#this entire piece was really just me fucking around and finding out

[cxvii666]

“DOWN WITH THE TRUMPETS”

“when i get down, i get respect now”

feat. denki k.

wc: 780

mdni 😴

“don't talk with your mouth full, it's bad manners.”

denki kaminari is a yapper.

he can talk for japan.

about nothing, and everything. about his little hobbies and interests, like the time he got really into origami for two weeks and folded fifty paper cranes before getting distracted by baking videos. about a bug he saw one time that kind of looked like pikachu if you squinted. about an anime he watched five years ago that reminded him of a tiktok he saw yesterday—actually, no, it reminded him of two tiktoks, and he’ll pull them both up even though you’re in the middle of eating.

he doesn't even realize he's doing it. he just talks.

before you started dating, he once spent two full hours explaining the entire five nights at freddy’s lore to you. he even brought a whiteboard. he drew a timeline. there were arrows, names, color-coded events. he kept glancing at you nervously, like he was waiting for you to run. you thought he was fucking psychotic, but according to all his friends that was his weak attempt at flirting.

he talks in his sleep too. full conversations. one night, around 3 a.m., he whispered, “gregory… you have to hide.” and you just laid there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what choices in life had led you here. he was completely out. you even poked him and he just mumbled something about “security breach.”

you didn't sleep much that night. he did.

you hear him on the phone all the time. he’s loud. his voice carries. you don’t even need to be in the same room to catch half the story. in group calls, he’s that guy—never letting anyone finish a sentence, always jumping back in because he just remembered another detail, or because he needs to relate something someone said to a completely different topic.

he narrates everything he does. it’s like living with a one-man podcast. making a sandwich? you’re getting a full tutorial with sound effects. brushing his teeth? he gives ratings to the toothpaste flavor like he’s doing a mukbang. finding a sock under the bed? live drama, complete with shocked gasps and a full backstory on how the sock ended up there.

he doesn't mean to talk so much, honestly, he can't help himself. he just… gets excited. he thinks out loud. he loves sharing things. his brain moves fast, and his mouth just tries to keep up.

"s-so sorry baby, your pussy just tastes so—mmf."

so sometimes you have to shut him up. the only way you know how.

his long eyelashes flutter against flushed cheeks, those bambi eyes of his wide and glassy as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

his fingers gripping the fat of your thighs as he drags your pussy back down onto his mouth. tongue greedy, he mouths at you like you're divine. slow, wet, sloppy kisses, tongue flicking then flattening, dipping in and out like he’s tasting something sacred. he hums against you, needy and messy and so, so fucking eager.

but as he pauses to catch his breath, you realise, he's still running his mouth.

with eyes locked onto the sticky mess he's made, his mouth is still moving, lips slick and parted as he mumbles god knows what into your pussy. eyes fixed on the mess he's made, like he's hypnotized. and the worst part? you can feel it. the vibrations, the breathy whispers, the praise he's spilling straight into your cunt. you strain to make out the words, and between the rush of blood in your ears you catch bits and pieces. "t-thank youuu, so fu-ucking good for me, you’re perfect, so warm, so wet, love you, love you, love yo—"

you roll your eyes and cut his praises short with a forceful tug of his hair. not too hard. just enough. it makes him whine into you, the sound all breath and heat, and you feel his hips twitch against the mattress. he loves it when you take control. he melts for it.

"denki, sweetie, what have i told you?" you sigh contently when his tongue starts doing circles on your clit, "no talking while you're eating."

he doesn’t answer with words—he knows better. just moans, all obedient and desperate, nodding his head so fast his blonde locs shake. sweat glistens on his forehead, some strands of hair sticking to it. you brush them away gently, and his amber eyes snap up to meet yours.

they're wide. glassy. brimming with devotion.

he's docile, pliable. he listens, does what he's told.

and for now, he's quiet.

but you'll keep him here until he's learnt his lesson.

[ultralightpoe]

Cold Cases And So Forth- Eddie Munson

Authors Note: the second part was so long that I split it into 2. I’m not quite done but this part should be a hoot -Ultralightpoe

Warnings: cursing, slight signs of depression, getting “hit” with a car.

Word Count: 8+K

Description: The reader and Eddie are on a mystery break due to obvious reasons.

Main Master List - - Stranger Things Master List

Previous Part: Nancy Drew

[Thank You For The GIF @dailystrangerthings ]

Enjoy!

Haven’t read the first part? Find it here

The Case Of ….. Nope. No More Cases.

“The piece you did on the bathrooms was…..” Brenda Carlton begins, dark eyebrow raising as she slams the most recent school paper on your makeshift desk, her french tip nail pressing into the words in a three motion tap before dragging it up to point to you. You glare at her hand the entire time, narrowing your eyes at the rose gold ring that glints under the cheap lights of the school. “It was something…”

Boring was the word she was looking for. Utterly boring. You had nearly fallen asleep while writing it. The question was why your rival at the school paper seemed bothered by the fact that you wouldn’t be writing any hard hitting exposes anymore.

“Switching from two ply to one ply was really messed up.” You shrug, turning back to the photos you had in front of you, randomly pushing them around in hopes that if you looked busy enough she would leave you alone and find someone else to bother. But she doesn’t, instead she stays there tapping her nails in an impatient manner as you struggle not to roll your eyes. “Is there something I can do for you Brenda?”

“Yes actually.” She huffs, flicking some hair behind her shoulder as she follows you through the journalism room. “You can tell me what the heck is wrong with you.”

“A lot as I’m told.” You snip, looking for something to do. Anything to do, you needed to look busy to avoid this conversation and to avoid eye contact.

“Does this have something to do with Munsons new girlfriend?” She blurts, and you try not to react, but nothing can fight off the way your body locks up at the mention. And she catches this detail, of course she does. “Oh it so does.”

“Can you fuck off Brenda?” You snap, turning to her with a glare before trying to correct yourself. “I mean, I just meant-”

“Oh I get it now. Eddie dumped you cause he’s got the new girlfriend who is all like hottie with the body. Barf. And now you are all sad and aren’t doing that sleuthing thing.” She yaps, turning to where Nancy Wheeler currently sat staring at you both. “That’s so sad…. Isn’t it Nance?”

“It’s…..”

“Sad. We get it. I get it. Can everyone please just….. find something else to be doing with their time?” It’s another lame attempt, and you were sure your eyes welling with tears would just make it worse, yet when Brenda looked at you something changed on her face. She straightened her posture a bit, fixing her sweater and clearing her throat before pushing out a folder she had been carrying. You grab it quickly, pulling it to you and nearly ripping it up once you see one of the teardrops land in the corner.

“This is your assignment. As much as it pains me I wanted to give it to our best writer, so if you can get your head out of your ass and give me a good expose on the missing prom queen I’d be so grateful.” She huffs, turning in a fluid motion and stomping off while you set the folder down and open it up to a pretty smile looking up at you.

You were assigned a prom queen for your next piece. A prom queen that probably had a line of friends and plans every weekend. A prom queen that wasn’t so odd.

Leave it to Brenda Carlton to kick a girl while she’s down.

“What am I supposed to do with an empty folder that has one photo?” You scoff, slamming a hand down and moving to find a trash can to shove this photo into before Nancy Wheeler interrupts.

“Hawkins tries not to talk about her too much. You should try the library yearbooks.” She supplies, grabbing her bag and hefting it in one fluid motion. “I think people all wrote goodbye messages to her in it.”

“Right.” You nod, shoving the folder in with the rest of your school books in attempt to seem natural. Casting a side glance to the doors you would be exiting from here in a moment.

Call it paranoia but your heartbeat accelerates when you see a figure leaning against the wall next to the door, the longer hair recognizable even through the foggy glass. Stupid.

If routine was followed he still would have had 30 minutes of his meeting, if this was 2 weeks ago you would have walked to the theatre doors and read a bit while you waited for him. But this was not 2 weeks ago and you really wished he wasn’t out there.

“Here.” Brenda hisses, snapping your attention to where she and Nancy currently stood holding up a window by the sink. “Hurry up Nancy Drew.”

And you do, dashing to the window, putting all your work in your bag before tossing it out and looking to see how much of a fall it is. “Just two stories.”

“Is that supposed to help her Nance?” Brenda hisses.

“Why are you helping me?” You blurt, preparing yourself to climb out, tying up your hair as both girls blink at you.

“I would have given anything for someone to save me from the awkward debacle of Tommy and I getting caught at lovers lane in between town borders.” Brenda admits, cringing a bit. “My god. Hopper was so awkward, and then he accused us of carving into the tree right next to Tommys car and by the time we got back to town everyone knew including Carol and-”

“Message received.” You nod, climbing the sink and pushing your legs out the window. “And I really appreciate it.”

And for the first time ever Brenda Carlton helped you, and you closed your eyes to jump.

…

As it turns out jumping from a 2 story building hurts, more so the knee you landed on hurts and the rest of your body was merely a dull ache. But you would take a hurt knee and sore limbs over having another heartbreaking conversation with Eddie Munson any day of the week.

It’s kind of ironic how it all came about, and it’s embarrassing just how right he was. Every single day you have wanted to call him, for two weeks now. You get the urge to pick up the phone, and you always do, but halfway through his number you remember what he said and always end up slamming the phone back down. He was right, if you couldn’t go two damn weeks without going crazy then he was right.

And when the only person you talk to doesn’t want to talk to you anymore it becomes easy to realize just how lonely a person truly is.

You were not ready to have this argument with Eddie again, because he was right. The second he removes himself you are left with nothing, no one. He. Was. Right.

Codependent. Odd. Annoying. Clingy. Obsessive.

“You okay, kiddo?’ Your dad calls, pulling you from your thoughts as you look up in a panic to see him getting out of his car. “Why are you limping?”

“I fell. Why are you home so early?”

“You fell? On one of your cases? I don’t want you doing anything dangerous-”

“I’m not on a case.” You correct, feeling like you just got punched in the gut again. “I don’t do those anymore. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I was worried…. About you.” He admits, reaching in to pull out a bag of fast food. “I brought dinner home. Maybe you can tell me about what’s bugging you.”

And at dinner you find a boring excuse for why he thinks you’re acting weird. Stress from school work, the weather, anything to get him off your back. He eats it all up, smiling in relief that you weren’t involved in anything dangerous before kissing your head and leaving you to clean up the dinner mess.

Once you are in bed he shuffles in with an ice pack for your knee, looking around the room. “Something different in here?”

“Nope,” You lie, shrugging a bit as his eyes narrow before he nods and leaves. But if he really looked he’d have seen the empty bookshelves, void of all your mystery novels. No more nancy drew, goodbye agatha christie, sherlock holmes can rot in the trash. And normally hanging from that bookshelf is another addition that has been thrown away. Your sleuth kit.

You were done with that life. Since it was so…. Odd.

-

The Case Of The Nasty Library.

“I just think that tutoring might be a good use of your freed up time.” Miss Harwood, your science teacher for the semester, had offered and you had stupidly agreed to it. The entire week you had been dreading this moment, sitting in the tutoring center of the library, tapping your pencil and watching the time tick by in a taunting manner.

Because the tutoring center is completely empty, and had been for the past 40 minutes.

You were just about to give up and leave when the door to the library squeals as it’s opened, making you sit up quickly with a smile already plastered on your face in hopes to make a good impression until you spot who had come in. Gareth, the very same Gareth from Eddie’s stupid DnD group.

He seems to realize you’re the only person in the tutoring center, and when you expect him to roll his eyes and leave he instead gives a tense nod and comes to sit at the round table you are currently sitting at. And just when you think it can’t get worse he attempts a smile and a “Howdy Nancy Drew.”

You roll your own eyes, snatching up your bag and pencil to try and make an escape as he stands quickly with extended palms. “Wait okay, wait. I really need help with my math homework and you’re the only tutor her-”

“I’m not a tutor.” You rush out, the lie sticking heavy on your tongue. He blinks at you before a smug expression covers his face.

“You’re not a tutor? Which means you’re here for tutoring?”

“Yup.” You shrug, taking this chance to walk away, only two steps in and your knee is screaming in pain so instead of walking to the doors like you initially planned you divert and walk to the back, hidden behind the shelves as Gareth groans out somewhere near the tables. You loiter for a moment, debating if there was a back door before your eyes flag on the yearbooks on the bottom shelf in the far corner, and since you have time to kill avoiding Eddie’s friends like a coward you might as well look.

You toss your backpack down, pulling out the folder that is a little crinkled now before checking the name and year. “Holly Sampers…. 1971.”

But, just your luck, 1971 seems to be the only yearbook missing….. The slot it was once held is still there.

“What are you looking for?” Gareth asks, scaring you enough that you jump a little, yelling out and hitting your head on the metal of the shelf above you making him curse out and move to help you. “Jesus.”

“Can I help you with something?”

“My homework.” He replies, and you think he is being an ass for a moment until you look up and see an actual smile on his face, not one of those awkward fake smiles.

“I can’t.” You shrug, moving to stand up, ignoring his hands that reach out to help you. “And since a tutor isn’t going to show up I have to go.”

“Is that your new mystery?” Gareth teases, making you turn back. “Holly Sampers and the missing tutor?”

“So funny Gareth.” You smile, this one is all fake and poisonous. “You should tell that to your friends.”

And you feel like you won a bit when his face falls, turning to leave once more, limp and all.

…

The joy of your win doesn’t last long, an entire night to be exact, because come early morning Eddie Munson is standing by your locker with crossed arms and a glare. You spot him from down the hall, turning quickly in an effort to escape before he calls out your name in an aggravated huff.

“I already saw you.” He snaps, hands flying in an aggravated manner as he remains leaning. “And I will chase you but I’m not really in the mood so if you could-”

Knowing he won you turn back, charging for your locker and practically shoving him to the side when he refuses to move. He barely moves, his mouth opening as you get your door open, eyes widening just an inch as you push the door into his face to block him out and grab your books.

“Okay, I’d like to avoid a broken nose today, thank you ve- Hey. Come on.” He snaps, watching you close the door and turn to stomp off, coming to follow you. “Are you really making this a big fight?”

“Shove off.”

“We never fight like this. Come on. And then I gotta hear from Gareth that you’re getting tutored? And you’re limping around?” You nearly laugh at how betrayed he looks, brown eyes wide and lips downturned as he keeps pace with you, hands digging through his bag before a familiar folder is pulled out and you stop in your tracks. “And now you’re looking into Holly Sampers?”

“It’s not-”

“Is that how you got hurt?! You were looking into this bullshit?! Is that why you haven’t called me back?” It’s funny, it really is, that two weeks ago you had walked home sobbing and now Eddie is standing before you acting like HE got his heartbroken.

“Would you cut it out?” You snap, snatching the photo back and trying to smooth out a crease. “This is for the paper, it’s just a memory piece or something.”

“Quit lying-”

“I’m not! I’m not lying.” Your voice is getting louder as you wave the picture around. “This is for the paper. Go run and tell your friends now! You guys can laugh about it all you want. Nancy Drew the boring journalist. Just FUCK OFF!”

You had gone years without cussing, and within the last two weeks you had racked up quite the tally of bad words. Never once in your history had you ever cussed at Eddie let alone yelled at him like you just did. Until now, and the second you both hear it echo in the hallway it’s like a startling realization of what is happening.

You weren’t friends anymore.

You had gone from being head over heels for Eddie to wanting nothing to do with him in the same way he had made it clear he wanted less of you. Less is more. More is less. But in this case, with your heart clenching the way it was and the shaking in your hands you just wanted nothing. Nothing at all.

“Wayne is doing his birthday dinner this we-”

“I’m busy. Plans. You can come up with whatever excuse you want since we both seem to know what a pathetic loser I am.” You smile, but it just feels empty, and you don’t feel like you’ve won when you walk away. You just feel like you’ve been a fool for most of your life. Wondering how long Eddie had been waiting to get rid of you.

…

Lunch hour was spent in your own version of a mental breakdown, which meant smiling at the bored librarian as your brain wrapped around every embarrassing moment you had experienced in the past 14 years, all of which you had never considered embarrassing until recently.

Had he been annoyed when he was the only one at your birthday party 8th grade year? Was he laughing on the way home how it was just your dad and his uncle singing happy birthday?

“I was looking for a yearbook. I’m doing a memory article for- I just need to see who checked out the yearbook for 1971.” You explain, blinking as she blinks back at you.

“Of course dear. Give me a moment.” She stands, brown skirt swishing at her ankles as she steps down from the help desk and heads to the back. You tap your knuckles on the counter and pretend to care about things in the library.

The purple couches looked new.

He probably thought you were clingy when you brought the snacks for an impromptu movie night when he moved into Wayne’s…. And when you stupidly tried cleaning his room.

You nearly groan at the memory, turning until you spot a new poster. Wow. So nice, keep looking at the poster and get out of your head about-

When you went to the trailer park for Halloween, he had never actually asked you to come. Idiot.

Or the spelling bee, every morning you went to sit by him and -

“Dear?” The librarian calls, giving you an odd look. “Are you alright? I’ve been calling you for a moment.”

“I’m fine. Just so much schoolwork.”

“Oh. Well you need to take care of yourself you know? My daughter gets the biggest stress acne, or at least that’s what she claims it is. I think it’s a mix of all that makeup she’s putting on her face. Back in my day-“

“Who checked out the yearbook?” You interrupt, trying to place a smile on your face.

“Oh! Right. My records show that it was never checked out. Should be on the shelf, if not it was stolen.”

“Someone stole a yearbook?”

“Oh! You’re doing one of your little mysteries?! Nancy Drew cracking the case of the-“

“Missing tutor, missing yearbook. Missing the point.” You scoff, walking off without so much as a goodbye. It didn’t make sense, who would steal a yearbook?

It’s not like any of the students here truly cared about those yearbooks, often times they are used as decoration, no one really cared about classes before them. Unless of course it was someone who was in that class.

Which would lead to a teacher.

Which teachers at the school were here in 1971? Only 2 would have been in that class. But there were at least three that have been teaching here since the 70s.

If you had your sleuthing kit you would make a list of names and - no! No. No. No.

This was not a case, merely a book probably used as decoration and thrown out.

No more Nancy Drew. You were sick of being laughed at. And you were going to hold your word on that until you spotted the yearbook. You had taken to sitting in the back row of your English clash, that was currently being taught by Mr. Daniels who HAD gone to school here in the 70s. And when you stretched, a totally normal stretch, you took a brief look around the room just to see. And see you did. The corner of the book was peeking out from behind a file cabinet to the side. Odd.

You stare at the book until the bell rings, making you jump a bit as Mr. Daniels walks to the door to say goodbye to everyone. He had his eyes on the entire room, he would see you reach to grab the book. So you were a bit screwed.

Just as you were beginning to come up with ways you could sneak back in a male voice pulls your attention, and all you can do is blink when Joseph Storm smiles at you. “You need me to distract him?”

“If you wouldn’t mind?” You smile back, already moving closer to the file cabinet as Joseph moves to the front, tripping right in front of Mr. Daniel’s and drawing his attention just long enough you could match the yearbook before rushing out of the classroom.

“Did you get it?” Joseph asks, excitement on his face when he catches up to where you stood by the windows.

“Get what?” Another voice butts in, Gareth moving to stand by you both.

“The yearbook.” Joseph points to it, watching you flip through before coming to stand at your side to peer down with you. “What were you lookin for?”

“Just…. Her.” You explain when the prom page comes up, pointing to her picture before thumbing at the words written beneath her. “Missing. But not dead. What’s that mean?”

“Holly Sampers. She’s the prom queen that went missing AT her prom-“ Joseph begins before Gareth is cutting in, a wild look to his eyes. “Yeah! She told her friend she was going to the bathroom and like vanished without a trace!”

“Right….” Joseph nods. “They searched for weeks. Didn’t find anything connected to the case went cold.”

“Okay…. So why would Mr. Daniels have stolen this yearbook from the library?” You question to yourself, flipping through the pages to see if there are anymore handwritten messages as Gareth nods wildly.

“Good question! You know who might be able to help? Eddie. Eddie comes up with the best ideas-“

His voice cuts off when a letter falls from the pages, dragging all of you to look down to the floor. Gareth and Joseph reach to snatch it at the same time, Joseph just barely making it before he stands up to hand it to you.

“Nancy Drew, got her spark back.” He winks, fixing his backpack on his shoulder. “Let me know if you need a ride after school. I’m dying to see how this mystery unfolds.”

You can’t fight the flush that spreads through you, body heating as your heartbeat accelerates, just barely fighting the urge to cover your mouth as a nervous giggle spills out, watching him walk down the hall with a couple looks back in your direction.

“What the hell?” Gareth blurts, looking offended as you turn to him. “What the hell?”

“Is there a reason you’re here?”

“You told Eddie you’re not investigating!” He blurts, pointing an accusing finger at you as if he’s calling you a witch during the trials. “You lied!”

“I’m not. This is for the memorial piece-“

“Oh don’t you start that spew with me Nancy Drew.” It’s funny how one moment you could be blushing at the nickname and the next feel just as miserable about it as you had days ago. “You got that look in your eye. The look that means Eddie is about to be missing campaign night to run around town with you-“

“I’m not investigating.” You sigh again, moving to walk away, rolling your eyes when he follows. “And you don’t have to worry about your friend missing more campaigns. He and his girlfriend can disappear for all I care. You’ve got him till the end of time.”

“That’s not true. The second you call he’ll rush off-“

“I won’t call.” It was the truth, so when you turn to face him you don’t feel bad about lying. “I’m done with all that. No more clingy freak.”

“No one said clingy or freak.” He grimaces, face getting a little red. “And no one is saying you can’t-“

“I won’t call, Gareth. I swear it.” You even cross your heart, making a motion of locking it up and throwing away the imaginary key before heading off.

And the second you are out of his sight the letter is torn open in your hands, pages unfolding as you walk through the halls.

So here’s a question. Why would Mr. Daniels steal a yearbook? Better yet, why would Mr. Daniels be hiding a love letter written to a missing girl dated the day she disappeared?

-

The Case Of The Threatening Call.

The letter sits on your desk by your science homework, and you are pointedly ignoring both as you fold laundry, yet the small issue with ignoring things is ignoring them never actually works. Instead you just sit there and think about them non stop as you obsess over ignoring them.

It isn’t until you hear the phone ring, folding your last shirt, that you look back to where they sit, debating on if you should at least get the homework out of the way.

“Hey! Phones for you!” Your dad calls from down the stairs.

“I’m busy!” You call back, not bothering to head for the door.

“It’s Eds! Says it’s really important! I’m not taking another message from this damn boy so get down here.” For someone who was claiming you had been clingy a couple weeks ago the tables sure have turned. You are thinking of saying as much when you head down and grab the phone, and you nearly do until the receiver is just to your ear and you panic, slamming it back on the dial quickly before blinking at it. Damn you were brave. Not a coward at all.

That is until the phone rings again and you jump back.

“Dad!”

“I’m not your receptionist!”

With a roll of your eyes you pick it up, dragging it to your ear. “Eddie I’m bus-“

“Quit looking into the prom queen.” A raspy voice sounds out. “Quit while your ahead. Or you’ll be gutted just like her.”

This time when you hang up the phone it is pure panic, shaking hands and shortness of breath, slamming the receiver down so hard it sounds out through the house before you are rushing upstairs to your room again, throwing the door open.

You notice it immediately, the open window and the lack of a familiar envelope on your desk.

Shit….. they even took your science homework.

-

The Case Of The Nap Time.

It had been a long night after that, from checking all the locks 4 times and making up a bed on the couch which confused your father to no end. And even when you were laying on the couch you still jumped and panicked at every slight sound. Every creak, every wind gush hitting the windows.

You had gotten no sleep that night.

Nor the next night.

Or the night after that.

