#there's so many options that you have to dig through to find the one thing you want and that thing might not even exist

[dravidious]

You're cool and neat

Computer science is going well today

[itz-mfkn-de]

\\ALWAYS YOU//. M.R

warnings— OOC MATTHEO, Im a sucker for toxic boys but I made him extra sweet in his one idk why, uhhh not many tbh, cussing, kissing, smoking, that’s all I think.

summary— Mattheo was your best friend, always had been, but was the title of ‘friend’ enough?

-my first work for Mattheo! I will eventually get a master list going once I get more comfertable posting on here. This is a repost of one of my works on wattpad, just with some tweaks bc that work was olldddd-

You sat against mattheos 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 out of his dorm window.

"You know, some times, I'm worried for you. You just stare at things, it's weird." He snickered  as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You looked at him and scoffed, "Sometimes I'm worried about your lungs, you're bound to get some type of problem with all that's smoking you do." You half-joked, glancing at him.

He rolled his eyes, tilting his head up and blew the smoke out of his mouth.

"Seriously Mattheo, that stuff is absolute horse-shit for your body." You stated, accompanying your words with a sharp glare.

"I don't do it that often, just when I'm stressed." He muttered, taking his feet off of his desk and turning his body to face you.

"What happened to the whole 'I don't give a fuck about anything or anybody but myself' thing?" You said, mocking him to the best of your abilities.

"First of all I don't fucking sound like that," he laughed and squinted at you "second, just stressed about life, nothing in particular." 

You softly chuckled at his reaction. His eyes broke from yours, looking at some papers on his desk. Your eyes, however, never left his frame. You could stare at him for eternity, everything about his face seemed so perfect, almost as if it were meant to be admired.

You soon realized your staring and quickly averted your gaze towards the window again.

"You gonna go to the Yule ball this year?" You broke the silence, you knew Mattheo hated those things, he hated having to be around a shit ton of people and act like he enjoyed their company.

"Probably not." His demeanor changed, his tone became short, almost snappy.

"Oh, I'm probably just gonna go with Becca." You mumbled, knowing that if no guy was to ask you, Becca had your back.

"Hm." He nearly laughed at your remark.

"What? What's so funny?" You asked, looking back at him, his back still facing you.

"Just surprised you aren't going with a random slytherin guy or something." He answered, but the way he had said it has a strange undertone that you weren't sure how to feel about.

"Well I mean I don't know, I haven't been asked yet." You stated truthfully.

"Ah, I see." He murmured, soon after taking another drag of his cigarette.

You felt tension building in the room, suffocating tension. You weighed your options out, but you decided it would be better to give Mattheo some space, for what you were unsure of.

"Well, Becca and Emma told me they wanted to go dress shopping earlier so I think I'm gonna head over there so we can solidify our plans." You announced while picking up your books and putting them in your bag. 

"Bye Mattheo." You said while walking out of his dorm, expecting a response.

You shut the door when you got nothing, you mind raced with the possibilities on what could've caused mattheos strange behavior.

Maybe he'd just had an off day? No that couldnt have been it, he was fine moments before his attitude took a turn. 

Perhaps he was just having mood swings, you wouldn't be surprised with all the trash he puts in his body.

You stuck with that story and walked back to your dorm, which was on the other side of the slytherin tower. 

You reached it, setting your things down, then quickly turned around and nearly raced to your friends dorm.

The second you reached it, You waisted no time to jump on her bed, causing her to jump. 

"Yes, of course you can come into my room unannounced and lay on my bed." Becca said sarcastically. She had been digging through her closet in an attempt to find a dress. 

"Sorry, I just need to vent." You said while propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Go ahead." She sighed and laid her body weight 

"Okay so, there's this guy. He's like my best friend, but.."

She raised her eyes brows, signaling you to continue.

"But I want us to be more, or atleast I see him as more than a friend. I just feel like no matter how hard I try I can't get him to open up, he just.. won't."  You groaned.

"And everytime I get this sliver of hope that I've made progress, he just completely shuts down, leaving me in the dark confused and a little bit heartbroken!" You borderline screamed, your face shoved into her mattress.

"Okay, uh, let's calm down. If he's not showing any signs of being interested maybe you should just, move on- well attempt to at least." Becca stated ,rubbing your back.

You shut your eyes, truly taking in your friends words.  “hey Yknow what will make you feel better?” She nearly jumped with excitement. “Going to look for a dress in town.”

You knew she only had good intentions but the words kept echoing through your head. The thought of keeping Mattheo as a friend hurt, but it seemed to be all you could do at this point without ruining your friendship.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe you needed to accept Mattheo 

was just a friend.

-

All you could think about was the Yule ball. Over the next few weeks the days flew by, the anticipation growing larger with each one passing.

Of course you had been asked by some sweet guy from the Ravenclaw house, and, taking Becca's advice, you said yes.

There was nothing wrong with him, he just..he wasn't him.

You had decided to get ready alone, slipping into a beautiful green dress you and Becca had picked out. You finished your hair and makeup, looking into your vanity mirror.

You felt beautiful.

You smiled softly at how well you had dolled yourself up.

Glancing up at the clock, you rushed out of your dorm room, realizing it was the time you and your date had agreed to meet at the entrance by. 

You walked gracefully through the halls, a large smile adorning your face. Your heels tapped softly against the ground. You neared the entrance, your breath becoming shallow from the nerves. 

Then you saw Becca, she was wearing a beautiful Maroon dress. She looked absolutely breath taking.

"Hey!— oh my gosh." Becca looked at you, her jaw dropping. 

"You look stunning! Like some type of goddess...." She said barely above a whisper.

"Becca! Stop, you can't be talking, I forgot how to breathe the moment I saw you." You hugged her.

You were about to continue praising her and her beauty, but before you could comment you heard someone call your name.

"Y/n..wow.." he said, just loud enough for you to hear.

You turned around to see your date, who was wearing a very clean red and black suit. 

"Oh my gosh hi! Sorry for being a tad late, I lost track of time while getting ready!" You made your way next to your date, not before Becca gave you a sly smile and a push, leaving to go with her specimen she had chose for the night 

"It's okay.., you look amazing." He had said, taking your arm into his. He began to lead you into the ballroom.

"Thank you, I must say, you cleaned up nice." You smiled sweetly at him.

You and him entered the large room full of people, everything was elegant and royal, not a single speck of dust on anything.

You looked around the large room as your date led you down the stairs, you couldn't lie, you felt like a princess. The beautiful architecture of the room, complimented by your stunning dress, felt like something straight out of a fairy tale.

Once you had made it to the bottom of the staircase, you excused yourself away from your date in an attempt to go find Becca again. 

You stumbled past groups of people, many of them were couples having a romantic moment. 

You tried your best not to run into anybody, you dodged dancing bodies and nearly jogged across the dance floor.

You almost missed him.

You almost walked right by him.

You almost could've saved yourself the heartbreak.

But no you saw it—him with some random Hufflepuff girl. 

The way he whispered in her ear, the way she giggled a little too sweetly, everything. 

It all made you wanna cry—or throw up, which one that would be you weren't quite sure about yet. 

"Y/n?" Theodore came beside you and patted your back.

"Theo-Theodore, I thought Mattheo wasn't coming to the dance?" You struggled to get your words out as your eyes darted between the scene before you and Theodore. 

"Oh—uh yeah, he wasn't gonna originally, but some girl asked him and I guess he took a liking to her because usually he just brushes everyone off." Theo answered.

"Oh, I see, I just came to say hello. I'll be on my way now." Before Theodore could argue with your strange behavior you turned your back and walked as quickly as you could back to were your date was. 

You abandoned the idea of going to find Becca, you couldn't accidentally run into Mattheo and his.. friend again.

Instead you decided that distracting yourself with your date would be the best thing for your heart at the moment.

"Hey, sorry , I just saw a friend and got distracted." You said, out of breath.

"Oh. Don't even sweat it, I'm just glad you didn't run away and not come back." He joked, dragging you towards the dance floor. You couldn't help but laugh at his bubbly personality. It was a nice change of speed.

"I hope you like to dance." His hands fell onto your hips, yours made their way to his shoulders.

"I actually hate it." You smiled at him. 

"How unfortunate." Your smile grew when he matched your energy. You nearly forgot what you had seen a couple moments ago.

But alas, you didn't.

You could feel your chest tightening up, the tears bordering you waterline. Just thinking about him touching that girl in any way made you want to breakdown.

"Ex.—excuse me." You tried to excuse yourself as politely as you could. 

You didn't want your date too see you like this, vulnerable, heartbroken.

You urgently walked towards any door in your line of sight. When you finally found one, you ran through it. 

You just couldn't escape him, no matter how hard you tried. He was at every single corner you turned.

You nearly groaned when you saw him propped up over the balcony, smoking of course. 

He hasn't seemed to notice you, still looking out at the stars. 

You couldn't do it anymore, you couldn't spend one more fucking second acting like you weren't in love with him. 

The sad part was you'd rather be his friend than him hate you and be nothing at all. As long as he thought about you, you'd be okay. 

That's what you had been telling yourself, but you couldn't hold onto that lie anymore. 

"Mattheo." You croaked out behind him.

His head shot to the side, looking you dead in the eyes. 

"Angel… what're you doing out here."  He looked back out to the stars, unable to make eye contact. 

"I can't do it anymore."  You said shakily.

He turned his full body around this time, his eyes a dark brown. He blew the smoke out of his mouth, the wind pushing it in the opposite direction.

"I can't keep pretending I don't feel this way.., do you know how hard it was to watch you talk to that girl?" You nearly cried out.

"All the girls you fuck with and then bring them to shit like this, I cant keep lying to myself —wishing that it was me instead of her."

You were on the brink of gasping for air, your head pounded. You couldn't believe you had suppressed these emotions for so long. Every single time you went to Mattheo's dorm, you could barely restrain yourself from kissing him. 

Before you could continue on with your speech 

Mattheo had forced you against the wall. 

His lips met yours in a harsh collision. In an almost immediate reaction, your body responded to his actions, kissing him back with just as much need and hurry.

"You don't get to fucking do that."  He pulled back from your lips, still making sure to keep his face mere inches from yours.

"Every single day, I'd sit there and watch you talk to this new guy, I couldn't do shit about it— I wouldn't let myself do shit about it."

“I knew you deserved so much better than some lousy asshole like me, angel.” His hand held a firm grip on your hips, his other still had its place on the stone wall. 

"It took everything in me not to punch that fucker in the face when I saw him look at you, but I knew you wouldn't want that." You melted beneath his gaze.

His kisses trailed down your jawline.

"During second year, when I went to the dance, I saw you there with Draco, I nearly killed him right after. I couldn't bear to see you with anyone other than myself.. so I wouldn't go, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it so I never went to another ball again." He gently caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"Until this year." He mumbled softly in between the kisses he was leaving on your neck.

He brought his face back up to yours, his eyes stormy and clouded with something darker than just simple need.

"What'd he say to you? What did he call you?" Mattheo asked with a dark shimmer in his eyes, one you were hoping was just from the moon.

You swallowed harshly, you hadn't realized how dry your mouth truly was. 

"He just said I looked nice—" 

"Nice? You look fucking ravishing. I've never met a girl as beautiful as you, never once in my life seen a girl who could compare anywhere near you...That's why I call you angel you know...,because even if an angel walked by, my eyes would still be glued on you."

His gentle voice tickled your ears, and your cheeks warmed up beneath him.

"You are my angel."

He kissed you again, only this time it was more gentle. His lips held no rush, they were soft and comforting. 

You were the one to pull back this time, smiling sweetly up at him. He pulled you from against the wall, leaving the two of you in the center of the balcony, under the sparkling stars.

"I can't believe we've been friends all these years, and neither of us made a move."

He spun you around under the moon light, the beautiful sky knocking the breath out of you.

"Hey matty..?”You whispered once he had began to hold you in his arms gently.

"Yes angel?" He matched your tone, the sweet nickname you gave him made his chest tighten up.

"I love you." You closed your eyes, shutting them slowly.

"I love you... I always thought I'd never be the type to say that so freely, guess I just needed to meet the right person." He swayed the two of you lightly, finding a rhythm in the midnight winds. 

"Of course it's you... 

It's always been you."

[mamayan]

🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃

Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader

Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.

cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh

wc: 7k+

Something must be wrong with you.

Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.

The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.

This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.

Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.

You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.

The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.

Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?

They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.

Do you want to know who your new friend will be?

This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.

You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.

A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.

Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.

He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.

It’s cold.

It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.

You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.

“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.

…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.

You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.

Or maybe you were very ready.

“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.

“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.

You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.

Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.

He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.

He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.

His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.

He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.

It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.

“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.

He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.

Because you’ve never been more aroused.

Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.

“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.

“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.

He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.

“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.

“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.

His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.

“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.

You’re going to die.

It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.

It’s empty. This damn park is empty.

Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—

Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.

It hurts—!

Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.

“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.

Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.

He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.

There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.

“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.

“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.

“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.

“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.

He was still hard.

“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.

He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.

He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.

You really are a freak like he says.

You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.

The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.

His knife.

He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?

He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.

It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.

You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.

“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.

“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.

“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.

You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.

A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.

His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.

You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.

He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.

He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.

“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.

He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.

“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.

“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”

An unexpected question.

His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.

“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.

You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.

Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.

He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.

“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.

Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.

Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.

Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.

Not his problem though.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

[diremoone]

“make me (yours).” | r. sukuna

w — [ minors do not interact ] modern! AU, hints of sugar daddy vibes ;), older man/younger woman, age gap, everyone is above 20+ and legal age, male masturbation, Sukuna imagining seggs positions and shit like that, Sukuna is around 36 & Reader is around 22/23, tbh sukuna being a comfort character rn. jjk after 235? it’s non-canon lmao

a/n: this is the most I’ve ever written that’s sinful I’m not used to this (it’s been so damn long since i have written anything remotely sinful omfg) and it’s not even that much I’m so embarrassed y’all HELP— also part two depends on you guys and any ideas you want to send in through my ask box :3

part one | part two

[ first divider by @/benkeibear, the second by @/cafekitsune ]

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who meets you through his younger brother, who’s a few years older than you. You’ve been in Japan for a few years now, that much he knows, attending the same school his little brother got into. And now he’s determined to find out everything about you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s so fucking glad you can speak Japanese. He knows English, yes, but he prefers it when you speak his native tongue, because he fucking loves your accent and gets off on it. It’s exotic — you’re exotic — and he can’t help the temptation of wanting you and more.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who knows to keep his smug smirk into himself when his little brother finally mans up and finally introduces you to him one day when he comes home to work on a project that you’re helping him with. And he knows that Yuuji knows about the look on his face. Because he knows his history with women. Yuuji knows he’s made a mistake introducing you to each other.

Or so he thinks.

Sukuna is thoroughly amused by you, although there are times where he becomes frustrated. You’re not an easy case to crack, and not easy to tease and rile up. Perhaps that’s the part of you that’s from accelerated maturity.

You’re smarter than the average person, even the people slightly above average. You’re intellectually and psychologically challenging and he very much likes it. It’s been a long time since he’s had the kind of stimulation you’ve brought him. Since his and Yuuji’s father passed away.

He watches from a distance as you and his brother go over notes and work and crack jokes that put a pretty smile on your face. He can’t hear your laughter from where he stands, but he’s positive it’s as lovely as your smile.

As for you, you know you’re being watched. You look to the tall man out of your peripheral vision and halt rolling your eyes.

“Your brother is never subtle, is he?”

Yuuji sighs heavily. “Never.”

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who hates the fact he can’t see you more often. So he digs and digs and then finds out about some old family debts and a couple things for medical expenses he can easily pay off to hold over your head, to use as a means to be something akin to a sugar daddy so he can order you around and see you whenever he wants to.

And it comes as no surprise to him when he mentions it the next time his brother brings you over for schoolwork that you’re startled by him finding out. He only mentions it after Yuuji has fallen asleep on the couch. You give him the wide-eyed expression of shock, probably wondering how he found out about it.

But unlike his expectations, you don’t ask how he knows. you don’t get embarrassed and try to hush it away with the option of using yourself as his favor. You shrug, going a little more into depth and detail about the financial struggle that’s been kept under wraps for several good years.

Sukuna himself is surprised in return, by both you and the way he sits down for you — to listen to you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who finds out that even though you see him as super attractive, you’re not as swayed by his flirting and all of his advances like many women and young women your age are. Yes, you know he’s super fucking stupidly hot, and yes you’ve more than likely thought about certain things while in bed under the sheets, but you’ve got more important things to prioritize than hot men. Which he applauds you for just as much as he despises it. It makes him frustrated, because he’s attracted to you and wants you in his bed so bad; because it should be so fucking easy like it has been with other women. But you’re not the same, and while his lust is as prominent as ever in his older age, he also has the desire for something more than just a fling.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who manages to get ahold of your schedule through his baby brother (who’s prepping for your broken heart) and asks you out, setting up a date for when he knows you’re free. He much enjoys the look on your face when he brings up the date he’s set, knowing you’re wondering about how he managed to nail the exact day you’re free for the day he’s set for the outing. He enjoys it even further when you quickly deduce how he knows about it.

Goddamn, he loves a sharp woman.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who orders you a dress to be made that’s a mix of beautiful deep crimson and black, one that shines but doesn’t shine too much to glare at people eyes. He drums his fingers against his desk in his home office as he sees the notification pop up on his phone that the item has been delivered.

But as usual, you surprise him. You don’t end up wearing the dress he’s made, but something completely different. You arrive to the restaurant he’s bought out for the night in a deep silver-gray tux, hair styled in a simple manner with minimal makeup that he knows you don’t need because he’s already seen and fallen for your natural looks anyway.

Sukuna hates you. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with the feelings he has. You’re so much younger than him, but holy fuck has it been so long since he’s been given any sort of challenge or stimuli, especially from a woman. He both hates and is glad you’re not easy. And it only fuels his drive to get you to give yourself to him.

You drive him up a damn wall.

He’s been in the shower for at least forty minutes, alternating between hot and cold every five minutes. Forty minutes and the painful hard on he’s had all morning still hasn’t gone away.

Sukuna leans his head forward against the wall and cusses at himself. His hand isn’t enough, but there’s some relief as he starts leisurely pumping his shaft. He cusses and swears worse than a sailor as he starts off slow, imagination running wild (at what could be).

He wants you so fucking bad. He wants you on your knees in front of him; on the soft carpet because no way is he going to let his pretty woman have sore knees while taking his monstrous dick down her throat.

He wants to bury his face between your legs and make you cum so much and so hard you see fucking galaxies, then let you catch your breath just barely enough before he uses your juices as lubricant and permanently molds your pussy to the shape of his fat cock.

He wants your legs over his shoulders as you throw your head back and moan as he fucks your better than anyone ever has and ever will. He wants to see a white ring around his cock as he pumps himself in and out of you like he’s a starved man. And that he is. For you, anyway.

Sukuna just knows your pussy is so fucking warm. He’ll bet his dick that you’ll have the tightest pussy he’s ever going to have. The best he’s ever going to have.

His hand pumps his shaft faster and faster, gripping it harder as he nears climax. His massive cock aches painfully, desperate to cum. Fucking hell… He wants you so bad, underneath him, or on your knees, calling him by whatever pet name or name from whatever kink you might have.

Forbid everything if you call him ‘Daddy’ or ‘Master’. Game fucking over.

He doesn’t even care if you have those kinds kinks or not. He just wants the pretty girl that’s done more than caught his attention under him as he makes her feel pleasure that only he can provide.

But the selfish part of him can’t help but hear you call out those names in his head. And that’s what does it.

Sukuna’s thighs and back muscles flex almost painfully as his balls draw up and cums. He tosses his head back, the feeling of his load spurting from the tip making him groan in pleasure. He cums so hard he feels like he’s about to keel over.

“Fuck yeah…” he pants, oxygen finally catching up to his lungs’ need.

But now he’s disappointed and just a little pissed off. Because the cum on the wall shouldn’t be there. It should be on or in you. And he doesn’t like that.

And as he rewashes himself, his jaw clenches, can’t help but thinking determinedly he’s going to change things between the two of you.

Come hell or high fucking water.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s finally shifted the relationship to being something else. Although you can’t tell what it is. The first date he takes you on is to break the ice, getting to know you better as a person. It’s also to see if you’d fuck him, but he knows you’ve got stronger convictions than the women he’s used to.

He takes you on a second date, this time in more casual clothes on a drive to a house he’s set up to have dinner and stargaze at.

He gets to tell you he’s paid off your family’s old debts now, relieved them of the medical bills and taxes that haven’t been paid yet. But it backfires, and now he’s left to make you understand that it wasn’t to make you feel beholden to him in any manner, like owing debt to the mafia.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna needs you to understand that despite how much he wants to fuck you, it’s more than just because he finds you attractive and wants to satisfy his dick. He wants you to know you’re not temporary; he doesn’t see you as a quick fix to his primal needs.

Not at all.

You’re the long term fix to his primal needs. And perhaps the only one he’s going to need ever again. And once the expression of understanding crosses your face, he goes to cradle the back of your head and hungrily slots his lips on yours. He may not get to take all your clothes off right now, but he’s happy with his results tonight.

Besides, he knows he’ll get you into his bed with a shiny diamond ring on your left hand eventually.

wheeeew im gonna go take a cold bath

@vagabond-umlaut here’s ur man babe pls enjoy.

& everyone pls feel free to send in more ideas for this series if you want im having fun with this lmao

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (oral, f receiving), overload of cheesiness, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.8k+

→ a/n: this might be the cheesiest, fluffiest thing i've ever written, and i can't even be bothered to care. it might be unrealistic. it might be too much. i do not care. this has been a long time coming and i think we all deserve all the cheese after this story.

i don't even know what to say besides thank you. thank you to everyone who followed along from the beginning, to those of you joined the journey along the way, to those of you who are reading as we finish it up. thank you for all the support and love you guys have shown this fic. i will always, always, appreciate it more than i know how to say. i love these idiots, and i love you all.

if you would like to see this story continued through small blurbs, my ask box is officially open to requests from this universe. i will also probably be posting some "beyond the hours" content over the next few weeks.

thank you. i love you.

without further ado...

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

EPILOGUE: A BET

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Why are there so many fuckin’ options?” 

Eddie stares at the line up of smartphones before him, all different models and different physical sizes, different colors and different memory amounts. 

“There’s not that many,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rest your chin on his shoulder. It’s a bit of a stretch, making you lean up onto your tippy toes, “Besides, isn’t having options a good thing?” 

He scoffs as he brings a hand up subconsciously to where your arms overlap on his torso, grip gentle as he runs a thumb over your skin and gives a squeeze, “Sure, options are great. But there’s at least twenty different iPhones on display here, sweetheart.” 

The last few months had been interesting, to say the least. A new and exciting journey initially, but also a fairly stressful ordeal given all the hoops you two had been jumping through. You’re both busy people, having to suddenly figure out how to carve out a specific space for each other amongst bustling lives. It wasn’t the same as making time for friends or a weekly night out; it was figuring out times for dates, times for lazy afternoons, times for just you and just Eddie.

And, occasionally, time to take Eddie shopping for a new phone. Finally.

“Well, better pick one fast,” your fingers dig into his side playful, and he blows out an annoyed breath as he side-eyes you. You only retaliate in a fast peck to his cheek before whispering in his ear, “We’re gonna be late if you keep taking all day.” 

It was Argyle’s birthday party tonight. His actual birthday wasn’t for another week, but he’d be venturing back home to California for that. And so the group elected to throw him a preemptive party at one of the group’s favorite bars. 

Which — fine. Awesome. You were excited, you really were: you loved Argyle, you loved your friends, you even found yourself warming back up to parties.

But your friends didn’t know. 

Two whole months, and neither you nor Eddie had told a single soul of what had become between you two. Not even Steve. Not even Nancy. 

At first the excuse was to give this time to grow, to find your footing before you brought your lovable yet rambunctious group of friends into the equation. But then you two had found your footing, and you’d worried what they would say. Eddie had nearly made himself sick with anxiety over Nancy finding out he’d kept this relationship from her. They’d support you two — that wasn’t a worry. They’d proven that since the first time the entire group had hung out after the bet.

“So,” Robin started, narrowing her eyes at you and Eddie sitting on opposite ends of her and Steve’s couch. Neither of you had said a word to each other yet (Plenty had already been said that morning as you’d snuck him out of your dorm), “You two really aren’t together?” 

“Why is everyone so adamant that the bet has to end with us getting together?” you jeered.

Eddie didn’t help the cause when he was quick to take your side, “Exactly! The bet’s over. We lasted twenty four hours. We’re friends now — isn’t that what you guys wanted?” 

“I actually wanted to help you dudes plan a winter wedding,” Argyle chimed from the kitchen where he was retrieving a coke, “So I’m gonna side with Birdie on this one.” 

“Of course you are,” you muttered beneath your breath. 

Everything in you ached to be sitting next to Eddie rather than so far. You ached for his arm around you, his lips pressed to your temple. Just to share body heat, even — innocent thighs brushing with layers of denim between would have been enough.  

“It’ll happen eventually,” Nancy mused from her seat on the kitchen counter, Jonathan beside her and matching her confident energy with a sly grin, “Just give them time.” 

What they hadn’t realized is that it already did happen. The moment Eddie showed up to your dorm and the two of you said to Hell with space, it was inevitable. 

Now, it was just the challenge of letting your friends in on the secret.

“What about the red one?” Eddie asks you as you finally unravel from him.

“Of course you’re choosing the red one.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scowls, no malice behind it as you step up to occupy the space next to him, brushing shoulders for only a moment before his hand is grabbing yours, intertwining fingers like second nature. 

You recall that moment on his balcony, where he had once been so nervous and hesitant to hold your hand. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you look at the specific model he was talking about, “You’re just getting a little bit predictable, Munson.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, to nip back at what you always offer him, when one of the salesmen approach you two.

“Hi folks! Can I help you with anything today?”

Eddie squeezes your hand, no doubt in an effort to withhold his laughter at the man’s overly chirpy tone. You squeeze back, if for nothing more than to let him know you felt him.

Despite Eddie’s previous claim to a decision, he still chooses to entertain the man. Asking questions about different models, inquiring for recommendations as if they’d change his mind. They go back and forth, both polite enough, but the conversation easily bores you. In five seconds flat, your mind has officially wandered off.

You two hadn’t really discussed the specific details of the night to come. Whether you’d ride with Eddie there, how you’d navigate Eddie’s natural born clinginess once he got a few drinks in him, if tonight might be the night to finally tell your friends. 

The last one felt a bit obvious. It was Argyle’s night — you didn’t want to snatch the attention from him for even a second. 

But there were layers to your anxiety. Because it was more than just how to navigate how you two would display yourselves to your friends on nights out. 

It had been two months, and you still hadn’t said those three little words back to Eddie.

He didn’t pressure you. He never once brought it back up, never once pressured you. But just because he wasn’t constantly reminding you vocally that he loved you didn’t mean you didn’t feel it. You’d felt it, impossible to miss, when all those lazy morning fantasies became reality. You felt it during movie marathons and you felt it every time he’d worship your body. It was there — in the late nights, in the early mornings, in the dull afternoons. A wild thing unleashed in your gardens, all those vines you’d worked so hard to see flourish threatened to be torn up by impatient claws at the feeling growing rapidly in your chest every time you looked at him.

And slowly, surely, you knew that there was only so much longer that like could suffice in describing your feelings for Eddie. 

You were falling, whether he was aware or not. You just needed to figure out the right moment for those three little words to unstick, to go from hot honey on your tongue to easy breaths between you two. He’s given you time, he’d filled the months you’d awarded him with making up for every previously bitter exchange, and yet you still couldn’t give him this. And you’re starting to believe maybe that’s why you couldn’t imagine telling your friends yet. 

