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darknesscreepin · 1 month ago

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choi jiho | c.jh

pairing: dom!reader x sub!jiho

warnings: reader kinda mean, perv!jiho tease, spitting, handjob, exhibitionismish, jiho cries.

summary: choi jiho is a lying loser who can’t seem to stfu so you take matters into you own hands.

you aren’t the type to be overly excited about parties. it’s not like you hated them, but you never benefited from them. the thought of regretful one night stands and hangovers was enough to make you decline your friend’s invite to a party.

“c’mon y/n! it’ll be so funny with you there. seriously, you never come out with us.” kamden, your friend of two years was shamelessly pleading you. you looked past him and saw your other friends silently begging you to go out with them.

after a moment in thought, you finally agreed. it has been a while since you went out and got fucked up—you were nervous for what the night might bring, but excited.

you were at kamden’s house getting ready for the evening. he lived with another mutual friend of yours, brian. the plan was, the three of you ride together, and the rest of your friends meet you there. unfortunately the other half of your group, would be behind schedule, leaving you to venture the party alone. you already knew how things would roll out— kamden would immediately find his way to a beer keg, inevitably brian would follow him and record videos while laughing hysterically.

part of you was wishing you had stayed home, but deep down you acknowledged you needed to get out more. sure, you were kinda nervous. you weren’t used to wandering around a house with dozens of strangers bumping into you. you were usually accompanied by four other people who made the night easier.

you finally accepted the fact that you couldn’t just stand in a corner until your friends arrived. you pushed yourself off a wall and began walking to the kitchen to get a drink. you felt the absence of your friends and decided to get drunk with them, so you poured yourself a non-alcoholic drink. after filling a styrofoam cup with sprite, you spotted a familiar figure in the crowd of bodies.

it looked like choi jiho—he was also a friend of kamden and brian’s. the two of you weren’t exactly civil with each other, so you didn’t consider him a friend. he was especially stuck up, in your opinion, and you were ‘an annoying bitch,’ according to him.

it was weird though—how mean jiho was to you. sure, you hated him, but you tried to avoid him at all costs. jiho on the other hand, went out of his way to bother you. with that thought in mind, you hurriedly began walking in the opposite direction of jiho, but then you heard a voice call out to you.

“y/n!” you stopped and cringed at the familiar voice. “y/n is that you? hey!” you resumed making your way through the crowd until you felt a grip on your wrist.

you looked back and sighed, seeing it was jiho. what could he possibly want?

“you didn’t hear me calling you?” he says, followed by a chuckle.

“no i didn’t hear you, do you need something?” you asked. you figured it’d be best to interact with him once, and to get it over with as fast as possible.

“what do you mean, girl? we’re friends.” girl. friends. the words made you roll your eyes and you went to walk away but, jiho stopped you again.

“let’s go people watch. you’re super judgy so you’ll be great at this.” he said while pulling you away to some random corner. he wasn’t being as crude as he usually was, but he still seemed so passive. jiho lead the two of you to a corner, where you both leaned against a wall. you had a perfect view of everyone who was entering and exiting through the front door, so you made sure to keep a lookout for your friends.

you stood quietly, occasionally sipping on your drink. jiho was currently pointing people out and guessing their life story. you drowned out majority of his words until he spoke in a disgusted tone.

“oh, who the fuck is that dude?” his arm was completely outstretched, index finger clearly on a target. you followed his arm with your eyes and a gasp came out of your mouth.

your eyes landed on a man with dark brown hair, and a sculpted face. your eyes lingered on him—he was beautiful. it took you a moment but you finally noticed your friends were walking in front if him. no, they were walking with him? and towards you and jiho. you had a confused look on your and your face, and you turned your head to look at jiho.

“why the hell is he coming over here?” he was obviously just as confused, but why was he mad?

your friends had finally reached you and you all took turns hugging each other. the guy was just standing behind your friends, watching with a smile on his face. one of your friends noticed you staring and quickly got to talking

“oh my god, sorry for not introducing you guys! y/n this is evan. he’s one of my friends from high school and he came back to town, so y’know, i’m being hospitable.” your friend said, laughing like she just said the funniest thing ever.

you stepped towards evan, outreaching your hand to shake his. you looked up at him, and he smiled.

“nice to meet you y/n. your friends told me how funny you are.” you awkwardly smiled and your eyes shifted towards your friends. they fucking set you up.

“oh did they huh? i can be quite the clown when i wanna be.” you said and forced out a fake laugh. your friends took that as their cue to leave.

“well, we’re gonna go find kammy and brian, you two have fun!” you stood still. there was a smiling evan, standing in front of you— and an arrogant jiho standing behind you. who would you rather be with right now? you didn’t even have to think before grabbing evan’s hand and pulling him to another part of the house. jiho threw his hands up in disbelief and had a “wtf how could you do that to me” look on his face. you just laughed, you didn’t owe him anything. especially not your company.

you and evan finally found your way to the patio outside. the two of you had been talking for about half an hour—learning that you had a lot in common so there a lot to talk about. you couldn’t stop smiling while speaking to him, and you secretly thanked your friends. after a few more minutes you stood up.

“hey, i’m gonna find a bathroom. are you still gonna be here?” you asked, your thumb pointing towards the house. evan smiled at you again.

“of course, where will i go?” you nodded your head and started towards the glass, sliding doors that lead to the patio. on your way in, you spotted jiho walking out. it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong, so you just continued to the bathroom.

as you washed your hands, you laughed. recalling a joke evan just made a few minutes ago. you were excited to get back to him so you rushed your process a bit and dried your hands on your shirt.

on your way back out, you saw jiho again. this time he was sitting in the living room and he had a huge smile on his face. you were confused, and something about him doing that made you angry. you slid the glass door open and saw evan pacing with a frown on his face. your smile dropped and you walked towards him with more urgency. maybe something happened and he had to leave. you finally stopped in front of him and spoke.

“hey, is everything okay?” he looked up at you and gave you a half smile.

“i’m sorry y/n, i didn’t know there was anything going on between you and that jiho guy.” your face scrunched up immediately at what you were hearing.

“wait what-?” your head was shaking vigorously, heart pounding.

“yeah, he just told me about you guys. i wish you would have told me, but i enjoyed talking to you.” he gave you one last smile before walking off. you stood there dumbfounded, trying to piece together what just happened—then you remembered. you remembered seeing jiho walking to the patio when you went to the bathroom.

with your hands balled in fists, you went inside and looked for jiho. you found him getting another drink and stopped.

“let’s go.” you were fuming and you were itching to hurt jiho. he looked at you and laughed.

“let’s go? i’m not gonna fucking follow-“ you grabbed him by his hair mid sentence and started walking towards the bathroom. his hands were holding his head, and he winced in pain.

you twisted the doorknob to the bathroom and pushed jiho in before you. you entered the room and immediately after locking the door, you slapped him.

“what the fuck did you say to him jiho? seriously, why the fuck are you such a loser?” you pushed his chest and he was up against the sink.

“what are you talking about i have no idea-!” you slapped him again, harder than the first. it fell silent and you took time to breathe, try to reassess the situation. your hands were on your hips as you faced away from jiho, eyes locked on the ground.

you took a final deep breath and turned towards jiho again, eyes still on the floor. your eyes slowly panned over jiho from his feet until you met his eyes. you blinked rapidly, in disbelief before your eyes made way back to his crotch.

“are you fucking hard right now!” you looked at jiho and he had a smug expression on his face.

“what the fuck could possibly be causing you to have an erection right now jiho?” you weren’t done yet, and his demeanor made you more upset so you hit him a third time.

your palm made contact with his cheek and you swore you heard a…whine? he’s getting turned on from me hitting him? fucking loser. the realization made you smile and you looked at jiho. if he was gonna fuck up your night, you might as well have some fun.

his eyes were wide and he looked slightly embarrassed. you walked to him and grabbed him by his chin.

“you’re so pathetic jiho, seriously. you get off to girls being mean to you?” your head was tilted to the side and you had a fake pout on your lips. “bet you jerk this cock to the thought of a girl screaming at you huh?” your unoccupied hand grabbed his dick through his pants and he gasped. his eyes went wide again and his cock twitched in your hand.

“so what the fuck did you say to him?” you asked, anger still evident in your voice.

“what did i say to who?” this time he didn’t seem to be acting. he genuinely already appeared dumb and fucked out by just a few slaps and groping his cock. you shook your head, jaw dropped at how easy he was.

“what’d you say to evan, dumb boy? what made him believe you and i were a fucking thing?” he shuddered at the name you called him and he looked you in your eyes.

“i told him how much we fucked and stuff. told him you spent a few weeks at my family’s beach house over the summer.” your mouth opened and you brought the hand that was gripping his chin, to his hair. you pulled his head back and felt yourself getting hot.

“i would never fuck you jiho. you know why? cause you’re a fucking perv that doesn’t know how to talk to women!” you heard another vulnerable noise come from jiho and you paused. never in a thousand years, did you think seeing choi jiho in such a compromising manner would turn you on. the way he answered you truthfully, the noises, his expression—it all made you want him.

“take off your pants right now.” you demanded. for a moment he snapped out of his daze and looked at you as if you admitted to a mass murder.

“now. or i’ll leave this room.” after hearing that threat, he quickly moved to take his pants off. you nodded at him and tapped his chest.

“take this off too.” you said, referring to his shirt. he lifted the article above his head and it fell to the ground. he had everything off excluding his underwear and you took a step back, looking at him. his waist was defined and you caught yourself staring. he sheepishly moved his body, as if to hide from you and you smiled.

you put your hand on one side of his waist and whispered in his ear.

“i didn’t know you were so pretty choi. if only you could just keep that mouth shut, i would’ve given you a chance a long time ago.” your tongue flicked against his ear and he let out a small breath.

“lying about fucking me. so stupid, you could have asked. who knows i probably would’ve said yes.” your hand inched under the waistband of his underwear and rested on his dick.

“i woulda milked this cock if you were nicer, hmm.” you slowly started moving your hand up and down his length. “but you’re so mean, so annoying to me.” jiho’s mouth was open and he looked you in you eyes, taking in everything you were saying. you could feel precum leaking onto your hand.

“i just like you.” his voice was small and airy. his eyes were locked in on yours and he looked desperate.

“you like me, so every time i’m in your presence you make me want to hurt you? you don’t know how to talk to a fucking girl?” you asked, quickening your pace. his breathing also picked up and he put a hand on your shoulder to support himself.

“i mean look at you—you have me in a bathroom trying to get you to cum. i was just hitting you and you were being so slutty for me.” jiho threw his head back at your words and you pulled his cock out from the fabric restricting it. you put both of your hands on his length and started slowly pumping again.

“look at you, dumb boy. so much to say any other time, but you’re just trying to focus on getting your dick drained.” you shook your head and jutted out your bottom lip.

jiho just whined. his whines were high and strained, like he using his last breath to get them out—it was so hot, watching him react. the way he squirmed, the way he’d grip the side of the sink, and place his hands onto yours. he was so out of it.

“i think i’m gonna cum.” his voice was small, filled with air. you looked at him and saw his eyes were now filled with tears, his expression was pleading. you didn’t want the fun to be over just yet, so you denied him of his orgasm.

“oh you better not cum. wanna see you cry, jiho. bet you look so pretty when you cry, yeah?” your tone was so mocking, it made jiho almost embarrassed. you continued stroking him faster, while bringing your other hand to his tip. your thumb grazed back and forth, over his slit in a constant motion.

jiho’s mouth fell open, you could see drool pooling from the corner of his pretty lips. you felt his hips bucking into your fist so you decided to stop moving your hands. he looked down at you and shook his head. his eyes gathered more tears while he began to protest.

“why’d you stop? i was so close. please.” he was so needy—but not enough. you wanted him to break him. so every time you saw him in public, he’d remember how you made him cry and beg for you.

“no no, not yet. open your mouth really fast.” you didn’t expect him to actually do what you said, but a smile stretched across your face when you saw his tongue hanging out of his mouth. you pressed a kiss to the very corner of his mouth and began to gather saliva in your mouth. you placed both hands on his face and brought it close to yours. with your thumb on his bottom lip, you let a string of spit slowly make it’s way into his mouth. a moan escaped his throat as soon as the saliva touched his tongue. the way he looked at you now was so much different to the way he did before. all your other encounters with jiho, he always glared at you, eyes low, eyebrows furrowed, and lips upturned.

now, he looked at you in awe. his pupils were dilated, sweat was beading on his forehead, and it seemed like he’d do anything you asked. you decided to test that theory and make him do a few things.

“if you really wanna cum, i think you’d just touch yourself for me.” his face immediately fell to a frown.

“no y/n please, i need you to touch me, please.” hearing your name come out of his mouth, so vulnerably made you indescribably horny. you still stood your ground.

“but i wanna see how jiho touches himself. need to see how you make yourself feel good. so dumb, do you even know how to use that cock?” you saw his eyes light up and his dick twitched in his lap.

“i love the way you talk to me.” his hands gripped his leaking dick and he began to stroke, long and slow. a few hisses could be heard coming from him. his dick was turning a light shade of red, and he was getting overstimulated from the sensations. still he didn’t stop. his movements gradually sped up and he became sloppier. he was alternating between hands, his moans were getting louder, but thankfully drowned out by the music.

“please. please y/n, can i cum for you?” his eyes were fluttering, and the tears finally broke free. he let out a high pitched whine and licked his lips. “please touch me. want to cum for you, please.”

watching the continuous flow of tears stream down his face, satisfied you. you stepped towards jiho and replaced his hand with yours. one of his arms was thrown around your shoulder as he supported himself against you. your grip on his dick was so deliciously tight, he welcomed the feeling. his breathing was getting heavier and you could tell he was getting close. you quickened your pace and used the palm of your other hand to massage his red, mushroom head. his lip jutted out and his eyes were so glossy.

“y/n please. i’m gonna cum.” you knew he couldn’t hold on any longer so you allowed him to cum. whispering degrading things in his ear.

“oh look at that, you stupid puppy. getting your nasty cum all over my hand.” his body shook against yours and he wrapped both hands around your neck as you continued to slowly pump him. whimpers left his mouth and he continued to squirt his cum onto your hand and on the bathroom floor. you kissed his neck, and wet cheeks as he was coming down from his high. he wasn’t getting aftercare so you figured that was the least you could do.

jiho slowly removed himself from you and you could tell he was embarrassed. you laughed, watching him put his clothes on while you washed your hands.

“uh…if you’d be down to ever do that again, we so could. like i mean if you want to, cause it’s up to you, y’know.” jiho said shyly. his tone was soft and his hair was still damp on his forehead. a smile came across your face as you thought for a second. you definitely wouldn’t mind seeing jiho like that again, but why let him know that?

“we’ll see, cutie. also clean your cum off the floor.” you said pointing to the puddle he left. you opened the door to the bathroom and quickly ran out, getting as far away from it as possible. it’s not like this is one of the regretful one night stands—if you could call it that, but you were super giddy. i mean you just made choi jiho cry for you.

you found your friends after a few minutes of wandering. you guys spent the rest of the night getting fucked up and you totally didn’t do anything you regretted.

the next morning you woke up and checked your phone. you had a instagram dm request from an account.

choicestickji : can i take you out sometime?

what the fuck did you get into?

a/n: this is so not how i imagine jiho being towards someone he likes but i loved this scenario sm. also i had to make evan as vague as possible cause this isn’t about him😝ummm originally i wanted this to be a oneshot but i might make another part hmmm💭

#sub!idol #sub!kpop #ampers&one #kpop smut #ampersandone #sub!amperson&one #ampersandone jiho #ampers&one jiho #choi jiho #sub!jiho #sub!choijiho #ineedhim

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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Thot of the day: reader is obsessed with Eddie's lips, she has the biggest fattest crush on him, maybe he's a costumer in her cafe, they often speak/flirt and she watches him greedily, thinking about what those lips could do on her. She often fantasizes about making him sucking her fingers while she rides him. Well, she's determined to make him hers 🫠

Combined with this anon req:

Hello hello hello! I love your blog! may I please request a little smutty thing of Eddie losing his mind over fem reader having a tongue piercing when she's going down on him?

I took some liberties and made some changes so Eddie is more subby; hope that's okay!

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up pls), teeny mention of breeding kink, subby!Eddie

WC: 2.5k

Eddie hadn’t even meant to meet you.

He’d only stumbled into the café in a feeble attempt to get out of the pouring rain after the wind snapped his umbrella inside out. The goal was to get to the nearest McDonald’s for lunch, since he’d forgotten his sandwich at home, but the weather had other plans.

“Shit shit shit,” he’d muttered, shaking out the umbrella haphazardly before giving up and chucking it in the trash. There was no way he was walking anywhere else, so he wiped his hands on his jeans—which were now stuck to his thighs—and approached the counter to get a better look at the menu.

“What can I get for you?” A voice greeted him, coming out from behind the espresso machine. You gave him a small smile as you grabbed a notepad to jot down his order.

“Um,” Eddie’s full attention was on you, rather than his food options. “Do you serve coffee here?”

You gestured at the bags of coffee beans lining the counter. “What gave it away?” you’d asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He could smack himself—it’s a café, of course there’s coffee. “I mean, I’ll have a large coffee, cream and sugar.” That’s what Wayne gets whenever they go to the diner, so he chooses the same.

