#this is definitely just about a writing prompt

[supi-wupi]

Kiss Me, It’s for Science - Junhui

Pairing: jun x reader

synopsis: Jun and Y/N are both psychology majors. For their thesis, they must observe the chemical reactions of romantic attraction... using themselves as test subjects. Bonus, Their “experiment” is being live-blogged by classmates on a fan account.

wc: 4.1k

genre: Romantic Comedy, Academic AU, Mutual Pining, Group Chat Chaos, Soft but unhinged friendship dynamics

warning: Swearing (mostly in the form of chaotic group chat energy and Seungkwan’s emotional rants), Secondhand embarrassment (via live-blogging, secret kisses, and overly dramatic classmates), Mentions of stress

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNNIE!!! was actually laughing at myself for even writing this in the first place, but i had fun :) Special thanks to @hhaechansmoless and @flowerwonu for beta reading for me!

1. Hypothesis: Jun Is Not That Pretty. Probably.

The list of things you expected when you picked psychology as your major was short and kind of embarrassing. You thought you'd learn how to read minds (nope), how to fix people (wrong again), and maybe how to stop crying in front of professors (jury's still out on that one).

You definitely did not expect to end up in a research lab about ‘neurochemical responses to romantic attraction.’

Even less expected was being partnered with Wen Junhui—resident pretty boy, dance major turned psych convert, and the guy who once tried to hypnotize a TA for extra credit. It almost worked.

Jun was already at your shared lab table when you arrived, feet up on the second chair, flipping through the experiment handbook like it personally offended him. He looked up as you approached, expression unreadable. Then he smiled—wide and kind and borderline smug.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You’re early,” you shot back, dropping your bag with a dramatic thunk. “What are we even doing this semester? I skimmed the syllabus, and it sounded like a dating sim disguised as science.”

Jun’s grin widened. “That’s because it is.”

You blinked.

He patted the seat next to him. “We’re going to fall in love. For research.”

You stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

He pulled out a laminated page from the handbook and slid it across the table like he was revealing a clue on a game show.

You read aloud: ‘Students will pair up and conduct a series of controlled experiments designed to measure physiological and psychological markers of romantic arousal and bonding.’

Your voice cracked a little on arousal.

“...This can’t be real.”

Jun leaned his chin on one hand, hair falling just slightly into his eyes. “It’s supervised by Dr. Kang. She’s been studying oxytocin and dopamine pathways for years. I think she’s trying to get a paper out of it.”

“So we’re lab rats.”

He raised his brows. “Hot lab rats.”

You rolled your eyes so hard, you didn’t think it was possible.

Still, you glanced back at the paper. Heart rate tracking, skin conductivity, pupil dilation, mood journaling, regular surveys. One prompt literally said, ‘Have participants hold hands for 60 seconds and record any notable emotional or physiological changes.’

This had to be a joke.

“Why are we doing this to ourselves?” you muttered, dragging your hands down your face.

Jun tapped the edge of the page. “Because it’s fifty percent of our final grade. And because it’ll be fun.”

You gave him a look.

He gave you the Jun look, which basically meant the same as a wink but prettier and more annoying.

“And,” he added, “because apparently, someone’s already live-blogging our class.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

Jun pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and slid it your way.

On screen: a Twitter account titled @JunYNSocialExperiment.

Pinned tweet: “Day 1 of Jun and Y/N’s slow descent into thesis-induced madness. Sparks may already be flying. 👀 #Psych4Luv”

You blinked again. Harder.

Jun just shrugged. “Welcome to the spotlight, partner.”

You wanted to crawl under the lab table.

Instead, you groaned and flopped onto the chair next to him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Not the most romantic start,” he said, mock-pouting.

You glared at him. “You better not fall in love with me, Jun.”

He grinned, and this time it was all teeth. “Too late.”

—

2. Variables Include but Are Not Limited to, My Crush on You

Live-Blogging Account: [@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 13: Jun just held Y/N’s hand during the oxytocin baseline. Her hand was shaking. His wasn’t. That man is too calm. Suspiciously calm.

Tweet 14: Someone check if he practiced this in the mirror. #SmoothOperator

Tweet 15: UPDATE: Jun said “your hands are soft” in a tone that should be illegal in educational settings. #HRViolation

—

You don’t know who’s running the live-blog account, but you’re at least 80% sure it’s Minghao. Maybe Seungkwan. Could be both.

“Should we be worried we’ve gone viral on CampusTok?” Jun asks, voice way too relaxed for someone whose heart rate was just logged mid-hand-holding session.

You, on the other hand, are a wreck. You can feel your pulse in your teeth.

“It’s not viral,” you mutter, not looking up from your lab notes.

Jun holds up his phone: 27.4K likes on a clip of you nearly dropping your water bottle when he smiled too hard during Eye Contact Session 1.

You stare at the number. Then you stare at him.

“This is your fault,” you say.

He feigns innocence. “I’m just being a good lab partner. You’re the one getting flustered.”

“You smiled like a romance anime protagonist.”

“I was following protocol. Stimulus Response Theory. Emotional cues. It’s for science.”

Inhale. Exhale. Murder is illegal….

Dr. Kang appears at that exact moment, armed with clipboards and a polite but terrifying smile. “How are my favorite guinea pigs doing?”

You both reply at the same time:

Jun: “Deeply in love.”

You: “Deeply in denial.”

Dr. Kang nods like that’s perfectly normal and flips to the next page in her binder. “Excellent. Today we’re doing proximity tests. Sit close, back-to-back, no talking. We’ll be monitoring tension levels.”

You blink. “Tension levels?”

“Muscle stiffness, heart rate, skin conductivity.” She pauses. “And maybe some vibes.”

Jun snorts. You do not.

Five minutes later, you’re sitting back-to-back with Jun on a mat on the floor, too aware of the warmth radiating from his shoulder blades and the fact that you’re pretty sure he smells like green tea and expensive dreams.

You hear him breathe in, like he’s going to say something, then stops. A beat of silence follows.

“I can feel you overthinking,” he murmurs, voice low enough only you can hear.

You elbow him in the ribs.

He laughs silently.

—

Live-Blogging Account: [@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 16: They’re back-to-back right now. She keeps adjusting her posture. He hasn’t moved once. I’ve never seen a man so comfortable with romantic tension.

Tweet 17: Someone said he’s the embodiment of a smirk. Accurate.

Tweet 18: If this doesn’t end in a kiss during the Final Trial, I’m demanding a refund from the psychology department.

—

You finally snap when someone in your group chat sends a meme of your blushing face photoshopped onto a squirrel. Caption: "Me when Jun breathes."

You hold up your phone to him, nose wrinkled. “Why are they like this?”

Jun glances at it and grins. “Because we’re adorable.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I am.” He pauses, then tilts his head. “But also you.”

You freeze.

Jun shrugs like he didn’t just ruin your nervous system. “Just an observation. Scientific.”

You toss a pen at his forehead.

He catches it—of course he catches it—then raises a brow. “Aggression noted. Possible sign of repression?”

You nearly scream.

—

3. This Is Definitely a Crush, But Let’s Pretend It’s Academia

Live-Blogging Account: [@JunYNSocialExperiment]Tweet 19: Jun just adjusted Y/N’s necklace for the "touch sensitivity test." That was not science. That was foreplay.

Tweet 20: We’re 3 sessions away from them inventing eye contact pregnancy.

Tweet 21: The TA had to step outside to breathe.

—

Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)[Hao]: do u think if i bump into jun in the hallway and say “do you believe in fate” he’ll crack and confess

[Boo]: no but he’ll probably quote some philosopher and flip his hair

[Vernon]:  i’m still not over how he called y/n “sunshine” in that deadpan voice like bro who trained you

[Dino]: should we start a betting pool for when they kiss

[Hao]: i already started one. dps due friday

[Boo]: why friday

[Hao]: because dr kang is making them share a blanket for the “comfort dependency module.”

[Hao]: i am not joking.

—

“I think Minghao’s spying on us,” you mutter, scrolling through the live-blog account while sitting next to Jun at a coffee shop.

Jun glances over, sipping his iced americano like nothing phases him. “I think Minghao’s rooting for us.”

You choke on your muffin.

He pats your back in a very not platonic way. “You good?”

“Define ‘good,’” you cough, “because emotionally I’m hanging on by a single neurotransmitter.”

Jun smiles, utterly unhelpful. “Let’s hope it’s dopamine.”

—

In today’s lab, you’re asked to complete a “Shared Intimacy Memory Test,” where you’re supposed to tell a meaningful memory to your partner and rate how emotionally connected you feel afterwards.

You stare at the blank paper in front of you.

“Do I tell the story where I cried in front of my professor?” you ask. “Or the one where I got stuck in a revolving door?”

Jun hums. “How about something you’d only tell someone you trust?”

You side-eye him. “You first, Casanova.”

And then he tells you about his mom’s garden.

About how she used to wake him up at 5 a.m. to water the tomatoes.

About how he hated it—until he moved out and realized he missed the smell of basil more than anything.

You look at him, quiet for a long moment.

“That’s kind of beautiful,” you say, softly.

He shrugs. “Kind of like you.”

You stare.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

The TA coughs behind her clipboard.

—

Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)[Boo]: he just called her beautiful

[Boo]: i have ascended

[Dino]: do you think if i fake a nosebleed they’ll get distracted long enough to kiss

[Hao]: no but worth a try. bring a ketchup packet.

[Vernon]: i’m just here for the free drama. this is better than any kdrama i’ve ever seen.

—

Later that night, Jun walks you home after the lab.

Your shoulder brushes his.

You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to either.

“You ever think we’re just playing chicken with each other?” you ask suddenly, stopping near your door.

Jun blinks. “In what way?”

“I mean—who’s going to crack first. Say it out loud.”

He steps a little closer. “Say what?”

You look up at him, heartbeat louder than logic.

“That this... doesn’t feel like an experiment anymore.”

Jun doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he reaches up like he might touch your face, then stops.

“I’ve known since Day 2,” he admits.

You blink. “Known what?”

“That I like you,” he says simply. “Everything else has just been… peer-reviewed confirmation.”

Your heart crashes somewhere into your lungs.

But before you can reply, he adds, “I’m not asking for an answer. Not yet. But just know I’m not pretending.”

You don’t sleep that night. Your lab notes the next morning are absolute garbage.

—

4. The Blanket Test and Other Forms of Emotional Torture

Live-Blogging Account: [@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 21: If you thought they couldn’t get more domestic—today’s module is: Shared Thermal Regulation.Tweet 22: Translation: THEY’RE SHARING A BLANKET FOR SCIENCE.

Tweet 23: Jun said “you can have more if you’re cold” and tucked the blanket over Y/N’s knees. I am now legally married to this ship.

—

Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)[Boo]: shared. thermal. regulation.

[Boo]: dr kang is a menace and also my hero

[Dino]: they’re gonna die of tension before hypothermia even kicks in

[Vernon]: y/n just told jun “you run warm” and i had to physically leave the room

[Hao]: if they don’t kiss today i’m deleting my degree

[Hao]: this is not psychology this is foreplay 101

—

Jun adjusts the blanket so it drapes evenly across your legs. You're sitting side by side on the floor of the lab’s observation room, backs against the couch, trying very hard not to make eye contact.

