you in all of your morning glory. god how was it even possible for you to look more beautiful?

“yes, love?” he whispered back while his eyes studied your features that gazed at him tenderly, your presence completely took over his senses in that moment. all he could smell was the sweet aroma of your hair, he felt your soft skin beneath his finger tips, heard your quite whispers and voice that lulled his heart to fall deeper in love with you, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

allowing you to take over his focus, his vision and his whole being. especially now that you appeared like you were practically glowing in his arms, “you’re glowing baby, enjoyed last night a bit too much?” he chuckled when your cheeks visibly reddened at his words before you buried your head in his neck with a harmless pinch to his bicep that wrapped around you. “you’re acting like i was the only one that enjoyed it.” his fingers that were drawing small shapes and patterns on your skin came to a halt at your words.

“oh believe me when i tell you that i loved last night”his hand reached lower to pinch you back on your hip before he laughed at the shocked squeal from around his neck, his heart bursting with more love as you nuzzled yourself closer to him, wishing to have owned the ability to pause time forever in this moment.

as sunghoon didn’t mind to bath in your love and your glow for eternity.

♡ — hope u enjoyed !! :D big thanks to ariana for releasing supernatural & to boys world for having such adorable and love-radiating songs for inspiring me to write this <3

[unholyhelbig]

Oversight one shot request - Nat and reader dealing with the aftermath of an argument that got heated, nat realising she was wrong which is rare for her and having to try and make it up to reader

Title: The Sword and the Stone [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader and Natasha get into a heated argument when Reader starts to doubt her true purpose in Natasha's life.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): angst, threats of drowning, light threats, implied sex, horrible grammar- I don't proof read.

[a/n: yeah, I really don't know what this is. Life has been so hectic lately and I'm so exhausted. Someone put me out of my misery and make sure I never have to go back to South Carolina ever again.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The black wax seal on the three-hundred-dollar bottle of whiskey had left a filmy residue against the mouth of the glass. It gave the warm drink an oaky edge that helped you swallow it down. The first sip had burned through your nostrils and down your throat until it lit a fire in your belly. The second seemed to extinguish the first.

You’d kept drinking until there was a pleasant buzz across your skin. You’d rolled your pantlegs up to the middle of your calves until the fabric was constricting and swished your legs around in the dark water of the pool. The scent of chlorine mixed dangerously with the bergamot undertones of the alcohol.

The moon was full and gave you a full encompassed view of the backyard and the edge of the lake lapping at the rocky shores. If you squinted, you could see the dots of red and green as buoys molded to the tides. Fishing boats navigated their way to the docks, their rumbling alerts shaking your chest.

You lifted the crystal glass to your lips and took a deeper gulp. It was warm and unpleasant but eventually ebbed to a cynical type of comfort. You placed the glass to the side and worked your fingers numbly through your hair. They ached incessantly. Your body wasn’t built for this anymore.

There was a soreness to your jaw and the underlying taste of metal that coated your throat. Before you’d walked into your shared home, the redness had started to grow a nasty, ugly purple. I’d certainly be swollen in the morning, even if you had pressed a bag of frozen peas to it.

It was a cycle. A vicious one that you’d endured for the past ten years. You were a blade in Natasha Romanoff’s toolkit. To the city, you were a composed and elegant viper; deadly when you bit but often found wrapping yourself around the arm of Eve. The crowd parted for you. Politicians groveled and clients smiled uneasily, in a scared sort of kindness.

With a groan, you laid yourself back on the patio stones and stared up at the stars. They pockmarked the sky in constellations that threatened to spin until they turned to lines of warbled light. You’d had too much to drink, and too little to eat. You’d lay here until the light in your bedroom flicked off and you could sneak in smelling of booze.

Of course, you heard your wife approaching.

When you’d first met Natasha Romanoff, you were enveloped in eternal darkness, beaten within an inch of your life. The sound of her footfalls in heels beat against your eardrums and had caused you to jerk your head up with dizzying quickness.

Now, you could pick up noise of her bare feet padding delicately against dew-soaked grass and then leaving uneven prints against the stonework. Her scent was inky and doused in sandalwood. Something that typically brought you a wave of comfort served as a catalyst for nausea.

“If you’re going to get drunk on a Tuesday night, darling, maybe an expensive bottle of whisky is not the right avenue.”

“Mm,”

The hum tickled your throat. Natasha had lowered herself to the edge of the pool next to you, delicately dipping her feet into the warm water. Her perfectly manicured fingers pressed cooly against your forehead before carding through your hair. You sighed contentedly and leaned into her touch before you registered that you were supposed to be mad at her.

“It works all the same. I’ll replace it.”

“No need. It was a thoughtless gift from Leland Owlsley after he behaved like a prick. It’s been aging for nearly a decade now.”