“Mhm,” you hummed, raising your eyebrows. “Anything to eat?” You pointed to the small chalkboard hanging behind you. “If you need help sounding out any of the words, let me know.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Are you calling me dumb?” he’d balked. “What kind of customer service is this?” But he was smiling, and his silly, overly dramatic nature had you giggling.

That’s when he saw it.

The black stud, perfectly adorning the center of your tongue. It flicked against your teeth as you’d told him, “the chicken pesto panini is my favorite.” There was no response from the curly-haired metalhead before you. You’d squinted slightly, waving your hand in front of his face. “Hello? You good?”

“Wha—oh, yeah,” he’d stammered bashfully, breaking from his trance. “I’ll have that, then. The, uh, the chicken thing.”

“So, one coffee and one chicken thing?” you’d teased him. “And who’s this for?”

Eddie furrows his brows in confusion. “It’s for me?” It comes out as a question.

“And does ‘me’ have a name?” You laughed again. He didn’t even care that you were laughing at him, not with him. He’d say or do nearly anything to get a glimpse of your tongue and that godforsaken piercing.

“Oh, uh, Eddie. Eddie is my name,” he says lamely.

“Eddie. Got it.” You’d written his name on the side of the Styrofoam cup in permanent marker. He’d felt himself stiffen against his zipper when you’d said his name aloud. He wanted to hear you moan it, scream it, over and over.

From that moment on, Eddie is totally smitten. He stops by the café for his coffee every morning on his way to work at the record store. The burgeoning caffeine addiction is worth getting to talk to you for just a few seconds.

After a week of flustered half-conversations, he finally works up the nerve to ask you an actual question.

“Are you from around here? Like, from Hawkins?” It’s clunky and awkward, but it’s a start.

“Kinda?” You chuckle at his puzzled expression. “I lived here until my parents divorced when I was fourteen, right before I started high school. Then I went to live with my dad in Chicago until I started college last year.”

“That’s cool–I mean, it’s not cool that your parents split up, that sucks, but it’s cool that you lived in Chicago and go to college and stuff.” Good God, stop talking, Eddie wills himself, practically clamping his lips shut in an attempt to cut off his babbling. “What brings you back?”

You give an exasperated sigh. “My mom insisted I spend the summer with her; she wants to ‘reconcile our misgivings’ or whatever bullshit line Oprah fed her.” Eddie takes note of your eye roll when you speak about your mother. “So she set me up with this job while she drags me to family therapy once a week.” You pull a cup from the pile in front of you. “Your usual?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, trying to find another topic to keep the conversation from ending. “Where do you go to college?”

Your smile melts him, and he has to grip the counter to keep his knees from buckling. “The Pratt Institute. It’s in New York City,” you elaborate.

Eddie’s jaw drops. “No fuckin’ way!” he exclaims. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York, but to actually live there? That’s fuckin’ awesome!”

“My mom wasn’t thrilled,” you confess through gritted teeth. “She never liked that I wanted to pursue art as a career. It was always, ‘make it a hobby so you can get a real job.’” You slide his cup towards him. “It’s like, she disapproves of everything that I do: what I study, friends I hang out with, people I’ve dated.”

“Are you seeing anyone now?” The question spills out before he can think it through, hoping you don’t pick up on his eagerness.

You shake your head. “Single as ever,” you reply chipperly. “Why, you putting in an application?” Your tongue sneaks past your teeth, just enough to show off the piercing.

A blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks at your proposition. “Maybe? If you’re interested? If not, I can just pay for my coffee and go.”

You tilt your head, musing his proposition. “I’d be lying if I said I was looking for something serious right now,” you begin, watching his shoulder sag dejectedly, “but my boss doesn’t get here for another hour, if you wanna fool around in the back?”

Eddie’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “You wanna fool around…with me?” He doesn’t wait for your response as he hoists himself over the counter, knocking over the stack of cups and the basket of sugar packets. “I’ll clean that up later,” he mumbles, dragging you to the door marked “employees only.”

His hands are relentless, like he can’t decide where to put them first. First, he cups your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours, but determines that that’s too intimate for the occasion. He brings his palms up your shirt, messily groping at your tits through your bra. “S’perfect,” he growls as he bites your neck. You can feel him twitching in his jeans, and you grind up against him. The groan that leaves his mouth is downright pornographic.

Your tongues intertwine as he pushes you against the door. He tastes like stale cigarettes and the sip of coffee he just had. His knee instinctively slips between your legs, angled perfectly for you to rub yourself on it.

“You ever get head from someone with a tongue piercing before?” When he shakes his head dumbly, you take the opportunity to continue taunting him. “Oh, sweet boy; have you ever gotten head from anyone before?”

“N-No,” Eddie admits. “But I’d like to change that.”

You giggle at his candid confession, fingers toying with his belt buckle. He hisses at the mere brush of your hands against his clothed erection. Pulling his pants and boxers down as you drop to your knees, you watch in awe as his thick cock smacks against his stomach, leaving a pre-cum stain on his Dio shirt. “Damn, these Hawkins girls don’t know what they’re missing,” you tell him. You lean over, spitting on his pink tip and collecting the saliva back in your mouth as you lick up his shaft.

The piercing feels like absolute heaven on the ridges of his dick. You trace along the vein as you take as much of him in your mouth as you can. He’s huge.

“Holy shit, holy fuckin’ shit,” Eddie breathes, digging his ringed fingers into your hair. “Please keep going, please please please.”

Never one to turn down the chance to torture, you let go of his cock with a pop. “What was that, baby?” You give a mischievous smirk.

Eddie looks like he’s about to cry at the loss of contact. “No, don’t stop; need you,” he whines, jutting out his lower lip reflexively.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” You take him back in your mouth, sucking him off while playing with his balls. He’s not expecting that, and he bucks his hips into you, making you gag.

“‘M sorry,” he whispers, pulling back slightly to let you breathe. “Didn’t mean to…” He spins a ring on his finger anxiously.

“Maybe I like choking on you,” you murmur, grasping his softening length in your lithe fingers and pumping it, watching it stiffen in your hand. “You know what else I’d like?” He hums his response. “I’d like you to cum in my mouth. Y’think you can do that for me?”

You’re shocked when he shakes his head no. “I don’t wanna cum yet,” he mumbles, hoping you’ll get the hint. “Tryna hold out so, y’know…”

You lick your lips and sneer. “Honey, I bet you can get it back up in under five minutes, if that.” Swirling your tongue over his angry red tip, and grabbing his thighs, you bring him to his climax. He spills into your mouth, moaning your name so loudly you’re worried a rogue customer might hear.

Eddie gently withdraws, and you part your lips to show him his cum on your tongue. The black stud makes the perfect centerpiece as you swallow his load.

A string of his cum lingers on your pointer and middle fingers. You consider it for a moment before bringing it to his lips. “You should taste yourself, Eddie,” you murmur. “Taste s’fucking good.” He opens his mouth obediently, sucking on your fingers harshly. His tongue tickles against them, and you shiver.

“You’re…oh my God,” he manages. “Is it too forward to say that you’re perfect?”

“I don’t care what you say, as long as you fuck me right now,” you growl into his ear. You can’t act like he’s the only needy one any longer. Ever since he’d walked into the café, drenched from the rain, you’d wanted him. Wanted his soft, pillowy lips on yours. Wanted him to sink his teeth into your skin until he left marks. Wanted him inside you, filling you up completely.

He nods his head, but the rest of his body seems to freeze in place. He snaps out of it as you bring his hands to the button on your skirt, quickly using his thick fingers to strip you of it and revealing black lace underwear. He practically falls to his knees, kissing your wet pussy through the cloth.

“You’re fucking soaked.” Eddie can’t hide the awe in his voice, tugging at the fabric so roughly that it rips. “Oh, shit. ‘M sorry.”

“No, that was really hot,” you tell him breathlessly, mindlessly bringing your middle finger to your throbbing clit. Eddie pushes it away, running his tongue along your folds. He’s eager but timid, so you encourage him. “Fuck me with your tongue, baby. Oh, that’s it—right there,” you wail as he finds your hole. His thumb is rubbing frantic circles on your sensitive bud, not stopping until you cum so hard, your toes curl.

“Fuck—yes—Eddie—I’m coming—f’you,” you manage, throwing your head back and biting your fist to muffle your screams. Sweat drips down the side of Eddie’s neck. “Worked so hard for me, didn’t you?” you coo, resuming your dominance. “C’mere; you ready to cum again?” His boner speaks for itself, twitching up against him.

You lean your stomach against the cool countertop, mentally reminding yourself to sanitize it tonight. “‘S not ideal, but it’ll do,” you say. A lot of people want their first time to be in a bed, or on a beach, gazing lovingly into their partner’s eyes. Well, Eddie Munson was going to lose his virginity by fucking you from behind in the café kitchen, but you doubt he’s complaining.

“I d-don’t have, um, protection.” He winces at his awkwardness, massaging the nape of his neck.

“Relax. I’m on the pill.” When he shoots you a dubious glance, you laugh. “Do I look like I wanna have your babies?” His eyebrows raise at the thought of it. “Oookay, we’ll unpack that another time. For right now, for the love of God, put your dick inside me.”

“Yes ma’am.” Eddie sets himself behind you, sliding into your waiting pussy. “So tight; takin’ me so good.” He pinches his face together in ecstasy.

You press your palms into the counter. “Harder. I l-like it rough.” He takes direction well, pistoning into you and grabbing your ponytail. “Yes, Eddie. Pull my hair. Fucking yank it.” You clench around his length as you feel the familiar strain on your scalp.

“Can’t—hold—out,” Eddie groans. He wants to make you cum again, but his orgasm is just too close, and he finds himself spilling into you for the second time today. “Thassit. Take it. Take my cum, just like that.” He keeps thrusting even as he gets softer, fucking his seed into you. When he comes down from the high, he’s immediately embarrassed. “You didn’t get to—”

But he’s interrupted by the sound of the bell jingling, signaling an incoming customer. “Y/N? Where are you, dear?” a voice calls out.

Eddie knows that voice. He knows it all too well.

You roll your eyes. “Ugh, my mom’s here. I forgot she said she was gonna visit me at work today.” You pull your skirt back up to your waist, fasten it quickly, and secure your hair back in its tie.

Your…mom? But that sounded like…

Without thinking, Eddie follows you, adjusting himself and fixing his belt as he walks. There’s no way…

“Edward? I didn’t know you worked here with my daughter!”

You turn to Eddie, confused. “How do you know my mom?”

But the older woman answers for him. “Oh, we know each other very well. Mr. Munson took English with me three times over. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, Mrs. O’Donnell,” he replies miserably. “But I finally graduated this year.”

“And thank God for that,” Mrs. O’Donnell scoffs. “Do me a favor and stay away from my daughter. She doesn’t need any more bad influences in her life.”

Something comes over Eddie—maybe it’s his pure rage towards his former teacher; maybe it’s the confidence he feels from losing his virginity—but he steps closer to you and grabs your ass through your skirt. “Not a problem. I think my work here is done, anyway.”

Mrs. O’Donnell practically faints on the spot. “What—what do you—oh, for heaven’s sake, please don’t tell me you two are dating.”

“Oh, no, we’re not dating,” you smirk, waiting for her to relax before dropping the bomb: “We’re just sleeping together.”

Eddie grins, leaning over to kiss you possessively. “See you tomorrow? Same time and place?” He winks at Mrs. O’Donnell, still in shock from your blunt admission. “Don’t worry; I passed sex ed the first time.”

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #requests

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therimmerexperience · 1 month ago

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Smegtober- Day 7 (Sacrifice)

“I need to go home,” Ace, Rimmer, told Wildfire, his voice nasal and whiny; he was ready to be himself again.

“As you wish,” replied the disembodied voice from the cockpit, her tone, as always, indifferent and cold. She scanned her dimensional records with a beep.

Rimmer's eyes widened in disbelief as he laughed bitterly, “it was that easy? You could have taken the others home at any time too?”

“Yes, Arnold,” she replied, still indifferent.

“Why?” He tore the wig from his head, tossing it to the arm of his chair and missing. He left it on the ground.

“Why what?”

“Why did you never take any of the others back?” He glowered at Wildfire's control panel as if she could see him, as if she had the capacity to care. If he had known, if any of them had known, that they could have just asked to go home, the Ace Rimmer grave planet would be a ring system short of a war memorial.

“They never asked,” she, once again, answered plainly.

Rimmer shook his head, opening his mouth though the strained feeling in the back of his throat prevented anything from escaping. Eventually, he gave up. Lecturing an unemotional machine on human decency seemed redundant. He felt foolish for even getting upset at her.

“Just take me home.” He finally relented.

Wildfire buzzed, a swell of blue expanding in the ink before them and swallowing them whole, spitting them back out in a similar blotchy scene, speckled with stars, only with one major difference; a large spacecraft hung in the sky to the right of Wildfire, dusty rouge and just as tasteless and magnificent as he remembered it. It was home.

Boarding the dwarf, stepping, for the first time in decades, onto the landing bay, he was greeted by Kryten first, the rest of the crew behind him, his head wider and his body a brighter shade of silver than before. He had aged. Could mechanoids age? Rimmer pushed away the thought. It made him feel old.

“Mr Ace!” he gushed, a veil of perplexion shrouding his features while his eyes scanned the wig pressed curls on Rimmer’s head. A smug, knowing smile tugged at Lister’s cheeks, the creases around his mouth deeper than Rimmer remembered, his eyes lined, crows feet forming in the corners. He pulled him into a tight hug, much like when he had first left though Lister definitely felt softer. Rimmer supposed time had done the same to him too.

Red Dwarf itself had changed. Rimmer had noted all of the small differences mentally while on his way to Lister’s room: hallways seemingly stretched further, the ceilings panels no longer resembled styrofoam and he could have sworn there never used to be that many elevators. He wondered if the diesel desks had changed. His next spontaneous getaway the next time someone fell ill would surely be more interesting than the time Lister contracted space mumps- for one, he had an actual body now.

Looking around, Rimmer felt like he was in a funhouse, the room distorted compared to the one in his memory; he was still trying to wrap his head around the nanobot resurrection, let alone the changes the resurrection had caused; since when were bunkrooms that big? It was remarkable how pleasantly sized beds were supposed to be before the JMC budget cuts. He shrugged off his hideous silver flight jacket, throwing it out into the middle of the room and watching it dissolve into light before it hit the floor.

“So,” he turned to Lister, who was slumped in a chair by the table, “Where did the other me go? The one who was resurrected.”

“He’s hiding,” The scouser chucked, “down in the cargo decks. I think he’s scared you're here to replace him.”

Rimmer settled in the chair opposite Lister’s, resting his hands lackadaisically on the surface in front of him and shooting him a playfully suspicious glance, “and why would he think that?”

“Because that's what I told him,” He grinned idiotically, much like he used to back in his twenties, “It’s not my fault he believed me.”

Rimmer couldn't help but smile in return, “I was never that much of a tremendous coward, was I?”

“Well, he is only human.”

They stewed in silence for a moment. Considering his next words carefully before he let them tumble from his tongue, Rimmer pressed his mouth into a straight line, his brow creasing. He watched his former crewmate tap anxiously on the metal tabletop expectantly for a while.

“He won't want to take Wildfire,” Lister beat him to it, still tapping, “I think he's worse than you were.”

Rimmer nodded; he knew exactly what he had meant by ‘worse’; he was less adjusted, more cowardly, meaner and so much more bitter- all of the things that made Rimmer 'worse’ than most other people. A hand slid over the top of one of Rimmer's, brushing its thumb over his reassuringly and squeezing it lightly. Lister’s eyes met his, unchanged, still the same shade of brown they always had been: a sickly sweet hue of honey.

“I don’t want to leave,” the hologram admitted sheepishly, withdrawing his hands, “I’ve been Ace too long, Listy. Longer than any other Rimmer.”

“I’m sure I can convince him to give it a go,” he winked, “I’ve done it before.”

—-

Rimmer climbed into the cockpit of Wildfire, gaudy, senset blonde wig askew and flight jacket rubbing the wrong way on his skin; he wasn't ready. He waved to the man who looked just like him, who saluted in return, the H on his forehead shimmering in the light of the landing bay. Lister smiled thankfully, a semblance of guilt on the curl of his lips. How could Rimmer have said no? It wasn't as though he truly belonged here. He was merely a spare part.

“Come on, old love,” Nano-Rimmer prompted Wildfire in an Ace impersonation, still yet to be perfected, “We better be off.”