“So,” you say lightly, “how do you think this affects the dopamine system?”

Jun leans over. “You want the scientific answer or the ‘I like the way your voice sounds when you’re flustered’ answer?”

Your whole nervous system malfunctions.

“That’s not—” you choke, “That’s not a real research angle!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Says who? Should we test it?”

You open your mouth to argue, but then he shifts closer, shoulder to shoulder now, and all your cognitive functions dissolve.

You pretend to look at your notes.

He pretends to look at his.

Neither of you are fooling anyone.

—

Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)[Boo]: jun said “you smell like vanilla and chaos” and i SCREECHED

[Hao]: i am going to physically force their faces together i swear

[Dino]: update: i told the TA i had to “check the fire alarm” so i could eavesdrop

[Vernon]: i heard jun say “i dreamt about you last night”

[Vernon]: i have not recovered

[Boo]: WAS IT SEXY

[Vernon]: no it was weirdly soft

[Vernon]: he said “you were laughing and I wanted to keep the sound”

[Hao]: i need a sedative

—

“You’re staring again,” you murmur without looking at him.

“I study human behavior,” Jun says smugly. “This is observational data collection.”

You snort, eyes still on the psych textbook in your lap. “Uh-huh. What’s your conclusion?”

He shifts a little closer. “That I’m probably completely in love with you.”

Silence.

Your fingers twitch under the blanket.

He doesn’t take it back.

You look up at him—finally—and the look in his eyes makes the air feel heavier.

You say, quietly: “I don’t know what to do with that.”

Jun smiles, a little crooked. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… don’t run.”

“I’m not running,” you whisper.

He nudges your knee with his. “Good.”

—

Later, back in your dorm, you open your phone and find 18 missed messages from Hao.

[Minghao]: :DID YOU KISS??

[Minghao]: DID YOU TOUCH HANDS??

[Minghao]: DID HE WHISPER YOUR NAME LIKE A SAD VICTORIAN POET

WE’RE DYING HERE

[Minghao]: answer or i’m going to publish the live-blog as a case study

You roll your eyes and finally respond

[You]: no kiss

[You]: just confessions

[You]: maybe next time

[Minghao]: CONFESSIONS??

[Minghao]: LIKE LOVE ONES??

[Minghao]: be so serious rn. i’m calling dr kang and declaring this a success

[You]: don’t

[Minghao]: too late. already printed matching lab coats that say “subject a’s boyfriend”

—

5. Hallway Kisses and One (1) Witness Too Many

Live-Blogging Account: [@JunYNSocialExperiment]

Tweet 24: Okay. Okay. Okay. I’m shaking.

Tweet 25: THEY THINK THEY’RE SNEAKY. THEY’RE NOT.

Tweet 26: Seungkwan caught them kissing outside the lab and texted us “GUYS I JUST WITNESSED EMOTIONAL NUDITY”

Tweet 27: Anyway, we won.

—

It happens between modules.

You and Jun are standing in the hallway outside Dr. Kang’s office, both slightly breathless after a long presentation on “emotional synchrony and physiological arousal,” which is ironic considering you haven’t been able to calm down around Jun for weeks.

There’s no one in the hallway. The lab door clicks shut behind you.

You lean against the wall, arms crossed loosely. Jun’s in front of you, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking from your face to your mouth and back again.

“You did well in there,” he says softly.

“You too. Especially that part where you explained heart rate increase as ‘mutual attunement’ and looked directly at me for the entire paragraph.”

Jun tilts his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You noticed?”

You roll your eyes. “I notice everything.”

There’s a beat.

Then he takes a half-step closer. “Do you notice how close I am right now?”

Your breath hitches. “Jun—”

“If you don’t want me to kiss you, say something.”

Silence.

You look up at him, and whatever’s in your expression makes him breathe in sharply. He leans in—

And kisses you.

It’s gentle at first—tentative, warm. But then you’re pulling him in by the collar and he’s tilting your chin up with one hand, the other braced against the wall beside your head. The kiss deepens, and the world narrows to the space between your mouths.

Then—

“Oh my GOD.”

You both freeze.

Seungkwan is standing ten feet away with his lunch tray, mouth agape.

There’s a long, long pause.

“…Please pretend you didn’t see that?” you say weakly.

Seungkwan drops the tray on the floor with a clatter and bolts down the hall at full speed, yelling, “I NEED MY PHONE. I NEED THE GROUP CHAT. I’M TELLING EVERYONE.”

—

Group Chat: Science Is a Scam (feat. Love)[Boo]: EMERGENCY BROADCAST

[Boo]: RED ALERT

[Boo]: THEY WERE MAKING OUT OUTSIDE THE LAB

[Boo]: I REPEAT

[Boo]: LIP-LOCK LEVEL: ADVANCED

[Hao]: OH MY GODDDDD

[Hao]: I KNEW IT

[Hao]: LOVE IS REAL

[Boo]: jun had his hand on the WALL

[Boo]: WALL ARM

[Boo]: THE KDRAMA WALL ARM

[Dino]: i am crying. this is the most important academic day of my life

[Vernon]: are we still live-blogging or is this now a fan shrine

—

Later that night, Jun sends you a text.

[Jun]: did we break seungkwan

he walked into the kitchen and handed me a banana without saying a word

[You]: i think he’s grieving

either our friendship or the fact he wasn’t the first to know

possibly both

—

Dr. Kang enters the next lab session with a small smile and a stack of feedback forms.

“Before we begin, I’d like to commend Subject A and Subject B for their… commitment to the experiment.”

You and Jun exchange panicked glances.

Dr. Kang continues. “Some of your classmates have submitted observational reports. Very thorough. Some might say emotionally invasive, but—” she shrugs, “—that’s academia.”

You are going to kill Seungkwan.

—

Live-Blogging Account: [@JunYNSocialExperiment]Tweet 28: they’re holding hands in the presentation now

Tweet 29: jun just whispered something and y/n smiled like a foolTweet 30: we’re calling it

Tweet 31: experiment conclusion: it was never about science

Tweet 32: it was always about love

—

6. Confessions & Crashes (Live from Psych 301)

The final presentations were scheduled to start at 1:00 PM sharp, but the lecture hall was already packed by 12:40. Not because anyone particularly loved behavioral psych, but because the entire Seventeen Group Chat had gone rogue.

—

Specifically:

Subject: Jun and Y/N’s final presentationSubtext: Will they combust? Will they kiss again? Will Seungkwan faint in public?

[Group Chat: SEVENTEEN Studies (🧠🔥)]

[Boo]: IM OUTSIDE THE LECTURE HALL

[Boo]: I REPEAT THE KISSERS ARE ON CAMPUS

[DK]: omg

[DK]: omg

[Joshua]: don’t cause a scene

[Boo]: TOO LATE I’VE ALREADY SWEATED THROUGH MY SHIRT

[Mingyu]: i brought popcorn

[Vernon]: i brought existential dread

[Woozi]: i brought a taser

[Soonyoung]: I BROUGHT POSTERS

[Jeonghan]: what

[Soonyoung]: [attached: “KISS ME IT’S FOR SCIENCE” banner]

[Jeonghan]: I regret asking

—

You and Jun sit near the front. There’s a half-meter of space between your seats, but the tension could punch a hole through concrete. You’re both quiet. Too quiet.

It’s been three days since the kiss.

Three days since Seungkwan caught you in the hallway and shrieked so loud the janitor dropped his mop. Three days since your group chat transformed into a fanfiction-writing frenzy, culminating in Minghao sending a 20-slide PowerPoint titled “The 19 Stages of Academic Yearning (ft. Jun and Y/N).”

And three days since you’ve said anything real to Jun.

Because how do you follow a kiss like that?

A kiss that wasn’t part of the experiment. A kiss that wasn’t data or methodology or "mutual gaze-induced arousal via stimulus proximity." A kiss that felt—

Real.

—

Your names are called. You step up.

You’re shaking. But Jun smiles at you, soft and grounding. Like he’s saying, We got this. I got you.

You start with the basics—hypothesis, procedure, variables.

Jun picks up the analysis, voice steady. “We measured cortisol levels, pupil dilation, and heartbeat synchronization during various physical and emotional interactions. Our aim was to determine whether affection, simulated or genuine, could create measurable physiological bonding.”

He pauses.

You glance at him. His jaw tightens.

Then he turns to face the audience. “But somewhere along the way,” Jun says quietly, “it stopped being simulated.”

Your stomach drops.

The room is silent.

“Somewhere between testing proximity and shared secrets… I stopped seeing this as research. And started feeling something real.”

You blink.

Oh no.

He’s doing this. Here. Now. In front of fifty students and one very emotionally fragile Seungkwan.

You step forward, whispering, “Jun—”

But he looks right at you.

“This wasn’t in the protocol,” he says, voice suddenly trembling. “You weren’t supposed to matter this much. But you do. You do.”

—

The lecture hall explodes.

[Group Chat: SEVENTEEN Studies (🧠🔥)]

[Boo]: HES CONFESSING

[Boo]: HE’S CONFESSING IN PUBLIC

[DK]: OH MY GODDDD

[Joshua]: I’M CRYING

[Woozi]: shut up i can’t hear

[Minghao]: [screenshot of Jun’s face mid-confession, zoomed in 300%]

[Soonyoung]: CAN I THROW FLOWERS

[Jeonghan]: NO

[Soonyoung]: TOO LATE

[Jeonghan]: ARE YOU ACTUALLY THROWING FLOWERS

[Soonyoung]: [attached: photo of daisies in mid-air]

[Mingyu]: THE TA IS CRYING

[Vernon]: i’m also crying but i think it’s unrelated

[Boo]: HE’S HOLDING HER HAND

[Boo]: I’M GOING TO ASCEND

—

You’re stunned. Frozen.

Jun steps closer, voice softer now. “Y/N, you don’t have to say anything. But I had to tell you. Because this was supposed to be a study in emotional bonding, and somewhere along the line, I fell in love.”

You stare.

And then you laugh—wet, shocked.

“Jun,” you whisper, “I was in love with you four weeks ago. When you spilled tea on my laptop and offered to buy me a new one.”

He blinks. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “But the hallway kiss helped.”

The entire room loses it.

—

You’re still holding hands when your professor says, “A+, obviously. But please consider my blood pressure next time.”

Jun bows politely. You wave, dazed. The class claps like you just ended a K-drama. Someone’s live-streaming. A flower lands on your head.

—

[Group Chat: SEVENTEEN Studies (🧠🔥)]

[Joshua]: does this mean they’re dating

[DK]: DO WE THROW A PARTY

[Woozi]: i’m making a playlist

[Jeonghan]: i’m making a drinking game

[Soonyoung]: IM MAKING A TIKTOK

[Minghao]: i’m making a legally binding marriage certificate

[Boo]: [attached: selfie, red-eyed, cheeks blotchy, surrounded by tissue]

[Boo]: love is real

[Boo]: i need electrolytes

—

7. Commence Emotional Graduation (w/ Seungkwan’s Fanclub)

Graduation day arrives like a fever dream. Caps flying. Gowns flapping. Sunglasses hiding tears. A dangerously unstable crowd of proud parents, confused siblings, and one emotionally possessed group chat ready to combust.