Running on coffee stolen from your dads morning pot and sugary drinks, damn near on a crash but paranoid enough to try and stay awake.

Someone had threatened to gut you, someone was in your house.

What if they did something to Holly? And what if they had done the same to you?

It all came crashing down the night of your prom, you were wearing a peach style dress with tons of frills, a simple scarf tied around your neck that kept snagging on everything as you ran from someone. Someone with wide shoulders and -

The sound of slamming wakes you from a dream you hadn’t even known you were having, and you look around in a panic as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the library of all places.

“We came here to say sorry.” Jeff sighs, giving Doug a glare as the textbook that had just been slammed to wake you up is in his hands. “We weren’t being fair. Eddie just wants us all to-“

“You sound like you rehearsed this.” Gareth interrupts, making Jeff turn his glare to him. “What? You do!”

“Then let’s see what you have!”

“Fine. Eddie is really sorry and we are sorry for being asses too. There, all better! Come on Nancy Drew. Let’s go get Ed-“

“You liked Trish.” You note, blinking at him through the fog of your nap. “You liked Trish and now that I’m not crazy clinger he’s hanging around more and she’s hanging around him most of all.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“You’re wearing her bracelet.” A cute purple and red friendship bracelet. One quite like what Dana Mitchell wore everyday. They must be friends. Gareths hand comes up to cover the bracelet, giving you an odd look. “Don’t bother lying. I can see the puppy dog look on your face. Like recognizes like.”

“Damn Gareth. She got you.” Jeff laughs until Gareth punches his shoulder.

“I gotta get to class..” Doug growls out. “And I don’t want to be on Munsons shit list when this goes sideways.”

With that he is off, rushing out while the other two take a seat across from you.

“We propose to share Eddie 50/50.”

“I’ll pass.”

“40/60.”

“I’m not gonna sit here and bid on someone’s time when they’ve made it clear they don’t want me to.” You scoff, pushing your book forward.

“That’s the thing. He’s miserable now.” Jeff growls, rolling his eyes. “Whiny. You you you. Everything is about you. You like this for breakfast and if the two of you were hanging out right now you would be cracking this joke.”

His words make your heart beat pick up, until you remember just how quick Eddie was to snap at you the other day. Always around me. Always attached. So codependent.

“Can we just save the drama?” You whine, beginning to form a headache.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Gareth blurts, giving you a judgy look before Jeff nods with him.

“I…..” technically they had woken you up, and you could say that. But you’re so tired. “Someone was in my house. I have been struggling to-“

“Someone was in your house?” Gareth snaps, leaning forward.

“It’s no big deal. They just took something small. Nothing else.” You rush out, already regretting this.

“The letter. They took that letter didn’t they?” He rushes out, already beginning to stand. “What else?”

“Nothing-“

“Liar.” Jeff adds.

“Fine. I got a call. It was just a prank- where are you going?”

“To get Eddie?” He says it like it should be obvious, like Eddie was the next choice. You immediately shake your head.

“No. Come on. It’s fine.”

“You know we gotta tell him. Otherwise he’s gonna be pissed off.” Jeff explains.

“You don’t. Really. Come on. Isn’t tonight your campaign stuff? You want him there for that right?” You know you got them the second Jeff narrows his eyes.

“Fine. But we tell him tomorrow morning.” He snaps, grabbing Gareth by the shoulder and hauling him out.

Perfect. You just had until tomorrow morning to solve this cas…… problem. Solve the problem.

Step one. Lovers lane. Which Mr. Daniels had asked Holly to meet him in the letter.

You waited until after school, and after dinner, then you snatched up your bike and got ready to head over there, a shakey feeling in your stomach.

The first two blocks were easy, the third is when you realized you were being followed, so you tried speeding up with the pedals, taking last minute turns as the car following you sped up.

You take a quick cut into the alley, expecting to lose them, only when you come out the other end the car is there, hitting your bike as the brakes squeal out. You go flying over the hood, hands finding purchase on the glass of the front window before before rolling forward at the force of fhe brake, flying off the hood and onto the street below.

“Fuck! Are you crazy?!” Gareth yells, hopping out the driver side to come help pick you up off the street. “Come on. I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No im fine. You barely got me.” You rush out, standing to punch him in the face. He yells out, falling on his ass and holding his nose as you stare down at him. “Why are you following me?!”

“Oh my god-“

“Were you the one that called me?!”

“No! Fuck! No! Don’t hit me again!” He panics, sliding back on the sidewalk to avoid you. “From all the stories- fuck I’m bleeding.”

“Wasting my time!” You warn.

“Fuck! Okay, Eddie is constantly talking about you and from everything he’s said I knew you wouldn’t just let it drop. And so- ugh- I ditched DnD to come find you which wasn’t hard cause you were already sneaking out!”

“So you’re here to what?”

“Help?”

“You’re gonna help me?”

“Just get in the car..” he snaps, standing up to haul your bike, which now has a dented tire. With no other choice to get in, watching him toss the bike into the trunk before getting in the drivers seat, using his flannel to try and stop the nose bleed.

“Who taught you to hit like that?”

“Wayne.” You mumble, looking out the window as you remember the night he taught you and Eddie self defense. It had been right after the Halloween parade when you had been chased by someone in a zombie mask until Eddie hit them with a rake.

“Where were you heading?”

“Lovers lane.”

“I’m not driving you to lovers lake. That’s in the woods-“

“Lane. Lovers Lane. It’s from older times. Where they used to go.” You groan, moving to open the car door before he stops you, starting the car. “Why are you helping me? Shouldnt you be laughing at me?”

“We never meant to…… Eddie is just really cool and we always kinda saw you like a goodie two shoes.” He explains, driving down the road. “We didn’t really want to get along with you. And every time Eddie missed a campaign we always blamed you. But Eddie constantly talks about you, his entire planet orbits around you.”

Yeah, you think. What bullshit.

“I wouldn’t say that.” You huff, trying to ignore the tight feeling forming in your throat or the way your voice breaks a bit. “He was pretty truthful and nasty that day at the diner.”

“Nasty? Maybe. But truthful? Not even close.” Gareth sighs. “We had been bashing on him pretty hard. Had been making fun of him, calling him lovesick and stuff.”

“Is it really that big of a laugh to think me likable?” You snap, trying to swipe away a stray tear quickly. Of course they made fun of him for those things, with you always hanging off of him like a lovesick puppy and all. It was embarrassing. “Was I that easily read?”

“No. We just knew he-“

“Up there. You can drop me off there.” And he is quick to pull over, watching you jump out quickly and move to grab your bike. Only he hops out and goes to help. “What are you doing? I got it from here.”

“Bullshit. I’m not leaving you here alone.” He huffs back, giving you a glare. “Leave the bike. Look at what you came to look at.”

You nod, hating that this is where your night led, turning to go look before stopping short. “I don’t have my bag.”

“So?”

“It has my flashlight. And camera.”

“I….. I might have one.” He walks around the car, digging into the passenger box before pulling one out, handing it to you. It seems natural, and you wait for a snippy response until you realize he is waiting on you to lead the way.

This is when it gets awkward. You’re so used to Eddie, the way he hovers and looks at things over your shoulder. Gareth? Not so much. He’s jumpy, every sound makes him freak, which is making you feed off his energy. He keeps a hand on your jacket, wound tight like a dog on a leash as you look around.

“Why are we here anyways?” He asks, flinching when you step on a twig.

“It was in that letter. Mr. Daniels wrote a love letter to Holly the day she disappeared asking to meet here. I want to see if there is anything saying they might have .”

“Hasn’t it been like 10 years? And no one comes here anymore. We go to lovers lake now.”

“That’s not true. People who are embarrassed or don’t wanna get caught by classmates come here. Like Brenda and Tommy-“ you stop before remembering what Brenda had said to you that day. Her and Tommy had gotten caught and Hopper accused them of carving in the tree. “Look at the trees. For a carving”

It takes a minute before you spot it. H.S. + B.C. Carved into a tree. “That looks fresh.” Gareth notes as you run a hand over it. “And deep. Someone must add to it a lot so it doesn’t disappear.”

“You’d really have to love someone for that.” You ponder, staring at it.

“What the fuck?!” Gareth panics, his entire body moving as he rushes to remove his shirt, turning his back to you. “What just bit me?!”

“I don’t see anything!” You rush back, looking at his back.

“Look harder!” He snaps, and you take to feeling for a bump before a pair of headlights makes you both freeze. “The light. Turn the light off now!”

You do as he says, but not before adding “they are right by your car. They know people are here.”

“I will not be dying with Nancy Drew in the woods. Let’s go.” He snatches your arm, attempting to hide you both further, squatting behind a bush like idiots. The sounds of doors slamming fills the air and Gareth flinches while you paw at the ground beneath you for something to fight with. Your hand ends up finding…. A ring?

“On the count of three we run. Got it?” Gareth whispers and you nod, then the idiot doesn’t even count he just books it. Launching into the night with you trying to keep up.

You break the tree line, and see the freedom of his car before a blur of motion and someone is attacking Gareth. Tackling him to the ground until they both slide and you see Eddie pulling his hand back to punch.

“Wait stop!” You call, rushing to stop his arm as Jeff moves to intervene as well, both of you shoving Eddie off. “It’s Gareth. You’re attacking Gareth.”

“I’m fucking aware.” Eddie barks out as Jeff pushes him back again, his eyes wild and fists still clenched. You move to help Gareth up, turning him to inspect the damage on his back, scraped up pretty bad. Most of them bleeding and “Hey. I see the bite mark.”

A slight laugh pulls from you as you touch the mark a little bit before another blur of motion and Gareth is pushed from you with Eddie’s back in your face.

“I should break your jaw.”

“What did I do?” Gareth questions, face pinched with confusion.

“You ditch DnD after giving me shit for weeks, Jeff here tells me that you came to find her and-“

“You’re attacking me cause I missed DnD?!”

“I’m attacking you cause you’re at Lovers lane with your SHIRT OFF!” Eddie exclaims, the zipper of his leather jacket catching in the light. “And you obviously know you’re doing wrong with the way you were trying not to get caught!”

“His shirts off cause he was bit by something.” You interject, pointing over Eddie’s shoulder until he slaps your hand away and turns a slight glare at you. “And he only brought me cause he hit me with his car.”

“Hit you with a car?!” Eddie exclaims, a vein popping in his forehead before his gaze travels across you looking for something. His hands fly to your jaw, thumbs rubbing softly as he inspects. “Are you hurt? Anything hurt? Your eyes are dilated- her eyes are dilated Gareth-“

“Her eyes are not- she hit me in the face!” Gareth protests before Eddie spots your bike.

“How hard did you hit her?!” He lets go of you to pull at the bent tire, turning and all but growling at Gareth.

“She was sneaking out after being threatened!”

And just like that Eddie’s glare is turned to you. “Threatened?!”

“Oh barely.”

“Someone broke into her house-“ Jeff adds, and Eddie looks damn near ready to shoot himself as his eyes close and hands come up to rub his head.

“Someone. Broke. Into. Your. House. And you were threatened? Yet you’re still out biking around town? Why didn’t you call me…….. or- you could have called me.” His eyes open as he glares at you, and you hate the twisted feeling forming in your gut at the look, beginning to make you feel guilty.

“You made it clear you didn’t want me to-“ you start, even though the argument feels useless in this moment. It’s especially useless when Eddie rushes you, pushing your back into what you now recognize as his van as his face comes level with yours. “Enough.”

“You’re the one that-“

“Enough.” He repeats, glaring. “You’ve made your point. We will sort it out later. Right now you tell me everything.”

“I already told you-“

“She was looking into Holly Scampers. Realized the yearbook from that year was stolen and then found it in Mr. Daniel’s room. Then that Joseph kid distracted him so she could steal it and then he flirted with her like an ass and was all ‘Nancy Drew got her spark back’. -bleh- you know? And then she found a letter and that Joseph kid asked if she needed help -bleh- and then the letter got stolen and now she’s here and we just found a carving in a tree.” Gareth explains, making Jeff laugh with the impersonations of Joseph. Eddie? He didn’t laugh, in fact he didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Anything else you wanna add?” He mutters, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Nope.”

“She fell asleep during study hall today-“

“Gareth!” You groan. “Apart of sleuthing is shutting your damn mouth!”

“How was I supposed to know that? No one gave me a rulebook and you hit me in the face!”

“After you hit me with your car!” You argue, moving to push past Eddie though he doesn’t allow you, casting a side glance at the boys before turning to glare at you.

“We’re done. Get in.”

“No. I’ll go with Gareth.” You argue, only to see Jeff already hopping in his car. “Fucking traitor.”

“Just get in. I’ll take you home.” He repeats, opening the passenger door for you with a tense smile.

“Right home?”

“Yup.”

“No detours?”

“None.”

“You promise?”

“Swear it, Nancy Drew.”

“Don’t call me that.” You snap, taking a deep breath in before moving past him to get in the car without glancing back. He, aggravatingly so, waits until your buckled and even stops to inspect a cut on your knee before slamming the door and rounding the car.

“It smells terrible in here.” You scoff, leaning as far away from him as possible and rolling down your window.

“I need to get a new air freshener.” He explains, fingers reaching up to flick the old one. “Had other things on my mind recently. Believe it or not.”

Yeah, a gorgeous girlfriend that your best friend is in love with you think bitterly before leaning your head against the door frame and letting the night air hit you.

Your eyes snap awake when the door moves open, looking around in a panic before they land on where Eddie stands with a grimace, hand extended to help you out of the van. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You ignore his hand, hopping down on your own before stopping short. “You said no detours. Right home.”

“I did.” He smiles innocently, closing the door and locking it before walking up casually, his feet crunching on the gravel beneath him.

“This isn’t my home.”

“Ah, see there’s the problem. I said home. I never said which home.” He fakes a grimace, snapping in an “aw shucks” manner before heading to his porch with a bounce in his step. You, with no bike and no car, are doomed to follow. He makes a show of unlocking the door, bowing as you pass him to get in with a “milady”.

You don’t laugh or smile, simply walking in and spotting Wayne’s empty chair.

“Already at work.” Eddie explains, making a show of locking the door before moving to check all the windows. “Come on.”

“We can stay out here.” You snap.

“Or we can go to my room where I have the bandaids.”

“Or you can grab the bandaids and bring them out here.” The thought of entering his space, the space you were once comfortable in and the space that he probably spends with his girlfriend, sounded like the last thing you wanted to do. Your chest felt tight and your eyes burned with tears as you turned away to pretend and look around even though nothing had actually changed in the three weeks since you’d been here last.

Right before the last day of the burglary case when you had eaten cereal with Eddie on the living room floor while Wayne sang off tune in the shower.

“I don’t wanna fight with you.” Eddie sighs. “I hate fighting with you.”

“I don’t really need the bandaid.” You shrug, hands melting into your pockets. “It’s just a simple cut.”

“Please.” He whispers, just loud enough for you to hear before moving closer to herd you in. “Just come get a bandaid.”

And so you follow, trudging through the hall to his room and shuffling in before him, noting the lack of any messes. And then you realize just how spotless his room was. Eddie Munson cleaned his room.

Of course he did. He had a girlfriend now, he’d want his rook to be clean. The realization hits you like a freight train, imagining Trish looking around the room in her own eyes. Getting to see Eddie and getting to see his Knick knacks.

“If you want to sit-“

“I’m good.” You rush out, cheeks heating up as you refuse to look at the bed he had been gesturing to before he gives you an odd look and pulls out the desk chair. You don’t say anything as you sit down, letting the wood dig into your back while he sits at the end of the bed and pulls your leg to him.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He breathes out, letting his fingers roam around your knee near where the cut ended up, like he was trying to x ray with just his vision. “You got hit with a car.”

“A love tap. I think Gareth and I bonded from it. We’ll share fond memories one day. Remember that time you love tapped me by lovers lane?”

“Can you please stop referring to it like that? How about buddy tap? He- no that doesn’t sound better.”

“Gareth love tapped me hard. So hard my knees shook.” You tease, a smile cracking your face, only for it to die out when Eddie doesn’t bother laughing. His jaw is tight, and he’s inspecting your knee like it’s the last thing on this earth before reaching to grab a bandaid and cover the cut, fingers ghosting your skin before you pull back.

“You done? I’m all patched up?”

“What’d they say?” His voice is croaky, but his gaze is intent. “On the phone?”

“Nothing much. Wanted to chat about the weather.”

“Come on.”

“They said they were you. They called and my dad picked up, they said it was an emergency and that it was you but when I came down I hung up. So they called again, and said to stop digging or…. They’d gut me.” You finish admitting it all in a rush, but he’s heard it based on the way he hisses.

“It was me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No. The call before them. It was me. I called. I said there was an emergency. You hung up on me.” You shrug, and a smile nearly makes it onto his face before he’s back to glaring. “They threatened to gut you? And you’re still out looking into it?”

“Well not really. Gareth and Jeff threatened to tell you and gave me until tomorrow so I went to find whoever did it tonight.” You explain, looking down to your hands to pick around your nail.

“Whyd you tell them and not me?” His voice is strained, and you can tell he’s struggling to make eye contact where you keep avoiding it.

“They cornered me at study hall. Woke me up and-“

“They should have told me.” Eddie growls, and you huff at it. “You should be nice to Gareth. He saved my life tonight.”

“He hit you with a car.”

“Love tapped.” You correct.

“Buddy tapped.” He seethes, reaching up to flick your nose. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Study hall.” You smile, leaning back in the chair. “You?”

As if noticing your glances around the room he turns to look around himself, scratching at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “Ah well. I’ve- I cleaned it for-“

“You know Gareth likes her, right?”

“Who?” He blurts, eyes laced with confusion.

“That Trish girl. He likes her. So you should be careful about rubbing it in his face.”

“Trish? Rubbing what in his face? That she’s annoying?”

“Gareth thinks you’re dating her.”

“Gareth hit you with a ca-“

“Love tapped.”

“Buddy tap- enough. No more talking about Gareth. You’re stalling sleeping.” He huffs, pointing a finger at you. “I see it.”

“I’m not sleeping here. You can take me home.”

“What? So you can not sleep there? Come on. I’m not stupid.” He argues, eyes narrowing. “You saw me lock all the windows. You know that any cars are gonna be heard on the gravel outside and anyone coming from the back has to go through Lenny.” He lists, making you smile at the mention of the dog that lives with his neighbor. “You need sleep.”

“Fine. I’ll take the couch.” You snap, moving to stand before he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not making up the couch for you princess. Wayne will be back by 5. You can sleep on the bed. I’ll stay above covers.” He offers, moving to his closet to toss you a shirt which you blatantly ignore and let fall to the ground as you take off your boots and move to his bed.

You had given easily. Far too easily. If the edges of your vision weren’t beginning to blacken you’d have put up more of a fight.

Tomorrow. You promise. Tomorrow you’d yell at him.

And it’s easy to fall asleep, under his covers with your face shoved in one of his pillows, knowing he was near and someone would have your back if anything went wrong.

That was so damn tragic about the whole thing.

-

I ended up splitting io the second part into multiple cause it was so dang long yall.

Want more?

[phier]

BREACH

[fidgetspringer-art]

✧ The Ardal stars ✧

[snekdood]

"TrANsMeN rEalLy nEeD tO HaVe wOmEn AroUnD TO NoT Be MiSoGyNiSTic 🤪" bitch i have great relationships w my mom and gma, i dont think it's on my end with this one

[honeywyrdie]

There's Always a Cat at a House Party

Lee Minho x Reader

summary: You've got a goal tonight - find a stranger to make out with to get over this stupid little crush you have on your roommate. You'll fail. Hard. /// word count: 6k /// genre: smut, fluff, roommates to lovers /// warnings: sloppy makeouts, cunnilingus, spanking /// a/n: grad school has been kicking my ass so I've been a lot more MIA than I've wanted to be. enjoy this little (6k) smut I wrote to experience a single drop of dopamine in all the chaos. I don't normally write Minho, so I hope I did him justice! Maybe I'll even make a part 2 to this.

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

18+ content beyond the cut MDNI!

You

“Minho, have you seen my black platform heels? The velvet ones with the little ankle strap?” you shout from the bathroom.

“No,” your roommate replies. “Aren’t they in your closet?”

“Could you check for me?”

The hairdryer you’re using is on full blast as you set your curls, so you don’t hear his lazy groan as he gets up from where he’s sitting. You’re getting ready to go out to a house party with Minho, and you’re on a mission this evening.

Step One: Look as alluring as possible, so you want your hair to be perfect.

Minho’s head peeks around the door frame, holding your favorite pair of fuck-me-heels in his hand.

“Are these the ones you’re looking for?” he asks.

He looks like he’s already ready to go - he’s wearing a casual but clean-cut outfit, all black with some silver jewelry. His skin always looks dewy and perfect, and tonight is no exception. Your eyes linger just a second longer than you’d like to admit to yourself.

Quickly turning back to your task at hand, you shake yourself out the small moment of awe he seems to slap you in the face with all the time. You can’t look at your friend like that, it wouldn’t be fair to him. In fact, that’s the exact reason you’re going out tonight.

Step Two: Don’t get distracted by your hot roommate you've had an unrequited crush on for a few months.

Minho and you have been living together for over a year now. It’s been wonderful, you both seem to work so well together. Ever since you’ve met, it’s been so easy to exist around each other. You both have the same social battery, he loves to annoy you and you love to annoy him right back. It’s pretty equal between the two of you since you both enjoy taking care of one another.

That’s why you feel so guilty about this little attraction that gnaws on your heart. You’re supposed to be friends - platonic, cohabitating friends. Nothing more. If you said anything or made the wrong move, it could fuck up your entire living situation, and one of the best friendships you’ve developed in your adult life.

Step Three: Get over this stupid little crush and move on.

You shut off the hairdryer, taking one last look in the mirror to make sure your curls are set before you get the rest of your outfit together.

“Yep, those are the ones!” you say, taking them from his hand. His hand connects with yours for a brief moment, sending a little flash of heat through your body. You’ve really got to get over this crush, especially if a silly little brush of his hand is driving you mad. You mentally smack yourself, and pull yourself together.

“Come hang out with me while I finish up.”

“We’ll never make it in time,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. But there’s a smirk on his face. “What will the boys say?”

“It’s a Han House Party, who cares when we show up!” you say, grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards your bedroom.

Rummaging through your closet, you pick out a few pieces that you think will work. Everything you choose is revealing but not outside of your comfort zone. You hold up a leather mini skirt and a pair of shorts that leave little to the imagination. Turning to Minho, you hold them up.

“Which one?”

His eyebrows shoot up, a look of surprise quickly morphing into one of concentration. He stares at you from where he’s laying on your bed.

“So we’re just really putting it out there this evening, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be so judgy,” you say. “I have a goal tonight and dressing like a nun won’t help.”

“I don’t know, I bet dressing like a nun will definitely get you some attention,” he chuckles.

“Be serious! Which one?”

He looks back and forth between the skirt and the shorts.

“The leather one. I like it better.”

You look down at it and nod, envisioning the outfit you’re putting together. It’ll be the perfect amount of slutty for the evening. Minho interrupts your train of thought as you start grabbing fishnets, a lace top, and a strappy chest harness.

“Why are you pulling out the big guns for tonight?”

“Minho… it’s been AGES since I’ve gotten any action,” you whine, pouting in his direction. “My dating life has been drier than the Sahara for almost a year now.”

“So, what? Your plan is to go to some party with other random strangers and use the ‘do you want to come see my cat’ pick up line?”

“The what?” you giggle.

”It’s a pick up line they’re using these days. Like ‘come back to my place, I’ve got a cat’ to get someone into bed. You know, how a year ago they were saying eating ramen was a way to ask someone to fuck.” He says with a yawn as he stretches out on your bed.