#red dwarf #arnold rimmer #dave lister #rimster #fanfic #fanfiction #smegtober2024 #red dwarf fanfiction #smegtober #ace rimmer #holy shit this is one thousand words exactly???#rimmer x lister #subtle rimster

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klxudykai · 4 months ago

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★ fame dr intro ★

name: (cr name)

nickname(s): kai, kaine

age: 24

birthday: 05.16.00 (dr is set in 2024)

zodiac: taurus

positive traits: creative, funny, athletic, passionate, honest, loyal, artistic

negative traits: stubborn, moody, blunt

likes: cows, tea, music, food, art, sleep, fashion

dislikes: potatoes, styrofoam

hobbies: playing guitar (both acoustic and electric), drawing, singing, dancing, aerial

skills: singing, dancing, drawing, playing guitar, aerial

my guitars:

career backstory: I started writing my own songs at the age of 15 and singing at the age of 7. I started to post song covers and the songs I wrote on YouTube and Instagram after I turned 16 and after 5 months of doing so I was recognized by Def Jam Records (chose a random ass record label I don't know man) who I later signed with a year later.

stage name: KAINE.

genre(s): r&b/soul, teen pop, alternative/indie, hip-hop/rap

inspired by: Brandy, Faith Evans, Lauryn Hill, Tupac, Deftones, Beyoncé, Christina Aguilera, Avril Lavigne, Mary J. Blige, Gwen Stefani, Destiny’s Child, The Weeknd, Jhene Aiko

main aesthetic: y2k, grunge, indie

current label i’m signed with: Def Jam Records

microphone references: (the writing and star is in gold rhinestones and the rest of the mic is in black rhinestones)

discography:

existing singles:

- “drunken lies”

- “spirals”

- “shrinking hands”

- “orange peels”

- “lying thru ur teeth”

- “record player”

future singles:

- “lit blunts”

- “landlines”

existing eps

- "i dont know what you want

- "flu season"

existing albums

- "red bed sheets"

- "glitter guitar"

- "lying thru ur teeth"

future album

- "silence on the valleys"

(future) s/o

name: Jacob Elordi

age: 26

birthday: June 26

how we meet: i ask him to be in my music video for my single

extra: i scripted that he has an eyebrow piercing just like in Saltburn cause oml 🙏🏾

okay thats all i gotta add for my fame dr (i hope i dont get clowned cause of my s/o i was lowkey debating not adding him to this post LMFAO) also excuse the delay, i was in a stump trying to figure out album names and such

#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifting #black shifters #shifters #shifting realities #shifting community #shifting blog #shifting antis dni #kai's drs

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violetmuses · 5 months ago

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Collide - A. Aretas ❤️‍🔥

Title: Collide

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: Joining the Miami Police Department leads to more than what's expected. @yeahnohoneybye

====

2024

“What's up, rookie?” Detective Mike Lowrey stepped forward as you entered this well-known precinct.

“Stop it.” You laugh this morning while holding another Styrofoam cup.

“He's joining the team today.” Lowrey didn't even mention names for you to notice the reference.

Uh-oh. You thought. It's official.

Handed an opportunity to cut down his time in prison, criminal Armando Aretas would team up with the AMMO squad.

“I'm keeping my guard up.” You lifted your finger and walked away from Mike, working as a distraction.

_____

“Be nice. She's a good person.” Mike's voice echoed again and you turned away from the desktop computer, nosey for a moment.

Wearing black despite facing this heatwave, Armando Aretas showed up.

Rolling both eyes, this man kept moving forward until he crossed the empty desk that's placed not too far away from you.

Nothing. Silence.

You still worked through concentration and remained grateful that awkward small talk hasn't begun yet.

At least Dorn and Kelly know how to smile during the day.

This strong yet pleasing cologne reached your nostrils and the fragrance didn't belong to Mike.

Damn. You quietly lingered in Armando's direction.

The important gun holster strapped around his waist, but he wore this gold necklace around his neck.

Short dark hair took style for once as you remembered his mugshots. Even one decent mustache lined as Aretas shadowed this slight beard.

Turning back near your computer, you knew better than to mess around. Those handsome looks fooled the world just to bring out danger.

“Hey.” Armando greets you for the first time while accented English caught your attention. “You dropped this pen.”

“Oh, thanks.” You nodded and slid the pen back into place on your desk, typing more like nothing happened.

Armando pulled the swivel chair away from his own desk and turned that seat backwards to sit again, resting his arms over while looking at you.

“What's your name again?” He bit his lip, trying to capture your interest through charm.

Unphased, you still tried ignoring Armando, but the cologne peeked its fragrance once more.

Saving your work for a moment, you faced this man just to acknowledge his presence.

“Excuse me for not fawning over you. I prefer guys with clean records.” You told the truth.

“You're a cop. Nobody here runs without problems, all right?” Armando keeps going, but you can't argue in public. "Bonita perra."

After living in Miami for years, you knew exactly what this smart-ass grumbled while organizing his desk.

Armando Aretas just called you a pretty bitch under his breath.

Rather than make a scene, you quickly text Mike for action:

Mike, talk to your son before I slap the taste out of his mouth! 🤬

______

“C'mere right now. ” Mike cornered both of you near his office. “What did you say?”

“We were talking and she doesn't favor my criminal record, so I said that cops aren't perfect either. Then - Bonita perra.” Armando explained.

“So you called a bitch for not trusting everything right away? C'mon, man.” Mike shook his head through disappointment. “Apologize.”

“I'm sorry.” Armando seemed genuine this time around.

“If this team thing is going to work, watch your mouth.” You warned Aretas and stepped out of the room.

Armando turned his head, observing how you walked away.

“Uh-uh!” Mike realized the gesture and caught his son peeking at your curves. “We just talked about this.”

“She's fine. What am I supposed to do?” Armando stopped himself from laughing.

“Never stare. Makes you look like a creep.” Mike corrected his son.

“Okay.” Slyly taking Mike's gum, Armando pocketed the candy before leaving to see you again.

“Hey!” Lowrey realized, just able to laugh and roll both eyes for a second.

____

Missions wouldn't take place yet. Mike wanted to see how you and Armando would fare through lunch first.

Seated at this local restaurant, you're placed across from Lowrey and his longtime partner Marcus Burnett. Armando perched nearby.

“Don't fight again.” Mike warned you and Armando once drinks reached the table.

“I'm innocent.” You lifted both hands while facing Mike.

When meals settled for everyone, silverware clanked.

“So weird. She's never this quiet.” Marcus acknowledged your silence at the table.

“Food is her distraction, remember?” Mike whispered.

“I know.” Mike sighed and looked toward Marcus again.

“What did Armando call her? I missed the battle this morning.” Marcus was late to your argument at their station.

“A Bonita perra.” Mike then rolled his eyes once more.

“Pretty bitch.” Marcus shook his head while repeating the term in English. “Armando's fresh just like you.”

“Told him already.” Mike drank water. “Caught this fool watching her walk away, too.”

“He's been stuck in prison for years.” Marcus continued whispering. “Not saying it's right, but at least they ain't fucking.”

Mike glanced over to see you and Armando listening to everything!

“Oh, shit! My bad.” Marcus immediately realized his screw-up.

“I wouldn't mind, though.” Armando winked toward you as Mike nearly cringed.

Marcus shrugged and covered the bill to leave with this group.

______

The very first case that you would solve together detailed an absolute nightmare.

Law enforcement agencies claimed that Conrad Howard muddled with the cartel for years.

Yet, Lowrey and Burnett wanted to prove Cap’s innocence as soon as possible, refusing such a terrible lie.

“Cap was framed.” You realize, looking over info as AMMO tech genius Dorn loaded virtual screens for that mission.

“James McGrath: Former Army Ranger turned DEA agent. Tortured before joining the cartel himself.” Dorn pointed out several highlights.

“Let's go.” You stand up to move and capture this monster, but Armando catches your wrist and locks eye contact.

Everyone working for the AMMO squad freezes, ready to protect you.

“Nothing goes forward without me.” Armando put his foot down.

“Help us out, then.” You pull yourself away from this man.

The process dragged already.

_____

"Eres tan terco.” Calling you stubborn in Spanish, Armando found the back seat as Mike continued driving. Marcus took his passenger space again.

“Maybe if you hadn't disrespected me this morning, I'd feel better.” You defended yourself.

“Let it go, Spark! He apologized.” For once, Mike almost yelled from the driver's seat and brought up one of your nicknames.

Given no other choice, you shut up and awaited this drop on McGarth.

_______

Henchmen for McGarth frequented one of the nightclubs located downtown, so this AMMO squad dressed among Miami's finest patrons.

“Let's pretend to be a couple. It'll keep people distracted.” Armando looped his sleeved arm around your shoulder.

“Uh-huh.” Facing Armando, you played along for this mission. Mike and Marcus chatted with the suits lurking upstairs in that VIP section.

“All jokes aside, you're beautiful and I really do apologize for what happened.” Armando whispered between flashing spotlights.

“Thank you.” This true smile reached your own face. Battling wouldn't fix anything.

“Call me?” Armando beamed close to your ear, bridging the gap of reality and fiction once more.

“Okay.” You laugh, tickled when scuff reaching his slight beard touches your cheek.

Brave, you reach and hold Armando's face with both hands, still amused on the dance floor.

Just as your favorite song echoed from one of these South Beach DJs, gunshots rang out.

On instinct, you duck with Armando and clutched his hand, no longer thinking of the mission.

Survival waits at this forefront now.

“Get out of there, Spark!” Mike shouted through your veiled earpiece.

Still holding hands with Armando, you rush outside and hope to find the escape vehicle, but Dorn hasn't pulled up.

“Shit! Jump one of the vehicles, Armando. You scrambled near one sedan, terrified.

“C'mon!” Aretas gritted his teeth and tried to score this getaway.

Bingo! That engine revved to life and hopped this passenger seat, leaving Mike and Marcus in the dust.

Even your cell phones ring from respective pockets, but you don't care anymore, simply wishing to escape alive.

_____

In an effort to keep hiding, you take Armando to your apartment.

“Nice crib.” Despite handling this situation, he compliments your place while glancing around the living room.

“Thank you.” You removed these heels and finally checked your phone, noticing an immediate text message:

Mike - We lost McGarth! Lay low and meet up for a new plan tomorrow morning.

“Dammit!” You tossed your phone across this room, but Armando caught that device in his palm.

Though not always expressing himself, Armando still wanted to help you.

“Tomorrow.” Aretas stepped closer to you and put your phone down on the coffee table. “It's one setback, but we'll get ‘em. Kay?”

“You have more faith than me right now.” You said, frustrated.

“Can't give up. I never have.” Armando continued speaking.

“Fair enough.” You cleared your throat. “I have a guest room if you want space.”

“I'll take the couch instead.” Aretas declined your offer. “Faster escape.”

“Good point.” You nodded, but settled in your private bedroom.

____

“I thought you'd stay on the couch.” At least your offered breakfast the next day and caught Armando leaving your guest room this time.

“I took a shower in your guest room and fell asleep.” Aretas hid one smile.

You'd quietly noticed that Armando wore this tank top underneath the dark outfit from last night. His gun holster returned and veiled near black pants.

“We might as well eat something.” You gestured at the kitchen table and sat down with him, trying to accept this calm before the storm.

______

Jackpot!

McGarth lurked with his crew from an old alligator theme park.

“Shit!” Armando whispered past his moment to swear as you moved through spots from enclosed water.

“What?” You gently questioned him and still raised your weapon.

This echoing growl caught your senses and truth slammed down: Real alligators shadowed, too.

“Don't move.” Armando plans to keep you both alive.

Just before you could say goodbye to everything, this alligator steered away, moving toward other voices.

“Spark!” Mike shouted your nickname over the rickety bridge. One large rope dropped down, pulling you and Armando from this water.

“Where are they?” You breathe after gaining balance with the AMMO squad.

To make matters even worse during the mission, McGarth kidnapped Howard's daughter Callie and Mike's wife Christine.

“This way!” Mike called, prompting everyone to run behind him.

_____

“I need you to trust me.” Another wild fight led the path toward Callie, but Armando nearly bled out, limping as you tried to keep his walk in place.

“I know, I know, c'mon…” Your heart dropped while Armando clenched through genuine pain for once.

Mike and Marcus stand with the bruised AMMO squad as this destination looms steps away.

“I'm here.” Mike promised. Nearly falling against trees, Armando noticed his father, exhausted.

“Your wife…” Armando struggled.

“We got Christine, man. She's all right now.” Mike told the truth as Christine Lowrey emerged beside Marcus.

“Freeze, Aretas!” Judy Howard popped from between daylight brushes and planned to kill Armando for revenge.

“No, Mom! Don't shoot. Armando saved my life. Please!” Callie lifted both hands instead, but you blocked the young girl as well

“Judy, listen.” You just want to negotiate. “I know you're upset right now, but please put this gun down. Enough people died today.”

McGarth finally dropped through several gunshots and other casualties lined up around the theme park.

“All of you should get out of here before I change my mind.” Lowering that firearm, Judy Howard discharged this moment and hugged Callie, thanking so much for her daughter's survival

______

Mike originally planned on sending Aretas back to Mexico, but you had another idea.

“Where's the ice cream, mami?” Armando left your guest room while shirtless and rooted that fridge again.

“Stop taking my ice cream.” You quickly roll both eyes and kiss his cheek.

Safe at last, you could stay together now.

#bad boys for life #bad boys ride or die #bad boys #jacob scipio #armando aretas #armando x reader #armando aretas x reader #movies #violence #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #violetmuses #my writing

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malapertmarquess · 9 months ago

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*"Cat" includes all species of big cat for plushy purposes.

#polls #hyperspecific polls

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lace-coffin · 10 months ago

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OKAY OKAY, I swear I’ll stop requesting Asa Emory, (never 😔) but I js thought abt this, okay so what about a police officer, that has 2 jobs, 1: police officer trying to find the murderer, ‘Asa Emory’ but the 2nd job is like teaching in a class in the same building Asa teaches in 👀?

How would Asa Emory react to a co-worker leading his cop case? (Nsfw)

Asa Emory x Police!Gn!Reader (Nsfw)

Requests are open!

This dynamic really reminds me off Mark Hoffman and Peter Strahm and I love it, I’m fixating on saw so hard right now so I’m excited to write this!

You had to die. There was no other way around it. If Asa wasn’t already stressed out enough with his collection then he definitely was now. You were like a moth to a lamp, moving wherever he did despite his best efforts to shake you off, always finding your way back to him. Usually he adored moths but you’re a different story.

with the kind of ‘extracurricular’ work Asa did cops were a given, the threat of being discovered always hovering over him like flies to putrid meat. He could handle that, people were going missing all over the city and never turning back up, and if they did somehow make a reappearance they hardly resembled humans at that point. He was used to it, no skin off his back.

However when it interfered with his teaching work..this unnerved him. Here he was supposed to be Mr.Emory, unremarkable and flying under the radar, at most people may think of him as “that one kind of quiet entomology lecturer” some people may consider entomology a weird major to choose but that was neither here nor there, if anything Asa was glad it drew in the more reserved types.

It had been quiet until you began working in the same building, he had no idea what you taught, he just knew you worked in the class next door, and that you worked part time as a cop. That was enough for him to avoid you like the plague. Realistically it probably wouldn’t hurt to just introduce himself but he’s not taking the risk.

Unfortunately you didn’t seem to get the memo, too friendly for your own good he supposed. After a week of classes you finally introduced yourself in the staff lounge. Asa couldn’t brush you off or bolt here, not wanting to disrupt or cause a scene amongst the other teachers. It’s almost like you did it on purpose. He swore he had seen an almost sadistic glee behind your eyes as the realisation dawned on him.

Still, he couldn’t find it in him to be upset even after you’d put him on the spot. It felt odd to be the one squirming on the other end, Asa was used to making his projects uncomfortable, not the other way around. It awakened something in him, the way you ushered him over to the staff sofa, prompting him to introduce himself to the other teachers expectantly, making a point of leaving to make you both a coffee, by proxy leaving Asa the centre of focus to these strangers.

Asa’s face was heating up despite his best efforts to calm his breathing, he had wanted to stay a nobody here, now he was on a first name basis with half the staff, brilliant. You throw Asa a knowing look whilst waiting for the styrofoam cup to fill, confusing him even more.

None of this was a coincidence for you, having been working on “The Collector” case for months. Even transferring uni to here was carefully timed, down to the classroom you would be working in. All missing people had records of using a pest control service weeks or months before their abduction. That was the first lead, tracking down said services and requesting them, seeing who turned up and if they were suspicious. It was difficult considering multiple people worked for the company and were sent out in groups, but sure enough one person always snuck off when they thought no one was looking.

You took inventory of the number plate on the van he arrived in and bid them goodbye. It was easy enough going through insurance records and finding the owner of the van. “Asa Emory?”

Considering the unique name it was easy to find information on him, as little as there had been. An article from a few decades ago about a family slaughtered by their father in cold blood, stuffed and sat at the dinner table. The only survivor in the massacre was a young boy, the article didn’t give a first name but did mention the man arrested was an Emory. your eyebrows rose in interest as you read further, the father had worked at a museum, pinning and creating taxidermy out of insects as a licensed entomologist. Supposedly he’d already had some issues leading up to the event but being exposed to the chemicals of the job is believed to have sent him insane.

That would definitely make sense that Asa worked as pest control if his dad had been an entomologist. The only other relevant information was a link to a “meet the tutors” page at a university about an hour from you. The page boasted its unique courses and top of the state tutors. After flittering through the pictures and descriptions for a few minutes sure enough the man who owned the van showed up. Also an entomologist. You deemed this enough reason to investigate.

After months of trailing this guy you knew his routine, you also knew he didn’t stay home long after a class, only being home for an hour or two before leaving in a different car. The location of his after work activities varied but more often than not he ended up at a dilapidated hotel.

Meanwhile in the present day you’d made yourself somewhat of a nuisance to the mystery man, always managing to corner him in the teachers lounge even if he only visited for a few minuets to grab a timetable. It all came to a head when you asked him out for coffee, Asa glanced around to the other teachers at the table and practically shrank behind his turtle neck, he couldn’t make himself look rude or cold in front of his co-workers, he didn’t need a reason for them to deem him an outcast. Asa coughed awkwardly and agreed as neutrally as he could, sending you a quick glare, not knowing what it is you want with him. Meanwhile you looked like the cat who had gotten the cream.