You’re standing in line to cross the stage, half-listening to the Dean’s speech and trying not to cry into your honor cords. Beside you, Jun is adjusting his gown and whispering nonsense like:

“Did you eat?”

“Is your cap on straight?”

“Do I have something in my teeth?”

“Should we kiss after we get our diplomas?”

“Too much?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, heart soft. “All of it. But I love you anyway.”

He beams so wide you almost cry again.

—

Meanwhile...

[Group Chat: SEVENTEEN Studies (🧠🔥)]

[Boo]: LISTEN UP

[Boo]: THE TIME HAS COME

[Joshua]: oh no

[Woozi]: what have you done

[DK]: i’m scared

[Boo]: I AM OFFICIALLY LAUNCHING

[Boo]: THE JUN × Y/N FANCLUB

[Minghao]: of course

[Jeonghan]: we knew this was coming

[Soonyoung]: DO WE GET SHIRTS

[Boo]: ALREADY MADE

[Boo]: [attached: “I Believed in the Science” t-shirt]

[Mingyu]: bro

[Vernon]: incredible

[Boo]: there’s a tier system

[Boo]: GOLD = saw them kiss live

[Boo]: SILVER = cried during the final presentation

[Boo]: PLATINUM = emotionally unwell since week 4

[Joshua]: so we’re all platinum

[Woozi]: against my will

—

You cross the stage.

Your name is called. The applause is normal—until SEUNGKWAN SCREAMS from the back row, holding a hand-painted fanclub banner. (Soonyoung is next to him tossing mini confetti cannons.)

You’re pretty sure the Chancellor flinches.

Then Jun crosses.

The crowd, already unstable, reaches concert-level intensity. Someone blows a kazoo. Vernon is live-streaming. Mingyu is crying. The professor who gave you an A+ on your final project wipes a single tear and nods like she’s raised you both herself.

—

After the ceremony, the chaos continues.

You’re bombarded with hugs, selfies, and “tell us everything” questions from your group chat. Seungkwan makes you pose in front of a giant “Science of Love” poster he made himself. Soonyoung forces Jun into a glitter-filled TikTok. Woozi plays an acoustic guitar version of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” while Joshua harmonizes.

Jeonghan casually hands you a champagne bottle and whispers, “You survived academia and fell in love. You deserve this.”

—

Later, you and Jun sneak away. Sit quietly on the edge of campus, overlooking the courtyard full of chaos you’ve come to love.

He nudges your shoulder. “So... post-grad. What now?”

You smile. “We keep experimenting. With this. Us.”

He leans in. “For science?”

You laugh into his kiss. “For love.”

—

[Group Chat: SEVENTEEN Studies (🧠🔥)]

[Boo]: THEY’RE KISSING AGAIN

[DK]: I’M CRYING AGAIN

[Woozi]: we should’ve majored in drama

[Minghao]: we basically did

[Soonyoung]: LET’S THROW A REUNION EVERY YEAR

[Joshua]: …we’re still on campus?

[Jeonghan]: shut up and let the moment happen

[Vernon]: i’m writing a poem

[Mingyu]: i’m hungry

[Boo]: i’m full

[Boo]: FULL OF EMOTION

[nejiverse]

fem reader. ᰔᩚ 638 words. ᰔᩚ will defo write more ab this. masterlist ᰔᩚ

Hitman! Toji who has never hesitated on a job, he simply does what he has to do and gets his reward and that's how it's always been.

But once he's in your home, face to face with your sleeping figure, he's utterly taken aback.

"You've gotta be kidding me Shiu", Toji switched frantically between your picture and details he was given. It was an awful picture because it looked nothing like you. It was grainy, the lighting was poor and the scrap of paper only showed half of your features. Hell, your hair colour wasn't even the same!

You must've been very good at hiding if all they could hand him was an outdated picture, Toji noted to himself.

"Something happen?", Shiu replied from the other side of the phone, his voice quiet.

"No way in hell am I killing her, that's such a waste", he whisper shouted, stuffing the piece of paper into his pocket.

"Whaddya mean? Waste of what?", Shiu clicked his tongue. On second thought, it didn't matter, Toji just needed to get the job done. "Will you just kill her already, are you trying to get me in trouble?", is this what he got for being the messenger?

"She's fuckin' hot Shiu", he expressed. "And you can tell the boss I said that", Toji squatted down as he clicked on the camera icon on his phone. "Here, i'll send you a pic".

Next thing Toji felt was a sharp sensation against his throat which made him pause for a second before the corner of his lips curled into a smirk.

"I'll call you back Shiu".

You propped your top half up, elbow digging into the sheets and hand against your cheek as to hold your head up, your other hand jabbing lightly at his adam's apple with the blade.

"Not even gonna ask for my permission first?", an unimpressed look was etched onto your face. This was the third, or maybe fourth time this week someone has tried to assassinate you. Frankly, it was getting old.

"Didn't wanna wake you", and that's when you acknowledged the blade he held up to your stomach with practiced ease. No one held the upper hand in that moment.

"Well i'm awake now", you huffed. "And pissed off", a quick yet powerful punch aimed right at the middle of his face was more than enough confirmation.

Toji groaned and cursed under his breath as he fell back. "The fuck?", his brows knitted together. "You punch like a man". Toji concluded you most definitely weren't a normal person, even going as far as suspecting you of being an assassin or killer of some sort.

You scoffed a laugh. "That's a dangerous thing to say to a woman who was holding a blade against your jugular not too long ago", lunging at him with a knife securely in your grasp, Toji grabbed your wrist, blade inches away from his eye.

You winced as his forearm flexed whilst he held your wrist mid air. It felt like the bones at your wrist were about to be crushed under his strong grip, causing you to drop your blade.

"You had multiple chances to kill me just now, stop toying with me", you spat.

Unexpectedly, he burst out laughing, the sound low and gravelly as he shook his head. "I'd rather take you out to dinner".

He let go of your wrist, prompting you to massage it as a shocked scoff escaped your lips. "You're out of your damn mind.".

"Maybe", he shrugged his shoulders, eyes moving from your wrist to your eyes. "But i'm still waiting for an answer".

"You're funny", you patted his chest as you got off of him. "I'll kill you later".

Toji's grin widened, eyes glinting like he'd just won the lottery.

"Whatever you say doll".

[cloveroctobers]

DESERT EAGLE | Stack (SINNERS) — summer prompts

A/N: I figured why not write stack in vamp form this time around? In the summer is crazy but I hear Mississippi is summer all year round and we already know around this time that this man has lived many lives. Anyways just enjoy your vacay—NOT in Mississippi—with your vamp bf 😉

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE & I’m using: “how many swimsuits did you bring?” — “all of them.” + complimenting them with every single outfit change of the trip. + late night beach walks >>>

WARNINGS: language, modern au!, written in HC form (my way!) so this is a quick one + slight description of intimate moments.

<- read my previous summer anthology prompt here.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪

Vacays with Stack were always a adventure because that man was always up to something.

He was always down for spontaneous trips so if you ever showed him travel TikTok’s that sparked your interest? best believe in a few days he’ll be sending you booked plane tickets to your phone.

That man loved traveling by plane.

If you’re the type to get anxious on them? He makes it his job to have you laughing so you don’t have to worry about a thing.

The Oak Bluffs was not necessarily a place that Stack jumped at the chance to go, “The fuck is out there? The real housewives of uppity snobs? And their corny husbands in tight ass polo sweaters?”

“I mean…I can always go with my girls instead? One of their birthdays is coming up anyway.” You shrugged and it’s almost as if you spit in his face.

He never said he didn’t want to go, he just needed to know what type of shit they were on out there.

He’ll ask if you’re sure once, “You sure you don’t want to try one of those tropical islands instead like we did on spring break? Jamaica was a time.”

He’s licking his lips at the memory.

That time underneath the waterfalls? Y’all were definitely chasing something!

“Oak bluffs still is an island, babe.”

Regardless he gets excited to pack only when it comes down to the fits, the man wants to make sure it coordinates with yours well. He had a great eye for detail— something you learned when he showed you pics from back in the 30s.

The brother was sharp! And IS.

He’s upstairs out on the balcony of the Airbnb cottage, one already lit resting against his pointer and thumb as he exhaled the smoke watching the sun finally fade. It barely burned, felt like maybe the sting of a papercut (you thought trying sunscreen would help some but that’s another story!) but he was made to come alive in the night time.

“What do you think about this one?” You asked, arriving back onto the balcony and moving to pose along the banister, elbows resting along the railing and into his view.

He tilts his head back, slow and deliberate as he takes in the suit that clung to your body and made your skin glow even with the sunset being tucked away, “Shit, i wouldn’t be mad if you just wanted to wear that one for the rest of the night.”

You laugh, “You and I both know if I went out on the town in this one? I’d be causing trouble.”

Stack grins at you, flashing you with his dimples, gold and fangs while his eyes remained shielded by some expensive shades. Which he didn’t need to do around you but it was all about the aesthetic. “Now what’s wrong with that?”

That ofc made you roll your eyes as Stack decides to ask letting his eyes drink you in, “how many swimsuits did you bring?”

You stretch obnoxiously, making sure it all poked out before resting your hands on your hips standing by the door, “All of them.” You wink before you decide on another bathing suit, ready to head back inside to change, thinking of another one that would look better underneath the coverup fit you had out.

You should have known Stack would jump right up to assist with that ;)

The both of you were having dinner pretty close to the beach—if not right on it. It was your first night out here and stack was all for wining and dining his woman.

He picked a dinner spot with a panoramic view of the beach, a seafood spot—or some type of grill spot if you’re allergic or don’t care for that. Regardless he knows his lady and wouldn’t budge telling you the name to look up the menu prior. He just knows it’s something you’ll like.

What can I say? He’s a detail oriented guy and paid attention regardless of his playful ways.

If it’s an upscale place, he doesn’t need any other man holding the chair out for you, and if they try? They’re definitely getting a flash of his eyes underneath his shades to back off.

“You not gettin’ a tip for tryin’ to push up on my lady, nig—

“Elias!” You warn, letting him know you heard him trying to have a side convo with the waiter, who couldn’t be no more than nineteen and just doing his job.

Stack is obsessed with the way you look in the amber lights sitting across from him. Breeze blowing your hair over your shoulder. He can’t help but to take some pictures of his own, annoying you when you told him to send you those later. “The internet don’t gotta see what’s mine, baby girl.”

He can still eat regular food since the memory of the old him hasn’t just faded after becoming immortal. He just prefers blood and he can fake it with the most bitter of red wine. It’s still something Elias laughs at when you get him to watch supernatural films that have to deal with vamps.

“Next thing you’re gonna tell me werewolves aren’t hairy either.”

Elias shrugs, “I don’t know shit about them like that. Though somethin’ tells me I might have met one, think her name was Hazel—she owned one of the bars—back in New Orleans when I visited on business. They’ve got a lot going on out there anyway.”

After dinner, the both of you made your way down to the beach with the boardwalk becoming a backdrop for you two now. Your heels are in your hand, stack rolled up his linen pants and held your hand as you walked along the water.