“As if,” you scoff. “I would never use Soonie, Doongie, and Dori like that! Besides, it’s not necessarily a hookup I’m looking for tonight.”

“What are you looking for?” his tone shifts, as if he’s putting an intense spotlight on you. You sigh, turning away from him towards the mirror to hold up the clothes you picked out.

“It’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone. Like really kissed someone. Slow, passionate, a little messy. The kind where you can lose hours in that moment with another person. I miss it. The last few flings I had seemed like they weren’t as interested in that, always trying to rush into sex before I’m warmed up,” you murmur, your gaze dropping to your feet, feeling your face heat up. “It makes me feel like no one wants to spend time making out anymore.”

The room is silent for a moment and it makes you feel so exposed. You’re about to try to laugh it off when your eyes meet Minho’s in the mirror. The look he gives you is heavy, as if his eyes are holding you in place. You watch as his jaw clenches, the muscle twitching slightly with the strain. And just as quickly as you notice it, his features relax, going back to that lazy expression.

“I’m sure there are many people who would jump at the opportunity to kiss you like that,” he says slowly, eyes glued to his phone now.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Name a single person who wants that.”

The room is filled with that same heavy silence again.

“Exactly. So, that’s what I’m on the hunt for tonight,” you say, pulling out your makeup bag. “Just a random makeout with some stranger who I never have to see again.”

~~~

Minho

He had almost fucked up, blown his cover, let the cat out of the bag - whatever you want to call it, he had almost ruined everything in that moment. You are driving him insane. This was the closest he’s gotten to telling you how he feels. The way you’re talking about kissing someone else, finding some stranger to share a moment like that with, filled him with the sick, possessive feeling he’s had about you since you met.

Minho knows you don’t feel that way about him. The two of you have lived together for over a year, sharing a living space, bedroom walls separated by only the bathroom. He hates the part of himself that feels entitled to you, it’s not right. But he can’t stop. Minho would do anything to make sure he could hear you humming in the mornings while you shower, even if that means keeping his attraction to you a secret that burns him up inside.

He’s got a good poker face, he knows it. You haven’t noticed that for the past year he seems to stare daggers at any person that comes within 20 feet of you with that look on their face, silently making them run off. But he felt it slip for a moment tonight while he thought of you in that leather skirt with someone else's hands on your thigh.

By the time you’re ready to go, he has his mask of indifference fully in place again. He says goodbye to the cats and you both head over to Jisung’s place.

Minho has to keep his eyes on the road. He has to avoid looking at you since you walked out of your room in the outfit you meticulously put together. He’s never seen you dress like this before. In fact, he’d probably drive the car off the road if he gets distracted by your fishnets again. You’re wearing some kind of bralette that puts your breasts on display under a sheer black lace top, your legs in fishnets and the tight skirt that he picked out barely covering your ass, and those heels. Those fucking heels. All he could think about is grabbing onto them as he fucked you into his mattress.

After hearing you talk about the way you wanted to be kissed, the images barraged him like cannonfire. He wants to make you whimper into his mouth. He wants to grab onto your ass while you rut against him until you are panting his name.He wants to taste you. He wants to be the one to make a mess of you. He wants to claim you and never hear you talk about another person ever again.

But he can’t. He knows he’s too intense.

It would be unfair to you. You’ve never given him any indication that you return his feelings, so he keeps them simmering away but hidden from you.

So he couldn’t look at you on the drive. He could barely look at you when he opened the door for you when you arrived. He could tell his nonchalant act was coming off a little strong by the way you detached from his side the minute you entered the house. Winding his way through the crowd of bodies, he made his way to the cooler to grab himself a drink.

He watched as you found Felix, one of your mutual friends. He was safe from Minho’s glare since he knew Felix was not available. But Minho kept his eyes on you from afar, watching the people you would chat with, seeing the ones you’d get a little too flirty with. It made his blood boil.

“Careful now,” a voice came from his left suddenly. “She’ll think you’re mad at her.”

Jisung appeared next to him, distracting him from the raw hunger that was bubbling away in his chest.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Minho sniffed, trying to avoid the topic.

“Please,” Jisung gave him an exasperated look. “Don’t act like I wouldn’t know that face.”

“What face?”

“That face you make when you’re about to rip the throat out of whoever gets within 10 ft of Y/n.”

“I don’t make a face.”

“Liar!” Jisung laughed. “Have you told her?”

“Told her what?” He narrows his eyes at his friend. Jisung knows him better than anyone in the world, so it’s especially annoying to be dissected like this while sitting on a couch nursing a shitty beer.

“Have you told her that you’re desperately in love with her?”

Minho chokes on his drink, coughing hard.

“See?” Jisung says, sticking his chin out as he chides Minho. “If you weren’t into Y/n, why’d you spit out half your drink onto my carpet?”

Minho stands up suddenly.

“Where’s the cat?”

“What?” Jisung asks, a confused frown on his face.

“The cat, there’s always a cat at parties like this,” Minho says. “In some room, hiding under some bed, there’s always a cat.”

“Weird that you know that, but yeah, my roommate has a cat,” Jisung says cautiously. “She’s in the guest bedroom.”

“Great. See you,” Minho says as he turns and walks down the hallway to find the guest bedroom.

“Minho, where are you going?” Jisung calls after him.

“To hang out with the cat in the quiet!”

~~~

You

Has everyone always been this boring?

Your mission this evening was starting to fall apart before your eyes. Every single time you tried to find someone you thought you could spend a few hours with, there was always something that turned you off.

One guy in the kitchen was fun to flirt with at first, telling you about his job at some school, working in one of the biology labs. But he started drinking way too heavily, like he was racing head first into a blackout.

Yuck.

One girl you were chatting with on the couch was going back and forth with you about a tv show you had recently finished. There was genuine banter for a while, until you noticed that every time you made a clever joke, she’d say “wow, that’s actually funny!” in a very condescending tone.

Next!

There was one person you thought you were really starting to connect with, swapping stories about your views on the local music scene. But then they started talking about aliens, as if the aliens were hiding amongst the crowd around you.

Nope.

You sigh, tossing the rest of the drink you had barely touched into the sink. It’s been a couple of hours since you got here and you’re nowhere closer to your goal than you were when you arrived. If you couldn’t have a fun time chatting with someone, you know you’d have an even worse time kissing them. Deep down, you know you were just trying to find a band aid solution while you waited for this stupid crush on Minho to go away. He’s the only one you actually wanted to tangle yourself up with until the sun rose.

While your mind drifts to thoughts of your roommate, you realize you haven’t seen him all night. Where is he? You scan the living room, catching Jisung’s eye.

“He’s with the cat!” he shouts across the room.

“What?”

“He’s hanging with the cat. Guest bedroom! Down the hall all the way and to the left!”

You give him a thumbs up and decide to go find your favorite little introvert. When you get to the door, it’s closed with a sticky note that says “Keep the door closed! Cat inside!” Not wanting to spook either the cat or Minho, you knock softly.

You hear someone quietly curse, followed by, “Come in.”

You gently open the door. Minho is sitting on the floor in front of a couch. The cat is nowhere to be seen.

“Close the door behind you!” He whisper-shouts at you. “I don’t know if she’ll bolt or not.”

You shut the door behind you gently, locking it for good measure. “Where is the little fur baby?”

“When you knocked on the door, she ran behind the TV again. You can see her if you lean down.”

You bend over, seeing a pair of glowing eyes in the back right corner of the shelf that the TV sits on. The breeze you feel on the backs of your thighs makes you aware of how short your leather skirt is and you hastily stand back up. You smooth your skirt down before you sit on the couch next to Minho.

“Why are you hiding in here with the cat?”

Minho looks down at his hands. “I don’t know, it was just a little too much out there for me.”

“Poor baby kitty, so overstimulated you have to find the only other cat at the party,” you say, patting him on the head. He huffs out a laugh, swatting your hand away. He stands and slumps into the couch next to you, his knee lightly brushing your thigh.

“So,” he starts, leaning back against the cushions. “How’s it going out there? Anyone want to go home to see your cat?”

You playfully shove his shoulder with a laugh. But you sit there, letting silence fall again.

“No,” you murmur, looking down at your hands. “I’ve discovered that everyone kinda sucks.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he says, looking over at you, a small smile playing at the side of his mouth. “No one has caught your eye?”

“Well… no. I guess not.”

Minho frowns. The tone of your voice is tinged with sadness and he shifts closer to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” you start, wringing your hands together slightly. “I never expected to be this picky. Like if I can’t have a conversation with someone, I definitely can’t get physical with them. I need to know I vibe with a person so I can trust them with something more.”

You can’t look directly at him, he’s too observant. Minho can read you in an instant. He seems to know what you need before you do. When you come home from a rough day at work, he can tell by the sound of your footsteps, and often greets you with a snack. You’re afraid that if you looked at him now with his dark eyes, he’d know about the feelings for him you’re trying to bury deep down inside yourself.

“I understand that,” he says. “You want someone who knows how to make you feel safe.”

“Right, and it seems that everyone I talked to tonight had something wrong with them,” you say. You feel Minho shift even closer to you, you can feel the warmth of his body next to you. “It shouldn’t be this hard to find someone to kiss.”

There’s that strange heavy silence again sitting between the two of you. Minho opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then snaps it shut. He takes a deep breath. He gently grabs your fingers, fiddling with them in his hands.

“I’ll kiss you,” he nearly whispers. “I mean, if you want…”

You look over at him with a frown.

“Don’t make fun of me right now.”

“I’m not! I’ll kiss you.”

“I don’t want a pity kiss!”

“It’s not that! I... I think it would be nice. To… y’know… kiss you.”

You search his eyes for any hint of a joke. All you find is a dark pair of eyes looking back at you deeply, glittering in the low light. There’s a little edge of anxiety on his face. When did this couch get so small? You can feel your heart hammering in your throat.

“Won’t it make things weird?”

“It’ll only be weird if we make it weird,” he says, moving closer to you, eyes flicking down to your lips mere inches away. “So let’s promise it won’t get weird.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “I promise.”

“Me too,” he says, his eyes staring at your mouth as he delicately wets his bottom lip with his tongue.

He leans into you slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to change your mind.

Then his lips meet yours.

It’s so soft you could cry. The kiss is gentle and sweet with a small hint of apprehension, like you’re waiting for him to reveal the grand prank he’s pulling on you. But instead, his lips glide against yours tenderly. He presses small, slow kisses on your mouth, like he’s testing the waters by taking small sips, even if he’s dying of thirst. Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, running your hand across his sharp cheekbone. His head tilts, leaning into your touch, as he pulls back slightly with a sigh.

“Is this okay?” he whispers against your lips.

Biting your lip, you nod with your eyes still closed. You’re worried that if you say something, the little bubble of magic in this moment will pop, and he’ll come to his senses and reject you, realizing his mistake. The worry starts to churn in your belly. His hand finds your chin, coaxing you slowly to lift your eyes and meet his gaze.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, searching your eyes. There is only warmth in the way he looks at you. It almost makes you feel silly being so anxious. Even if he doesn’t return your feelings, you know for certain that you’re safe with him. All of your anxiety melts away, leaving only the ache of desire in your chest.

“Yes,” you breathe against him, and pull him towards you again. “Please.”

This time, when your lips meet, you feel that spark of heat between the two of you. Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, pulling him in closer. This time, there’s more push and pull, flowing back and forth gently between you. One of his hands rests on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the spot just below your ear.

Your lips part as you whimper. Minho’s tongue softly runs along your bottom lip, silently asking permission to deepen the kiss. He wants to move at your pace, letting you control the speed. You surge forward, leaning over as his fingers curl in your hair. He tastes sweet on your tongue as you tangle up in one another.

Heat envelops you, the sound of your breath filling the air. You feel electrified, like there’s a live wire in your chest strong enough to power an entire city. The way your tongues move against one another, exploring each other's mouths, discovering the way the other person likes being touched.

“I need-” you start, pulling away to catch your breath. Minho’s dark eyes find yours.

“What do you need?” he murmurs as his thumb caresses your jawline.

“I need to be closer,” you say, kneeling on the couch, kicking a leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, gritting his teeth. “I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

His words wash over you, a warm affection swirling together with the heady lust that’s consuming you.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Touch me. Everywhere.”