The coffee outing was..fine. Asa answering questions about his personal life as plainly as he could and you pressing despite him being visibly pissed off just to watch him struggle. He should be annoyed, disgusted even at your lack of tact, but at the same time it made his heart race, his face flush deeply, a feeling he never really reserved much time for stirring deep in his gut. He’d had to imagine unsexy things multiple times and will it away before the end of the date. It’s almost like you could tell regardless, pressing and laughing as he stumbled over answers.

Despite how conflicted Asa felt and how desperate and uncomfortable he was when you pried and taunted him for being shut off he agreed to see you again, and a handful of other times. He knew better than anyone else you were a cop and most likely trying to dig and find something on him, but it always ended up being the least of his concerns as you laughed on the other side of the booth at a joke he made, making him feel human again for a moment. He was a glutton for punishment, knowing you were getting way to close to him personally for his secret to be safe anymore but still turning up every week to feel the shame and adoration flood his veins.

Against Asa’s better judgment he had agreed to move from coffee to alcohol, not his smartest move but god were you convincing, all pretty lips and sweet words. Surprisingly to no one it ended in a messy clash of teeth and tongue in the dingy alley behind the bar, one too many drinks finally making the tension between the two of you boil over. Asa groaned as you panted into his mouth, pinning his hands to the grimy brick wall behind him. You lean in close, mouth tracing the shell of his ear before nipping at the lobe. A cold steely feeling envelopes his wrist, tearing his eyes open he sees his now cuffed hands. Before he can even start to wrestle you off you lean back in, spare hand rubbing between his thighs.

“You have the right to remain silent.”

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collection #writing #my writing #slasher hcs #slasher fucker #slasher fandom

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watermelonsugacry · 2 years ago

Note

How did H find out about YN and Matt?

LOVE YOUU

Hi hun! How did H find out about yn and Matt? Like how jealous and miserable did he get on a scale?

MOVE

A/N: SINCE 2010 ficmas day 2! had this one saved up for a bit 💚

SUMMARY: In 2013, YN is a feature on Little Mix's song Move which also means that she's going to dance and be part of its music video. What happens when Harry sees how close YN and her dance partner are getting? (7.7K)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn

SINCE 2010 masterlist // Ficmas 2022

YN drops the styrofoam smoothie cup that she just spilled her guts into down the trash bin outside the entrance of the dance studio. She quickly unwraps gum from the packet Harry left in her car and makes a mental note to both scold and thank him for leaving stuff in her car.

Today is the first day of a two week dance rehearsal for Little Mix’s new single Move. This was the first song YN was able to get a more hands-on experience behind song producing for other artists. It started off with very minimal work on some harmony stacking (an art form the girl group is exquisite at executing) that led to the girls encouraging her to get inside the recording booth. With permission from her management team, YN became an official feature for the song.

From then, her management team didn’t hesitate to take an opportunity for One Direction and Little Mix’s exposure and quickly invested in a music video and some live performances to debut their new single. The musicians from both bands were all undoubtedly excited at the news. Not only would it benefit both bands for its vast media exposure, but it was a chance to hang out with people their age other than their own band members.

YN has grown closer to these girls—it certainly helps that her bandmate was dating one of them—and she was more than happy for this kind of experience. Yet, what had her stomach drop to the bottom of her feet was the news about incorporating dancing to this single. Not just a simple eight count either but a full three minute dance routine.

YN has never done anything like this before. A massive weight was lifted off of her shoulders when the boys were against doing any kind of professional choreography when the band was first formed. None of them had any dancing background and everyone was perfectly okay with that; it honestly made the band that much more genuine and different from other music groups.

But she has to admit, a little piece inside of her is super excited for an opportunity like this. She had been curious about dancing within her singing career but never had a chance (or the courage) to speak out about it. That’s not to say that her anxiety hasn't spiked to 100 for her professional dancing debut being alongside the biggest girl group on the planet.

With another tug to readjust the backpack digging into her shoulder, she turns her back to the double doors to push it open with her shoulder and is quickly washed with the AC blasting from inside. Before she can even get two steps inside the building, she feels a hard surface bump right in front of her and a cold wash of blue liquid spills all over her oversized white t-shirt.

A harsh gasp runs through her lips and her mind is already blocking out the profanities threatening to come up and out of her throat as she remembers her media-training.

“Holy shit. M’so sorry! Y’alright, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m—” She looks up and sees an attractive man with a concerned look on his face, one hand holding onto her forearm while his other holds a now half empty bottle of Gatorade. His light brown eyes match his mocha skin and there is no other course of action but to melt into his arms and feed into the damsel in distress situation she finds herself in.

Wait, what? Since when is she the one to be at a loss for words?

“Yeah, yeah m’good thanks,” She straightens up but definitely takes notice of the way he’s still holding her arm. She looks down at her ruined shirt with a sigh, “Can’t really say the same for me shirt. Tie-dye isn’t really in the fashion trends at the moment I’m afraid.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” He gives her a sincere smile. “You seem like you can pull off such a psychedelic wardrobe. Should I go grab an orange drink to pour around the blue?” The guy joins in her giggling with a chuckle.

YN shakes her head with a pained smile, “Please don’t.”

It’s like he remembers his hold on her and he goes to remove his hands until he catches the ink on her skin, “I like your tattoos. You seem a little young to be wearing ‘em though.”

“Well, I’ll be twenty in May. It’s not like I’m a child,” She straightens her back a bit at her response and sees his smile turn into a small smirk.

Oh wow.

The guy looks at her for a beat longer before he pipes up as if he just realized something. “Oh, here.”

He slips the strap of his duffle bag down and it drops with a thud to the ground. He quickly unzips one of the sides and hands her a hand towel, one she takes with a small ‘fanks as she goes to wipe at her shirt. Not like that’s going to help ruined shirts but at least she won’t have her clothes dripping before she gets the chance to change.

Normally, if this happened on stage with the boys (which it has) YN wouldn’t hesitate to pick up a water bottle of her own to attempt to soak her bandmates back. If she were fortunate enough, sometimes it would be at the end of the show so she can quickly change out of her drenched clothing and promptly jump into a nice shower.

“Did you have to pick such a stainful color? I would have been at least a little flattered if it were a flavorful one.”

“What do y’mean?”

“Your drink. Sorry mate,” YN tsks. “But blue Gatorade is a major red flag.”

Is...is she flirting with this guy? It’s certainly a different course of action than if Louis or Liam or even Zayn were to have drenched her in sugary-liquid.

“How so?” He muses with a playful furrow of his eyebrows.

“‘Cause it’s the worst one?”

“Huh, you seem like a green Gatorade type of lady.”

“S’red actually. Red flag number two.”

“Well how about this,” The guy licks his lips, tilting his head to the side as he looks down at her. “I take you to dinner where you can tell me all about yeh different colored flags. You can have yeh red drink while I have my blue one and who knows? Maybe by the end of the night, we can make our tongues purple.”

YN lets out a genuine scoff, the corners of her lips curling up in a smirk. This bloke is bold.

“It must be hard with your sense of direction, seeing as you’re unable to find your way to a decent pickup line.”

“Oh you wound me,” The guy puts a hand over his toned chest peeking out from his loose tank top and YN bites back a giggle. Who is she right now? “So much so as m’surely dead and in heaven right now since I see an angel right in front of me.”

“Your way of flirting is truly awful,” YN tucks her lips in to prevent the ever-growing smile threatening to tug on her lips.

“Yeah, but,” He leans down a bit more to say, “It is working, isn’t it?”

It is, and stupidly so.

“I guess we’ll never know,” YN pushes the small towel towards his chest. She gives him a small smirk as she chews her gum with her mouth closed and walks around him to head down the hallway.

It’s not like she’s ever going to see him again. She’s always busy with being on tour and it wasn’t anything new for her to be a bit flirty a bit with a stranger she knew she’d never see again.

No harm, no foul.

She heads towards the hall where there are multiple doors with numbers on them. Once she reaches the door with the number 3 on it, she gives three quick knocks before twisting the handle.

The scream of the girls echoes off the walls of the room at the sight of her and she can’t help but laugh in return. As she’s about to close the door behind her, she feels something block her from doing so. With a furrow of her eyebrows, she does a double take when she looks over her shoulder to see the guy from earlier with his hand spread out on the door.

Before she can form a question out of her fuzzy brain, she feels the girls’ hands wrapping around her arms to pull her further into the room.

“We are so excited you’re here!” Perrie says, holding her shoulders.

“Oh this is going to be so amazin’,”Leigh Anne giggles, clapping her hands together and jumping up and down.

It’s both odd and refreshing to be around girls her age. Being on tour with five boys 24/7 for three years straight should seem like a dream to most girls—and while the majority of the time it is—it would be nice to have some time away from all the testosterone.

“Well ‘fanks to you lot for having me in this. I’ve never done anything like this before,” Despite her nerves from earlier, she’s starting to feel ten times better.

“I see you met your dance partner,” Perrie nods her head to someone behind me.

She did?

YN hesitantly turns over her shoulder to see Door Guy laughing and talking with the other dancers. When he turns his head and locks eyes with her, his smile turns into a smirk.

“And our choreographer.”

YN snaps her head back to the girls but quickly tries to compose herself at the words that just left out of Jade’s mouth. She can feel the familiar turn in her stomach again and wonders if she suddenly ran out of the room would they think of her differently.

“C-choreographer?”

“Well, for this music video he is. But don’t worry babe, he’s an amazing dancer,” Jesy says, nodding in reassurance.

“I don’t think that’s the thing she’s worried about,” Jade says with a smile, giggling along with the other girls.

“What do yeh mean?” YN asks them, trying to seem confused while she’s currently dying on the inside. This really can’t be happening.

Perrie says in a whisper, “Babes, we’re girls. We can spot a crush when we see one.”

“Or a guy completely checking out a girl,” Leigh Anne says after seeing YN’s lips part in shock. YN didn’t grow up with a lot of girl friends and being put in a band with five other guys made her love her career even more. She’s so used to using her skills as a female to swerve her way past situations like not talking about her feelings or dismissing the idea of ever talking about guys she likes. What a reminder to brush up on said skills since these four were able to easily dodge her question with giddy smiles.

“And from the looks of it, he totally is,” Jade squeals quietly while glancing behind her.

The loud clap behind her echoes throughout the studio and it makes her shoulders flinch.

“Alright girls, let’s get this show on the road,” The Door Guy’s voice follows suit.

“Come on,” Perrie hooks her arm through hers. “You can set your bag over here. And what happened to yeh shirt?”

“It’s a long story,” YN lets out a sigh.

Kill me, please kill me now.

“Alright,” The guy who she has yet to know his name stands in front of the room, ready to give further instructions. He gives her a smile before turning his gaze to talk with the rest of the group. “Before we start, I’m sure everyone knows by now that we have a special guest for this project. Miss YN YLN will be joining us for the dance routine as she’s the feature for this single.”

YN raises her eyebrows at the fact that he knew her name but quickly slaps on a smile as everyone in the room claps. Perrie wraps her arms around her and pulls her in for a quick, side hug.

Wait, if he knew her name, then he must know who she is. She somehow knew it was too good to be true, but she just hopes that he wasn’t flirting with her because of her “fame.” Or was she just pushing it on him? Or was he just being nice to her and she was taking it as flirting—

“Alright, so it’s gonna start on a basic 8 count and we’re gonna start straight away with partner work. So let’s get on a diagonal line starting with Jade over here...”

She turns around on her heel to get in the spot he wants her and sees Perrie give her a smile that she's trying to hide. She gives her a playful eye roll before she feels two big hands on her shoulders.

“And you’ll stand over here,” He gently guides her where to stand and before he lets go, he gives her a wink before moving onto Jesy at her left. Her stomach suddenly does a weird flip.

These past few years, the playful flirting from fans has increased but she only sees them for a minute or two before being rushed off. Whether it be at meet and greets or on the street, she hasn’t had someone flirt with her knowing that they will be seeing each other for the next couple of weeks.

It’s been a while since she’s been around girls. Were they always this...jumpy?

She feels a tap on her hand and turns to her right to see Jade gives her an excited look, knowing she saw the small interaction between her and the door guy.

As he goes about teaching everyone the steps, YN feels like an idiot schoolgirl who’s getting touched for the first time. She mentally scolds her body when her skin tingles at his touch; whether it be as simple as a hand on her arm or how she can feel his toned body move with hers from behind.

“So you’re gonna extend your arm towards us, so you’re pointing at us,” Door Guy instructs and everyone follows along. “Good. Now your partner is gonna grab your hand and push it away like so,” He wraps his hand around YN’s to demonstrate before gently pushing it away all the while she keeps her gaze towards the mirror beside her to avoid his gaze. “Cool. Now we’ll each review it a bit with our partners and then we’ll take it from the top together.”

The pairs around the room begin to chat amongst themselves as they move back to get ready in their starting positions and begin to slowly review their steps.

He moves to stand next to her and she puts her hand on her hips, remembering her starting position, “Ready?” When she gives him a nod, he begins to count, “Five, six, seven, eight...”

On beat, she lifts her head up, then places her hand on his arm while moving her upper body to the right.

“So,” She says after two beats. “You knew who I was when we spoke at the door?” She moves to grab his extended forearm and leans down to a lunging position.

“Make sure you tilt your head back as you lower yourself,” Once she follows his instructions and she carries on through the steps, he continues. “And to answer your question: no, I didn’t. I knew someone named YN was coming in to dance with us but I didn’t know what you looked like. But when I saw you walk into the studio and the girls were screaming bloody murder, I put two and two together.”

He didn’t know what she looked like? She can’t tell if he’s lying or not. Not to sound big-headed but she’s pretty sure her band has become a household name by now.

“How have you not heard of One Direction?” She instantly squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth, immediately regretting her words the second they left her mouth. “Sorry, that sounded so—”

“Humble?” He raises an eyebrow at her as another smirk tugs itself on his lips.

“Try arrogant.”

“Narcissistic,” He retaliates.

“Semantics,” She just shrugs her shoulders as she walks her fingers up his toned arm and follows through on the next dance move. “Y’also never introduced yourself.”

“I haven’t, no,” He goes to lean in front of her so she can put her hands on his shoulders like he taught her and the rest of the girls earlier. After a beat goes by and he hasn’t said anything yet, she raises her eyebrows.

“Or do you reckon I keep calling you Door Guy?”

“So that’s what you’ve been calling me?” He peeks at her over his shoulder.

“Only in my head.”

“S’Mathew,” He informs her as he moves to stand behind her. For a moment, she’s impressed at how well he’s able to fluidly go through each dance move so effortlessly but then quickly remembers that it’s his occupation. “But everyone calls me Matt.”

“Well you already know I’m YN?”

“Is that a question?” He muses.

“It’s a name actually,” She sarcastically says, rolling her lips into her mouth to try to hide the smile threatening to grow on her face. In turn, he gives her an opened mouth smirk, his tongue pressed to the side of his cheek and his jawline looks so sharp it could cut diamonds.

“You’ve got a smart mouth on you, don’t you?” He locks eye contact with her through the mirror in front of them. “But it’s a pleasure to officially meet you, YN.”

“You too, Matthew,” She says before she’s raising her arm up, snapping it back down to a turn of her head, remembering the steps he taught her.

“Quite like that shirt on yeh. Designer?”

YN doesn’t fall for anyone so easily but she knows she’s tripping head first when she can’t seem to come up with a witty reply as quickly as she usually does. Instead, her cheeks hurt from holding back her smile and mutters a quiet, “Shut up.”

Butterflies flow around her tummy when he huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head at her through the mirror. As he quietly counts out loud and they shift their hips together in unison, she’s left with a scary realization that the last time she felt that familiar flutter was with...Harry.

...

YN looks at herself in the small full body mirror and takes in a deep breath. She runs her hands down the curves of her full hips that are flushed tightly against a latex black skirt. She doesn’t normally wear stuff like this. The only times she wears skirts are the flowy ones her management forces her to wear to maintain her “good girl” image.

But this...this was something she never really had the confidence to wear on her own, let alone a music video. She’d rather stick to the black jeans she wears on tour.

She closes her eyes and takes another deep breath before she pulls back the curtain to the makeshift dressing room. She just needs to get out of the small space before her breathing gets iregulated and she makes a fool of herself by being found here unconscious.

YN sees the other girls talking amongst themselves as they finish getting their last minute touches on their wardrobes. They all look so amazing in their first outfits, so skinny and toned that they could be supermodels if they wanted. She looks down at her skirt once again and runs her hands over her plushy hips.

Looking at the mirrored white box set intimidates her more than anything she’s ever done before. She doesn’t know how to be sexy or flirty. These girls are practically the definition of such and it's only going to be that much more apparent when she stands next to them. At least she's had plenty of practice walking in heels so the white heels she has on shouldn't cause her that much trouble.

Before she starts to get in her head again, she quite literally gets knocked out of her running thoughts when someone bumps into her shoulder.

Even though it wasn’t her fault, she still finds an apology pushing quickly past her lips, “Oh! M’so sor-”

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Matthew smirks down at her. He’s dressed in all black from head to toe with a backward black leather cap on his head.

“Well you should look where you’re going,” She counters back, smiling with her head tilted back in order to look into his eyes.

“If not looking where I'm going means bumping into you all the time, then I don't think I will.”

“Ugh, could you be any more corny?” She teases. “I reckon you haven’t been practicing your pick-up lines these past couple of weeks?”

“Aw come on. I thought that one way was at least halfway decent.”

“YN!”

“Hush!”

Their heads immediately turn over to where the girls are huddled together. Perrie quickly turns her head towards them with a smile after hushing a guilty-looking Leigh Anne for calling YN’s name.