The coolness of his skin no longer feels like a cold glass of something good in the heat, his skin always felt warm enough when you touched him.

“You ever let someone ruin you on the beach?” He says to you as he spins you around to press you up against a boulder off to the side and out of view.

Your hand goes up to push his shades back so you can see the light in his dark eyes, “You’ve been thinking about it since I put that wine glass in between these titties, huh?”

It was a party trick once you got tipsy enough!

Stack nips at your jaw, not enough to draw blood, or mess up your makeup—not like he could with whatever setting technique you did—but enough that the fangs scratched your skin.

His lips trail down the side of your neck, feeling the beat of your heart before he even got the chance to kiss it. His hand goes to your neck next, squeezing and keeping you in place with a smirk before he lowers his head, letting his tongue swipe up the cloth of your exposed bathing suit, your nipple instantly going hard in response.

“Been thinkin’ about it since you put that other shit on back at the Airbnb but here I was being a gentleman.”

You snicker, “Aren’t you kind?”

His eyes flicker with lust beyond the smidge of white in his dark eyes, “I don’t think I will be for much longer, sugar,” he bunches up your floor length skirt dragging the material up to your waist, “Spread em wide, legs out, I ain’t gonna let you fall, you know I gotcha. Just like that, let me feel sum.”

The boardwalk music fades with your breathing becoming the best soundtrack Stack could ask for with the waves also rolling on in the distance.

Stack has no issue making you feel secure, even being pressed up against this rock, hands holding onto your backside as he starts off tonguing you down softly.

It’s always so delicately before Stack’s hunger truly takes over and being with stack like this? Dangerous. Yet you’ve always been down for the thrill.

That hair pulling was out. He knew better. The neck grabbing was tolerable, a turn on that he was the only one that brought it out of you, stack was the vocal type and could always pull it out of you too, even when you challenged him that he couldn’t.

He’s the perfect sting, buried deep, even when he sinks his fangs in just a little to draw blood from your breasts.

Even when he abruptly gets you down in the sand, despite the scarf covering your protective style and being pinned into your hair, you’re ready to fight his ass, throwing elbows and managing to wrestle so you’re on top of him with a triumph grin while he’s rubbing sand out of his eye.

“Aha! That’s what you get for trying to toss me around, knowing I hated sandboxes as a kid.”

Stack blinks the grit out of his eyes and up at you, like you’re his whole world, licking his lips, he palms at your waist, “My fault, baby. I thought you liked it a little rough, lemme make it up to you. You could put my favorite box right here if you want.”

And when he sticks his fat tongue out, he could feel you clench against his torso and he knew he had you before the lips on your face greeted his first.

To say you ended up sandier than expected would be a understatement but the afterglow was worth it.

It’s well past three am when you return back to the cottage, a shower in each other arms, sweet nasty kisses in one another’s embrace, and fogged up mirrors was a night well spent.

During the daylight Stack’s normally down to recharge, not for long if he ate properly before you went on this trip.

Majority of the trip would be night time activities and if you’re a night owl, it’s not a big deal. Your life still went on, on a regular basis with a bf who could only really be out during the nightfall, it only became hard if others knew about your love life.

No secret (well the vamp part yeah) but private.

A moonlit bike ride was part of your second evening together.

You were headed to the gingerbread houses, to see the lanterns that illuminated the homes when the sky went to sleep and whatever else the two of you could get into.

You’re walking alongside a rented bike while Stack is still riding circles around you, like a big kid, before slowing down to peddle beside you.

He gets close enough to peck a kiss to the back of your shoulder, getting a slow smile out of you in return as you bring your attention away from the evening sky.

“Can I have my space back?”

“For what? You stink or somethin’?”

You stop walking, scoffing as you both share a laugh, one that’s low and private. The kind meant for lovers.

“So if I slash your tires and make your face kiss the pavement for disrespecting me, I don’t want to hear nothing.”

Stack chuckles, “I’ll prolly still love yo ass anyway…even if your edges start to puff up.”

And that sends you chasing after him, even to the point where you have to hop onto your bike to get to him, yet that vampire speed was also something else.

When you get back to the house, you find stack out back, watching the fire pit while smoking, as soon as you sit in the chair beside his, he’s pulling you in the chair close enough to his. You angle your body to toss your legs into his lap, he holds the blunt out to you, you decline, resting your head back against the chair. He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Cobalt blue is your color, ma.”

It’s sportswear and something he complimented when you rushed outside to meet him before your outing—you were taking longer to get ready after lounging around all day and he didn’t help you pick out what to wear this time around…but the night was still young.

“Thank you baby,” you say as his kiss still tingled against your skin.

He hums as he takes another inhale, trailing his thumb against your thigh, “Might need to make this a tradition.”

You press your cheek into your shoulder, “What? Me looking good?” You tease.

Stack laughs before he drawls out, “That’s all the time, whatcha talkin’ bout?”

“Oh you’re just trying to ruin this fit too.” You reply with slits in your eyes, playfully twirling your finger at him.

Stack stares over at you, “I don’t need a vacation or daily planner to want to do that. Trust me when I say that. Plus I could always replace it no problem.”

This you knew, stack always treated you well—not just with materials but gift giving was his thing—if he didn’t treat you nice he would just be another whisper in the dark.

You both don’t say much for a while, soft inhales and exhales mainly coming from you.

The fire snaps, lazy and red, stack’s thumb sweeps against your biker shorts.

You eventually slip away and stack protests with a groan, thinking you’re not up for whatever else the night had in store, to the point he wouldn’t let your hand go but you promise you’ll be back.

A minute goes by with you returning with a chilled bag you tucked away for later.

He quirks up a brow, silently wondering where you got that from and how you managed to keep it hidden from him, but he doesn’t say it as his skin brushed against yours, taking the blood bag from your grasp.

“Look at you, spoilin’ me.” He murmurs as he tears into it, fangs poking out that it almost makes you laugh at the memory last night when a older white man said his grandson wanted some fang grillz before and wanted to know where stack got them, you watch as he spits the plastic away into the grass, “I’mma lucky ass fella.”

Your eyes are soft as you say, “See what happens when you’re loved and loved in return.”

Stack blinks those orbit eyes at you, “Well I do,” he shrugs as you tilt your head at him, leaving him to add, “Love you.”

“I know,” you sigh before curling yourself against him in the same chair this time, resting your head back against his collarbone, “I do too.”

Maybe you’re an oddball too, being involved in a relationship this real and what the heavily religious would call unholy or unnatural even.

Stack loops his arm around your frame, giving your hip a squeeze with the blunt still in between his fingers. The smoke spinning upwards.

He’s pinching at the bag, swirling its contents a little as he peers down at you with love, your eyes slowly closing, taking in the moment.

The crickets sing somewhere near the trees, the summer night keeps this memory alive as stack finally goes at the blood bag like it’s a capri sun, and it doesn’t bother you that his hand tightens against you.

You’ve long accepted that some sinners just love harder.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪

Continue with my summer anthology prompts here.

[luvyuuma]

Yuma is so "you're legally obligated to keep holding me" from the touch starved promt list lolol

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i so agree!! i was also thinking about yuma for this prompt haha but as i was writing, the other promote request by @littleaprilcherryblossom (tysm for ur request btwww) also worked well with this! i mixed the two and so i present you:

SYNOPSIS / you’re always yuma’s emotional support when he loses because he’s a pathetically sore loser.

TW / none, just fluff and silly and funny

WC / 1.1k words

PAIRING / yuma x fem!reader (reader referred to as “girlfriend”)

YUMA + “you’re legally obligated to hold me” + “i just wanna be held right now”

Yuma is a loser. A sore, petty one at that.

He hates it because he tries really hard to win, only for it to totally backfire on him. 

As his girlfriend, you can safely (and assertively) say that there is no world wherein Nakakita Yuma takes a loss like a good boy. He whines, he complains and makes tedious remarks at his opposing. Yuma likes to call them his ‘enemy’. 

As his girlfriend, you’re also the one who can win anything with him and he won’t be upset. His cat eyes glimmer at you as he smiles, “That’s my girl! I knew you could do it.” Even when you lose against him. 

It’s definitely a funny and entertaining part of your relationship. 

When you’re playing Mario Kart with Yuma and Taki at the dorm, it’s the first time someone witnesses Yuma taking a loss from you. 

The controller in your hands move in every angle possible along with your enthusiasm to beat Yuma. Yuma is matching your energy. Taki has opened a bag of chips and is fully engrossed in the game, wondering who will win. 

The end of the race is near. Everyone’s tensed. 

“She’s gonna win!” Taki yells, smacking your boyfriend on the shoulder. 

“Stop!” Yuma yells back at him. “She’s not!”

The distraction was all you needed. 

You threw a red shell at Yuma and watched his Koopa Troopa slide to a sudden stop on the road. With a soft smile, you overtake Yuma and first place. 

The race finishes with a sigh from you as you fall onto the couch. Didn’t know Mario Kart was so much work until you were knees deep into the game. 

Yuma had fallen to the floor because he was concentrating so hard. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Taki says, clutching a hand to his chest. “ I forgot to warn you. Yuma’s a sore loser.”

“Damn. Not even a congratulations?” you joke with him, giving him your controller to play. 

Before Taki can speak, Yuma butts in, “Good job, honeysuckle! You did so good, even if you threw me in the fire for it.”

You throw your head back, laughing at the pet name. It was obviously satire but the look on Taki’s face is priceless. He might as well have takoyaki for eyes. 

“Aww, thanks, boo-boo bear!” you exclaim, in an equally annoying voice.

“Oh my God…” Taki blurts out, hand to mouth in shock. He taps Yuma with his controller. “You better not be calling me honeysuckle when I beat your ass.”

Yuma withdraws his heart eyes in an instant, “Let me tell you something. You’re not gonna win.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Taki, I’m so serious right now,” he says it like a warning. He flares up like he’s about to pounce on Taki like an angry cat, pointing his controller at Taki and all. “Don’t play.”

“We’ll see who wins.”

Yuma turns to you, “Do you think I’m gonna win?”

He’s looking at you for approval. But who are you to give it to him willingly? You decide to tease instead.  

“Taki is pretty good at Mario Kart,” you state, with a finger on your chin. “We’ll see!”

“Okay, I’ll show the two of you. I’m gonna prove it to you.”

“Alright…I’m gonna go chill with Harua until then.”

You leave to Harua’s room, an escape from the competitive air. 

Harua and you chat about other things, waiting for them to finish the game. 

“Yeah! That’s exactly it, Harua. That’s why I said, ‘Girl, you’re such a bitch. Like why would you—‘“

Your gossiping is interrupted when a bellow cuts through Harua’s door. 

“I WON!”

Your girlfriend instincts kick in as you bolt out the door. 

Because you know for a fact that it wasn’t Yuma who won just then. 

Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Taki. 

He’s jumping on the couch, beating his chest, doing whatever he will to celebrate his victory. Yuma sits on the couch, yelling incoherent words at Taki. 

It’s only when you get closer, you hear him. 

“You only won because you hit me with the shell!”