The last word tumbles from your lips with a moan as his hands splay on your lower back, dragging your body close to his as you descend onto him again.

~~~

Minho

Minho can’t believe how soft and pliant you are. In all his fantasies, he had never imagined the breathy little noises you’d make as he held your face, or how easily you’d respond to the silent suggestion from his hands on your hips. He would push and you’d move, he’d pull and you’d follow, like he was leading you in a ballroom dance.

He certainly didn’t expect how his heart would clench as you moan into his mouth when his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The tremor that shakes through you makes all the blood rush from his head straight to his cock. Sure, he has touched you platonically before, you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder once or twice during a movie night. He denied himself anything further, holding all of his feelings for you behind a brick wall in his chest. But tonight, you broke through all of those barriers. Minho is learning a new side of you as he runs his hands over the outline of your body, trying to memorize it.

Time seems to stop as he gets lost in you, pouring all his unspoken feelings and arousal into you slowly. If this is his only chance to have his hands on you, then he will savor every second of it. The room around the two of you fades into nothingness as he pulls you closer, wanting no space between your bodies.

Minho would never rush you, regardless of how turned on he is. You said you just wanted a night of kissing and he could give that to you. He just has to ignore the pulsing of his cock in his jeans.

He does indulge a little though. When you straddled his lap, your leather skirt bunched up around your hips. He runs his hands over your fishnet covered thighs, sliding his fingers under the hem of your skirt to push it a little higher.

His hands snake around to grab onto your ass, trying hard not to dig into the soft skin. Your head drops forward onto his shoulder with a moan as you arch your back, pressing yourself further into his grasp. He’s always loved your ass, admiring it from afar for so long. Sure, he’s never had his hands on you like this, but his eyes? His eyes have been devouring you since he first saw you.

Your hips begin to rock against Minho and he feels his mind go blank. A breath is caught in his throat as he feels the heat of you through a few layers of fabric. Fingers gripping his jaw, you wrench his head to the side, attacking his neck with your tongue. Through the haze of your lips and tongue against the column of his neck, he can feel the way your mouth curves into a sly smile.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers when you come up for air briefly.

“Do you want to stop?” you say, pulling back slightly.

“Never,” he replies, tugging you back into him.

He can’t help it any more, his fingers grip into your ass, kneading into your plush flesh. He starts to push you down with every rock of your hips, dragging your clothed cunt across the bulge in his pants until you’re whining against his throat. The way your nails scrape against the skin of the back of his neck has his mind spinning. You wrench your head away from his neck, crashing down on him again, your plump lips landing on his.

When you bite down on his lip, he groans into your mouth. Your hands roam his body, pulling up the hem of his shirt, smoothing your palm across his stomach. Minho’s holding onto his sanity by a thread.

He’s delirious over the heat between your thighs as you grind down on him, your hips wiggling from the friction. Fingers roaming over your lace top, his fingers find the edge of the chest harness you’re wearing. It’s made from some kind of elastic material, so it stretches easily as he pulls it away from your body. He snaps it back against your chest and you squeak into his mouth. You pull away again, looking down at him with swollen lips.

“Minho!”

“What? Why else would you wear this?” he smirks at you.

You splutter for a moment, so he does it again. Pulling the elastic back further this time, holding it taut for a moment. He searches your eyes as you look back and forth between his eyes and his hand. After a heartbeat of thinking, you nod your head.

The snap on your skin makes you whine, trying to hold it back by biting your lip. Minho grabs the strap once more, but this time he uses it to maneuver your body, pulling you suddenly back down onto him. You lean down to kiss him again, but his hand firmly holds you an inch away.

“Don’t you dare hold back any noises,” he says, leaning in like he’s going to capture your lips. Just as you start to surge forward, he pulls away once more. “They’re mine.”

You whine in frustration, one hand grasping the hair at the nape of his neck and drag his head back. He moans, loving this side of you, something he had only ever dreamed of before. Your lips messily clash once again, the air in the room feels like it heats up between the two of you. He frantically finds the little clasp of your harness and quickly unhooks it, bunching up the fabric of your shirt in the process.

You lean back, wrenching the lace over your head, pulling away your bralette at the same time. Your breasts spill out and Minho looks at you in awe. Before he realizes it, his mouth wraps around one of your nipples while his hands go to knead into the soft skin of your breasts. His eyes never leave your face as he watches you press your chest further into him, throwing your head back with a gasp. His tongue traces a path back up to your neck, grazing his teeth over the sensitive spot below your ear. He can feel your pulse as he lays his tongue flat on your throat.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, voice muffled by his lips never leaving your neck.

“What?”

“I need to taste you. Here.” he says, slipping it between your thighs. He gently places a hand on your pussy. His heart starts racing with anticipation as he feels how wet you already are between your legs. “Will you let me?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod.

Minho pinches your nipple lightly, just enough to make you hiss.

“Words. I need the words.”

“Fuck, yes, I want your mouth on me,” you whine, rocking your hips slightly on his hand. He grins, tugging you down to kiss him again. This one is less crazed, he feels like he’s trying to communicate all his unsaid feelings with just his actions.

You start to move off of him and motion to lay down on the couch on your back.

“Wait,” his voice has a tinge of command in it.

You pause, body obeying immediately. With a smile, Minho clenches his jaw again and takes a deep breath. “On your knees.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, grabbing your waist, “I want you on your knees. Face down, ass up.”

He flips you so you’re facing away, pushing your head down on one of the couch cushions. Your hips wiggle again, rocking back and forth in the air, seeking out any sort of touch. Minho has to collect himself before he does anything. Having you presented to him like this, with your deep red panties and fishnets, he’s about to shred your clothes with his teeth.

Minho grabs onto your ass, kneading the flesh harshly in his hands. Taking his fingers, he hooks them on your fishnets right near your panties. Jerking his hands quickly, he tears them open. The ripping sound makes you quiver.

He gets gentler now, caressing your thighs and cunt, dragging his lips and tongue along your ass cheeks. He can see the wet spot you’ve formed on your panties. Leaning forward he presses his tongue flat against it, chuckling as your whole body jolts.

“That good, huh?”

“Shut uppp,” you whine, burying your face into the cushion.

Minho pulls your panties to the side and spreads your cheeks, admiring the view. He feels his cock twitch in his pants. With you moaning into the pillow, pussy wet and on display, he fights the urge to fuck you right then and there. This is about you and he knows it’ll be a thousand times more gratifying to push himself to the limits of his own desire to get a small taste of yours.

The first touch of his tongue has your thighs shaking already. He takes you by your hips and holds you firm, pressing his face further into your cunt. You cry out when he slowly laps at your clit. Minho grunts, his lips and tongue making the lewd, wet sounds between your legs.

One of his palms finds your ass again, coming down on the flesh a little too firm. You yelp, clenching around his tongue. He’s too drunk off the taste of you, he doesn’t realize he practically spanked you. He pulls back to apologize but you cut him off.

“Harder…” you cry out.

“Harder?”

“Minho, don’t fuck with me!” You’d almost sound angry if you didn’t moan half of your sentence. He loves hearing his name spill out of your mouth like that. He’d do anything to hear it again.

“Like this?” He asks, before pulling back and landing his hand on the exact spot that was already starting to bloom with heat. You moan again, pulling your lip between your teeth to try and stifle the volume.

“Now, what did I say earlier about holding back on those noises?” Minho jeers at you. He leans back, smacking the other cheek, watching the way it rebounds against his hand. Each new hit has you whining and jerking your hips away then immediately pressing back into his hand. He lands a few more swats, feeling the heat from your skin, massaging gently as you catch your breath.

When he dives back into you tongue first, his eyes roll back from how you’re dripping with arousal. The slick sound of his mouth on you that fills the room is only interrupted by the occasional slap of his hand and your whining. As his tongue bombards your clit, he feels the tremors that roll through you as you rut back against his face.

You’re babbling, the words barely being strung together are a litany of please, fuck, and Minho. Your nails claw at the fabric of the couch as he holds you firm, rolling your hips fervently into him.

”Minho! I’m -!” You say, gasping.

Your body tenses, no sound coming from your open mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut and he feels the fluttering muscles of your orgasm as it rocks through you. He doesn’t stop, even once you start shaking, your voice rasps out of you through your moans. He only lets up once you’re writhing in his arms, laughing to get away from the stimulation.

Minho sits back, your body gently collapsing against the couch. He watches as you twitch every few seconds from the aftershocks of your climax, trying to regulate your breathing. He coos at you, massaging your limbs, caressing your skin.

“Come here,” he says, half picking you up, hauling your body towards him. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your face into his chest as he leans back on the couch. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

You start to come down off the frenzy and your breathing regulates. Minho idly presses a few kisses into your hair, pressing his cheek against your head. His cock is straining against the material of his pants, especially now with your body weight on top of him. But that doesn’t matter. Being turned on is nothing compared to the way his heart is soaring just sitting here and holding you like this in his arms.

The possessive feeling he’s had over you feels contented. You’re his. The two of you can talk about it later, but he knows you’re his.

He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you, so it’s only fair.

“Minho that was…” your voice rasps out of you from where you’re buried in his chest. “That was exactly what I needed.”

He smiles against your hair, pressing another little kiss on your head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he murmurs against your scalp.

You shift to look up at him. “For how long?”

”Longer than I want to admit right now,” he says. Minho takes in your appearance- lips swollen from kissing, hair mussed up, makeup smeared from pressing into a pillow. His chest fills with pride. He did that to you. You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now, all fucked out and looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “We can chat about that later though.”

You nod and lay your head back against his heart. It’s nice just sitting here in the quiet. Who knows how much time passes, Minho just likes feeling you in his arms, drawing lazy little circles on your bare back. The two of you must have been quiet for long enough that the house cat pokes her head out briefly from her hiding spot.

You giggle, startling the little thing back into the safety of being behind the TV.

“Minho.”

“Hmm?”

“So there are these cats I live with…” you say, a sly little lilt to your words. Minho can hear the smile in your voice. “Do you want to come back to my place and see them?”

[muqingslover]

Ok, so... this might be a bit of a +18 think piece, but... what do you think the lads men would have as their top 3 kinks? I started thinking about it after I read the Xavier somno one, lol. Maybe I'm crazy but I think Caleb would have blindfolds/rope play in his top 3 (on mc not on him, since he wants to see all of you but is very resultant to show all of himself back due to fear of rejection+ if mc is tied up she can't leave)

[ choosing only three was a lot harder than I thought whew. Also, I'm testing out different layouts rn so don't mind me (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ]

Predator/Prey Play: This guy is the literal definition of wolf in sheep's clothing. What gets him going is the thrill of the hunt and the turntables (his specialty), which is why he will often let you think you're in control and have your fun teasing him only to then pounce when you least expect. If you run from him then you better pray he won't catch you or not.

Exhibitionism: This might be a hot take but walk with me. Xavier is a very jealous man so he won't ever allow anyone to actually see you, buuuut he is very into letting others know you belong to him. You gotta leave for a mission with someone else? Not to worry, all he needs is 10 minutes in the bathroom stall. The bread guy is back at it again? It can't be helped, he'll just have to fuck against the door while he's knocking to show you're busy. He'd love to see you struggling (and failing) to keep your voice down and looks like a smug cat when others notice the marks he left on you.

Cunnilingus: This man eats pussy like a goddamn champ. He absolutely adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, to the point he finds it comforting, and the feeling of his tongue stretching open your dripping pussy for his cock later. Your taste is something he could have every day, which he will if you let him, and he takes pride when you're left a writhing, whimpering mess that begs for him to fuck you.

Bondage: The joke about him tying MC up with surgical knots was definitely not a joke. In my opinion, rather than the power rush over the control he has over you, what really gets him off is the trust you put in his hands. Bondage is all about having faith in your partner to never truly hurt you and knowing you see him that way makes him feel beyond special. Given the chance he'd love to have you wrapped in dark blue, silky ribbons and the aftercare is top tier with this guy.

Lingerie: For some reason I feel like Zayne is REALLY into seeing you wearing lingerie. Ladies, feel free to tease him by telling him you're wearing one, but not letting him see until he's home much later. He'll spend the entire day imagining what type of lace you have under your clothes and he pretty please asks you to strip for him as a reward for waiting.

Phone Sex: Another one I just have a feeling it's his thing. I mean, he is a busy man and sometimes it can't be helped, people have needs yk. He'd like the feeling of knowing you think of him as much as he does of you when the other is not around. The photos you send and the sounds of your needy whines right next to his ear goes straight to his cock and he is mortified when the post-nut clarity hits him and he realizes what he did in his own office.

Overstimulation: I'm an overly sensitive Caleb truther. The overstimulation has his head spinning so good that he can barely form a coherent thought that isn't your name while he slams into your pussy for the nth time like a desperate man. He doesn't want to simply break you he wants to break together, to the point neither of you can think about anything else besides how good it feels.

Roleplaying: I've lost count of the amount of times we've seen him and MC roleplaying and this man will unironically take it to the bedroom. It starts as a joke where he's only doing it to make you laugh, but then he won't allow you to break character and will edge you until you say your "lines" correctly. Forceful and cold soldier? Check. Teasing and pervy Gege? of course. A loving and gentle husband? Sign him up. Strict teacher? No need to ask twice.

Brat Taming: Now defying Caleb is the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull and you better run because when he catches you you're done for. He needs you to need him as much as he needs you and if he has to break you for you to admit it then he will. The rush of being the one in charge and "taking care" of you in a way no one else will is enough to have his cock throbbing.

Breeding AND Biting: These two go hand in hand every time you have sex with him. He craves to have a family with you but, more than anything, he wants you to be as full of him as his heart is of you. He wants you to be so filled with his cum that he has to keep his cock inside otherwise it'll leak out of you. He absolutely enjoys the slippery mess your warm insides become when he rocks his hips into you, slowly but deep, pushing his cum even further into your womb and hoping you'll get pregnant.

Body Worship: I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sylus is a lover boy! ! ! Each kiss on your skin is an offering, a promise and a worship. He wants to know the parts of your body not even you do and give you the love you deserve. The praises he whispers against your body are similar to a prayer and he could spend years exploring every inch of you without ever getting tired. You're the very reason for his existence and any less is just unacceptable.

Size: This guy is not only big but he's also very large. He is a softie who likes to tease you about how small you are compared to him while he holds your hand and pretends he doesn't hear your complaints about him suffocating you after the draped his heavy body over yours. That feeling of satisfaction extends when he has to gently coo you and kiss your tears away while he's spreading your little hole open. He can't help the fangy grin on his lips when he feels his cock bulge on your tummy and he holds your hand over the spot so you feel how deep he is inside of you as well.

Rough Sex: Another controversial take but I feel like he's a secret sadist just not the extreme type. Man can flip his demeanor from "harmless babyboy" to intimidating sea god in a split second who knows what else he's hiding under that purple wig. He'll keep an almost cold demeanor while he coaxes whimpers out of you in the best way and a wicked smirk spreads across his face at the sight of your tears, spurring him on until he's completely broken you.

Food Play: That's definitely one way to make sure he actually eats. Having you be his meal will make him hungry like never before and oh he absolutely will feast (this may or may not be a reference to this). He makes a point of not using his hands while licking along your skin, tasting the sweet chocolate before he left a purple mark on your thighs. Oh, this goes both ways so please pour wine on him and lick him clean ;)

Body Painting: I forgot if there's an actual English term for this but Rafayel would love to draw on your skin and watch you squirm each time the soft, wet brush went over your perked up nipples. He'd scold you when you move because you're making him smudge the lines and holds you in place with his free hand, warning you to stop or he'll take "extreme measures" to make you keep still. You are the only one he'd ever dare to call a masterpiece.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Twenty

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse reader, feelings of fear and panic, PTSD, references to domestic violence. Trauma, blood. Flashbacks. Dubious ethics and morality, dark content.

“Are ye comin’ inside?”

“I need a minute.” He needs more than a minute. He needs days, weeks. Needs to wind back the clock and slam it into the ground, over and over again, until the springs and hands and tiny numbers splinter into pieces.

Failure. He failed. They failed.

They failed you.

“Wait, go back.” The video pauses and rolls backward, all the way until Simon tells Kate to stop it when you step out of the elevator. “What’s in her hand?” 

“Dinnae,” Johnny’s nose is practically touching the screen. 

“The recording is pretty low quality; I’ve tried enhancing it with no luck.” Kate’s voice crackles through the speakers from the other side of the laptop, the other side of the world. This is the first time they’ve managed to get a hold of her in weeks, and even now, the connection is half static. 

“Looks like a piece of paper, or a picture?” Johnny murmurs, leaning back. 

“This is just before she bolts,” the playback continues, and they watch as you walk down the hall, bright smile fading when you reach the corner. “She’s here for a minute and then runs…” Simon is glued to the screen, forward on his haunches, and Johnny rubs his back, kneading his knuckles into that ever-present knot in his shoulder. He watches your head turn, your back stiffen, and Johnny sucks in a breath. 

Kate nods the confirmation. She’s already put the puzzle together. 

Graves.

You’re reacting to Graves, seeing Graves. Entire demeanor shifting, changing from their sweet, smart girl with newfound confidence, to a deer, shocked and startled, running from a scope. 

Graves.

It’s simple math. Plain as day. You take one look at where he’s come around the corner, running his mouth, chewing that fucking gum, and split. 

It’s Graves. 

And it all makes sense. 

“-you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.”

“He always finds me.” 

“He has resources. Has followed me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I’m originally from Texas.” 

Texas. Texas. Texas. 

There was a conversation, months ago, that slipped through Simon’s fingers. A wisp of a suspicion, one pushed away by doubt, by disbelief.  

Not possible. A coincidence. 

He was wrong, about being wrong. He was right, all along.

Johnny nearly flips the table before Simon urges him back down. “Where… where does she go after this?” 

“She gets the car,” Simon answers, timeline clicking into place, “she borrows that gits car, comes home, packs a bag, and runs.” Johnny’s hands are shaking, fingers white against his knees. 

They’ll kill him. He’ll paint the walls with Phillip’s blood. They’ll do what should have done in the first place. 

He should have protected you, should have seen it all clearly. Should have applied more pressure and made you crack, if only for your own safety. 

He failed. 

They failed. 

“That piece o’ shite, I’ll-“ 

“Kill him.” Simon finishes simply, and they exchange a look. A promise without words. Simon will shatter his skull between his palms if he has to. 

Johnny nods. The gears are already turning. Are they so different from a man who has stopped at nothing to drag you back to him? 

No. 

They'd burn the world for you, to protect you, to bring you home to them. 

Kate clears her throat. “There’s more.” More? “I was checking some records, looking at her last clock out, when the last paycheck was paid out and I pulled her personal information, her medical chart.” Kate’s tone is wary, hesitant, and Johnny straightens. 

“What is it?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, unsure trepidation that’s so unlike Kate the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stands up. 

“Kate…” 

“She’s pregnant.” You could hear a pin drop. Johnny’s rage turns to panic, and an ocean of blood rushes in Simon’s ears. 

“She’s- she’s what?” 

“She’s pregnant. By now, she’s probably twenty weeks, maybe? I’m not sure. I don’t know much about those things, but her chart notes say both of them are… were in good health. Low risk.” 

“Twenty weeks,” Johnny echoes, faraway look in his eyes. 

A baby. You’re pregnant. 

Pregnant. Pregnant and alone, and scared. Running away.  

From them. 

Simon’s trying to wrap his head around it, but he can’t. The information doesn’t fit. It doesn’t make sense. 

“If she’s twenty weeks, then she’s been pregnant since before she left.” Johnny’s talking to himself at this point, because Simon can’t force his mouth to make words. “Why keep it a secret?” Kate is telling them something about index hits and cameras, but it all amounts to nothing after you board the train, and Simon still fails to make a sound. 

And then, she piles it on. 

“Graves is in the wind.” Simon’s heart stops like he’s been struck by lightning, electricity jolting him alive. 

“How?” 

“He went offline. No traceable activity in the last week or so. Last known location was Texas. After that, I’m not sure. Yet.”

‘He can’t be in the wind,” Johnny whisper shouts, all too aware of Penny upstairs, napping. “We need to know where he is. Now.” 

“I’m doing all I can. He has resources too, you know. A lot of them.” The screen goes black for a second, before she reappears, lips pressed into a grim line. “I have to go. I’ll keep you updated. Sorry guys.”

They can only nod. 

It’s clear as day, what happened now. How you saw them in the hallway, how you drew the conclusion, one that seemed so painfully obvious, connected the dots that appeared in your mind, stringing together bits and pieces until it all made sense.

He knows what will have to happen now. They both do. 

Simon presses his forehead to Johnny’s. “We’ll find her.” 

“An’ bring her home.” 

“No matter what.” 

The rest is left unsaid. 

You’re having a dream.

It’s a lovely one, more of a memory than anything else, but a dream, nonetheless.

“This still feels like a bad idea.” 

“Isnae, ye’ll do great bun. Jus’ the ‘hawk now.” You’ve already finished the sides of his head, which were easy enough, but using actual scissors to cut hair is well outside your wheelhouse. 

“What if I mess it up?” 

“It’s jus’ hair, pretty girl. It grows.” 

“How’s it going out here?” Simon leans out the sliding door, Penny in his arms, and you try to plead with him with wide, nervous eyes. He chuckles. “Looks good so far.” 

“See?” Johnny smiles, one of the big ones that stretches his whole face and makes your knees weak. Penny loves them too, and she claps her hands together, giggling. 

“But… I don’t… I’m going to mess it up.” Johnny stands, warm hands on your arms. 

“Ye could shave me bald and wouldnae mess it up, bun.” You nod, but the acid, noxious taste of worry is still there on your tongue. 

“I just… I…” you’re starting to shake a little, fingers squeezing together. He tugs you into his chest, kisses your temple. 

“Ye’re alright.” 

“I know.” You do know. You’re safe. They’d never hurt you, never betray your trust or even yell at you, but muscle memory doesn’t forget. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Ye dinnae have to be sorry.” 

“It’s okay, bunny.” Simon murmurs, but it’s not. 

Is this how you’ll spend your whole life? Afraid? Shaking? 

No. 

Not anymore. 

“If I ruin his hair… it’s not my fault.” Simon chuckles. 

“We’ll blame him.” You turn back to Johnny and put your hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath, surveying the mop of unruly brown strands, and he covers one of yours with his own. 

“It’s okay. If ye-“ 

“No, I can. I can do it.” You don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s just a hair cut, for crying out loud, but for some reason it feels like plunging into the deep end of a pool. “Okay,” you breathe, making the first snip. He nods encouragingly and you roll your shoulders. 

“See? Not so bad?” 

“Not so bad.” You cut again and again, trying to manage it all into a proper length, shaping as best you can. 

Each snip, something grows. Your hands tremble a little less, your jaw unclenches, lips flexing upward into your cheeks. You breathe deeper. 

When Johnny turns around, he doesn’t care about his hair, or the slightly uneven chunks, or the fresh clippings on his shirt. 

He cups your face, kissing you before pulling away to rub his thumb across your cheek. 

“There she is.” 

Spring rain. There’s nothing like it.

It washes away the gloom of winter. It’s the turning of a page, the spine of a brand-new book snapped open with a splintering crack. Cabin fever becomes walks in the park, lunches and coffees outside, hanging out on balconies and patios.

Dead things turned to soil now sprouting new life.

Like you, you guess.

You’ve been dead before. If someone looked really closely, they could see it in your eyes. The grey of decay, the separation of iris and pupil. Dead and brought back not quite right, every time. Sally, stitched together incorrectly, the wrong pieces of patchwork, poorly aligned.

Every time he ripped another piece of you away, you found a different one, one less like you, to put in its place.

Every time, until you weren’t you at all. Until you were a girl in a mirror. Until you were a ghost.

It makes sense that you don’t know yourself now, haven’t known for years. On the run, there’s not a lot of time to stop and consider things like that, those pieces. Coffee or tea? Chocolate cake or vanilla? Do you like snow? Do you like the beach? 

Do you like yourself? 

You could have had these answers, you think. Could have learned these things, if it hadn’t turned out the way it did. If Simon and Johnny hadn’t turned out to be a hydra, mouths open, waiting to devour you.

Sunbeam kicks. They nail you in the bladder, and you wince, rubbing over the crest of your belly. “You’re killing me, you know that?” You feel like you’ve been hit by a bus, every day. The aches and pains are never ending, your back and hips screaming by the end of a shift. You can’t sleep, the heartburn makes it hard to eat, you’re never comfortable.

The whole time, you curse them, Simon and Johnny.

Their fault, it’s their fault.

And yours too. 

But no matter how tired, how sore, how cranky you are, you can’t bring yourself to regret it, and in your dreams, it’s like all the bad, all the awful betrayal didn’t even happen. You dream of a family with them, Penny holding her little sibling, the five you together. It’s all been buried in your mind, too deep and nearly impossible to dig out. The visions of them, the longing, the good memories. You’re infested with them.

You didn’t want this. You wanted them, you wanted it all, and that might be the hardest thing about it. You weren’t given a choice, this decision was made for you, taken from you, just like almost everything else.

Except little sunbeam. You wanted them, chose them, will choose them, over and over, forever, keep them safe, make sure they know they’re loved.

No matter what. 

It’s the train, always the train.

Not the long rail train, the commuter train. The one that takes you to and from work, the one that’s sometimes-standing room only, though most people offer you their seat, which is surprisingly kind, compared to where you’re from.

Regardless, you feel the gaze on the train, and no matter how hard you scan, dissect, watch the people around you, there’s nothing. All three faces, three sets of eyes, three profiles, are never anywhere to be seen.

It’s overwhelming, unsettling. The stress of this prickling unease combined with the stress and physical strain of your job is taking its toll on both you and Sunbeam, as the midwife likes to remind you.

Take it easy, take some time off, try to relax. Stay hydrated, eat well.

Yeah… okay.

You rub your belly anxiously, tugging your hood farther over your head, trying to look around without being so obvious.

“Excuse me?” You jolt, startled by a man standing at your elbow, pointing to a vacant spot on a bench. “Would you like my seat?” His smile is subtle, matching an encouraging but not overly intrusive demeanor.