You made a noise that was akin to a whimper. Maybe you had underestimated the strength of the drink. Not that you would ever admit that to Natasha. You became malleable when you were drunk, and who better to work forgiveness out of you than your wife?

You draped your arm over your eyes, slurring out “Do you know the legend of Excalibur?”

Natasha scoffed, and when she didn’t give you a verbal answer, you peaked over your arm, finally getting a look at her. She was in nothing but her silk robe, the emerald green a sharp contrast to her pale expanse of skin. It had been years, and she still rendered you speechless.

She relented and shook her head, full attention trained on you. Often, you would dive into the books that lined the walls in Natasha’s study. They were leather-bound and filled with different mythos that she hadn’t read herself.

Sometimes, you would regale her with the stories of fantastical worlds that stuck with you. Of dragons that heaved heavy helpings of fire, and sea serpents that brushed their gills along the ridged edges of boats. Natasha would curl into your side, her ear pressed against your bare chest as your words lulled her into sleep.

“The blade was said to be forged with the blood of seven dragons. Each one breathed a green fire that was hotter than brimstone, and stronger than the very core of the earth. The blade, it wasn’t meant for just anyone. It may be mighty, but it’s nothing without a guiding hand.”

You hilted yourself up until you were resting all of your weight on your elbows, the rocky patio digging into your bones and stinging enough to keep you focused. Natasha had turned her head, resting her cheek on her knees and blinking slowly at you.

“For centuries, the blade was wedged in stone. Though many men tried and tried again to dislodge it, the sword would only budge for someone who was worthy, and that was Arthur Pendragon. The two worked together for decades, warding off evil, and protecting a kingdom that eventually, they came to rule.

“Arthur was considered the greatest king in Avalon’s history and served until he became too old to do so. Excalibur was not meant to be wielded by another, nor buried beneath the earth with it’s master. So, Arthur set off on his longest journey yet.”

Natasha swallowed hard. Her fingers twitched, eyes glowing under the pale light of the moon. She looked ethereal, and the snake in the pit of your stomach coiled tighter with want. You were meant to be upset with her, but the tenderness in her posture gave away her vulnerability.

“He used the last of his strength to travel across the kingdom, through vast forests, dark caverns, and steep cliffs until he crawled his way to the edge of the lake of youth. Now, stories start to differ here. But, in each, Arthur returns to sword to the ladies of the lake, determined to protect his old friend. The only one that’s ever stuck by him.

“Some say Arthur took the hand of a young siren and allowed himself to be led into the cold water. Others proclaim that he disintegrated into dust when the hilt of the sword left his hand. Either way, he was never seen again, and neither was the Excalibur.”

Some of the warmth from the whiskey was wearing off and a chill had settled against your bones. Your fingers itched to pour more of the dark buttery liquid into the glass. Natasha had moved them from your grasp with all the subtly of a god.

So, in turn, you focused on the glassy look in her eyes and willed yourself to sit up, swallowing the oaky taste in your mouth. The world spun around twice before stabilizing on the done light at the edge of the pool.

You felt a lump form in your throat, outweighing the heated effects of the alcohol. You made it a habit not to cry in front of your wife, and she rarely ever gave you a reason to. But the tensions had been swirling wickedly for months now.

“Nat,” you whispered, “sometimes I feel like I’m just your sword.”

The argument had broken out on the way home from the city. The night was a certain type of darkness that allowed the milk-white stars to shine through. It was balmy and the air conditioner whirred enough to curb the dampening interior.

You knew it was stupid to let a small thorn in your side rip and tear at your flesh until a gaping hole was left in it’s place. Your knuckles were throbbing, and a pack of peas were pressed against your jaw where a hit had landed.

You’d stepped in front of Natasha and grabbed the handle of a steak-knife and aimed it towards the ground. Your wife hadn’t even blinked, and you had no doubt that she would have misdirected the attack from the charge herself.

It was easy to strike fear into the dishwasher that reached towards whatever he could find in an act of defense. You grasped what little hair he had on the back of his head and held him under the soapy water, letting the sanitizer cling to your lungs with it’s citrus edge.

You’d gotten the money like the good loan shark you were and Natasha had pressed her fingers to the small of your back in acknowledgement before swaying off the car. You’d exited through the back, dripping with bubbles.

There were times when the weight of being Natasha Romanoff’s wife weighted you down like a pile of bricks. She was a good partner within the walls of the house. She’d pull you against her front and lean her head against your shoulder, her cold fingers wandering under the fabric of your shirt.

There were expensive bottles of wine, and perfect cuts of meat. Quiet nights where you were tangled under the covers, whispering soft nothings. Louder nights where your back was arched and stars danced across your vision.

All of this changed when you moved past the threshold of your cultivated life. You’d married Natasha knowing good and well that her family, your family, was going to be dysfunctional. The ledger for the Romanoff’s dripped a cherry red.