You sort of hated yourself for it.

You’re pulled back to reality once the salesman departs, no doubt into the back to grab Eddie’s choice of phone. You don’t even have to ask; you know he got the red one.

“Hey,” Eddie fully turns to you, bringing your knuckles to his lips in chaste kisses. Your stomach still kicks with flutters, your heart still warms at the gesture. Eddie’s affection has yet to lose novelty, “Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean?” you twist your face, “I was here the entire tim-“

“Not where’d you physically go,” he clarifies, letting your conjoined hands drop back to the sliver of space between your bodies, “Mentally. Where’d your mind just go?”

 You hadn’t thought he’d notice your drifting.

“Nowhere,” you shrug off.

“Nowhere? So you’re really just that interested in the newest iPhone model?” 

He pointedly looks up at the widescreen display you don’t doubt you’d been blankly staring at the entirety of his conversation with the man who had yet to return.

“Oh, absolutely. You know me so well.” 

All bark, no bite. These days, all the previous venom that had infected exchanges with Eddie prior to the bet had finally been sucked clean from the wound, long gone to make room for all the genuine affection to seep into its place. You still argued — or perhaps bantered was a better word for it — but you didn’t fight. You both still grated on one another’s nerves and managed to slither beneath the other’s skin, but not in an unwelcome way. 

It was a nice change.

It made you hate yourself even more for not saying those three little words. 

Eddie seemingly reads your mind, “Are you nervous for tonight?”

“I-“ you consider lying to him and saying it hadn’t even crossed your mind, but the look he gives you warns against it, “We just haven’t… discussed it.” 

“What’s there to discuss?” 

You hold up your interlocked hands for emphasis, raising your eyebrows at Eddie.

His mouth falls open softly, eyes widening, “Oh. Are you- Are you wanting to tell them tonight?” 

No, your gut screams, absolutely not tonight.

“Is Argyle’s birthday party really the best time to explode their minds?” 

You try to keep your tone teasing as you sense Eddie’s own nerves creeping up. Sometimes it was fun, standing in a room with everyone and pretending to be more akin to strangers than lovers. But sometimes, it was just plain painful. Sometimes, the entire group would be laughing at something, and you craved nothing more than to be pressed into Eddie’s side and feel the vibrations of his shared joy rather than just having to listen to it from across the room. 

It’s not that you wanted to tell your friends and cause a scene — you just didn’t want to have to hide anymore. And maybe you wouldn’t have to, if you’d just tell him how you felt.

“Probably not,” Eddie murmurs, “I mean, it’s his night. We can always tell them the next time we all get together.”

The issue is that’s what the two of you always say. You always brush it off for the next time. 

You can only sigh in defeat as you see the salesman finally bounding back out from the back room, a small box holding Eddie’s purchase in his grip, “Yeah. Next time.” 

You can’t even be mad at next time. It’s the same thing you tell yourself every time you felt those words on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far from revealing the most terrifying truth you’d discovered yet to Eddie.

You let go of his hand long enough for him to check out, hardly overhearing when he questions how they can transfer all the data from his current flip phone. When he seems particularly worried about pictures transferring, you don’t think anything of it.

—

STEVE-O: do i need to pick you up tonight? 

You don’t see the text. You’re a bit busy with something when it comes through.

Something is currently still between your legs, curls threaded between your fingers as your back arches off his mattress and his name starts to come out as a desperate whimper rather than a chant. 

STEVE-O: ???

The initial buzz of your phone on his nightstand doesn’t phase either of you. Eddie’s tongue still works you eagerly, circling your clit as you tug particularly harshly at his roots. Each flick sends white hot pleasure through your bones, nearly making you see stars.

“Fuck,” you gasp out when he brings his fingers into the mix. You can feel his smile against you as he curls his fingers inside of you, mimicking a come hither motion and relishing in your little pants as your thighs tighten around his shoulders, “Oh, fuck. Right there, Eddie. I- Eddie.” 

The way you’re moaning his name only encourages him as he slips in a second finger, stretching you further. You feel cool metal bumping your entrance, sending shocks up your spine as his lips suction against you and he sucks hard.

He hadn’t even taken the time to remove his rings when the two of you had gotten home. He had been too eager, dragging you to his bedroom with his lips attached to your neck from the moment he’d shut the front door behind the two of you until he’d thrown you down on his bed.

“That’s right, baby,” his voice vibrates against your clit, “Say my name. Tell everyone who’s making you feel this goo-“

STEVE-O: helllooooo????

“Okay, who the fuck keeps texting you?” Eddie finally pulls back when he realizes you’re slipping out of that bubble he’d created, your head having turned towards the nightstand in curiosity, “Let me guess, it’s your other boyfriend?” 

Your head is still spinning and your chest continues to heave from that lingering pleasure he’d been offering so generously to you. He sounds annoyed, but you can guarantee you’re even more irked. 

“I don’t have another boyfriend,” you blandly reply, not taking his bait.

It only makes him wrap his hands around your thighs on his shoulder, giving a playful squeeze as you reach out for your phone. 

“You sure?” 

You squint at the notifications, but don’t properly read them, only rolling your eyes at both the fact that Steve’s the one interrupting this precious moment and at Eddie’s valiant teasing.

You slam the phone back down, eyes trailing down to his, “I am, but I can certainly find another boyfriend if you don’t get your mouth back on me in the next three seconds-“ 

He doesn’t need a second warning. In an instant, the warmth of his tongue is back on you, lapping at all the spots he’s come to memorize as of recently. That pleasure comes back into reach, edging your vision with feathery black as your eyes flutter shut and the coil in your stomach tightens.

You throw your head back into one of his pillows, one that has started to smell like your shampoo now rather than his, and let a drawn out whine escape your lips.

“You were saying?” he teases, grinning wickedly. He takes that brief moment to come up for air, turning and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh beside his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, and probably not hard enough to leave indents. But it is enough to have you preening once more as your heels dig into his bare back and you try to lift your hips, desperate for his mouth again.

He was edging you. Without even meaning to, he was repeatedly bringing you to the edge only to leave you teetering. 

With your focus back on him, you can admire how pretty he looks. Mouth slick with you, pupils blown out, hair an absolute mess. You like him best this way, you think, when he looks so absolutely devoted to you. When he’s looking at you with a hunger you almost can’t place. It makes you want to scream from the rooftops about how you’ve fallen for him. How you feel so much more than like for your boy. 

STEVE-O: seriously. if you don’t respond, you can just walk. you have five minutes.

At the buzz of the phone, your hands leave Eddie’s hair to form fists, pounding them into the mattress at your side in a brief tantrum. He ceases all actions, pulling his lips away from you again, and it only makes you pout more. 

“Baby,” he coos, fingers trailing up the sides of your thighs before he reaches out to hold your fists down, “Maybe you should answer him. Tell him to fuck off-“

Eddie’s interrupted as your phone fully bursts to life with your ringtone.

You were going to kill Steve Harrington. 

“On second thought, let me answer it,” Eddie groans as you reach out and grab it once more, “Give the fucker a piece of my mind.”

“Shut up,” you hiss as you realize it’s Robin calling. You turn the screen so he can see, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.

He makes no move to remove himself from between your legs, though. He stays face to face with your aching core.

“Hello?” you snap after swiping to answer.

“Finally! My God, Steve’s been texting you-“

“I didn’t see the texts.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Nope.” 

You’ve never been so short with your friends. 

But that pleasure is slipping from you, the flames of your impending orgasm dying down to nothing more than embers. It’s enough to piss anyone off. 

“Are you sure?” Robin asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “It’s kind of a far walk-“

“I’m running late,” you sigh, realizing that you were going to have to come up with a lie to get off the hook. Another thing you hated about the hiding — it led to your friendships being littered with dishonesty. Always a new excuse as to why you weren’t available, always feigning reasons as to why you didn’t reply to texts as timely as you used to. “With getting ready. I could- I don’t know, do you think Eddie might pick me up? Isn’t my dorm along the way to the bar from his place?” 

At the mention of his name, he perks up. His cheek settles against the exact spot he had bit just moments before, nearly nuzzling into you as your free hand comes down to gently push back his bangs. On instinct, you find yourself soothingly pressing your fingertips in slow circles against his scalp. You’re nearly melting beneath his soft gaze, those big and wide eyes locked on you with bated breath.

“You want Eddie to pick you up?” you suddenly hear Steve exclaim in the background.

Your face scrunches up, a wrinkle forming across the bridge of your nose and between your brows. It’s so damn cute to Eddie that he can’t help but press a quick kiss to the skin he continues to lay into, beginning to smile as your absent-minded head massage continues. 

So much more than like.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was on speaker.” 

“Why do you want Munson to pick you up?” Steve ignores your sarcasm, voice sounding closer to the phone now, “He drives a motorcycle, you know. That’s dangerous.” 

Eddie must be able to catch some of Steve’s shrill exclamation, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. You feel his curious hum against your skin and you don’t hesitate putting your own pesky friends on speaker. 

“Motorcycles are not that dangerous,” you retort, and it makes Eddie have to hide a slight scoff into your thigh in an effort to stay silent. It was ironic that they cared about how safe it would be for you to ride with Eddie on his bike now, after that allegedly dangerous vehicle had been your main source of transportation for nearly two months now, “He has a helmet, right?” 

“Isn’t your dorm the opposite direction of the bar from his place?” Robin questions, “I mean, I’m all for you asking lover boy if he’ll give you a ride but-”

Steve interrupts her flatly, “It’s making him go out of his way. Besides, he might have already left for the bar by now.” 

You don’t know what to silently laugh at first. The assumption they were making that couldn’t be further from the truth, or Robin’s new nickname for Eddie. 

Lover boy is fitting for him in this current position. He’s still latching onto your leg, cuddling you in every way he could from where he laid, staring at you and hanging onto your every last word. The poster boy for pathetically in love, he gives your leg another kiss, starting a fiery trail with his lips until he reaches your knee. It pangs in your chest, wondering if he can see your feelings also painted so obviously across your face. 

“Steve,” you murmur, breath catching in your throat as Eddie’s lips linger in the ditch of your knee. It takes a second to remember you’re on the phone, “No offense, but Eddie hasn’t been on time to a single get together the entire time I’ve known him.” 

Eddie reacts in real time to your insult, forcing an over-exaggerated offended look before he bites you again. This time, his teeth do leave an imprint from his nip, and it makes you slap a hand over your mouth to avoid yelping. 

Don’t bite me, you mouth at him. 

Don’t be mean, he answers right back, silent as ever. 

“Technically we’re all already late,” Steve points out. It makes you sit up quickly, startling Eddie in the process. You squint at the clock across the room and- fuck. Steve was right, “Nancy just texted me that she and Jon are there, Argyle’s on his way. She said she tried texting Eddie but didn’t get any response,” there’s a long pause as you motion wildly for Eddie to get up with you, the boy watching as you fling yourself off his mattress and carry the phone with you to his dresser, “Have… you heard from him recently?” 

“Why are you saying it like that?” you jab, throwing open one of the drawers Eddie had cleared out for you to keep some clothes here in his apartment. At this point, a good chunk of the tuition you paid was going to waste considering the fact you rarely spent the night at your dorm. You were already half moved into Eddie’s space. 

You try not to think too hard about it, because just last week, you’d had a panic attack at the revelation. 

You were afraid of smothering him, even if he was the one always insisting you could leave more of your things here. He was always the one conning you into spending another night, promising soft murmurs of giving you a ride to class the next morning if you did. You rarely ever had much of the choice in the matter; once he’d wrap his arms around your waist, curl his body flush against yours, it was always game over.

Practically living together, and you still hadn’t said those words back to him. 

“I’m not saying it like anything!” Steve defends himself, “I’m just asking an innocent question!” Eddie’s snort this time is audible, and you freeze as Steve clearly mistakes it for your laughter, “Shut up. It’s a reasonable question. You guys are friends now, remember?” 

Friends. Of course, because all your friends jumped at the chance to bury their mouths against your cunt and make you cum repeatedly until you had tears streaming down your cheeks. Because you let all your friends sleep in the same bed as you, and wake you up by burying deep within you as they bite your shoulder with a moan. You and Eddie were friends. 

“Trust me,” you glance over your shoulder in your haste, looking at Eddie as he stretches out on his side and props himself up on his elbow, “I remember.” 

He gives you a knowing smile, squinting his eyes at you in entertainment. 

“Babe, it really would just be easier for you to ride with us,” Robin’s voice sounds again as you tug a shirt out of the drawer, something casual and comfortable that you could style for the night, “Unless you’re just hellbent on having alone time with Eddie for some reason-”

“I’m not hellbent on being alone with him, Robs.” 

Another lie. I definitely am. But not in the context you think. 

“You just sound like you are.”

“Well, I’m not,” you yank a pair of black jeans free from the drawer and slam it shut, standing and turning to Eddie. 

He hardly has time to react before you’re tossing your phone down on the mattress in front of him, the small device bouncing and hitting his chest. He winces and throws himself back dramatically, letting out a small oof that you pray neither Robin or Steve pick up on. 

As you dress, throwing on the random t-shirt and shimmying on your jeans, Robins laughs, “Denial isn’t a good look on you.” 

Eddie watches you, never moving to get ready himself. All he does is stare as you button up the pants. 

When you give him an expectant look, he merely mouths, bra? 

You shake your head. You don’t know where Eddie had flung your undergarment, and you’re not in the mood to frantically search for it. You’ve gone without a bra before – you can survive one night out without one. 

Eddie’s entire face and chest immediately flushes pink. Cute.  

“Now you guys are just being assholes,” you scowl despite the fact that only Eddie can see it, waving your hands to motion for him to get up and also get dressed, “I’m texting Eddie. If he has already left, I’ll just walk. Fuck you guys.” 

“Tell lover boy I said hi,” Robin teases. 

“Even if he’s already parked at the fucking bar at this point, we both know he’d jump right back on his bike and come pick you up,” Steve’s voice grumbles over the line. 

It almost makes you smile.  “Someone sounds jealous.” 

“Not jealous, just annoyed,” Steve corrects as Eddie finally stands from the bed, “When are you two going to get your shit together?”

“What do you mean?” you play dumb.

You’ve had this conversation with your friends multiple times. They were truly going to have your head once they realized what you’d been keeping from them for months now. 

“Don’t you have a 4.0 GPA?” Robin inserts herself back into the conversation, “You can’t possibly be this stupid.” 

Eddie pauses in his fumbling with pulling his jeans from the pile he’d left his clothes in at the end of the beg, face scrunching in silent laughter. You almost walk over and smack his bare back angled towards you. 

“First of all, no. I don’t have a 4.0 GPA. Thanks for the reminder,” you grab your phone back off of the bed and decide to leave Eddie behind in the room, heading into the bathroom to finish getting ready. You hate to admit it, but if you have to keep watching him giggle so cutely to himself, you’ll also probably break. And you aren’t in the mood for any further interrogation from Robin and Steve, “Second of all, I’m hanging up now. I’m going to call Eddie. At least he won’t be such a dick to me.” 

“Oh, you must see the irony there-” 

You cut Steve off, “Bye! See you in… like, ten minutes.” 

Once you’ve hung up, you put your phone down on the bathroom counter and look up into the mirror. Your hair is a mess, wild and tangled from all the writhing you had been doing before being so rudely interrupted. You give it your best effort, trying to tame it a little bit to look more presentable, but it’s a lost cause at this point. Fuck it. 

Eddie appears in the doorway behind you, fully dressed and his hair pulled back into a bun, leaning into the door frame with his arms crossed and an impish grin on display, “Oh, you’re going to call me now, sweetheart?” 

You glare at him in a jocosely manner through the reflection, “Don’t look so proud of yourself.” 

He pushes off the frame and comes up behind you, still locking his eyes only through the reflection as he leans his chin over your shoulder, “And what if I don’t want to give you a ride? You have been awfully mean – insulting my punctuality, throwing your phone at me, teasing me by going without a bra. The list goes on and on.” 

Something deep within you stirs, those embers that still ache to burst into a forest fire. You hate that you could easily spend the entire night here with him, letting him take you every which way between his sheets. And even without sinful actions involved, you would be plenty content with just his presence tonight. As a matter of fact, you might be more content with that outcome rather than heading out to see your friends.

Sorry Argyle, you think guiltily. 

“I’m teasing you?” you question just as his hands land on your hips, moving so that he was pressed firmly against the curve of your ass. Making sure you could feel how hard he was against the seam of his jeans’ zipper, “You didn’t even make me cum.” 

“Seems like we’ll both be spending the night frustrated, then,” he smiles, almost gleefully, almost devilishly, “Besides, that was technically Harrington’s fault, not mine. We both know I usually have no problems making you cum on my tongue – without interruptions, of course.”

He rolls his hips ever so slightly into you, and your mouth falls open, eyes going glossy as you continue to stare him down through the mirror.  The stirring in your abdomen is persistent now as your heart hammers against your ribs, mind melting and completely forgetting the obligation at hand. 

And Eddie knows this. He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on you, and it’s deliberate. 

Suddenly, his body completely pulls away from yours, “I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do we, sweetheart?” 

Damn him. Damn him, and damn his dimples, and damn how good his legs look in those jeans as he’s walking away from me right now.

You linger in the apartment, alone, for a few extra minutes to compose yourself. Trying to quelch the heat between your hips that had slowly spread across your entire body, threatening to consume you. You even go as far as to splash cool water across your cheeks, giving yourself a few smacks for good measure as you try to prepare yourself to go into public and put on the usual act. And beneath it all, you also hush the animal in your chest, the one that claws at you to tell him. The one that wails everytime you simply tell him you like him, the one that roars when you let another moment slip you by. It has to quiet, just as your flames need to settle, all for the sake of the act.

You deserve a goddamn Oscar at this point. 

After deciding that touching up your makeup would take up far too many precious seconds, you’re darting out of Eddie’s apartment, locking up behind yourself before you head down to where he’s waiting. He’s already straddling his parked bike, the engine roaring to life like the animal inside you as you exit the main doors of the building and his hands extend his only helmet. You don’t fight him on who’s going to wear it – that’s a battle, you’ve learned, you will always lose. 

We really need to just buy a second helmet. 

The thought makes you smile as you hold the clunky thing. Buying a second helmet. Something Eddie had never done before, because he had never had a regular passenger before. He had never had someone glued to his side as you had become, not even Nancy. It sounds terribly domestic; perusing aisles with him, debating which helmet fits your style best. He’d probably make a joke about your head being big. He’d probably tease you for looking at the ridiculously expensive ones and tell you to opt for a cheaper one. You’d probably end up with a pricier one in the cart regardless, and Eddie would probably refuse to let you pay for it. 

Domesticity. The image of it doesn’t ache like it had that night all those months ago. This isn’t something you yearn for hopelessly, smoke and mirrors that dissipate when you dare to reach out for it. It’s something finally in your grasp. Something tangible and something bound to happen, all you’d have to do is say the word and Eddie would comply eagerly. 

Anything to keep my girl safe, as he would tell you any time you pointed out how dangerous it was for him to go without a helmet. He’d gotten creative in saying his own version of those three little words. 

“M’lady,” he hums, nodding for you to put the helmet on before sweeping a hand over the empty space in the seat behind him, “Your chariot awaits.” 

You don’t have a snarky quip to throw back at him, only grinning at the ground as you flip the helmet around a few times to prepare to put it on. All those embers aren’t just desire for him – there’s a warmth there that always exists. A candle on the windowsill of the home you had finally found. 

You raise the clunky thing and tilt your head when Eddie suddenly says, “Oh, and babe?” 

Immediately, you lower it, eyes wide in curiosity, “What?” 

“That’s my shirt.” 

“What?” 

He motions to the t-shirt tucked carefully into your jeans, “That fine shirt you are currently wearing is mine.” 

You look down, and he’s right. It’s too late to go back inside to change, and you know he’s aware of this when you catch his amused smirk. He probably noticed the moment you had put it on, and had deliberately waited until it was too late for you to do anything about it to inform you. 

Bastard. 

“I-” you pinch the fabric between your fingers, looking between it and Eddie wildly for a second before your shoulders slumped in defeat, “It’s fine. I doubt they’ll even notice.” 

—

You were wrong. They do notice. 

Everyone is already waiting inside for the two of you, nestled around a table in the bar in a similar arrangement to the very first night you’d been introduced to the group. There’s only two empty seats left conveniently, right next to each other. You don’t miss that mischievous look of success on Robin’s face as she looks overly proud of herself.

They’d set it up so we’d sit next to each other. 

You’re grateful for your friends’ antics until you go to take the empty seat next to Steve.

“Is that Eddie’s shirt?” 

Robin is leaning around Steve eagerly as she says it, ridiculing the shirt intensely. 

“What?” you laugh nervously, looking down and tugging at the fabric. 

Lie. Make up a lie. Make it good. 

“That is Eddie’s shirt,” Nancy looks surprised across the table, looking up at the two of you questioningly. 

“What?” you repeat yourself. Eddie has already taken his seat, and is avoiding the stares of everyone, “No, it’s not.” 

“He has one just like it,” Jonathan adds fuel to the fire, “He literally wore it - what? Two days ago?” 

In a pathetic attempt of an excuse, you plop down in your seat and force an offended look, “People can own the same shirt. He’s not the gatekeeper of-” you look down, and nearly erupt in embarrassment when you see what the shirt is. “Deftones.” 

Ah, fuck. 

It’s not just the embarrassment of being on the verge of getting caught in your lie – it’s the memories that flood back. You, on Eddie’s lap. Your mouth and his becoming one. Steve calling, and you sucking so innocently on Eddie’s neck. 

Fuck. 

You really wish Steve and Robin hadn’t interrupted earlier. 

“It’s not like I got it at a show,” Eddie shrugs, and you wonder for a moment if he’s lying, “They’ve gotten more popular lately. I’ve seen their shit in Target.” 

“Exactly!” you exclaim a little too loudly, a little too quick to defend yourself, “Exactly. I just thought it looked cool at Target. Besides, tonight is about Argyle.”

You smile at the birthday boy, and he returns the joy as he waves a little at you. The reminder is all it takes for everyone’s attention to return to the focus of the night – everyone’s attention but Nancy’s. 

You can feel her eyes on you as conversation sparks up and debates of ordering shots begin. Everyone is busy asking Argyle what his plans for next weekend are – which are mostly composed of normal family gatherings, probably a homemade cake, etc. – but Nancy is watching you and Eddie like a hawk. In the peripheral of your eye, you watch the way she leans back so casually into Jonathan's around her shoulder, looking like she knows. You’re probably just being paranoid. You’re definitely just being paranoid. 

You try to ignore it, and instead let yourself just enjoy the moment. All your friends gathered, a group in which you finally feel like you belong to, jokes being made and laughter being exchanged that has you feeling a bit giddy. It’s nice. Even between the smoke of the room and the flickering lights overhead, murmuring chatter of nearby patrons mingling right in with your group’s noise, it’s homely. The smell of drunken cigars and fruity cocktails should be overwhelming, but you just let it wrap you up instead. 

And when you turn your head, inhaling deeply the smell of cinnamon and musk rather than all those other foreign anomalies, you find Eddie already looking at you. Soft eyes, bitten grin, a few loose curls framing his cheeks as his bangs curl up into his forehead. Even in the shoddy lighting, he takes your breath away. 

He’s looking at you. Just like that first night. Dozens of other people in this room at this moment, and he only has eyes for one – he only has eyes for you.

“So!” Argyle announces, “I think, my dudes, instead of doing what Birdie had so… excitedly suggested,” and oh, he was being generous and calling Robin suggesting he took twenty three shots for his twenty third birthday just her being excited rather than foolish, “We should just take the twenty three shots and split them up amongst the group.” 

Steve and Jonathan immediately groan, protesting how they’re driving, and Eddie only shakes his head with a chuckle. So far, he’d only ordered and been nursing on a plain coke, no whiskey. 

Somehow, sitting beside him with the group is worse than keeping distance. 

When he’d taken off his jacket, you’d silently begged for him to rest an arm across the back of your chair just as Jonathan was doing to Nancy. And he had, almost too naturally before he’d caught himself. It would have been easier to play off cooly, probably would have gone unnoticed, but your boy had practically jumped out of his bones as he’d flinched and tucked his arm back into himself suddenly. He’d even bumped his elbow against his own seat in his haste.

And Nancy had noticed. 

“That’s only three shots per person!” Argyle defends, “Four for me, since you know – birthday boy.” 

While Eddie may be avoiding alcohol tonight, you aren’t. Not unusual, but it had been odd when Eddie had told the waitress your order of an amaretto sour rather than you telling her yourself. 

Another strike. Another thing Nancy had noticed with her watchful eye.

“I’m down,” you shrug, “Hell, I’ll even take an extra shot if those two dumbasses won’t.” 

“Is that a good idea?” 

You wish Eddie had been drinking to excuse his idiocracy. Because all it takes is him saying that, not with malice but with concern, and the look on Nancy’s face told you she was officially catching on.

He hadn’t said it with the concern of a friend prepared to warn against drinking yourself sick. He’d said it with the concern of someone who would be taking care of you by the end of the night, of someone who would be dealing with the aftermath of that many shots. 

You two were bombing this whole secrecy, to put it lightly. 

You try to save the moment but laughing it off, turning to him slightly and teasing, “What, are you my keeper now?” 

Despite your best efforts, the statement doesn’t come across as friendly banter. It’s not quite fighting either. It’s a dare, you dangling something in Eddie’s face that no one else at this table quite sees. A stupid, idiotic continuation of your flirtatious game of cat and mouse from earlier in the apartment, when he’d deliberately gotten you hot and bothered. When he’d deliberately let you leave in his shirt. His palm is warm when he shifts ever so slightly, placing it on your thigh beneath the table. Out of sight from everyone else. Fueling and fanning all your growing flames. 

You two were toeing a very dangerous line tonight. 

His eyes darken a bit, and you pray no one else notices in the dim bar lighting, “I don’t know, am I?” 

Everyone is distracted enough with your idea. Steve and Jonathan were agreeing, saying they could take one shot and then others in the group could shoulder the extras. Robin was quick to also say she’ll take an extra one. But Nancy is silent, watching your quiet exchange with Eddie. 

“I don’t think you are, Munson.”

Except he is. Without a single doubt in your bones, you know that he is. 

Your playful smile betrays you. It tugs up the corners of your mouth and it’s clear to any outsider this wasn’t a brewing argument. The game was obvious if anyone was watching close enough. And Nancy, ever the smart one, was watching close enough. 

She’s playing her cards right, you realize, when she waits until the group has ordered the round of shots to say anything. 

“So, Eddie,” she begins, drawing the entire group’s attention to her best friend, “Do anything fun today?” 

He nearly chokes on his coke subtly. “I- Um-” 

“You just didn’t answer any of my texts today,” she continues on, “Must have been busy, yeah?” 

Eddie retracts his hand from your thigh, far more elusive in this action than he had been about removing his arm from your chair, before he fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Yeah – no, yeah. Sorry about that, Nance.” 

He pulls his phone from his pocket for no apparent reason. The shiny new smartphone, having not even bought a case or screen protector yet. You’d already yelled at him for that, claiming out of everyone, you trust him the least to not break the phone on the first day. He’d only laughed and shut you up with a kiss. 

His new phone is placed face down on the table, cherry red glinting, “I just had to go to the mall and-”

“Is that a new phone?” Argyle interrupts him, catching sight of the movement and the glinting, “Oh, holy shit, my dude! That’s a new phone! That is an iPhone if I’ve ever seen one!” 

Everyone – Robin, Steve, Jonathan – are rapidly leaning to catch sight of it as if they can’t believe it. Eddie continues to shrink at being the center of attention suddenly. 