“Sure, thank you so much.” He nods, stepping to the side, into the space between the seat and the divider, close to the door. You try to swing your backpack in front of you, but it gets caught, and he snags it before it falls. “Sorry, thanks.”

“Of course, no problem.” You give him another glance. Really handsome, rich brown eyes you could get lost in. He’s got a baseball cap on, but it’s not pulled down over his face like your hood, he’s not trying to hide. “I’ll move when your stop comes up.”

“Okay, it’s not for a while so, no worries.” He might be kind, but he’s still a stranger, and you’re not going to divulge anything specific. Stranger danger. 

Not everyone is a threat but… 

“How far along are you?” You blink.

“Uh, about twenty-five weeks, give or take a few days.” He nods.

“My wife is due next week; it’s been a rollercoaster.”

“Yeah, it’s not the easiest.” You laugh, a little apprehensive, but also, a little glad, secretly, to have a casual conversation with someone. He sticks his hand out.

“I’m Kyle.” Your tongue rolls with the practiced name you’ve memorized, the one you’ve drilled into yourself over and over again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” The next stop is announced, and he moves gracefully, reaching for his bag and tugging it over his shoulder, barely giving you a second glance.

“This is me, have a good day.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you when he’s getting off, doesn’t watch you through the window from the platform. He’s completely uninterested, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

The box is delivered on a Tuesday.

The Scottish government gives you almost everything you need. Clothes, thermometers, baby books, a changing mat, a mattress, a sheet, a blanket, the list goes on. The box even doubles as a bassinet.

You cry over it. Rifling through everything, tears drip down your cheeks and you bury your face in your hands. You didn’t get to share an ultrasound with anyone, or have a shower, or hold someone’s hand to your belly as sunbeam kicked, but there’s this. A box full of baby stuff, a box that says no matter how hard it is, you and sunbeam will have a good start. Even Sunbeam’s room is halfway sorted at this point, crib set up, dresser half stocked with clothes, collection of diapers and burp cloths and bottles starting to pile up in various places in their room. You’ve made it comfortable, slowly, mix matched furniture and all.

Every day feels like a year, but as each one passes, you slowly adjust to a new normal, a new life. Something you made, again, from scratch, for yourself, your survival.

And now, for Sunbeam.

One day, maybe it will feel like home.

You really need to stop buying so much crap at the store.

You practically have to drag your grocery loot into the elevator, bags overflowing with fruit, vegetables, cans of formula. Random cleaning products, stuff for baby proofing, a new candle.

Apparently, some call this nesting. You just call it annoying.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a moment, shifting your weight to alleviate the pressure on your spine.

Thirty weeks.

Ten weeks left.

Ten weeks left. It’s wild to even think about, to even say to yourself, or out loud. You’re going to be a mom in ten weeks. Going to have a whole human depending on you for every single thing, in ten weeks.

You’ll be alone, with a newborn, in ten weeks.

Alone.

It still aches. Stings. Salt in the wound-

Lit end of a cigarette against your skin.

You instinctively cup your belly, thumb rubbing over where one of your burn scars has been stretched by Sunbeam, and shiver.

You’re fine. You’re safe. Get it together.

��We’re home!” You announce to no one, no one except Gus the goldfish who’s swimming circles around his bowl. You got him two weeks ago on an impulse, following a pathetic, sad desire all the way to the pet store.

It’d be nice to have something to come home to. 

You tap a few flakes into the water and watch him gobble them up, oddly soothed by his presence in the flat.

This is how far you’ve fallen. Taking comfort in a damn goldfish.

You blow out a breath and fall onto the couch, swinging your legs up onto the cushions, dragging the pillows under your ankles, or what used to be your ankles. They’re more like overstuffed sausages now, tops of your sneakers cutting into your skin. Every chance you get, you’re finding places to sit at work, caught yourself leaning most of your weight on your patient’s beds, more than once. Thankfully, your coworkers are overwhelmingly understanding.

And when you come home, you do this. Collapse on the couch. Talk to a goldfish, or Sunbeam, or both.

The oddest trio: Mom, baby, goldfish.

You manage to limit yourself to three bites of ice cream before putting the carton away in the freezer. You’re supposed to be watching your sugar intake, apparently, not because you’re at risk for gestational diabetes, but because Sunbeam is already projected to be on the bigger side.

You look mournfully at container, spoon still in hand.

One more. What’s it going to hurt? One more bite isn’t going to turn Sunbeam into a giant, it’s-

Knuckles rap against your door.

Your blood goes cold, colder than ice, and you instinctively find the floor, crouching by the fridge, using it to shield yourself, keeping away from the door’s direct line of sight.

The knocking gets louder.

Someone’s saying something on the other side of the door, but you can’t hear it over the buzzing, beeping sound in your ears.

How. 

How? How did it happen so fast? Where did you fuck up? 

The fear you once felt for yourself pales in comparison to the true fear you feel now. You’re supposed to protect Sunbeam, supposed to keep them safe.

You’re supposed to be a mom. 

A sob claws its way out, and you clap your palm over your mouth, agony squeezing your heart, panic clutching your throat in a vise, choking off your air, throttling you until you’re gasping.

You should run, should sprint into the bedroom and grab the gun from under your mattress, should start crawling out the window to the fire escape.

You should do these things, but instead, you’re trapped, immobile, watching with horror as the deadbolt turns horizontal, sliding the lock free with a bloodcurdling click.

Your baby. You were supposed to keep your baby safe. 

You failed. 

You stand, so unsteady you have to support your weight by leaning against the counter. The only thing in here are kitchen knives, and you rip two from the block, one hiding behind your back, the other brandished in front of your body like a sword.

You’re going to die. 

But not without a fight. 

Tears wet your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you choke, sliding a hand over little Sunbeam, “I’m so- so sorry.”

The creak of the door handle is unmistakable, a metal whine scraping against the frame. You close your eyes.

“Bunny.”

Your heart stops.

The men you thought love you are standing just inside your kitchen, the sight of them turning your stomach, their eyes flicking between you and the shiny, sharp knife in your hand.

Johnny inches forward, his voice a low, gentle murmur, one that cracks your heart. “It’s okay pretty girl, we’re here to take ye home.”

“Get away from me.” The knife is practically rattling in your hand.

"It's alright. We’d never hurt ye, either of ye. We know what ye saw and-“

“N-no,” you sob, voice cracking, shoulders shaking, “don’t come near me.”

“Put that down, sweet girl, it’s alright.” Simon edges around the counter, caution and wary weighing his steps. They’re supposed to be muffled you think, soft, but they ring so loud.

“Stop!”

“Just let us explain, give us a minute-“

“I saw you! I saw you w-with him.” Your vision is blurred by tears, and you look down at your belly, desperate. “Just let us go, please. Don’t- don’t let him-“

“Listen to me, sweetheart. We have nothing to do with Phillip.” His name makes your flinch, and you inch backwards.

“You know him.”

“We do. He tried to kill us, betrayed us, on a mission. Nearly succeeded with Johnny.” The words conflict, mash together into a scramble you don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.

More lies. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know, I know you don’t. I wouldn’t if I was in your position either, but we’re telling the truth.” You shake your head.

“No. You’re just… you’re just trying to trick me.”

“We’re not,” Johnny murmurs, “We’ve always told ye the truth, bun. And we’d never hurt ye.” He steps forward. It’s too close, way too close, and you pivot, both knives still clutched in your hands.

“Put them down.” Simon instructs, a little bit of steel in his voice now. He can obviously see the one behind your back, and your heart starts to sink.

There’s no way out. You should have run when you had the chance. 

Stupid.

The girl in the mirror stays silent. She says nothing.

For all you know, she’s dead already. Killing blow dealt by your own hand.

You think about Sunbeam, all warm and safe, protected from the world, and despair swells in your chest, an entire ocean beneath your feet, waiting to swallow you up, drag you down and drown you.

“Now, sweetheart. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You laugh. It’s a sickly, nervous thing, too tinny and high pitched.

You’re falling apart. You’re not a fighter, you’re a runner, shot lame in a race rigged against you from the beginning. They’re closing in, wolves stalking the bleeding lamb between them, predators about to fall on prey.

 “Don’t,” whisper, fingers tightening around the knife in front of your body, unable to hold it steady through the trembling.

“Bunny, listen to us, please.” Johnny is reaching and you get trapped in his gaze, spiraling into the swirl of misery and fear, mirroring your own. “I love ye, we love ye. Ye belong with us, at home, where we can keep ye safe.” You slam your eyes shut, trying to block him out. “I’ve loved ye since the day I opened m’eyes and saw ye leaning over the bed. We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Simon moves. One powerful, huge step, and he’s on you, grabbing your arm, applying pressure to your knuckles to release the knife.

You scream. It’s instinct. Everything shuts down, narrowing down to one objective.

Run.

“Johnny,” he half shouts over your keening, holding gentle pressure against your arm as you try to rip yourself free. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You thrash, trying to twist out of his grip, shoulder shrieking in pain, and he goes with your momentum, providing slack so there’s no tension in your arm. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself sweetheart, you’re okay.”

You’re not. 

You’re not okay. You’ll never be okay. 

The walls close in, and it all becomes so clear. Your future, what will happen if they take you, if you leave here with them.

They’ll take Sunbeam. They’ll turn you over to Phillip, throw you out like trash, and you’ll die.

Are you going to let it happen, just like you let everything else? Are you going to roll over? Let it all be stolen, again and again? 

No. 

Simon reaches for the other knife and you swing it wide, slicing through the air until the blade meets flesh.

He hisses. Blood spills, drips down the handle, coats your fingers, and you stand there, frozen, gobsmacked.

Did you- 

Did you just- 

“Johnny,” he barks, but it barely registers, you’re too transfixed by the blood, hypnotized by it, too entranced to even register Johnny at your side, too stunned to see what’s in his hand.

A needle. 

He whispers your name, cradles your face-

And then everything goes black.

[holdmytesseract]

One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

[forlix]

· . ˚ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞

— the little mannerisms you pick up from the members of stray kids over the course of your relationship.

words・3.7k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / genres・fluff, humor, borderline crack, intentional lowercase, established relationship(s) / warnings・minsung’s are suggestive, touch of anxiety in felix's, jeongin's is lowkey gross LMFAO

a/n・massive shoutout to @/http.dwaekkii on tiktok for their edits about the boys' habits, which i consulted for chan, changbin, seungmin, and jeongin (and to @astraystayyh for beta reading hehe. what would i do without u). these were sooooo fun to write, hope u guys enjoy (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )

chan + getting shy easily. poor thing gets embarrassed so quickly as it is. throw you into the mix and it’s just critical hit after critical hit. defense lowered. no health potions left. he folds like a lawn chair with a massive smile and a whiny “stooooop” every time you say something even remotely affectionate. the habit is adorable, and you love it to pieces.

but you like poking fun at it even more. “god forbid i find my literal underwear model of a boyfriend attractive,” you’d say, or something along those lines, which of course only triples his embarrassment and on more than one occasion results in him starfishing on your kitchen floor, his hood pulled over his face.

fast forward however many months. he’s still the worst compliment-receiver you know, but you discover one arbitrary afternoon that it’s rubbed off on you.

the two of you are cuddled together on the living room couch in your usual fashion, your legs thrown over his thighs and his hands tracing absently over your shins as you relay to him something you overheard on the subway. the conversation is painfully normal. you’re almost bored. you pause to take a breath, and he murmurs, out of nowhere, in the dreamiest tone: “so damn beautiful.”

“wha—huh? what is?”

“you. your voice, your face, everything. i‘m lucky.”

your expression of bewilderment persists for around ten seconds, and then slowly, so slowly, you begin to sandwich your head between your knees, balling yourself up like a spooked armadillo. chan wonders if he should call an ambulance.

“love?” no response. “what, uh, what’s happening right now, exactly?”

no response. no response. then, hoarsely, “you can’t...say shit like that…randomly.”

he notices two things after that. one, your skin is burning hot enough to fry something upon, and two, you’ve formed a fist in the fabric of his hoodie, which you only do when you’re pretending to be annoyed at him. the puzzle pieces fall into place, and he starts grinning like a madman.

“you’re…embarrassed?”

the guttural groan you emit is more than enough of an answer, and the cute aggression that overcomes chan is fucking debilitating. he wraps his arms around you and hauls you entirely off the couch and onto his lap, littering kisses over your face until it finally resigns into a matching smile. all intent to continue feigning grumpiness erased with the drop of a hat. you drape an arm over his neck.

“you’re so good to me, channie,” you sigh helplessly. “i love you.”

“love you more, baby.” he imprints these words directly upon your lips, then pulls away, giggles. “that was very me of you, by the way.”

“i know, right? i was just about to say.”

minho + butt touching. it’s quite simple, really. if lee minho is within proximity of someone’s buttocks, he will, as he lives and breathes, make it known. will it be a coy little swat or a yelp-eliciting, full-bodied grab? nobody ever knows, not even him. the unpredictability is what makes it exciting.

but it takes a while before this starts applying to you, because the way minho touches you is…different. doting. there’s no other way to describe how he always holds the nape of your neck while kissing you, how he rests a hand against the small of your back whenever he leads you somewhere, how during the nights you can’t sleep he guides you to the place on his chest where he knows his heartbeat is loudest. he even drags you into his trademark headlocks the same way one would hold an invaluable treasure. he’s so obsessed with all of you that he never thinks to pay just your butt special attention (though it is, indeed, a special butt).

you take it into your own hands. literally.

you don’t know what prompts it—maybe you’ve simply seen minho slap his members’ asses one too many times, or maybe you’re still thinking of the specific time minho slapped changbin’s ass in passing and it fucking echoed, or maybe minho just looks especially fine in this practice outfit, a skintight tee and washed sweatpants that hug him in all the right places—but you feel a new urge today as your boyfriend swings his duffel over his shoulder, circles around the kitchen counter.

he puckers up as he nears you, silently requesting his goodbye; you give it to him, relishing for a moment in the familiar, soft plush of his lips beneath yours. then he pulls away and turns to leave, and your hand acquires its target.

“go get ‘em, tiger.” thwack!

minho jumps a foot into the air. clutches his pearls and his left butt cheek. becomes the splitting image of that perplexed blonde lady surrounded by geometry.

but when he turns around to stare at you, the smirk melting across his face betrays how he really feels about what you’ve just done. good. really good.

you, meanwhile, look genuinely confused. “it’s like it moved on its own.”

minho beams. steps towards you daintily, intentionally, like a cat catching sight of a laser beam. brings a hand to your hip, murmurs, “that’s what we’re doing now?” kisses you again, for longer this time.

you fully foresee his fingers wandering to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze, but you reach up to cuff his shoulder when it happens anyways, and his laugh vibrates against your mouth. it seems you’ll be reaping what you’ve sown from now on.

(good luck.)

changbin + the Cackle™. yes, you said something exceptionally funny. yes, you expected changbin to find it funny too. but you couldn’t expect the godforsaken noise that left his mouth as he threw himself straight into the tree planter behind you.

your mind spun with frantic questions as you helped him out of the dirt. had the spirit of spongebob just usurped his vocal cords? were you on a date with the wicked witch of the west? most importantly—

“are you well?” you sputtered, which only made him laugh harder and his laugh so much crazier, so you started laughing, too. and you were goners, falling over each other until you’d been reduced to watery eyes and sore cheeks, your giggling interrupted only by the sound of you slapping his thigh every so often, heartily enough to reverberate around the little park in which you concluded your second date.

that’s how you fall for seo changbin: laughing. with a reckless, breathless abandon you didn’t think possible. stumbling across empty sidewalks, spitting noodles across dining tables, begging for mercy on studio couches. wrestling under tear-stained comforters, starting (and re-starting) silly stories, huffing into beaming kisses. the list goes on.

you never quite get used to that chortle of his, too busy enjoying its insanity to notice how your own chuckles grow shorter and shriller, how they gradually develop an edge like the chittering of a forest dweller.

you complete your transformation on your ninety-eighth date. 

no, changbin doesn’t say anything exceptionally funny. no, he doesn’t expect you to find it exceptionally funny, either. he expects least of all for you to fold over the kitchen island and start cackling like cruella de vil on helium.

jisung turns around from his seat on the couch. chan’s footsteps come to a halt as he emerges from the bathroom. both of them have fear in their eyes as they witness your undoing.

the only thing on changbin’s face, though, is unfettered delight.

“b-baby,” he sputters with a growing smile. “are you—”

you lift your face off the marble surface and turn to face him. the entirety of your forehead and the point of your nose is covered in flour. you blow a cloud of the stuff out of your mouth like a dragon awoken from slumber.

he loses it.

the two of you make your way onto the floor in slow motion, ending in a tangled heap against the side of the counter. changbin tries to clean off the flour and smears it all over your cheeks instead. you are zero help whatsoever, smacking his bicep like that’ll help you catch your breath. your synchronized, diabolical laughter reaches every corner of the apartment. your happiness reaches every nerve ending.

chan and jisung look at each other and sigh. jisung takes a video.

hyunjin + side-eyeing. this man is so god awful at controlling his face, bless him…and DAMN HIM.

on one hand, you love how in tune with his emotions he is, how confidently he puts them on display. and you love your synergy. you come closer to believing in soulmates every time you glance his way and discover your exact feelings written all over his features; it’s a special type of happiness, sharing a brain with your favorite person in the world.

on the other hand, you think there’s a time and place for candor, and he tends, well, not to think at all. during many a precarious situation, you’ll catch him wearing an expression so transparent that he might as well arrange the words THIS IS STUPID AND I HATE ALL OF YOU over his head in neon lights. cue a dig of your heel into his toe, a hiss of pain cut short by your piercing glare. if you’d known ahead of time that dating hwang hyunjin would have you doing so much damage control…you’d still date him, let’s be real. but you do get stressed at times.

the night the tables turn, you’re at a celebratory dinner for your coworker’s birthday. small caveat: you can’t stand her. she’s the type to spontaneously combust if she goes two minutes without talking about herself. certainly doesn’t help that she’s downing champagne like water, and her lips are looser than ever.

hyunjin comes with you, fortunately. or not. he spends the whole evening trying so hard not to laugh: snorting into his bread, excusing himself to “cough.” you think he actually starts doing breathing exercises at some point. you’re so, so grateful that he’s here, but you’re also deathly afraid that he’s gonna bring out those neon lights in front of your entire office.

then, she flirts with him.

from the opposite end of the table. perfectly wasted but still knowing perfectly well that he’s yours. the whole patio goes silent. hyunjin’s jaw hits the table.

your fork clatters to your plate.

FUCK time and place.

the side-eye you give her is devastating. truly masterful. your brow furrows. your eyes turn to slits. your gaze does the up-down-up of unadulterated incredulity. hyunjin recognizes the motions straightaway and starts smiling so hard his whole face hurts.

you take your boyfriend’s wrist and stand up. he follows suit. you don’t say a thing as you leave the restaurant, and you don’t have to. the intensity of your disdain was more than enough; anything more and she might’ve started crying.

once you’re on the curb outside, hyunjin pulls on your interlocked hands, brings you close. his lips brush against the shell of your ear. you hear laughter and his smirk in his voice: “you might be the sexiest person on earth."

jisung + how he applies lip balm. that han jisung is the pioneer of modern day babygirlism is the worst kept secret in the world. that han jisung applies lip balm the riveting way he does, however, is unknown even to you. until one morning.

you pop into the bathroom and make your usual beeline for your toothbrush, only to end up motionless in front of the sink, staring. jisung is a bit off to the side, hair pinned back by a cinnamoroll headband, eyes glued to his phone, hand holding a tube of chapstick that you can actually see getting shorter in real time. he looks so pensive, so concentrated. how long has it been since he last blinked? you’ve half a mind to pull out a stopwatch.

finally, he rubs his lips together, recaps the chapstick, and makes eye contact with you in the mirror. a smile crosses his face, equal parts confused and amused.

“baby, your mouth is open.”

you close it. then you open it again, and your words come out in a barely-contained laugh: “what on earth did you just do?”

“what do you mean?”

“the—” you point at his mouth, then do your best impression of an elementary schooler trying to color inside the lines. “—that.”

jisung looks aghast. “that was LIP BALM.”

“no, i know what it—you’re so—i meant, why do you apply it like that?”

jisung continues to look aghast. “like what?”

“like you’re one of socrates’ prized pupils and the answer to the universe’s formation lies at the bottom of—” you step in close, reach into the pocket of his sweatpants. “—this tube!”

it might be the craziest thing you’ve ever said to him. he bursts into laughter, the kind that leaves him no recollection of what he does with his limbs, and when he can see straight again he discovers he’s pressed you gently against the counter. his fingers latched around the hem of your top, his grin inches away from yours. can’t stay away from you to save his life, this one.

“do i actually?”

“yes! holy shit, it’s so cute.” your arms circle around his neck, also without an ounce of thought, also through a fit of giggles. “no way you’ve always done that, right?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it.” a pause. a tilt of his head, with purpose. “am i…doing it wrong?”

the question is a trap and you realize it too late. your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips—a ray of sunlight glistens off the pink plush like a paid actor—then back to his eyes. let’s find out.

you lean in. so does he. and his mouth tastes and feels like melted fucking sugar. it’s such a pleasant surprise that you actually moan, and he chuckles against you. lifts you onto the edge of the sink. your mind really goes empty after that, save for one thought. i have to start doing that.

felix + checking his own pulse. you saw it from afar, the first time.

he stood by the stage’s entrance just before curtain up, pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of his neck. eyelids sealed closed, chest heaving. you tilted your head, puzzled. worried. then the concert began, and you pushed the image to the back of your mind.

it returned to the forefront right before bed.

“you do it when you’re nervous?”

“yeah. forces me to ground myself. turns off the world for a bit.” the hand rubbing circles into your back paused. “wanna give it a go?”

“what, checking my pulse?”

“mine.”

you lifted your head off the pillow. felix took your hand from where it sat upon his ribs, isolating two fingers and nestling them over his jugular. his quickened heartbeat pressed into your skin like the world’s gentlest tattoo.

the sixty seconds began and concluded in total silence.

“well?” he whispered.

“ninety-three,” you answered, lightheaded from the sheer intimacy of it all. “you’re nervous right now?”

“something like that,” he hummed. pulled you down, kissed you deeply. there were no more words exchanged that night.

the habit surfaced more than you knew. while driving to visit your parents. after a stupid argument with a bouquet of flowers tucked beneath his free arm. you started doing it for him in the times he couldn’t, and he’d cover your hand with his own and kiss the top of your head silently, gratefully.

two years have passed since, and you’ve vanished from the dinner table.

felix asks the nearest waiter for directions to the restrooms. you don’t notice when the door swings open, unmoving in your spot over the sink, your pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of your neck. 

his hand finds your hip. you let him turn you around and bring you to his chest; he glances at the crystalline droplets studding your lashes and falling from your cheeks. his eyes convey what his mouth doesn’t need to, not anymore.

let me.

you do.

his fingers replace yours the moment you drop them from under your jaw, the movement like clockwork. he counts your every heartbeat with unblinking concentration, his heart growing heavier the higher the number climbs.

the sixty seconds begin and conclude in total silence. 

“well?” you whisper.

“hundred and six,” he answers. to his confusion, a smile pulls at your lips. 

he wonders if it’s a trick of the bathroom lights when he sees the tiny box you pluck from your pocket, but there’s no mistaking the reality of the diamond ring that sits behind its open lid.

the earth slants under his feet.

“crazy.” you giggle through your tears, run your thumb over his cheekbone. “that’s how many years i want with you.”

seungmin + poking eyes(?) he’s hardly touched puppym when your voice is slicing through the living room air like a fucking beyblade. 

“KIM SEUNGMIN, UNHAND HIM THIS INSTANT.”

do you have a sixth sense just for this? he throws his hands up in exasperation. “he’s literally me. i’m allowed to do whatever i want with me.”

“he’s not you, he’s our son.” you pop out of nowhere to swipe the plushie from over your boyfriend’s shoulder. “my son, if you keep this up.”

“just say you hate me and my preferred avenues of self expression.”

upside-down, he watches you dust off puppym’s face and smooch his forehead with a tenderness that makes seungmin unhappier than he lets on. you then tuck him into your jacket pocket. the little shit’s expression looks strangely smug poking out of its cotton capsule.

“i’m asking you to not gauge his eyes out, not to deliver me the holy grail,” you say. “you’ll survive.”

but then he feels your hands on either side of his face, and you lean over him like the mj to his peter, leave a kiss on the space between his eyes, too. he has zero say in the bashful smile this brings to his face.

“but why do you do that, seriously?” you mutter.

“i have no idea,” he replies. “but it’s fun. try it.”

“i’ll think about it.” you lean in again, and he nearly forgets what you were talking about in the first place when you kiss him on the lips this time. “okay, i’ve thought about it. no.”

“hate you,” he says despite the literal hearts in his eyes, and then you’re off to work.

puppym takes strikingly after his father. they have the same bangs. the same compulsively squeezable quality. the same little :3 that can only allude to sinister plottings. you’d be loath to admit that you sort of comprehend seungmin’s poking predisposition.

one night, seungmin falls asleep before you even finish your nighttime routine, and you spot in his peaceful, upturned face an opportunity.

you lie belly-down on your side of the bed. your fingers splay into a peace-sign in the air. your smile stretches further into a cheshire grin the closer you bring your hand. you’re just about to reach the ends of his eyelashes when—

“I KNEW IT!”

you almost catapult into the ceiling. then you try to make a mad dash for the bathroom. but seungmin shoots a hand around your wrist like he’s actually peter parker and pins you down before you so much as take a step. your only remaining option is to sulk about your foiled plans. (and blush, because, well, you’re under him.)

“amateur,” he tsks. “you gotta test my breathing to make sure i’m asleep first. shit’s foolproof.”

you blink at him for a few seconds. his words finally click.

now you almost catapult him into the ceiling.

“HOW MANY TIMES?”

jeongin + eating food in one bite. so you might be an instigator.

“hwuck,” he grumbles around the whole ice cream cone in his mouth, face scrunched up in a brain-freeze-induced wince. “ayee ith waz a bah iyeah.” (translation: fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.)

“you got this. just take it slow,” you urge, except he’s stopped moving and speaking and closed his eyes as if he’s descending into a deep sleep. you’re actually concerned for about two seconds, and then his jaw begins to oscillate leisurely like an elderly cow in his favorite pasture. false alarm.

after some time, he swallows, beams. “so am i the fucking best or what.”

“yeah you are,” you echo, and he swings an arm over your shoulder, plants a chocolatey kiss on your temple. the two of you celebrate his daesangs with less enthusiasm.

“when are you doing that with me, by the way?”

“the one-bite thing?” he nods. “mmm, coaches don’t play.”

“mmm, this one will.”

“doubtful.”

fast forward a few weeks and you, jeongin, and his younger brother are sitting cross-legged on the porch in his backyard. three full-sized oranges rest in the center of your makeshift circle. damn is yoon hard to say no to. (runs in the family.)