“Y/N did the same thing! Just accept it. You lost twice!” Taki shouts back, throwing a cushion into Yuma’s face. 

You have to fight back a laugh. 

Yuma catches your eye and you swallow the laugh into oblivion. 

“Babe.”

He falls onto the couch dramatically. You go up to him. He’s pursing his lips, eyebrows drawn in. 

“What are you doing?” he asks you. 

“Me?!” you say, looking behind you as if he’d be talking to someone behind you. 

“Yeah! You’re legally obligated to hold me in these matters.”

“Legal obligation, he says,” Taki laughs. 

“Enough, Taki,” you reply, sitting beside Yuma and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

He becomes small the second you touch him, melting to your side. A small sigh leaves him, his breath tingling his neck. 

“You can’t be serious, Y/N!” Taki exclaims, throwing his arms towards the two of you. “He’s being sucky.”

“Oh, shush!” you tell Taki. “He just wants to be held right now.”

Yuma turns his face into your neck. He places an arm around your waist and pulls you into him all the more, “Yeah, shush. I just wanna be held right now.”

You feel the heat in your face, trying your best not to show it. It’s hard to hide a big, fat grin on your face though. 

Taki sighs, “You guys disgust me.”

His arms collapses to his sides. 

Yuma explodes the third time today. 

“You’re just jealous!” Yuma exclaims. “I may have lost in Mario Kart but I’m actually winning because I have a cute girlfriend and you don’t. Ha.”

Yuma laughs in his face and you join him, the two of you laughing at Taki. 

Taki drops the controller on the couch, “I’ve had enough of this.” 

He leaves the living room. 

“You should really work on that attitude,” you tell Yuma, running your fingers through his silky way. 

He lifts his chin, placing his face on your shoulder. His eyes glimmer the same way it did earlier, “Why, baby?”

“Acting like that every time you lose? You wanna act like a baby.”

“You’re treating me like one,” he remarks. 

Your fingers pause in his hair, finding a way to answer this. You never thought about it this way. 

“Are you gonna stop?” he adds. 

“Hmmm…probably not.”

“Good, ‘cos I like the way we are,” he replies, squeezing you by the waist. 

Your heart races at the touch, butterflies racing in your stomach.

“So do I,” you manage to reply. 

END!

[thefritzfandomhour]

Some thots on dom!chris hartley omg?

18+ dom!chris hartley drabbles || until dawn

ok i realized that you didn't specifically ask for 18+ content but i really hope i made the right call with assuming "dom!" meant sexually dominant. thank you for your request though!!! i took some liberty with the slow build up to what makes him dominant, almost like a tiny "imagine" scenario instead of focusing primarily on what he would do in bed. i also added a little bonus bit because i love thinking about how he would be when drunk.

this writing is intended for ADULT CONSUMPTION and contains NSFW material

in the beginning of your relationship, chris really has to be pent up to initiate. he really doesn't know how to read if you're in the mood yet and would much rather go lock himself in the bathroom and deal with his raging boner than put you in an uncomfortable scenario. speaking of which, chris gets turned on extremely easily. its something he's slightly embarrassed about, but eventually he'll get tired of being horny that he'll start making moves on you.

it'll be slight touches at first. he'll invite you to sit inbetween his legs while he's playing a video game. nothing that really needs his full attention, something like harvest moon or minecraft. he's praying you don't scoot away when his cock starts to swell. it's obvious he's hard against you but his deep breaths and video game keep both you and him distracted. eventually he'll offer to let you play, handing you the controller and sliding his hands down to your waist.

it'll start with a slight kiss into the crook of your neck. you'd smile and lean back against him, causing him to shudder just a bit. chris would continue to move down your neck, each kiss getting longer and a bit more intense. giving you your first official hickey from him felt like an achievement, it switched something inside of him. chris would have noticed that you weren't interacting with the game anymore, leaning back against him. that's where he just unraveled.

after the bandaid was finally ripped off, he would gain a lot more confidence when it came to being dominant. smaller things would be added to your life, like the occasional tap on the ass or deeper-than-expected kiss. also, expect chris to send you his favorite nsfw content with captions like "us?" And "can we do this?".

in bed, he'll encourage you to let him use toys on you, praising you and reminding you how turned on you make him. inbetween his legs, chris would love to have his hands in your hair and forcing you down on his throat. as long as you remembered the safety tap code, he'll let loose and use your mouth as a fucktoy. you had to reassure him a few times that you liked it, but eventually he would get used to prioritizing his pleasure during these intimate moments.

bonus!!;

chris has zero to little issue "taking what he wants" when drunk. he wouldn't phrase it as that, but thats basically what it is. you'd be by his side pretty much the entire time, unless you asked to go somewhere else, obviously. you'd get a deep kiss about every 5 or so minutes, and if you didn't stop him, he'd end up giving you a hickey infront of the party-goers. let him get that far and he'll grab your wrist, give you a lustful look, and pull you to the nearest lockable room.

oh chris ... chris chris chris ... i was definitely indulgent when it came to that whole video game part. i could perfectly picture it in my head, honestly, i could probably write a small fic based on that prompt alone. ah... maybe one day. once again though, thank you!! i love writing for our silly boyf (yes you, reading this. he's our boyfriend.)

[deer skull + candle themed borders were designed by kazoothecat on deviantart]

[ladycapon]

I wanted to join in with the Hansry Week thing but I've had something of a shitty week so I haven't really been able to focus much on writing. But I did finish one prompt and I'd like to post it here.

I haven't posted any of my writing online for a very long time, and definitly not on tumblr, so this feels like a first for me.

I don't know if I'll ever finish any of the other prompts, but here is my little piece of writing for Hansry.

Day 4 - Heat

Henry’s hands were gentle, his fingers almost tender, while he inspected the edges of the wound by softly pressing his fingertips against the swollen red skin. Even through the small stabs of pain the probing evoked, Hans’ heart leaped at the touch.

He must have made a sound because Henry looked up. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not much, just sore mostly.’

They were surrounded by laughter, stories, and the smells of bodies, booze and puke; in three words: smelly boisterous celebration. But somehow, on a bench in their little corner beside the hearth, it almost felt like they were in a little private nook of their own. One that could easily be breached from the outside, yes, but for now felt like a little moment of privacy as Henry looked at the arrow wound in his shoulder.

He mixed some herbs in hot water and used a clean cloth he dabbed into the mixture to carefully clean the wound out. Katherine had already done something similar a few hours earlier but he wasn’t going to tell Henry that. He wondered if Henry could hear how his heart sped up each time he touched him.

More than a month had passed since they’d spend that wonderfully desperate hour together in the night, and he’d thought about it as often as he’d thought about food in those days. Over the course of the following month he had slowly come to the realization that Henry had become as important to him as food itself in some ways. Possible to live without for a while but not forever, and definitely necessary for a life with some semblance of happiness in it. Even slow starvation became acceptable with Henry by his side, and missing Henry was like an echo of that hollow hunger that followed him around everywhere.

And now Henry was back but only one kind of hunger had been sated this night.

When Henry pulled out fresh bandages and started wrapping them around him, his arms going around his back to wind them around his shoulder and chest, they came close enough to embrace and Hans’ hands itched to pull him closer. But he didn’t, because of course he couldn’t.

But as Henry pulled back to lay the last knot, a growing warmth lingered between them, like banked coals, and it took only one glance from Henry, their eyes locking for an lingering moment before quickly looking away, for those coals to flare back to life.

Henry’s hands lingered a little longer than necessary on his shoulders and chest while pulling the bandages neatly in place, as if he too wanted the nearness to last as long as possible without seeming improper. But finally no more could be done and Henry pulled away.

‘Done.’ He said.

‘Thank you. It feels…better.’ He tried to put as much of his feelings into the word as he could, willing Henry to understand.

He did of course. A quick touch, his hand on top of his, just like he had a month ago in the fire-lit darkness of his bedroom, lingering just a little too long to be considered friendly.

His answer was soft but the look in his eyes revealed a banked fire of their own, waiting to be stoked to life.

‘You’re very welcome.’

[cultkinkcoven]

Y’know

I’m only gonna say this once.

My purpose in making this page isn’t to convince anyone of anything I say, to prove that I am or am not doing anything, or to make myself seem above anyone or anything else. I know I’ve said this before, but there seems to be at least one person who still remains somewhat confused about that.

If you don’t believe me, thats none of my concern- that’s not really the point of this post.

I have people reach out to me in ernest to do mental health checks all the time, both irl and online. I think it’s very considerate and sweet.

What does agitate me though, is absolute strangers who can’t even bother to send me a private message, claiming- and pretending- to care so so much about my mental health. It agitates me because it is condescending and dishonest. It agitates me because it perpetuates a behaviour of treating those who you suspect to be mentally challenged as helpless oblivious children who need to be corrected.

Whether or not you think I am insane could not be any less relevant to me.

But lmao, don’t send me a bunch of anon insults talking about how you know for sure that I’m definitely deep into psychosis and you’re the only person in the entire world who pays enough attention to me to know.

Don’t wrap your criticism up in fake regard. Do not claim to be concerned about my feelings when you are actively harassing me.

Don’t pretend the reason why you’ve been spamming me with messages for days is because you’re concerned about my mental health, and don’t fool yourself with the idea that- if I was mentally ill- your anons would have somehow helped me. This is not how you would treat someone going through psychosis if you believed that to be true.

If you can send me about 10 or so asks claiming to care about my mental health, you could have sent me a genuine message saying “hey, are you okay? Just checking in, hope you’re alright.”

Idk if you guys know this, but harassing people you claim to think are mentally ill isn’t actually a responsible way to go about mental health intervention.

But that obviously was not the point. That wasn’t the thesis of the -however many- messages. The thesis was “you’re no more special than me. You’re not special. You can never be more special than anyone else. You’re just a normal human-” And I think it’s very interesting that my relationship and writings prompt people to compare themselves to me- as if that was ever the point. If you garner a sense of inferiority, that’s not really a me problem. I’m sorry I grasp what you cannot touch.

I get people not believing me, I get people showing concern for mental health from time to time. But pretending that it’s your personal mission to “help” and fix me, you, random stranger on the internet, who can’t even show their user, because my writing makes you uncomfy - please touch grass.

I have more than enough great people in my life who can keep an eye on me. The reason why those people aren’t intervening is because they know I am not being harmed.

It is not your place nor responsibility to know that.

Stop pretending like you have more influence than you do.

You tell me a lot to accept my place.

Accept yours.

[readenheim]

This but I also know the dark version of it. Like A starting to feel it fade and accepting that maybe they can be okay even if it's not meant to be .. and then B loving them so much all of a sudden..so so so so much..maybe too much .And A starts feeling guilty for not being at the same level of love anymore because.. isn't this what they wanted ? And now that they do and B is still such a wonderful person why isn't it just perfect? shouldn't they be swimming in happiness? Are they too greedy ? is that why they're not satisfied? and they can't just let B know because they're just so wonderful .. if they were to feel hurt because of them it would only prove how much of an awful person they are.And B sometimes notices B is not as happy as they thought they'd be . So B starts doubting themselves. And A knows it and knows it's their fault..

And so A fell first , and B fell harder but neither can admit the fall hurt.