“It is,” Steve laughs in disbelief, “Never thought I’d see the day, Munson.” 

Robin scrunches her face, “Does this mean we have to add him to the group chat?” 

You let out a giggle at that, lips pressed to try and contain some of that smile breaking through as you look at him and wiggle your brows. He immediately rolls his eyes, but picks up the phone regardless to give everyone a better look. 

“Yes, yes. I’ve finally joined the dark side,” he teases everyone just as the waitress returns with the tray of shots. Jonathan is the only one with enough sense to look away from Eddie’s spectacle, thanking her kindly, “Feast your eyes, my friends, for this is where my five hundred dollars went-” 

“Holy shit.” 

Nancy’s sudden whisper of an exclamation has everyone freezing. Eddie stops spinning and flipping the phone to show it off, staring at her with nothing but concerned, “What? What happen-” 

Nancy shares a look with Robin as they both grin.

Oh no. 

“Eddie,” Nancy says slowly, turning her head back his way slowly. 

“What?” Eddie frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between Nancy and Robin.

Robin is the one to ask the question rather than Nancy, “What exactly is your lockscreen?” 

Eddie goes pale. You’re confused, looking at the phone he’s currently cradling with the screen against his palm. 

Did he even change it? Wouldn’t it just be one of the default ones? 

“Guys,” you decide to come to his rescue, still impossibly confused, “It’s probably just some default screen, don’t tease him.” 

“That was not a default screen,” Nancy laughs out. 

Argyle looks around at everyone. Nancy and Robin, both with mischievous glints in their eyes. Eddie, still ghostly white as if he’s been caught red-handed. Steve and Jonathan, both just shrugging at each other. “Uh…. Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

“Show the class your lock screen, Eds.”

“Fuck off, Nancy.” 

“Oh my God,” Robin coos, leaning across Steve and pressing you back gently to catch sight of Eddie, who’s dipping his face down, “He’s blushing!” 

“Guys, leave him alone,” Steve insists, sharing a look with you now. But you have no clue what’s going on.

You have no clue what his lockscreen is. 

“Edward Munson, show us that lockscreen right now, or I’m Venmo-requesting five hundred dollars from you,” Robin continues to threaten. 

You look away from Steve and at Eddie immediately, leaning in closer to his space. He looks at you, clearly focusing on your presence more than everyone else’s, and smiles like a child trying to get out of trouble. 

“Eddie,” you say quietly, almost impossible for your friends to hear, “What the fuck is your lockscreen?” 

He slowly and carefully turns the screen towards you, making sure only your eyes can see it, and- oh.

It’s a low quality photo. Clearly taken on his flip phone. Details just a little fuzzy, and the darkness of the photo wasn’t helping. But you can see it clearly. You can make out exactly what it was that had Nancy and Robin losing their minds. 

It’s a picture of you and Eddie, with your head on Eddie’s chest.

For a moment, everyone else at the table doesn’t exist. You hadn’t been insane that night – he had taken a photo. A snapshot of the moment where everything had changed. The moment in which you had given up the fight and completely succumbed to just how much Eddie meant to you, how badly you pined for him and how deeply you liked him. 

“I was going to make it the one of you at Betty’s,” he whispers, “But, I just- I really liked this photo.” 

He’s still tense, as if he expects you to be upset with him. 

You’re the farthest thing from upset at him. 

“You made me your lockscreen?” you breathe out, a slow-growing smile beginning to stretch your lips. 

You’re not upset at him. As a matter of fact, you’re in love with him. You want to scream it from every rooftop, shout it to every stranger on the street – you are in love with Eddie Munson.

And you have been for a while. You just hadn’t found a way to tell him yet.

“Yeah,” he loosens up a little when he realizes you’re happy, enamored with the fact, “Yeah, of course I did. Who else am I going to make it besides my favorite…. Enemy?” 

He says it loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. All of Nancy’s teasing has come to a halt, Robin has settled back into her chair, and Steve is finally looking too curious for his own good. 

“As birthday boy,” Argyle breaks the moment, shatters away the bubble you and Eddie always seemed to end up in, “I am demanding I get to see this lockscreen.” 

Eddie doesn’t make any move to show the screen to any other person, only watching you for approval. 

Well, so much for next time. 

You give him a little nod. 

Eddie makes a dramatic show of it, sighing heavily before he very slowly turns his lockscreen to face everyone else. But even in his dramatics, you can see that weight lifting off his chest.

This, as a matter of fact, changes everything. 

No more hiding, no more lying. One simple flash of his phone screen, of a photo he had taken on a night that no one has even been gifted the details of yet, and all your friends suddenly know.

The reactions all vary. 

Argyle leans forward and squints before his face breaks out into pure joy for the two of you, “Oh, fuck yes! Best birthday gift ever. Pay up, my dudes!” 

Jonathan leans backward, digging out his wallet as he murmurs, “Son of a bitch.” 

Steve only smiles and shakes his head, also digging for his wallet as he seemingly chastizes himself, “I should have fucking known.” 

“Hold on,” you look between everyone as Jonathan digs out a couple twenties, “Wait, did you guys fucking bet on this?” 

“We did,” Robin answers you, holding up a hand to make Jonathan and Steve pause their retrieval of cash, “What do you take us for? Idiots? Now, gentlemen, before either of you payout, we’ve gotta ask the most important question,” she shoves a palm against Steve’s chest so that he’s out of line of sight, gaze set on you and Eddie, “When did this happen?” 

You don’t have any time to be mad at your friends. Because when Robin asks you this, suddenly you’re back to two months ago. You’re outside your dorm with Eddie, kissing him as if tomorrow would never be promised, and you’re home. 

You pulled back from Eddie finally, both of you gasping for breath as he held you steady. Your exchange from moments before still hung heavy in the air. 

You liked him, you liked him, you liked him. 

And the feeling was mutual. 

You’d already known, but it was nice to hear. It was nice to be reminded that this, what had happened between you two, was so very real. 

“I don’t wanna start over,” the words tumbled from your tongue before you could consider them, upheaving from your chest, desperate for Eddie to heard them, “I- I don’t need to start over. I like our story, okay? You had been right – it wasn’t all bad, and… and I don’t want to start over. I never want you to be a stranger again, and I know that sounds stupid-” 

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupted you, forehead meeting yours, “So very not stupid.” 

“I don’t care if you were a dick,” you continued on, carefully, “I was, too. We were both… shitty. I forgive you. I’ll forgive you a thousand times over, as long as you keep trying to make it up to me.” 

“Make it up to you?” he grinned playfully, “And just how do you suggest I start making it up to you?” 

“Ask me out,” his eyebrows raised in surprise, and you knew you must have looked like a wild idiot to everyone else, but you didn’t care, “To dinner, to a movie, to just hang around your apartment with you for another twenty four hours – I don’t care. Just… Just please, Munson, ask me out.” 

And so he had. A first date, a second date, a third. You two had gone through the entire ordeal of every cliche relationship despite the unconventional beginning. You’d gone to dinner, you’d gone to a movie, and you had done plenty of hanging out around his apartment and more. 

“The night of the bet,” Eddie answers as he finally brings an arm up around your shoulders, just as he had wanted to earlier. 

Immediately, both Robin and Argyle let out their own curses, pulling out their wallets just as Steve and Jonathan had. 

You look between them, all the annoyance you should feel just being run over with adoration for these idiots. Your eyes land on Nancy, and when you realize she’s the only one at the table not coughing up any cash, you ask her, “I’m assuming you guessed correctly?” 

“I did,” she nods, looking proud of herself. 

“How’d you know?” 

Nancy raises a threatening finger, before suddenly pointing it right in Eddie’s direction, “That idiot has always been down bad for you-”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie stops her, “I’ve already told her the nitty gritty details. No need to embarrass me.” 

“No need to embarrass you?” Nancy asks in disbelief, “Good God, just how many times did I have to sit and listen to you pine for her? No, no – I have earned this, Munson.” 

You look at Eddie, a glint in your eye, “You only told me about the first time.”

“I only remembered the first time,” he counters, blushing under yellow and faded lights, “I was usually dru-”

“Don’t lie,” Nancy stops him, “There were plenty of rants where you were dead sober.” 

Everyone only smiles at Eddie, a few teasing comments made his way, but none of them matter as you lean into his side, your shoulder bumping his to the best of your ability with his arm still around you.

“Aw, babe,” you coo, warm all over for the man beside you, “You had a crush on me? That’s cute.” 

His chin lowers, eyes boring into yours with unlimited affection. For a moment, it’s just you and Eddie. The guise of you two having your own bubble of a moment. 

His head tilts further, his ears brushing your ear as he whispers for just you to hear, “So did you, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“Not mistaken,” you whisper back. Money is now being exchanged, tossed across the table with grumbles that hold no heat. 

Yeah, you did have a crush on Eddie. You still do. You don’t think you’ll ever stop having a crush on him, even as he’s surrendered himself as yours. Especially not when his thumb is stroking your shoulder as it is now. 

Just like that very first night. The smoky bar fades to nothingness, your tunnel vision focused on Eddie. You know jokes are being made about the two of you by your friends, but it’s all white noise when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re everything to him, like he’s just returned home after a long week. 

You’d really like to be his home to return to after every long week, for the rest of your lives, but there’ll be time to ponder on that later. For now, you two have time. 

The voice inside your head suddenly comes to life as it recognizes that this is your moment. You can tell him. Now that you’ve told everyone else, you can tell him those three words. Finally get them off your chest. Make it real. 

“Hey, Munson,” you say, still quiet enough for the words to only reach his ears. He perks up, eager to drink your next words. You have all his attention. You always have all his attention, “I-” and then you choke. He stares curiously for a few seconds, and the words just won’t come out. You want to scream – you wonder if it would work if you screeched the three words at the top of your lungs. Probably not, “I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me,” a pathetic excuse at a coverup,  “And… I’m really glad they made that first bet.” 

He smiles so softly, it strikes you right in the center of your chest. Right amongst your garden that not only had you tended for him, but that he had also had a hand in watering these last few months. 

You should have told him. You love him, and you should have told him. 

“I’m really glad I didn’t hate you, too,” he remarks, squeezing your shoulder a little tighter, “Actually, I’m glad you don’t hate me. Not anymore, at least.” 

“I never really did.”

“You definitely sort of did. You tried to take me out with a glass, remember?” 

You burst into secluded laughter, hearing your friends beginning to pass around the shots but paying them no mind. 

Eddie can’t help it. He pulls you in close, placing an impulsive kiss to your temple and letting his lips linger there. Just pressed against you, breathing in the scent of you. 

That kiss sends shivers down your spine, warmth through the center of your bones. You love him. 

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

So why can’t you just tell him that?

“Aw!” Robin pulls the two out of your bubble, “Aren’t they just adorable?”

“Yes, yes,” Steve passes two shot glasses down to your end of the table, “Absolutely adorable. It’s nauseating. Also, I’d like to go on record – I totally knew the entire time. I was just giving them the benefit of the doubt.” 

“Playing the Devil’s advocate?” Argyle asks, lining up his multiple shots, “I dig it. Even though you’re totally lying right now.” 

“You’re so lucky it’s your birthday, dude,” Steve rolls his eyes, clearly holding back an insult. 

Eddie’s arm stays heavy on you, a welcome weight as you sit up straighter to take your own several shots. 

These were your friends. Somewhere you belonged, filled with people you loved and a boy you could come home to after all your long weeks. A certain happiness that is rare, and impossible to place, and can nearly bring you to tears overwhelms you as you grab that first shot. 

“Also-” Steve turns to you and Eddie, “I knew that was Munson’s shirt. The day he got it, all he did was brag about what a rare find it was. Fuck off with your Target bullshit.” 

Eddie’s hand leaves your shoulder long enough to reach out and thump Steve, laughter booming and vibrating against you, “Sure you did, Stevie.” 

“Target has some nice things,” Nancy offers with a shrug, now holding her own shot glass. 

The seven of you all hold up the first of what will probably be too many shots tonight, the beginning of a night that will probably be remembered through killer hangovers tomorrow and possibly even captured on camera by the likes of Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie. 

“To Argyle,” you take the lead on the cheers, jittery and anxious as all the love you continue to withhold buzzes in your chest, lifting your small glass in his direction, “The most lovable twenty three year old I know.” 

Everyone moves to drink, but Argyle immediately shakes his head, “Nah, fuck that. It’s not even my birthday yet – I demand a new toast.” 

He lifts his brows, staring you down and silently adding, you know what to do. 

And yeah, you did know what to do. 

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, leaning further forward, Eddie’s arm following. You relish in the tense silence as everyone waits for what you’re about to say instead. Even Eddie is waiting with bated breath, watching your every move, a contrasting yet easy smile on his face, “To bets.” 

A booming applause from your group. Glasses tapping against the wooden table before shots are downed. Groans of disgust as the tequila hits everyones’ tongues. 

Eddie hardly waits before you’ve both swallowed to remove his arm and grab your face, turning your cheek so that his lips can capture yours. Everyone only cheers louder, Steve letting out an obnoxious whistle as Argyle claps. You’re surely going to get kicked out of the bar at this rate. But you really don’t care as you kiss your boy back. 

Next time. You have to tell him next time. 

—

The night ends in more of a whisper than a bang, surprisingly. 

Everyone has suddenly become a happy drunk, probably from all the love and good news passed around throughout the night. It’s all warm feelings and warm hugs, tequila on the breath and love on the mind. 

You don’t even get kicked out of the bar. Your waitress only smiles at your rowdy table from time to time, and you figure that all the good vibes must be rubbing off on her. 

Steve is the first to call it quits. Robin has drank enough to give herself the hiccups, and he says that after that, she almost always gets viciously nauseous. He wants to get in the car and home before she gets to the point, for the sake of his car’s interior not getting covered in puke.

It’s a domino effect from there.

Argyle quickly agrees, Jonathan offers a guiding arm to Nancy, and Eddie’s arm only tightens around you. The group closes out the tab, putting off worries of everyone paying Jonathan back until tomorrow. Quick, simple, painless. 

Until you all get outside. And goodbyes are exchanged – that’s not the part that gets to you – with promises of seeing each other throughout the week. Everyone congratulates you and Eddie one more time for good measure, Nancy and Steve looking the most proud of you two as Argyle and Robin giggle like children about it. And it’s fine – you laugh along and it’s all good. You let them get in all their I told you so’s and know it’s all in good fun. 

It’s all fine. Until you two branch off from the group, Eddie’s bike across the lot from everyone else’s cars. 

The moment you two are alone, you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or if it’s the levity of suddenly having a moment that only belongs to you. Your mind wastes no time of reminding you of your pathetic cop out: I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me. None of those words even sound akin to the real ones you should have said.

I love you. 

It’s not because your friends have found out. You know it’s not that, because just last week, right after your breakdown about whether you were smothering Eddie by half-living in his apartment, you’d had a breakdown because you realized you wanted to fully live in his apartment. You’d had a breakdown because you hadn’t grown tired of him yet, hadn’t satisfied the need to see his face every morning when you first wake up yet. You hadn’t gotten bored with all his lingering affectionate touches. You hadn’t gotten used to the way he’d kiss you in the middle of sentences. He was still taking your breath away, two months later, and you had a breakdown because you realized it wasn’t novelty or a pathetic crush making you feel this way.

You had a breakdown because you love Eddie. 

You love him, ardently so, and you still can’t find the right moment to say those words to him. He deserves to know – the entire foundation of this relationship was honesty.

It’s all you can think about as his hand finds yours and he’s walking up to his bike, practically dragging you up to his bike as your legs forget how to work amongst nerves. 

“So, I was thinking,” he carries on conversation so casually, “You want to spend the night at my place? I know you said you don’t have any class-“ 

Now. Not later, not next time. Now. 

“Hey, Eddie?” you interrupt him, stopping the two of you a few paces away from his bike. 

His face is impossibly concerned as he looks down at you, clearly reading the worry on your face, “What’s up, babe?” 

Here goes nothing – be brave.

“I-” 

Why is this so hard? 

It shouldn’t be this hard, because loving Eddie is easy. 

It’s easy when he’s looking at you like this, like he always does. It’s easy when he wakes up after you, and he comes into the kitchen to just wrap himself around you as you make him coffee, no matter what time of day it might be. It’s easy when he catches your eye from across the room during outings, sometimes winking once he knows you’ve found his gaze, just to see you laugh. It’s easy when he tries to distract you from homework when you’ve been spending far too many hours hunched over your laptop on his couch, coming and bugging you, laying his head on your lap and insisting his girl needs a break. It’s easy when he kisses you and everything just feels right. 

It’s easy. He loves you – you love him.  It isn’t hard. You’re making this hard, when it never was. 

“I love you,” you admit quietly, voice shaking as the words leave you easily. 

Loving Eddie is easy. 

“I love you,” you say more surely, voice raising in volume as you find the willpower to look into his eyes, “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.” 

Each time you say it, you gain confidence in it. It’s true – you love him. You love him so much, it encompasses every inch of your being. It entirely consumes you. You love him. 

His face falls slowly, mouth agape and eyes boring into yours.

You don’t wait for his response. You already have it – in the way he’s still holding your hand, in the way he holds you at the end of each night, in the way he knows both your orders at bars and coffee shops. In the way he will always put himself between you and the street when walking down the sidewalk, in the way when he roughly stops his bike at stop lights that his hand always flies back to hold onto you. In every soft touch and every expression of devotion he has offered you for not just two months, but for over a year. 

“You love me?” he softly asks, finally beginning to come back to life. 

You nod without hesitation, “I love you, Eddie.” 

Now that you’ve started saying it, you can’t stop it. And each time, it’s still heavy and sweet like honey, even as the confession comes as easy as breathing. It’s pouring from every crevice, filling up the night air around you. 

He takes you off guard with a harsh kiss. His teeth colliding with yours, his breath stealing yours, his entire being molded with yours. 

“Say it again,” he begs in a murmur as he pulls you in even closer, desperate as you break into a smile, “God, please say it again, sweetheart.” 

“I love you,” your cheeks begin to ache, the kiss no longer even to be a considered a kiss as you two are just mindlessly pressing your smiles together, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” with each repeat of the sentiment, Eddie drinks it in, “I’m so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson. You and your stupid lockscreen and-”

“You do not think my lockscreen is stupid,” he pulls away, raising his eyebrows as his palms squish your cheeks, “I saw the way you looked at me. You were eating that shit up.” 

You bite your lip, trying to pull further away from him, but he won’t let you, “I was not-”

“You were,” he cheekily teases, eyes bright as he looks at you, “You were, and it was the best thing ever. Totally worth stealing Argyle’s spotlight.” 

“We didn’t steal Argyle’s spotlight,” you try to defend yourself. 

“We so did.”

You shake your head to the best of your abilities, face still between his hands, “We… Okay, we sort of did.”

He grins like a young boy, all his youth and all his love on show for you as he leans down, pausing right before pressing another kiss to your lips, “We definitely did. And it’s fair, because they fucking bet on us.” 

“They did,” you agree, not even feeling guilty anymore, too consumed by the love for the man right in front of you, “They tend to do that a lot, don’t they?” 

“They do.” 

He finally surges forward, lips sealing against yours one last time. It’s less messy this time, more meaningful. A bit more patient as he takes the time to fit his lips into yours, just as they should be. 

You have an audience. You’re completely oblivious until you hear the cheering from across the parking lot, snapping apart to both glance at where Argyle and Robin are jumping up and down, screaming their heads off. 

“Hell yeah, my dudes!” Argyle’s voice booms as Robin only produces incoherent coos to echo. 

Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan are all just watching silently, shaking their heads, but you can also see their grins. Almost as radiant as you felt.

Steve finally cups his hands around his mouth, sending his voice to you over Argyle’s continuing whooping, “Get a room!” 

Perfectly in sync, you and Eddie both throw up a hand with your middle fingers raised in their direction, still half tangled in each other. 

Your eyes find Nancy. She’s looking at you two with overwhelming pride, a certain satisfaction that breathes out the relief of finally. This may be a weight off not only your chest but Eddie’s as well, yet you can’t help but imagine just how she feels. How many nights she had stomached Eddie’s rambles about you leading up to this very moment. The pay off must be unimaginable. 

Finally. 

“Congrats on finally getting the girl, Munson!” she calls out, but her eyes are on you, winking. 

You see it now. Why they’re best friends. How all her best parts and Eddie’s best parts overlap and compliment one another perfectly. 

Jonathan is the final one to yell across the parking lot at you two, one arm slung around Nancy as the other moves to unlock his car, even his usually grumpy face showing signs of elation in that timid smile, “Now take your girl, home, dude. Spare the rest of us the gory details.” 

Eddie’s laugh reverberates against you physically from how he holds you, also making its way to burrow deep within your chest where all that liquid bliss belongs, as he throws his entire head back and makes you finally focus on just him again. Home. Not just his apartment, but him. You realize now that it’s simply wherever he goes. Where he leads, you’ll follow. It could be a shitty dorm room with a mattress that leaves your back aching, it could be a comforting apartment that holds you ‘hostage’ for twenty four hours straight – it doesn’t really matter. Wherever he is, home is. He’s your home; you love him, he knows you love him, and he’s your home. 

When his laughter finally fades, and he’s looking at you again, his dimples are prominent as ever through his whisper, “Just in case you’ve forgotten – I’m very much in love with you, too, sweetheart.” 

His lips meet yours for good measure. 

It’s been the longest week of your life, the longest year, but you’re finally home.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 41 || The Cute Bartender

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, very cute fluff, & teasing.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3.6k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——YOUR QUESTION REMAINS unanswered for quite some time. To constantly weigh out your options of who would be a better lover for you is going to take time.

But, as of right now, even if you wanted to choose Gojo over Choso, he's already made it clear he's not allowing that. He doesn't think he's good for you and, in case you forgot, you're technically supposed to hate him.

That being said, your choice is already made for you.

But none of that is important right now. You were allowed a break until the semester began again but, since your university's winter break was a span of two, almost three months, you were honestly ready to finish the list by late January.

Even though you said you were taking a break from the men, you still kept in contact with them. You'd text Choso on some days but he'd often scold you about how you wanted a break, which only made you want to talk to him more.

Then, you even had your phone calls with Gojo which consisted of him doing the same damn thing-- pestering you by saying 'As much as I love listening to you talk, sweets, you're supposed to be taking a break from me' which, was just as sweet as the messages Choso would send.

Yeah, you were definitely falling for both of them in your own way and nothing could stop that. Even so, you were ready to get back to the list.

There was one name left. You couldn't believe it. As of now, you were laid out on your bed, your delicate fingers curled around a pen as you went down the list of yours. Reading over each name reminded you of your experiences with them, whether it was good or bad, and you were surprised you finally made it this far.

At one point, you doubted you could even do this. So many lessons have been learned, so many personalities and so many situations have been experienced. It's almost, emphasis on almost, beautiful when you think back on it.

To go from a broke and regular college student to one whose life is filled with drama, good (for the most part) sex, and men who've somehow managed to fall for you. It's the kinda thing you never imagined for yourself.

Just one semester ago, you were worried about even landing a job and now look at you; you've managed the money from Gojo better than ever so you're truly set for quite some time.

With a sigh, you place the pen down beside your journal and trace your fingers over the final name; Nanami Kento. Once you sleep with him it's over. It's almost bittersweet to think about.

As you stare at your journal, you think you have a plan for it once the list is complete. A plan that you've talked to Gojo about and he's agreed to-- the two of you are going to burn the list.

Neither of you want any physical evidence of it so you think burning it once it's complete will prove to be a nice way to say goodbye to the memories that come with the list. Nowhere in your text messages or his do you two discuss the list explicitly, just in case someone were ever to go through your devices, and the only time it's been talked about aside from in person is over phone calls.

But, you're not worrying about that getting out. Someone would have to dig really deep to find the recordings of you and Gojo's phone calls. Like, to the police deep to find them. Or hacking your cell. But, you have no reason to worry about that, right? Gojo said he's not involved in anything illegal and you trust him (to some extent).

So again, it's bittersweet to think about this list finally coming to an end. It was like a game you had to play and knowing that the end credits were about to roll soon just made you feel odd inside. Yeah, you wanted it to end but as it was actually happening, it was like leaving a chapter of your life behind.

After all, you'll never be able to undo what's been done. You can't go back and change who you've slept with or how.

So, with that final little thought, you sigh again and then shut your journal. Getting up to put it away in its locked drawer compartment, you wonder what it'll be like to finally meet Nanami.

You have a good feeling about him.

And no, not one of those good feelings that result in disaster but, an actual good feeling. Something about the thought of this tall, blonde, and sexy man whose facial expression holds a stupidly attractive seriousness at all times just makes you feel calm.

You feel like you're going to be dealing with someone so mature that it'll ease your mind, kind of like how your mind was at ease when you first met Choso.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

And you had every right to be in good spirits about meeting Nanami because the man did, in fact, turn out to be one of the best and lightest experiences for you.

Despite how difficult he may seem, Nanami is just a man you couldn't catch at the right time. That was the only reason why you ever considered him to be 'hard' to seduce. And no, it's not some magical effect you had that made your efforts work, it was this genuine and raw connection that formed when you met him.

It was surely a night to be remembered.

A simple pair of black heels lightly clacked against the floor as you walked with your head held high into that damned nightclub-- the same nightclub in which you couldn't run into Nanami at the right time for the longest. This night was different though, as you had arrived before him for once.

It wasn't planned or anything but, your arrival to the building was before he'd gotten there. The dress you wore to accompany the heels on your feet was just as simple and was shaded in the same color; black. It was moderately tight-fitting and hugged your body just right.

Unlike some of your past dresses, it didn't make you feel like you were going all out and you thought you blended in nicely with everyone else that was there. Around your neck was that same necklace Gojo gifted to you on Christmas as you never really had the heart to leave home without it on.

Your excuse for wearing it all the time was because it was really pretty. It had nothing to do with Gojo of course. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself anyway.

Making your way to the bar, you took a seat in an area you knew Nanami to typically sit at and then you scouted the area for either him or the cute brown-haired friend he's always with. Finding nothing and no one, you sigh and decide to order a drink.

After which, you gave yourself thirty minutes before you'd leave and try again in another two weeks. You didn't even tell Gojo you were starting back up on the list yet so it's not like there was any pressure for you to seduce Nanami tonight, maybe that's what made everything so different.

Your nails tapped across the bar as you waited and at some point, you even made conversation with the cheeky bartender. The thing about this bartender is that you've seen him talk to Nanami plenty of times and you're pretty sure they're friends.

He had this really cute face and pretty brown eyes that made you feel safe in a strange way. Every time you see him he's got this beanie on top of his head and his clothes are always baggy, something you saw his manager scold him about a few times at one point.

Either way, today was your first time actually talking to him and you learn that his name is Ino Takuma and that he actually recognizes you, having paid attention to the few times you've been there.

"Are you waiting on someone, beautiful?" Ino had questioned you.

Oh yeah, and he's also been complimenting you nonstop from the moment you two began talking. It's in a friendly way, you think. It doesn't seem like he's flirting, just being kind, which you like.

You smiled at the man, "Is it that obvious?"

He makes this silly face in thought and you note how expressive he is. "Hmmmm, I mean for me, yeah. But that's only because I see you come here around the same time every two weeks."

"Yeah?" You meet his eyes with a smile on your face and he holds the eye contact for at least five seconds before he looks away. He's adorable. "So, you've really been paying attention to me all this time?" You ask before going to take another sip of your preferred drink of the night.

Ino laughs and the sound is so joyful it almost heals something in you. "I mean, nooo..." He drags out, smiling through his words before he shrugs, "I pay attention to everyone. And plus, how could I forget a pretty face like yours?"