“the rules!” he declares. “eat the orange whole! first to swallow it wins! you can’t spit it out!”

you wait. “is that it?”

“yes!”

why was the delivery so grand?

jeongin places a fond hand atop his brother’s head. “i’ve brought you a new loser, yoonie. get excited.”

you feign an indifferent scoff, but jeongin spots the fire that ignites behind your eyes like that of an anime protagonist, the resolute grip with which you palm your orange. he smirks. he’s never known you to take trash talk sitting down. or sitting cross-legged on his porch.

yoon counts you off. “ready…”

“good luck, coach,” jeongin sings.

“shut up, pipsqueak.”

“set…GO!”

in amusing unison, you and yoon try and fail to fasten your teeth around even half of the fruit. jeongin, meanwhile, fits the whole thing into his black hole of an oral cavity and launches into that dumb cow impression again.

desperate times call for desperate measures.

you rip the orange from your lips. “yoon! your brother’s ticklish, right?”

both yang siblings’ eyes widen—the younger’s in growing delight, the older’s in impending horror.

the latter reacts first. “ay, ay, ay, ah ahes eh ooles!” (translation: wait, wait, wait, that’s against the rules!)

but the former moves first, and you’re right behind him.

jeongin weakens when the younger boy assaults his sides, crumples when you target the back of his neck, the sounds leaving his mouth getting progressively louder and somehow even less intelligible.

he eventually has to spit out the orange to avoid death by pulp going down the wrong pipe and spins around in indignation, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. but his annoyance—

you’re back on the floor, gnawing hopelessly at the the orange again. “ih ih eawahin, ooh.” (translation: this is embarrassing, yoon.)

yoon replies, “huh?” (translation: huh?)

—dissipates, immediately.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ・ @automaticpersonabatpaper

© forlix (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[steddiehyperfixation]

steve harrington's phone number

@steddiebingo prompt: van | 1.7k words | T |

“Stupid- useless piece of shit!” Eddie barely manages to pull his coughing, spluttering van over to the side of the road before it chokes to a stop with a dying wheeze. “Fucking drama queen.” He gets out and gives the side of the van a good kick, chastizing it for its very loud and inconvenient death. 

Just his luck it would decide to break down here, on a nothing stretch of road several miles outside of town. Too far to walk but not all that long of a drive if his stupid car could’ve just toughed it out a little while longer. “You really couldn’t have held on for like ten more minutes?” he grumbles, kicking the van again. The van, of course, does not answer and remains quite dead. Eddie mutters a few more curses and pulls his jacket tighter around himself against the late November chill as he wanders around to the front of the car to pop the hood. 

It’s an entirely useless gesture, popping the hood. Even before he opens it he knows he’s still not going to have a single clue what’s broken or how to fix it. The inner workings of a car are utterly foreign to him, an alien language of metal and grease that he stupidly never cared to learn. He stares blankly at the incomprehensible jumble of machinery before him, cursing himself for all those times he’d evaded and complained his way out of Wayne’s attempts to teach him how to do his own auto repairs. His uncle’s boring handyman lessons would’ve really come in handy right now, if only he’d had the foresight to listen. 

With a huffed out sigh, Eddie slams the hood back down. He’s going to have to call someone.

Thankfully he can see a roadside payphone not too far off in the distance, about half a mile out maybe. He rummages through his pockets and paws around the front seat of the van for any spare change he could use. He’d just blown through most of the money he had on him at a record store in Indy, but he manages to scrounge up enough coins for one call. Just one. So he has to choose wisely. He starts his trudge to the payphone while he runs through a mental list of options, feeling increasingly frustrated and hopeless as he crosses each of them off one by one. 

A tow truck is too expensive. His uncle is at work. Half his friends can’t drive, and not a single one of them knows anything about cars anyways so they wouldn’t be much help beyond a ride home (and he’d really rather not have to just leave his van on the side of the road). He needs someone who’s free, can drive, and has enough of a working knowledge of cars to possibly be able to give his van enough of a second wind to make it home. 

Which is how he finds himself in a dingy little phone booth punching in Steve Harrington’s number - a number he’s never called before yet somehow memorized, recalling it clearly in his mind’s eye in the scrawl of Steve’s handwriting on notebook paper. 

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking,” Steve’s voice comes through the line, automatic and rehearsed.

“Okay, I’ll make fun of that weirdly formal greeting later,” Eddie decides, “but right now, uh- man, I really hate to do this, but do you happen to know anything about fixing cars?”

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sounds almost startled to hear from him. “Um, yeah, I mean, I’m no expert or anything, but I know enough to get by. Why?” 

“My van just broke down on my way back from the city and I was hoping you might be willing to do me a huge huge favor and come out here and see if you can help me get her started again.” Eddie puts all the desperation he can into his voice, which really isn’t hard. His distress is 100% genuine. “Please? I’m desperate here, Harrington. I’d be forever in your debt, I’ll-” 

“Okay,” Steve says before Eddie can start bargaining. So simply, so easily. He really wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll help you. Where are you?”  

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god- thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I owe you my life, seriously-” 

“Munson,” Steve cuts him off again, repeating his question, “where are you?” 

“Right, yeah.” Eddie gives his best approximation of where he is and Steve promises to be there as soon as he can before hanging up. Feeling a little bit lighter now, Eddie treks back to wait by his van.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with pink and gold, when Steve’s BMW pulls up and he steps out of the car bathed in the orange glow of sunset, looking every bit the rescuing angel. A dashing hero straight out of a fairytale; Eddie can almost picture him with a sword in his hands instead of a toolbox, a noble steed behind him instead of a car. 

He expresses only a satirized version of that sentiment, clasping his hands over his heart and gasping theatrically in greeting, “Harrington, my hero!” And he grins as Steve rolls his eyes in response. 

“Hi, Eddie.” Steve approaches, plunks his toolbox on the front of the van and leans against it. “You know, I’m surprised you called me. It didn’t seem like you were ever going to.” 

Eddie shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I just- I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to help me. I’m sorry if me calling you, like, freaked you out for a second there.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow and his head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would you calling freak me out?” 

“Well, I mean, you only gave me your number in case something happened with the kids, right?” Eddie states. “So, I didn’t mean to make you worried at first that there might’ve been, like, a Dustin emergency or something.” 

“Oh…” A number of emotions flicker across Steve’s face as he seems to come to some sort of realization, and his expression ultimately settles on vaguely amused. “Right, yeah. Totally.” 

Now Eddie’s the one who’s confused, feeling like he’s missed a punchline. “Is that…not why you gave me your number?” It’s not like it had actually been explicitly stated, but they’d just been talking about the kids right before Steve had written his number down, so Eddie had just assumed that was the reason. 

“No, it-” Steve shakes his head and smiles, a little bit fond, a little bit like he’s still sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. “It’s not important right now,” he decides. “Let’s just figure out your van first, alright? What was going on with it before it broke down?” 

“Well, I don't actually know,” Eddie says, “but she was being very loud and dramatic about it.” 

“Huh, I’ve heard of pets developing similar personalities to their owners but I’ve never heard of cars doing it.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Steve grins, pushing himself off the front of the car so he can open the hood and take a look. He immediately starts to tinker around with some stuff. Eddie has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he sure looks good doing it. There’s a cold breeze in the air, getting colder by the minute with the slowly darkening sky, but something about watching Steve’s arms as he works a wrench into the machinery has Eddie feeling strangely warm. 

Steve’s talking, probably trying to explain what he’s doing or what’s wrong with the van, though Eddie’s not catching a word of it. He couldn’t pay attention even if he tried, and not just because he’s distracted by Steve’s arms. The other half of his mind is still stubbornly stuck on the whole thing about Steve’s number, racking his brain trying to figure out why the hell else he would’ve given it to him. 

He spends way too long replaying that moment, and all their previous and subsequent interactions, over and over again in his head before his memory finally starts to give notice to all Steve’s lingering glances, subtle once-overs, and suggestive smirks.

“Holy shit, you were flirting with me!” Eddie blurts out the realization as soon as it hits him. “When you gave me your number - you were trying to hit on me!”

Steve, who had been interrupted mid sentence, barks out a laugh. “Now he gets it,” he teases as he glances over at Eddie. “You know, I couldn't figure you out for a while. All this time you never called but would still say hi to me when I picked the kids up from Hellfire, I figured it was some sort of soft rejection. But you really were just completely oblivious, huh?” 

“No yeah, I just have fucking rocks for brains apparently,” Eddie says, shaking his head self-deprecatingly as he rushes to reassure him, “I was definitely not rejecting you. Definitely, definitely not. Believe me, if I’d’ve known- I would’ve called so fast, man. I mean, trust me, your phone would’ve never stopped ringing.” 

“Good to know.” Steve smiles, his eyes so golden and warm in the dusk it almost seems as if the sun is on its way back up. He returns his attention to the van, just for half a second to give the machinery one last tweak, and then he straightens and closes the hood, wiping the car grease from his hands off on his jeans as he announces, “Well, your car should start now, if you wanna test it out and make sure. And then we can, uh, continue this conversation?” 

Eddie nods, hops back in the van, and turns his key in the ignition. It rumbles to life, and he lets out a laugh like a cheer. “You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Stevie!” he shouts.

“Glad I could help,” Steve calls back proudly. 

Eddie revels in the sound of his not-dead van for a moment longer before he takes a deep breath, turns off the engine, and jumps out to stand in front of Steve again. “So.” 

“So.” 

There’s a brief beat of buzzing silence. Eddie finds he doesn’t have all that much left to say, and he’s feeling far too giddy right now to be able to stand through some sappy discussion about how they feel about each other when it’s entirely unnecessary. He suggests instead, “Do you wanna just skip the conversation and go make out in the back of my van?” 

Steve grins at him. “Absolutely.” 

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐡-𝐬𝐨-𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚...

cw: periods, cramps, perimenopause, the works

okay, so i’ve seen a few headcanons that sevika doesn’t have hard periods, and i can definitely see that… but i can also imagine it's the opposite.

and perhaps i’m projecting, or perhaps i enjoy whumping my comfort characters a bit too much… either way, i’ve always headcanoned sev as having really bad periods, but hiding it really well.

of course, until you come along and learn to read her like a book.

still, it isn't until you move in together a year and a half into your relationship that you ever notice how bad her ass gets kicked when that time of the month rolls around. considering her age, it’s likely that she’s already perimenopausal and that her periods aren’t as frequent anymore, but when they do come around, poor baby is suffering.

and it takes you a while to convince her not to do it in silence.

you don’t quite put the pieces together at first- because, again, the woman has made far too bad a habit of concealing her pain- but every once in a while you catch the rare times that her facade slips. like, for example, the mornings that she’ll swing her legs over the bed to get up for the day as usual, but pauses for a second, doubled over and exhaling deeply through her nose. or when she’s working on her arm, and- only for a fleeting moment- the screwdriver stills in her hand, and her brows knit together in discomfort. she’ll be standing at the kitchen counter making dinner, doing the dishes, sorting through mail, when all of the sudden, she stops what she’s doing to grip the edge of the counter and clench her jaw, but she’s always moving on to the next task before you can ask her what’s wrong.

one day, after an outburst out of nowhere, you finally demand to know what’s up.

the two of you are standing in the bathroom getting ready for bed as usual. you’re doing your skincare routine, and she’s watching with a soft smile as she throws her now shoulder-length hair into a bun ("i've been asking you for ages to give me a damn haircut," she'd bemoan). you’re pulled out of your focus on evenly applying your moisturizer by the sight of her leaning over to place both hands on the counter, the sound of her exclaiming through gritting teeth,

“fuck! fuck my fucking uterus!”

you’re frozen, caught completely off guard, and now, very confused as you watch her stand back up and steal some of your moisturizer like nothing had happened.

“baby,” you draw out, eyes narrowing.

“hm?”

you can’t help but chuckle, your jaw slack in disbelief. she’s entirely unfazed- and stealing your lip mask, now- but you suddenly understand.

all the winces of pain, the deep exhales of discomfort…

“honey, are you always in this much pain when you bleed?”

of course, she offers nothing more than a shrug. “yeah? what about it?”

you just shake your head, hands dropping to your sides.

“sev,” you scold, “you should be careful not to overdo it when you’re hurting that bad…”

she looks at you like you have two heads. “what the fuck else am i supposed to do? rest?”

and now, you’re bursting out into full-bodied laughter, because… yes! that is exactly what she’s supposed to do! and it’s exactly what you start demanding of her whenever you notice that she’s cramping. for a while, she shrugs you off, waves you away, claims she doesn’t need you to baby her. you know. typical sevika.

and then, one morning, you pad into the kitchen to find that she isn’t making herself coffee to take to work, isn’t making you breakfast to eat after she heads out; she’s just sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands, deep breaths coming out shakily. you rush over to her, bending down and placing a hand on her knee.

“baby?” you ask frantically, your hand coming up to rub circles onto her back, “what’s wrong?”

when she lifts her head up to meet your worried gaze, her own eyes are brimming with tears.

“hurts so bad,” she exhales; and you stand to press a kiss to her forehead before wrapping her head in your arms.

“you’re calling in sick.”

she doesn't protest this time; just nods against your chest. nor does she protest when you guide her back to your bedroom, or when you tuck her in with a cup of tea and a heating pad, or when you bring her breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed. and as you read her to sleep, the pads of your fingers massaging her scalp, she finally lets herself admit that perhaps, her pain is real and worth being tended to; perhaps, she’s worthy of being taken care of.

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content. toxic frat culture/attitudes. non consensual recording.

fuckboy satoru gojo.

fuckboy satoru who's in a group chat with a bunch of other shitty fuckboys who all brag about their conquests.

one of them posts a sex tape, bragging about how he took the girl's virginity and filmed it without her knowing. it catches his attention - the girl is kind of cute.

you're kind of cute. the sounds you make, the way you look and act, and damn, your body has his pants tightening. he thinks he's seen you around before.

the boys in the chat have a good laugh about what a dumbass you are. he jerks off to the video and moves on with his life.

and that's the end of it - until he bumps into you.

and actually you're... really nice. you apologize even though it's not your fault, laughing it off, picking your things up. he helps you, which is out of character for him, but he feels kind of bad for you.

you carry these tiny little mochi candies with you, and offer him one for his help.

you call him pretty. when he gets close enough to hand you your things he gets a whiff of your conditioner or body wash or something and it smells good. something sweet.

satoru wonders what scent it was. he thinks about it and he finds himself pulling up the video again, jerking off.

is it just him, or did you not cum in the video? he always knew the prick that took it was a total fucking loser.

and that could have been the end of it. that should have been the end of it, only, he seems to keep running into you again. completely by accident (at first) but later... well, it's not like he's avoiding you.

because you give him candy. you call him "pretty boy" and it doesn't sound even a little bit mocking. you smile at him, fondly, like you're happy to see him. you're just... nice.

what a dumb bitch. can't believe i actually got away with that lololol

i know dude. crazy. are you still together?

fuck that, we were never "together". she keeps texting me lol. needy af

he's nice to you when he sees you! he starts paying you back for the candies. buys you treats. brings you coffees. he learns your order. your major. your likes and dislikes. (how did that fucking prick get to touch you? what the fuck did he tell you?)

so maybe he jerks off to the video again... a few more times. he gets angrier every time.

the piece of shit in chat keeps talking about how bad you were in bed. he didn't even get you off. what a fucking loser.

he tells himself it's a matter of pride. he's good in bed, it's pathetic that the dude is bragging about his garbage performance. it's not like he cares about you.

it's not like he walks with you to classes. texts you all the time. finds out what body wash you were using and buys you ten more of them.

when he threatens the piece of shit that fucked with you, it's because he's embarrassed to be associated with him.

nothing to do with how you've confided in him that you're having doubts about the guy you 'were involved with'.

nothing to do with the look on your face when you say it, and the way it makes him feel like he's being stabbed in the chest.

nothing to do with the way that he - he can't stop jerking off to that fucking video, he can't stop looking at you, wishing - but he feels so fucking bad about it -

okay, fine, WHATEVER. maybe fuckboy satoru is catching the first crush of his entire life...

and then he sees another video of you in the group chat.

Sequel: The Strongest Feminist

[itneverendshere]

played me like a clarinet - rafe cameron

request: "Desperately-on my knees-begging for a ''She's all that'' from 1999, with Popular Rafe x Reader. Ooouff, and you want that soul crushing heartbreak when she finds out about the bet he had made"

pairing: rafe x smart!nerdy!reader warnings: angst.

Rafe Cameron holds grudges better than anyone and his ex was about to witness exactly that. 

Jessica Green liked to think of herself as the queen of their university, the epitome of beauty and popularity. Some real high school bullshit he only fed because he really liked her. And then, she went and dumped him for none other than Tyler West, the star player of his rival basketball team.

Technically, she cheated on him, sneaking around with that piece of shit behind his back. So yes, the humiliation was killing him. 

Rafe wasn't one to take such things lying down; he wanted revenge, and he needed it badly. He wanted to ruin her life. It wasn’t enough to ruin her reputation—he wanted to hit her where it hurt the most. And what would hurt more than being replaced? Not by any girl, but by someone who was everything she wasn’t. It was a genius idea, really.

He wanted to prove that some loser could easily take her place, with a little help from him, of course.

That's when you came into the picture. Kelce pointed you out actually, when they were six beers in and too fucking drunk to think clearly. But it was still a solid choice.

You were the complete opposite of his ex, blending into the crowds like a superpower. He watched you for an entire hour at the party, no uttering a single word the entire time you were there, only nursing your drink and listening to the other girls on the cheerleading squad speak.

Shit, he didn’t know you were a cheerleader until that night. Were you always there? How had he never noticed you before? It was hard to remember when all he focused on up until then was Jessica. 

You were practically invisible in comparison to her, always on the sidelines, blending into the background. 

You were perfect. If he could take this overlooked, nerdy girl and turn her into the new "queen" of the university, it would be the ultimate blow to Jessica's ego. It would prove that she wasn’t as irreplaceable as she thought. 

“You really gonna do it?”

He didn’t take his eyes off you, “Oh yeah. I'm doing it.”

“Nahh, there’s no way you’re pulling this off.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin at the corner of his mouth.

Kelce’s skepticism was exactly what he expected, it made the challenge even sweeter.

 “You think so?” he mused. “Watch me.”

Kelce, always the instigator, “No way, Cameron. You think you can turn that quiet little thing into the next Jessica? She’s cute, I guess, in that nerdy way, but she’s not queen material.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “She’s got potential,” he said confidently. “Just needs someone to show her how to use it.”

Topper laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane. This isn’t a bad rom-com movie where the shy girl takes off her glasses and suddenly she’s hot.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rafe pointed out, “It’s all about confidence man. Jessica wasn’t born the way she is now. I can do the same with her.”

A silly school project, he thought to himself. That’s all you were. 

Kelce took a swig of his drink, enjoying where the conversation was going. “Alright, I’ll bite. How much time are we talking here? Because she’s got a looooong way to go."

Rafe tilted his head, considering. “Give me two months."

Topper snorted, setting his drink down with a thunk. “Two months? No way. I say, a grand says you can’t pull it off.”

Kelce laughed, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, this is gonna be good. I’m in. A grand."

The two idiots were already shaking hands over it, acting like it was a twisted fantasy football bet.

“Y’all are gonna feel real fucking stupid when she’s walking into parties on my arm and every guy on campus is trying to figure out where the hell she came from.”

“And what’s the plan, exactly? Gonna Cinderella her ass into popularity?”

Rafe cocked an eyebrow, swirling the last bit of his beer in his red cup.

“Something like that,” he drawled. “Little wardrobe upgrade. Introduce her to the right people. Coach her on how to not sound like she’s afraid of her own voice.”

Kelce laughed, too loud. “Jesus. You’re gonna Pygmalion her.”

Rafe was going to make you untouchable. He’d improve every dull corner of you until you gleamed under the lights she used to think were reserved for her. And when Jessica saw you on his arm, in her place, with every pair of eyes following you instead of her, that’s when the knife would twist..

He finished his drink and slamming the glass down on the table. “I’m upgrading.”

Topper whistled low. “You’re a sick fuck, man.”

Rafe smiled, tongue in his cheek. “Takes one to know one.”

Kelce raised his glass. “To Rafe and his miracle project. This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Topper shook his head again as he clinked his glass against Kelce’s. “Here’s to you wasting a month of your life on a lost cause.”

“You better start saving up.”

This plan was flawless. 

It was so good that even in his drunken stupor, he could see how perfectly it would play out. The first step was simple: get close to you. Make you feel special, noticed. Rafe knew how to charm people; it was practically second nature. With Jessica, it had been easy, she’d fallen for his looks, his confidence, his golden boy appeal. 

The next day, he started showing up at places he knew you’d be. The library, the campus coffee shop, even lingering around after cheerleading practice.

At first, he didn’t approach you, only observed. 

He had to figure out how to make you see him without scaring you off. It took an entire week before he made his first move.

You were sitting alone in the library, surrounded by textbooks and notes. He casually strolled up, pretending to be looking for a book on the same shelf.

“Hey,” he said, glancing down at you with a disarming smile. “You’re in my econ class, right? Mind if I sit here?”

You looked up startled, but nodded, moving your books to make room for him. You probably couldn’t believe that someone like Rafe Cameron was talking to you, let alone sitting with you. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Get you out of your shell and into his orbit.

He was acutely aware that one wrong move could cost him, it could send you running.

You kept your eyes down, focused on your notes. Your hand wavered as you turned the page, and Rafe leaned in—not intruding, but making sure you knew he was there.

“You always this buried in work?” he asked casually, pulling out a notebook and flipping it open.

You glanced up, surprised he was still there.

“I guess. I have a lot to catch up on.”

He chuckled. “I hear you. Econ’s been kicking my ass this semester. You doing okay in it?”

He could tell you were caught off guard. You didn't think he knew you shared the same class. And he didn't, until last week.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s… fine. Just a lot of material.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around these supply and demand curves for days. You think the professor’s trying to torture us?”

You smiled faintly, a small victory in his book. “Maybe. It’s kind of her thing.”

Rafe grinned, pleased that he got a reaction out of you.

“You mind if I study with you? Might help to bounce some ideas off each other.”

You blinked, taken aback by his request. “Um, sure. I mean, if you want.”

“Definitely,” he replied smoothly. “You seem like you know what’s going on, unlike me.”

He spent the next hour working alongside you, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just being there. He didn’t push or try too hard.

He wanted you to feel comfortable around him, to see him as someone you could rely on.

“I’m sorry about Jessica.”

You blurted it out, and he knew instantly it hadn’t been meant for him to hear.

Rafe froze, his grip tightening on the pen. He felt the familiar anger bubbling up, but he kept it down, his expression void of any resentment. This was what he didn’t want—Jessica’s name, spoken by you.

But he couldn’t let you see that. 

He looked at you, feigning surprise with a bit of sadness, as if Jessica was a painful memory he was trying to move past.

“Oh,” he said, voice even. “You know about that?”

You nodded, eyes wide and apologetic, regretting bringing it up.

“Yeah… I mean, it’s all over campus, right? The girls were talking about it in the locker room. I just—I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

Rafe forced a smile, faking gratitude for your concern. He sighed, putting on a relived act.

“It’s okay,” he lied. “I guess it’s one of those things, y’know? We were together for a while, and it sucked when it ended.”

You looked down at your notes, fidgeting with the corner of a page. 

“She shouldn’t have done that to you.”

He let out a dry laugh, the bitterness threatening to seep through, but he disguised it as a rueful chuckle.

“Yeah, people do shitty things sometimes. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

Your body instantly relaxed, relieved that he wasn’t angry. Rafe needed to pull the conversation away from his ex, and back to you, where it should be.

“But hey,” he added, as if genuinely trying to shake off the bad memories, “Everything happens for a reason right?"

You bit your lip at the sudden attention. “Right."

He leaned forward, “You’re not like everyone else around here. You’re real, y’know? Genuine. I like that.”

Bullshit. But he could see the effect his words had on you. Easy.

Your cheeks flushed as you looked away, a shy smile on your lips. “I’m just…here.”

Rafe shook his head, taking on a more sincere tone. “I’m glad I’m getting the chance to see that.”

He held your gaze, letting the silence settle to make the moment feel meaningful, even though he knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling you in, one calculated move at a time.

Finally, you nodded, lips twitching, “Thanks, Rafe."

Oh, you were too perfect for this.

He grinned, as if the conversation had lightened his mood.

 “Anytime."

It was a perfect first interaction. It made you feel like he was letting you in on something personal and from the look on your face, it worked. Except, inside, Rafe was fuming. Jessica had managed to worm her way into his head again, indirectly, a reminder of why he was doing this shit in the first place. 

“So,” he said, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “You think you can help me with this econ stuff? Because I’m pretty sure I’m doomed without you.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier completely dissipating.

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

You both turned your attention back to your notes. Rafe felt a sense of satisfaction.

He was winning that bet on way or another. 

Over the next few weeks, he made sure to stick to his plan. Slowly but surely, he slipped his way into your life. He was always around, ready with a casual compliment or a small gesture that made you feel special. He’d walk you to class, carry your books, and offer to study with you whenever he had the chance. He knew how to play the long game, and you were warming up to him more and more. He made sure to steer clear of anything that might remind you of Jessica or his past. Instead, he focused on building up your confidence, subtly encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

He’d invite you to parties, introducing you to his friends, and before long, you were starting to come out of your shell. You even started to dress a little differently—nothing too drastic, but enough to catch people’s attention.

The change was gradual, but it was happening.

The first party he invited you to was at a swanky off-campus house, you’d only ever heard about but never had the nerve to attend. He had that effect on you—made you start to believe you could belong in a world that had always seemed so out of reach. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Rafe said, his voice smooth as silk.

You hesitated, feeling out of place just imagining yourself surrounded by strangers.