YN turns back to Matthew, throwing a nod toward the girls before saying, “I should get going.”

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, for sure. I gotta head over to my section, too.”

YN nods back and bites back a smile when neither of them makes a move to actually leave, “I’ll see you later then.”

“Later.”

She playfully rolls her eyes at him and turns on her heel towards the direction of the girls.

“Hey, YN?” She turns back towards him with raised eyebrows. Matthew’s eyes trail down her figure before his eyes land on hers again. With the stupid, beautiful smirk on his face, what he says next makes the blood rush to her cheeks. “You look good in that shirt by the way.”

With that familiar warm, fluttery, gooey feeling that would have scared her if Harry didn’t make her feel it first a couple years ago.

“Thanks,” And with that, she lets herself smile at him again before walking towards the girls with a new sense of confidence. She even swings her hips a little bit as she walks away, feeling giddy.

She hasn’t ever felt a confidence like this before.

Going behind the monitor, the girls all watch in excitement of how good the shots came out to be. And YN...well, she’s speechless. She looks beautiful and natural. It surprises not only the director and the girl group, but herself as she manages to move so effortlessly with each shot. She looks absolutely gorgeous showing off her best angles, moving rhythmically with the music blasting, and strutting down the middle of the mirrored white box, sassily high-fiving Perrie as they pass each other.

Already dressed in their blue and white coordinated outfits for the next scene for the video, the girls all stand behind an array of monitors as they look over some of the shots from earlier.

YN stands with her hands on her hips as her eyes bounce around the different screens. In no way, shape or form was she going to get used to seeing herself in this way—looking as sexy and sophisticated as she does. Even now in her white, high-waisted shorts and one shoulder blue top as she’s about to head into the choreographed dance sections of the video, it’s an exciting experience she can’t quite place an emotion on.

For a quick moment, it has her entertaining the idea of what would have happened if she was never taken out of the potential girl group she was placed in after almost being eliminated off of the XFactor. It sends an icky shiver down her spine at the thought of not being with her boys. As much as she loves these girls, no one can ever replace the love she has for her band.

She can hear clapping behind her but what has her spinning around so fast it makes her dizzy is the sound of a familiar, obnoxiously loud whistle that Harry taught her.

“Hey!” YN beams at the sight of her boys walking further into the huge warehouse. She wastes no time quickly making her way over them and throwing her arms around Louis and Niall. “Yeh lads came? For me?”

“We did,” Liam says as he gives his bandmate a quick hug. “Zayn just tagged along to see his lady,” He teases only to get a shove in the arm.

“Tha’s not true,” Zayn defends, his furrowed eyebrows turning into a smile when YN walks into his open arms, “Well, it’s partly true.”

“None taken,” YN laughs over his shoulder. “Li is just bummed because he doesn’t have a woman.”

As Louis and Niall begin to tease and pick on Liam, she can’t help the fond smile that comes across her lips at the sight of Perrie beaming up at her boyfriend before their lips interlock.

“Do I not get a hug then?” Harry teasingly asks behind her.

When she turns around to face him, he looks handsome in his black skinny jeans and worn out band t-shirt. It’s a crime how good he pulls off such basic clothing.

YN scrunches up her nose and looks up at the ceiling, humming in contemplation, “Mmm, nah. M’good.”

His dimples dig into his cheeks at the sound of her surprised laughter when he suddenly tugs her to his chest. The tips of his blunt fingers dig into her exposed shoulder blades and he almost sighs out in relief when he feels her warm hands along the expansion of his back. The guilty feeling of his embarrassing thoughts diminishes when he hears her hum into his collarbones.

“Sorry, know yeh don’t like to be held for too long,” Harry chuckles as he reluctantly pulls away from her warm embrace.

“S’alright,” YN gives him the smile he’s been missing since she’s been away more for this project. “Long hugs don’t bother me as much anymore if they’re with you—you all, the boys, I mean.” She huffs out a nervous chuckle that ends up being her clearing her throat. “Speakin’ of which, a big thanks to you by the way.”

“For what?” He asks with a tilt of his head, stuffing his hands into the tight pockets of his skinny jeans.

“Helping me with all the—” She moves her hands vaguely around her upper body. “—getting used to touchin’ other people type stuff. If it wasn’t for yeh, don’t think I would have been able to do this music video. Dancin’ with me partner and all.”

Aside from Louis, Harry knew more than anyone how much YN wasn’t fond of a little hand-holding, a comforting hand on the back, or even a quick hug. Three years into being in the band with Harry and she internally questions whenever he hasn’t given her a good morning side hug or a squeeze of her hand before heading out on stage. Not to mention how eagerly susceptible he’s made her to a late-night secret cuddle session if either one had some trouble falling asleep.

It should then come to no surprise by how inflated his ego gets at her gratitude for helping her with something that comes easy to him. Especially since it's helping her have fun, feeling confident and comfortable.

“S’no problem, lovie,” Harry reassures with a smile.

“Woah, is that you, love?” Louis leans over to get a better look at one of the monitors. It’s a shot of her walking towards the camera in the white boxed room, her hips swaying from side to side as she sassily throws her hair over her shoulder. “Almost didn’t recognize yeh.”

“Yeah, you actually look like a girl,” Niall teases, throwing his imaginary hair behind his shoulder with a sassy roll of his eyes.

As the boys continue to point out how she looks, Harry’s eyes catch one of the screens that’s playing her solo shot behind a purple background, the shot only showing her from the shoulders up. The music can be faintly heard from all the commotion going around them as the crew members continue to make some last minute touches for the neon lights section. A small smile stays on his lips as he watches her sing along to the chorus, smiling ever so brightly as she seductively moves her upper body to the beat.

He sees a guy come into the shot as he dances around her and doesn’t think of it. He’s there to make YN look even better, giving her the spotlight.

As the song progresses, Harry notices how when her part comes up, she leans her forearm on the guy’s shoulder and continues to sing along with the bridge. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of the screen but his heart begins to sink to his stomach.

“Move it baby, Oh—” YN brings a hand up to the bloke’s chin and with her index finger, she slowly turns his head to face her own. “You know that I've been waiting for you.” The guy breaks out into a cheeky smirk and she continues to sing along, their faces are so close their noses almost touch.

Is that what she was referring to? Is this what she was thanking him for? For indirectly getting her closer to her dance partner of all people? Seems a little unprofessional from his perspective, getting touchy and smiley with a person she’s supposed to be working with.

Before he can have the chance to unclench his jaw, YN is being called over to set.

“See yeh lads in a bit,” YN smiles as she walks backwards towards the set. “Behave yourselves while m’gone.”

She quickly makes her way over to the rest of the girls and the back-up dancers in the small, neon-lighted hallway. It doesn’t take long to spot the bloke he saw getting up close and personal with his...bandmate. She’s his bandmate, someone who he can practically see as a little sister if he squinted long and hard enough. He’s harshly reminded of this reality every day and yet again today as he sees this guy—her dance partner who she’s been supposedly getting up close and physical with—smile at his best friend.

Is it necessary for the guy need to put his bloody hands on YN’s shoulders to guide her to where she needs to stand next to Jesy? Or move a strand of her curly hair away from her face? Wasn’t that the hair and make-up teams’ jobs?

As they end their partner section, she and Matthew raise their hands in a high five before skipping over the right to get out of view from the main hall. The adrenaline that’s running through her veins feels amazing. The total rush of dancing with her whole heart, hitting beats with her body like no one is watching is so exhilarating. She might even go as far as to say that she loves this as much as singing.

“Let’s go, Jade!” YN cheers from the side as the next duo comes into the neon-lighted hallway.

YN smiles out of breath as she watches them dance, one by one they dance with their partners. In the midst of her excitement, she failed to realize that she never let go of Matthew’s hand after they high-fived.

When he looks down at her, she whispers a small, “Sorry,” before beginning to remove her hand from his. Before she can untangle their fingers, Matthew’s grip on her hand tightens. She looks up in surprise and he just smiles back down at her.

“S’alright,” He leans over to her, his sight still on the dancers in front of them. “Just don’t do it again,” Matthew playfully scolds with a smile, continuing to rub his thumb over hers. This time, she doesn't even attempt to hold back her smile at his actions.

Harry is utterly split in two. The sight of her in her outfits as she moves so effortlessly with the music. The way her hips move, her smile, and the energy she brings is unreal.

Even as they move onto the last section of the music video—the full dance routine—she dances with grace and passion and so much umph. She looks amazing in her holster-type top and high-waisted cargo pants. He’s seeing a new side of her come out and he’s happy to see her so carefree.

But on the other hand, his chest tightens watching her get up close and personal with this guy who looks at her with the same eyes he gives her; it is undoubtedly unsettling. He can do nothing but just stand back behind the cameras, arms crossed, and stare with a crease in between his eyebrows as the guy puts his hands on her.

And the worst part is that she looks like she’s genuinely enjoying having this guy all over her. He honestly can’t tell if her smiles are real or merely for the camera—and that kills him. He’s so used to being able to read her so well, but she’s a book in a completely different language as she’s gone all googly-eyed to some other bloke she just met.

...

“Where is she?”

“S’not like her to be this late.”

“She was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago,” Liam checks his phone one more time. “You know, if any one of us were late, she’d be pulling us by the ear and dragging us backstage.”

The boys were all dressed in their small changing area backstage and just about ready to head out on stage to do another show on the band’s third world tour. All the boys were able to sympathize with YN in the beginning as she was doing twice as much work with having to do press interviews and live performances with Little Mix to promote their new single. They saw her for a short amount of time before she had to be whisked away to another plane ride and back again to do a show with her own band.

But that all began to die down about a month ago so she was back with the rest of the boys full time again. With that being said, YN was coming back into her groove of things with being back on tour and performing for thousands of fans every night. Which means that fifteen minutes ago, she should have been backstage with the boys, dressed up and doing her small vocal warm ups and somehow scolding the boys for either being late or for smelling bad—it varied on the day.

It began with her being five minutes late, quickly walking up to her band members with a giddy smile and a compliment saying they all looked nice. She then began to grow ten minutes late, jogging over to her boys with her heels in hand and her cheeks pink, probably due to rushing to get on stage in time. It’s a new record as the band has less than ten minutes before they officially have to get into the positions on stage.

It began to worry Harry to no end, thinking that their management team was pushing her too hard and not allowing her enough time to ease back into their routine.

“Ricard is gonna have a field day when he sees she’s not here,” Niall shakes his head, wringing out his microphone at the thought of their management representative having yet another excuse to scold her on top of her posture, her vulgar language and refusing to wear heels for a show.

Harry bounces slighting on the ball of his feet, taking a final glance at the entrance of the small changing room as if that was gonna make her suddenly appear.

“Alright, m’gonna go check up on her,” Harry hands his microphone over to Zayn.

“What if Dick comes in and he sees both of you lads not here?” Louis points out, already knowing how much his two bandmates get in trouble for the slightest glances.

“Cover for us!” Harry yells over his shoulder before taking off down the venue hallways, ignoring the stares and double takes of the pop star having to be on stage in less than six minutes.

After rounding a few corners, he finally reaches the door with her name beside the door. He gives a quick three knocks before calling out her name.

“YN? Lovie, you in there?” He can faintly hear her voice inside, a shush followed by her giggling. Without a second thought he presses the code on the keypad. She let him in on the password out on a whim when he wanted to grab his jacket he let her borrow. A piece of information he’s now ungrateful for because as soon as the little light blinks green and pushes open the door, he’s frozen in place.

At least YN is already dressed in her black sparkly dress for the night, but some of it is bunched up by her hips as she sits on top of the vanity. The sound of lips breaking apart rings through his ears as he sees none other than her dance partner pressed up against her, grabbing onto her hips as if he was ready to pull her dress the rest of the way up.

Her bubbly laugh and breath-taking smile is instantly shut down when her gaze meets Harry. The two band mates are deers in headlights and if she wasn’t gripping onto the man’s biceps, she would have thought she was dreaming. No not dreaming, in a nightmare. She’s instantly pushing the man off of her and adjusting her dress.

“Harry...I...” Her words get caught in her throat. She watches as Harry's eyes bounce back and forth between her and Matthew and she couldn’t be more mortified. The bloke that had his mouth over hers merely seconds ago doesn’t even say a word, only covering his mouth with his head tilted down at the fact they were caught.

Finally having the words to speak, Harry utters out, “We’re on in three.”

Without another word, unglues his feet from the floor and hurriedly walks back down the hallway. His mind is going at a million miles a minute. He’s hurt and angry and confused. Ever since the filming for the music video has been wrapped, she’s never mentioned this bloke once. She’s never led onto having feelings for her dance partner whether she’s performing with him or talking in interviews with the other girls; nothing!

It shouldn’t come to that much of a surprise as it is, she’s trained for this sort of stuff, they both are. They’ve been doing it for years and it somehow feels like a betrayal when she uses her media training against him.

“Harry! Harry, please wait up!” YN looks frantic as she finally catches up to her band mate, a state he’s not used to seeing her in, although she’s practically jogging next to him with the rate in which his long legs take their strides. “It’s uh, it’s not what you think. See I—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Harry interrupts her. When he takes a glance at her he sees how she’s holding her heels in her hand while trying to tame her hair with the other. He only allows himself since he can’t stand to see her cheeks pink and lips swollen.

“But I, Harry I can’t,” YN stumbles over her words and it scares them both to not hear her be so composed. “Harry,” She stops them by placing a hand on his arm. She searches his eyes and as troubled as he is, he can’t look away. “Harry, I need yeh to do me a favor. The biggest favor anyone can ask,” When she’s met with his silence, she takes in a shaky breath. “Can...can you keep what you just saw between us? I can’t have anyone know about me and Matthew. Everything’s been so good so far and, and I really like this guy, H. If everyone were to find out about it, the media, the fans, Richard, it’d be ruined in an instant. Just, please. Please don't tell anyone.”

As much as he wishes she would have said that what happened with this Matthew guy was a mistake, that it was fling that all the other guys she’s had, he’s met with an inevitable reality. She’s found someone, she’s found someone else to indulge her feelings towards. To act out her new found liking for physical touch and be flustered by minutes before having to go out on stage.

How long? How long has this been going on? Is this why their late night cuddle sessions stopped? Is this why her cheeks get pink and why her attitude has been giddy even behind the spotlight? How and when did this guy come in and out of the venues undetected? How many times has she come out on stage after having her mouth all over this bloke only to touch Harry’s arm as if he was the only guy in the world?

Before he can come up with a proper way around to let her down with her doe eyes looking up at him, a voice breaks the silence.

“There better be a bloody good reason why the two of you aren’t backstage right now,” Richard’s voice booms throughout the hallway. He’s dressed in his usually cream colored, three piece suit that never fails to make a witty comment fall out of YN’s mouth every time he pays a visit.

There are many reasons why Harry wants to protect YN, but the one that has him instantly stepping up in response is when her eyes stay wide as if she might cry at any given moment and her mouth moving like a fish out of water.

“YN’s aunt is sick,” Harry easily lies. Another helpful aspect of his media training. “She was on the phone with the doctors right now and it doesn’t look so good. I called my mum to help make sure she was available to keep a watch eye on her until we’re in England again. It looks like she might need a miracle to recover.”

If looks could speak, YN would be granting Harry with a long list of gratitude.

“Oh,” Richard straightens up, clearing his throat and tugging sharply at his blazer. “M’sorry to hear that. Now let's get a move on before we have to pay these backstage technicians overtime.”

If her mind wasn’t somewhere else, she would have rolled her eyes at how easy it was for their strict management representative to quickly accept Harry’s excuse (no matter how good it was) while he would have dismissed hers in a heartbeat. Without another word, the pop stars are quickly escorted backstage. While YN’s hair and make-up team walk with her to touch up her look, the scowl never leaves Harry’s face as he walks further ahead of them and snatches his microphone from Zayn’s hand.

“Where did you find her?” Zayn asks, surprised by his band mate’s actions. “You guys alright?”

“Her aunt’s sick,” Harry mutters before pushing past the boys to get to his section of the stage. They all share a questioning look among themselves as they glance back and forth between Harry and YN.

“I wonder which one it is. Never met any of her aunts before,” Niall ponders with concern only to get a slap on the shoulder.

“She doesn’t have any aunts, you twit,” Louis points out as the confusion only rises. Yet there’s no time to question any of them as YN walks over to her position behind the lifting screens and doesn’t say another word and the opening music begins to play.

There’s no doubt that the fans notice the lack of interaction between their most favored shipped duo. Despite their bubbly and excited stage presence, the awkward tension between the two band members could have cut with a knife.

taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m @teamspideyman @c00chiemonster @juiceboxrry @s8tellite @folklorehrry @illicithallways @claramllera @eunoiaax @hoya122 @nichmedder @sleutherclaw @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @harianaswhore @teawithcyb0rgs @vrittivsanghavi @vc55bughead @futuristiccroissantlampsludge @onecrazydirectioner @valluvsu @itsgabbysblog @awkwardbisexuall @rosehel @sucker4angstt @isalove @diorchives @mrshiddlestyles02 @fdl305

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striderl · 1 year ago

Text

After the “Bluetooth Incident”, Polaroid got a job offer from the science division, to become a “weapon engineering assistant”.

He showed Sawmus the offer. In the beginning, Sawmus was upset about it. But in regards to the extremely dangerous situation outside the base and the urgent need for more effective weaponries, Sawmus accepted Polaroid’s plea to answer the invitation, but only till the alliance have the upperhand in the war again.