You're still staring at him and you don't think you've ever paid attention to how much someone avoids eye contact before dealing with Choso. After that man, it's so obvious to you now when someone gets nervous to look you in the eye for too long.

"Is that a compliment, Ino?" You ask softly, the use of his name making his ears flush a cute shade of pink.

He clears his throat and wipes down a part of the nearby counter. There are not that many people at the bar tonight so that gave him the leisure to speak to you. "...Yeah," Ino replies, trying to focus on his small task instead of your eyes gazing at his face.

You hum. "Thank you," You say before moving to rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you rest your elbow on the bar.

Ino finishes his little task and then places the cloth he used elsewhere, finally looking at you now that your eyes have gone elsewhere, "He'll be here soon, by the way."

You blink and your eyes flick up to Ino's face, confused by his words, "Who?"

He flashes that friendly smile at you, "Nanami."

You're not sure if you should pretend not to know who Nanami is or if you should ask how Ino knows you're waiting on the man. For now, you swallow, "Nanami?"

Ino moves his hand up and over his head a bit, "He's like this tall, blonde," The brown-haired male gestures toward his eyes, "Wears these funky glasses sometimes?"

You bat your eyelashes at him in confusion, "Okay... Why uh, why're you telling me he'll be here soon?"

"You know him, don't you?" Ino asks, his thin and well-kept brows furrowing a bit as he innocently tilts his head.

"I know of him, I suppose," You answer vaguely, "But, why'd you think I know him?"

His shoulders raised a bit, "Cause' he asked me about you."

You swallow the sudden nervous lump in your throat, "H-He asked about me? Why? When?"

Ino chuckles at the worry in your face. To him, it just seemed like you were nervous in a shy sort of way, "He just asked me if you came here any other times. Like, times when he's not here."

"Why?" You ask.

"I dunno'," Ino shrugs casually, "I think you caught his attention." He adds on with a little wink.

Your lips pull into a straight line, "I highly doubt that."

"Why? You're pretty," Ino compliments yet again.

"Thanks but I've seen Nanami enough times to know that I have not caught his attention. Trust me, I know how men operate when their attention is caught." You scoff as you glance over to the dance floor and watch some of the people there.

Ino doesn't seem to understand what exactly you mean by that and his brows furrow, "You caught my attention, and yet this is my first time talking to you." He points out.

Almost naturally, as if you'd grown accustomed to flirting, your gaze trails back over to the cute bartender and you smirk, words slipping out of your mouth without thought, "I've caught your attention? How so?" You ask, unintentionally adding a sultriness to your tone.

He gulps and his eyes avoid yours yet again, "I mean you are an attractive woman. S-So I just mean it in that you catch more people's eye than you think. A-And uh, y'know, not everyone's gonna approach you first because sometimes attractive people make others nervous..." He stammers out.

He's so ridiculously nervous and it's the cutest thing. You lift your head from your hand and cross your arms over the counter, leaning forward a little and your chest unknowingly growing more visible as you do so, "Am I making you nervous right now, Ino?" You whisper.

Okay, now you're purposefully teasing him.

He chuckles, kinda awkwardly, "N-No? Pfft... I'm not nervous. Y-You-," He clears his throat, "You're not making me nervous."

You raise but a single brow and keep your gaze on him, "You can't even look me in the eyes while we talk."

Ino suddenly looks at you, meeting your unwavering gaze and sweating a bit. "I'm lookin' at you now."

You stare long and hard, right into those brow irises of his and he tries to stare back but, he can't help but glance to the left or right for a split second before trying to keep his eyes on yours.

A slow and taunting smile spreads across your features, "Barely." You point out.

He rolls his eyes and sighs, "Whatever. I wasn't nervous I'm jus' not good with eye contact."

You tilt your head at him and narrow your eyes, "That's not true."

"Eh?" Ino's brows push together, "How are you gonna' tell me..." He says with a pout.

You giggle, "You manage eye contact with everyone else just fine."

He moves for a nearby empty glass someone's placed down, and glances at you as he does so, "So you've been paying attention to me, then?"

Of course, your eyes have hardly left his. It's fun teasing someone like this, "A bit, yeah."

Ino moves with the empty glass to place it with other dirty ones, humming a little nervously, "Oh..." As he does so. Then, you watch him pick up a clean glass and move to make a new drink right in front of you.

"Is that okay?" You murmur. Your voice has this purposeful flirtiness to it and it does not go unnoticed, "Am I allowed to pay attention to you, Ino?"

He gulps, "Course' you can."

Your eyes drop to the glass in his hands as he pours alcohol into it and you smirk, "Ino..."

His gaze flicks to your face for a moment, "H-Hm?"

"You're shaking." You point out.

Ino nearly fumbles the glass in his hand entirely and you watch him miss the cup for a moment, a bit of the liquid he'd been pouring trickling onto his hand and then the floor, "Shit," He curses.

You chuckle slightly at first, earning a little pouty glare from the man.

Then as he goes to clean up you hear him mumbling to you, "That's not funny..."

Your chuckling proceeds to elevate into genuine laughter, "Yeah it is," You snicker, "You're adorable, holy fuck."

Ino's face is a little red as your words hit his ears and he drops down to clean the mess on the floor. After which, he pops right back into your line of vision, seeing you still laughing at him and pouting yet again.

"I am not 'adorable'," Ino grumbles.

You giggle, "Yes, you are."

He shakes his head and sighs in this sassy kinda way, "Am' not."

"Are too," You argue.

His eyes meet yours and despite being embarrassed, he's got a little smile back on his face, "Nuh-uh."

You nod, “Yuh-huh."

Ino then rolls his eyes, still smiling, before he puts all the items he had in his hands down to the side. You then watch one hand drop down into his pocket before his phone is pulled out. Ino unlocks the device and then places it in front of you, sliding it closer to you with an empty contact slot on the screen.

"Put your number in here," He sighs, smoothly requesting your contact info like it's nothing.

You raise a brow, "Are you asking for it or are you demanding it?"

Those almost innocent brown eyes of his trail over to yours and he holds eye contact for a longer moment, "I'm asking. I like talking to you so, can I get your number?"

"Hmmm..." You hum playfully, purposefully taking your time to answer, "Is this to be friends or something more?"

He's still looking you in the eyes, "Uh, friends? I'm not sure I could even handle a woman like you."

You raise a brow.

"I mean that in a good way," Ino clarifies.

You shrug and move to enter your number in his phone, "Thanks. I was only asking that 'cause I uh..."

He tilts his head and watches your fingers tap across his screen, "...Have a lot going on?"

"Something like that, yeah." You answer before you finish adding your info and then slide the phone back to him.

He picks up his cell and pockets it before shrugging, "I see, well, if this makes you feel any better, I always try to get people's numbers after a nice conversation with them."

You frown playfully, "Aw, so I'm not special?"

Again, he's flustered, "W-Well, I mean you are b-but I just-"

"Ino," You snicker, "I'm just teasing you, relax."

He rolls his eyes again and sighs, "You're driving me crazy."

For one last time, you tilt your head and give him this flirtatious look, "Am I?"

Ino looks at your expression and gulps, "Yes ma'am."

Okay, is it weird that a part of you wishes he was on the list too? Holy shit is teasing this man fun. Even so, you've got enough men to worry about in your life and you don't need to add to that.

You chuckle and your expression returns to something more platonic, "Alright, I'll stop then."

"Please," Ino begs quietly in a joking manner.

That makes you laugh again and this time, he laughs along with you. Then, you watch him go back to preparing that drink from earlier and he does it flawlessly this time, his nerves calmed after you stop all your teasing.

As the drink is finished, you sip on yours and then a pleasant smell slithers into your nose. It's cologne, a strong but ridiculously pleasant scent filling your nostrils. You blink a few times as you take in what you're smelling and for a second, you wonder if it's coming from Ino because he got kinda close as the drink he prepared was placed next to you.

Your question is answered within the next second though because you hear a voice that accompanies the scent. A deep, sexy, and soothing voice that makes your posture straighten due to how surprisingly close to you it is.

Nothing more than a simple, "Thank you," Was voiced but even so, it was extremely attractive.

Then, you curiously turn to where the voice came from, which was to your right, and you're met with your last target; Nanami Kento.

There he was, in the flesh, right next to you. Like, literally sitting in the barstool next to yours. And that drink Ino made? Yeah, it was his. Your eyes were all over the man, drinking in his features shamelessly.

The man seemed to be more muscular than you thought he was as the blue button-up shirt he wore clung to his body so delectably. The sleeves were rolled up near his elbows and you could see how muscular his arm was, veins decorating his skin as they became visible from his elbow and down.

The shirt was just hugging his body and you couldn't help but stare. Then, for a moment you look down at his pants. He wore these khakis that were just as fucking tight as his shirt and you swear you didn't mean to look at his crotch but because of the way he sat it was like your eyes were there before you even rendered it.

God, his pants hugged his thighs and you just drink in the way his hips push up slightly as he adjusts the way he sits. Holy fuck, you had to force your eyes up because you swore you could see his manhood, or at least imagine what he's hiding beneath those clothes of his.

So, your eyes went back up to areas more respectable to look at, such as his shirt, which you noticed he had enough buttons undone to reveal a teasing amount of his chest. His collarbone was so sharp and defined and you could only imagine the rest of his body.

Then, you trailed up just a bit more to his neck, then his jaw which was sharp as fuck, to his defined cheekbones, and then his eyes-

And shit.

He was already looking at you.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[fireya-x]

floral misdelivery

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

Overwhelmed by the task of gifting his mother flowers, John makes a mistake that turns into a chance to show you, his assistant, what you really mean to him.

[2k words]

cw: none

John Price hated staying late at night at his office, but his work was always unpredictable. He was sitting hunched over his desk, hitting keys on your laptop. It was almost as if you were with him in spirit, the digital ghost of your organized world reminding him of your meticulous efficiency. He couldn’t help but smile, noticing the photo you chose as a wallpaper, a group photo of the 141, that you insisted on taking to commemorate the success of your last mission. In it, you were standing next to Price, who had one arm around your shoulder, as you both grinned at the camera. You looked happy, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about you was different when you were around him. You seemed more relaxed, more lively. It was something that kept him calm during even the most stressful times.

Notifications would constantly pop up on your device, supposed to remind you about everything the 141 had to do - reminding John about the tremendous help you provided for them and Kate Laswell. Sometimes he wondered if they put too much work on you, with everything going on, but you never complained when asked about it. Quite the opposite, you would tell John that you loved doing everything you could to just take some work off of their shoulders. 

He admired that about you. Looking for an assistant was something he had reluctantly done, because of all the sensitive information being passed around — but he had grown to being able to trust you with his life, like he did with every member of his team. You proved to be loyal, sometimes too much so. Calls at three in the morning made John feel awful, especially. But you picked up the phone nonetheless, sounding ready for whatever was thrown at you. Even if it was just digging through some files for a report that had to be done in the morning.

John Price's gruff exterior, the one that made him the leader he was, often masked a heart full of gratitude. There were many nights when the weight of his decisions, the burden of leadership, and the relentless fight against shadows made him feel utterly alone. Yet, you were always there, not just as his assistant but as a constant, calming presence. There was a warmth, a comfort he found in your competence, a feeling that whatever storm they were facing, you had their back.

He was pulled from his thoughts as a particular notification caught his eye. And he froze. “Mrs Price's birthday!” was set as a reminder for the next day.

Of course. His mother's birthday also had a calendar entry on his assistant’s laptop. He huffed, then took a deep inhale of his cigar. Did you ever have time for yourself? He mentally made a note to give you time off when this next mission was done.

He sighed. His feelings were uneasy. He’d probably let his mum down again, like the countless birthdays he had missed because he had been busy somewhere fighting. He always made a promise to make it up to her, but still, guilt gnawed at him every time. 

He contemplated his options. Visiting her as soon as he had the time was something he would do, no questions asked. Take her for a nice dinner, even.

But for the special day, he needed something to surprise her. Flowers, chocolates, maybe something expensive? Maybe he could get you to take care of it, you were better at these things anyway.

No. It was his mum. He couldn’t just brush it off.

Desperate to find anything, he looked online for his options. He wasn’t tech-savvy as you were, all he did was write reports, but he somehow managed to find a local florist that shipped pretty flower bouquets. He had no idea about these things. Flowers had to look pretty and make his mother happy, that was the bare minimum.

He ended up ordering what looked like a very opulent bouquet that he could imagine on his mother's dining table, colours fitting and all. It was all that was in his expertise about these things. He tried to think of what his mother liked, but the best he could come up with were lilies, the same flowers he gave his mum every year. It was enough. He hoped. He knew she liked them, and it was his luck, because it was the single sort of flowers he could remember what they looked like.

He sighed and shut the laptop, deciding it was probably time to end the day.

The next morning, John sat at his desk, tapping away at the keyboard, trying to concentrate on the mission briefing in front of him. It just had been a few hours and the day already felt like a mess, his focus a complete disaster.

After several frustrating phone calls with Kate, multiple talks with the boys, he finally finished the report he’d been working on. John could barely get through a sentence without sighing. It was the quiet way he handled stress, a groan here and there and a nice cigar, whenever he was overloaded and unsure how to solve the situation.

Just when he started contemplating sneaking out for some peace and quiet, a smile broke across his face. There you were, strolling through his office door, a coffee mug in each hand.

You always seemed to know when he was about to hit that point of utter exhaustion, the point when he needed that extra boost of energy. You were a master at knowing his needs before he even knew them.

“Didn’t know we were married, Cap.” You entered the office and your grin hit him like a bullet. He couldn't help but notice the way your hair, normally pulled back in a neat ponytail, was now falling loose around your shoulders, making your face look even softer. He noticed how your smile lingered a little longer when your eyes met his.

“Married?” He looked as if he’d been told the most shocking news of his life. He had expected a greeting, but not this sort. It made you giggle, as you walked to his desk to set the mug down. It struck him then - he hadn't ever really looked at you that way before. Was he starting to get feelings he wasn't sure how to handle? He shook it off.

“Thanks for the flowers, John. Though, I prefer hydrangeas to lilies.” The playful tone in your voice made him wonder if you knew how much he loved it when you called him by his name. It always felt a little more intimate than just “Cap.”

He shook his head, as if trying to wake up from a dream, taking the mug to take a sip from the freshly brewed liquid. “Flowers? What do you mean? And I'm certainly not married.”

“Then maybe I need to spend less time in our office because someone certainly thinks I’m your wife.” Your eyes sparkled with a teasing glint, and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest, as if the caffeine you poured had an extra kick. He hoped his blush wasn't showing, but with your piercing eyes, there was little hope of concealing anything from you.

“I'm sorry, love, but I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about.” He looked to his papers, then back to you, blinking slowly.

“Flowers delivered to my doorstep with just a tag on them that says ‘Mrs Price’?” You raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

The image of you as his wife flashed through his mind, vivid and surprisingly alluring. He quickly shook it off as well, his cheeks turning pink, the colour matching those very lilies he’d chosen for his mother.

He could slap himself. Exhausted, he’d clicked through the ordering process without checking the address. All he’d managed to do was type in his credit card information, and he thought he was done. You were holding back laughter, and he knew he’d blown it completely. He hated feeling foolish, but seeing how it made your eyes crinkle in amusement despite his stupidity, made the embarrassment almost endearing.

You recognized the look on his face and sighed, putting your hands on your hips. “Don’t tell me those are for your mum, and you just let the autofill handle the address?”

You knew him too well sometimes, it was scary. No wonder you thought someone might have assumed you were actually married.

“I might have.” He murmured. He felt like such a rookie next to you when it came to the simplest things.

Your heart threatened to melt at the way he looked at you just then. He was usually so cool, so in control, but when he was around you, he felt vulnerable. And it was the most captivating thing about him.

You sighed. “Give me your mum’s address, I’ll drop them off for you and get a nice birthday card on the way as well.”

He looked at you, seemingly shocked. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. I’m your assistant, in case you forgot.” You smiled, the teasing glint in your eyes now replaced with genuine affection. Maybe it would be crazy to admit, but you secretly loved taking care of him. Being able to help when everything felt overwhelming. It made you feel valued.

“Yeah, with missions. Not with my private life.” He grunted, pointing to the countless files you neatly organized on his desk.

You had none of that. “You take your phone and call your mum to wish her a happy birthday, I’ll take care of the flowers. I know you’re busy, so let me help.” You'd rather have it right than have John worry about this any more than he already did. You knew how much he valued his relationship with his mother, and how much he regretted he couldn’t see her sometimes because of work. You had seen the quiet sadness in his eyes whenever they spoke on the phone, and felt a pang in your heart. The last thing he needed was the added stress of failing to properly congratulate her on her birthday.

He nodded, offering you a smile. “Thank you. I’d be lost without you in so many ways.”

The confession caught you off guard. It wasn't the first time he'd expressed his reliance on you, but this time, it felt different. He’d looked directly into your eyes when he said it, holding your gaze for a moment longer than usual. A warmth spread through you, a familiar flutter in your stomach. You hoped it wasn't too obvious, the way you were practically glowing under his intensity. You wanted to say something witty, playful, but instead, you nodded, appreciating his honesty. “That’s nice of you to say.”

As the day wore on, John continued to work diligently, his eyes flickering towards you on the background photo way too often. He didn't want you to know he was thinking about it, because it made him nervous. He didn’t exactly know what he felt for you. He hadn't experienced something like this in a very long time. It made him a bit afraid of what this new sensation meant for him, but certainly he knew he didn’t want to run from it. With a sigh, he opened the internet browser. He wanted to make it up to you for all you did that day.

After delivering the flowers and having a nice chat with John’s mother, who had been very understanding about her son’s work load, you returned to your flat. You turned on the lights and walked into the hallway. There, propped up against the door, was the most exquisite bouquet you had ever seen in your life.

You rolled your eyes, expecting another failed delivery, mentally cursing John for repeating the same mistake. But as you carefully removed the paper, your breath caught in your throat. 

It was hydrangeas.

And when you turned the tag over, your heart melted. “To: Not Mrs Price, but the best assistant someone could ask for. Dinner tomorrow, 7 pm, my place.  John.” 

[piningforstan]

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None, just angst

A/N: Don’t ask me why I put characters I love so much through so much heartache. There might be something wrong with me

“You dated him, didn’t you?”

“Hm?” You pretended not to be paying attention, wiping down the bar. No matter how many times you cleaned it, it stayed perpetually grimy to the touch. You doing the rag over your shoulder. “Who?”

“Weird guy. Lives in the woods.”

“Pines,” the other guy at the bar supplied. The foam of the cheap beer left a rim around his mouth. The former nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” you said casually, though it was anything but. Dated as in committed every dip and plane of his body to memory, told him about your childhood, envisioned a life unfolding before you with this man you considered your best friend. Until his lies ripped it away.

The two men continued their conversation then as if they only needed you to confirm something they already knew.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t partially want the job at Skull Fracture because you knew it was a notorious house of gossip and rumors, a way to check on Stan without actually having to speak to him. You picked up bits and pieces of what he was up to, how he was, all without actually inserting yourself.

In a small town like Gravity Falls there wasn’t much to talk about, and Stan posed a compelling story every time. You supposed it was a good thing that they never tired of him, speculating about his life and his job and everything else. You were of minor interest, too, since everyone knew you had lived and worked with him. But you never revealed much. It disgusted you, this unwavering loyalty to Stan. What did you owe him?

It became well known, anyway, that you refused to offer much in terms of fodder for gossip. You were intriguing in a vague, less interesting sense, a lens through which they hoped to grasp a better understanding of Stan.

The roar of the bar usually muted those thoughts of him. Music blared at all times of the day, men smoked and fought and cursed, greasy-smelling food wafted from the kitchen, and you facilitated all of it with a plastered smile. You needed money after leaving Stan. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities, and unless you wanted to be stuck in the lumber business you had no other option than barkeep.

Your name floated over the din of drunk bikers, your manager appearing out of the back. “There’s a call. For you.”

You wiped your hands on your thighs and followed him to the phone. “Hello?”

“Doll, you gotta help me out.”

Stan’s voice, deep and rasping, struck you like a slap. Your stomach dropped. It took you a few moments to eke out a response. “Stan?”

“They, uh, got me down at the station. Some bogus arrest.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Stan, you got arrested?”

“Just say you’ll come down, eh?”

“Why are you calling me? I’m at work.”

A pause on his end, the sound of a door being slammed shut. “I ain’t got no one else.”

You inhaled sharply and exhaled out your mouth, fingers digging into the phone. You could examine your decision making abilities later. “Fine. Fine, Stan. How much is bail?”

“S’not much.”

It s’was much, you came to find out, nearly all of your savings. But for some godawful reason, you still loved Stan, and you knew since his voice rang out on the line that you would do anything he asked. You loathed yourself for this, loathed him for putting you in this position.

Stan was grinning sheepishly and rubbing his wrists as he walked out of the station. Everything you had to say, all of the reprimands and lectures, vanished upon seeing him.

“You cut your hair,” you blurted stupidly.

Gone was the mullet, the unruly curls. You quickly admired the shape of his jaw leading into his neck, his slightly too big ears that endeared you to him even more. He looked younger this way.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “Yeah. If bad haircuts were a crime, I would’ve been arrested a lot sooner.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that you had loved his mullet, but promptly closed it again. It hurt to look at him, properly, since that night in the basement; the ache you carried in your heart increased tenfold now, throbbing so painfully that you thought you might now understand how people could die from broken hearts. You tore your gaze from him. Suddenly the bushes outside the station held your rapt attention.

“Listen, uh, thanks. For bailing me out. How much do I owe ya?”

“Stan, you’ve forgotten I’ve balanced your books. You couldn’t pay me back even if you wanted.”

“That’s not true,” Stan protested, “the Shack’s been breakin’ even most days. She’s doin’ alright. Not the same without you, though.”

He rushed this last part, an afterthought that he wanted to retract but had already brought to life.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you said. Perhaps if you pretended you didn’t hear him entirely, it wouldn’t take roost in your mind.

“I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya —”

“I have to get back to work, Stan,” you said, sharper than you meant to. You couldn’t think with the amount of hurt being in his company afforded you. “Do you need a ride?”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The drive back transpired in silence. Your headlights sliced through the darkened woods like two sabers, finally falling onto the Mystery Shack as you pulled into the gravel lot. You still considered it more home than your place now, a room you rented from one of the locals. You didn’t realize just how much you missed it.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Have a good night, Stan.”

“You should come in. Please. I won’t keep ya long.”

Your resolve, well, dissolved. Not that it was heavily fortified to begin with. You found yourself crossing the lot to the porch and in through the front door, the process a lot like slipping into a familiar piece of clothing. It smelled distinctly Stan-ish, you noticed, though not unkindly. He had kept the place neat since you left. The reminder of that afternoon, dragging your meager belongings out, glared in your memory. Stan watching out the window as you drove away.

“Jus’ one cup. I swear.” He placed a mug of coffee in front of you. Your mug. The one you forgot.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You were grateful for the excuse to do something with your hands, even though the coffee tasted like mornings with your feet in his lap and his lips on your shoulder.

“I hear yer workin’ at the bar now.”

You smiled grimly. “Regrettably.”

“Ya know you always have a job here,” Stan said.

“What’re you doing?” You set down the mug on the table. The anger boiled in you, words escaping like trapped steam with no where else to go. “You can’t just act like nothing happened. Like this is normal.”

“I jus’ wanted to talk,” Stan told you. His throat bobbed uncertainly. “To apologize.”

You stayed quiet.

When he realized you wouldn’t be responding, he forged ahead. “I should’ve been honest with you. From the beginning. But ya don’t understand where I was when I met you — I finally reconnected with my brother after ten years and then I lost him. Again. Because I fucked up.”

His hands formed into fists. Stan took a breath, seemingly to steady himself. “I was lost. I was angry. It was easier to lie. And what was I s’ppose to do? Spill the whole truth? When I first met you, you were a stranger. I had no idea that you would stick around w’me as long as you did.”

“That’s…fair.” Stan looked relieved at this, though it wasn’t long lasting. “But why not tell me the truth when I asked?”

“I didn’t know how. Every time I tried, I…I couldn’t. Would you have had a different reaction, though? I knew you would leave.”

“At least I would’ve heard it from you straight, Stan. I had to find out while you were asleep that you were keeping these huge secrets from me.”

“I know. I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to end the way they did.”

You bit down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. “Neither did I.”

“We could try it again, ya know.”

The way he looked at you was so earnest, so genuine, that you had to close your eyes to ward off the image of him as a skinned-knee child, the one who solved problems with his fists and resided just below the surface of this man now.

“Stan —”

“Please?”

You swallowed, your throat thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“The truth is out now. You know everything.”

“But I will never be able to ignore the feeling that you’re hiding something from me,” you said. “So much is still unclear to me.”

“Ask me anythin’. I’ll tell ya.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes as you said, “Stop building the portal or whatever you’re doing. Focus on the people — here — in your life.”

Focus on me, you inwardly pleaded.

Stan’s jaw feathered. “I can’t stop working to get him back.”

The swift finality of his words washed over you, a decisive blow to the traitorous hope you still clung to. Coffee not even halfway drank, you stood and rounded the table. Stan’s cheeks were wet with tears as you put your hands to them, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Stanley.”

The bar shined. It was never dirty for long, you ensured that when you bought it, ensured that you wiped away every mess. You could even see the door opening in the reflection of the bar, two small bodies stepping through. You looked up.

It wasn’t rare for new faces to visit. It was summer, the height of tourism season, and your bar was preferable to Skull Fracture. Gentle music drifted from the speakers. Bar wasn’t even the right word — you served small meals and drinks of all kinds, not just alcohol. You smiled at the two children as they approached. “Thirsty?”

“Yes!” The girl, buried in a sweater despite the heat, smiled brightly at you. Her braces winked in the low lighting.

“And,” the boy said, her brother, glancing at her purposefully, “we need to ask some questions.”

You nodded. “Ask away. Lemonade okay?”

The juxtaposition of the two, the girl, looking around eagerly, and the boy, doing his best to present himself as mature and composed, brought a smile to your face. He laid a notebook on the bar counter, brows furrowed.

“Where were you the night of June twenty-first?”

“Hm. At home, I suppose.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

You peered at him. Amusement ignited inside you, a flicker of affection. You loved kids, always have. “I live alone, so, no.”

“Did you see anything…peculiar that night?”

“Not that I can recall.” You set down two glasses of lemonade in front of them. “Why?”

“There was a reported sighting of an unidentifiable object in the sky,” the boy said. “We were just gathering information about it.”

The girl wiggled her fingers, whispering conspiratorially, “Aaaaaliens.”

“We don’t know that,” the boy countered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Strange things always happen in this town,” you said.

“You see them too?”

You smiled softly at the two of them. “I do.”

“I’m Dipper. This is my sister, Mabel,” the boy introduced, jerking a thumb at her. “Would you mind telling me stories about what you’ve seen?”

You entertained their questions, recalling the unexplainable things you’d seen over the last thirty years. You refilled their drinks twice. They listened intently to your stories, interrupting only to clarify something specific.

There was something familiar in their shape of their mouths, the keen way that they interacted with their world. Had they been in town before? You knew some families returned to Gravity Falls every summer to enjoy the wilderness and disconnect.

“What did it look like?” Dipper asked, leaning forward in interest.

You had been telling them about the time you swear you saw glowing lights in the trees, floating blue spheres leading you away from the path. “Well, they —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dipper said. “I should be putting this in the journal.”

“Dipper,” Mabel warned him.

Dipper ignored her. “Would you mind following us home? I’d love to write everything down and-and draw a picture, if you don’t mind.”

His cheeks flushed at this.

You gazed around the empty bar, then shrugged. What point was there to owning your own business if you couldn’t close down when you wanted?