“I don’t know… I’m not really into parties,” you admitted.

Rafe grinned, a playful shine in his eyes. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. Just give it a try, for me?”

He seemed so earnest that you found yourself nodding without a fight.

“Okay. I guess I could give it a shot.”

It was initially awkward—loud music, people you didn’t know, and a social scene that was worlds away from where you belonged. 

But Rafe stayed close. 

It overwhelmed your senses. You clung a little closer to him, which he noticed and shot you a reassuring smile, his hand resting on the small of your back as he guided. He was different tonight—more assertive. 

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear, breath warm against your skin. “You’re with me. Have some fun, sweets.”

You nodded, trying to loosen up, but the eyes on you—on both of you—were hard to avoid. People were noticing. Whispering.

It was exactly what Rafe planned.

He led you to where Kelce and Topper were already posted up, drinks in hand. The second they saw you, their eyebrows shot up, but they quickly masked their surprise with easy smiles. Rafe greeted them, his hand never leaving your body.

“Guys, this is her,” Rafe said, his tone casual. “Told you I’d get her to come out with us.”

Kelce looked you up and down, smirk growing.

"Cameron. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Topper raised his drink in your direction, “Nice to meet you. Rafe’s been talking you up.”

You managed a small chuckle, not a fan of extra attention on you. “Nice to meet you too.”

Rafe gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you grab a drink? I’ll be right here.”

You nodded, grateful for the brief escape, and headed towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen.

As soon as you were out of earshot, the easygoing demeanor Rafe had been maintaining with you slipped away as he turned back to his friends.

“So?” Kelce asked, “How’s the project going?”

Rafe shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

“Better than expected. She’s starting to come out of her shell. Still got a long way to go, but I’d say we’re on track.”

Topper's eyes followed you as you picked out a drink. “She seems… nice. You sure you want to go through with this, man?”

Rafe shot him a look, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Topper shrugged. “She doesn’t seem like the type who’s cut out for this crowd. Might be too sweet for what you’ve got planned.”

Kelce chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s sweet, alright. That's the whole point, isn’t it? She’s not Jessica."

Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk. “Exactly. She’s perfect for this.”

He said it with confidence, but there was something else in his eyes—he shoved it down and buried it as he watched you make your way back with a drink in hand. Nah.

You came back, walkin’ over all pretty and yeah—fuck. Couldn’t help it. His relaxed on its own, his brain forgetting he was supposed to be playing it charming.

“Got somethin’ good?” He asked, nodding at your drink, knowing damn well he just gawked at your mouth the whole walk back.

You giggled, holding up your cup. “Just punch. Thought I’d start slow.”

Rafe snorted, nodding approvingly.

“Smart move. Don’t let these guys talk you into anything too crazy.”

He meant to just say his piece and move on—but then you smiled again and that giggle stuck around in his head longer than it should’ve. You were bright-eyed and sweet, not trying hard at all, not even knowin’ how pretty you sounded when you laughed like that.

The night went on like that. Rafe played the part well—always right there with you. Hand on your shoulder when the crowd got thick, fingers brushing yours when he leaned in to tell you who was who. He introduced you to people with that easy grin, acting like he’d been doing this with you forever.

And every time you stepped away—whether it was for another drink or to fix your lip gloss—he’d glance over at his boys. A fleeting look, something silent, keeping score.

You didn’t catch that, though.

All you saw was him. This guy who stuck by your side all night, who made you feel like you belonged. Between the drinks and the way his hand kept finding yours, you started to let your guard down. You laughed more. Talked more. Stopped second-guessing every word that came out of your mouth.

Rafe noticed, of course. That was the whole point. He’d spent weeks laying the groundwork, tonight was just the beginning.

He was getting what he wanted.

Or, at least, he thought he was. Then you laughed at something Kelce said—head tilted back, unfiltered—something in him pulled up short. It wasn’t big or dramatic. A thought. Something about the way you looked right then made his chest go quiet.

He didn’t dwell on it, knowing better.

Especially with his ex still lurking.

Sure enough, she cornered him before class the next day.

“Rafe, can we talk?”

He didn’t look at her, instead shoving his notebook into his bag as if she wasn’t even worth the effort.

"What's up?"

Jessica glanced around, making sure no one was listening, before stepping closer to him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He tilted his head, barely reacting. “What do you mean?”

She huffed in frustration, not in the mood for his mind games.

“Don’t act like you don’t know. She’s a nice girl, I know she’s not your type.”

Rafe couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Jealous?

“You’re just going to use her to get back at me? That’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Rafe hummed. “You didn’t think about fairness when you were sneaking around with Tyler, did you? Why should I care about what she deserves?”

"Rafe."

"You only care about your precious reputation, so shut the fuck up."

Jessica flinched, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

“Do you even realize what you did to me?” The memory of the last time he’d trusted her flashed before his eyes. “You don’t get to apologize now, or tell me what’s fair.”

Jessica’s expression softened.

“I’m not saying this for me. I’m saying it for her."

Rafe snorted, "Right, because you care so much about other people, huh?"

"You're being difficult for no reason."

Rafe clenched his jaw. He wanted to lash out, tell her that she didn’t get to play the moral high ground after everything she’d done.

“Stay out of it, Jess” he gritted out, “And keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as if she’d been expecting this. “Just think about it before you do something stupid."

Without another word, Jessica turned and walked away, leaving Rafe standing there, seething with anger. He watched her go, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Of course, she would act like she gave a shit about you the moment he’s attention dropped from her.

This was about revenge, proving his point.

You were just a means to an end. But you made it so fucking hard for him to keep his head in the game half the time.

When you smiled at him or thanked him for something small, it nailed the hatred he had built up inside. It was part of the plan, getting close to you was necessary for the outcome he wanted. Except, the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that he was enjoying himself. 

That was bad.

He didn't have to put in the effort to influence you. You began to speak up in class, even crack jokes with the other girls on the cheerleading squad. The transformation was happening right before his eyes, just like he’d planned.

Funnily enough, instead of feeling satisfied, there guilt forming in his stomach. You were changing, you were starting to trust him, to look at him like he was more than some popular dude who was doing you a favor. You were beginning to care, and that terrified him.

Why did it terrify him? That's what he wished for.

One night, after another party where you had danced closer, Rafe walked you back to your dorm. The campus was quiet, the stars above bright against the inky sky. You were buzzing with the energy of the night, still talking animatedly about how much fun you’d had.

The sound of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up—

“Thanks for inviting me, Rafe. I never thought I’d enjoy these things, but you make it… I don’t know, easier, I guess.”

Rafe smiled down at you, ignoring the way his heart twisted at your words. 

“I’m glad sweets. You deserve to have fun.”

You looked up at him, “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly. For everything. You didn’t have to be this nice to me.”

That's when he saw you.

Not as a means to an end, but someone he grew to genuinely care about. Shit.

“It’s no big deal. Really.”

But it was a big deal, and you both knew it.

You had gone from barely existing on the social radar to being someone everyone wanted to be around. But that was all you. Rafe had given you that, but your personality made people like you the moment they met you.

He was taking something from you—your trust.

He walked you to your door, his usual confidence gone as you turned to face him. There was something different about you tonight.

“Rafe… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” you began hesitantly.

He forced himself to stay calm, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your top before meeting his eyes again. “Why did you start talking to me? Was it because you felt s-sorry for me? Or… or something else?”

Rafe’s mind raced, trying to find the words that wouldn’t hurt you. He needed to lie, like he’d been doing all along.

You continued, “I’m glad you did. Whatever the reason was. I’ve never felt this… this good about myself. And it’s because of you.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

Fuck.

He’d thought he could control this, control you, but it was slipping through his fingers. He stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’ve always been amazing,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I just… I just helped you see it.”

You grinned up at him, eyes glossing with gratitud. You were looking at him like he was someone worth caring about, and for the first time, he felt like he was the one being played.

But if he pulled away now—after all the nights walking you home, learning how you liked your coffee and the exact songs that made you smile—it would only raise questions he didn’t have answers for.

Instead, he kissed you.

You didn’t pull away, kissing him back without hesitation. His hand moved to the back of your neck, not pulling. You made a soft sound in the back of your throat, barely audible, but it hit him all the same.

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he pulled back when it flooded his insides. The look in your eyes nearly undid him. There was so much trust, and it made him want to break something, anything, to stop feeling the way he did.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the kiss had taken something out of him.

You nodded, still dazed. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

This was wrong. 

He knew it was wrong. But the way you were looking at him...he couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched you go inside, waiting until you disappeared into your dorm before he let out a shaky breath.

What the fuck was he doing? He was so close to winning and yet, he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one who was losing.

Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Jessica’s words mocked him.

“I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

He had scoffed at her then, dismissed her excuses as pathetic attempts to justify her shitty behavior.

But now, lying there alone, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was any different. He didn’t plan on feeling anything real for you. This was supposed to be a game, a way to hurt Jessica the way she hurt him. But somewhere along the line, things had changed.

How could he let this happen? How could he, of all people, start to care? He was supposed to be in control, supposed to be the one pulling the strings, not getting tangled in them.

And yet, the memory of your pretty face, the sound of your laugh, the warmth in your eyes—these were the things that lingered in his mind, all the damn time. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.

The anger and bitterness that had fueled him for weeks were still there, but they were being drowned out by you.

Rafe’s resolve had been torn for days, but he pushed the guilt aside as he drove to campus the next morning. He was picking you up before class, something that had become a routine. It was a small gesture, but one that made you smile every time, and Rafe had to admit, he looked forward to seeing it.

When he pulled up to your dorm, you were already outside, your bag slung over your shoulder. You looked different from when he first met you—still shy, but with a confidence that hadn’t been there before.

It was subtle, but Rafe noticed. He noticed everything about you these days.

“Hey,” you greeted as you slid into the passenger seat, giving him a grin that always made his brain turn mushy. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Anytime,” he replied smoothly, shifting the car into gear. “Ready for another day of fun and learning?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, a lightness in your expression that hadn’t been there a month ago.

“If by fun, you mean trying not to fall asleep in econ, then yeah, totally ready.”

He chuckled, glancing over as he pulled onto the road. “I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy econ. You’re just trying to maintain your cool, indifferent persona.”

You laughed, the sound genuine and free, and Rafe felt that unfamiliar squeeze in his chest again.

“Yeah, that’s me. The cool, indifferent econ nerd.”

“See? I knew it."

The drive to campus was easy. When you arrived, he parked in his usual spot, but instead of getting out right away, you turned to him, your expression suddenly serious.

“Rafe, can I ask you something?”

Had you figured it out? Did you know about the bet? He quickly forced a nod.

“Sure sweets, what’s up?”

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip, a habit he’d noticed you had when you were nervous.

“Why did you kiss me?”

This was the moment he’d been dreading, when you’d start questioning everything. He couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“Why not? I like you. I like being around you.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his, trying to find the truth in his words. Rafe held your gaze, doing his best to keep his expression open and honest.

You nodded, as if you’d decided to believe him.

“Okay,” you said. “I...I didn’t want to assume, y’know? It’s just...new.”

“Good new, though, right?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “Good new.”

You were starting to get closer, to trust him, and every time you did, the guilt fucked with his head a little more. 

Later that day, when the two of you met up for a late lunch, he noticed the way you had begun to attract attention from others.

Guys glanced your way, noticing the changes in you, and a few girls even stopped to chat—a far cry from the shy girl he’d first approached in the library.

You two sat down at a table outside the campus cafe, your eyes lit up when you spotted someone approaching. It was Leila, a girl from your cheer squad. She waved and came over, sitting down.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. “Mind if I join?”

“Sure,” you said, scooting over to make room for her.

He nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but there was something about the way Leila looked at you that irked him.

She complimented you on something you’d done at practice the other day, you blushed at the praise. He could see how much you were changing, starting to come into your own. i

It was becoming harder and harder to justify what he was doing.

“She’s nice. I didn’t think she even noticed me before.”

“She notices you now."

You looked at him, your giddy expression fading.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. Just thinking."

“About what?”

“About how you’re starting to steal everyone’s attention here. What am I gonna do when you’re the most popular one around here?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”

You were starting to trust him, to believe in the friendship he was offering, and it was killing him. He needed to talk to someone about it, someone who knew the score.

After dropping you off at your dorm by the end of the day, he called Kelce. The phone rang a few times before his friend picked up, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Yo, Cameron. What’s up?”

Rafe took a deep breath, leaning against the side of his car.

“I need to talk, man. About the bet.”

Kelce laughed, not picking up on the seriousness in Rafe’s voice.

“What, you already feeling bad for her? Didn’t think you’d go soft so fast.”

Rafe frowned, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t think it’d be like this. She’s... she’s actually really nice, Kelce. Genuinely nice.”

“Dude, we all knew she was nice. That’s what makes this so good, remember why you’re doing it.”

Rafe sighed in frustration. “I know, but... She trusts me."

And I trust her, he wanted to add.

“Dude, you're in too deep to back out now. Keep your eye on the prize, okay?"

He nodded, even though Kelce couldn’t see him.

“Yeah... yeah, you’re right. I needed to clear my head.”

“Good,” Kelce gloated. “Now go get some sleep or something. We’ve got a party this weekend, and I wanna see you back on your game.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, man.”

By Friday, the campus was buzzing with weekend plans, and you were in a good mood, chatting excitedly about some party that night. You two were in the cafeteria, grabbing lunch, when it happened.

You were waiting in line for food, and Rafe had stepped aside to check his phone. When he glanced up, he saw a guy approaching you—a guy he recognized from the football team. A sleazy bastard.

The guy flashed you a charming smirk, trying to flirt. Rafe never wanted to pummel a guy's face to the wall so fucking bad.

He watched from a distance as the guy made you laugh, his hand resting on the counter next to yours. Too fucking close.

It made ugly rise in him. His grip tightened around his phone as he watched. You seemed flattered but a little uncomfortable, your smile not reaching your eyes. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, and it made him feel something primal, it burned hotter than the guilt.

He wanted to go over there, tell that guy to back the fuck off, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, seething. Scaring you was the last thing he wanted to do.

When the guy finally walked away, only after begging for your number, you looked relieved, but Rafe was already moving.

He crossed the cafeteria in quick strides, heart pounding in every single corner of his body. You spotted him coming, waving but dropping your arm when you saw the look on his face.

“Rafe, what’s—”

He didn’t let you finish.

His hand cupped your face as he all but yanked you toward him.

And then he kissed you, again.

It wasn’t like the kiss outsider your dorm. It came out fierce, almost desperate. He needed to prove something to himself, to you, and to everyone watching. All he cared about was you, right there, in his arms.

You were caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then you melted into him. Rafe deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you let out a content sigh that only made him kiss you harder.

People around you were definitely watching now, whispering, some even cheering. He didn’t pull away until he was breathless, and even then, he stayed close, his forehead against yours, breathing heavy.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the way you were looking at him, dazed, pretty lips swollen from the intensity he had poured into you.

“What... what was that?” your voice shaky, searching his face for answers.

Rafe knew he should've explained himself, but all he wanted was to kiss you stupid. He shook his head, lips tilting at how adorable you looked.

“Couldn’t help myself."

You blinked up at him, trying to process what had just happened, there was no mistaking the way your body was responding to him. 

He stepped back, keeping his hand on your waist as he looked around. Sure enough, the guy from earlier was watching. Rafe caught his eye, giving him a look that said everything without words.

She’s mine.

He knew he’d just crossed a line, again, but in that moment, all he cared about was the way you felt in his arms, the way you looked at him like he was the only guy in the world.

“C’mon,” Rafe murmured. “We’ve got class.”

You stupidly nodded and let him guide you out of the cafeteria.

As you approached the building where your next class was, he stopped, turning to face you. He touched your cheek again, thumb brushing against your skin, and you leaned into his touch.

“Rafe—”

“You’re my girl,” he whispered, “Okay?”

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes glossy and trusting.

Rafe was on the edge of something he couldn’t control, but as he stole one more kiss, slow and tender this time, he realized he didn’t care.

“Rafe…” you muttered against his lips. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you needed to understand about what you were, what you two were becoming.

His traced the curve of your jawline.

“I need you to know that you mean something to me. This, us—"

“Okay.”

He was already in too deep.

Just like that, he got what he wanted. 

The next day, everything seemed to fall into place as if the universe has finally aligned for you. He asked you out, and just like that, you were together.

The next two months were a dream—utter bliss. You weren’t happy; you were radiant. 

Every smile he gave you, every touch or whispered confession of how perfect you were sent you soaring higher. He couldn’t get enough of you—your sweetness, your kindness, your genuine heart. It was as if he was falling more and more in love with you every single day.

At the same time, in a place he didn’t dare acknowledge, there was a shadow, a sliver of guilt that he pushed aside. He never officially ended the bet with Kelce and Topper. It was a childish stupid game, so insignificant compared to what he feels for you now.

He forgot about it, it didn’t matter anymore. After all, what you two had is real, right?

Until it wasn't.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

It’s after cheerleading practice, and you’re alone in the locker room, stuffing your things into your bag. The air is filled with the scent of sweat and body spray, the usual post-practice atmosphere.

You're zipping up your bag when you hear voices nearby, right around the corner.

Leila and Jessica, their conversation hushed but unmistakable.

You wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but something about the tone of their voices makes you pause.

"You were right," Leila says, her voice edged with a cruel satisfaction. "About your gut feeling with Rafe and his new girl."

Oh.

Jessica sounds defeated. "What do you mean?"

Leila sighs.

"Kelce spilled everything when we hooked up last week. He was too high to keep his mouth shut. Rafe’s been playing her this whole time, using her to mess with you. It was all a bet."

Your breath gets losts somewhere between your lungs and your throat, you can’t move or think. The room spins around you, the ground shaking beneath your feet.

No. No, this can’t be real.

Leila’s voice continues, unaware of the devastation she’s causing.

"It's so fucked up. She has no idea. She’s out there thinking he’s her Prince Charming, and all along it was just some sick game."

Jessica doesn’t say anything, but you can’t bear to hear more. You're suffocating, your chest squeezing as panic floods your system all at once.

You’re running—out of the locker room, down the hall, anywhere to get away from those words, those horrible, soul-crushing words.

Tears blur your vision as you stumble outside, gasping for air, an easy escape from the nightmare that’s suddenly become your reality.

You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you can’t stop moving. The hallways blur past you as you wipe at your eyes, rage and heartbreak settling inside you like a knife, and before you know it, you find yourself standing outside the gym, where the sounds of basketball practice echo through the double doors.

You push through without thinking, your heart pounding in your ears.

The gym is full of movement—squeaking sneakers, the thud of the ball against the court, the grunts of effort as the players practice their drills.

All of it fades into nothing as soon as your eyes lock onto Rafe.

He’s in the middle of a play, dribbling the ball down the court with that dedicated focus you’ve always admired. You hesitate, the familiar warmth of seeing him nearly enough to make you stop.

But then the memory of Leila’s words slams into you, and the anger surges back, pushing you to act accordingly.

You storm across the gym, your footsteps heavy on the polished floor. Some of the players notice you, eyes widening in surprise, but you don’t care. You’re beyond caring.

The only thing that matters is confronting him, making him face what he’s done.

"Cameron!"

Rafe turns at the sound of your voice, surprise flashing across his face. The ball slips from his hands, bouncing away as the other players continue.

You always call him by his name, that's the first thing he realizes.

All you can see is Rafe, standing there, looking at you with those eyes that you once thought held nothing but affection for you. Now, all you see is a liar.

“What’s wrong baby?” He jogs over to you, his forehead creasing.

“Was I a bet?”

His expression changes from confusion to horror. The sound of your voice, trembling with disbelief seems to have stunned him into silence. You want him to deny it, to laugh and tell you it’s all some terrible misunderstanding.

Deep down, you already know the truth.

You saw it in his eyes the second he turned to face you, that guilt, that peek of something wildly desperate.

He reaches for you, his voice breaking. "Baby, wait, let me explain—”

“Was I a fucking bet?” you repeat, your voice louder this time, edged with a desperate, frantic energy that you can’t control.

You take a step back as he tries to get closer, every muscle in your body screaming to get away from him. His eyes are pleading, searching yours for anything that might make this easier, but there’s nothing.

No words, no excuses, can make this hurt any less.

“It started as a bet,” he admits, his voice hardly above a whisper, but to you, it’s as loud as a gunshot. “But it’s not like that, I swear. I—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He flinches at your words, features pulled together, but you can’t stop. All the anger, heartbreak, the humiliation you’ve been choking down is pouring out of you in a torrent.

You can see the desperation rising in him. He takes another step toward you, reaching out, but you jerk away, 

“Don't touch me. We’re done.”

“Please, just listen,” he pleads, "You gotta—"

“No.”

With that, you leave. 

Rafe’s voice echoes as you walk away, refusing to look back.

The gym doors swing shut, muffling the sounds of the practice resuming, and you’re left in the eerily quiet hallway. The locker room is empty when you push open the door.

You head straight to your locker again, hands trembling as you fumble with the lock, desperate to escape. Before you can get it open, the door swings wide behind you, and you know, without turning around, that he followed you.

“Go away,” you hiss.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained. “Not like this.”

You spin around.

“You don’t get to decide that. You used me! And for what? Some sick joke with your friends?”

Rafe's hands raise as if to placate you, “I know I messed up. I know I should’ve told you the truth, but I—”

“But you didn’t,” you cut him off, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. “You let me believe that you cared about me, and all the while it was just a game to you. You and your friends laughed in my face the entire time, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t a game,” he insists, eyes red. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, okay? This wasn't the plan. I changed. Being with you... it was the only thing that felt real to me.”

"Bullshit." You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.”  

“It wasn’t a joke. It started as a stupid bet, but I never expected to actually—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I care about you. That’s real.”

It's hard not to see the boy who had made you feel special, who had made you believe in something more.

“I don’t even know who you are."

You want to believe him, to take solace in the idea that some part of what you had was real, but you can't. You shake your head again, a sob choking you as you turn away from him.

“It isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not supposed to feel like a knife in your chest.”

“Please, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Give me a chance to make this right.”

"You don’t get to have a chance. You lied to me. You used me.”

You look at him then, the boy who broke your heart. The boy who turned your world upside down with a single lie.

You know that if you stay, let him talk, you'll tempted to forgive him.

With a deep breath, you straighten up, wiping away the tears that have stained your cheeks. “I’m done.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads.

“I mean it. We’re done. I need you to stay away from me.”

The words hit him like a physical blow Rafe takes in the resolve in your eyes, the finality in your tone, and he knows there’s no coming back from this.

“I’m sorry,” he says it over and over again, voice going hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, you leave, pushing past the locker room door and walking away. A small voice inside you screams at you, to give him one more chance, but then you imagine the laughter, the cruel satisfaction, Rafe with his friends, laughing at your expense.

You can't do that to yourself, for a man.

Meanwhile, when the door slams shut behind him, Rafe leans against it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He doesn’t feel victorious.

There's a deep hollowness and this time, he doesn’t follow you. 

[envy-of-the-apple]

Moon Starves Sun (FULL VERSION)

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

(Warnings: forced relationship, implied nsfw content, implied noncon/dubcon, dark content, implied baby trapping)

When Satoru's close like this, he can hear your heartbeat. 

It's been a while. Ten years. An entire decade. Everything about this is different, yet so familiar. He feels like he's finally reached the shores, feeling the warm sands underneath his feet. Like he's been given his favorite food after being starved for years. Everything melts. Everything except for you. 

He'd like to stay like this forever, listening to your rabbit heartbeat, feeling your soft skin, but for your sake, he pulls himself off you. Lying on a wooden desk probably isn't that comfortable. 

Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is shallow. You're so pretty like this under the moonlight. Your clothes are barely hanging onto your body. He can see every mark he's left on you. Part of him wants to make more, but he'll let you off the hook for now. He's nice like that. 

"Still with me?" 

Your eyes flutter open. You don't respond, but at least you're not crying anymore. He can work with that. 

"C'mon, pretty girl," he says, voice soft, "let's piece you back together." 

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute. 

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you. 

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away. 

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water. 

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—" 

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in. 

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted." 

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it. 

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color. 

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable. 