Now, it’s time to –

MEET THE WEAPON ENGINEERS/SPECIALISTS

(AKA "THE FILMING INDUSTRY")

Styrofilm - A large cameraman scientist, who is the first one to meet Polaroid and to take him on a tour inside the lab. His name is a combination of the words “styrofoam” and “film”, as he is a big softy that is always in white. He engaged in the battle as a soldier before the speaker titan became infected. After the incident, he involved in the building of the parasite disinfector with the other members of the engineering team, including a particular scientist cameraman which he refers to as “Chief”. Unfortunately, “Chief” was murdered not long after he witnessed the effectiveness of the parasite disinfector. Styrofilm was assigned as the leading weapon engineer ever since, yet he still has doubts in himself whether he is competent enough for the position.

Foley - A speakerman scientist, has the most unstable mentality in the team, specialized in bladesmithing and dissection. Has no preference between the pronoun he or they. Their name comes from the term “Foley sound”, which means sound recordings that add to the track to enhance realism in a film, like door creaking or bird chirping. They are pretty fond of Polaroid’s destructive potential (even when it wasn't intended), thus they are the one that wrote that job invitation to him. According to Styrofilm, Foley had the best relationship with “Chief” in the team, and they only wore white like any other scientists in the alliance. When they heard about “Chief”’s death, Foley almost lost it, later picking up the weird fashion sense.

Gaffer - A TV woman scientist, one of the first TV faction members that have contact with the rest of the alliance, specialized in TV technology and neuroscience, a hard cookie but also a romantic person. Her name means “chief electrician” in film industry, she gives Polaroid the nickname “Best Boy”, which is the assistant to the Gaffer (quite fitting). Gaffer had an sour attitude toward Foley, a quite understandable reaction due to them two used to be the polar opposite. However, when “Chief” got murdered, she put down her tough facade toward Foley and helped them to recover to a more normal state, despite she was also devastated from the information.

Bonus:

#Skibidi Toilet #Skibidi Toilet OCs #OC Polaroid #OC Styrofilm #OC Gaffer #OC Foley #Chief is technically not a OC #Comic #The Science Team!

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

AITA for asking my dad to chew quietly?

I (23f) live with my parents (60s both of them) while I try to save for a house. My siblings also lived with our parents until after they graduated uni, i just graduated. I pay rent and buy my own groceries.

The issue is I may be neurodivergent. My therapist i just quit seeing refuses to label anyone, so I don't have an official diagnosis but I check most boxes that are symptoms.

I have this thing where I can't stand hearing people chew. It sends chills down my spine and makes me nauseous. Like nails on a chalkboard or how some people can't stand the sound of Styrofoam.

My dad snacks a lot. His favorites are chips and salsa or a handful of nuts. Which is fine! Except I can hear him chewing if the TV is off and we are in the living room (every other room there is no sound to distract).

At first I asked him politely to turn the TV on, and i explained his chewing was bothering me. He said that he's just chewing and didn't understand, but did so.

Except now he won't because he says i need to get over it. This isn't an every day occurrence. I have tried to leave the room, he gets frustrated. I have tried putting on headphones, which sometimes works and sometimes frustrates him.

If he was chewing normally, I know it would just be a me thing and would think I am the AH. However, I have watched him chew and he will open his mouth and chew then stop (for example, chew with mouth closed, mouth closed, mouth open, mouth closed, mouth closed, mouth open until the bite is finished and he swallows. The variations change, it isnt a set pattern).

We got in an argument last week about his mouth being open, he says it wasn't. He told me to grow up. This week he is doing it again and refuses to turn the tv on. My headphones died so I can't do that. To me, the crux of the issue is him chewing with his mouth open. I dont hear it when it is closed. So I recorded him without telling him, asked him to chew with his mouth closed or please turn on the tv, and he got upset. I showed him the video and he got more mad and said I was disrespectful and an arrogant brat. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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bufomancer · 9 months ago

Note

To answer your question about people shoplifting bettas: it’s very easy actually and I encourage it

I worked at petsmart and (though I took as best care I could of the bettas, it wouldn’t change the inhumane cups) I would encourage my friends to bring opaque water bottles and styrofoam to go cups to “shop”.

1. Discreetly put a betta in your cart, easy.

2. Go into an empty aisle to look at things you need and put some stuff in your cart

3. Take a “sip” of your drink by taking the lid off, set it in your cart, lean over to adjust the things in your cart and slip the betta in (or if you work there, finish your water before you leave and slip in a friend before going home)

4. Dispose of the empty cup if it’s leftover (I would throw them away in the back, but you can put them in any staff trashcan/dog poop pail). Pretend to sip your victory drink while you leave

That actually wasn’t me that left those tags- that was @llatimeria

But yeah people definitely shoplifted bettas when I worked at a chain pet store. Probably one of the easiest things to shoplift, considering if one is missing on count day it could have just as easily been a death that an employee forgot to mark in the records, and just put in the freezer and disposed of the cup.

The easiest thing to do is just make good friends with the aquatics manager (if they don’t suck) and ask really nicely if they’ll mark a pathetic one out of inventory for you

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generic-sonic-fan · 1 year ago

Text

OFFICE COFFEE DELIVERY

Summary: Rouge needs an extraction. When Omega is presented with a situation he can't shoot his way out of, it turns out he's more crafty than she thought.

644 words

Five minute break. The boss had finally stepped out of the room. Rouge put her head down on the table and rubbed her temples.

She jerked back upright, however, when she heard a familiar set of mechanical footsteps turning the corner of the hall outside. There was always plenty of warning with Omega around. She spun around in her seat to greet him.

"Hey, big boy, what's up?" She asked with a smile as he opened the door.

He entered with his right shoulder first, straightening once he was through the doorframe. To her surprise, in his enormous left hand was a tiny styrofoam cup. He handed it forth. The smell of coffee hit her nose.

"CAFFEINATED SUBSTANCE DELIVERED."

"Shadow tell you to do this?"

"NEGATIVE. YOUR CALENDAR FORECASTED YOUR EXTRANEOUS THREE-HOUR MEETING TODAY. I DETERMINED YOU WOULD NEED MY STRATEGIC BACKUP."

"Aww, thanks. I appreciate it." She took one of his claws in her hand.

There was a cough from the other end of the table. Another officer, something corporal adjacent, someone less useful than a paper bag full of air, looked up from his laptop and at Rouge.

"You've got the robot to deliver you coffee? Man, that's awesome. Could you get it to get me some coffee too? Two sugars, no cream."

Rouge looked back at Omega and smiled. Well, not really smiled, per se. More like parted her lips in a way that might indicate, don't maim him or we're both in trouble.

But to her surprise, Omega simply turned around and left the room. Her facade cracked for just a moment as she stared at the door. Not a single word? Not even a nonverbal threat?

"Sweet, thanks." Mr. Air-For-Brains said. "Man, this meeting is sure going on for a long time, huh?"

Because you wouldn't shut up about your new little proposal, Your Airiness, Rouge sniped back in her thoughts.

"When this meeting's over, want to go, I don't know, blow off some steam?" He winked.

Ugh. His wink was some droopy, twitchy motion, where is other eyelid closed halfway as well. He'd clearly never practiced in front of the mirror. Did he think it was effortless?

Before Rouge could snap and tell him to shove his head where the sun didn't shine, the boss came back, looking rather confused. He resumed his seat at the head of the table, and stared as Omega squeezed through the door after him.

"Oh, my coffee, thanks." Sir Winks-A-Lot held his hand out.

Omega's optics flashed. Rouge recognized the glint immediately, and scooted her chair out of the way.

In a testament to the targeting system of the Ultimate Robot, the largest splotch of coffee hit dead center on the guy's white button-up. The rest trailed behind, splashing all over his face. He howled and began scrubbing his face off with his sleeves. When those became soaked too with brown, he grabbed his suit jacket from off his chair.

"E-123 Omega!" The boss stood from his chair. "What is the meaning of this?"

Omega didn't look at him, instead continuing to stare at Mr. Coffeeshirt, before announcing, "YOUR COMMENTS TOWARD AGENT ROUGE HAVE BEEN RECORDED."

-And there was the coup de grace. A metaphorical execution so clean that Rouge would have applauded if she could.

"Agent Jenkins?" The boss said sternly.

"The robot burned me! It burned me, and I didn't say anything to her! I-"

"Agent Rouge, you're free to go. Jenkins, you and I are going to have a word."

Rouge slid out of her seat. Omega held the door for her before following her out.

"Thanks." She said once they were a few hallways away from the carnage. "A lot more subtle than your usual style, hmm?"

"I EMULATED THE MOST COMPETENT PERFORMER OF SUBTERFUGE I KNOW."

"So you can be taught." She grinned. "Who would have thought?"

#e-123 omega #e123 omega #rouge the bat #in which teammates tend to take notes from each other #Omega was thrilled to learn there was a way to burn people without getting in trouble for it!#I feel like every team dark fic writer has to write some office shenanigans for Omega at some point #here's mine!

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seabysiren · 2 years ago

Text

more streamer au! 141 task force.

part I

when he's not streaming, simon works as a day labourer in contruction. simon likes it because he can just. work. it helps him keep in shape without having to be a desk job or a cashier somewhere.

it's physically tolling but rewarding. he used to work every single day without rest, but with his new channel he takes sunday off to record and check in on his mum.

when simon turned 18 was when everything turned into gear. he had enough money saved up to rent an apartment his mum and brother could move into. away from his drunk, abusive father.

that's why he worked his ass off every day to support his recovering mother and his drug addict of a brother.

but despite being a streamer, his family and friends take first priority. doesn't matter how much or how little he makes. what matters is that his mum is in a better place and that his brother can get help.

he had moved in with you a few months ago because it was an easier commute to work that way. closer to the city, but an easy drive over to his mum's apartment in case of emergency.

he still uses the pc setup in your room, but it was starting to feel a bit inconvenient. simon didn't care as long as he got the job done, but you knew this setup was going to get worse with the limited amount of space and random recording equipment.

so while he was off at his job, you had one goal in mind. renovate the empty basement into a proper streaming room. that included running around and buying those funny styrofoam pannels that's supposed to go on the wall.

it took a few hours to buy what you wanted. you got this really nice desk, LED lights, and a high quality microphone from ikea. bless ikea, because really this little project wouldn't have been possible without it.

you painted the room before you set anything else in it. you knew that simon liked monochrome colours, so you had a different variations of light grey, dark grey, grey and black around the room.

you set up three pcs in the room. all decked out with nice microphones and double monitors to make it easier to see the recording and chat. you really don't know why you bought three setups, but you just had a feeling.

with two pcs you could play together with simon.

with three pcs you could do... something.

you'd figure that out later.

turns out simon had figured that out without even having to talk to you.

there's this new fella on the construction sight. strange scottish man without a filter and a loud, loud voice.

he says call him john.

simon calls him johnny.

and he's an absolute muppet.

simon scowls everytime he gets paired up with johnny, but johnny only breaks out into a big grin while he talks.

"looks like i'm with you boss!"

cue simon's famous death glare.

"don't call me that."

despite the fact that simon barely talked, johnny talks for the both of them. he likes to ramble about his home town in scotland.

"scotland foreva!" simon just hit him over the head the first time he did that.

"we're in manchester you bloody muppet."

johnny loves to ramble. talking about his old neighbor who seemed a little like a drug dealer. or his theory on mattress buildings being fronts to laundering money.

"cause come on! have you 'ever seen someone in there? selling mattresses?? and they never go out of business. there's this one store in my hometown that has been open for over thirty years despite no one ever being parked in the lot."

he's gotta point though.

simon's gone from calling him johnny to soap. because he only has shower thoughts twenty four seven. it never stops.

never.

despite acting like he's a nuisance, simon likes johnny. its nice to finally talk to someone other than yer mum or yer flatmate.

but by god. soap for the love of god cannot stop with his scottish slang. something that sounds less and less like english and more like he's having a stroke.

"yer off yeir heid!"

"do you need to go to the hospital? ya' sound like yer havin' a stroke."

johnny did not have to go to the hospital. but from the amounts of times he's hit his head has simon wondering if he has a permanent concussion. or that his brain is really small and rattling around like a plinko game.

the joke is a scot and a brit walked into a bar.

there's no punch line.

because there's no bar.

because your house is not a damn bar.

lets do that again.

ahem

a bloody scot and a brit stomped into the front door.

you are estatic that simon's made a friend. cooing over him embarrassingly as you look the scot up and down.

"omg simon you did it. you made a friend."

"that's enough." johnny snickers in the background, earning a glare from simon.

you and johnny click instantly. the bro code or something, he claims.

the both of you thrive off the chaotic energy. simon just looks at you exasperated.

johnny also likes snooping around. instead of asking for a house tour he's shot off like a rocket. trying to find simon's room so he can steal something.

simon's running after him.

they both look like maniacs.

johnny thought simon slept in the basement. because he has that vibe. the monochrome palette. his sarcasm. the way he constantly squints when the sun gets past noon. because damn it has no reason to be that bright.

instead the two are met with the sight of your newly finished project. leds light the ceiling in a soft purple, illuminating softly pulsing lamps sitting on nice, dark wood desks. the monitors are all off, but the sheer amount of technology in this room makes his jaw hit the floor.

"ya got a stream room??"

simon looks at you in confusion too.

you smile sheepishly while you rub the back of your neck.

"yeah. had to do somethin' with the basement. and since simon needed more space."

johnny's eyes grow bigger than his damn brain.

"you??? stream????"

shocked pikachu face.

because johnny would've pegged you as a streamer with your light and teasing personality. not silent, brooding moody simon.

plot twist. simon's famous.

johnny's immediately begging for his channel name. cause come on, he has to have proof.

"ther' no way yer a streamer."

he is, in fact, a streamer. one that's rapidly growing with his feral fanbase.

johnny is still gawking by the morning.

one thing led to another, and it turns out johnny loves to record too. you had this dumb little idea to see if johnny could be a little guest on the channel. because don't get me wrong, simon's popular. but he needs a bit more. like company.

its ghost. and soap. and you, their little editor.

the chaos of these two when their recording together. simon let him onto the server once and suddenly half his house is blown up and soap's got an army of dogs.

he enslaves all the villagers and kills off half the farm.

or when ghost just wanted to relax and answer some Q&A questions that were long overdue.

he talked a bit about what he likes, favorite food, his opinion of communism.

and soap turned it from a question stream to a shower thought stream.

"ya know the ocean's a soup rite?"

simon sighs into the microphone.

"got the base of the soup. like the seaweed. got a bit of meat and fish. vegetables. sea cucumbers."

you had to write a warning that you cannot, in fact, just drink salt water out of the ocean. because it doesn't work that way. dont drink the forbidden soup.

chaos trio.

ghost, the chronically tired parent. and his two leash children mr soap "omg i just got a thought!" and you, who likes to edit the captions so that ghost is called babygirl.

he's not amused.

you and johnny now call him babygurl.

and half his fanbase too.

it's never gonna go away.

the ghost force had evolved from just this brit to + scot + editor + chaos.

you just put a warning in the beginning of any video that soap's in. because the scot himself needs a warning label.

blurb I

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #cod #cod x reader #gn reader #streamer au

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chickenfics · 2 years ago

Text

the way I love the ocean

Relationship: Robin Buckley x Female!Reader

Summary: It was the summer of ‘87. Nothing in your life had prepared you for Robin, but somehow everything had begun falling into place. It all started with a movie and a pair of ocean-blue eyes, and suddenly you were dancing to a Jukebox in a long-closed diner, or racing down the length of a pier, swimming in the moon-dipped lake and walking her home down yellow-lit streets, talking about the way The Smiths sound like indigo and the best time of the summer is when the fireflies start to come out.

It was the summer of ‘87, and you were falling in love.

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: Reader is described as wearing a dress (waitressing uniform) and as being able to ride a bike, but no other descriptions are given. Y/N used sparingly.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters!

Fic Playlist! Also on Ao3

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Chapter 3: The Smiths

It was hot out. Like, really hot. It felt like the sun had been cranked up to one hundred. The usually pleasant yellow sunlight turned to a blaring white, and even as the afternoon rolled into evening, the pavement continued to bake underneath blinding heat. You could have cut the air with a knife. Instead, as you shouldered your way out of the diner’s doors, the glass cool against your bare upper arm in a too-quick moment of relief, you took the plunge into the muggy atmosphere. It hit you square in the face, and for once you found yourself thankful for your thin waitressing dress.

A customer walked by and you held the door open with your elbow, giving them a tired smile in reply to their thanks and trying not to drop the cardboard cup holder in your hands. The styrofoam cups tilted concerningly before you finally stepped away from the door and steadied them with a hand. You squinted up at the sun, hoping that the milkshakes didn’t get too melty -- knowing that they probably would.

After your night at the movies, you’d realized that you hadn’t even asked Robin for her number. After three days, you’d felt slightly ridiculous when you realized you could just look it up in the phone book. You did, but then you’d realized that if you called her home, someone other than Robin was very likely to answer, and you weren’t sure what you’d say if one of her parents asked you who you were. So… you’d ended up just calling Family Video instead. At least with FV, there was a fifty-fifty chance of Robin answering -- with the other fifty-per-cent being Steve, who you were much less apprehensive about talking to than Robin’s parents. Plus, this way it felt less like you were intruding on her privacy. It felt less weird.