“Sure, give me one moment.”

The twins appealed to you. And you were curious to find out more about them. Not to mention, it had been a long time since someone wanted to talk to you. Really talk. You weren’t lonely, per se, but you sometimes missed the comfort of another person. As you closed the cash register and locked up, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you had wanted kids, long ago, but the years slipped away and now the dream was gone.

You liked these kids. Even though you’d only known them for an afternoon, you’d taken a shine to them — smart and witty, perceptive, the right amount of childish enthusiasm. You told them to put their bikes in the trunk of your car and followed their direction back home.

“You live…here?” Your stomach dropped as the Mystery Shack emerged from the dense forest, the S lying precariously on the roof.

“Kinda,” Mabel said, “we’re staying with our Grunkle Stan for the summer.”

Dipper, insisting that he got the front seat, turned to you. “Do you know him?”

“Kinda,” you muttered. “If it’s all the same to you, I might just stay in the car.”

The twins exchanged a look. A pointed, knowing look, like they suspected their uncle had done something to lose your favor. They weren’t wrong, exactly. Dipper and Mabel ran inside with the promise to return shortly. All you could do was stare at the Shack numbly, imagine the man within and the memories you held with him. You should’ve known that he would make an appearance, stomp out onto the porch after his niece and nephew to investigate.

Stan’s expression crumbled.

You couldn’t hear, but he uttered something to them. They gesticulated frantically back. Your heart had leapt into your throat by the time the three of them walked back to the car, Stan lingering a few steps behind.

“Grunkle Stan says we shouldn’t bother you,” Mabel said, pouting.

You finally forced your gaze to him. Stan had aged well, you reluctantly noticed, still unbearably handsome. The same broad shoulders. The features that you knew so well, lined with the years you spent apart.

“They aren’t bothering me,” you choked out.

“You shouldn’t fill their heads w’stories,” Stan replied, refusing to meet your eyes.

“They aren’t stories,” you and Dipper both protested at the same time. You shared a secretive smile with him.

“Jus’ tell the nice person sorry and let them get on with her day.”

Mabel tugged on his suit jacket. “They told us that you knew each other.”

“We-We did,” Stan said.

You supplied, “A long time ago.”

“Then come inside and catch up!” Mabel beamed at the idea. “You gave us lemonade so it’s only fair. I can make you Mabel-cakes!”

“If it’s fine with your uncle.”

Stan studied you closely. You could only imagine what he saw, your greying hair and swollen knuckles. “Uh, yeah…’course.”

You were both pleased and devastated to see how the inside of the Shack had changed. Judging by the “exhibits” and amount of items in the gift shop, business was prosperous. A redheaded girl at the register waved at you as you passed. Dipper disappeared upstairs to fetch his journal, and Mabel busied herself preparing the pancake mix, leaving you alone with Stan.

“It’s, uh, been awhile,” Stan said, effectively breaking the silence.

You feigned an interest in the water stains on the ceilings. “It has.”

The last time you were together had been almost— what, two years ago? You had knocked. Stan had answered. He touched you with expert precision, years of exploring one another resulting in experiences both familiar and new, somehow each brief encounter over the years never dulling your attraction. You weren’t proud, necessarily, of your weakness in the form of Stan Pines. You had almost overcome it until today; you should’ve known that the twins were Pines.

“How’s the bar?” Stan asked.

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry if they were botherin’ ya. Kids.”

“They weren’t,” you said, and you meant it. “They seem really great. They’re your niece and nephew?”

“Great niece and nephew. My brother’s grandkids.” When you arched a brow in confusion, Stan grimaced. “Other brother.”

“Oh.” You hugged your arms around yourself. Should you ask him how his search was? You wanted to care, but found it hard when it only brought back painful memories. Clearly it hadn’t been well, not if his brother was still absent.

You bit your lip. “Do they know?”

“No, they don’t.” Stan’s face shuttered closed.

Indignation swelled inside you, pressed against your rib cage. “You haven’t told them?”

“Everyone thinks that —” he lowered his voice, “—that Stanley Pines is dead. Including their parents and my brother.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“What I do with my life isn’t your problem,” Stan snapped. “You made that clear.”

“They’re good kids, Stan.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Don’t push them away, too,” you told him softly. “I-I need to go. Can you tell them I’m sorry? Say that I had to go back to work or something.”

Stan’s words chased you out the door: “Whose the liar now?”

Tags:

@gimmemorecherries @tellybearryyyy

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Remember me, please (don't let me die a second time)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: hurt/comfort, angsty fluff

warnings: turns out your bf being dead for three years leaves some lasting scars on both of you, lots of talk of grieving and recovering

a/n: three posts in one night ok gnight I die now until next weekend

Your legs swing back and forth where you're sitting perched on the counter of your kitchen, scrolling idly through take-out options on your phone while you wait for Jason. You'd sent him into the living room to put music on, admittedly, long enough ago to get suspicious, having told him that your record collection is expansive enough that he should be able to find something he likes.

Hopping off the counter, you make your way after him, turning the corner to see him standing in front of the bookcase next to your TV stand, staring at the records piled onto the shelves.

"Jay?" You ask gently, moving next to him to put a hand on his arm, smoothing over his skin under his t-shirt. He doesn't look at you yet, his eyes staying forward with his fists balled at his sides. You bring your hand up to brush through his hair gently and sigh.

"You'd talked about it so many times, you know," you explain. "The kind of turntable you'd get, the records you'd collect. When I started buying them for myself, I just thought… I don't know, it just felt right." Jason, as you speak, reaches forward to brush his fingers along the spines, tracing titles of all his favourites. He knows what you're talking about, of course - remembers the days of the two of you, young and broke and wandering the streets of Gotham, dreaming about all the things you knew you'd never really become. He just didn't think…

"I didn't," he clears his throat. "I didn't think you'd remember all this." You don't quite have it in you to hide your hurt at that.

"Of course… I remember everything about you, Jay. It's all - it was all I had left of you. Of course, I held onto it." There's an honesty in your words and Jason thinks he should be grateful for it, should thank you for cutting open your chest for him and letting him see inside. 

"You shouldn't have," is what he says instead, and you pull your hand away from where it had been resting on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around your waist, instead.

"I'm going to go order dinner," you say gently, and Jason squeezes his eyes shut. "Take your time." When you leave, going back to the kitchen to find your phone, he stays standing in front of the records, letting his fingers brush over all the edges of them. There's something real about seeing them, about seeing the ways in which your grief manifested, real and tangible and taking up all this space in your life.

He picks up one of them, eventually, the sound of you chatting on the phone with whatever restaurant you've decided on snapping him back into the present movement and leading him to grab it. When he gets it set up on the turntable, letting the music fill your apartment, your home, the life you built while you were waiting for someone you thought would never come back, Jason finds himself wishing, just for a moment, that you had just moved on.

The guilt, of course, immediately follows this as he digs the heels of his hands into his closed eyes before following you into the kitchen just in time to see you hang up and drop your phone back onto the counter. You smile when you see him, patient and understanding in a way that makes his stomach roll.

"Do you want a drink?" You ask him.

"I'll get it," is all he responds with, putting his hands on your waist to quickly move you back up to the counter, sitting you there before making his way to the fridge. You let him - you always let him, seemingly knowing when he needs to be kind, to do something good with this body of his. You let him pull a beer out of the fridge, popping the cap off and catching it. You let him wipe the condensation off of it before he hands it to you so that your palm doesn't get wet. You let him do whatever it is that he needs to do while he thinks whatever it is that he needs to think, sipping slowly while he stands between your parted legs.

"You shouldn't have waited for me," he says quietly, and you pause with the bottle half to your lips. 

"I wasn't waiting. I was remembering." You put the bottle down next to you on the counter, placing a cold hand onto Jason's cheek.

"You should've forgotten," he pushes.

"I chose not to," you retort, voice still gentle, hands still kind. "I didn't want to forget about you, baby. I couldn't let myself." Jason sighs, letting his head hang as his hands tighten their grip on the edge of the counter on either side of your hips.

"You deserve better than that, baby," he says sullenly, and you cup his cheek in your hand as you coax him to look at you.

"There is nothing better than the ways that you've loved me, Jason. I couldn't possibly deserve more," you say, blinking as your eyes mist over. Jason notices it, naturally, making a wounded sort of noise and cupping your face in his hands, his palms solid and warm and grounding as he leans his forehead against yours. 

"You wasted three years on me and I… I can't forgive myself for that. I can't forgive myself for doing that to you, for leaving you the way I did," Jason says, his voice choked. You pull back to look at him firmly.

"You didn't leave me, Jay - you were taken from me. I mourned you because I lost you. None of that is your fault… and it never will be." Your voice is clear when you say it and Jason almost, almost smiles at the stubbornness that you wear so well. But he can't help but see those records every time he closes his eyes and he can't help but imagine you buying them, putting them on your shelf one by one as you let the grief consume you.

"Did you ever date? While I was dead?" He says it easily - or, in a way that's supposed to seem easy, pulling away from you to get his own beer from the fridge and leaning against the opposite counter while he pops it open.

"Excuse me?" Is your only response. He doesn't say anything more. "No, Jason, I… No. No, there was never anyone other than you. You know that - I've told you that. If you don't believe me, I -" "I believe you, baby," he says, and the relieved slump of your shoulders only lasts until he speaks again. "I just think you were wrong for that."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You should've moved on with your life," he says, and there's a hard edge to his voice that you're sure you don't appreciate being pointed in your direction. "You should've moved on from me."

"Well…" you say carefully. "That's not a decision you get to make for me. And it's not a decision that holds a lot of weight now, seeing as you're, well, alive and standing in my kitchen wearing my sweater."

"You wasted three years on me," he presses on. You stiffen.

"I grieved for three years," you retort. "I sent flowers to your grave every week for three years. I - I built a home and a life for myself and I had to do it without you and, yes, I tried to fill that life with whatever pieces of you I could hold onto because I loved you and I missed you. And you're telling me now, what? I should have just gotten over it?" Jason stares at you through your outburst, at your trembling lip and watery eyes and your hands, fists clenched so tight he's sure your nails are digging into your skin. He stares, eyes wide and mouth open as he searches for words, until you burst into tears.

That, of course, is enough to have him lurching forward, slamming his beer bottle onto the counter as he gravitates towards you, slotting himself between your parted legs again to shush you and hold you and wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, over and over. "I'm so sorry, please don't cry for me." Your palm connects with his chest as you slap him weakly, your other hand scrubbing at your eyes.

"You still don't get it, Jay," you lament. "You're the only person worth crying for." He laughs a bit at that, finally, and pulls you impossibly closer.

"I'm sorry, pretty," he says again, his lips pressed to your forehead. "I just…" 

"I know, baby," you sigh, letting yourself relax against him, your tears slowing as you sniffle. "I know."

"I love you so much," he says earnestly. "And I - I'm grateful that you waited. That you remembered. I…" he sighs then, his grip tightening on you as he blinks back his own tears. "Thank you for remembering me," is all he says, and he hopes so desperately that the way he clutches onto you will help you realize how much it all means to him.

"Of course, Jay," you soothe, running a hand through his tousled hair. "That's what being loved is, I think. It's remembering. And I… I love you always, you know? I'm happy to remember you, always - even when that's all I have left of you." Jason sighs at your words, his eyes squeezing shut. He knows what you mean - knows his mask will claim his life once again, that you'll be left alone once more. You never talk about it, too scared to bring it up, but you both know the truth. The possibility is just too high that one day, Jason won't come home for the second time. 

He isn't sure who takes more comfort in knowing that he's solidified in your life enough that he'll never really be gone. He isn't sure it's so good - that he wouldn't still prefer you move on to something with hope and safety and happy endings.

But he knows that he's loved and that he's remembered, and that's enough for him to settle for tonight.

[angelicyoongie]

lovesick (IX)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 11.4k — warnings: yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, dissociation/panic attacks, mild dub-con (character trying to force a kiss), other content that may be triggering. — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late. — amazing cover by @leithold​!

Previous - Next

You pull a chunky sweater – Namjoon’s, you think – over your head, the thick wool settling heavily on your shoulders. It makes you want to crawl out of your own skin whenever you have to wear their clothes. You don’t have much of a choice, though, unless you want to freeze your ass off.

They thankfully had enough forethought to bring some of your clothes with them the night they broke into your apartment, but the majority of it isn't warm enough to fend off the dropping temperatures in the cabin. You may be many things, but stupid is not one of them. You know it wasn’t an accident that your warmest clothes were left behind.

You pick at the sweater, frowning, as you nip at it with your nails. You know it’s childish to ruin their things but it’s truly the only way you can act out without foiling your plans. Screaming at them won’t help you one bit and you need some form of outlet for your anger. By the time they pick up on all the tiny holes in their clothes, you’ll hopefully be long gone.

Standing in the middle of the room, you listen intently in the direction of your closed door. When the hallway remains silent, you dart over to your bedside table, carefully opening the heaviest book there. You pull out the thin metal bookmark that’s been nestled strategically between the pages, clutching it in your hand as you hurry over to the window.

You bend down, finding the place you left off yesterday before you resume digging it into the space between sash and the windowsill, slowly chipping away at the paint.

You found the bookmark completely by chance, having it literally fall into your lap a little over a week ago. It was the first time you had dared to touch your belongings after you woke up. Somehow, not touching your things made everything feel a little less real, like if you just wished hard enough, you would blink and find yourself back in your apartment where everything belonged.

But, after a week of pretending you didn’t want to throw up whenever one of your kidnappers brushed up against you, the craving for something familiar became too great.

The bookmark had felt like a godsend. Your heart had squeezed painfully as you remembered that Heejun had gifted it to you many years ago – how it was the first thing he bought after he received his first measly paycheck back when you were teenagers. Who would have thought it would end up being the only tool available to you to escape the stalkers you had so desperately tried to protect him from.

You drive the bookmark in with a huff, hitting the edge with your palm.

You’re pretty confident you’ve been trapped in this cabin for two weeks, give or take a few days. So far, sticking to your plan has been harder than you anticipated. It’s tough, acting like your skin doesn’t crawl when they try to hold your hand, or that your face doesn’t want to twist into a murderous scowl whenever they look at you. No matter how sweet or thoughtful they try to be, you can’t stop thinking about the things they’ve done – the torture they’ve been putting you through for the past year. Even if it goes against every fibre of your being to be around them, you know that this is your only way out. You have to make them trust you, make them comfortable enough to let their guards down, and that’s when you’ll be able to escape.

You never expected it to be easy – how could it be? – but the pretending is beginning to take a toll on you. You’re tired of being locked up, tired of being watched, tired of being around them. It’s a fatigue you can’t escape from no matter how much you try to sleep, and the constant weariness has caused a few near slip-ups already.

It made you unable to stop yourself from jerking away from Taehyung’s hand, despite hearing his footsteps coming up behind you in the hallway long before your arm was touched. It made you flinch when Yoongi stroked the top of your head in passing, even though you had seen him coming. It made your eyes narrow when Hoseok passed you a cup of perfectly normal water.

The weariness is faint, but it’s there.

And somehow, every time it breaches the surface, Jimin is always there to catch it.

He seems to particularly enjoy pushing your buttons. It might be because he knows, at least suspects, that you’re only acting, but Jimin always has a calculating look in his eye when he invades your personal space, when he pushes himself too close for comfort. He’s clearly not that easily fooled by your little act, but you have no clue how to convince him otherwise.

You wince as you hit the bookmark a little too hard, the metal leaving a deep indent behind on your palm.

You take that as your cue to stop chipping away for today, not willing to tempt fate by continuing and risk getting caught. After returning the bookmark to its hiding place, you step back to the window to sweep up the little chips of loose paint into your hand.

Sighing, you take in the sorry state of your precious plants, the poor things having browned and wilted from the increasingly colder temperatures in the cabin. You know there’s no way to save them now that they’re already half-dead, but the dark soil is still of use to you, especially since it proves to be a perfect cover for paint shavings.

You dust off your hands, gaze sweeping over your room to make sure nothing looks out of the ordinary. Deeming everything fine, you turn your attention to your closed door, squaring your shoulders as you listen to the muffled sounds coming from somewhere else in the cabin.

You can do this, you tell yourself, even though both your heart and mind screams no. Straightening yourself out, you glance back at your wilted plants as you open the door. Seeing the dead leaves makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

The only thing you can hope, is that you’ll get out of here before you share the same fate.

You stare down at the pastel yarn in your lap, fingers nimbly casting on another stich as you knit. You enjoy the mindlessness of it – of how you can let your mind wander while your hands work on their own. It's a hobby you picked up a few years ago by chance, when you were procrastinating writing a paper and ended up falling down the rabbit hole of watching people knit chunky blankets at two am. You’ve gotten decently good at it now, at least enough to know some basic recipes by heart.

A sudden huff on your left almost makes you lose a stitch.

You cast a quick glance over at Seokjin as the couch shifts, your own needles pausing as you take in the absolute mess he’s made of the yarn in his hands. Seokjin is pouting down at his creation, brows furrowed in deep concentration as he fumbles awkwardly with his knitting needles. Judging by the jumbled thread around his fingers, he’s just been creating knots for the past few minutes. The sight would’ve been endearing, maybe, if the situation was different. You can picture it a little too easily, how head over heels in love you could’ve been with Seokjin if he had approached you normally. How you would’ve swooned with fondness watching him try so hard to share your hobby with you.

You shake your head, casting the thoughts away before they can settle. It doesn’t matter what could have been when the reality is still this – you’re trapped in a cabin that’s god knows where because he, and the others, are crazy. Whatever weird thing they’re trying to pull by bringing you things you like and participating in your hobbies isn’t going to work. You know that biting your tongue and enduring their antics is an necessary evil, that spending time with them will only help you to better understand what makes them tick - but each passing day is only bringing you closer and closer to your breaking point.

“That doesn’t look right, hyung.” Hoseok chuckles as he walks past the couch, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

He takes a seat on the opposite couch, pulling Jungkook’s feet into his lap. Jungkook is reading one of books Namjoon brought for you, his doe eyes suddenly growing big as he seems to get to particularly interesting plot point. You don’t think it’s a coincidence that he picked the same book you finished yesterday.

As is, you’ve been seeing a lot of them over the past few days.

The boys seem to have worked out a system, something that’ll help them keep up appearances and avoid bringing any suspicion to themselves. It sounded like Hoseok was the one that came up with the idea – of the boys grouping up to stay in the cabin in rotating shifts. Both Seokjin and Hoseok have employees to take over their shifts, Seokjin giving the excuse that he’s trying to branch out the business and thus needs to visit florist fairs out of town, and Hoseok simply stating he wants to take time off for himself now that the shop is doing well. Jungkook can mostly do as he pleases, it’s not like any of your professors take attendance, but you’ve heard him whining to Seokjin about doing extra shifts at Déjà Bloom to make up for the eldest absence.

It seems that Taehyung and Yoongi are established enough in their careers that they can work from home (or the cabin, rather) a few days a week, but you’ve heard them grumbling to the others that their presence is often needed in-house to finish up projects. Jimin, on the other hand, already works in shifts at the station, three days on, one or two days off. You don’t doubt he somehow managed to charm the other officers to give him the best shifts – they seemed willing to break their backs for him the times you visited the station.

It’s Namjoon you’ve seen the least to.

It’s not that surprising, not when he basically runs the local library by himself. He’s already ranted twice about how little support the library gets from the city, so you think it’s safe to assume that he doesn’t have the funds to hire another full-time worker to help him out. You should be glad that it doesn’t leave much time for him to come to the cabin, that he can only come up during the evening and stay until the morning after every now and then, but it only seems to leave him even clingier than normal. The cabin feels extra stifling whenever he comes to visit, with how he constantly hovers around you, holding your hands and hugging you close so that you don’t catch a cold, darling. It makes pretending you don’t mind it just a smidge harder every time.

“I’m trying my best! It’s harder than it looks.” Seokjin whines, hair flopping dramatically as he flings his head back.

You watch his throat bob, lips still pursed in a soft pout as he gently calls out to you, ”Y/n, can you please help me?”

You press your lips into a strained smile, sighing internally as you look at the knotted and lopsided creation in his hands. You don’t even quite understand how he’s managed to tangle it up so badly in such a short time, but the only help you can offer him at this point is just to unravel the whole thing to start anew.

“Sure, give it here.” You murmur.

Seokjin flashes you a sheepish grin as he hands the yarn over, the tips of his ears turning pink as you grimace at the mess. You pull the knitting needles out from the last remaining stitches, tugging on the yarn to find the first knot you’ll have to untie.

“You know you don’t have to force yourself to do this if you don’t enjoy it, right?” You say, staring down at the string as you work to loosen it up.

Honestly, it would be better for you if he didn’t. I do have to spend time with them, but you’d much rather just sit in awkward silence over being reminded of them every time you go to do one of your hobbies after you get out of here.

“I’m not forcing myself to do anything, angel, I want to learn how to knit. I might not be very good right now but I still enjoy it, because it means I get to spend time with you."

You don’t meet the lovesick gaze that burns into the side of your face.

Hoseok does an exaggerated shudder on the other couch, jostling Jungkook’s legs with the movement. ”You’re so sappy, hyung, you’re going to make me gag.”

Seokjin makes an affronted noise, chucking one of the pillows behind his back at Hoseok in retaliation. The pillow ends up veering too much to left, smacking right into the youngest’s head instead of his intended target. Jungkook startles at the impact, too absorbed in his book to even see it coming, shocked eyes blinking back at Seokjin as the pages slip from his grasp.

“What?–”

“Ah, Seokjin hyung, stop bullying Jungkook! The poor baby didn’t do anything wrong!” Hoseok snickers behind his hand as he fusses over Jungkook. He tucks some of Jungkook’s hair behind his ear, gently patting his cheeks to bring him back from the unexpected shock.

“Jungkook-ah, h-hyung didn’t mean it!” Seokjin stutters.

Drowning out their bickering, you turn back to the tangled mess in your hands as Jungkook uses the opportunity to tease Seokjin, joining Hoseok to gang up on him. Your brows furrow as you work on an especially difficult knot, the yarn tied so firmly you struggle to get a hold of it. You’re so focused that you almost don’t realize how the sound of Seokjin’s exasperated voice and Jungkook and Hoseok’s laughter makes your movements falter, heart squeezing in your chest.

You brush of the weird feeling immediately, refusing to linger on the implications as you chalk up the odd moment of weakness on your growing cabin fever.

By the time you’re almost completely done with unravelling Seokjin’s creation, you feel a gentle nudge on your arm. You glance up to find Seokjin already staring at you, his face lighting up as you meet his gaze.

“You know what, angel, I don’t think I ever got to tell you about the time I first saw you.”

You give him a weary look, already knowing you’re probably not going to like where this is going. ”What do you mean? The day at the flower shop?”

“No, the first time, Y/n.” Seokjin smiles, a little bashful. ”It was, eight – nine? months ago, when I was on my way home after closing the shop. It was weird, I ended up taking a completely different route than I normally do and I wasn’t even sure why. There was just this pull, an urge to follow this unknown feeling and figure out what it meant. It ended up leading me to a random grocery store and I suddenly knew there was something I desperately needed in there. I had no clue what it could be, but I figured it would come to me as I walked around.”

“I had almost made my way through the entire building when I finally rounded an aisle, and watched as some kid ran straight into your legs, knocking you over. I almost thought I was dreaming when I felt the pain in my own legs as you connected with the floor. I had already come to terms with never meeting my soulmate, and there you suddenly were, right in front of me.” Seokjin’s voice is thick with emotion, his eyes glossy as he reaches out to take your hand in his.

Because you have to, you allow his warm fingers to wrap around yours, letting it chase away some of the chill in the room despite the fireplace roaring with life close by.

Hoseok and Jungkook look enraptured by Seokjin’s story, and think you can see a faint tremble to youngest’s lips. His tale clearly resonates with the other two, and you have no doubt the others would react similarly if they were here to hear it. It makes you a little jealous, almost, how they get to have memories of relief and happiness over finding their soulmate, while yours is shrouded in terror and confusion.

Seokjin gives you an apologetic smile, squeezing your hand as he says, "I’m sorry I didn’t help you at the time, darling, I was just too shocked.”

“It’s okay.” You murmur, ignoring the what ifs vying for attention in the back of your mind.

There’s one odd thing about Seokjin’s story though, something you’ve never heard about happening between unknown soulmates before.

”You mentioned feeling a pull? What’s that about?"

You think Heejun mentioned how he felt drawn to Jaemin for a few weeks after they found each other the first time, like their soulbond was urging them to strengthen their newfound connection. But that was after. There was never a pull that lead them together in that library, it was only luck – coincidence.

“I’m not sure,” Seokjin admits. ”It was the first and last time felt anything like it.”

“I got that feeling too, that day at the charity event. I normally don’t involve myself in other people’s business, but the thought of not checking out what was going on made my heart ache.” Hoseok adds, a small frown on his face as he rubs his chest.

“Me too. I wasn’t supposed to be in that shared class with Y/n last semester. I had enough credits to drop it, but the thought of doing it made me feel really anxious. I felt like I was going to have a panic attack the one time I actually tried to withdraw from it.” Jungkook says, hesitant eyes flickering from you and Seokjin’s intertwined hands to your face.

“I never felt it, though.” You frown.

You would’ve known if you had, right? If they all had such strong reactions, then there’s no way you could’ve missed all the signs.

Seokjin hums, something contemplating crossing over his features as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. ”You’re not from around here, correct?”

Well, you’re definitely not from here, bumfuck nowhere in the middle of the woods. You bite back the snarky reply, knowing it won’t do you any good to voice it out loud. You’re sure Namjoon must’ve given them the rundown on everything he knows by now, especially with the extensive file he has access to, but since you’re trapped out here for god knows how long, you might as well humour Seokjin and play along.

“No. The city I grew up in is about two hours south by train.”

The three men all nod along like it’s new information, Seokjin even seeming a bit surprised. They would all make fine actors, you think.

“Why did you move here, then? If your friends and family were all back home.”

“The university is nice–”

Hoseok interrupts you with a tsk. ”The university in the next city over is miles better and you know it, sunshine.”

It is.

You even had the grades to be accepted there, if you had wanted to go.

“So? Why did you pick this specific university in this town?” Seokjin prompts, one eyebrow quirked.

You pause. Why did you pick this city to study in? Live in? It wasn’t the best option you had. Hell, the courses aren’t even that interesting compared to what’s offered at other universities. Heejun chose to join you after you had already made a decision, so it’s not like you can blame it on him, either.

“It … felt right.” You breathe.

That’s the only answer you have. There was just this feeling of rightness that washed over you when you settled on your current university, like this is where you were always supposed to be.

Seokjin looks pleased by your revelation, nodding his head as if to say there you go.

You feel yourself growing pale, heart racing and palms turning clammy as the truth slowly but surely sinks in. This entire time you had lived with the belief that the bond didn’t affect you, that there must have been a mistake – something you might be able to change. But this, this means that the pull had been there for you too, that it manifested itself with you first. You just didn’t know it.

None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t come here.

You stare down at the yarn in your lap, at the knots that have been untied and those that are still there. Maybe this was something you were never able to change. Perhaps Namjoon was right, that all of this was destined, and you would’ve ended up here no matter what choices you made.

You’re not sure what hurts most – the idea that fate handed you over to them, or that it was your own soul that betrayed you, tricked you, into this hell of a reality.

Inhaling deeply, you feel the crisp air rush down your throat, nestling deep into your lungs. You keep your face turned towards the weak rays of sunlight streaming through the balding trees, lips twitching at the faint warmth that caresses your face. This is the first time you’ve been outside in weeks and you’re going to use the time you have for all that it’s worth.

The sound of crunching leaves interrupts your moment of peace.