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read. 

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask. 

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before. 

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him. 

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him. 

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude. 

"C'mere, pretty girl." 

You comply, dropping your bag, making your way to the bed. When you look at him from beneath your lashes, warily expectant, Satoru feels a thrill rushing through his body. 

He's always been impatient. It's in his nature to take. He nips at your mouth, eager to taste your soul from your soft lips. Soft. Everything about you is so soft—Malleable beneath his fingers. 

Satoru didn't explicitly say what his plan was, but you aren't stupid. He can tell you know what's about to happen when you stiffen in his hold, turn to stone within his grip. He would've allowed it if you hadn't gripped onto his shirt, pulling yourself away from his feasting. 

"Satoru?" You whisper, still leaning away. "The door...?" 

Annoyed, he glances over. His room is open. It shouldn't really matter. 

"It's fine." Satoru tells you. "No one's here." No one's ever here. 

You still look panicked, hands gripping his shirt. Satoru finds that adorably pathetic. How helpless you are. How that's all because of him.

He's sure to make a big show of it. Satoru gives a dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders, but eventually pushes himself off the mattress to push at the door. He even clicks it shut. He's too nice, sometimes. 

"Happy?" You nod, you don't look very relaxed but your shoulders have dropped a bit. 

Satoru doesn't feel too guilty pushing you down, not when you're already in his bed. He isn't known for his patience. He tastes your skin, leaving marks when he can: teeth bites. He pushes you down down down down so he can sink his teeth into your flesh.

You're asleep and under the covers by the time he's done. The moon's out too. Satoru watches it, largely unimpressed. It's so tiny, a sliver of glowing white. 

And then you shift, turning ever so slightly, enough to catch his attention. He should probably kick you out and send you home. That's what he usually does. When he gets into bed with you, draping his arms around your limp body, he convinces himself it's because he's tired and waking you up would be too much of an effort. 

He lets himself enjoy your warmth; it's nothing like the cold glow of the moon. 

☾

Sometimes, even Gojo Satoru wonders if he's dreaming. 

Sometimes, life is too perfect for him to realize it is real. Everything falls perfectly in place, fitting together like those jigsaw puzzles his caretakers used to distract him with halfheartedly. 

You're in his kitchen, chopping vegetables. 

It had already been a few weeks, but he still wasn't used to this. You, being in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed. Satoru thinks he's masking it well, but his mind is still reeling, it's a difficult adjustment. 

Not a bad one. 

It's like he's been drowning for years and he can suddenly breathe when he sees your toothbrush next to his. It's like he's been stabbed and waking up to your sleeping face is the aloe. It's like he's been suffering through a blizzard, and you cooking in his kitchen, humming a song he doesn't know, is the warm sunny day. 

Things have changed since he brought you home. His home doesn't feel incomplete anymore. As though the apartment itself has agreed that this is where you belong. There are more clothes in his closet, more shoes by the door. The space is ever so slightly less empty and it fills him with tangible relief. He can cook a meal, but it's still nice coming home to something warm already made. 

It makes Satoru wonder what things could have been like, had it not been taken away from him. 

You flinch when he wraps his hands around your waist, nestling into the space in your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come in, apparently. Regardless, you don't linger, fingers hesitating before resuming your task. He finds this part of you adorable. Ignoring the thing that makes your heart race, as though he'll just fade away into the shadows. 

It's his ego that makes him slink into your warm skin, making sure you know he isn't going anywhere. 

"Smells good," he says. 

You nod, pushing away the bell peppers in favor of the onions. Unlike him, you acclimated extremely well. It'd taken nothing to lightly push you to add more and more stuff from your apartment to his. You quietly moved from one setting to another. He remembered this trait of yours from high school. Go with the flow. 

Though, perhaps, it was less out of genuine apathy. Satoru doesn't have to say what will happen to you if you refuse him. He doesn't have to throw lectures about his family and the influence he has on you. He likes that you aren't stupidly brave. He likes that you're meeker, quieter. You pick your battles. 

But he thinks he'd like to see you crack, just one more time. 

"Hey," he says, "let's go out for dinner tomorrow night. There's this restaurant just out of town that has great shrimp cutlet." 

He expects you to nod, like you always do whenever he decides to do something impulsive and meaningless. Instead, you bite your lip. 

"I can't." You mutter after a minute of silence. "I have work. Mr. Higuruma just closed a deal and—and I think I'll be coming home later and later this week." 

Home. It's enough to make his heart flutter. It's the first time you've called the apartment that. Your words almost make him forget about the second thing you said.

Higuruma. The lawyer guy with dead eyes. Satoru remembers him. He always looked at Satoru like he was a child, too stupid to do anything. He never liked how the guy looked at you. Besides, he was way too old for you, never mind that you were taken. You were always taken.

"Oh, right." Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, fully leaning on you. "Work. What a shame." 

You nod, clearly thinking the conversation is done with. Satoru wasn't so charitable. 

"Y'know, you don't really have to work. Not anymore, pretty girl." His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you towards his chest. Your hands freeze. The knife glints in your fingers. 

"I make plenty of money. You should just stay home. That way, you don't have to work shitty hours." 

You stiffen underneath his fingertips. He's disappointed when your skin turns frigid. When he peeks over your shoulder, intent to look at your face, there's a nervous smile twitching on your lips. 

"I don't think that's a good idea..." you trail off hesitantly. 

"Hm?" He tilts his head with faux confusion. "Why not?" 

The knife moves up and down, as though you can't decide whether to place it back on the cutting board. Satoru realizes it's your way of fidgeting. 

"It...it would just be unprofessional to leave when everything is so hectic." You finally decide on. 

Satoru scoffs. "So? Who cares. I'm sure everything will work itself out. Just rely on me, pretty girl." 

You don't like the answer, but you don't make a comment on it. Satoru just watches you rotate the knife in your hands. He wonders if you want to use it on him. Slice at his neck, leave him out to bleed on the pretty tile floor. Cut straight through his heart, ending it quickly. 

Or would you like to carve out his eye and keep it as a souvenir? He thinks he'd happily let you. It sounds romantic.

You don't do anything. Instead, you pull back your shoulders as if you're physically ready for war. 

"'Toru," you say gently, softly, and it works in his eyes, "I...can't let you support me like this. It's not right. It's not like we're married or anything." You laugh, like it's a joke. Satoru doesn't cave. 

"I mean, not yet." Satoru rocks you back and forth in his hold. "But gimme' some time to shop for a ring, okay? It needs to be perfect for my perfect girl." 

You follow his movements. He can see your mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes get glassy. 

He knows he's terrible, but he really wants you to crack. 

"You're right, Satoru." You say, "I'll put in my two weeks tomorrow." He grins in delight. 

"That's a great idea, baby." Satoru kisses you on the cheek.

Right, you pick your battles. 

☾

Satoru tells you he loves you, and you're gone, not even three days later. 

He breaks and shatters into pieces he'll never be able to put back. Each day without you is torture. He feels like a corpse, just going through the motions. His clothes feel looser. His skin doesn't feel like his own anymore. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees someone he barely even recognizes. 

It's like you left with his heart. 

No, you ran away with his soul. 

One day, you were Satoru's, safely tucked underneath his arm...the next, you just weren't. 

His parents don't acknowledge it beyond casual disgust. Every time Suguru talks to him, Satoru can barely comprehend it. Days pass by. Everything reminds him of you. His bed feels emptier; he hates it when he reaches out to the space you used to take up and finds it cold. Your locker remains untouched. Nothing is ever the same. 

Satoru tries looking for you, but you're untraceable. No social media, no friends left to tell where you went, not even your fucking parents know where you are. 

You left him. 

You left him to rot. 

Denial comes first. It can't be. You wouldn't. You wouldn't fucking dare. Anger seeps in the next. For weeks, Satoru can only imagine what he'll do when he finds you. He'll break your legs this time. He'll squeeze your neck so hard that your head pops. He'll kill you over and over again until your corpse is begging to be forgiven. And he won't ever stop, because you're Satoru's. 

That doesn't stay for long. He feels himself get weaker day by day. Food tastes like dirt on his tongue. Any of his earlier vices are gone. 

He misses you. 

Why wouldn't he? You were his everything. 

Like all things, it passes. You aren't there to fuel the flames, so the fire wanes in his chest. The ache in his heart gets smaller and smaller. Things keep him busy. College. Then, his new position in the office. 

Ten years pass. He’s forgotten what you look like. But he remembers parts. Every so often, he sees a flicker of you within someone else. Your eyes are on another woman’s face. Your lips on a girl's smile. It irritates him to no end. It’s even worse when he starts seeking them out, keeping those parts of them for just the night. 

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear your voice—what he thinks is your voice—soft, needy Toru Toru Toru. 

“Gojo, sir?” 

He blinks. Ijichi stands in front of him. Satoru looks down at the meticulously crafted pages. 

“Mr. Higuruma needed you to sign this,” Ijichi lifts a paper filled with bureaucratic bullshit he pays other people to understand.

Why did Suguru take off now? 

“Sure sure,” Satoru says, “I’ll get it done.” 

Ijichi shifts nervously. “Well, it’d be best to finish it right now, Sir. His paralegal is just about to leave the building.” 

Oh, right. The lawyer’s assistant. Gojo could never get a good look at that person, but the assistant resembled a shaking deer to him at most times. He’s not even sure if they’ve ever talked to each other, but he always found the other a bit odd. Big eyes. A shaky expression. 

It was a little annoying to look at. 

☾

Some executive was throwing an office gala, and since he is Gojo Satoru, he needed to come along. 

And since you are Satoru's, you're dragged along too. 

Honestly, the only upside to this is you and that new dress he bought you. A velvet turquoise dress that he can't take his eyes off of. The gold jewelry draped across your neck makes you even more delectable. But his favorite part of the outfit is the shimmering diamond ring. 

The ceremony hadn't been anything extravagant. He'd just booked out one of his favorite restaurants, ordering lobster and sweet wine. He remembered hearing his heartbeat when he bent down on one knee, opening the elegant ringbox, like an oyster revealing its pearl. Looking back, he didn't know why he was so nervous: it's not like you'd say no. 

"What do you think of it?" He asked when you were back in his bed, bare from everything except that glistening ring. 

"It's pretty." You spoke, perfectly nestled in his chest. 

He feels in his heart when he hugs you, a small kiss in your hair. You say something, but he can't hear it; he is too preoccupied with feeling you in his arms. It's still so new, even after all these weeks. It's the anxiety, knowing at any second you could leave and he'd be nothing. He won't allow that, he can't. 

"I thought about something else, y'know?" He speaks quietly in your hair. "Ropes, chains, maybe. I could keep you here, forever. But—but then I realized how sad you'd get. I couldn't go through with it." 

You give no reaction. When he tilts your chin up to get a better look at you, your eyes are glassy. 

"You get that, right?" 

You nod. He's really too nice, sometimes. 

He spends the entire evening with you, tucked away in a corner, away from prying eyes. Just because he has to be there doesn't mean he has to be sociable. Every time someone walks up to him and you, a drink in one hand, he resists the urge to bite their head off, feigning politeness. He complains about their lack of decorum to you multiple times throughout the night, his head resting on your shoulder. You pliantly sit there, listening and nodding. 

About ten minutes after the last board member left, someone else walks up. By then, Satoru's patience has mostly declined. He peers over with disdain before he can really process who he's seeing. 

"Suguru!" He waves over. 

You stiffen, and Satoru remembers you haven't seen him in ten years. 

Suguru walks over with an easy smile on his face. He's nicely tanned, and Satoru is reminded of the pictures he sent over of the Maldives. Maybe that's where the honeymoon should be. 

"Had fun slacking?" Satoru asks with a grin; Suguru shrugs. 

When his eyes meet yours, he feigns delighted surprise. Suguru speaks your name with practiced shock. It's imperfect, only Satoru can see the amusement dripping from his fangs. 

"Long time, no see!" Effortlessly, Suguru corrals you into a hug. You follow, giving into the cold touch of affection before pulling away back to him. 

"Hello, Geto." You say when you're rightfully by his side again. "It's nice to see you again." 

Suguru laughs, light and airy. "You as well!" He looks at your hands, tilts his head. "Oh? Congratulations, you two! When's the date?" 

"Eh, we'll figure that out later." Satoru gives a quick kiss on your cheek. "Everything happened so fast, y'know? Us reuniting and everything: It feels like fate." Suguru's eyes flash. "Let's not rush this. We'll take our time." 

Suguru nods along thoughtfully. He's looking right at you, and you stare right back. Not used to feeling left out, Satoru is quick to intervene. 

The conversation is light, two long-time friends reuniting after a long spell. You stay quiet like decor, settling into Satoru's side. Suguru doesn't acknowledge you after that. 

"We gotta' go. It's getting late." He eventually says, tugging you along. 

Suguru gives a pleasant smile. "Of course, of course. We should catch up sometime." He directs this at you. You give a strained smile before Satoru leads you off. 

"Suguru." The man turns. Satoru grins. 

"I loved my gift. Thanks, man." 

Suguru's smile is catlike. 

"You kids have fun." He calls out right when Satoru's dragging you away all over again. 

You're silent. Not in the way you usually are, pliant and cute. You're thinking. He gives you a nudge. 

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?" 

You shake your head. "Nothing." And then you say, "He's changed." 

From your view, Satoru supposed that's true, but really—

"Nah." Gojo shakes his head. "He's just dropped his act." 

Satoru's hand was wrapped around your waist when you two ran into him. You hadn't noticed him yet, eyes fixed on the floor. The lawyer hadn't changed since the last time Satoru saw him. That dead expression, those creepy eyes. Higuruma's eyes flit over your figure, before he finds Satoru's. 

He stares. Satoru stares right back. Something gives, and the lawyer calls out your name. 

"How are you?" His tone is cool, and this is another reason why Satoru can't stand him. The guy has no tells. He's just a talking robot. 

Unlike you, fidgeting by his side, practically vibrating with nerves. 

"I'm fine, sir." Your smile gets more painful to look at by the second. 

Your voice earns you a tired smile, a mild pinch of humor. Higuruma shakes his head, waving you off. 

"No need for formalities. We aren't at work." His smile drops just a bit, as he watches you for a bit more, eyes flickering to your hand. "I was...surprised when I saw the announcement. I didn't know you and Mr. Gojo were involved." 

Satoru grins, making himself known like a shark in the water. His grip on you tightens. 

"Oh, you didn't tell your boss 'bout us, baby?" He looks down at you with cruel mirth, pinching your cheek. You wilt. "We go way back—highschool sweethearts. Lost contact for a couple years. It's actually thanks to you we were able to find each other again. We'll send you the invites." He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

Higuruma hums at that. Satoru expected jealousy in his eyes; he's even more upset when he finds none. 

"I'll be sure to save the date." 

Then he shuts Satoru down completely. 

"I heard about your resignation. It's sad to see you go," Higuruma says. 

You nod, but you don't look at him. "Satoru and I talked about it, and we decided it's best if I focused on other things." 

"Very, very busy, this one nowadays." Satoru interrupts. "Between wedding plannin' and all that."

"Is that so?" Higuruma says dismissively, "in any case, you already knew this, but I've begun preparations to start a new firm." He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a card. "I always thought you were good at what you do. If you ever want to get back into the industry, call me." 

You take the laminate slip with a quiet thank you. Satoru feels blue turn into red. 

When Higuruma slips into the party, Satoru tightens his grip on you a little harsher than necessary. He's dragging you through the halls. Behind him, he can hear you stumbling over your heels, begging him to slow down. He knows he should care, but he doesn't. That damn lawyer. Those dead eyes. Mocking him. 

"Did you fuck him?" He asks when his anger has reached a high enough peak that he presses you against the wall. 

Your eyes are wild, flitting back and forth. He'd your expression a little cute if he wasn't feeling like a furnace, at the moment. 

"No. I—we never." You say. "Mr. Higuruma was my boss. And—and he's married—" 

"Really? 'cause you're precious 'Mr. Higuruma' was eyeing you up and down like he's already seen what's underneath." 

"'Toru." You plead. "Let's—let's just talk about this at home. Please? Let's just go home." Home. You said that word again. If he were a better man, he'd melt, but he's not. 

"Shut up." He spits out. "Hike up your dress." 

You stare at him. Then, you try to smile, like he's making a shitty joke. It wavers on your lips. 

"It's...we're still in public." You whisper and it's so cute you think he'd actually care about that. "We—we can't...we shouldn't—" 

"Baby." His voice drops, as he licks at your neck. "Pull up your dress, get rid of those panties. Otherwise, I'm just gonna take it off myself." 

He doesn't need to explain anything further. You already get what he's saying. Right now, Satoru doesn't care if you leave this building with your clothes intact. 

He thinks the worst part is that he knows he's being unreasonable. He's backing you into a corner where you'll have no choice but to surrender, and he knows that, but he keeps thinking about those man's eyes and how he looked at you and it was just all so much. 

He'll apologize to you later, with flowers and shiny gold earrings. He'd give you the world; just be good for him now. 

He just needs his fix. So just be good for him now.

☾

When Satoru discovers it's been you all along, he feels like an idiot. 

In a pathetic way of defending himself, he convinces himself there's no way he could have recognized you. You're so different compared to your high-school self. 18-years old, fresh-eyed, naive. The you now is all grown up: a mature voice, a new hairstyle, clothes he'd never even think you'd wear. 

It also didn't help that he couldn't even see your face since you turned away every time he looked at you. 

Embarrassing. He's just glad Suguru wasn't here to call his blunder. 

He thought about it a lot. He spent an hour in his office, pacing around, doing nothing but thinking and thinking and thinking. Part of him wants to corner you already. He can already feel your rabbit heartbeat on his fingertips, the look you always had in your eyes when he was right in front of you. Part of him wants to ruin your life the same way you ruined his. He wants to tear you apart, piece by piece. Leave you in tattered pieces. 

But he can't do that. Satoru still loves you. 

You left him a hollow shell. Broken. Tainted. There are pieces of him he still can't find. He should hurt you. He's hurt other people for doing less. But they weren't you. Even after all those years, he's never quite stopped loving you. 

But he wants to sate his bloodlust, just a tiny bit. 

His perfect opportunity comes where he, the lawyer, and you are all sitting in one of the waiting rooms. The lawyers explaining something, possibly about the ongoing case. Satoru doesn't really care. Besides, this is what Ijichi's here for. 

He waits until everyone is quiet. You're unassuming. By then, your shoulders have lowered, like you think you've gotten away with it 

"Hey," he says, "do we know each other?" 

The other two don't bother, but you stop completely. The pen in your grip shakes. Satoru resists the urge to laugh. 

You timidly glance up like you're still delusional enough to think there's a fifth person he's talking to. Satoru has always been told his eyes are like two suns: bright and intense. He lowers his glasses. You wilt under the solar flares. 

"Hm?" He prods, enjoying the way you shrivel. "Have we?" 

You swallow, glassy eyes flicking from side to side. Finally, you clear your throat. 

"No." You mutter, voice barely a whisper. "I don't think we have." 

"Are you sure?" To intensify the magnifying glass, he leans closer, like he's examining you. "'cause you look really familiar." 

To his delight, you chew on your bottom lip. He can imagine biting it until it's bloody and raw. He stops just when you're about to shatter completely. Breaking you too soon would take the fun out of it. 

"Oh, wait. I don't think that was you." He relents, pulling back and he can see the relief ooze over your face. "I think I got you mixed up with someone who interviewed here a couple months ago. My bad. Maybe you have one of those faces." 

You nod, eager to take the out. 

"Yes," you quickly say, "one of those faces." 

How adorable. You haven't changed since high school. 

He's usually not this obvious, but Suguru isn't here to berate him about it and it's not like anyone else will get on his ass. The women he brings in are his usuals: tall models with full lips and perfect bodies. Satoru parades them around like expensive jewelry. He wants to see you seethe in envy, stew in it. He wants you to see what you abandoned. 

But you don't do any of that. You just sit there, like the dutiful little workbee you are, right by your boss's side.

And then, you give one of them your jacket. Satoru can't stand it wrapped around her waist like she fucking owns it—own you. She wears it so flagrantly, like any token from you shouldn't be worshipped and coveted. He hates it. He hates it. 

"I've never done this in an office before." She squeals when she shuts the door behind her. "So, how do you—" 

"Get out." 

The girl pauses. What was her name again? Satou was too pissed to give a single shit. 

"Um, what?" 

"What, you deaf or something?" He waves her off as if he weren't seething. "Get out." 

"Oh," she says, blinks, and then she takes a step back. 

"Wait." Satoru stops her. 

"Take that off." He points to your jacket. She does it with zero complaints. When he tells her to drop it on the chair, she follows that too. Reluctant expectation. Kind of like you. Maybe that's why he was initially invested in her. 

He only takes the fabric after she's gone. It's soft underneath his fingertips. Nothing designer, but good quality. When you're finally underneath him again, he'll buy you better clothes, all the jackets you want. 

He needs you. He can't wait anymore. 

He needs you, whether you want him or not. 

☾

Satoru wakes up to something crashing. 

It's faint, obviously coming from the bathroom. Not the best way to be woken up. He remembers the first few nights he brought you home. He'd hear you crying in your sleep, choking on tiny sobs. It was the sweetest little thing, like a whimpering puppy. 

These noises are a little more concerning. 

He yawns, sliding out of bed. You didn't bother locking the door. You didn't even close it all the way, either. A sliver of light comes from the crack before he pushes it open. 

"Baby?" He calls. You don't answer. 

You had knocked over a caddy. Toothbrushes, hairclips, soap dispensers, perfume bottles were scattered all over the floor. You're curled up in the corner of the bathroom, huddled right next to the tub. You seem physically okay, no blood, no bruising, but he can't see your face. And you're shivering. 

Satoru's about to call out to you, when he steps on something. He looks down at the tiles. 

A positive pregnancy test. 

"I'm not keeping it." Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying for hours. "I'm not keeping it." 

"Pretty girl." He coos, trying his best to keep the glee out of his voice and failing. "Let's not worry 'bout that, right now. C'mon, let's get you off the floor." He reaches for your hand. You smack it away. It stung. 

When you look at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears, Satoru's heart skips a beat. He feels like he just trapped a wild animal, making it pace in a corner. Any wrong move could result in his hand getting bit off. It's scary. 

He's finally cracked you. 

"Fuck you." Your voice shakes and wobbles, but it's loud and you're clear. "Fuck you. You're a sick, twisted man-child. You ruined everything. You ruined my entire life and—and now you—" 

You're cut off by his giggling. It sounds psychotic even to his ears. He's beyond caring. You flinch when lifts your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes. He's smiling so hard it hurts. 

"Yeah, I did that. I ruined you. I ruined your entire fucking life. For me." He stresses, squeezing your face so hard you try to pull away. "But I had to. You—you wouldn't be here if I didn't." He sighs, pressing your body to his. "I need you."

You're both huddled on the bathroom floor, captive and lover. He's clutching you to his chest, smiling, nestling his face in your hair. You don't say anything for a while. 

"I'm not keeping it." You whisper. "I'm not. I wouldn't stand it if it ended up like you." 

It's spiteful. You're still in that phase where you think your venom can hurt him, as though he'd see your blows as anything but blessings. Satoru thinks to his own childhood. Where he was given everything, lathered in gold and silver. Yet, the house was always cold. But you were always so warm. 

"That won't happen." He tells you. "'cause you're here." 

Your anger has dwindled to smoke. Maybe you've finally realized how crazy he was for you. 

"Please let me go." It's not a beg. It's not even a request. 

"I can't," he honestly says. 

"You won't." You correct him. 

He smiles in your hair. 

"No baby," he says, "I can't." 

If you ran away again, if you escaped his claws, he'd probably die. Drop dead, rot on the floor. He needs you. Even more than he needs food, water, and oxygen. You won't understand that. You've never been in love before. 

You don't fight him. If anything, you sink into his hold. He's there to catch you, heart soaring. You lean into his chest 

"I hate you." You whisper. His heart beats a little faster. It's probably the first time you've ever been so honest with him. 

God, he loves you. 

"I hope our baby has your eyes," he says. 

"I hope our baby looks exactly like you." 

You say nothing, but when he leans down to kiss you, you finally kiss back. You're cracked, and your essence is ready to be molded in his image, just like he's always wanted you to be. 

If Satoru is the Sun, then you must certainly be his universe, the plane in which he rests, because there would be no existence for him if not for you. 

[matchingbatbites]

A lil something for @stmarchmm day one: Courting Rituals.

Steve spots Eddie's van in the driveway as he's passing by the living room window. This isn't weird on it's own; he and Eddie have plans, after all, even if it's just crashing on the Harrington couch with pizza and a cheesy B-List horror movie.

No, what's weird is that Eddie is early.

The alpha is historically late for things. The entire party has a fifteen minute grace period that they wait before they actually start to worry that something might actually be wrong. So it's odd that Eddie is at Steve's house a whole ten minutes ahead of the time they agreed on.

Steve goes to the front door and opens it, only to find Eddie at the bottom of the steps, pacing back and forth. His bangs are frizzy and ruffled, like he's been running his fingers through them, and he has a bouquet of flowers in hand.

The omega hovers in the doorway and smiles when he realizes that Eddie is muttering to himself.

"-think you're an amazing person. You make every day brighter, and- No, shit. Tone it down, Eddie. Don't scare him off from the get go." He turns and continues pacing, his free hand moving to push through his bangs again.

"Uh, we- we've gotten to know each other better over the last six months, and I really like you, and I was wondering if- Fuck! Am I asking him to court or asking him to the homecoming dance? Jesus christ."

Steve's stomach flips at the mention of courting. Is that what Eddie's doing? Hyping himself up before he comes in and asks to court Steve?

He really hopes so; Steve's been dropping hints to Eddie for a while now. Any longer and the onega was going to start the process himself, honestly.

Eddie's just so... Eddie. He's weird and manic and intense, but he's also kind and incredibly gentle, handling every interaction with Steve like he's juggling glass. Like one wrong move will have the whole thing shattering to pieces around him.

It's endearing. It shows Steve that Eddie cares, that he wants Steve to think good of him.

"Hey, Eddie!" Steve calls and Eddie's attention immediately snaps to him. He turns so fast that he nearly slips and eats shit on the concrete, but he manages to catch himself at the last second.

"Hey, uh, hi! Steve!" Eddie shuffles in place and half-hides the flowers behind his leg, and Steve beams. He loves the weird, goofy man.

"Are you gonna hang out here all day? Or are you going to come inside and actually ask me, Alpha?"

It takes Eddie a second to register the question before he's scrambling up the steps and shyly presenting Steve with the bouquet - a bundle of wildflowers in varying colors, each one unique and beautiful. Steve happily takes them but doesn't move from the threshold, instead looking at Eddie expectantly.

"Steve, you are the most beautiful person I've ever met, inside and out," Eddie starts as he fidgets in place. "You deserve the world, and if you allow me the honor of courting you, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to give it to you."

Steve smiles and reaches out to grab Eddie's shirt. "You're too sweet, Alpha," he mutters as he tugs the alpha closer and places a kiss to his cheek. "I don't need the world, Eddie. I just need you to love me."

Eddie blinks rapidly for a second before his nerves seem to vanish. He smiles and hooks a finger into Steve's belt loop, keeping him close. "Well, good thing I've got a head start on that, then."