Predictably, considering your history with luck, Steve picked up after a few rings with a very chipper, “Family Video, this is Steve, how can I help you today?”

“Hi, uh, it’s Y/N--”

“Oh shit! Hey!” he replied before you even had a chance to explain yourself or apologize for calling them at work. “Hey hey, how’s it going? Long time no see. Oh, do you want me to get Robs? She’s just stacking shelves, but I can grab her real quick.”

“Oh,” you started to panic. “If she’s busy, you don’t have to--”

“Nah, no way. It’s pretty dead in here anyway -- the shelves can stay unstocked for a few more minutes,” he snorted. “Besides,” his voice dropped an octave, “If Robin found out you’d called and I didn’t let her talk to you, she’d probably strangle me. Hang on a minute?”

“Yeah, sure,” you managed. “Thanks, Steve…”

There was silence on the other end, followed by the sounds of shuffling before--

“Hey!”

“Robin,” you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of her voice. “Hey, how are you? I, um… sorry for calling here, I just… well I didn’t really know how else to…”

“No, it’s totally fine. I’m glad you did. Call, that is. Much better than talking to an impatient mother of three who insists she returned ‘Back to the Future’ even though ‘I have it here in my records, ma’am -- you definitely did not return the VHS, so you had better ask little Timmy what he did with it because he didn't give it to us.’”

You laughed, and she laughed, and everything felt right with the world.

“Tell me about it,” you leaned against the wall, playing absentmindedly with the phone cord. “Today I had an old guy insist that he’d asked for his eggs sunny side up, and that he should get free breakfast since we’d gotten it wrong. I swear I thought he was going to dump the whole plate on me when I showed him that I’d written down his order and he’d definitely asked for scrambled.”

“Customer service sucks,” Robin said with a grin that you could hear. You laughed some more.

“Customer service sucks," you agreed.

“Oh shit,” her voice grew a little more distant as she presumably leaned away from the phone. “Speak of the devil; I better go, Steve’s waving me down. We work better as a team when it comes to dissatisfied customers. I think our combined presence unsettles people.”

There she had you laughing again. You wished you could see her face…

“Uh… I could give you my number,” she hesitantly added. “Then, if you wanted, you could call my house later tonight. No angry customers to interrupt us then -- just my mom,” she laughed nervously.

You didn’t tell her that you’d already looked her up. Instead, you wrote down the number that you practically had memorized at this point before telling her you hoped she had a good day.

That had been less than a week ago. Now you were pedaling toward Family Video and trying not to pass out from heat exhaustion. The skirt of your dress rode up your thighs, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. The breeze created by your speed broke up the stagnant air, but by the time you caught sight of the parking lot, you were drenched in sweat and ready to drop. The sun beat down on your head almost mockingly, and you wondered how it could possibly still be this hot even when it was nearly six in the evening.

Pulling your bike up to the side of the building, you glanced around before lifting the hem of your skirt and wiping it across your face, trying to stop yourself from sweating any more than you already were. In hindsight, this might have been a bad idea. At least the milkshakes were still somewhat cold thanks to the styrofoam.

Shaking out your arms and smoothing the front of your uniform, you tried to make yourself look the least disheveled possible before rounding the corner and backing your way through the door. When you spun around, you were greeted by Steve and Robin staring at you like you’d just appeared in Family Video via UFO -- except they actually looked excited to see you rather than concerned.

“Jesus Christ, did you bike here?” Steve demanded.

Okay, maybe they were a little concerned.

“Uh… yeah,” you felt your face heat up despite the air conditioning that you had just mercifully stepped into.

“Oh my god, are you, like, okay?” Robin asked. “Do you need water or anything -- Steve, do we have water?”

“I’m fine! Really. I just came from work and wanted to bring you guys, uh…” you set the cups down on the counter and pulled two straws from your apron pocket. That must have been when Robin noticed what you were wearing because suddenly the other side of the room was a lot more interesting than you were.

“What… are those milkshakes?” Steve asked, mouth falling open.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I figured since it’s so hot, and I wanted to give a little 'thank you' for the other week. I, uh, didn’t know what you liked, Steve, so I just got chocolate. Hope that’s okay”

“Are you kidding?” Steve grabbed the cup. “This is perfect -- thank you.”

“‘Course,” you grinned. “And, uhm, Robin, I got you strawberry. It probably won’t be as good as the diner in town, but--”

“No, holy shit, that is so nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

If you’d been hot outside, you were absolutely going to explode into a ball of fire as Robin took a sip of the milkshake and grinned over at you, declaring that it was the best strawberry shake she’d ever had.

“And I worked in an ice cream shop for a whole summer, so I have a vast catalog of experience in this department.”

All you could do was smile down at your feet and try not to combust.

“So, uh… I didn’t know you worked at Tiffany's,” Robin said, hopping up onto the counter and swinging her legs over the side. She was wearing brown corduroy shorts and suspenders and you thought you might actually die if she didn’t stop being so cute.

“Y-Yeah. Started working there my senior year. Tiffany was just getting it up and running around that time -- I think she’d only been in business for a year or two.”

“I remember when Benny’s burned down, everyone wondered where they’d be able to go to get a good burger,” Robin tilted her head.

“Yeah. Really sucks, what happened to him.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, her brow wrinkling for a moment as you both considered it. “Still, I’m glad Tiffany’s Kitchen opened.”

“Me too. It’s a decent job. There aren’t many of us, so we get paid pretty well since we’re usually working overtime.”

“Hey!” Steve interjected, coming back from flipping the ‘open’ sign to face inward. “Are you gonna help me close up or what?”

“Steeeeve,” Robin whined, kicking her legs before casually crossing her ankles. “Y/N brought me a milkshake. Why can’t you do it this time?”

“Uh, she brought me a milkshake, too, and you don’t see me slacking.”

“I think you can manage,” she slowly articulated, eyebrows raising challengingly. With a dramatic sigh, Steve gave in. Still, he made sure to grumble enough for the two of you to hear him.

“Sorry about him,” she lightheartedly apologized. “We come as a package deal at this point, so you’ll have to overlook his general dingus behavior if you want to stick around.”

“I don’t mind,” you said with a smile. “How’s the milkshake?”

“Perfect,” Robin replied with a pop.

“Hey,” you suddenly remembered. “I’ve been meaning to ask… do you have any more music recommendations. I think I’ve burned a hole through ‘Tango in the Night.’”

“Wait seriously?” Robin straightened, and you barely had a chance to wonder if she meant ‘seriously you want more recommendations?’ or ‘seriously you burned a hole through Tango in the Night?’ before she was hopping off of the counter and flipping through the display of cassettes, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

After a moment, she grumbled something to herself before spinning around to face you, milkshake abandoned on the counter.

“Okay, so The Smiths have a really great album but I don’t think we carry it anymore. Uh… but I have it at home. I could totally lend it to you.”

“Cool,” you shakily replied, trying not to pass out before the question was able to leave your lips. “Uhm… maybe we could listen to it together sometime? Only if you want to!”

Robin's eyes widened, and you had just begun to kick yourself for making a move when--

“I… would love to, y-yeah. Totally. I, uh… I don’t have a car,” she said it almost like a question, and with a slight frown that betrayed how much of a deal breaker she seemed to think that was.

“Me neither,” you offered. “I have a bike, though.”

“Yeah,” Robin laughed, the corners of her eyes dimpling. “I know.”

“Right -- sorry. But I mean, if you wanted, we could meet in the middle? There… um, I’m not really sure if you're into this sort of thing, but there’s a park by my house. It’s really woodsy and stuff, so there usually isn’t anyone else around…” You said that last part slowly, eyes scanning up to look meaningfully into hers.

It kind of felt like staring into the sun, those eyes; like something you shouldn’t be looking directly at. It made you feel fuzzy and hot.

“Okay,” she breathed. “'S long as we don’t run into any axe-murders, sounds like fun.”

“I have yet to cross paths with an axe-murderer, so we should be alright,” you replied, smirking at the way her scoff quickly migrated towards a laugh.

“Cool--”

“Whenever you two are done making dinner plans, or whatever, I’m ready to close up shop -- no thanks to you,” he leveled Robin with a stern look. She rolled her eyes, shooting you a look that said ‘can you believe this guy?’

“I should probably be getting home, anyway,” you quickly offered.

“Hey, thanks again for the shakes,” Steve said, and you’d just opened your mouth to tell him that it was your pleasure when Robin perked up.

“Can we take you home? It’s, like, super hot out and heatstroke is no joke--”

“Hey hey hey, who drives the goddamn car? What, last time it was kidnapping perverts and now it’s heatstroke, Jesus Christ what is wrong with you?”

“I’m just cautiously prepared for any worst-case scenarios, Steve.”

“And I’m not a fucking taxi service!”

Robin turned to you.

“He doesn’t mean it. He always does this. I think he feels the need to act like an asshole so that people don’t think he has an actual heart beneath all that stupid hair.”

“It’s true -- well,” Steve furrowed his brows. “The part about me not meaning it. I don’t know where that other shit came from -- I think Robin’s been breathing in too much VHS dust. Anyway, yeah, I’ll take you home. No big deal.”

“It kind of sounded like a big deal…”

“Ehh,” Steve drawled with a curl of his lip as he waved a hand dismissively. Robin nodded encouragingly to you, so you gave in. You probably would have done anything if she was the one asking you to.

Steve insisted on carrying your bike again. Robin rolled her eyes just as hard the second time. When the three of you finally piled into Steve’s car, you were all sweating buckets and Robin insisted that she’d definitely gotten a sunburn while Steve insisted that “that’s definitely not how the sun works, Robin” before checking his own face in the rear view. You leaned between the seats again -- what now sort of felt like your place among their duo -- and laughed.

Sometimes you forgot that you’d only met them a few weeks ago.

Steve didn’t remember the way to your house, explaining, with surprising genuineness, that he didn’t have the greatest memory any more thanks to several concussions. You’d wanted to ask him if he was okay -- your knee-jerk reaction -- but before you could, Robin was directing him to take the next turn.

“It’s Nora Avenue, dingus,” she said, her tone a bit gentler than usual -- probably on account of the whole ‘concussions’ thing.

You were still trying to figure out your feelings surrounding Robin knowing how to get to your house from just one trip -- and in the dark, no less -- when Steve pulled onto the curb.

“Hey, thanks again for the milkshakes. You should come around more often--”

“Steve,” Robin hissed before spinning around to look at you. “I swear we’re not just friends with you because we want you to bring us milkshakes.”

“Wha-- that’s not what I m--”

“Wait, we’re friends?” The question came out before you could stop it, and you immediately wished you could take it back because not only was it the quickest way to fucking friend-zone yourself, but now you also sounded like a total loser.

“I-I mean… yeah?” Robin murmured, her eyes searching yours -- and she looked like she was worried she’d just sounded like a loser, too. “I-If you want to be, that is. L-Like I said, this isn’t a kidnapping, haha…”

“I… cool,” you grinned. “I mean -- yeah. For sure.”

Robin exhaled a breath, nodding minutely as her smile grew, lips curling above her teeth. She really was beautiful.

“Great,” Steve interjected. “Now that we’ve got that figured out -- care to help the lady to her front door, Robin?”

The girl scoffed.

“Don’t tell me what to do, dingus,” she said, flicking him in the ear, but she threw open her door anyway. Before you could even touch the handle of yours, she was opening it for you.

“Thanks,” you managed, voice more than a little breathless. You told yourself it was just because of the heat -- which was stupid because you knew it definitely was not.

And when Robin’s hand brushed yours as she helped you get your bike out of the trunk, you decided that heat stroke was the least of your worries; Robin might actually kill you by accident. The sun never stood a chance.

“We should get, like, a bike rack or something,” she softly teased, grinning as you laughed in response.

“I’m not sure Steve would be on board…”

“Psh, who cares what he thinks,” she replied, obviously joking. You could see it in her almost proud smile, how much she cared for her friend. And, though you didn’t know Steve well, you could understand why.

“So,” you straightened back up, wiping some sweat off your forehead. “I’ll, uhm… call you later, then?”

“Y-Yeah,” Robin raised her eyebrows. “I’ll be waiting. This time with no customers or dinguses to interrupt us. You’ll have me all to yourself.” Her laughter was like nervous birdsong; fluttery and high and unmistakably glorious. Fuck The Smiths, you wanted to listen to that sound on repeat until the tape crumbled to dust.

“Alright,” you smiled, and you thought maybe you were giving the sun some competition, too. “Talk to you later.”

“See ya,” Robin replied, her dimples creating valleys for her freckles to hide in.

You managed to remember your manners and called a quick ‘thank you’ to Steve, giving them both a wave before booking it for the air conditioning.

That night, you and Robin made plans on the phone. When you hung up, you both began counting the seconds, waiting for the moment you’d get to see each other again.

________________________________________________________________

You stood next to the sign for Oak Street, fingers tightening and loosening over your bike handles as you tried to combat your nerves. You were excited -- more excited than you’d been in a long time -- but you couldn't help feeling some anxiety, even if you knew that Robin was cool and kind and likely just as nervous as you were. You tried not to think too hard about what that meant, or the fact that you couldn't remember a time when anyone had ever been flustered by you, as you waited.

You were early by fifteen minutes. You may have gotten a little excited and left sooner than you’d needed to -- maybe peddled a little faster than you usually did -- but you just couldn’t help yourself. You hadn’t wanted to be late for fear of Robin thinking you’d been axe-murdered on the ride over. The only downside was that now you were worried she had been axe-murdered. Or, perhaps a tad more realistically, that she had Steve had crashed and were lying in a ditch somewhere.

The possibility that she’d stood you up didn’t even enter your mind; it seemed so far away from something Robin would do that you hadn’t even considered it. Instead, you’d worried that something had gone wrong at Family Video until, with the soft humming of an engine, you saw Steve’s BMW climbing over the hill, distant and small like a child’s toy.

When he pulled up beside you, Steve rolled his window down and gave you a charming grin.

“Need a ride?” he asked, and you laughed, feeling your nerves increase tenfold as Robin’s head appeared above the car.

“Hey!” she called. “Sorry I’m late. We had this guy come in like five minutes before closing and he was a total douchebag, so of course he hung around until we practically had to herd him out the door even though he threatened to tell our manager -- who’s literally Keith, so we told him to go right ahead and tell him because Keith would absolutely love a crack at the guy. I think he genuinely gets off on conflict because he just, like… shit, sorry, you didn’t really ask, and… hi,” Robin blushed, smiling at you as she ducked her head shyly.

“Hi,” you replied. It hadn’t even been a minute and already she’d taken your breath away. From the car, Steve snorted.

“Good luck,” he called to you. “Robs, you good on getting home?”

“Yeah. Thanks, dingus.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just be safe guys.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you waved as he rolled up his window and pulled out onto the road, leaving you and Robin standing alone by the Oak Street sign.

“Hi,” Robin said again, smiling at her feet before looking back up at you through her eyelashes.

“Hey,” you whispered. You felt like it was necessary to whisper -- like anything louder would break the sky and snuff out the late afternoon sun; like it would all somehow be a dream if you didn’t move slowly or speak softly.

“I, uh, brought the tape…”

“Right!” you blinked, trying to jumpstart your brain into doing something -- preferably something normal and not embarrassing. “If we walk past the playground there’s a hiking trail,” you pointed across the small clearing.

“Oh, awesome,” Robin replied, tilting her head in invitation. You left your bike near a bush hidden from the view of the road and eagerly followed after her.

The two of you walked in silence for a moment, surprisingly comfortable as you looked around at the trees and the empty playground; as you’d predicted, no one was around. School was only just now letting out, and no one ever really came around this particular park, anyway. It was too out of the way for most people, and the forest that stretched on either side of it gave the place a sense of isolation. It was perfect. As if reading your mind, Robin turned to you as you led her towards the wooded path.

“This is so cool. I’ve never been to this part of Hawkins.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you think it connects to the woods around Lover’s Lake?”

You tried to imagine a bird’s-eye view of Hawkins.

“I think so? Maybe. Lover’s Lake would be… that way. I think,” you added. It was very likely that you had no clue what you were talking about.

“No, I think you’re right,” Robin insisted. “The last time I was near Lover’s Lake, I remember thinking how crazy it was that the trees just kept going, so it makes total sense that they’d come all the way out here.”

“Do you, uh… spend a lot of time in the woods?” You cringed at the awkwardness of the question, wondering if you’d just managed to make yourself sound like a total creep.

“Not usually, but Steve and I… and some other friends, we… well, it’s kind of a long story, but we had this thing we had to take care of and so we sort of wound up spending a few nights out in the woods. It was… not a good time, but you know,” she shrugged.

“Does that… have anything to do with the whole… thing that went on last year?” you hesitantly asked.

You’d heard about Chrissy Cunningham, and then Eddie not long after, but only vaguely. It had taken you almost a week after the movie to realize that Robin and Steve’s Eddie was actually Eddie Munson, infamous cult leader -- or so Jason Carver had claimed. You’d never listened to a word that came out of that douchebag’s mouth, and you weren’t about to start now -- especially after you’d met Eddie. Besides, Robin didn’t seem like the kind of person to keep murdering cultists around as friends.

“Uhm… yeah, sort of,” she admitted, wincing.

“Sorry -- I shouldn’t have pried.” It really wasn’t any of your business, anyway.

“No, it’s okay! It’s just, like I said, a very long and labyrinthian story that, honestly, if I told you, would probably end with you thinking I'm crazy.”