You open your eyes slowly, steeling yourself before you turn back to look at Jungkook. He’s been keeping his distance since you came outside, letting you have a few minutes to yourself. You’re not stupid enough to think that this is him trusting you, though. Jungkook has been tense ever since you stepped outside the cabin, body strung as if he’s only waiting for the moment he’ll have to jump into action to hunt you down.

Thankfully, you’re not dumb enough to believe that you’ll manage get away even if you do try. It’s no coincidence that it’s Jungkook accompanying you outside, it’s easy to tell from his physique alone that he’s likely the strongest and fastest out of all of them. There’s also no chance that Jungkook suddenly decided you bring you outside by himself, without the others being involved first. You knew from the moment Jungkook hesitantly approached you that this was a test.

A test for them to see if you can be trusted; to see if you’ve been broken enough to stay, or if you’ll attempt to run away. 

It is tempting, now that you’re outside with the soft ground under your boots and the gentle wind brushing through your hair, but you know that playing the long game is the only thing that will truly get you out of here.

You hug your arms to your chest, pulling Jungkook’s padded jacket closer to your body to fend of the chill that’s started to cling to you. ”I’m getting cold, do you think we can walk for a bit?”

As it is, you’ve barely even moved away from the old house. He lead you out back, to the beginning of the open field behind the cabin, but you haven’t dared to venture much further without his permission. You want Jungkook to take the lead, to let him believe that he's the one in control even if you don’t trust a single bone in his body.

Jungkook pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, doe eyes flickering between you and the clearing nervously. He’s still standing a few feet behind you, just enough to give you the illusion of privacy despite the both of you knowing that you have none.

“We can walk to the tree and back.” He stumbles over the first word before he clears his throat and nods in the direction of the big oak tree in the middle of the clearing.

It’s not as far as you’d like, but you have a feeling it’s to make sure you don’t get too knowledgeable about your surroundings. Either way, you need to stretch your legs and move around to make sure your muscles work once you actually can escape, so the tree is better than nothing.

“Thank you.” You flash him a bright smile, a sense of ugly satisfaction curling in your gut at the way it makes Jungkook almost trip over his own feet.

You fall into step besides him once he closes the distance between you, allowing your arm to brush against his as you trudge through the withered grass and moss. The brief contact is enough to make Jungkook flustered, and even though you hate it, you know you have to keep initiating it in hopes that it'll break down his walls faster.

“The hyungs ..” Jungkook starts, his mouth pinching into a faint frown. ”The choices they made weren’t the right ones, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad people. I-I don’t like keeping you here but they – we – are scared of losing you, of you not giving us a chance if we let you go. They’re only trying to do what’s best for all of us, even if it doesn't seem like it right now.”

He sees the unconvinced look that passes over your face before you manage to school your features, the slight purse of your lips that tells him you’re not fully ready to accept the truth just yet. He continues still, voice filled with gentle mirth as he talks about the others.

“They’ve helped me a lot. The hyungs sort of took me under their wing the moment I met them. I-I, um, didn’t have the best childhood, my parents weren’t always k-kind, but the hyungs have always tried to make up for it – to make sure I never had to deal with that kind of hurt again. My s-stutter used to be much worse before, before they showed me what it felt like to be safe and happy.”

Your treacherous heart aches for him. You release a soft breath, letting go of the urge to take Jungkook into your arms with it. You keep your eyes on the pale blue sky, whispering out a simple, ”I’m sorry.”

“I-I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad for me.” Jungkook rushes to say.

”I don’t even know why I said it, I-I just … want you to know that deep down, they always mean well. When my parents cut me off, Seokjin hyung offered me a job even though business was too slow for an extra part-timer at the time. I hated working for hyung in the beginning. He practically forced me to, saying that exposure to people would help me overcome my shyness and s-stutter. I was always so anxious I couldn’t sleep the night before my shifts, worried s-sick that the customers would be mean and make fun of the way I talked. It was rough, but it helped. Hyung was always there to make sure it nothing bad happened. Seokjin hyung and the others have all taken care of me in their own ways, even if they may seem unconventional to others. The hyungs just care, so much, about the people they love. I-I really don’t know where I would be without them."

“I believe you.”

You don’t doubt that the others have taken good care of Jungkook, or that they all care for each other. You would have to be blind not to see that they’re all close friends, that they all love each other, regardless of the influence of the faint soulbond they share. They might mean well, they might think they’re doing the right thing, but that doesn’t excuse anything that has transpired in the last year.

You still hate them.

That won’t ever change.

“You do?” Jungkook’s doe eyes grow wide with surprise. His lips stretch into a happy grin when you nod, his soft curls bouncing against his cheek as his steps seem to get a little more pep in them.

You crane your head back as you reach the tree, looking up at the sun through the barren branches. You watch a couple of birds fly across the sky, spreading their wings as they dance with the wind, swooping and rising as it pleases them. Oh, how you wish you could join them. You’d be willing to give almost anything for a pair of wings to get yourself out of here. To fly away from the rotting earth under your feet and the heat of Jungkook’s gaze on your face.

You can see him toing at the fallen leaves out of the corner of your eye, his breath hitching every time he opens his mouth to say something, only to regret it and screw his lips shut immediately. He pauses, his chest rising and falling with unsure breaths, before he timidly admits, ”I-I think I might have been the one that helped Tae hyung send roses to your apartment.”

The suddenness catches you off guard. You turn to properly look at him, dumbfounded, as you wait for him to go on.

“I-I didn’t know it was you at the time! Hyung pulled me aside one night when we were all hanging out and asked me if I could help him deliver some flowers without Seokjin hyung knowing about it. Hyung looked so shy, so happy, when he mentioned he had found his soulmate and wanted to woo them properly. We never really talked about our marks – but Taehyung has always had the most trust in the soulmate system, he has always believed he would find his other half. So I-I was really touched that he wanted my help with something so special.”

“Tae hyung never gave me a name, just the address and the apartment number it should be delivered too. I-I didn’t know where you lived since I always left my letters in your locker, so I didn’t connect the dots until I saw him in Hoseok hyung’s shop. Back then, I wanted to respect hyung’s wishes and keep it a secret, he didn’t seem ready to share it with the whole group yet. He seemed particularly worried about Seokjin hyung, that it would affect him badly because his own soulmate had died–”

Jungkook looks like he’s bitten into something sour as the word leaves his tongue. He shakes his head, eyes rolling before he adds, “which obviously wasn’t true – but I understood his reasoning at the time. I regret not asking him more about it, though.”

You blink at him, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place. That is why Seokjin didn’t have any information about the roses, because Jungkook had done it off the books.

For the first time since you stepped outside, Jungkook adverts his gaze to the ground. He hangs his head, a deep furrow appearing between his brows as he stares down at the dying grass. Jungkook pouts, his lip beginning to wobble before he hurriedly pulls it between his teeth. The scrape of his teeth as he bites down on the soft flesh leaves a faint sting in your own; the cruel reminder of your bond causing you to clench your fists.

Jungkook sounds regretful, quiet, when he finally says, "I wish I hadn’t helped hyung cause you even more pain.”

You close your eyes, allowing yourself a brief moment to collect yourself. What are you supposed to say? It’s okay? Because it’s not. I forgive you? Because you don’t.

You turn on your heel, shoving your fists deep into your pockets to hide the way they tremble. ”You didn’t know.”

Jungkook lets out a wounded sound, something close to a hiccup, as he keeps his head bowed in apology.

“I’m still sorry, Y/n.”

“Okay.” You murmur.

Remorse you can work with. If Jungkook is truly regretful of what he’s done, you should be able to use that to your advantage.

You swallow thickly, stepping closer to nudge his shoulder with your own. Jungkook’s dark eyes shine with guilt as he raises his head, face nothing short of distraught as he meets your gaze.

“Let’s go back, Jungkookie.” You give him a weak smile, the nickname foreign as it rolls off your tongue.

It has the intended effect though, as you watch Jungkook’s mouth fall open, a star struck expression taking over his features. You’ve been mentally prepping yourself for this moment for days, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. This is the first time you’ve reciprocated the same closeness, familiarity, that they’ve been suffocating you with ever since you got here. The fact that Jungkook is the first one to hear it is a big deal, one you hope will make the others jealous – miserable – as they hopelessly wait for their turn.

You take a step forward, waiting for Jungkook to snap out of his daze before you continue walking any further. The guilt on his face has softened into something sweeter, doe eyes sparkling, as he begins to lead you back to the cabin.

You can work with this, you think. Maybe if you continue to focus on Jungkook, on the remorse he carries and how eager he is for you forgiveness, you can manipulate him into letting you go. Maybe you can go out for a walk again, ask for some alone time now that he thinks you won’t run–

You squeak as you step on a patch of frozen mud, feet sliding out from underneath you. In the fraction of the second it takes for Jungkook to grab you, all you can think is; not again. He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as he drags you away from slippery patch. Your face is smushed against his padded jacket, your chests falling and rising in tandem from the scare.

You swear it’s like a flip has been switched ever since you got here, your clumsiness levels having gone from ten to a hundred. You were never this bad back in the city; but you also were never this caught up in your own thoughts with planning possible escape routes, either.

“I’m fine.” You blurt out before Jungkook can open his mouth to ask. "Thank you for catching me. Uh, again.”

Jungkook hugs you close, arms squeezing around your waist in reply before he leans back to look at you. The proximity makes you gulp, your throat suddenly painfully dry as you stare at him up-close. With his face so close to yours, you can’t help but notice the small mole beneath his lips, or how pink and glossy his mouth looks after he mindlessly wets it. The cold temperature outside has given his cheeks a healthy flush, adding even more charm to his already cute face.

Despite everything that has happened, you can’t deny the fact that Jungkook is handsome. Pretty - in fact.

Your heart tumbles in your chest as Jungkook takes a tiny step closer. You can barely even feel his hands anymore, the pressure on your waist so light you would think you were made of glass. It’s a stark contrast to how bone crushingly heavy his gaze feels. There’s something intense, yet nervous, in his eyes as they slowly roam over your face, almost like he’s carefully committing every detail to memory.

Your brain is screaming at you to step away, to run, as his face cautiously moves closer to yours, but you can’t seem to move, feet frozen to the cold ground. Even with the sun shining down at you, you swear you can make out stars in Jungkook’s dark eyes as he leans in. Heart racing, you tilt your head, eyelids swooping low as the air fogs up between you.

A particularly harsh breath of air escapes from your lips, the force strong enough to create a misty cloud that momentarily separates you from Jungkook as the condensation drifts upwards. The fleeting veil between you is enough to snap you back to your senses. The weirdly anticipatory fluttering of your heart screeches to a halt, immediately being replaced by a violent shiver of horror as the air clears.

“Jungkook.” Your voice sounds strangled even to your own ears.

Jungkook stops in his tracks as you call out his name, dazed eyes sweeping up from your lips to the strained expression on your face. You would think a cold bucket of water has been dumped over his head with how quickly he releases you, hands yanked away from your body as he stumbles back.

“Y/n, I–” He cuts himself off, face fluctuating between longing and sadness as he looks away. Jungkook shoves his shaking hands into his pockets, voice weak as he says. ”Let’s go back to the cabin.”

You nod, tightly gripping on to the sides of your jacket as you curl your arms protectively around your middle. You once again fall into step beside him, the distance between the two of you much greater than it was before. Your heart is still galloping away in your chest, your stomach tight with nerves. You should be disgusted, repulsed, that Jungkook tried to kiss you, but all you can feel is just – confusion. Jungkook wasn’t the only person that leaned in.

For a split second, no matter how brief it was, you wanted it too.

You swallow down the bile rising in your throat, keeping your gaze firmly locked onto the ground as the cabin’s shadow begins to loom over you. This isn’t good. It’s hard to weed out the cause of your moment of weakness; maybe it was cabin fever, or maybe your basic need for human affection latched on to the person that seemed the least threatening. Or, perhaps worst of all, maybe your soulbond is beginning to turn on you – beginning to accept them despite the circumstances forcing you together.

You cast one last glance up at the weak sun, hugging yourself tight. You whisper out a small prayer to the remaining leaves rustling in the trees, begging that all of this won’t cause you to lose yourself. That you won’t lose sight of the only goal you have.

Escape.

In hindsight, you should’ve known the pretending could only go on for so long.

You breathe in slowly through your nose, carefully scrubbing away any traces of dirt from the carrots in front of you. Cold water flows over your hands whenever you go to rinse one off but the sensation barely even registers, your mind all too aware of the eyes boring holes into your back.

You had jumped at the chance to help Yoongi in the kitchen – any low effort activity that still made it seem like you wanted to be near them were your favourite – but you hadn’t accounted for Taehyung and Jimin to join you as well.

It's unnerving, feeling their eyes following every minuscule movement you make as you follow Yoongi’s instructions. The tasks he gives you are superficial, washing vegetables and stirring pots, but there’s not much else for you to do when you’re not allowed near any knives. Still, regardless of how simple they are, you try to take your time doing them whenever you help Yoongi out.

Normally it’s just to buy yourself a few extra minutes of silence in the kitchen since the others tend to stay clear of it, but now, it’s the sinking feeling in your stomach that makes your movements drag.

Taehyung and Jimin are up to something. You’re very aware that they aren’t as gullible as the rest - that they’re on to what you’re trying to do.

You carefully place the shiny carrot on the cutting board besides you, listening to the steady chop chop chop of Yoongi’s knife as he dices it up for the stew he’s making. He’s muttering something under his breath, his dark brows knitted together in concentration as he stares down at the knife.

He never rushes you, you’ve found.

Regardless of the reason why – maybe he believes you’re being slow to spend more time with him or maybe he knows you need a break from the others some times – you know Yoongi doesn’t mind it. After all, it means he gets more alone time with you.

“Ah–” Yoongi pauses, knife hitting the cutting board with a dull thud. ”I forgot the new spices in the car! I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” You nod, feeling uneasy as you run another carrot under the slow stream of water.

You look over your shoulder, watching Yoongi step back from the counter, knife still in hand as he turns around to face Taehyung and Jimin. He points it in their direction, eyes narrowed as he drawls out a stern, ”Behave.”

Taehyung scoffs, childishly turning up his nose at Yoongi’s demand as he leans back in his chair.

“I’m offended, hyung. When have we not?” Jimin rolls his eyes.

Yoongi’s jaw locks, a frustrated rush of air leaving his nose. ”Like I said, I’ll be right back.”  He shakes his head as he goes, throwing the pair another pointed glare before he exits the kitchen.

The moment Yoongi steps out the door; Taehyung and Jimin’s eyes seem to snap to each other like magnets. It’s nothing more than a quick glance, but even just that brief contact carries enough weight to make the alarms in your head blare.

You whip your head back to the sink, hoping they didn’t notice you watching them. Sending out a silent wish for Yoongi to return within the next ten seconds, you resume cleaning the vegetables in front of you, praying the pair will leave you be if you look busy enough.

Only a slow second passes before Jimin’s airy voice calls out to you from the kitchen table.

“Baby, is Yoongi hyung working you too hard? You know you can just relax and let us take care of things, right?”

You stiffen at the question, muscles locking up under the wave of tension that grips your body. Forcing your hands to keep moving, you let out a strained answer in return. ”I-I don’t mind. I like helping out.”

“Ah. I see.”

You can't be sure, not with your back turned and his expression hidden from view, but you swear for a split second that Jimin sounded jealous.

“So, you’re enjoying your time here, then?” He asks, voice deceptively calm.

Nervous, you wet your lips, scrubbing harder at the squeaky clean carrot in your hand. What game is he playing?

“Of course.” You say, proud of the way your voice doesn’t falter.

Jimin hums. The sound is accompanied by slow rhythmic taps against the kitchen table, almost as if he's unknowingly thrumming his fingers as he thinks. Except – the motion is too controlled, too deliberate.

He’s trying to set you on edge.

“There’s nothing you’d want to change? You like being here with us?”

It’s a trap, you know it is, but how can you do anything else besides walk right into it? You can’t tell Jimin the truth. Not when you’ve already come this far.

Jimin must revel in the knowledge that he’s got you cornered.

You clutch the edge of the sink as a chair screeches behind you, soft footsteps padding across the floor until you can feel someone hovering behind you. You squeeze your eyes shut as Taehyung’s familiar cologne invades your nose. You can’t focus with him, who’s practically danger personified, standing so close.

What’s taking Yoongi so long?

Gritting your teeth, you slowly place the clean carrot on Yoongi’s cutting board, praying Taehyung doesn’t notice the way your hand trembles. Jimin asked you a question, but you can’t seem to recall what it was, his voice all muddled together in your head. Flustered, the only thing you can seem to focus on are the soft puffs of air hitting your hair, Taehyung quite literally breathing down your neck. You must take too long because you suddenly find yourself being spun around, the world moving too fast until you find yourself caged between Taehyung’s arms, pressed against the counter.

You jerk back, surprised, heart in your throat as Taehyung’s intense eyes stare you down.

“Answer Jiminie's question, babe.”

You hold his gaze, your skin crawling as you muster up a shaky smile.

“Y-Yes. I didn’t see it at first but I understand it now, why you all did it.” The words are painful to push out, your tongue hesitating to curve around your blatant lies. ”I’m h-happy here – with you.”

Jimin makes a delighted sound, but it’s just as fake as the bravado on your face.

“Are you now? That’s great, baby. I guess none of us are making you uncomfortable, then? We haven’t been ah, overstepping, any boundaries?”

“Of course not.”

Taehyung cocks his head, face flat as he asks. ”So you don’t like Jungkook and Yoongi better than the rest of us?”

“What?” You breathe, taken aback.

You can’t believe your plan might have actually worked.

It’s been a few days since your outing with Jungkook and you’ve been nervously waiting for one of them to bring it up. There’s no way they didn’t wring him out for details afterwards. Maybe they haven’t caught on what you’ve been doing at all, too busy stewing in their jealousy of the others?

“You seem to have grown … close, lately.” Taehyung frowns. ”So, do you? Like them more than us?”

You hate them all equally.

“No.” You’re quick to shake your head. The longer you manage to convince them you care for all of them whilst giving a few special treatment, the better. It’s bound to cause some friction between them, no matter how close they are.

Taehyung lights up, his boxy smile coming in at full force at your rebuttal.

A cough from Jimin is all it takes for it to disappear.

A shiver racks down your spine as you watch the light dim just as quickly as it arrived, his grin faltering as suspicion seems to creep in. He inches closer, scrutinizing your face as he asks, ”Y/n, do you love us?”

“I–” You swallow thickly.

You assumed they would ask at some point but not right now. Not when you’re already struggling to keep your panic at bay and your head on straight. You feel like you’re walking on a tightrope, the edges fraying at both sides.

Still, you manage to force out a shaky, ”I’m your soulmate, how can I not?”

That seems to be enough to placate him, Taehyung’s smile returning once again. This time though, his lips stretch into something more sinister than kind. It makes you realize your mistake a little too late – you never should have worded it as a challenge.

“Yeah?” Taehyung leans in, eyebrows quirking as his gaze dips down to your lips. ”Prove it then.”

You freeze as Taehyung’s hands find your waist, long fingers holding you firmly in place. Your mind races as his face draws closer and closer, Taehyung darting his tongue out to wet his lips.

They tricked, lured you, right into this. You never had the upper hand. It seems that the only person who’s been played is you.

Your eyes widen in alarm as his flutter closed, gaze darting around wildly as you look for a way to escape. There’s no natural way for you to duck away from Taehyung, no lies that will make sense. They’ve caught you and you have no doubt they’ll tattle to the others if you don’t kiss him.

The rational part of your brain is yelling at you to just do it! – you’ve come too far to throw all that progress away over a simple kiss. But the rest of you aches, mourns, the idea. To give yourself away so easily to someone you hate so deeply. Taehyung may see someone he loves, someone he thinks he knows; but all you can see as you look at his face is anxiety and terror; your sanity slipping through your fingers like sand.

He’s so close, brows starting to furrow in confusion as he never meets your lips, unaware of how you’ve been pulling back to keep your distance. Your neck is starting to cramp from the odd angle, hands shaking by your sides as Taehyung’s sweater brushes against them.

He lets out an annoyed breath, the fingers on your waist tightening as if he’s going to pull you against his chest to get you closer.

You can’t. You can’t, you can’t–

Your hands fly out, pushing Taehyung away. You feel cracked open, panicked, the fear and anger you’ve been suppressing ever since you woke up here spilling out and engulfing you from head to toe.

The force causes Taehyung to stumble back, shocked, until he hits the edge of the kitchen table. He blinks at you like he doesn’t understand what’s going on, like he doesn’t know what he just tried to do. He raises a hand as if he’s going to reach out for you, come back, despite your rejection.

They’ll never change.

They’ll never understand.

A sickening wave of terror crashes over you, mixing with the panic as it builds and builds and builds– until you finally, simply – break.

“Do not touch me.” You let out a shrill scream, a note of hysteria colouring your voice. ”How could I ever love you, when this is how you treat me? When you’ve ruined my life?”

Straightening up, you step away from the counter, pulse roaring in your ears as you stare Taehyung down. "The thought makes me sick. Our soulbond is a mistake, a cruel joke, and I don’t accept it. I’d rather die than fall in love with the likes of you – any of you."

Taehyung looks stricken. He must’ve known you weren’t completely truthful if he decided to scheme with Jimin, and yet, he clearly didn’t quite grasp just how vehemently you actually hate him – them. Underneath the panic, there’s a sick sense of satisfaction curling in your gut as Taehyung’s throat keeps bobbing, his dark eyes welling up under your hard glare.

A heavy silence settles over the kitchen as your voice tapers off. Yoongi’s soup has begun to boil and sputter, but you can barely hear it over your own ragged breaths. The burst of bravery you had is already dying off, leaving you trembling in place as it dawns on you just how badly you’ve fucked up.

You startle as Jimin’s low whistle fills the air.

“There she is.”

You jerk your head in his direction, finding Jimin languidly leaning back in a chair, seemingly unaffected by everything you just hurtled at them. You can detect a hint of annoyance, like he’s angry he was proven right, but the smirk pulling at his mouth speaks louder. Jimin looks amused, excited, that you finally showed your true colours.

“What?” You seethe.

“I knew it.” Jimin’s gaze feels like tiny knives, the coldness in them a terrible juxtaposition to the growing smile on his face. ”You’re not broken in at all, are you, baby?”

Bile shoots up your throat so fast you’re surprised you manage to not throw up. You clench you teeth, hands shaking with rage by your sides.

You want to punch him so, so badly.

Even though you know you’ll only end up hurting yourself in the process, you still find yourself moving forward, vision zeroed in on Jimin's gloating expression.

You’ve only taken a few steps when Yoongi rushes back into the room, Hoseok hot on his heels. They both look you up and down, checking for any visible injuries, before they take in the fury on your face.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi asks. His concern morphs into anger as he looks from you to Jimin and Taehyung, their wildly different expressions painting quite the story.

You have enough wits left to know that you need to leave before Jimin opens his mouth. Yoongi may be annoyed with him now for upsetting you, but you’re sure that’ll change once he hears what you just threw in their faces. It doesn’t take a genius to know that this is going to turn out very bad for you.

You take your chance as Hoseok hisses a low 'Park Jimin’ under his breath, sidestepping Yoongi as he stalks over to Jimin’s chair.

Bolting out of the room, you manage to catch Yoongi so off guard that he doesn’t have time to stop you, and Hoseok is too far away to grab you even if he wanted to. You run past Seokjin in the hallway, surprise blooming on his face as you enter your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Panicked, you grab the desk chair, propping it under the door handle to hold it shut. You have no key, nothing to lock it with, so you hurriedly shove whatever furniture you can up to the door, creating a makeshift barricade you know won’t hold them back for very long once they hear the full story from Jimin.

You fist your hair, eyes burning with tears as you pace around the room. You flinch at the loud yelling carrying all the way from the kitchen, six voices rising and falling as they argue heatedly. The door muffles the sounds, but you can still hear your name being shouted back and fourth, over and over again.

Your chest feels so tight you can barely breathe, lungs refusing to expand as terror clings to your body like a second skin. Everything you worked for over the last month was all for nothing, there’s no way they’ll ever trust you after this. You stumble forward, gripping the edge of the bed to steady yourself. There’s no doubt in your mind that they'll do something more drastic to feed their fantasies, that they’ll chain you up somewhere and lose themselves so deep in their delusions that their last bits of sanity will slip away if it means they’ll get to have you.

“No, no, no…” You let out a muffled cry, silently sobbing into your hand as you keep pacing around the room, desperate to find anything that might help you.

You nearly collapse to the floor when you notice something shiny poking out from under your bed, the metal gleaming in the muted light. The bookmark. It must’ve fallen out when you pushed your bedside table over to the door.

Rushing over to snatch it up, you weigh the cool surface in your hand as you spin around to face the window.

You’ve already doomed yourself by blowing up at Jimin.

There’s nothing left for you to lose.

Heart in your throat, you hurry over to the window. You find the small patch you have left, using all the force you can muster to quickly chip away the last of the paint sealing it shut. You dig it in, gritting your jaw as your palm aches with every hit. The yelling in the kitchen hasn’t seized so they must be too engrossed in their arguing to notice the faint pain.

You drop the bookmark to the floor as the last touch of dried paint is gone, gripping the ledge of the window as you start pushing upwards.

It’s not moving.

“Come on.” You grunt, exhaling harshly through your nose as your arms begin to burn under the strain.

You step back, giving your muscles a moment of rest before you resume your grip, putting all your remaining strength into one final push. You’re not sure what does it, maybe it's your adrenaline giving you one last boost, or maybe the universe hears your whispered please against the glass, but the window groans – and opens.

You blink at the fresh air that rushes in, in disbelief that it actually worked. You can get out of here.

You can run.

Wasting no time, you throw a leg out of the window, twisting around to grip the ledge as you carefully lower yourself to the ground. The cabin is only slightly raised from the ground but this isn’t the time to be hasty. Not when you can taste freedom in the crisp autumn air, the dark woods around you welcoming you in with barren branches. If you hurt yourself now, it’s game over.

You wince as your feet reach the freezing ground, the cold seeping right through your woollen socks. You hold your breath, sticking close to the wall and hunching down whenever you pass by a window. You’re going in the opposite direction of the kitchen, but you can’t take any chances.

It’s only when you’ve peeked around the edge of the house, making sure the coast is clear, that you sprint directly for the woods surrounding you.

You hit it at an angle, making sure you won’t be seen from the front of the house while still keeping yourself somewhat parallel to the dirt road you noticed before. It’s too risky to use it, your recapture almost a certain thing if you do. There’s a greater chance of shaking them off under the covers of low branches and fallen trees, so you stick to the dark woods, knowing it’s your ticket out.

You duck under a branch, breath fogging up the air in front of you as you run. Everything aches and burns, but you push through it with clenched teeth, ignoring the taste of blood in your mouth. Being held in the cabin for a month has ruined your stamina, your body protesting the intense movement more than normal but your flight instinct is enough to keep you on your feet. You can barely feel them underneath you; the wet mud coating your socks has chilled you to the bone.

Wheezing, you push a thorny bush out of your way, not even registering the deep cuts they leave on your hands. The pain doesn’t matter. You’d sacrifice a limb if it meant you would get away from them.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, but it’s not far enough. Not when you can still make out the faint, panicked screams of your name echoing through the night.

Their calls makes your stomach twist in fear, a terrible reminder of what awaits you if they catch up with you. They must know what direction you’re heading in by now, but you intend to use your head start for what it’s worth. You’re going to let the adrenaline pumping through your veins take you as far as you can go; until your body collapses, or you’re somewhere safe. Whichever comes first.

It feels like you’ve run for an eternity through the woods by the time you see gravel turning into concrete.