!!!!!!!

[livinghalfway]

Importance

We do a lot of Danny leaving the league and being adopted by the Fentons but let’s switch that around.

Talia is on a mission investigating the Fenton scientists, and their research on ectoplasm—which sounds suspiciously similar to the Lazarus pits—when she comes across their young son Daniel Fenton.

Before Talia had even entered the house she watched as the scientists ran out the front door yelling something about having to go and capture a ghost. She also knows that their young daughter is currently spending the night with an aunt, and upon seeing the Fentons drive away, the door left unlocked, Talia notes, assumes that the son is with the aunt as well.

Quickly and efficiently she copies any important documents that look useful, and just as Talia is about to leave a sharp cry rings throughout the house. In a moment of weakness she turns around and goes further into the home to find the source of the crying. That is when she finds baby Daniel Fenton (like 6 months old) who had been left all alone in his nursery.

Thinking of her own son, Damian (who's around 3), she reaches out and gently begins to rock him in her arms. When given this mission Ra's had given her the order to take anything of importance she finds and this, Talia decides, is something of importance as she looks down at the boy now calm and sleeping; a tiny hand gripping onto her shirt.

Once arriving back at Nanda Parbat the first thing she does is present her father with the information she gathered, and her new son. Within the next few hours the second grandson to the Demon’s head is announced, Danyal al Ghul.

Damian absolutely adores Danyal, and takes his new role as a big brother very seriously.

Things from here continue relatively as normal with Damian (8) and Danyal (5) arriving at the manor. Danyal may not be his by blood, but Bruce welcomes the boy nonetheless. He would have done so even without Damian’s threats of violence.

A few more years pass and Damian (14) is going steady with his role as Robin, and Danyal (12) trains with his siblings but has not been allowed out yet on patrol. After a fight with Bruce and Damian about this fact, Danyal decides he’s going to look into his biological family.

Dead end after dead end Danyal eventually contacts Talia and asks her where he came from. It takes a bit of but Talia does tell him how she found him ‘abandoned’ in the home of a couple she was looking into. Their names and the sister who wasn’t there that night.

With this new information Danyal leaves a note for his family to find as he makes his way to Illonis as quickly as he can knowing that Damian, at the very least, will be right on his heels when he discovers his disappearance.

When he arrives at the Fenton house it’s quiet. He knows that his sister, Jazz, will be arriving home from school any minute now. Against his better judgement Danyal decides to enter and take a look around. This leads him to the basement standing in front of a giant machine.

The papers on the desk tell him that his bio parents are trying to build some kind of portal with their most recent attempt ending in failure.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Danyal investigates the portal. While taking a step inside the lab door slams open causing him to trip; his hand landing on a button. Bruce, Damian, and Jazz now watch on as Danyal dies right in front of them. He comes back, different now.

A few months later Bruce Wayne announces the arrival of his newest adoptive daughter, and a new vigilante known as Potoo (look it up lol, they have a nickname called “ghost birds”) is seen running around with Batman and Robin.

[jesuistrestriste]

i absolutely adore your pastor’s son art but..hear me out…pastors son patrick 😈 but unlike art he is lowkey sacrilegious and not as hard to drag into sin like art

-🍰

♱ pastor’s son!patrick zweig x reader

cw (18+) : switch!patrick, switch!reader, mild corruption kink, mutual masturbation, giving each other a hand, general filth and dirty talk

patrick’s a good boy.

a true believer; he’s someone who idolizes his father, the only pastor in his small town, and does everything he can to remain physically and emotionally devout. doing bible studies alone in his bedroom, attending every service that’s held, upholding the religious teachings that have been woven into his very soul from a young age.

but.. that’s not to say that temptation is easy for him to push down and pray away.

temptation is more like a toxic friend that mumbles dirty little nothings into his ear when all he wants to do is avoid the draw of engaging in sin. it thumbs the waistband of his underwear when it’s late at night and he can’t stop thinking about the curves of people’s bodies. it licks warmly at his lower stomach when he catches you sparing him a glance on your way out the tall church doors. and god, your lips.. oh, your lips..

temptation is more like a sick, twisted, toothy monster that clings to his back and digs its claws into his flesh. bleeds him out from the puncture wounds, letting the filth leave his body and become realized. it’s impossible to ignore. it gets him into trouble.

you’re mostly to blame though. this time, at least.

you had chatted him up after a particularly stirring sermon, when everyone had already left, and then relished in the flush of his cheeks that had been so deep in color it almost hid his freckles completely. you’d touched his arm and smiled all sweet, your poison seeping into his frame from your fingertips. he tried to resist, he really did.

if temptation was a monster trying to fuse to his spine, it was certainly your henchman.

now you’re sitting beside him in an empty pew in the empty building. heads turned toward one another as shared, heavy, stuttered breathing echoes out into the spacious church. despite it being a peaceful place, it’s beginning to smell of nothing but sticky immorality. it’s easy to pick up on the scent of sweat from warm bodies and faint musk from the fluids involuntarily spilling forth.

his hand is shoved down into his unzipped jeans and past the elastic of his boxers, pumping himself shakily as he watches you play with yourself at the same time. your fingers rub quickly at the sensitive spot that makes you feel hot all over. patrick spares half a glance to your hand’s movements as you shift it underneath the shielding fabric, and lets out a soft, strangled sort of sound at the sight.

“does that feel good?” he breathes out, his voice breaking around a moan as he accidentally thumbs his tip. it’s already covered in his fluids. slimy and lewd.

you nod quickly, your brow pinched up and your legs trembling.

“y-yeah, feels really nice,” you murmur, “how does your cock feel?”

immediately, his legs kick out in front of him and he sinks a little in his seat—his stomach flipping pleasantly at the sound of that vile word slipping from your mouth. cock. he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard to stop himself from saying something stupid like “please, say that again”.

this is the first time he’s ever seen someone else touching their body this way, let alone with him. this is all so new and thrilling and terrifying, but he can’t help but enjoy it—it’s ironically the closest he’s felt to salvation in a very long time. his hips feel floaty, his head is spinning, and his toes are curling in his shoes. he doesn’t quite remember how he let you talk him into this.

“.. aah, oh— it’s so good..” he shakes.

you swallow thickly and arch your pelvis into your circling fingers. you hump your touch, trying to get more friction. thrumming bursts of heat begin to burst in your lower stomach like fireworks..

patrick suddenly keens and cries out, pulling his wet palm from his bottoms in half of a second, like he just burned himself on a scorching stovetop. he pants raggedly and then looks to you with lidded, watercolor eyes. loose brown curls hang in front of his forehead as he parts his lips.

“i almost—..” he can’t finish the sentence, reaching his digits up to tug at his damp collar. it’s like god is actively punishing him by cooking him alive. he’s never felt quite so overheated. and he does feel guilty, more than he’s willing to admit to himself, but you’re all he can see right now. there’s no way he’s going to give this up. not a chance in hell.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he’s doing it. his clean hand reaching for your occupied wrist, guiding you out of your underwear and then down into his own. he gives you a pleading look, a desperate one, and then his jaw slacks when he feels you instantly wrap your touch around his throbbing length. how is it that you know exactly what to do? have you done this before? with who?

he tries not to get jealous. he’s in absolutely no position to feel that way.

all thoughts melt away anyways when you begin to stroke him. up, down, up, down, up, down; the squelching of your tightening hold on him only further igniting his forbidden arousal. it’s hypnotic, and holy fuck, it’s so much better than doing it himself.

everything feels so sensitive.

“please, just touch me,” he shudders out, looking deep into your eyes as he instinctively reaches out to find your body. his fingers inch down past the waistband of your panties to brush over the swollen bud hidden beneath. just the feeling of your soft, squishy flesh sends him careening towards the edge. he’s losing it quickly. almost embarrassingly so.

your knee knocks into his as you whine, spreading your legs farther apart to give him more access. your own release only a handful of agonizing moments away.

you’re both filling the place with sounds filthy enough to shatter the stained glass. the fragments that would come down in the wreckage to slice at your bodies would be less painful than this act of teetering on the precipice of something so primal and grotesque.

he swipes his fingers awkwardly from side to side over your parts as he fumbles with the angle of his touch and his lack of experience. but despite all of that, it feels incredible. your legs clamp around him and your back arches up from the wooden pew. your fist glides over his frenulum as you jolt.

he leans in closer, almost close enough to kiss you, and chokes on a whimper.

“im think i’m about to— im ’bout to—..!”

his voice shakes the earth.

the waves of overwhelming sensation in your body start to flare; your muscles pulling taut as patrick’s do the same.

“i think im really gonna come.. i-is it okay if i come—?” he whispers, whiny and urgent.

like a plea. a prayer.

“yeah, yeah, yeah.. me too..” it tumbles from your chest and stills the air around you.

everything stops for just a moment.

him gasping and squeezing his eyes shut. you gripping the edge of the wood below you with your free hand, nearly squealing as his thumb flicks messily over your bead of nerves. he jerks forward in his seat before seizing up at the sound of your strained little noise—toppling over the edge with a jarring finality that seals him in his shame and blinding pleasure. he all but wails.

wet warmth meets your skin and you touch him through the waves of orgasm that have him promising to repent. your own climax rips moans from your throat and forces you to gush into your clothing. patrick doesn’t even know what to think, not that he can, brain much too melted to salvage any coherency. the sound of bells and doves and the choir fills his head. ringing out deafeningly, like a sick joke. he can’t seem to come down from the high.

he trembles as he pushes down softly on your slick bud, then collapses afterwards into a heap of jelly-like limbs. you follow not a second later. you're both a mess of slick parts and damp faces.

he wipes at his upper lip and then his cheek.

“oh my-..” he trails off, knowing he probably shouldn’t finish the sentiment. he’s already on bad terms. no need to make it worse for him later in the confessional. he sighs, still feeling your hand resting around his softening dick. he tries not to think about the fact that he covered your fingers in his depravity, but the thought comes and goes without his permission anyway. his flesh twitches. he stifles a groan.

“yeah.. woah..” you smirk lazily,

he gets the urge to drop to his knees and pull you down with him. to press his lips to yours before bowing his head and asking for forgiveness. that would probably be the proper thing to do. the better thing. his dad always says that the harder something is to do, the more likely that it’s the right thing to do. he doesn’t know if that’s true, but.. holding himself back from kissing you while also grappling with the remorse has him struggling to maintain composure.

patrick vows right then to never repeat this sort of thing in the future, to refuse the clutches of temptation whenever it pricks his skin again, but the vow begins to crack the moment he feels your index finger lazily rub at the vein bulging from his shaft. he inhales sharply through gritted teeth at the sensitivity, and then turns his head to look to your expression. eyes glazing over with reigniting desire.

he can deny it no longer. oh, you are temptation in human form, flesh and bone.

you’re inescapable.

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Bruce: How was your class trip Damian?

Damian: It was quiet and productive Father.

Bruce: I’m glad to hear it. What was your favorite part?

Damian: I learned how to escape an Iron Maiden.

Bruce: …

Damian: …

Bruce: Explain please.

Damian: A boy Drake’s age taught me how to escape an Iron Maiden.