“Oh, I dunno if I could think that,” you meekly offered. “But I get it -- you totally don’t have to tell me. We’ve all got stuff that’s a little complicated to explain.”

Something in your face must have convinced her that you were being sincere, and she broke out in a smile.

“Don't I know it. Sometimes I feel like they’d lock me away if I ever actually said half of the stuff that was true about me. Which is kind of an issue, considering I, for some reason, find it insanely difficult to shut up sometimes.”

Her laugh was raspy and light, and her nose scrunched as she gave a toothy grin. You were helplessly whipped.

You’d made it a good distance into the woods, and the previously bare dirt path had widened into a clearing with grass and wildflowers growing underfoot. You stopped, leaning down to pick one up, twirling it between your fingers and watching the blue and purple petals whirl together in a blur.

“This place is kind of magical,” Robin said, her voice hushed as she blinked around at the small clearing surrounded by sturdy trees, a green canopy of branches interrupting the patch of sky, creating a bowl above your heads.

“It is,” you grinned. “We could stop here awhile, if you wanted?”

“Oh yeah! We could, uh, listen to The Smiths,” she sang, waving the hand that was currently stuffed into her jacket pocket -- where you assumed her Walkman was. You nodded, grinning eagerly as you headed for a tall patch of grass. Robin followed as you sat down.

“I don’t really know if you’ll like it,” she was saying. “And it’s probably not even their best stuff, but I think it’s kinda cool. It reminds me of, like… I don’t know. It’s like taking a deep breath of really cold air in the summer, or… listening to the crickets at that time of the day where it’s, like, indigo out.”

“Awesome,” you exhaled, scooting closer to Robin’s side as she pulled her jacket off, removing her Walkman and headphones before spreading it out on the grass.

Laying on her stomach, she propped her elbows onto the jacket and got to work untangling her headphone cord. When she finally managed to get it somewhat un-knotted, she turned to smile softly at you, jerking her head in invitation. You rolled onto your own stomach, lying next to her, your shoulders brushing. It was a single point of contact, but it was enough to make you buzz. Your whole side felt warm, like she’d wrapped you in a blanket.

Robin lifted her headphones, offering you one side. You leaned down towards the foamy earpiece and waited.

“Hopefully it’s not total trash or anything -- and if you don’t like it, we don’t have to listen to the whole album. I think it’s like almost an hour, so… oh, there it goes,” her already quiet voice fell into a whisper, and she clamped her mouth shut.

You pressed the pad of the headphones to your ear and Robin followed suit. Her cheek was so close to yours; you were tempted to count every single freckle that dotted her skin. You would have if it wouldn’t have been completely obvious that you were staring. But God, how you wanted to stare. You wanted to stare at her skin -- at the smoothness interrupted by small wrinkles and laugh lines and pores, at the rosy color of her cheek followed by the paleness of her jaw, at the spray of auburn freckles that seemed to cover every inch of her skin, at her lips, so red that you were convinced they had to taste like cherry.

You were still thinking about cherries and Robin’s lips as the first song began to play. ‘Reel Around the Fountain,’ you read on the case of the cassette. You’d heard a few songs from The Smiths on the radio, but never this one. It was melancholy; slow and sad, and it wove through the blades of grass and the trees and the hum of a late summer evening. The blue sky above your head felt wider as Morrissey’s voice softly filled it up.

‘Fifteen minutes with you

Oh, I wouldn’t say no

People see no worth in you

Oh, but I do’

You looked over at Robin, who was already watching you, and you smiled.

“How is his voice so… sad.”

“Right? God, it’s like listening to someone’s heart if their heart could, like, talk. Does that even make any sense?”

“Yeah, kind of,” you laughed, nose scrunching as you smiled, and as you listened, and as you tried not to wonder what Robin's hands felt like, her arm, her neck.

The tape whirred and there was a brief moment of uninterrupted birdsong before the next song began to play, more upbeat than the last one -- almost frenzied, a tired kind of bitter.

‘You are your mother’s only son

And you’re a desperate one

But I don’t want your lover

I just want to be seen’

“This is amazing.”

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you think so. I was kind of worried you were going to hate it and then you’d never want to hang out with me again.”

“Wha-- Why wouldn’t I want to hang out with you just because of your music taste?” you questioned, eyebrows furrowing gently even as you smiled at her obvious relief.

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “It’s totally ridiculous but it kind of kept me up last night.”

“Well, I like it. And even if I completely loathed it with a passion, I’d definitely still want to hang out with you.”

“Wait, really?” Robin asked, a little breathless. “Because I’ve found that most people tend to check out around this time in the relationship.”

You would have had a hard time believing that if it weren’t for the genuine look in her eye. Then again, it felt like everything Robin showed you was genuine. You knew she wasn’t always, like when she gave Steve a hard time or was extra polite to customers, but you were almost completely certain that you’d never seen that side of her. If you had, she was pretty damn good at hiding it.

“Yeah. Definitely. You’re…” Amazing. Beautiful. The coolest person I’ve ever met. The sight of you literally makes it hard for me to breathe. “Uh, I really like hanging out with you, so.”

It was a dull replacement for the things you wanted to tell her, but it seemed like the safest option because you really didn’t want to screw this up. If being her friend was the only way you still got to see her, you’d just have to find a way to live with that -- even when her lips looked like they would fit perfectly against yours.

Robin stared back at you like a doe, her blue eyes wide and her lashes heavy, and her fingers shifting like insect wings over her side of the headphones as Morriessy’s voice danced in the space between you like a spell of demanded silence.

‘I’m not the man you think I am

And sorrow’s native son

He will not rise for anyone

And pretty girls make graves…’

Robin opened her mouth, a single breath drawn in, expanding her ribs so you could see the movement of them through her t-shirt like the shudder before an earthquake. Her eyes were bright as they sought yours, and in them was such alarming clarity that you were sure she knew everything. When the moment for her to say something passed, she used it up by turning onto her side. You swore you could feel her breath fanning against your cheek as she looked at you so delicately, so contemplatively that you wondered if you’d died and this was all some hallucination filling the time it was taking your soul to trade the Earth for whatever came after.

You could only return her look with a soft smile of your own, wondering what she was reading in your face -- what it was telling her even though words had failed you long ago. Maybe you wouldn’t need words, though. Maybe something in Robin would be able to understand that similar something within yourself. Maybe you could communicate with each other in a way that was completely reinvented; through hands brushing over bike handles and the sharing of tapes and cryptic glances that had yet to be deciphered.

Robin gave you one of those looks, the kind you wish you had something like a roadmap to understand, and then turned onto her back. You followed suit, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of her, hair sprawled out around her head like a halo in those old religious paintings they used to show in history class -- of Mary with a veil and her hand clutching her chest. Robin looked like an ethereal being, lying there in the grass. She looked like a saint or a goddess, or maybe a knight. She looked powerful and reverend and holy; as if she belonged in a museum, painted with wildflowers.

And when she smiled at you, you decided that a higher power must be real because there was no way someone like Robin happened by accident. Or, maybe that was the beauty of it, because maybe Robin had just been a chance taken by the universe, and maybe your meeting had been purely coincidental. Whatever it was, you couldn’t help but feel a desperate gratitude for the steps that had led you here, laying in the middle of the woods with a girl who’d described The Smiths as the sound of crickets and the color indigo.

“That cloud looks like a heart,” Robin whispered, pointing toward a corner of the sky. You tilted your head and followed the direction of her hand.

“Oh yeah,” you whispered back. “It does… Look, that one looks like a -- like a big bowl,” you snorted. You’d just followed up one of the most romantic things that had ever happened to you with ‘hey, look at that bowl cloud.’ Jesus Christ.

But Robin was laughing.

“Oh my god, it totally looks like a bowl. Look!” her raspy voice raised an octave in excitement as the gentle breeze twirled the clouds around, shifting them into new pictures. “It looks like spaghetti.”

“A bowl of spaghetti,” your eyes widened as you giggled.

“God, now I’m hungry,” she groaned, and you laughed harder.

“Shit, me too. I want spaghetti.”

“Oooh, and breadsticks,” Robin squeezed her eyes shut as she imagined it, and the breath of your laughter fanned against her cheek.

“Holy shit, Robin!” You reached over to smack at her arm, and her eyes flew open to meet yours before following your pointed finger to the sky.

“Oh my God,” she cracked a grin as she caught sight of the lines of clouds you’d found that maybe looked a little like breadsticks. “There’s, like, a whole Italian dinner in the sky right now.”

“Stop,” you gasped, clutching at your stomach as you tried to repress your laughter. “My guts are gonna explode.”

“Oh, shit,” Robin whispered, reaching out to lay a hand over the one that was pressed against your stomach. “Keep ‘em in there. Generally speaking, I don’t think guts are supposed to leave the body.”

“Ow,” you furrowed your brow as you laughed. “My abs hurt.”

“Well, that’s better than losing your guts--” she grinned as you squeezed your eyes shut, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

The two of you had been so busy goofing off about sky spaghetti and the proper orientation of your insides that you hadn’t noticed the tape had clicked off. Stopping to catch your breath, you turned to look over at Robin, a stray tear curling down your temple and landing on her jacket.

“So,” she alluringly began. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” you smiled drowsily. Robin sighed in relief, grinning so wide that you could see her canine teeth peeking out from behind her lips. “You were so right about the indigo thing, by the way. That’s exactly what it reminded me of. Like -- you know in summertime when the air starts getting cool in the evening and you feel like you can finally breathe?”

“Yes, exactly! That’s exactly how it feels!”

“I’ll have to try and find a copy somewhere,” you said, sitting up -- stretching the muscles in your back. You’d like to listen to it again.

“You can have this one,” Robin suddenly offered, clicking the Walkman open and holding the tape up to you. You looked down at her with widened eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, totally,” she nodded. “I’ve listened to it, like, a million times. You can give it back to me after you’ve listened to it like a million times,” she smirked, and it went right into the pit of your stomach. It made you warm.

“Thanks, Robin,” you softly replied, taking the tape from her, looking down at it for a moment before slipping it into your pocket. It felt like more than a tape -- felt like some priceless lost treasure that she’d just offered you. It made your heart pick up pace.

“Sure thing. I’m glad you liked it. I’ve tried listening to it with Steve, but I don’t know,” she shrugged. “He’s a dingus. He, like, can’t grasp the depth of emotions, or something. Cyndi Lauper is more his style.”

“Cyndi Lauper?” You gaped. “I never would have thought…”

“Yeah, most people don’t,” she smirked. “Though he does like ABBA, so at least there’s that. Not that Cyndi Lauper and ABBA aren’t, like, emotionally deep, or anything, just… I don’t know, he’s got weird taste.”

“Sounds like it,” you laughed. “He’s cool, though. How, uhm… how long have you guys known each other?”

“Mmm,” Robin’s brow pinched as she thought, and you had to stop yourself from having a stroke when you realized she was still practically lying beneath you. “I mean, we’ve known each other since high school, unfortunately -- but we didn’t really start hanging out until, I think almost three years ago, now.”

“Nice--” Nice? You were fucking impossible.

“Yeah,” Robin grinned at you like you weren’t a total loser. “We worked at the Starcourt mall together before, you know, and we’ve kind of been inseparable since.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t know you worked at the mall.” You’d heard about what had happened there -- everyone in Hawkins had -- and it sounded pretty intense.

“Yeah. Those were definitely some… weird times…” she trailed off, eyes fogging a bit as she seemed to get lost in thought before snapping back to reality -- and to you.

“I feel like I should ask you a question now, but I already know about your job and your favorite season, and honestly I’m kind of drawing a blank.”

“Well,” you smiled, glancing down at your lap. “What do you want to know about me?”

Robin studied you for a moment, eyes scanning delicately over your face, down your neck, skipping quickly away from your chest.

“Everything?” she softly replied. “Like… what’s your favorite color? Or, what kinds of things can’t you live without? What food do you hate -- o-or what’s one thing you absolutely have to do before you die? What's that one thing people do that drives you up the wall even though it's so stupid and really not that big of a deal, but for some reason, you can’t stand it?”

You were in love. God, you were completely and utterly in love. You barely managed to hang on to the questions she’d asked you under the weight of your overwhelming need to kiss her; stronger than your need for oxygen or the blood to keep pumping through your veins. If you were about to take your final, dying breath, you still would have wanted to kiss her.

Instead, you picked a flower from the grass and began to talk. You told her what your favorite color was, she told you her favorite top three since she couldn’t pick just one. You opened the window to your soul and gave her the answers to all she’d asked -- the things you couldn’t live without, the things you wanted to do before you died, the things that annoyed you even though they were trivial and dumb. She told you that she wanted to see a solar eclipse before she died and that she hates when people chew with their mouth open.

You agreed. On both counts.

She asked you what your parents did. You told her that it was nothing special -- your father was a manager at the bank and your mother was a stay-at-home mom when she wasn’t working small jobs here and there. You asked her what her parents did. She told you that it was equally nothing special -- that her dad worked a boring desk job and her mom was a receptionist who also sold Avon on the side.

“You should hear her sometimes -- she’s always trying to get me to wear makeup and do my hair all nice. God, she wanted to take me to get a perm for my sixteenth birthday,” Robin winced. “Like, can you imagine?”

“No,” you wrinkled your nose, smiling apologetically -- but Robin didn’t seem to mind.

“Anyway… parents, right,” she chuckled, sounding a bit nervous again. She did that, bounced between confident conversation and nerves. It made your stomach flutter like someone had let a whole conservatory full of butterflies loose between your ribs. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, haha…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, twisting a few flower stems together. “I mean, my parents are fine, I guess. They could definitely be worse, but… you know, I just,” you shrugged, glancing up. Robin was watching you with such an openly enthralled look that you found yourself continuing.

“I just -- sometimes I feel like they don’t even know who I am. Like they’ve got this… I don’t know, this idea of me in their heads and that’s the only version they see.” You glanced up through your eyelashes, just starting to feel self-conscious that you were oversharing when you saw the expression on Robin's face. Just… lovely.

“No, yeah, I get it. I mean… my mom’s always had this expectation of what the ‘perfect daughter’ should be like,” she gestured with her hands. “I’ve always kind of felt like she wanted a doll instead of a real kid. Like, this little thing she could dress up and show off at parties or dinners, or whatever, and just… bend to her will. I don’t think I’ve ever met that expectation of hers.” She shrugged, smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “That must be really tough.”

“I guess,” she shrugged again. “I mean -- thanks! Thank you, but, uh… I don’t know, I guess I’m over it? Which sounds horrible, but--”

“No, I get it,” you quickly assured. “It’s like… you spend your whole childhood trying to be perfect for them and then one day you wake up and realize you’re never going to be, so… why bother trying, right?”

“E-Exactly,” Robin’s eyes widened as she blinked at you, mouth half-open. “That’s exactly how I feel, like, all of the time. I just wish they weren’t so exhausting, you know?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, nodding as you glanced down at your lap. “God, they can be so exhausting sometimes.”

“So exhausting,” Robin agreed, looking at her own lap. It was only then that she noticed what was happening on yours. “Woah -- what’s…”

“Oh,” you started, holding up the crown of flowers you’d been weaving. “I used to do this all the time as a kid,” you smiled, glancing at Robin to find her smiling back at you, her eyes shining in the evening light.

“It’s really pretty,” she said.

Yes. Yes it is, you thought, your eyes getting lost in the oceans that were hers.

“Uhm,” you struggled to pull yourself out of her grasp -- even for just a moment, long enough to speak. “Uh, let me just,” holding up a finger, you turned your attention back to the flower crown, giving it a few finishing touches before looking back at Robin.

“Here, if you just--” you scooted closer, holding the crown up, and Robin sucked in a breath before stooping down to meet your hand.

You took extra care placing the flowers onto her head, arranging her hair around the winding stems. The colors of the pedals looked so delicate, so vibrant against her sandy hair, almost lit aflame by the growing sunset. The very same sunset that you found lighting up her eyes as you leaned back. Robin’s eyes had grown a bit darker, you noticed, and it took you a second to realize that it was because her pupils had blown out.

“H--” she drew in a shaking breath, rearranging her voice to do its best impression of something lighthearted. “How does it look?”

Your eyes flicked up to the crown nestled in the soft waves of her hair, then down to the freckled expanse of her forehead and the curve of her nose, the wrinkles in the fine skin under her eyes, the crow's feet from years of laughter and smiles. You stopped there, afraid of what you’d do if you caught sight of her lips when you were this close.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, a breath. “Looks beautiful.”

“R-Really?” Robin asked, her voice somehow softer than yours.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and this time you couldn’t help yourself -- you glanced down at the curve of her cupid’s bow. God, her lips were so red, and they looked so soft, and they were parted just enough that you could see the tiniest hint of teeth.

You sucked in a breath, hoping that it didn’t tremble, and then held it. She felt too close for breathing, and time stood still as you noticed the way her eyelashes were almost laying against her cheek and --

She was looking at your lips, too.

Your face burned at the realization, heart stuttering in your chest, lungs threatening to burst -- and then it was all over. You and Robin pulled back at the same time, each glancing away, out into the darkening forest.

“Oh,” you whispered, the first voice to break the silence since you’d called Robin beautiful. “Look.”

She followed your pointed finger out into the trees, where the first lightning bugs had begun to appear. You noticed that the crickets had started up, too, and your smile met Robin’s as you glanced at each other.

“The Smiths,” she said with a small raise of her eyebrows, tilting her head towards the scene in front of you. The forest was bathed in indigo.

You smiled and listened to the crickets.

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