You halt by the tree line, clinging on to a low branch as you gasp for air. Your lungs are burning, collapsing, and the air you gulp down stings with every breath. You’re so tired you can barely stand anymore, and yet, you know you need to keep moving. You need to reach the small cluster of lights twinkling far, far away in the distance.

You press your forehead against the cold bark, hoping the dark spots clouding your vision will settle down if you can only catch your breath. Startled, you wince as something light floods through your eyelids, gaze snapping open to find headlights illuminating the dark roads in front of you.

You sway on your feet, staring at the car driving towards you in utter shock. It’s coming from the direction of the city, which means it can’t be them.

You’re saved.

You’re saved.

You stumble into the road, waving your hands desperately as you yell for the car to stop, stop, stop, please stop!

The driver hits the breaks hard, the harsh headlights blinding you as the tires screech against the road. You raise a hand, shielding your eyes from the bright lights. The driver’s startled scream is muffled by the car, the vehicle groaning as it’s forced to come to an abrupt stop a few feet away.

You squint as the driver’s door is flung open, the outline of a man scrambling out. He grips the edge of the door, chest heaving with what you assume is quick breaths from the near miss he just had. The apology for scaring him is on the tip of your tongue, but before you can say anything, the man releases a harsh exhale into the night, the car lights illuminating his breath as it drifts upwards.

“Y/n?"

Your heart promptly drops to your stomach.

Namjoon.

He looms over the car as he shuts the door, the soft click loud as a gunshot in the quiet air.

It can’t be, he – he left yesterday. You allowed him to hug you for far longer than you liked, all because he was supposed to be gone for two days. Not one. Namjoon wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the cabin today. It didn’t even graze your mind that the driver could be him – that fate could be so cruel to lead you right back to them.

You slowly lower your hand, a new surge of panic building inside of you.

You can run, but you’re tired, and Namjoon is not. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll catch you before you even make it off the road. It’s not like you can knock him out and steal the car either, you wouldn’t have been able to overpower him even if you were freshly rested. He’ll drag you back to that cabin kicking and screaming, or – you have one last thing you can try.

Dread weighs you down as you rush forward, making every step feel slow and sluggish, wrong, as you propel yourself right into Namjoon’s arms.

“Namjoon,” You choke, clawing the back of his coat as you press yourself closer, tighter. ”Please – please, take me away from here. I only want to be with y-you, not the others. Don’t make me go back, please.”

“Darling,” Namjoon breathes, utterly overwhelmed. The strong arms wrapping around your back feel like steel bars, caging you against his chest, sealing your fate. ”I don’t understand, Y/n, what–"

“I need you. Only you.”

You just need him to accept, to take you away. He knows the others, knows where they’ll look first and what they’ll do, and once you’re sure you’re safe from them, you’ll figure out a way to escape from Namjoon too.

You flinch at the sound of an incoming call connecting to the car’s speakers, the volume loud even through closed doors. Pulling back, you twist your head just enough to glance at the name displayed across the media system.

JIMIN.

The call disconnects when it isn’t picked up, and your blood runs cold as another one immediately comes in, Hoseok’s name replacing Jimin’s.

They surely can’t know that you’re with Namjoon right now, they’re probably calling to let him know you’re gone, but it only ramps up your nerves, lighting another spark on the fuse that’s already burning up too fast.

Namjoon is staring at the same spot you are, expression tight. The furrow between his brows grows deeper the more he thinks, and you need him to not to that. You need him to trust you. Forget the rest.

“Namjoon,” You whisper sweetly, smiling through the tremor in your voice. You reach up to cup his face, turning his full attention back to you with an icy caress. His skin feels burning hot against you chilled skin, a low buzz spreading from the tips of your fingers all the way up your arm the longer you touch him.

Namjoon looks at you with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock at your willing affection. Everything about him is tense and unsure, but he still leans into your palm, seeking comfort in your touch.

“The others ... they can’t c-care for me the same way that you do. You’re the only soulmate I need, the only one I want. Won’t you please take me away? I really l-like you.”

You let your voice grow softer and softer the closer you lean in, your last words practically whispered into his lips. Namjoon shivers, his dark eyes turning hazy at the close proximity, at how his dreams are so close to coming true.

Nausea swirls in your stomach as his hot breath spills across your mouth, your heart thundering in your chest. Everything just feels so numb, frozen; your emotions too frayed and exhausted to act up, and your body too chilled to move. Still, you use the shaking hand behind Namjoon’s back to pull him closer, your iced lips clumsily grazing the side of his mouth.

This is it, you think as Namjoon’s eyes flutter closed and his breath hitches, you have him.

You just need a little more, just one proper kiss to convince him and then your escape is secured.

You’re just about to inch off the ground to make sure you find his lips when something pained flashes across Namjoon’s face, and he leans back, out of reach.

Confused, you watch as he releases a deep sigh, turning his head to gaze up at the night sky. He watches it for a second, seemingly finding whatever answer he was reaching for, and looks back at you.

“You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” Namjoon asks, his dark eyes brimming with hurt.

“W-what? No!” You scramble to pull him close, both hands tugging on the lapel of his coat, but Namjoon doesn’t budge.

“I want to believe you but I can’t, darling.” He shakes his head. ”I have to bring you back.”

“I can’t! Please, I can’t go back, this isn’t what I want–” You plead, desperate, as you try to push away from Namjoon’s chest.

He simply tightens his grip in response, pulling you flush against him until you can feel his heart racing alongside your own. He shushes any attempts of begging, rocking you back and forth as you heave in his arms.

"I would love to whisk you away and keep you all to myself, but it wouldn’t be fair to the others, Y/n. You’re their soulmate, too.”

Namjoon’s voice sounds murky and muffled, insignificant, in comparison to the terror gripping your body.

You can’t go back.

Whatever it is they have in store for you, you’d rather die than experience it.

“What about me?!” You sob, hot tears burning down your cheeks as you weakly hit Namjoon’s chest. ”How is any of this fair to me?”

Namjoon pauses, thinks, before he rests his head on top of yours; nodding into your hair as he says, ”It’s not."

“It’s not fair to you, but this is the best we can do. We’re trying, Y/n, and it's about time you start doing that too.”

Something in you shatters.

Your heart, you think. Maybe your mind.  

They don’t care. No matter what you do or what you say, if it doesn’t match the reality they’ve made up in their heads, they won’t care.

You’re on your own. A scared little lamb clever enough to escape the slaughterhouse, but not smart enough to avoid the wolf. And now it’s bringing you back to be eaten, torn apart, by his whole pack.

Your body can’t handle the myriad of emotions that crash over you all at once. You slump in Namjoon’s arms, legs giving out underneath you. He holds you close, murmuring something you can’t make out as you stare up at the night sky with glossy, unseeing eyes.

You’re just so tired.

The past year has been one big trauma, one you never processed, and now, you got a taste of freedom only for it to be crushed under the tires of Namjoon’s car.

You’re exhausted.

Your vision tilts as you’re lifted of the ground, your numb feet barely feeling the ground leaving them.

You’re cold.

The night sky grows darker and darker, swallowing up the stars one by one as you’re carried around the side of the car. The darkness fills your sight until it’s the only thing you can see, a blast of warm air engulfing your body as a door clicks open.

A low apology is whispered into the car. Dry lips press against your forehead.

You give up.

a/n: please consider supporting me by buying me a ko-fi! 💖

wooo lots of things happened in this one! what do you think about y/n’s chat with seokjin? her walk with jungkook? what vmin was trying to pull in the kitchen? did you think namjoon was going to show up and take her back? let me know, i’m eager to hear your thoughts!!

you know the drill - everything is unbetaed so please excuse any mistakes!

stream indigo and wish seokjin a happy b-day!! 

[peacefulpianist]

The Green Dress

Loki x Fem. Reader (no y/n)

Wow hi everyone, I can't say I ever thought I would be doing this, but I've written something! I've been an avid reader for a few years now and have finally convinced myself to give it a shot. Any constructive criticism is more than welcome, but please do bear in mind this is the first thing I've written since year 8 English that isn't an academic paper of sorts. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

I'm tagging a few members of the SAS who I think may like this? But if you want to be removed please do let me know - no hard feelings at all : @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @acidcasualties @muddyorbsblr @wheredafandomat @liminalpebble

Description: When Stark invites you last minute to one of his infamous parties, you've not got many options on hand to wear until Nat suggests you wear the green dress you had bought months ago. Perhaps it will be enough to inspire a certain god to finally make his move.

w/c: 4.2k whoops I didn't intend for it to be nearly this long

My Masterlist

“How many times do I need to tell you that you absolutely can not do that Stark!” You exclaimed in exasperation over the cluttered lab table once more.

“But if I just ignored that little thing-” the glare you sent from over the top of your glasses quickly shut his remark down before it could continue any further. Looking contrite, but rather worryingly still determined, Stark pushed back from the table, going slightly further than expected in his chair and trying to style it out as intentional as he almost collided into several rather important projects. 

“Well since you’ve thoroughly pooped on that party Brainiac, I’m declaring we call it a day here, and hey speaking of parties, you are coming later aren’t you?” He asked whilst trying not to fall of his chair and catching a rather dangerous looking item falling off one of the nearby tables he had knocked into. 

A wave of panic washed through you at the mention of the event later; you had been hoping that as no one had specifically invited you to it, only mentioned it in passing, that you would be able to give it a miss unnoticed. It wasn’t that you disliked Starks events or even parties in general, you just happened to be aware of who else would be there and definitely couldn’t trust yourself to keep up a front with the copious alcohol that would no doubt find its way into your system. Not that you were totally innocent in how it found its way there. You had been hoping to avoid a direct invitation like this, purely because you had a real issue saying no to people, especially those you liked and admired. It was because of this, and only this - not the fact you would get to see Loki in one of his impeccably tailored suits again as a helpful voice in your head supplied, that you found yourself blurting out the following. 

“Uh yeah sure, of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world boss!” 

You had hoped that it had come out in a convincing tone, but the slight frown emerging on Starks face said otherwise. However, as quick as it had appeared on his face it was gone, replaced by a trademark smile as he slapped his thighs and stood.

“Well then, you better be off to prepare and polish your elbows, or whatever it is you ladies manage to do to fill so much time getting ready before these events,” his face quickly faltered after realising what he had actually just said and quickly followed up with “not saying of course that it isn’t absolutely worth it, especially if Pepper asks”. 

In an effort to allow Tony to leave the interaction without digging himself an even deeper hole, you stood too, gathering your bag as you went, giving a slightly awkward wave over your shoulder as you walked out the door. 

It was only when you made it back to your room upstairs that you fully understood what you had actually agreed to. Not only were you going to have to be in the same room as Loki, desperately trying to hide your feelings towards him, whilst watching him flirt with practically everyone in attendance, but also work out what the hell you were going to wear to a party at such short notice. Unlike many of the other inhabitants of the tower, your wardrobe wasn’t exactly equipped for these kinds of events. You had always preferred to skip out on anything that required this level of formal wear, the comfort of your staple jeans and a hoody was something you had always chosen over the tighter fitting, more formal attire required at Stark’s parties. 

In a somewhat unhelpful move, you decided that putting off the outfit dilemma was the best course of action, as a frantic full-body shower was needed, and of course there was no point choosing an outfit before you’d done your hair and makeup after the shower as well. You had told yourself that the outfit choices could be mulled over during this time as well, but realistically knew that you were just lying to yourself and would inevitably put it off until the last moment. 

A frantic search of your wardrobe, which involved many an outfit being taken out, only to be thrown into the rejection pile on the floor moments later, left you coming up short and in the middle of a ring of discarded outfits whilst still in just your towel. You sank to the floor, just staring despondently at the chaos around you, contemplating whether Tony would actually notice if you didn’t go after all. 

It was in that state exactly that Nat found you minutes later after she had knocked, not waited for an answer and entered anyway, only to stop in her tracks and abandon whatever purpose she had come with upon seeing you in such a state. 

“Well that outfit is sure to grab everyone’s attention, not what I would choose personally but good for you girl!” Nat said with a smirk, leaning on your doorframe.

“Don’t even start with that right now, I wasn’t planning on going to this until and hour ago, and I appear to have greatly underestimated my wardrobe deficiencies. Some actual help right now would be greatly appreciated.” Your reply came from the floor, all hope of being able to avoid Stark’s shindig fading with the sound of the door closing behind Natasha. 

“I’m sure your so called deficiency isn’t nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be,” her voice somewhat muffled as she rooted through what was left of your clothes in you’re wardrobe. 

“I mean look right here, what was wrong with this option, it’s even green, perfect to catch you-know-who’s attention!” The smile on her face dropped when she turned to face you, brandishing the green dress you had bought months ago on a whim when out with some friends, only to realise you would never be comfortable enough to wear it out in public when you had tried it on at home later that evening. 

“Woah, what’s so wrong with this one that it makes you pull that face? It’s a stunning dress I can’t see what you could possibly have against this one, its perfect for tonight.” Nat questioned with a confused frown, after seeing the vehement refusal on your face at the suggestion. 

“It is a beautiful dress, just not on me, I don’t-” before you could even finish the thought, Nat had pulled you up, and was pushing you quite forcefully back towards the bathroom, throwing you in there along with the dress and your raciest, laciest underwear that you hadn’t even seen her grab.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, you should know better than to speak like that about one of my closest friends by now, by the time I’m back after getting changed myself, I want you wearing that dress so I can prove to you how wrong you are when you see everyone’s faces when we walk in later” Nate reply was somewhat muffled behind the bathroom door, but the fierceness, and her love for you, was still conveyed perfectly through the wood. 

“Besides if it truly makes you feel that bad after wearing it tonight, we’ll burn it together tomorrow, I’m not having you keeping it if its going to make you feel this way whenever you see it.” The finality in her tone and promise of being able to get rid of the thing tomorrow was enough to get you to follow her orders, that alongside the fact that you were still rather scared of her, even after having been friends with her for a few years now. 

With Natasha momentarily gone, it gave you the chance to ruminate in your thoughts, the dress was truly stunning, a deep emerald green that displayed your decolletage beautifully, with a daring slit from ankle to high up on your thigh. While you could see that the dress itself was objectively great, when it was you wearing it, it didn’t seem that way anymore. Instead of being able to focus on all of the ways it could highlight your beauty, all you could see was the way the closer fit of the dress clung to your stomach slightly, and how the slit showed off your thighs, and just seemed to emphasise how big they were. 

It was in this downward spiral that Nat found you in upon her return, a frown once again set on her face as when she saw the malice behind your eyes, directed solely at yourself. 

The way you could only ever focus on the parts of yourself that you saw as problems had always hurt Natasha, and how it impacted the way you behaved as well. It wasn’t just a matter of wearing baggier clothes that covered your insecurities, but the way you let it decide where you belonged socially. She was intimately familiar with your growing feelings towards a certain god of mischief who had taken up residence in the tower little over a year earlier, but also with your pessimistic view towards your chances of the feelings being reciprocated. Ever since you had realised that your feelings were more than that of just friendship you had immediately resigned yourself to remaining in the friend zone, refusing to believe that he would ever see you as something more because “he’s a god and I’m, well, I mean just look at me.” Nat had tried countless times to reassure you that the way you saw yourself, was not in fact the way others saw you, but had also at this point come to the understanding that your self perception wasn’t based in logic, and reasoning as such wasn’t going to make enough of an impact to change how you saw yourself. 

It was with this in mind that she approached you, an arm reaching round you and pulling you into her side for a hug, while smiling at you in the mirror, before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of your room and to the party on the floor above. 

Your outfit dilemma had delayed the two of you a little, so when you arrived upstairs, the party was already in full swing; with music blaring and alcohol clearly flowing freely if the state that some of the guests were in already was any indication. As such you were easily able to slip in behind Natasha unnoticed, before heading straight over to the bar, feeling the need to indulge a little more than normal tonight. 

From your vantage point at the bar up on the mezzanine, you could see almost all of the goings on down below you, from Lang absolutely busting it up on the dance floor to Tony trailing around after Pepper, seemingly trying to make up for something that was undoubtedly his fault, but wasn’t actually remorseful for. Unfortunately it also meant that you had the perfect view of Loki and his apparent flavour of the night. Despite knowing how unproductive it was, you found yourself comparing yourself to her, noting all the ways she was traditionally attractive, only to seemingly find yourself lacking in the same places in comparison. Even though you had accepted months ago that Loki was never going to reciprocate your feelings, and having desperately tried to allocate him into the friend box in your head unsuccessfully, it still hurt deeply to see him so close with other women, knowing what he would be doing with them that night, only to move on to the next when it suited him. 

This knowledge had one advantage for you though, it had made it much easier for you to become friends with the god. As you knew nothing romantic was ever going to happen between the two of you, you had found it that much easier to relax and joke around him, even going as far to return his flirty remarks, as there was no pressure behind it for you, and the potential embarrassment behind behaving more boldly was removed. Since he flirted with everyone that way, it obviously didn’t mean anything to him, so it made it much easier for you to jokingly flirt back. It was because of this new found confidence, that you had struck up a strong friendship with the god and had come to call him one of your closest friends. It had only added to your mental torture.

After a few more self indulgent moments, agonising a little more over what could have been you turned to the bartender, and took another drink with a polite thanks and a smile before deciding that even if you did still regret coming, and especially wearing the dress, you were going to make the most of the evening. Besides how many people could say they got to drink and dance with the avengers, who they were friends with. 

It was with this new found resilience that you stood from your place and made your way down to the dance floor, having caught Nat and Wanda’s eyes before and been summoned. 

The next few hours passes in a slight blur of laughter and dancing for you, after a few, chaotic but incredibly fun dances with Nat and Wanda some of the other men began to join in, requesting a dance with you. Between the fun of teaching Steve how people actually danced in clubs now alongside Nat, and Bucky whirling you round the floor like an absolute professional - after complementing your outfit for the evening with an all too knowing look, you had almost forgotten about your preconceptions for the evening, but whenever you danced with one of the men, however gracious and smooth they were, you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were Loki instead of them; comparing the feel of their hand on your back to what you had imagined Loki’s would be like if he were there instead. 

Just when you were about to take a break from dancing, a slightly cooler hand came to rest on your back, as its owner leant down to speak into your ear over the music.

“Darling, I think its about time we show them how its really done don’t you?”

The feeling of his breath over your neck as he leant in closer sent a jolt down your spine, that you were almost certain he must have felt in his hand, still placed firmly in the middle of your back, exactly where you had imagined it being all night. 

Quickly composing yourself, you managed a somewhat natural reply, rather impressed with your own neurones for still being able to function at least somewhat normally whilst Loki was so close to you, having not moved away under the pretence of needing to be closer to be able to hear you over the music.

“Ah of course your majesty, I’m sure us mere mortals couldn’t possibly live up to the prowess of a god”

His low reply was barely heard over the thumping of the bass, in a way that made you question whether he had actually intended for your to hear it, if it wasn’t for the sly wink he sent towards you after.

“Yes I find that is the case in many areas darling, especially when it comes to moving their bodies”

The raised eyebrow you gave in reply expressed all you needed him to know, and covered for the fact that your mind had been sent in a downward spiral imagining his trademark snake hips dance move, in areas other than the dance floor. 

Whilst you were somewhat distracted in your thoughts, he moved the hand from your back to loop his arm round your waist and bring you back into the middle of the dance floor, beginning to sensually move his hips and draw you into to him to do the same. 

What you didn’t know was that Loki and been subtly watching you all evening, ever since you had walked in the door, many may not have noticed your entrance behind the Black Widow, but at this point Loki’s body was finely attuned to your presence and he hadn’t been able to draw his sight away from you for more than a few seconds at a time. You were wearing his colours. His green. But it wasn’t just your choice in attire tonight that had drawn his attention, as delightful as that dress was, you’d had it for many months before this point. Initially you had been a curiosity to Loki, kind to him when many others weren’t immediately following his return to Midgard, but after talking to you the first few times it was your intelligence that had captured Loki’s heart. He had found you to be one of the few midgardians to match his voracious appetite for knowledge, both in reading and in your chosen profession as a biologist working alongside Stark and Banner, but much less insufferable than the other two. 

When Loki had first come to terms with his interest in you, he had thought his subtle flirtations would be enough to alert you to his intentions, but when these failed to elicit any kind of response from you he had slowly become more and more bold with his innuendoes and flirtatious comments when in your presence. At first he had thought he was finally getting somewhere with you when you had began to match him in conversations, but when you made no sign of anything more, he had found himself stumped. At one point he had even stooped so low as to flirt with others in your presence in the hope that it would inspire enough jealously within you to reveal your feelings towards him, alas it did not work. No one had ever taken this long to fall victim to his seduction. He had admitted to himself that this time was different to his previous experiences as truly desired more with you than just a roll in the bed, not to say that did not also desire that with you, he had thought about that extensively, but he was not sure how to progress from here. 

When you had walked in tonight though, looking exquisite in his colours he had decided that enough was enough, tonight he was going to finally bite the bullet and just ask you outright if you would be with him. It was not a decision that he had come to lightly, but he had finally come to the realisation that if he wanted something to happen he was going to have to do something about it for himself. 

You didn’t know whether Loki had bribed the DJ before approaching you, or it was a shear unfortunate coincidence but as you continued dancing, each song seemed to get progressively dirtier and more sensual. This combined with finally dancing with him after having imagined it all night, the enticing smell of him from being in such close proximity, and the one or two drinks you’d had early were practically sending you into an early death.

Simultaneously Loki was experiencing a similar issue, when she wasn’t looking, Loki found his eyes being drawn from her face down to her chest, which with his height he had a fabulous view down, and combined with the lyrics and music he hands had seemingly began to move of his own accord and were veering dangerously further south. He decided he needed to do something soon, or he was going to have a very hard time of it.

As he leant down once again to speak into your ear, your breath hitched ever so slightly, and a faint flush bloomed across your cheeks- a fact that didn’t go entirely unnoticed by the god, and one that made his own pulse race. All hope that you felt the same way as him was not lost.

“Are you alright there darling? You’re looking awfully flushed. You’re not too warm in here are you?”

You had barely managed to stutter out what you could only imagine would have been a terrible excuse before he continued;

“Unless of course it is for the same reason as I.”

The hope that formed in your chest from the one sentence alone caused you to whip your head up, needing to search his gaze to see if he was really implying what you thought he was, surely he couldn’t be, there was no way that he could have felt the same way towards you as you did to him. Before you could continue with your self deprecation, he interrupted your thoughts once again;

“Now now darling stop that immediately, I can tell you are already overthinking this before I have even truly started. I do not know what it is that makes you doubt yourself so, but you must know that whatever it is I do not share that same belief.”

You held his breath as he said this, still not truly believing that this could be going where you wished it was, but not daring to do anything to break the spell just yet

“I was almost sure you would have known by now, but apparently I have not been clear enough in my appreciation or my advances towards you. I very much like you min elskling, you have well and truly captivated me heart and mind, body and soul. I would be honoured if you wished to court me, or as I believe you mortals say, go on a date with me” Loki finished with a release of breath, like saying all that had released a burden from upon his chest and he could finally breath deeply again now it was done.

You just stood there frozen in the middle of the dance floor, unsure if what you had heard was really happening, surely this was all some wonderful fever induced dream, and you were going to wake up face down on one of the desks in the lab any moment. 

However Loki was reading your silence as rejection, and the insecurities that he had previously pushed aside were starting to flood back.

“Of course darling, if you do not feel the same then, I would be more than happy to just remain as friends,” it was of course a lie, but one that he would guard closely if that were the case, as he would never want for you to feel guilty for making an honest decision, and would much rather keep your friendship than not have you in his life at all.

“And I can completely understand why of course if you do not return my feelings, after all with my heritage I know-” before he could finish his sentence though you had reached up and pulled his face down to your height, before promptly pushing your mouth onto his in a scorching kiss. In the time Loki had began to panic and ramble, it had finally registered what Loki had been saying, and that it was in fact real, so before he could spiral any further you had to display your feelings towards him, and this had seemed like the most direct course of action.

After a brief moment in which Loki’s brain had to catch up to what was actually going on right now, he swiftly took charge of the kiss, both of you melting into it, especially as Loki opened his mouth to let he tongue dance along your lips before slowly meeting your own. At the same time, Lokis hands began to wander more actively, finally sliding that last little distance down to your behind, which he grasped firmly before sliding one hand down to bring your leg up and round his hip, letting you feel exactly what you were doing to him. Your own hands had found their way into his silky hair, finally fulfilling the desire you had held for many months to feel what it was like between your fingers, and when you gave it a gentle tug in the passion of the moment, a low growl made its way up Lokis throat, only enticing you in further. 

It was only as a few wolf whistles broke through your bubble that you remembered exactly where you both were and that it was perhaps not the best place for what was clearly on its way to happening. It was with the same thought that Loki took your hand and began leading you out of the room, stopping only briefly first to growl lowly into your ear “we need to leave now darling, don’t you agree?” Before nipping your earlobe and pulling back to grin at you. 

With absolutely no objections, and no subtlety either, you nodded before taking the lead taking you both in the direction your room, before stopping to remember the state you had left it in before the party in your distress to find an outfit. You blushed at the memory and changed direction slightly to lead you both to his rooms instead. Loki however took no notice, or simply did not care for the slight moment of hesitation, as at this point he didn’t particularly care where you were headed as long as it was close by, you were finally his and now it was time for him to claim you as such. 

Part Two here:

Thank you so much for reading if you made it this far! Please do let me know what you think x

[bitchlessdino]

TPC: Minghao is the master of Beer Pong

Series

Pairing: Minghao x afab!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 1.5k

tags: cocky!minghao, manhandling, oral (reader giving), rough, fingering, wall stuff, choking (on cock and without), balls in mouth 😭, cum swallowing, dirty talk, heavy degradation, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie

Summary: Winning a game of beer pong is no easy feat, so he insists he and his pong partner finds the nearest closet to celebrate.

author note: did i have a plan for this? no. but enjoy minghao being a menace

Tag list: @iwouldbangchan @1uvlywon @just-here-to-read-01 @candidupped @minnie-mouser22 @shiningstar-byulxx @90s-belladonna @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @lovelyhan @gibbysupremeacyisreal @cuntdino

Losing is not an option for Xu Minghao, even if you are his beer-pong partner.

Beer pong to most is a mere drinking game, but to Minghao, it is one of the many things he could brag about being good at and he likes knowing that he’s better at things than some people. It is simply his vice.

He admits when you volunteered to play a game as his partner, he was the slightest bit worried you’d skew his unusually positive results, but he’s Xu Minghao. He did exactly what needed to be done and as expected, his reputation precedes him. 

He was launching balls like a skilled master, landing every shot when it was his turn, filling every one of the opposing cups in pristine precision. Eventually, he is nothing short of a victory, and a victory meant a reason to celebrate.

“S-shit, you’re so much better than imagined you’d be.” 

Your hands are flushed around his girth, while your mouth is unremorseful as you cover every inch. His body relaxed on the wall behind him, heavily depending on the single lightbulb above your heads to focus on your glossy gaze that stares back at him in hunger.

Usually, beer isn’t enough to get Minghao’s mouth running, so that impelled him to make the game a bit more interesting by adding kaoliang liquor in a few of the cups. Not that it mattered when he started drinking straight from the bottle. You, however–a lightweight having your fair share of losses–drank two or three of the cups, resulting lack of inhibition when it came to your beer-pong partner, who couldn’t look more edible than the microwave burritos you were also craving.

He throws leisure jerks back at your throat, guiding you with his fingers through your hair that is wrapped in knots around his knuckles. The initial pain from the grip subsides with his filthy praises as he fully darkened glower watches you take him inch by inch. You muffle your moans in your venture, nails digging into the flesh of his thigh, and in the right light, Minghao can catch the delectable glisten of your drool falling out the corner of your lips.