Bruce: How did he have that knowledge?

Damian: He claims his family has a dungeon full of medieval torture devices. I believe he may require further investigation.

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumper with fire powers branding their Whumpee not just with their name or initials, but their handprints.

Two palms scarred against either side of Whumpee’s neck, fingers wrapping around their throat in a collar that can never be removed. Hands on their sides, just below their broken ribs, a touch that will never relent. Fingers wrapped around their wrists in shackles that won’t be unlocked. A handprint against their face, cupping their cheek that had already suffered so many punches. The small of their back. A single hand just between their shoulder blades. Dragging down their thighs.

Just. Branded handprints.

[hitlikehammers]

Early November, 1984 and all Eddie wanted was to light up behind the Byers' place in peace🚬

he went all that way and all he got for it was a maybe-dead💀-but-definitely-unconscious-king👑-slash-maybe-babysitter(?), plus some shithead children directing his van🚐 to those fucking abandoned labs that may as well be lit up in neon lights screaming 🚨THIS IS A FUCKING TRAP🚨

Eddie shouldn’t be here. Like, not in a it’s forbidden kinda way, but more in a, there’s no real reason for him to fucking be here.

Save for the obvious.

It’s just…after the whole dead-not-dead thing with the youngest kiddo, the property around the Byers house has kinda turned into no-man’s-land; easy place to get high when Eddie wants a change of scenery, basically, with no one trying to break his nose, or call the pigs.

Or snatch his supply.

But when he hears that fuckface Hargrove call out, the tone on him—and Eddie’s real sensitive to tones, he can guess between the lines for everything he can’t read—he perks up; listens in. Stays put out of sight.

(And no, he does not cream his pants when Harrington calls back, Jesus; taunts like the cocky prick that he is—

And no it is not a close thing or…whatever.)

Point being: he hears more than sees what happens. Up to and including a gaggle of literal fucking children dragging Harrington toward wha Eddie thinks is Hargrove’s eyesore of a car, one of the sheepies crossing around like they’re planning on driving it, and Eddie’s not one for the rule of law or anything—definitely not if it’s Hargrove’s property that’s on the line—and fuck yes Eddie’s driven without a license, and far below the age to get one, but, but—

He’s tripping over himself to turn the keys in his own ignition and swinging the van around quick enough to kick up dirt before he leans over and throws open the passenger door.

“Hey,” he hisses, low but not quiet, he needs them to hear but he doesn’t know if Hargrove’s gonna storm out any second, it’s a delicate balance; “hey, get in,” and he’s crawling over the seat to open the back, too, to push things to the side to mostly leave it flat, tossing blankets to the middle with no care for their cleanliness because there’s no time for that shit, there’s no time and then he’s grabbing the hinges of the doors and flinging his whole top half around to eye this hoard of strange ankle-biters and what’s revealed quickly to be their still-weirdly-attractive-when-beat-to-shit charge in Steve Motherfucking Harrington, trying to project some degree of meaningful trustworthiness, because he is trustworthy, here and now, but they’re kinda in the fucking clock of crazy-eyes-Mc-West-Coast stumbling out of the house, so Eddie’s kinda gotta urge these rugrats with real feeling, waving his hands to the point where his fucking wrists hurt:

“Get in.”

And of course these little urchins still and just, raise a fucking eyebrow at him. Like they’re not working on an inexact sort of fucking timeline—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeesh. He wasn’t off when he said they were ankle biters; the little lambies have teeth.

“I just wanna help,” Eddie tries to say it with as much of the genuine concern that he really and truly feels, and not get weighed down with the probably-suspicious-off-the-bat vibe of pulling up in a random van just to start the exchange out with waving some strange kids into the back of it.

Jesus, that sounds terrible, wow, okay.

He gets it.

“No,” oddly, not the ringleader girl who eyed him first but it’s the curly headed boy now who stands up, squares his shoulders, and stares Eddie down with an only-slightly-less-menacing glare. “No, you’re not gonna hurt Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I swear,” Eddie’s honestly surprised by how unmuddled his tone bleeds put as desperate, versus irritated by this motley crew of munchkins trying to fight him when he is risking his own neck to help them.

And…King Steve, but then: can he be that motionless, hanging awkward from the noodles limbs of a handful of preteens (at most)?

“I just want to get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Eddie bites his lip, wonders where the fuck he intends to go and realizes he was probably just going to drive toward his home and hope for the best; “Er, somewhere safer than here,” and they don’t fucking budge, little assholes, and Harrington doesn’t fucking twitch, and just, just…

Ugh.

“Come on,” he urges them again, just shy of begging; lets how fucking nervous he’s getting seep clear into his tone a little, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d have convinced them to move if not for the crashing of something in the house behind them, and—well.

Nothing like impending doom to speed shit along.

“I wanted to drive,” the redhead’s muttering with a scowl as they heft the body they’re barely keeping off the ground and awkwardly feed Harrington head-first up to Eddie where where he’s crawled properly into the back of the van to help, and Eddie thinks these little fuckers just might be more wild and feral and insane even than he originally would have guessed for how they make to scramble behind their Steve; only just manages to steady and lower the royal body as careful as he can before the hoard clamors in and denies Eddie so much as a moment to press his finger under Steve Harrington’s flop of bloody hair and touch below his jawline where those stupidly infuriating moles of his speckle his skin, marks that Eddie’s hasn’t ever really paid attention to ever, nope, Eddie only needs now to assess whether he’s just accepted a dead fucking body into his van but: no.

Maybe a little sluggish, but pulse’s strong. Which: Eddie doesn’t care about past the legality of it all. Beyond getting saddled with a murder charge or some other bullshit.

No other reason. Of course. Yeah.

The only thing that floors him more than the Hardy Boys-plus-Girl on steroids tearing onto the cushions around where their unconscious charge is laid out, as Eddie shifts into gear and makes to get the fuck out of dodge, like, yesterday, is the even-louder voice in his head that asks probably the most pressing question:

The fuck did the King do, and how, and why, to make these children this loyal?

What follows all that is quite arguably—actually more than that; definitely a strong contender for—the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. That could maybe ever possibly happen to Eddie, in any circumstance for any reason within any universal construct or reality. And he’d been really marinating in his Munson Doctrine this year, too, having been forced to reevaluate some shit after the letter arrived to hammer the most disappointing nail in the coffin of Eddie’s first senior year, but then…fuck everything, then there were the stupid little sheepies and their stupid gorgeous goddamn babysitter—which still, still: what the fuck was that, who the fuck even was Steve Harrington?—and Eddie’d barely even put the ink down to dry before all of them banded secretly together and shredded that motherfucking document before it could even properly take root in Eddie’s brain.

All while something else entirely started to take root in his chest, in his hea—

Well. Something. Something that wasn’t even remotely recognizable inside his most recent—and most polished to date, if he does say so himself—draft of the Doctrine like, at all.

Which is the point.

Because Harrington was indeed alive, and did indeed wake up, and clocked Eddie quicker than expected, even by name—Munson? What the fuck?and hell if that hadn’t fluttered between Eddie’s ribs an indefensible amount that no one would ever know about ever, thank you very much, but still: Jesus H. Christ—

But all his own humiliating discombobulation at the not-even-hands-just-voice-and-presence-of-the-golden-boy aside: it’s a damn good fucking thing Harrington wakes up, and is definitely not dead, because Eddie knows where the King lives, and he knows he’s not driving in that direction but had instead been foolish enough to give these shitweasel munchkins the benefit of the doubt here, like that there maybe was a safe house or some shit, fucking sue him, he was a little prepccupied, yeah—by the threat of a chase with that Hargrove fucker and then by the absolutely spectacle of Harrington screeching at the wayward waifs like a harried mother at the stovetop, because fuck, but Eddie nearly crashes them into three ditches and at least five trees for for trying to watch and he can’t even pretend otherwise—but the end result is definitely not a fucking safe house, and these little asshats have directed him in the wholeass wrong direction, if the undeniable fact of the old abandoned labs at the edge of town looming big through his windshield, looking at least slightly less abandoned (as if that’s not goddamn terrifying in and of itself), what the fuck has he literally driven into, is he an accomplice, and to what, and just, just Jesus—

“Hey.”

Eddie is honestly wholly jolted out of his spiral for a lot of reasons, here. The low tenor exhale of a sound in a voice too kind and open and invested, to much like music given what it does to Eddie, what music means to Eddie and what this voice shouldn’t fucking mean too straight out the goddamn gate. The proximity of a body close enough to feel the warmth of each breath. The indefensible feeling of it being nearly erotic out of nowhere and with no justification at all—just the reality of Eddie’s world right now, to feel the barest brush of the side of a body alongside his, leaning forward where he’s still in the driver’s seat. All of that would tip his world at the very least into a different sort of spiral pattern, breathless in a completely other way.

But.

What knocks Eddie hardest and most effectively in one go is the hand on his shoulder, braced to comfort and steady, and the realization in the flesh of how fucking big it is, how the span of that palm, those fingers, because Eddie knew those hands looked big, not that he’d studied them with any real…attention or anything but feeling them was something entirely other, and the touch, the touch is…is—

“Hey,” and Harrington’s breath is close enough then to tickle Eddie’s hair, goddamn: “breathe.”

And where Eddie hadn’t been wholly aware that he wasn’t, y’know, doing the breathing thing so well, either for the absolute insanity of the evening or the ominous spread, all proper D&D-style foreshadowing of nope don’t go there not now not ever waiting where these menaces had directed him to drive; but whatever the reason, where Eddie now takes a gulp of air in now that fucking burns, there’s Harrington, leaning over a little more, a second hand on Eddie chest to steady him as he falls all while he’s fucking squeezing Eddie’s shoulder, only a second before he’s getting ready to jump out of the van like he wasn’t just beaten unconscious like, five fucking minutes ago.

What the actual flying fuck.

If Eddie weren’t a goddamn idiot, he’d put the van in reserve before anyone could get out the back, fuck the way they’ll be thrown against the sides, at least they won’t be walking—willingly—into whatever the fuck’s waiting, all angry red and kinda…pulsating in the distance in a way that may or may not be a trick of his own paranoid mind, and then spewing little glowing motes into the air like lightning bugs.

Which could be charming, if it weren’t way fucking past the season for that shit.

And in fairness, the whole experience of Steve Harrington touching him and leaning close and breathing near him and telling him to breathe? That shit does carry him through—mostly—the hours that will follow, cliche and genuinely fucking embarrassing as it is, as it will be, to acknowledge at all.

But in the now—

“Thanks, man.”

And…oh, well, fuck.

As in point number one: that hand—bothhands—really are distracting as all hell but then also, simultaneously, very much point number two:

What the actual fuck.

“What?”

Apparently sending Eddie-usually-eloquent-enough-to-spin-some-pretty-bullshit-on-demand-Munson reeling outta nowhere is this fucker’s MO. Probably for the best that Eddie’s been writing him off as a pretty airhead for years now—if for nothing more than his own sanity.

Or else, like…relatively speaking.

“You got us here,” Harrington gestures out the window and…yeah.

“Here?”