You were meant to be her sword, her Excalibur. You stood a few inches behind her, arms tucked behind your back and stare cold with disinterest. Though, you paid apt attention to each movement her company made.  

Years before, you had been nothing but a waitress with a high pain tolerance. You’d let Natasha mold you into the weapon that you were, and most of the time, you were content with this arrangement.

The scent of bergamot tickled your throat as she moved closer with disquieting patience. She’d withdrawn her feet from the pool and straddled your center. Her weight was familiar, but the tenderness in her stare was often hidden by her walled disposition.

You grunted, staring up at the sharp curve of her jaw and the slight flush against her cheeks. She’d been in the sun today, freckles giving her away. Her nimble fingers brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and played with the gold charm in the center of your necklace.

“Darling, you know the problem with that legend?” You shook your head, hands going to the familiar place on her hips. “The Excalibur was crafted long before Arthur was around to wield it. The fates saw him fit because of the amount of care, and love he had for the sword.”

A sigh escaped you, “I thought you didn’t know the legend.”

“Oh, everyone knows the legend.” She danced her fingers against your collarbone, your body betrayed you with goosebumps and a suppressed shiver down your spine. “But I will be the first to admit that I’ve been unfair to you.”

You blinked up at her in shock, stilling your movements. Natasha Romanoff was as stubborn as they came and never admitted to being wrong. There were moments where she tentatively agreed to a different course of action, or quietly concluded that Clint would take the lead during situations that required a softer touch.

“While I am in constant awe of your ruthlessness, I am well aware that the woman I married has a soft touch. You were a waitress bringing in tips with your dazzling smile, after-all.” Her fingers were brushing dangerously close to the hem of your pants. You felt your muscles contract under her. “I apologize, moya lyubov', for making you feel as if you are nothing but a weapon. To me, you are so much more. To me, you are everything.”

Her words became whispered against your jaw in the slightest of warmth. Your pulse thudded against your throat and her tongue pressed close to the rhythm. You groaned softly and arched upwards. Your entire body was flushed with arousal.

A salacious moan escaped her. “Do you forgive me, malyshka?”

“Mm, you’re playing dirty, Nat.”

God- you’d forgiven her even before she had uttered the words of apology. Now that her perfectly curved fingers were pushing past the waistband of your pants, you were ready to rush out whatever she wanted to hear.

“Perhaps. I mean what I say, the mere thought of you being unhappy shatters me.”

Her lips were everywhere, plush as she kissed against the corner of your lip, breathing out apologies between each nip. Natasha trailed down your jawline, your pulse-point and the curves of your chest. Her breath was molten as if fanned against your skin.

Suddenly serious, she pulled back, bracing her hands on your shoulders. She held you down with little effort, strength pulsing through her exposed muscles. You swallowed the dryness in your throat and let out a shuttered whine.

“It was never my intention to make you feel inadequate. You may be deadly, molded under my hand to protect this family with everything you have, but first and foremost, you are my wife. We’ll make sure everyone knows it. But first, I need to hear you say it.”

“Say it?” You felt the pressure build in your chest, her palms digging into your collarbone. It was a satisfying sting that made you writhe under her heavy hand, you narrowed your eyes. “Really? Right now?”

Natasha flushed, pulling herself into a sitting position. “Not that, y/n. Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”

“Oh, you mean forgiveness. Kinky.”

“krasivo, pozhaluysta”

She wouldn’t dare beg in anything less than her native tongue. Natasha’s voice was gravelly, her eyes boring into yours with a desperation that usually was reserved for silk sheets and hazy mornings. You hated seeing her like this, clawing for affection that she so rarely asked for. Your heart seized, and you maneuvered yourself until you were in a sitting position, holding her flush against you.

Natasha tucked her nose against the small of your neck and nothing short of nuzzled you. Her disposition had crumbled and her fingers wicked into the fabric of your shirt. You held her close and listened to her breathing as it mingled with the shift of water.

There were moments, few and far between, when the calls got too close, where she would do this. Just sit and embrace the sound of your heartbeat. She kept her ear against your chest and counted the minutes. You carded your fingers through her hair and embraced her amenability.

You lifted her chin until her eyes met yours, reflecting the sweeping of the chlorine saturated pool. Her bottom lip was jutted out in an almost pout. You resisted the urge to kiss the expression off her face.

“I forgive you, Natty.” You whispered against her lips, “I’ll be your Excalibur.”

Natasha scoffed and closed the minute distance between you both. The kiss was soft, her lips tasting of the lingering liquor on your own. Her arms encircled your neck, tongue begging for entrance. You felt a frown on her features, she suddenly pulled back.

“Are you insinuating that you’d rather be with a lady of the lake?”

“Nat,” You groaned, dropping your head.

“No, no, I can totally take you to the wharf if you want the other woman.”

“There is no other woman, it was a metaphor.”

“You could have chosen a metaphor without a siren, and you know it.”

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