“That’s right. You want to drain my balls down your throat, don’t you, filthy slut?”

Minghao isn’t himself with the alcohol in his system–or so he is rationalizing in his head–so the dirty talk is all coming from his ass, but if he knew any better, he’d think you’re enjoying it. A smile stretches so wide on your face, a giggle can’t help but escape from his. He adores seeing you work so hard, especially for his benefit.

He sees and feels your head bob in response, and in turn, he groans, thrusting back into your narrow pipe. His balls hit your chin, plugging the entry of oxygen, and your mascara runs down your cheeks from tears that finally shed.

“You’re taking my cock so fucking well,” his thrusts get harder, pushing himself down deeper, and the whines suppressed around him release in vibrations up his length. Minghao shudders violently. “Fuck, you little…stupid…slut…”

It’s interesting how bad you are at beer pong considering you quite literally are taking him balls deep, puffing your cheeks up similarly to a chipmunk storing away nuts in their mouth. It is impressive, shocking, yet so enthralling. He holds you by the back of your head, stilling your mouth over his entire structure, and his thick, viscous cum runs hot down your throat. He clenches his abdomen, holding you down, and still fucking your mouth until breathing becomes a foreign action even through your nose.

You cough when Minghao pulls out of you, his cum trailing down your chin and neck. He makes sure you're okay, pulling you up from the ground. The warmth in his eyes gives you whiplash, having you nod without even considering what words had left his lips. It’s in that split second before he pins your chest against the wall, hand cushioning against your ass.

“Think it’s your turn. Time for your reward.”

The tip of his digit glides up the curve of your posterior before his entire hand rams down your pants and tugs them off to expose your bare cheeks. The draft within the closet you’ve hidden away hits your skin before Minghao’s palm does, making yelp from the stinging of your flesh. You latch forward to the wall you’re embracing, his digit gliding over your arousal-moist lips and coating himself in a thin film.

“Shit, my cock made you that wet? How cute.” He swats your ass again, his moist thick lips catching the nape of your neck.

You moan his name, drunken and horny, and that same digit plunges into your core as his body presses against you. You feel his cock—once depressed from climaxing—start to inflate again and nudge against your back. You’re trembling, but don’t fear what’s to occur.

“Aren’t you glad we won,” he asks, pushing another finger inside. His knuckles press into the plush of your ass, the distance closing between him and your g-spot. You gasp, clenching around him desperately. Sounds of anguish overtake you as he bites against your neck, fingers competing with the speed of light. “You get to have me finger fuck you just. Like. this. That’s what you wanted, isn't it? Have you come apart around my fingers after you’ve eaten my cum?”

You swallow your affirmations, embarrassment written all over your face until he slams you forward, and your burning cheeks squish harder against the cold wall in front of you.

“You’re not going to answer me? Slut?”

“Yes.” You manage to breathe out.

He scoffs. “You gonna be a good slut and take my cock after you’ve had your fun?”

“Y-yes, Minghao.”

His breath is hot against your neck, pace accelerating. “So. Obedient.”

You can feel his smile send shivers down your spine, crying his name while you are whimpering for more. You’ve become one with the wall and don’t remember a life before it, too lust blind to focus on anything else. Meanwhile, Minghao memorizes every sound you make, determined to ingrain it into his internal storage for future occurrences to reference. His mind boggles at the kind of specimen you are, so malleable and edible he wants to make every part of you shake with ecstasy. He’d kill to be the one to give you the most intense orgasm you’d ever have and he is eager to try.

He withdraws his fingers when you’re seconds away from climaxing and replaces them with his cock, fucking yours at the same pace his fingers once did. “Hao!”

Your whimpers come out high-pitched to the point of nearly shattering glass if any existed in this cramped space. Minghao’s chest—completely gotten bare without ever getting noticed—burns against your skin. You feel the slickness of his tongue run up your neck before claiming your lips, his free hand forcing you to turn your head to him by your chin.

“That’s right, you take my cock,” he mumbles. Hot pants leave his tired body, but his legs not showing him giving out. His body slammed your front harder against the wall, so hard already imaging the type of bruises he’s left behind. “You like me…fucking you deep and hard…just like this?”

“Yes, yes,” You squeak, your body not even getting a second to take a break from his manhandling.

Although he was lean, he was toned, powerful, and had a grip stronger than any industrial glue in existence. The strength Minghao had in his arms and thrusts were unlike anything you expected and you couldn’t be happier to find out you were wrong.

“Pussy so good and wet for me, Shit.”

Although it feels amazing how he handles you, you crave harsher treatment, one that would leave you sore the following day and immobile the next. Knowing Minghao’s ego, all he needed was little encouragement. He couldn’t risk ending without a proper burial of him inside you. “Fuck me harder, please…I need more, let your cock give me more…I want you spilling inside me please.”

“Greedy little fuck,” he says through gritted teeth and forces himself to take faster strokes, now holding you by the neck.

The pressure of his fingers digs into the column of your neck and works its way to cutting off your airways. You claw at the walls, your eyes begin to roll back to your skull, and clenching for dear life as you take in his vigor. It hurts, it’s bliss, it’s heaven.

“Stupid. Fucking. Slut.”

You cum without warning, gushing around his length warmth, pushing your ass up against him with a low groan. That was his breaking point. Vulgar words escape the same way as his fat climax does, harsh and unforgiving, he fills your inside like it’s his canvas. All you can feel is pure heat and your legs begin to buckle before he holds you back up, caressing your legs. 

“Shit,” you mutter, hand over your chest feeling your heart. “That…that was good.”

There’s a lingering silence and somehow you’re able to sense the tension in his form. “Good. Just good.”

“Great, Hao. It was great,” you emphasize.

“Well, good if you think that was great, but we’re not done. I’m not done.”

“But hao–”

“I said I’m. Not. Done. Not until I give you the best damn orgasm you’ve ever had.” He presses you up against the wall in that familiar way, dark eyes glaring back at you determination, fueled by spite.

“Understood?” 

[caranfindel]

Because it’s Sam Winchester’s birthday, and I’m in a mood to talk about how much he is loved, and because I watched Exodus on TNT yesterday, I’m repeating what I said on LJ long ago…

Dean's not stupid. He's not really afraid of his brother committing suicide, but he does know that Sam isn't afraid of death, that he welcomes it to some extent, that if the Devil had given him any real choice in the matter, Sam would have gone gentle into that good night and Dean never would have known there'd been any other option. Dean knows that as much as Sam wants to be here for Jack and Mary (and himself), having that bestowed on him by Lucifer is, in many ways, the worst thing that could happen to him, because Lucifer never gives with one hand without taking away with the other. But Dean also finds it hard to care as much as he should about the worst thing happening to Sam, because Dean just lived through the worst thing that could happen to him, and Sam? Sam can deal.

And Dean feels guilty, maybe, because he prayed for this. He prayed to Chuck and Amara, prayed and begged, please, he deserves better, please, I can't do this, please, and when Sam walked into the camp his first thought was that maybe they'd actually listened, maybe one of them had brought him back, and even now he wonders.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, after all.

(Dean will always wonder, but he’ll never regret.)

And now Sam's standing here, blood-splattered, reeking of shame and remorse, but alive, Christ, and Dean can't imagine what he's apologizing for. For bringing Lucifer to the camp? As if he wouldn't have found it on his own? For dying? For allowing Lucifer to resurrect him? It's incomprehensible. Dean doesn't have to go dig his little brother's cold ravaged corpse out of a vampire den, he doesn't have to carry him home and burn him, he doesn't have to go on with the rest of his life knowing how badly he failed him once again. Yes, he should care about how awful this is for Sam, but he can't, because Sam's alive and God forgive him (Sam forgive him) because he doesn't care how or why. Just doesn't fucking care.

So when Sam says I'm alive he says then you got nothing to apologize for, because nothing else matters.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Never thought id be here today, waiting for more Coopee Howars foot fetish content.

Tbh its not even that I want someone sucking my toes, i just love how into it he gets.

As always I speak for the however many of us when I say I love your stuff I cant wait to be fed again<3

Oh, this one's going up on the shelf. Y'all are really turning me into wretched little goblin who enjoys corrupting people, even moreso than I already was! And yes, I feel like not enough people consider the "receiving" side of foot fetishism. Having someone you really like and trust be into your feet (which aren't usually in anyone's favorite physical features on themselves or anything) is so fun and strangely ego-feeding. Go on and get someone hot to rub your feet or pay for a pedicure or something, friends. It could change your life!

"You really don't have to do this, you know." you muse at your narrowly-focused boyfriend as he cracks his neck for the fourth time in the last hour.

Initially, he had offered to rub your feet. After a long day of walking and standing, your ankles are often tight and your feet ache, and he's sweet enough to help you out when you're spending the night together. You'd been very eager to accept; you remember it well. It was only a while ago. How it had turned into all of this was still somewhat of a mystery to you.

You'd offhandedly mentioned, right on the verge of falling asleep in sheer relaxation at his massaging of your lower body, that you'd been intending to take some time to paint your toes for a few days, but you'd been too busy and tired to get around to it. Before you knew what was really going on, he was asking where you kept your polish but insisting you didn't get up, leaving you directing him through your bathroom, under the sink to find what he wanted. When he sunk back onto his end of the couch, the small wire basket, the one that contained all your nail polishes, clippers, emery boards and such, fills his hands. You try your hardest to not squirm at the idea of him digging around in your meager little bathroom.

It's almost surreal to see him dressed so "working class", reclining on your couch in a pair of blue jeans, a braided brown belt, and a white tee shirt. He had been wearing a fairly nice short sleeve button-up when he'd first come over, but the late summer heat inspired him to remove it. Your air conditioning works, but it doesn't work that well, unfortunately, leaving the place just a hair below "muggy". He's polite enough to not complain.

He's always a very gracious guest in your apartment, but you still find that you always feel a little embarrassed at your accommodations. You don't live in a hovel or anything, and you keep your place clean and work hard to make it homey, but knowing how much higher a standard of living he's used to never fails to fill you with mild shame. He wasn't born wealthy, though, and even now his split with Barb has left him somewhat hamstrung financially, so you know that he at least respects how hard you work to have the few nice things you have. It's a level of down-to-earth that you hadn't been expecting when the literal celebrity had initially begun to woo you, and it made you fall for him all the quicker.

The two of you choose the color together from the options, settling on a nice, bright white. He says it compliments the tone of your skin beautifully. Your place is filled with companionable silence as he sets to work, the only real sound the buzz of the multiple fans you have running in each room.

You're rather surprised at how well he seems to paint the nails, at least at first. For one, he has incredibly steady, nimble hands, working the tiny brush with practiced ease, so the little dots and streaks you usually leave along the cuticle and nail bed are nowhere to be seen. You suspect that he may have done this for Barb a time or two, but if he has, he doesn't volunteer it, noticeably quieter than he's been all night. You don't press, often afraid to breach the subject of his ex for fear of ruining the vibe.

Secretly, you also worry, deep inside, that he might think about going back to her sometimes. While he seems relieved by the finalization of the divorce most of the time, there are moments, vulnerable moments, where he openly misses his family. You want to be fair to him, to give him the space to express and process his feelings that he needs, but he and Barb had only been separated about a year when the two of you had begun to date. Head over heels in love with the sweet, sexy, thoughtful older man at this point, you fear ending up a rebound, your dreams sometimes plagued with visions of him leaving you to reconcile with her, or simply deciding that he no longer wants to date anyone, period.

You keep these annoying little dreams to yourself, by and large.

"Alright, they seem dry enough." he says finally, poking at one nail gingerly and distracting you from your rather grim thoughts. You watch him inspecting his work, and it makes you beam, a reaction that only intensifies when you notice his erection. Its presence doesn't necessarily surprise you.

Several times now, he's sort of goaded you into letting him suck your toes when he has you in certain positions, usually when he's got you folded in half like a lawn chair on your back and you basically can't stop him (or properly kick at him, accidentally or otherwise). It's not something you'd seen coming from him, but the way it makes you feel leads to you letting him do so whenever he wants, rather happily. He's very adventurous sexually, and the two of you enjoy trying new things together, so initially you'd taken the experimentation as just that; messing around, testing, teasing. But he seems to really enjoy both the act itself and your reaction to it, slowly adding it to his regular repertoire.

Two can play at that game, though, and you've begun to use his own moves against him.

You let the soft arch of your foot play over the now-straining bulge in his pants, a smile playing coyly at the corners of your mouth as he barely withholds a groan at the feeling. For a few silent moments, you toy with him, examining the white polish that perfectly coats each of your nails, nudging and petting at him as you do.

"Quite a bold little tease." he chuckles, the sound low and licentious. His left hand still dances around your feet as they rest in his lap, but the other dances down and quickly works the mahogany colored belt open, the hiss of his fly coming undone making you shiver.

Wordlessly, he tugs his cock free, staring you down all the while.

"Mmm, I think your initial foot rub offer may have been just a tad self-serving, Mister Howard." you muse, your voice low and rich in your attempt to be seductive, your eyes glued to the hand that's slowly, teasingly stroking himself at you. The head is already flushed a deep red and leaking generously, and you feel drawn to it, pulling yourself up into a sitting position to get a closer look, but you're quickly rebuffed.

"Not done yet." he responds, his hand leaving his erection, which springs up to lay flat against his stomach as he playfully pushes you back into your spot, his palm warm against your exposed skin for a brief moment. Giggling, you humor him despite the heat you feel rapidly consuming you, gnawing away at your lower lip as you watch him closely.

Reaching down into the little metal basket on the floor once more, he produces a bottle of lotion that you often use to finish off your at-home pedicures. His demeanor is all business as he sets to applying the thick cream to your skin, starting at the ankles and working his way down, gently massaging his way as he goes. It feels wonderful, just as his massaging earlier did, but at this point, you're beyond distracted by the very minor view of his cock you have at this angle, pressing your thighs together as best as you can to try and relieve the ache building in your clit.

"Mmm, needs just a little more lotion, don't you think?" he asks, thumb pressing right into the center of your heel and drawing a sigh from you, the sound of the cap popping open snapping through the air. He watches you closely as his grip eases, both hands moving up to warm the glob of the stuff he lets fall into his palm. Watching raptly, you finally slide your own hand into your sleep shorts, grunting quietly at the sparks that shoot through you as you begin to slowly rub at your puffy slit. His eyes are following you, and his already throbbing erection jerks visibly at the sight.

Both of you let out a low groan when one of his well-lotioned hands wraps around his cock, stroking it lightly a handful of times before quickly grabbing your feet once more, applying the extra product mostly to your toes and inner soles, which you watch with a delicious combination of lust and squirming bashfulness.

"God, you have such sexy feet." he murmurs, entirely to himself.

The two of you are often surprisingly in-sync for a couple with a not-insignificant age gap, and sometimes you feel like you can see his thought processes perfectly.

This is one of those times.

You've never given a proper foot job before, but the whole thing isn't really as complicated as it seemed in your mind once you pull yourself close, your lover's eyes glinting with want as you experiment with your body's position, the angle of your legs and ankles, trying to find what's most comfortable for you both. Eventually, you settle for sitting up and facing him, balancing on your hands and ass on the worn cushion as your legs extend forward, resting lightly along his own, spread open along the couch frame.

"You'll tell me if I do something wrong, right?" you ask, and he laughs at first, but when his eyes meet yours again he must see the sincerity there, because his tone is earnest when he responds.

"Of course, sweetheart."

Trying his best to help you, he cups your heels and supports your lower legs as you gently begin to rub against him, starting with your inner arch. He hisses at the contact, watching you very closely as you pet along his shaft with your lubricated toes, tracing the head with care. You can feel his precum cooling on your skin as you tease him more and more, building him up into a groaning, lowing mess, begging you for something he doesn't have words for.

His moans only increase in volume as you press both arches around him, squeezing his shaft as best as you can, raising and lowering yourself intentionally, trying your best to stroke him with your lower appendages alone. Your lover is frozen as he takes in your efforts, quickly becoming more and more coordinated, your skin becoming slicker and slicker as he leaks continuously. As soon as he regains any composure, his only move is to grab onto your ankles and hold on tight.

Spurred on by the wild look in his eyes, you press your feet together as tightly as you can, still balancing on one hand and your rear as your lover slickly fucks the gap between them. It doesn't feel like much to you, save for the slight tickle of the friction of his skin on yours, but watching him writhe with pleasure, his chest heaving hard as he breathes fast and shallow, groaning and bucking as you both glisten with sweat…the sight of it pushes you rapidly towards the edge.

"Fuck, baby, I love you." he growls almost absentmindedly, feverish with lust as his hips snap against them faster and faster, your hand between your legs racing to catch up as you both speed towards your finish. The confession makes you flush and clench hard, and a split second later, you're cumming harder than you have at any time in recent memory, finally losing your balance and spilling backwards, flat and staring up at the ceiling as your body twitches and jerks out of your control. Cooper continues to use your appendages to please himself, and you can hear him muttering incoherent obscenities under his breath as his whole body tenses, tight like a cobra ready to strike.

"Lemme see it, Coop." you breathe.

Still riding your incredibly tense high, you fight to keep your eyes open as you watch him toss his head back, his squared jaw falling slack as a low, deep, guttural bellow spills forth from him, filling the room with sound as the first shot of him hits your skin. Jet after jet of hot, sticky cum paints the tops of your feet, your toes, your inner soles, dripping hotly down onto his covered stomach as the head of his cock rubs against you a final few times.

As you both work to recompose yourselves, he pulls his soiled shirt over his head and uses it to crudely clean up the mess, enough that you won't be dragging it everywhere, at least. It's your turn to admire him, then, drawn in as always by his enticing physique. He has a very nice body, painstakingly crafted and meticulously maintained with hard work, and you know he's very proud of it, so you let your eyes linger rather obviously. It earns a wry smirk from him as he leans back a bit. You want to kiss him breathless.

"Well." you say after a few more silent seconds, a sly remark loaded that dies on your tongue as he pulls himself to his feet rather suddenly.

"Yeah, don't 'well' me, kid." he retorts, tucking his visibly still-hard cock back into his pants, his clothing disheveled, open belt buckle clanking back and forth as he leans down to take your hand, quickly yanking you up onto your own.

"Cooper!" you cackle as he holds you steady, eyes running hungrily up and down your body. His voice is deadly when he responds, his free hand coming down to slap your ass hard as he jerks his head towards the back of the apartment:

"You'd better get your ass in that bedroom, girl."

[raeynbowboi]

Playing a Heroic Necromancer in DnD 5e

Necromancy is one of the most evil-skewed powers in just about any fantasy setting. However, unless you're running a villain campaign, most DnD parties are made up of heroes who won't like having an evil character in their midst. You want to play a necromancer, but you also realize that DnD is a very collaborative game. So, how do you make your party more amicable towards the thought of you raising a family? Here's some possible backstory ideas that can fuel a heroic necromancer for your next campaign.

The Scholar

The taboo, illegal, or forbidden nature of studying necromancy drew your interest. Whether you studied with a secret sect, uncovered a grimoire of necromantic magic, or made a deal with a devil for profane knowledge, you were driven by a desire to study magic. The sparse availability of necromancy forces you to remain mobile, making party formation easy. You may be hunted by law enforcement, clerics of Kelemvor, or other necromancers angry at you for stealing their arcane secrets. And now that you know what so many tried to hide from you, it's your choice how to use it.

The Chronicaller

History is written by the victors, the rich, and the powerful. But every life holds valuable knowledge and secrets. Ancient bones know things lost to time. Knowledge that was never written down. Stories which have not been spoken in centuries. Opinions of the common people during a historical event. Experience with phenomenon that can no longer be encountered. The Chronicaller wishes to unearth the secrets of the past already laid to rest.

The Physician

The Frankenstein of Necromancers wishes to understand the medical and scientific elements of life and death itself. To understand the body by inspecting it and digging into it. They may study how to cure diseases or how to spread them. Try to find a way to slow or even halt the slow decomposition that turns the body elderly and frail.

The Thayan Rebel

Once a Red Wizard of Thay, you have left Thay and the Red Wizards, letting your hair grow back slowly as you seek to expand your arcane talents beyond the limitations of Thayan conquest and oppression. The Red Wizards and Szas Tam become personal antagonists for your character and party as a result.

The Undead

Be they a Revenant, a Dhampir, a Vampire, a Lich, or something else, they are already imbued with undead power. They simply embrace their anti-life energy already flowing through them, channeling a power most others would avoid. You may be undead, but you desire to staunchly defend the living from other undead who are less compassionate.

The General

A wizard with a soldier background and optional martial multiclassing, your undead horde is your army of loyal soldiers, putting their lives on the line again and again to serve their general. An Oathbreaker 7/wizard 6 adds your CHA mod to undead within 10 ft, and proficiency bonus to all undead you control. But the steep dip into paladin locks you out from higher level spell slots for stronger undead minions.

The Noble

Similar to the general, the undead serve you out of loyalty, not fear or force. But where the general commands their soldiers, the Noble may command their staff of servants, their commoner citizens, their knights and soldiers, or their own noble ancestors. The Noble utilizes their horde to fulfil the services and duties of their noble house. They're just as likely to conscript skeletons to pave a road or build a bridge as they are to form a wave of zombies to break up a smuggling ring in their city.

The Immortal Guardian

You have or want to become immortal not out of power hunger or greed, but to protect the innocent forever as an unwavering guardian against evil. Everyday people can't protect themselves, and even legendary heroes die eventually. Only an immortal protector can be an eternal defender of the people.

I hope if nothing else, this gave you some ideas for some good and noble necromancers you could bring to your next table. Did I miss any Heroic concepts that you thought of? Let me know, and help make the world a more morbid place.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Two player world building games?

THEME: Two-Player Worldbuilders

Hello there! Almost everything I found for this request required a deck of cards of some kind, so I hope you like card games!

Strata, by Vincenzo Ferriero.

A Mythopoeia Micro-RPG

Welcome fine archaeologist to your new digging ground! Strata is a tabletop role-playing game where you dig to uncover the history hidden under the many layers of rock that have formed over the millennia. Hope you brought along your Equipment!

A fairly simple one-page game, Strata mostly consists of rolling for random discoveries as you dig through each layer of rock. You’re also responsible for naming each age, usually after something you discover there. While this game looks like it could be played solo, with two people you’d be able to bounce ideas off of each-other as to what each discovery means about the age you’re digging through.

HOME, by Deep Dark Games.

HOME is a roleplaying and mapmaking game for 1 to 4 players. 

You are a Mech pilot who must protect their home from Kaiju. Explore and map an alien realm as you search for the source of the Kaiju. Prepare for battle by gearing up, building bases, and uniting the world against the terrifying monster. And when the moment of truth arrives, clash against increasingly dangerous Kaiju that will destroy your home if you fail.

Important relationships keep you going in your darkest hour, veteran pilots make sacrifices for the greater good, and you must decide whether to protect important military locations or cherished cities. 

This game is much more focused on action, moving your characters through a battlefield using d6’s to determine what boons and banes will help or hinder you in your battle across an alien space. While you’re going to be spending a considerable amount of time in battle, the game’s map is meant to be added to and elaborated upon as you play.

The link above is for the Kickstarter page, but the Quickstart is available now on Itch if you’re interested.

The Whimsy Collectors, by Stori_Lundi.

The Whimsy Collectors is a cooperative game for two people about exploring a fantastical universe together, finding unique items, and selling them to their special customers. You'll need a tarot deck, 2 tokens, and 2d6.

Using a tarot deck, this game uses the cards as locations where your characters can search for items and add them to their bag. You’ll also use the cards to represent customers and their wants; but be careful, your characters can only carry so much. As a result you’ll have to manage your resources carefully. You’ll tally up points according to how well your finds are suited to your customers.

The game comes with a chart to help you determine what members of the Major Arcana are like as customers, as well as a worksheet where you can record what you find where. The game also comes with two pre-generated characters with special abilities, which you can use to move strategically across the map. If you like a game that the two of you can huddle over while drawing cards, this might be your game.

This Old House, by CarrionComfort.

This Old House is a GMless game for 1 to 4 players that uses the act of building a House of Cards to tell the story of just that, a house. You will use a standard deck of playing cards, a 4-sided die, and prompts to tell the story of a home, the family and things that inhabit it, and the land it sits on.

These stories will be crafted by you, even with some friends, as a way for you to create land, give it life, and then tell the full history of a single home. From the first piece of lumber laid, through its first family celebrating new life, mourning death, and dealing with heartbreak. Then that story ends with the house being consumed by fire, lost in foreclosure, or just left vacant depending on whether the House of Cards tumbles or if a Joker is pulled.

This game looks like a good option for games that zoom in on the personal and intimate. You will focus on a house throughout its life, using playing cards as a construction material as well as a game oracle. If you want a game with an unexpected ending, this might be the game for you.

The Ground Itself, by Everest Pipkin.

The Ground Itself is a one-session storytelling game for 2-5 players, played with household materials (a coin, a six-sided die, and a deck of cards).

Focusing on place- one specific place, chosen by the group - The Ground Itself unfolds over radically disparate time periods that may range from 4 days to 18,000 years. By casting wildly into time, it considers how places both change and remember themselves. Fundamentally, The Ground Itself is about the echoes and traces we leave for others after we are gone.

This game is a reflection on a place that 2 or more people create together, using playing cards to generate questions about the location. Time may pass by as days, years, or even millennia. Players can choose when to zoom in onto what the game describes as a “focused situation”, allowing them to add an omen, a party, or some other narrative element to the story.

The game is meant to be played in a single session, so at the end you should find yourself with a location that bears the meaning of a number of events. The designer has also added a number of ways to change the game, such as using tarot cards instead of playing cards, playing places that have no inhabitants, or changing how much time passes in between each round of play.

A Traveller in the City, by Palleon Press.

A Traveller in the City is a collaborative map-drawing game in which you (& any friends you bring along) visit a CITY from your own imagination, drawing it out step-by-step! All you need is a deck of standard playing cards, a single six-sided die, & some stuff to draw with. 

Work together to guide the solitary TRAVELLER thru their stroll. Picture the sights they see, the people they meet. Gradually, sketch a map– not of the place itself, but of your own memory of it. For you are not its creator, nor any kind of expert. You are a visitor. How well will you know this place, when it’s already time to leave?

This is based on the Carta system, which involves using a series of cards to represent a map that your character will explore. In this game, both players will control the same traveller, and draw on a grid to represent what this traveller discovers while exploring the city.

The game itself is rather small, and can be printed as a pocket zine for easy of transport - great for just carrying in a pocket for a spur-of-the-moment game.

Aurora, by World Champ Game Co.

Aurora is a tabletop roleplaying game for 2-6 players. This game is deliberately designed to be played comfortably while practicing social distancing or together around a communal table when the necessity for distancing has ceased. Aurora uses 3 phases or modes of play, each of which can be used or removed from the entirety of the game, depending on how the group wants to play. In the first phase, players mail blank cards to another, which will be turned into a custom deck using the zip codes and other numbers. I can see using 5d10 as another way to generate random numbers to help create your custom cards.

In the second phase, city creation begins. Regardless of the setting you decide to create, the city is going to be torn between a Darkness and a Light. Your cards will help determine both of these, as well as the map of the city and the people who live there. If you don’t use the first phase, a deck of tarot cards might work as a good substitute for the oracle.

The final phase uses the map and the cards to generate a story inside the city that you’ve just created. Each player may be responsible for their own character, or they might take ownership of a faction or a number of characters - which might be a good option if there’s just two of you.

If what you want is a lot of room for creativity, this might be for you.

You Might Also Want To Check Out...

My Map-Making Games Post

My Town-Builders Post

My Worldbuilding Post