That’s the relative part. And the insane part to be thanked for. Because where they’ve ended up is definitely the DoE labs that were supposed to have shut down or whatever, after people disappeared and came back and disappeared again and also didn’t and were never gone and fake bodies and whatever.

No one thanks anyone for bringing them to a place like this.

“And it’s more than I could have asked someone to do,” Harrington’s going on like it’s a casual thing, a favor like walking his goddamn dog and not more like what’s actually staring them down inside the fencing, namely the building that doesn’t look as abandoned as advertised by half, and definitely doesn’t at all look like the only thing it’s missing is a big neon sign blinking TRAP! FREE TRAP! IN THE MARKET FOR A QUICK PAINFUL DEMISE AT THE HANDS OF THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST TAINT FACTORY EAST OF ARMPIT-IAPOLIS? STEP RIGHT UP! ALSO REMINDER: CLEARLY A TRAP!

“Harrington,” Eddie doesn’t love the way his voice trips over a bonafide gulp. “Steve.”

He also doesn’t love how much feeling sneaks into that part because one, where the fuck’d that even come from and two, he…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever said this guy’s first name out loud. As in…ever.

He doesn’t love how nice it feels, how scary but bubbly-warm it tingles at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

So there’s all of that.

Still set inescapably under the threat of the non-existent-but-no-less-real-neon-sign-of-death and…stuff.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve’s pats Eddie’s shoulder again, moves the hand from his chest like he’s pulling away, like he’s leaving to go toward the trap and Eddie whips his head around just in time to catch Steve shrug sheepishly and add:

“Like, mostly.”

It is not at all lost on Eddie, how Steve doesn’t even try to sidestep that he’s walking into the gaping maw of probably death, here.

That might be the most terrifying part of this yet.

“I could,” Eddie’s voice is a crackle, so he tries clearing his throat, licking his lips; “I could at least try to help.”

That comes out a little stronger, but not steadier, and he doesn’t really think he’s making his point very well at all.

But then there’s Steve, and his hand back full on Eddie’s shoulder, saying:

“You could,” like he believes that; “and we’d be grateful,” added in like he means that too.

And most unbelievable of all of it, what he tacks on last with a squeeze of his hand and a lower pitch for no reason Eddie can figure save to catch inside the clench of his pulse so it takes to jittering like fucking mad as the King himself exhales:

“I’d be grateful.”

And what the fuck does that mean, said with eyes so bright when the night’s so dark?

And what the fuck does it mean when Eddie’s heartbeat starts jittering, a butterfly between cupped hands, until:

“I need you to be safe though,” and the words have physical form, brush Eddie’s frizzled curls straight behind his ear like…tenderness, delicate.

What. The. Fuck.

Eddie blames the way his heart goes form butterfly to battering ram, ready to crack through his ribs for no reason save a feeling he can’t justify, but’s too real to pretend away as less when he half-fucking-moans:

“What about you?”

Because Steve’s shepherding the kiddos. He’s keeping Eddie on the sidelines, safe. He’s charging into battle with a handkerchief and a bat and a goddamn pair of rubber gloves found from somewhere, sticking out his back pocket like he’s flagging in day-glo, holy hell—

But who takes care of Steve?

“I’ll see you at school,” Steve winks, leans this time to bump one shoulder straight to Eddie’s and then he’s jumping out the back of the van, and he’s moving too fast and—

“Harrington,” Eddie calls, suddenly forgetting he’d ever been trying to keep quiet, to avoid attention of whatever they’re going out to face, Hargrove or harbingers of worker fates, or both at once; “fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he trips over shit that got shifted back in his way as he stumbles to the doors and yells:

“Steve!”

And it’s like maybe saying his name does something to Steve himself, too, because he pauses, and even for the distance, the little curve of his lips isn’t a smirk, it’s a smile.

It’s fucking beautiful.

And then he’s saluting cockily before he turns on his heel with just one last parting shot;

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

And the tunnels beyond only let him watch so long, see so far. The weird shit in the air, and the bandanas he can see a scuffle over, to make sure they’re tied over noses and mouths, lit by weird pulsing colors, obscene squelching noises he can hear the echoes of even this far back and just, just…

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

>>>part two 💚

For @miraculousmultifan, who requested Post-S2; 'Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—very late, obviously, and MID-S2, rather than post but it ENDS UP being post-S2, promise 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

[grevyi]

14 days with you x Teen Beach Movie AU

[Prompt 1] A storm approaches as Angel surfs while [REDACTED] follows, but they are both swallowed by a wave and transported to a 1960s musical titled Wet Side Story. 

Playing the younger brother of the leader of a motorcycle gang, [REDACTED] is determined to continue the plot of the movie by having Angel catch him when he falls off the stage while singing. (They didn't know each other before all this)

[Prompt 2] When [REDACTED] first meets the surfer gang at Momma's beachside restaurant, he falls in love with their leader. Determined to win them over, [REDACTED] goes undercover as a new surfer named 'Ren' while his gang tries to understand the disappearance of their commander.

[thefritzfandomhour]

praying for josh washington headcanons 🙏

joshua washington sfw & 18+ headcanons || until dawn

hi there!!! ^o^ thank you so much for your request. im gonna be honest i had no idea if you wanted general headcanons or the 18+ ones ive been whipping up, so i threw in both! holy hell i actually wrote something that isn't porn for once? yay me. lol, but anyways, josh rocks. please get this man some help.

ill post the NSFW material under the cut, but for now, enjoy these SFW headcanons:D

★ he likes having you under wraps, as his paranoia really gets to him pretty easily. josh would mention having you download a location tracker app (e.g., life360). if you did, he'd have a massive weight lifted off his shoulders. it comforts him a ton and he'd check it pretty often when you aren't around

★ on the outside, he's a pretty cheerful guy who just wants the others around him to have fun. josh clearly struggles with mental health issues, he's unstable and easy to upset if you keep prodding him. but he doesn't want a therapist when it comes to you, he just wants a friend.

★ its pretty rare he drops his act in front of you, but when he does, he starts to sob. just let him stutter out his words as you rub his back and listen to him, he'll eventually start to pass out in your arms. he knows he can trust you. you try and tell him that everyone around him loves and trusts him, but josh just shake his head and mutter something along the lines of "...only you."

★ josh has a really rough time sleeping. he'll wake up around every two hours, stare at the ceiling for about 30 minutes, and then fall back asleep. repeat that a few times until dawn morning hits and you have his average sleep experience. he likes watching you when you sleep, though. you're peaceful, quiet. he can't help but brush his fingers against your cheek and kiss your forehead.

★ physical touch helps him sleep easier. he fell asleep with you in his arms one night and only woke up once. after that, he pretty much insisted you sleep in his bed anytime you and him hung out, it was a borderline miracle cure to his sleep issues.

★ reassurance is big for him too, wanting you to praise him / vocally prove your love for him. he'll usually be the one who prompts it though, complimenting himself in hopes you build onto it and his ego.

"aww, now am i just the best boyfriend, or what?”

this writing is intended for ADULT CONSUMPTION and contains NSFW material

author is male but writes the reader as ambiguous as possible

a/n; cw for somnophilia and light dubcon

★ im pretty sure everyone in his close friend group knows his cock size. josh probably ended up telling them during a party after getting really fucking drunk. most of the boys, particularly mike, kept calling him small and he wanted to prove them wrong. queue josh dragging them to a side room, popping it out, and proving them all wrong. he's not the biggest in the group but he definitely isn't small

★ josh can get up to a fine 5 ½ inches (uncut). where he gets prideful is with his girth, he has a really fat cock. he has these really cute freckles littering his dick that would make him melt if you kissed them. he doesn't make much effort to shave but he is a clean man! josh sports an intense happy trail, it's hard not to stare (he loves knowing he has that effect on you)

★ he's a bit eccentric when you two start getting into things. he acts almost like a starving animal, touching and tasting every part of your body in an attempt to keep your shapes burnt into his brain. he'll never forget the taste of you, being in between your legs. he'll always offer to clean you up with his tongue, licking your inner thighs or stomach, sucking your cum from your fingers. he's borderline obsessed with the taste

★ ok josh is kind of fucking weird. he'll take you off guard by running his tongue up your neck or coming up behind you and groping you infront of his friends. you're his and they all know that. he might struggle a bit with consent at first, feeling you without asking and even looking through your stuff, particularly your clothing and phone

★ speaking of which, he's kind of a somnophiliac. josh wouldn't go as far as undressing you and taking advantage of the situation (unless you consented beforehand), but he would probably jack off right next to you, holding your hand as he finished. if he gets away with it enough, he'd probably end up giving you a facial/straight up cumming on any accessible skin as you slept. of course he'd clean you up afterwards, wondering if you'd be weirded out or turned on by the idea of him being so attracted to you while you were unconscious 

★ definitely a switch, he has no personal preference in what position he's taking up. if you feel comfortable enough to pin him down and feel him up, josh would honestly find it both hot and reassuring. letting himself go and allowing you to take the lead is therapeutic, everything you do to him is because you wanted it. you actually wanted him, and he's oh so grateful. 

so i hope you guys enjoyed:D writing for josh is fun because he's the one i relate to the most, so getting his personality and preferences down was a lot easier than i thought it would be. once again, tysm for the request <3 it's an honor to serve

[dark themed borders were designed by savant-vooz0 on deviantart]

[the-impala-is-my-home]

Hiiiiii

For a little 1+5: "I just wish I could talk to him, you know?"

thank you I really love your writing!!!

Hi! So. This ask is from last September. I might have taken a bit too long to get to this kjsdjkgjkgewdlkglds. But hey, here it is! This is a companion piece to this 5 sentence fic and takes place at the same time. :) It ended up being 5 paragraphs instead of five sentences, but oh well 😌 Thank you so much for this ask!! You're so kind 🥹💜

“I just wish I could talk to him, you know?” Wilhelm pouts up at Felice, whose hands don’t stop their soothing movements through his hair, even as she is clearly holding in a frustrated sigh.

“I know honey, you’ve said so. Repeatedly.” One of her fingers tugs slightly on a strand of his hair and he makes a protesting noise in retaliation. “And still, you have yet to actually walk up to him and open that pretty mouth of yours despite the hundreds of opportunities you’ve had. In fact, we both know you’ve been longingly looking at Simon all evening while somehow still managing to always stay at the opposite side of this party.”

“I can’t just go up to him Felice.” His voice comes out in a whine he would be slightly embarrassed about under normal circumstances. “I completely messed up when I didn’t reach out to him after we kissed and you know it. He probably hates me now.”

A frustrated groan is all the warning he gets before Felice rudely shoves him off the couch they’ve occupied for at least fifteen minutes now. “Wille. I am begging you to go and find your crush for both our sakes, because if I have to hear these same arguments another time, I will drag Simon over here myself.” With that, she makes a shooing motion in Wille’s direction, completely ignoring his betrayed look and the exaggerated way he’s rubbing his elbow.

“I don’t even know where he is”, he tries to save himself, but Felice’s raised eyebrows tell him she doesn’t believe him for a second. “Fine. But if he does hate me you owe me all the ice-cream and binge watching sleepovers in the world.” With that, he tries his best to avoid the way his heart is trying to jump out of his chest and walks towards the door he just saw Simon leave through.